
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1180214.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural, Supernatural:_The_Animation
  Relationship:
      Dean/Sam, Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester, Dean_Winchester_&_Sam
      Winchester
  Character:
      Dean_Winchester, Sam_Winchester, John_Winchester, Original_Characters
  Additional Tags:
      Non-Consensual, Underage_Sex, Underage_Drinking, Anal_Sex, Anal
      Fingering, Age_Difference, Alcohol_Abuse/Alcoholism, Dreams, Top_Dean,
      Bottom_Sam, Hurt_Sam_Winchester, Abusive_John_Winchester, Rape, Drinking,
      Bloodplay, Violence, Death, Rimming, Kissing, Slash, Male_Slash,
      Hardcore, Depression, Angst, Eventual_Happy_Ending, Wincest_-_Freeform,
      Weecest, Incest, Brotherly_Love, Big_Brother_Dean, Crying, Short, Dark,
      Dark_fic
  Collections:
      Sam_&_Dean:_The_OTP
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-02-12 Completed: 2016-12-04 Chapters: 8/8 Words: 13458
****** Brand New Day ******
by o0kaymawn0o
Summary
     Dean has a dream. It's about Sam. What does it mean for the two
     brothers? What does it mean for him? Why does he feel this way, and
     how can he stop? Can he even prevent it from happening? Why would he
     want to do such a thing to his sixteen year old brother? He's a mess
     of self-loathing and confusion. Sam's his brother, and a kid, no
     less. He should be in prison for what he's going to do. A tale of
     self-hate, alcoholism and abuse, with an eventual happy ending.
Notes
     This is a dark piece!!!! This was also inspired by the song; Brand
     New Day, by Ryan Star. :)
See the end of the work for more notes
***** Dream *****
                                    “Dream,
                                Send me a sign,
                             Turn back the clock,
                              Give me some time,
                             I need to break out,
                               Make a new name,
                             Let’s open our eyes,
                            It’s a brand new day.”
===============================================================================
                                        
                                        
                                        
He’s sleeping in his bed, peacefully—oblivious to the world around him. He’s
happy. He’s free. He doesn’t have to think about the world, or his worries. He
controls what happens in his dream.
The corners of his mouth crease. He’s dreaming about a club filled with women,
dressed in all sorts of lewd clothing—only for his viewing pleasure.
Nothing could touch him in his dreams. He had nothing to fear. If anything
tried to enter his dreams, he’d simply put up a wall.
No one trespassed in his dreams.
They were his, and his alone.
He didn’t move as the door creaked open, a shadow manifesting against the
moonlit wall. It looks frightened; unsure; scared, as if it didn’t want to be
there, but it’s being forced to. It has no choice but to stand there in the
doorway, looming and staring at the dream-bound body on the bed.
A hesitant foot steps forward—skin becoming clear. It’s human. That much is
clear. It didn’t wish to be here. That is also clear.
Nervous energy coated the atmosphere. It fails to stir the man sleeping on the
bed, unaware of the presence moving closer towards him.
It stands at the side of his bed—finally finding the courage to move closer,
become more intimate. A shaky hand pulls the covers off his form, exposing his
naked body completely, a proud member straining against a tanned navel, almost
leaking—begging for attention.
The figures tongue peaks guiltily through its lips, ashamed.
It drops the covers from its hands, suddenly self-conscious.
There is no coming back from this now. It’s here. It’s been brought to this
spot. It has to do this if it wants to stop thinking about what it might be
like to hold the man’s warm penis in its hand and lead it to a healthy orgasm.
To taste the essence from his glory, savor and swallow it.
To ride it, even, for hours upon end, never stopping for a break, as it would
surely only get one chance.
Would the man stay unconscious for that long? Would he be able to reveal all
his fantasies in one night? Would the man hate him if he woke up? Would he
continue? Would he snap and abuse him? Would he never speak to him again?
Would he. . . Abandon him?
Its eyes shifted to the awake organ throbbing, its head knocking against the
heated skin of the beautiful specimen snoozing soundlessly.
It must do this.
And it does.
Tentatively, it takes a whole of the heavy girth, stroking experimentally. It
elicits a satisfied noise from the owner, urging its confidence. It’s doing
well. The vessel likes this! He’s not kicking it away! He’s not lashing out!
He’s lying there, in a world of his own, spreading his legs slightly to give it
more room; more access.
The figure goes for it, increasing the pace of its strokes—making sure not to
apply too much pressure. It didn’t want to hurt the handsome man. It respects
and adores this man. Never would it wish pain upon him, and it would hate to
see as much as a wrinkle of distress on his gorgeous face.
It smiles shyly when the man’s breathing picks up, his hips involuntarily
bucking into the steady grip around his member, provoking an improved rhythm
between them.
Slowly, it moves, settling in between the unmindful bodies legs. It sends an
apologetic smile towards closed eyes—genuinely sorry for what it’s about to do.
Apologies made, it dives down, takes ahold of the base to still the blood-
filled penis before taking it into its mouth.
Previously asleep eyes crack open, disappointed that his dream was over. He
feels a sensation between his legs—a sensation that he enjoys and knows all too
well. He grins to himself, thinking that one of the ladies in the motel must
have spotted him earlier and stalked him to his room, then waited for him to
fall asleep.
While that thought is a bit creepy, he’s more than happy for them to work his
prize-winning dick. He lifts his head and frowns. She’s still clothed, whoever
the hell she is.
Without saying a word, the handsome man turns on the bedside lamp, ready to see
how much game he really had, when he didn’t even have to chat the girl up to
get her to sleep with him.
What he sees confuses him. He can only really make out the head, since she
clearly decided to pull the covers over her back. He mentally shrugs, enjoying
the shortness of her hair, and the slender parts of her body.
She’s good, whoever she is; working her mouth on his penis just the way he
likes it. He bites back a moan after a particularly loud and spectacular suck.
She has skills, he’ll give her that.
Curious now to see who the girl is, he grabs her hair and lifts her head up.
“What the fuck? Sam?” he questions, jumbled.
Stunning blue eyes stare back at him.
Eyes that belong to his sixteen year old brother.
Eyes that should never see him naked.
Eyes that held so much admiration for him.
Eyes that, at the same time, scared the shit out of him.
Sam wieps the pre-cum from his bottom lip, his expression guilty. He feels
dirty; ashamed; unwanted and sorry. He never wanted this to happen. He wishes
he could take it all back. He loves his big brother, but he shouldn’t love him
like this.
“Dean, I. . . I’m so. . .” the boy stutters, forcing back the urge to finish
what he started—his mouth drooling for more of his brothers still hard member.
Dean’s face displays shock, and that’s all. There may be some fear in the mix.
He wasn’t disgusted, for some reason unknown to him. He should be. He should be
revolted by such a thing. They were brothers and this is wrong in every sense
of the word.
He did the only thing he could think of. He smacks his brother clean across the
face.
Sam falls to the floor, not even bothering to try and support himself. He knows
what he did is wrong. He knows that he’ll never be forgiven for what he has
done. He knows that Dean will abandon him for this act of vulgarity. He knows
they can never come back from this.
Gingerly, Dean pulls the covers back over himself and points to the door. “Get
the fuck out of my room, Sam. I won’t tell you twice,” he snaps, a feeling of
guilt already washing over him for snapping at his brother.
Practically lifeless, Sam adheres to the command. He picks himself up off the
floor and leaves the room, a river of tears ongoing down his crushed face.
Dean sits there, naked under the covers and remaining hard. He doesn’t
understand why he didn’t go soft the second he realized his brother had been
sucking his dick. He’ll never understand. He still feels horrible for slapping
the younger Winchester.
What more could he have done?
Beaten the shit out of him?
Made Sam fear him for all eternity?
He’d of done of that if it were any random guy pleasuring his cock—he wouldn’t
stand for it. He was not a homophobe by any means, but he would probably react
that way in that type of situation, without even thinking.
Maybe that made him a bad person?
 
Maybe it-
===============================================================================
 
Dean snapped awake, a large breath leaving him. He panted listlessly, trying to
get some air back in his lungs. He felt rotten and cold. What the hell was that
dream about? Why was Sam in it? Why couldn’t he wake up earlier?
What the fuckwas wrong with him?
 
***** Send Me a Sign *****
Chapter Summary
     Dean can't sleep, and he gets a present from Sam--a bracelet. Is it a
     sign?
Chapter Notes
     Short chapter ahead. Setting the mood and stuff, you understand. o_o
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
                                    “Dream,
                                Send me a sign,
                             Turn back the clock,
                              Give me some time,
                             I need to break out,
                               Make a new name,
                             Let’s open our eyes,
                            It’s a brand new day.”
The next day, he didn’t look at his brother.
The next night, he didn’t sleep.
He couldn’t. He was too afraid that if he shut his eyes for a moment of rest,
that dream would resurface, and he would be painfully aware of the
consequences.
There has to be something psychologically wrong with him to find enjoyment in
thoughts such as those. Normal older brothers never strayed to indecent dreams
of their younger brother. It’s their duty to protect the young, not do thatto
them.
What would their father say if he knew?
What would Sam say if heknew?
He’s a freak of nature and he deserves time in jail for his sick thoughts
alone. That is how he felt about this situation: wrong; disgusting—nothing but
a parasite.
His eyes betray him and close. They’re blood shot. Dark circles paint the
undercarriages, accentuating his lack of sleep. All he needs is a ten minute
snooze, and then he will be fine.
Sam’s petal-soft lips connect with his own, binding the two brothers.
He immediately comes back to reality. He can’t risk going to sleep anymore, for
he hadn’t been asleep for more than a minute before his dreams turned
incestuous.
What is he going to do with himself?
If he were to suddenly run away, they would get worried and come looking for
him, with questions as to why he ran away in the first place.
They needed him here.
He needed to be with them.
They felt safe with each other, and could trust no one else.
That’s exactly how it is in their line of work.
Hunters have a lack of trust that stems on sociopathic.
They live with it, though, as all they need is each other and the hunt.
A knock comes from the door. Dean’s head turns towards it, praying to anyone
that is listening that it isn’t Sammy. He can’t deal with seeing him right now.
He doesn’t know what he might do.
“Yeah?” he replies confidently.
The door opens and a disheveled Sam walks in, clearly having just got out of
the shower. Dean swallows the lump forming in his throat and beats his thoughts
into submission.
The water falling from the shower head onto Sam’s naked form, dripping through
the ridges under his arms, pouring down his toned chest, swimming to the bottom
of his abdomen-
“What do you want, Sam?”
Dean has to keep this brief. He has no idea how he can take control of his
thoughts and feelings, and how long he can keep up a wall of calmness before it
breaks.
Sam takes a few steps in to the room.
His brother wants to tell him to stay where he is, and that he’ll be safer
there. He feels as though he’s a monster who should be kept from the public
eye.
He doesn’t, however. Sam walks to the foot of his bed and grins, his hands
tightly gripping something behind his back.
Dean is curious. What is Sam keeping from him? And why does he look so happy
all of a sudden?
“Happy twenty-first birthday, Dean!” he beams. Sam is usually nose-deep in a
book, so it’s nice for him to be excited for a change, and especially for him.
That may cause more bad than good right now.
A present is presented in front of him. It’s in a box that Dean does not
recognize. He slowly reaches for it, shuddering when their fingers make
contact. He shrugs it off, prying the lid off the box.
Inside the box is what looks to be a bracelet.
It’s brown, with writing on it, and it appears to be handmade with rope.
Sam calls for his attention, revealing that he too has the same bracelet around
his wrist.
It isn’t girly. It’s actually kind of cool.
Dean puts it on immediately and tells Sam that it’s great, thanking him. Sam
tells him to pay close attention to the writing. He reads it, his eyes
softening.
Nothing Can Come Between Us.
A need to hug and kiss the younger Winchester almost overwhelms him, but he
manages to control himself. He touches the bracelet instead, already
appreciating its existence on his wrist.
“This means that no matter what happens, we’ll always be brothers!” Sam smiles
enthusiastically. He thought Dean might give him a hug or something. He’s gone
to a lot of effort to make those bracelets.
Maybe he should just initiate it?
He does so, kneeling on the bed and reaching his arms out for Dean. The older
brother reluctantly accepts the hug, which causes a bit of upset on Sam’s part.
He says nothing, however, mentioning that he’ll make the birthday man breakfast
in bed when he wakes up.
It is three in the morning. Sam stayed up preparing Dean’s present. He wanted
to be the first to get a smile out of the man on his big day, which he did, and
for that he is truly grateful.
“I love it, Sam. Thank you.”
Sam grins despite himself, releasing his brother from the hold, who seems oddly
comforted by the action. He tries not to let it get to him.
Telling his brother he should get some rest, Sam moves to leave the bedroom,
intent on pondering this event in his bed.
A nervous hand stops him.
Dean sighs wearily. “This means a lot, really, Sam. To be honest, I’d like
nothing more than to show ya’ how much I appreciate it, but I can’t. You won’t
understand,” he informs, his tone uneasy and full of regret.
As Sam exits the room, he reminds Dean to look at the writing on the bracelet
once again.
He does so.
Nothing Can Come Between Us.
Dean closes his eyes, thinking about how happy Sam was when he gave him the
present, and how sad he looked when Dean hesitated to return his hold.
Is this a sign?
Ic nothing can come between them, would Sam reject him? Does he feel the same
way?
He’s old enough to. He’s still underage for the ideas Dean’s sick mind had in
store for him. The urge to throw himself out the window welled up inside his
gut, his legs itching to run toward it at full force, barreling through the
glass--
He calms himself with a breath, grudgingly relaxing into his bed--his head
nestling on the pillow. He regards the bracelet one more time before he falls
asleep, unable to help himself.
Nothing Can Come Between Us.
Somehow, he questions that.
 
Chapter End Notes
     Thanks for the comments and the kudos, and thank you for reading! :D
***** Turn Back the Clock *****
Chapter Summary
     Dean does something he regrets and turns to the bottle.
Chapter Notes
     This is going to be a DARK chapter. It's not sweet. You'll understand
     if you read it.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
                                    “Dream,
                                Send me a sign,
                             Turn back the clock,
                              Give me some time,
                             I need to break out,
                               Make a new name,
                             Let’s open our eyes,
                            It’s a brand new day.”
===============================================================================
                                        
Sam needs to stop what he’s doing.
This isn’t fair.
Why is he doing this to him? Didn’t he make it clear that he can’t show Sam how
much he appreciates the bracelet? It was yesterday that the event happened! Why
did Sam have to be oblivious half the time? How did he not realize that what
he’s doing is driving Dean crazy?
Sam claimed he lost the remote earlier and has been looking for it the past ten
minutes. The agonizing part is that he’s crawling around the couch and the bed
searching for it, on his hands and knees, subconsciously wiggling his ass. Dean
begs himself every second not to look—not to think those thoughts.
A beer or a glass of whisky has been constantly at his lips since he started.
It only distracted him away from the sight for a very short time, however. He
knows how close he is to taking advantage of his brothers position and he feels
disgusting. A thousand showers could not wash away how nauseating he felt.
“Have you seen it anywhere, Dean? You know, instead of sitting there drinking
yourself to death, you could help?” Sam mumbled above the pillow, reaching his
arm down the couch. Why did Sam have to be this developed for his age? Dean
swears the world must be out to get him or something. He’s being punished for
having such incriminating thoughts about his own blood. He deserved it, to a
degree—it turned him on more than anything else in history, but the painful
truth he could never have what he wanted tortured him every nanosecond.
“Trust me, you’re better off me drinking,” he replies quickly, his control
dangerously close to slipping. Sam shifts to all fours after he pulls his arm
from down the couch. It’s only for a second, however Dean’s thoughts
immediately stray to what he doesn’t want to think about. “Sam, get off the
damn couch!” he demands, for Sam’s benefit.
Dangerous is going to turn critical in less than five minutes if Sam kept this
up.
“What’s wrong?”
“Everything.”
“Are you okay?”
A staggered breath left the older brother, the alcohol starting to jumpstart
his confidence. The drinking may have backfired on him. This is not good. He
needs to get out of this room or he’ll-
“Dean, talk to me, please?”
Sam is standing right next to him. His hand is on Dean’s shoulder, trying to
engage him in conversation. Dean’s eyes darken, provoking alarm bells to ring
for Sam—warning and danger signs joining the obnoxious sound.
“Dean?” A sliver of fear wracks Sam’s less developed frame. Dean stares deeply
at him, but it’s not his brothers eyes. They have no emotion in them. Dean’s
hand reaches out and grabs Sam’s arm, shoving him into the couch. Sam cries out
at the pain, falling onto the couch.
Before he can begin to move away, Dean pins him down with his knee, pressing
the condensed muscles into his stomach. Sam’s back attempts to arch in an
attempt to relinquish the force. He doesn’t succeed. Dean’s soulless-looking
eyes lock with Sam’s lips, then move to the creamy skin of his neck.
Famished teeth find his neck, sinking into the young skin.
Sam’s eyes crinkle, displaying his discomfort. Dean’s knee slips between his
legs, rubbing against the younger Winchester’s crotch.
“Dean, no! Ah-what are you doing? Please stop!”
His cries go unheard by the influenced older brother. The unwelcome knee
doesn’t stop its scraping against Sam’s covered privates, nor do the teeth halt
their biting.
“Dad’s not here. Shh, baby, it’s okay,” he assures, sliding the adolescents
shirt up, padding his fingers along the smooth skin. He shudders, lost in the
feeling of his little brother.
His fingers work to unbutton Sam’s jeans, easily pulling them under his ass.
Sam pleads for Dean to stop again, reminding him they’re brothers.
“Don’ worry, Sammy, you’ll enjoy it, I promise! I’ll make it so good for you!”
The large percentage of alcohol the older man consumed during Sam’s frantic
search for the remote hit him all at once. The thoughts he focused on mixed
with the influence of the alcohol. At this point, Dean has no idea what he’s
doing.
“Make what good? What are you going to do? P-Please? Don’t do what it is you’re
thinking, Dean!”
“Baby, baby, calm down. It’ll be amazing, I promise! The best sex ever, okay?”
The alarm bells that were there before switched to fire alarms. Sam struggled
to get away from Dean, punching at his chest, trying to knock the wind out of
him so he can find a moment to escape.
“There’s no need for that, Sammy!” Dean insists, harshly gripping small wrists
and holding them above Sam’s head. He undid his belt with one hand, then tied
Sam’s wrists together, grinning at his handy work.
“Please don’t, Dean? You’re my brother!”
Tears stream down pale cheeks, unrelenting.
“I know, baby, I know! But you want this, I can tell, so just relax and enjoy
it. I promised you it’ll be amazing, and it will be!”
Why isn’t Dean listening to him? What’s he talking about? He never said he
wanted this! Dean’s acting like this was the plan from the beginning. Sam’s
terrified. Dean looks dangerous, moving off the couch to pull Sam’s jeans off,
briefly rubbing a spit coated digit against his hole.
Why is he doing this? Can he not see how scared Sam is? Doesn’t he care? Sam
just made him a bracelet yesterday and wished him a happy birthday first! He
was so happy in that moment. Sam had been upset Dean hesitated to hug him, but
he never could have imagined this could be the reason for that neglect!
“Gotta get ya’ nice and slick for my dick, yeah?”
Sam’s tears were endless. He couldn’t comprehend anything that was going on. He
tries to roll off the couch, but Dean keeps him there with his knee again.
“Stop struggling, Sammy! We can do role play some other time. I’m making you
feel special tonight!”
His brother is completely delusional! He’s thinking of this like it’s some
great moment for them and this has happened before!
“Dean, why are you doing this?” he begs again, pleading with Dean to untie his
hands.
“No, you’re being bratty, and I’m not dealing with that,” he replies, pouring
lubricant onto his fingers. Immediately, he forces two inside his brother, who
goes red and shouts at the pain, kicking his legs out.
His heel catches Dean on the face, but he acts as if it’s nothing but a fly.
Sam pushes himself away from the intruding fingers. Dean yanks him back in
position, digging around inside to find the spot that he’s confident will
change this situation. He’s read enough about this stuff to have a good idea.
“Ah!” Sam cries, a twinge of pleasure in the sound.
“There it is, Sammy! See? It’s all good, just relax, okay?”
He does because he’s been begging for the past however long it’s been for Dean
to stop what he’s doing.
Dean removes his fingers and unzips his jeans. He grabs Sam and flips him on
his stomach, placing him on his knees in front of the couch. “Yeah, that’s hot,
baby! This is gonna be so good. I want to fuck you so bad!” Sam’s face breaks
out in pain indications, as Dean unceremoniously slides in, complimenting how
easy Sam’s taking his dick today.
Silent tears continue to fall, but he cries no more.
Why? What did he do to deserve this?
Dean pulls back and thrusts in, starting a frantic pace. His balls slap loudly
against Sam’s premium. Sam feels sick. He almost throws up on the couch in that
moment, but he remembers what their father said.
What would John say? Why isn’t he here? Why hasn’t he gotten back from the hunt
yet and saved him? Saved him from the one person that Sam thought would never
hurt him intentionally. Some part of Sam’s mind processed that this person
isn’t Dean. Dean would never in a million years do this to him.
It’s still happening, though. This is not a dream. This is reality. His
brother, who he worships more than anyone else in the world is raping him.
That is the reality here.
And what hurts Sam the most is that this means somewhere deep inside Dean,
wherever he may be, his brother thought about this before. Perhaps not rape,
but taking advantage of his younger brother.
“Ah, yeah! Sammy, you feel so good! Better than any girl or anything! I love
you so much, baby boy!” he unconsciously rambles, pistoning into his brother’s
tight heat over and over, his eyes rolling back into his head as the tight ring
slides over the head of his dick.
Dean pants behind Sam, having been pounding the younger Winchester for ten
minutes now. Sam’s sore. He’s in terrible amounts of pain. His hole is red raw.
Dean keeps pulling out completely, admiring his handiwork and thrusting back
in, ignoring the look of trauma and something deeper in Sam’s eyes.
He’ll never recover from this.
They’ll never recover from this.
Dean won’t remember this.
Sam will.
Dean won’t know what happened.
Sam will.
Dean will think they’re okay.
Sam will know otherwise.
“Gonna come, Sammy!” he exclaims, gripping the back of Sam’s long, brown hair.
He pulls him back until he reaches Dean’s face, whose teeth sink into Sam’s
neck, rocking a few more times into the adolescent, until rounds of semen spill
from his dick into Sam’s anal cavern.
He collapses on top of Sam, who does nothing. His face is turned to the side, 
focused solely on the adjoined kitchen and not Dean’s sweet nothings whispered
along his spine.
Each one felt like a slap to the face.
“That’s my boy. You took more than last time! God, I love you so much, Sam!
You’re so beautiful. You’re mine and I want you all to myself!”
Dean’s false affection went on deaf ears.
I used to love you, too. Not like this, but I did.
===============================================================================
 
Dean wakes up in his bed, naked and sticky, with a splitting headache. Well,
his dick felt sticky and gross. The rest of him is fine. He has a quick shower
and leaves his room to find Sam. He sees him in the living room, curled up on
himself.
“Hey, Sammy,” he greets.
The boy flinches, the hairs on his arms standing on end.
“H-hi,” he replies rigidly, not looking at Dean once. The memories of last
night would not leave him. Not even for a second. He felt so filthy and
unnatural, even if he took no part in it—not consensually! He still felt
disgusting.
Dean’s head pangs, a wave of pain hitting him at once. He notices that his belt
and all his clothes are scattered over the living area of the motel, much like
they were in his dream where he ra-
“Sam? Did I-“
“We-we’re not t-talking about this. Pl-please leave me a-alone?”
How could I do such a thing? What kind of a fucking brother am I? I did th-that
to my little brother? I hurt him so much that he can’t even look at me, and he
looks traumatized as shit!
Dean leaves the living room immediately, locking his door and raiding his mini-
refrigerator for alcohol. He snatches a bottle of whisky, twisting the cap off
before downing five shots worth in one.
I am fucking disgusting… I, my Sammy! How the fuck could I do that? Why? I
thought I was keeping it together- I…
His eyes water and tears of deep regret fall.
 
Chapter End Notes
     I've never written rape before... It was hard. And it was scary. I
     cried while writing it. Sorry if I didn't deliver the emotion well,
     though!
***** Give Me Some Time *****
Chapter Summary
     John finds out.
It’s been two weeks since the rape. They’ve barely spent time in each other’s
company. Dean is at the bar most every night. Sam reads like it’s going out of
fashion. John cannot understand what is going on with his two boys. They fought
over the dumbest things sometimes, but they’ve never not been able to speak to
each other because of it.
Sam goes pale at the mention of his brother. John wants to know why. He’s asked
a few times if Dean did anything that he should know about, but Sam just shakes
his head and goes back to reading.
Even if he wanted to interrogate his older son, he’d have to seek him out at
the bar first. He came back drunk as all hell every night, with a new girl on
his arm. They were always gone before John woke up, along with the blond.
He only ever caught sight of him if he asked him along for the hunt, or they
had food to eat at the motel.
Even then, the man would not say a word to him or his brother.
John is pissed. Dean’s his good soldier, who follows orders and puts the job
before his own personal feelings. He couldn’t have him keeping secrets from
him. His mission is to look after his brother, and John would make certain that
he never forgets that.
“Sam, why don’t you go take a step outside for a minute? I just need to talk to
Dean.”
Sam does as he is told immediately, without a look back.
Dean’s blood goes cold when Sam leaves the room. He didn’t want to be in the
same room as his father. If he ended up revealing what he’d done, John would
disown him forever.
John spoke gruffly.
“What’s going on between you and Sammy?”
“Nothing, sir. Why would you think there was?”
“You’re constantly at the bar and he hasn’t said a word since two weeks ago,
that’s why. Don’t take me for a fool, boy! I know something happened and I want
to know what—now!”
John’s serious. He has no time to be messing around with this. He wants
answers.
“Nothing’s happened. Don’t worry about it,” Dean replies, trying to come across
as honest.
John demands that he stop when he grabs his jacket. His son offers a look the
man doesn’t recognize and leaves the motel, heading for the bar.
Once Dean exits, Sammy comes back in and goes back to his reading, taking a
second to thank their father for the food.
Several hours later, the door to the motel slams wide open.
Dean enters, a sick grin on his face.
“Well, well, there’s the little birdy. Isn’t he cute?”
John’s head snaps towards the voice, his eyes going wide when black orbs meet
his vision. His son has been possessed by a demon! He’s quick to grab the
bottle of holy water in his jacket pocket.
Before he can use it, he’s thrown against a wall, held there by the smirking
imitation of his eldest son. “Daddy needs to stay put for a while, okay? My
business is with the quavering little princess over there,” the demon says,
stalking over to the youngest Winchester.
“Oh, Sammy, the things I can see in this melon. So many thoughts of suicide,
regret, and abandonment, all because of that stuff you call the devils juice
and a whole lot of mixed signals.”
He pins Sam up against the wall, holding his face roughly in his hands.
“I have to hand it to your big brother. The way you were crawling around,
swaying that ass, I wouldn’t have lasted more than a minute. I can, however,
see what he was thinking during that time. And he acted on it eventually, just
a lot differently than the fantasy itself.”
Sam’s eyes cloud over with fear. His hands shake around the sturdy wrists of
his brother, who he once felt protected by. Now, all he feels is conflicted.
The man in front of him is his brother, only with a demon renting out his
being. Sam knows this sick bastard is telling the truth.
Dean had thought about him in that way.
And he did act on it.
The admittance of Dean’s thoughts of suicide and abandonment upset him, but
he’s so scarred that all he wants is to be left alone. If that meant Dean
walking away from his life—no longer a constant reminder of that event, he
could live with that.
“You should hear him screaming in here. It’s adorable. ‘If you hurt him, I
swear to God I’ll rip you to pieces’. Just precious, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Who are you?” John snaps.
Dean looks back at the hunter, his smirk malicious.
“You have no business knowing who I am. But you should know this,” he rumbles,
pleased with himself. He turns back to Sam for a moment, breathing in his scent
deeply. He licks his right cheek and grins.
“Dean fucked your son!”
At the announcement, John’s eyes widen. Anger began welling up in his stomach.
He didn’t want to believe that his son could do such a thing to his own
brother. Demons didn’t work this way. They could do a lot more damage than
this, given the right material—physical damage. Mentally messing with someone
is also their style, but this subject has never come up before. With the way
his sons have been acting around each other, he’d be stupid not to think it’s
true.
The demon turns back to Sam once again and winks before its mouth opens and
black smoke flies out of the older brother. It exits through the open door and
Dean falls to the ground, releasing Sam.
Quickly, the brunet runs away from his brother, giving his father a please
don’t do anything to himlook on his way out. John didn’t consider letting this
go for a second.
He picks himself up off the ground, having slid down the wall moments prior. He
watches Dean slowly get up, coughing violently. He’ll be coughing up something
else when John gets through with him.
Dean stands on his own two feet, unsteadily.
He doesn’t stay up for long.
A fist of rage and disappointment connects with his face, sending him hurtling
to the ground. He grabs the inflicted area, pressing the tip of his finger
against the broken skin.
“I’m sorry, Dad.”
John delivers a brutal kick to Dean’s stomach, causing the man to lurch and
expel blood onto the floor.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, boy?”
Another kick.
“That’s your brother! That’s Sammy!”
John grabs Dean’s jacket collar and slams his back against the wall.
“You’re supposed to protect him! Not do stuff like that to him, you monster!”
Dean says nothing as John continuously presses against his bones. He hears a
rib crack, but he ignores it. A dormant side to him relishes it all. He’s being
punished in the proper way for raping his brother. Right now, he wouldn’t care
if John killed him.
He deserves it.
A single tear falls down his face and he says sorry once more.
“You’re sorry? Sorry? Sorry isn’t going to cut it!” John yells and throws Dean
onto the table. The weight of his back snaps it in half. He stops himself from
crying out. John stands over him. “Get the fuck out of here, Dean. I don’t ever
want to see your face again, you understand me?” Dean nods.
He gradually pushes himself to his feet and walks on wobbly legs out of the
motel. He whispers goodbye to Sammy before he leaves, closing the door shut
behind him.
Dean stumbles down the walkway, a psychotic look on his face. He’s been
punished, but it wasn’t enough.
Maybe he’ll die from blood loss?
 
 
***** I Need To Break Out *****
Chapter Summary
     Dean wakes up somewhere unfamiliar. A stranger gives him advice and
     he makes a decision.
Dean wakes up in an unfamiliar place. He’s in a bed—that much is obvious, from
the comfort and the pillow keeping his head risen. The light from the sun is
gleaming in through a window, so it must be morning by now.
The question is, how the hell did he get here? Where the hell is he? And why
did someone help him in the first place? He didn’t deserve to be treated with
any such kindness.
No, he’s a monster.
“Finally waking up?”
Dean snaps up to a sitting position, ignoring the burning pain in his sides. He
observes the poorly wrapped bandages around his body and arms, narrowly
spotting the plaster just under his eye.
“You were in pretty bad shape,” the person continues, bringing a tray of food,
coupled with a fresh glass of water over to the injured man. “I’m not going to
ask you how you got like that, so don’t be alarmed.”
Who is this guy? Why did he help him? He didn’t ask for anyone’s assistance! He
just wants to rot outside like the piece of trash he is.
“Why did you help me?” Dean spits, throwing the covers off himself. He clutches
his stomach as he tries to get up from the bed. “I never asked to be saved. You
should have just left me there to bleed to death—I fuckin’ deserve it!”
“Why is that?”
Dean’s eyes turn cold. “Look, dude. Thanks for the food, the hospitality or
whatever, but I don’t deserve this, okay?” he retorts, standing to his feet.
His eyes flick over the room in search of his belongings.
“Your clothes are in the wash. They were soaked with blood. Like I said, I’m
not going to ask you what happened—not if you don’t feel like talking.”
That isn’t good news for the blond. He’s not going to disgrace the world with
his body. He would rather die in his clothes. It’s not a matter of dignity… Not
at all…
“It seems to me like your running from something.”
“So what if I am?”
The stranger nudges the tray toward him, finally having set it on a table. He
passes Dean the water in hopes that he’ll drink it. He noticed Dean’s voice
faltering earlier—possibly from the slight strangulation he received.
Dean tries to tell him he doesn’t want any of it again, but this time his
stomach yells at him for turning down such good looking food. He indulges,
albeit reluctantly. Oddly, he’s not too uncomfortable with this unfamiliar man
asking him more questions about his situation. To keep his family out of the
loop, he changes some words.
Carefully, he explains what he’s guilty of. He’s surprised that the guy doesn’t
flinch at all from his details of how he took advantage of someone
innocent—someone dear to him. He leaves out the part about it being his younger
brother. Dean’s not sure he can handle even rolling that name off his tongue
right now.
In response, the stranger tells him that it’s the alcohol that drove him to do
that, and that he didn’t remember doing anything until he had been reminded by
the victim? Dean answers yes, and the other moves on to speculate that there
must have been an unintentional provocation to trigger suppressed feelings like
those.
Dean doesn’t quite understand what he’s referring to. All Sam had been doing
was crawling around the sofa on all fours looking for the remote, while the
older brother took sip after sip, focusing his eyes away from the curve of
Sammy’s ass.
Can that be seen as a provocation on Sam’s part?
That little display hacked into his subconscious and brought forward his
suppressed feelings for his baby brother?
That’s absurd.
“What are you saying, dude?”
“You did take advantage of that person. That much is true. But you didn’t even
remember it happening. You must have strong feelings if it was so easy for you
to be influenced to do something like that. I’m not justifying your actions.
Rape isn’t justifiable. I’m simply telling you that you aren’t completely at
fault here. And the man that did this to you, was he involved with the person
you forced yourself on?”
Hearing those words stung. Forced on. Rape—took advantage.Each word felt like a
knife piercing through his heart, and wilting away his sanity.
“Take some time. Figure out what you want—think about their feelings as well.
You said they asked you never to talk about it again—“
“But he flinches when I’m around him! Every time he looks at me, I can see fear
in his eyes… It shouldn’t be like that! He was innocent, and I took that away
from him… I should be in jail for the things I’ve done!” he yells, punching the
wall and splitting the skin open. The blood seeps through the gaps in his
fingers, falling with the fresh tears spilling from guilty eyes.
“I never wanted to hurt him—never. He’s everything to me!”
The stranger watches in astonishment. He feels sorry for this man. Last night,
he spotted him passed out on the ground, wounds littering his body—broken. It’s
not often that a good Samaritan comes along and helps out a person in need. The
boy looked like trouble, but he felt sympathy for him, and so he carried the
unconscious man to his house.
After patching up all the wounds, he noticed a numerous amount of scars that
weren’t fresh. They had been there for a few weeks, he assumed. There were
blade marks along his arms, down his legs—even across his back.
He hadn’t been sure if they were self-inflicted or if someone else had
administered them. Nevertheless, they were no less dangerous.
“If you never intended to act that way, you should do something about it. I
can’t imagine that they will be pleased if they find out you oft yourself
because of a mistake. There’s always a chance to work things out, kid.”
Dean glances at the guy. What is he talking about? There’s no way Sammy will
ever forgive him for what he’s done! And he can’t go back. John demanded that
he never return to them. Honestly, Dean didn’t blame his father. He isn’t
deserving of their forgiveness. Most likely, he won’t be forgiven at all. He’ll
continue to spiral out of control until he one day takes the plunge and falls
on his sword.
John will be happy.
He’ll have received compensation for Dean’s disgusting behavior.
“Then again, keep thinking like you’re the worst thing to have ever existed,
and you’ll find yourself in a ditch somewhere in no time. Take my advice, don’t
take my advice. At the end of the day, it’s up to you what you choose to
do—just think about them, and not just yourself.”
===============================================================================
 
Hours have passed. Dean’s clothes finished washing several minutes ago. He’s
now ready to leave. He’s not sure what his next move will be, but he’s probably
going to steal a car and find somewhere to hide out.
He’ll start hunting on his own.
He has the skills to do it. And he can be of great help to many people. Maybe
he’ll run into his brother and father along the way? He doesn’t know. If great
minds think alike, it shouldn’t be too long before that happens.
Before he starts up hunting, he’ll have to collect his supplies. A few years
back, he started building up his own storage of guns and detailed books on
every son of a bitch that goes bump in the night.
John has no idea that Dean has been planning to begin his own hunting business
when he turns twenty one. It’s not too far away, so this isn’t necessarily such
a bad thing.
Dean’s ready to leave. He’s ready to get out there. He’s ready to do some good
deeds to maybe one day repent for his sins. He’ll miss Sammy more than anything
in the world, and a part of his life will always be missing without his bundle
of joy.
His Sammy…
***** And Make A New Name *****
Chapter Summary
     A new start.
Chapter Notes
     I'm doing my best at the moment to start finishing stuff because I
     feel bad for them being here for so long. If it helps, I got
     something I hadn't updated for two years, finished in three days, so,
     yay? XD
     Anyway, enjoy. :x
     It's only a short one. This one doesn't really need much.
                           And make a new name. . .
                                        
Dean did his best to cover his tracks after that day. With every part of
America he traveled to, he made sure that not a trace of his identity was left
over. Starting over was hard for him. He had to reinvent himself to the finest
degree. No longer could he go by the last name Winchester, but, rather, he
adopted Singer into his last name. Bobby had been more understanding than John
of what went down. He had been furious at first, and had gone as far as to aim
a Shotgun right at Dean's head after the words left his mouth. At that point,
Dean hadn't wanted to do anything to stop him. If Bobby had wanted to kill him,
then that meant that he had no one else left to turn to in this world, and he
may as well have just given up right there and then.
Bobby had dropped his aim, though, shaking his head. Dean hadn't tried to say
anything, knowing that it would be on deaf ears at the time. He knew in that
moment that he had to give Bobby the space that he needed to process what he
had learned. As expected, it had taken a long time for Bobby to come around. He
told Dean that he didn't want to hear about what happened from that point
onwards, and even though he had been inebriated at the time, it did not excuse
his actions. Dean understood completely and promised that he would never touch
alcohol from that point onwards. 
Dean had to find other ways to cope. He hadn't wanted to risk accepting that
poison into his body, knowing what sort of effect that it can have on him in
the long run. He knew that it wasn't likely that he would run into Sam--that
didn't change his feelings at all towards any form of that shit. It had been
his own fault for developing a dependency for it, anyway. For all he knew, it
could have been what fueled his dark dreams and desires, leading him astray. 
Once Bobby thought calmly and clearly about the events that transpired, he
revealed to Dean that regardless of what happened, John shouldn't have attacked
him like that. Dean hears it in Bobby's tone each time John calls to ask for
information on a monster hunt. Dean's not sure if he agrees with Bobby or not.
At the time, he felt like he deserved it. At the time, he also could have
died. 
Sometimes he questions why he's still alive. Why he's even still driving cross-
country, seeking out the bottom-dweller's of the world, taking them out one by
one, and then moving onto the next venture. He used to take a lot of
satisfaction out of killing those monsters. Now, he's not sure which one of
them is the monster. 
Dean regrets what he did to Sam every day. Thoughts constantly cloud his mind
of his wrongdoings, and he does whatever it is that he can to vanquish them,
whether that be pressing his foot on the gas pedal that much harder, or
stopping the car abruptly to get out and run until his heart is pounding
against his ribcage. Anything to stop those thoughts from attacking him. He
knows that he'll never be able to forget what he did. He also knows that he'll
never be able to forgive himself for what he did--not that he ever should.
Someone like him doesn't deserve forgiveness. Someone like Sam never deserved
to have a brother as fucked up as he is. 
The irony hits Dean every now and then that Sam used to worship the ground that
he walked on, and he turned out to be the demon in the night. It makes him feel
sick to his stomach. If that dream had never happened, maybe it wouldn't have
ended up like this. If he hadn't turned to the bottle, maybe it wouldn't have
ended up like this. Dean has no clue what to think anymore. All he does is keep
moving, hoping that he never runs into John or Sam. He can't bear to see that
look of unbridled fear on Sam's face. . . Knowing that he's the one that put it
there all those years ago. 
He still has the urge to make sure that Sam is doing okay, though. That never
goes away. And he fights it tooth and nail every time. He doesn't deserve to
see how Sam's doing. He doesn't deserve to be in his presence. Not after what
he did. Not after what he put Sam through. . . Not after he single-handedly
destroyed the relationship that they had together. Unfortunately, he can't help
but miss those times. He can't help himself from thinking about the smiles Sam
used to give him, the ones that seemed as though they were reserved purely for
his eyes only. Sam didn't smile much around John. Many a time, Sam would
confide in Dean about how John scared him because of the lives that they live.
Dean felt the same way. It was equal admiration and fear, but that's just how
John kept them in line. Maybe that was John's way of maintaining their constant
devotion to his cause. 
Bobby has made it easier for Dean. Every now and then, he'll let Dean know that
Sam's doing okay. Bobby knows because they swing by from time to time if they
happened to be in the area, and Bobby has something that they need for the
current case that they're working on. Dean makes himself scarce in those times,
hiding out in the basement, keeping the noise down to the minimum, forcing
himself to stay put, no matter how anxious his body is to close the distance
between him and Sam. He's undeserving and he knows it. Nothing he can say or do
will ever change what he did that one time, and he'll have to suffer the
torture of never being able to lay eyes on Sam again because of it. 
Right now, Dean's on the road, heading towards a no-name town south of North
Dakota. He caught wind of a possible Vampire nest using the locals as their
blood supply from Bobby, when he had been on his way back from taking care of a
Wendigo in Palm Springs, of all places. He has an idea in mind of how he's
going to get the information that he needs to track down their nest, but he
won't get there for a few more days. Dean had said to Bobby that he might be
better off finding someone that's closer to the mark, but Bobby told him that
as odd as it sounds, he is the closest that he has on speed dial. Dean didn't
argue anymore after that, knowing that Bobby would have thought things through
before making his move. Dean's not so great at that himself, but he's learning
a lot from being around the seasoned hunter.
At some point, Dean is going to need to stop at a motel for the night. It's no
good risking getting knocked off the road because he's too tired to focus on
what might be around him. He spots a sign that says the next Motel will come
into view within the next one hundred miles or so. He still has a way to go
before he reaches that point, so he may as well entertain himself with some
classic rock. He'll sing along to the lyrics as they play through, needing the
distraction from the constant memories plaguing him like a never ending
infection. It doesn't matter if they're good or bad. Thinking about them is
just going to draw his focus away, and he has to commit himself to a possible
Vampire nest hunt in his near future. A trip down memory lane will stall him
for far too long, and he's already looking at about another three days of
travel. Three days means more victims. Unless he's lucky, which he never is. 
As Metalica blasts through his car radio, Dean taps a beat on the steering
wheel, singing in sync with James Hetfield, while doing his absolute best to
forget about just why he loves this type of music, and just who it associates
him with. 
Dean gets through about ten orso songs before he has to shut the music off. As
if by chance, it's just as a sign appears off to the side of him that says that
Motel he's planning on spending the night at is just up ahead, and soon he can
put his head down.
Dean does as soon as he's parked up, paid for one night, and closed the door
behind him on his room for the night. He throws himself on the bed, not
bothering to take his clothes off. Right now, all he wants to do is sleep. He
wants to sleep and forget all the memories coming at him from all different
angles. He just wants to see darkness. Just black. Nothing else. No smiles of a
young man he once knew and cherished--none of it. 
Just total darkness. 
Eventually, he gets it. 
 
***** Let's Open Our Eyes *****
Chapter Summary
     Dean gets set up on that hunt. Sam is the one behind it.
Chapter Notes
     The last one is after this. :D
     I'll be able to tick this one off as well. Please do let me know if
     I've completely ruined this for you. . . I mean, I did start it a
     long time ago, and I'm mostly just running on instinct at this point.
     . . But I don't want you to be dissatisfied, so let me know. ;D
                           Let's open our eyes. . . 
                                        
Dean's starting to feel like this Vampire hunt that he's supposed to be on is a
lost cause. Everyone he's spoken to has looked at him like the information he
received from Bobby is total bullshit. After his sixth rejection, he decided to
just have a look around for himself. He's pretty good at choosing where
Vampires might hide out. A storage facility is a good place for them. The
sun doesn't get in because there aren't any cracks--and even if there was one,
it would be minor, which is nothing for them. He also searched warehouses, old
cabins in the woods, and came up empty. There was absolutely no sign at all
that a Vampire is, or ever has been here. Dean couldn't quite believe that
Bobby could steer him wrong since the seasoned hunter's instinct has so far
always been completely on point. He's called Bobby a few times to get his take
on it and was told that all the intel that he had in front of him seemed legit.
Dean expressed that no one else agreed with that, but Bobby assured him that
there must be something there. 
Not wanting to give up so easily, Dean hit up some other spots. He's on day
four now of his investigation here. So far, he hasn't gotten a whiff of
anything linking to the Supernatural, other than something fishy that had been
dealt with by another hunter several years ago. That had nothing to do with a
Vamp nest, so Dean chose not to look any further into it. Also, when he called
to ask about it, Bobby said that the case was closed for good on that one. 
Dean can't help feeling as though something bigger is happening here. Not in
the Supernatural sense of the word. Something else. Something different.
Something that he's just not quite getting right at this moment. Could it be
that he's been set up? That seems highly unlikely. He's sure that every case
that he's handled has been just that. Handled. So why would someone or
something summon him here? Dean dismisses the thought, on the grounds of it
being ludicrous to even entertain. Dean's not aware of any enemies that he
might have that aren't already six feet under.
Deciding to let the subject go, for now, Dean settles in his Hotel room for
another night. He hadn't planned on being here this long, so he's had to chip
into some of the other accounts that he has access to. There's not much for him
to do here other than take a shower and go to bed, so he heads in the direction
of the bathroom, grabbing a towel from the designated draws before he goes.  
When he's all showered and adorning one of the fluffy white towels, Dean exits
the bathroom, leaving the door open. It takes him a few seconds to realize that
he's not alone in his room. Momentary panic sinks in before he allows his
instincts to take over. Just as he's about to run for his gun, the figure calls
out to him, using his name. His real name. Not the fake one he used at the
reception. This tall, built person, knows his real name, and this could be
really bad.
"How do you know who I am?" Dean demands, cataloguing each movement the man
makes, looking for any signs that he might be planning to attack him. With his
size, he may be hard to handle, so Dean needs to keep his guard up.  
"I'm sorry, uh. . . This was the only way to get you to come," the man says,
looking awkward and nervous as he takes a seat on the bed, eyes respectfully on
the other side of the room.  
"What the hell are you talking about? Who are you?" Dean snaps, catching his
thrown sweatpants on instinct. He doesn't show his gratitude as he slips into
them under his towel, a puzzled expression betraying his puffed out chest as he
grips the lobbed shirt a few seconds after. Once he's fully dressed, the man
averts his eyes from the pale blue wallpaper, focusing them on Dean instead.
"So, you hand me my clothes after you break into my room, reveal to me that you
set this whole thing up, and now you're expecting a thank you?" 
"What? No. Uh, look. . . This is a little awkward for me," the man admits,
shielding his eyes with his fringe. "I just don't really know what to say now
that I'm here."
"You could start with your name. That would be very helpful," Dean suggests,
although it sounds more like an order as he takes a step closer, wanting to
feel bigger than the large man sat on his bed. 
"It's me, Dean. . ."
Time stops for Dean in that instant. That me isn't just a word. It holds the
foundation of his life in the past. It holds the soul of a boy he once knew. A
boy that he cherished with all of his heart. A boy that he should have kept at
arm's length. It instills in Dean the memory of his little brother kneeling
before his beaten up body, checking for signs of a concussion and asking
questions to identify whether or not he's aware of their surroundings. Dean
knows that voice. He knows that hair. . . Longer now, possibly hard to tame. He
knows those eyes. . . That nose. . . Those moles. . . Those dimples--He knows
that the man sitting on his bed is his little brother Sam, and he suddenly has
the crushing desire to run and never look back again. 
Dean can't do this. Sam can't be here. Doesn't he remember what happened
between them? Doesn't he remember what Dean did to him? Nausea crashes into
Dean at the memory of those shattered eyes, no longer filled with love and
devotion to a certain older brother, replaced with fear and anxiety--constant
anxiety caused by him. What is Sam doing here? What does he want? Why would he
want to come near him? Sam should be terrified. Sam should be holding a gun to
his face while he does this, not resting his ass on the foot of the Hotel bed. 
He can't bring himself to say Sam's name. He doesn't deserve to. He will never
deserve to. Years ago, Dean resigned himself to never seeing Sam's face again,
no matter how sad and alone that made him feel. Every fiber of his being is in
agreement that he hasn't earned the right to lay eyes on him for the rest of
his life. He's not fit to be around Sam. 
"You need to leave," Dean intones, not willing to look up from the ground that
he dropped his eyes to the second he figured out just who he's talking to.
"Please. . . Get out."
There's movement from the bed, but Dean dare not move. "I know you've been
living with Bobby."
That makes sense. He's here as a courtesy to let Dean know that he didn't move
far enough away. Being at Bobby's means that there's a possibility for them to
run into each other. Sam must be doing this behind John's back because there's
no way that the man would let them meet in person otherwise. Message received.
As soon as he gets back to Bobby's, he'll pack up his shit and leave. It's the
least he can do.
"Before you assume, I'm not hunting with Dad anymore. To be honest, I haven't
seen him in a while, not after we had a fight. We were fighting about you,
Dean. . . I told him that I wanted to get in contact with you, and he flipped.
But, I'm a grown man now and I can make my own decisions. I decided that the
past is in the past. Sure, it was hard at the time. What hurt the most was that
it was you. Whatever you were thinking, I don't think that's what you really
wanted. I remember some of the stuff that you said to me. . . And it sounded
more like there was something already between us, so I figured out that you
were completely out of it. It doesn't excuse what you did, Dean. . . I just
want us to have a fresh start."
That's not possible. Not after what he did. They can't come back from that.
There's just not a chance that it could ever be reconciled. He did the worst
thing that he can imagine to his little brother. Even if Sam does want to try
and put it behind him, Dean's not sure that he can. He won't be able to look
Sam in the eye ever without seeing the looks that he gave him. He won't be able
to block out the fear. He won't be able to be in the same room as him without
feeling like he's going to do something. . . Something unforgivable. 
"Look, I know that you hate yourself. I've been keeping tabs on you for a while
now. . . I needed to find the right time to see you in person. Then I got to
thinking, when is the right time? When is the right time exactly to set up a
hunt that turns out to be nothing, just to get the man that hurt me when I was
younger to meet with me in person? And I discovered that there is no right
moment. . . Dean, I want you to know that regardless of what happened back
then, I've missed you. You just ruined what could have been a good thing, you
idiot. . ."
Dean looks up at that. Ruined what could have been a good thing? Just what the
Hell is Sam trying to tell him here? From what he can remember, the bond that
they shared as brothers', at the time, had been unbreakable. He would consider
it to have been a very good thing, before. . . That. 
Sam's twiddling his thumbs in his lap. Other than that, he looks more relaxed
than he sounds right now, and Dean hasn't the slightest idea what all of this
is leading up to, but he can't in good conscience accept Sam's proposal for
them to get to know each other again, when there will always be the lingering
self-disgust that his thoughts may or may not invoke. He's pleased to admit
that he's not having any unsightly hallucinations right at this moment in time,
nothing that makes him feel sick to his stomach. It's the nightmares that give
him that feeling. 
"What I mean by that is. . . Dean, I felt the same way back then. But I wasn't
ready. We were't ready. And you scared the shit out of me when you did that.
Regardless of how I tried to bury those feelings, they never went away. And
that's why I'm here. To tell you that. . . To tell you that I want you back in
my life. . . I can't forgive what you did, but you won't forgive what you did,
either, so we're even on that front. However, we can try. . . You know. . . To
reconnect?" 
"What are you trying to say?" Dean questions. 
Sam brings his eyes up to meet Dean's. "I'm saying I want you back in my life.
And I want us to do it right this time."
Dean shakes his head in the negative, begging his legs not to give out on him.
"You can't be serious. . . I stayed away from you for a reason. This is wrong.
. ."
"Maybe it is. Maybe it isn't. Why does it even matter? You obviously feel the
same way that I do--you just messed up back then. But we're both adults now,
and if you try to force yourself, then you'll be glad to know I'm pretty
strong," Sam says, laughing nervously. 
There's nothing more to say here. Dean knows what he needs to do. He needs to
leave, and he needs to do it now. He closed the door on this all those years
ago, and he cannot reopen that can of worms.
"I'm sorry. . .," Dean mutters, reaching for his jacket with his car keys in
it. Sam makes no move to get up, which Dean's grateful for. He doesn't want to
fight about it--he just needs to run. 
"Before you go, Dean. . . I put my number in your pocket if you ever feel the
need to give me a call," Sam admits, looking defeated. 
Dean feels like he should say something, but he doesn't have words. Only
actions are fueling him right now, so he runs out of the door without putting
his shoes on. 
This is so messed up. 
***** It's A Brand New Day *****
Chapter Summary
     Sam can't wait for Dean to call.
Chapter Notes
     Yay. This one is finished now, too. I hope it's not a huge
     disappointment.
                           It's A Brand New Day. . .
                                        
Nothing Dean does is enough. He can't get the thought of what Sam said to him
out of his head. Even the bottle seemed like a better way out to him in that
moment, but he decided against it. Swearing off that stuff for good is what he
needed to do, and it needs to stay that way. He can't fall back on that promise
that he made--especially not now. Dean hasn't been able to return to Bobby's.
He's got in his head that when he gets there, Bobby is going to tell him that
Sam was supposed to kill him in that room, before finishing the job himself. It
would make sense. Kind of like tit for tat. Dean wouldn't object to it. Dying
by the hands of the little brother that he wronged is almost poetic. 
In that Hotel room, Dean felt nothing but sincerity from Sam. Although it's
been a while since they last saw each other, he knows when Sam is lying to him.
They've been able to read each other like biographies from the time that they
were very young. Words weren't always needed between them to know what the
other was thinking. In that moment, Dean didn't feel like he was being set up
for something bigger. He truly felt like Sam wanted them to be in each other's
lives again. Dean can't do that to Sam, though. The potential of putting Sam
through that trauma again is just too much to bear. Sure, he concurs that Sam
could definitely put up a significant fight, but size doesn't matter. Dean's
taken down guys twice his size because he knows how to. He knows the tricks to
win in fights like that. The fact of the matter is, if he lost his way again,
he could end up using those skills against Sam, and he just can't take that
risk.
It's been a few weeks since Sam's unexpected visit to his Hotel. Each night,
Dean's found himself staring a hole through the phone number on the creased
piece of paper. There's no guarantee that this will always be Sam's number.
Hunters tend to change their contact information almost on a weekly basis, so
even if he did tap out the number a couple of times and hover over the dial
button, it's not unlikely that if he had pressed it that he would reach a
number still in service. 
Dean wants to call Sam. The only thing stopping him is the potential risk. That
barrier that he just can't get through, no matter what. Of course he wants to
talk to Sam. Of course he wants to get to know his little brother again. He
loves him more than breathing, and having Sam back in his life might give him
the sensation of being alive again. To Dean, he feels like he's been nothing
but a shadow since that day. His soul died that day. His heart broke that day.
He lost everything that day. . . 
Sam could put those pieces back together with just a smile in his direction,
but Dean doesn't deserve that. Not one bit. So he can't call Sam. He can't
expect anything good to happen between them again because he's sick and
twisted, and now Sam is telling him that they could have something that goes
beyond the line of brothers. His infection has spread--spread to the one person
that Dean never intended to hurt. . . Never wanted to lay a forced finger on. .
. Only wanted to touch with gentle pats of encouragement, digs in the arm to
show a good job, or to fake offense when they bantered--hugs for the special
moments. The ones that they would share together. . . That's what Dean wanted
before this shit storm ruined his life. He just wants to be clean again. 
One time, Dean told a stranger about Sam. He didn't mention anything beyond how
much he missed him, and some of the good times and bad that he shared with him,
and the first thing out of the stranger's mouth was that lovers fight
sometimes. Dean didn't know what to say after that. He wanted to clarify that
Sam was his brother, but he didn't. He doesn't know why he didn't just correct
their mistake immediately. Maybe it would have stopped him from having a
meltdown in his room that night, their words reminding him of what he did. Dean
had just wanted to share with someone that didn't know him. . . 
Sam's number is clutched in his hand. He can't bring himself to throw it in the
trash. It's right below him, but he doesn't have the willpower to open up his
hand to let it fall. He's truly pathetic. He can't even do this one simple
thing. All he has to do is get rid of the temptation. Then, he'll never be able
to track Sam down. His urges won't be able to locate Sam even if they do
resurface. He needs to do this for Sam's sake. 
But he can't. He can't let go. His whole body is telling him not to drop it.
His heart is telling him to call Sam. His subconscious is telling him that he
hasn't earned the right to hear his voice. Dean's subconscious is right. He
doesn't. Why would he after what he did? Sam's better than he is. He'll move on
from this quickly. He'll find some cute woman, get married, have some kids and.
. . 
Why doesn't he want that? Shouldn't Sam's happiness be his only desire? Sam is
perfect. He deserves someone who is perfect. Not ruined like Dean. Not
disgusting like Dean. Not fucked up in the head like Dean. Anyone but Dean.
That's just the way that it has to be. It's the only way that Sam is going to
lead a winning life. That's what Dean keeps telling himself. He tells himself
that Sam doesn't need him in his life. He tells himself that he would only get
in the way. He tells himself that the things that Sam said in the Hotel must
have just been. . . Dean doesn't know exactly, but he's sure that they were
just words, and Sam meant nothing by them. 
There's a knock at the door. Dean's not expecting any company. He's at a Motel
in the middle of nowhere, and he doesn't think that they have room service
here. The knock doesn't have an emotion to it. It's not forceful. It's not
anxious. It's not desperate. It's not scared, so Dean has to pre-determine that
it could just be another guest at the Motel. Maybe they want to ask him if he
has any extra towels spare. He doesn't, and he wouldn't hand them over if he
did anyway. 
Dean closes his eyes for a moment and secures Sam's number back in his pocket.
He steps away from the bin that he's been standing over for a long stretch of
time now and walks over to the door. He doesn't bother to ask who's there
before he's opening it, keeping his hand on the butt of his gun, just in case
it's needed in this situation.  
It's Sam.  
"I thought maybe you'd call me," Sam says, shoulders slumped in defeat. "I kept
the number the same, thinking that you'd need some time first."
"You can't be here," Dean says flatly, about to shut the door when Sam's foot
slots between it. "I'm serious." 
"I tried staying away, Dean. I tried, but I don't want to anymore," Sam
intones, getting his hand on the side of the door for leverage. "You made a
mistake. Mistakes happen, Dean--"
"I didn't just make a mistake, Sam. I raped you," Dean whispers fiercely,
averting his eyes. 
Sam sighs deeply. "You were out of it. If you were such a monster, why would
you run away? Why would you keep your distance? Why would you hide yourself so
that you wouldn't do something like that again?" Sam interrogates, fingers
tensing in their hold. "Those aren't the actions of a monster. Like I said
before, it doesn't excuse what you did, but I want to move past that."
"Well, I can't. Okay? I can't move past that. I can't look at you without
seeing what I did. I can't sleep without having nightmares about what I did. .
. I ruined you." 
"Dean, you didn't ruin me. I'm here aren't I?" Sam reminds him, tone light and
comforting. "Just let me in, and we can talk about this, okay?" 
"What's there to talk about? I said this isn't a good idea. Me around you isn't
a good idea, Sam. It's just not--"
"Why? Because you want what I want?" Sam snaps, shoulders rising and falling.
"Or are you saying that you want me to be younger?" 
"What? No!" Dean nearly yells, a feeling of revulsion welling up inside him. 
"Exactly, Dean. It's not about my age. . . You're not sick and twisted. And if
you are, then I am, too, because I've had a long time to think about what I
want," Sam explains, tone softening again as he gently pushes the door open a
little further. Dean doesn't stop him, even though he probably should. "If
you're worried about people knowing that we're brothers', then we won't tell
them, but Dean. . . I really miss you, man. It doesn't have to be right away, I
mean. . ."
Dean resigns himself to finally meeting Sam's eyes. They're still as
breathtaking as they were when he saw them for the first time. He's grown up to
be very handsome. He saw him back at the Hotel, but as soon as he realized it
was Sam he was looking at, his head dropped on instinct, knowing that he didn't
have a right. Dean's not sure how he feels about the sudden temperature change
of his body and the pulse in his groin. It's just confirming his suspicions
that this isn't a good idea. 
"I want this, Dean. I do. Your worry is that you'll take advantage, right?
Well, if I'm consenting, then you're not taking advantage," Sam reasons,
stepping forward until their chests are almost aligned, breaths mingling in the
minuscule distance between them. Sam's a lot taller now. He's got a few inches
on Dean. His lips look so soft and pliable--kissable. Dean shakes his head in
the negative to that thought, about to push Sam away when he steps in that
little bit further, making that task a lot harder to accomplish. "Please. . .
Don't push me away again." 
Dean doesn't realize Sam's hugging him until his arms go loose at his sides and
he feels his chin resting on one of Sam's shoulders. "How can you even be near
me when I did that to you?" 
Sam squeezes Dean in his hold. It's not intended to crush, but to comfort.
"When it happened, I was young. I had feelings for you back then, Dean. I was
hurt. You were off your ass and you weren't taking no for an answer. I was
heartbroken because that's not the way I wanted it. I know you hate cheesy
stuff, but I think I've earned the right to be cheesy." 
A lot of emotions hit Dean in that moment. Fear. Denial. Self-disgust. Self-
loathing. Sadness. Regret. All of the things that make up his bread and butter
today hits him all at once, and he just wants them all to go away. He doesn't
want to feel like this anymore. "I hurt you. . . Sam, I hurt you. . . I'm so
sorry."
Sam pulls away from the embrace to hold Dean's head between his hands, soothing
his thumbs over Dean's cheeks. "I know you're sorry. And you did hurt me. But
I'm a big boy now, and I can handle myself. I just want us to start over. . .
Together." 
"How do we do that?" Dean mutters, feeling lost. 
"Like this," Sam states before sealing his lips over Dean's own. There's
resistance at first on Dean's side--the part of him that thinks that this will
just lead to more hurt, but the desire pressing against him, the pressure of
Sam's lips telling him that he really wants this, gives Dean the courage to
finally meet Sam halfway, tentatively sliding a hand into Sam's hair, moving
down to the nape of his neck to urge Sam forward that little bit extra. 
Sam's mouth opens, and Dean presses inside, meeting Sam's tongue in the total
darkness their connected lips create. It's warm inside. It's thrilling inside,
and Dean basks in it. Basks in the taste of Sam, all the different textures
exploding on his tongue as he dives back in after they separate for a brief
moment, allowing Sam to taste him in return, flavors mixing together to create
a D.N.A. cocktail that's for their senses only. 
They both breathe in deep through their noses as groins circle at the core of
their bodies, neither one holding anything back as they dance together, growing
harder and more vibrant in their actions with each passing second. A feeling
of right bursts through the insecurities in Dean's mind, offering him the nerve
to deepen the kiss that little bit extra, to guide Sam close towards his body,
to get his thigh between Sam's slightly parted legs to brush rhythmically over
Sam's hardened cock, earning him a tight moan into his mouth. 
Dean gives Sam control of the kiss as he gets his hand inside Sam's jeans,
reaching for the engorged flesh pulsing against the cotton fabric of Sam's
boxer-briefs. He takes hold of it, the angle only allowing for a conserved back
and forth along the heated flesh, inadvertently breaking Sam's hold on the
kiss, and guiding it towards the center of Dean's chest as he pants for breath,
pulling his jeans down his legs along with his boxers, exposing his length to
the temperature of the room. Dean stares down at Sam's rising shoulders, using
his uncovered access to guide his fist from base to tip, adding pressure in the
areas that he, himself, enjoys when he finds the time to do this to himself. 
Sam curses softly, lifting his head to lock eyes with Dean, asking for
permission to start returning the favor. Dean shakes his head. This is about
Sam right now. His own needs can wait til later. 
"Oh, God, Dean!" Sam moans into his neck, breathing unevenly over his pulse
point as he lazily licks and sucks at it, as Dean quickens the strokes of his
hand, using Sam's essence to slicken his path along the skin, focusing on the
nerves surrounding the head, squeezing that little bit more each time and
mentally recording each reaction--verbal or otherwise--it gets him. 
Sam warns in the next few minutes that he's going to come soon, so Dean pulls
Sam up to take his mouth again, keeping them connected, ignoring the burn in
his arm as he hasten his strokes that little bit more, swallowing the moans
expelled into his mouth, chasing Sam's tongue with each opening given between
them, putting his own needs to the back of his mind so he can focus solely on
getting Sam off. 
He's overcome with the beauty of it. Sam comes over his hand, Dean's fist
gathering it up as he gently circles his grip just around Sam's crown, making
sure to milk him all the way to the last drop, the both of them breathing into
each other's mouths. Sam's breathing from the rush of his euphoria. Dean's
breathing from the beauty of Sam coming apart at the seams like this. It's
something that he wants to be able to see for the rest of his life. 
When their breathing starts to even out, Sam presses a meaningful kiss to
Dean's lips. Dean can tell that Sam's talking without words. He's asking him if
that was so bad? Or if Dean's still not sure about what Sam wants. . . It could
be either one. Dean knows one thing for sure, though. 
"I can't run away from you anymore," Dean admits, grinning like a fool. 
Sam returns his grin in earnest. "No, you really can't." 
End Notes
     Thanks for reading!
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!
