
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3297404.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Character:
      Dean_Winchester, Sam_Winchester, John_Winchester, Castiel, OMC
  Additional Tags:
      sequel_to_Supernatural_Born_Killers, Future_Fic, Post-Apocalypse,
      Bloodplay, Serial_Killers, dark_boys, kinda_good_boys, good_in_that_they
      try_to_save_people_now, John_Winchester_won't_stay_dead, boys_are
      obsessed_with_each_other, darkness_like_crazy, past_scenes, Obsession,
      like_really_obsessed_with_each_other, i_swear_to_god_I_have_not_abandoned
      this_fic, I_can't_stop_making_Dean_say_'baby_boy', Dark_Dean, Dark_Sam,
      Consensual_Underage_Sex, in_flashbacks, Implied/Referenced_Rape/Non-con,
      In_flashbacks_again, King_of_Hell_John_Winchester, Castiel_has_a_cameo,
      Codependent_Winchesters, Murder_Husbands, British_knowledge_of_American
      Geography, So_apologies_in_advance, Castiel_(Supernatural)_is_Not_Amused,
      This_may_be_upsetting_for_people_who_are...normal, This_Is_Why_We_Can't
      Have_Nice_Things
  Series:
      Part 2 of Unnaturally_Close
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-02-06 Updated: 2017-07-02 Chapters: 3/4 Words: 11501
****** Cruel New World ******
by sugarbucket24
Summary
     The world has ended in fire and demons. Among those who have
     survived, are Sam and Dean Winchester - America's Most Wanted at one
     point. Now they save people, mostly. The mostly is important, because
     nobody's perfect right? So they still like kill someone every now and
     then - big deal. But when they hear that John Winchester isn't as
     dead as he should be, everything is threatened. Direct sequel to
     Supernatural Born Killers. Dark and disturbing, you've been warned.
***** Not Staying Dead *****
                               -Cruel New World-
                                        
                                By Sugarbucket
===============================================================================
                                        
                                        
                        -Chapter One: Not Staying Dead-
                                        
                   ‘No wealth, no ruin, no silver, no gold,
                      Nothing satisfies me but your soul.
                                  Oh, Death. 
                       Well I am Death, none can excel,
                    I’ll open the doors to Heaven or Hell. 
                                  Oh, Death. 
                    My name is Death and then end is here…’
                                        
                                  -Jen Titus
 
The blood was thin, warm and sticky.  Movies got it wrong all the time, such a
simple mistake.  They made it look too thick, too dark.  Real blood, for those
who know, is sweet and sticky and alive.  All that life pouring out of a person
and they think it’s nothing more than a sign of injury.  The stickiness…Sam
Winchester could write fucking poems, fucking sonnets about the sticky, perfect
consistency of blood.  That first little hit on the tongue, the rush of
sampling someone’s life force.  The way it pinches your skin as it dries on
your hands and arms.  The flow and ebb.  Bold, unapologetically red.  Bright,
sweet and dirty. 
 
Yeah, blood was pretty fucking awesome.  Other people’s blood on his hands and
even his face, it made him happy.  But his blood…Dean’s blood…oh holy fucking
Christ, that was something else entirely. 
 
Their blood was shared anyway.  Brothers, born of the same two people.  Their
blood was Winchester blood.  Even if it wasn’t, they’d cut palms and bled
promises into one another.  Their twin scars forever bore the mark of their
marriage by blood.   And if they hadn’t done that, they’d have this.  They
would have Sam cutting the tip of Dean’s tongue with a razorblade to see how
long he could wait before smashing his mouth onto his brother’s and drinking
him in.  Relentlessly chasing the sweet, wet warmth that sang with their
connection. 
 
Dean’s blood was thin, warm and sticky and sheer fucking ambrosia.  Sam held
the razorblade in his hand, ready to draw more of it the second it tapered
off.  Not from his tongue this time, maybe from the hollow of his throat.  Dean
might pretend not to like it, pretend to forbid it and Sam will bite his own
lip until he draws blood.  Then he’ll kiss Dean deliberately, slowly; painting
those ridiculous lips red, red, red until his big brother caves and demands
that Sam cut him, just a little.  Just enough to draw a thin rivulet of the
magic that flows through Dean. 
 
Dean Winchester pulled back a little, just enough to look into Sam’s eyes. 
“You love my blood, don’t you, baby boy?” he murmured, eyes swimming with lust,
love and ecstasy.  “Love the taste of me, the taste of us?”  The tongue blood
has started to recede and Sam couldn’t wait to draw more from somewhere else. 
 
“You know I do,” Sam replied darkly, eyes trained on his big brother beneath
him.  “Could drink from you all night, Dean.”
 
That made Dean smile, his hand reached up to card through Sam’s long hair. 
“Like a vampire?”
 
Sam Winchester just laughed softly and shook his head.  He slowly moved his
hand with the blade up higher along Dean’s body.  The temptation to let it
touch skin, to drag it along Dean’s side was powerful.  Countered only by the
bone deep love and respect for Dean.  “Nuh-uh,” he breathes playfully shaking
his head.  “Just can’t get enough of my big brother.”  Dean squirmed just a
little.  He loved it when Sam called him that.  Loved being reminded of the
fact they were brothers.  Sam tended to say it a lot. 
 
He was sprawled on top of Dean, who was semi naked beneath him.  On the hood of
the Impala, someplace woodsy in Bumfuck Nowhere, Virginia.  Outdoors had always
felt like home to Sam and now there was more reason than ever to avoid motels
and any place inside. 
 
The apocalypse of 2004 had wiped out a good portion of America, leaving behind
two thirds wasteland.  The one third left mostly intact was where survivors had
fled.  The demons had followed, of course.  Demons would always seek out humans
the same way Sam would seek out blood.  The big cities had been decimated, but
places like this…places dominated more by nature had been left strangely alone.
 The fires hadn’t reached that far. 
 
Sam and Dean Winchester had been amongst the 1.2 billion people left on the
planet to survive.  China, as far as most people knew, had been the first to
go.  The first country to fall and by fall, that meant be wiped out. China,
Japan and most of Mongolia had been completely destroyed by the fire and the
demons.  Australia had been mostly destroyed too, the fires sweeping through
the country at a phenomenal rate.  Africa, the Middle East…partial destruction
with a high survival rate in Algeria.  Europe was hit and miss, mostly.  An
enormous earthquake had erupted and, along with the fire, taken out France,
Germany and Italy.  Poland and Romania remained somewhat intact.  The UK
avoided the worst of the earthquake but the fire destroyed Ireland and the
entire Western side of England.  The demons localised in the South, an area
thought to be a ‘pocket’.  Pockets were extremely treacherous areas and to be
avoided at all costs, making London one of the most dangerous places on Earth. 
There were two such pockets in America.  Los Angeles (because of course) and
New York.  The demons ran rampant over such areas, claiming it completely. 
Once the demons settled in that area, the fires stopped. 
 
The US had lost entire states to the fires.  Any reliable map of the damage
looked like a half finished bingo card of destruction and death.  The rainier
and greener the state, the better off it was.  It wasn’t an official rule, but
one that most people observed. 
 
The world didn’t come to a standstill though.  Life went on, if indeed it
wasn’t the same as before.  Electricity was still possible, even abundant in
some places.  Food and water were available in exchange for cash or goods,
though mostly goods.  Farms that weren’t destroyed still produced food. 
Anarchy didn’t reign completely, the cops were still cops, although they’d
upgraded their weapons to accommodate rock salt and iron.  The demons took
human form predominantly, so most of the water that was produced was blessed
and made holy, as a way of catching them out. 
 
Sam and Dean hunted the demons.  They mostly saved people now.  The mostly was
important, for sure.  Sam still enjoyed ripping humans apart and seeing the
insides quiver and twitch.  Still liked to kill and hurt and laugh, while Dean
smiled indulgently and watched unblinkingly.  It was more that they tried to
kill bad people instead of normal ones.  There were a lot of bad people to
choose from, at least.  Most of the time it worked.  Mostly. 
 
Dean’s hand tightened in Sam’s hair, pulling him closer.  “Say it again,” he
demanded softly. 
 
“My big brother,” Sam groaned, exaggerating every syllable.  “My beautiful big
brother.  Wanna feel you inside me, Dean.  Want you to be so deep in my ass
that I feel you for days.  Want you to fuck your little brother.”
 
“Oh fuck!”  Dean bucked up, eyes closing torturously.  “God damn, what you do
to me, Sammy!” 
 
Sam smiled and chased a long trickle of blood down Dean’s chin where it was
starting to pool at the hollow of his throat.  The taste was, as always,
incredible and if Sam wasn’t hard enough to hammer nails before, he was now. 
 
Dean knew it too.  “You want me to make you come, baby boy?  Come only from me
fucking you, rough and hard against the car?”
 
Sam moaned deeply, grinding his cock against Dean clothed one.  “Yeah, God
yeah, Dean!”
 
Hand still gripped in his hair, Dean leaned in closer and breathed, “You wanna
use my blood for lube?”
 
It took a great deal of control for Sam not to come there and then in his
pants, but he managed it.  He could manage almost anything for Dean, no matter
the cost.  Rationality was abandoning him at an astronomical rate, but he held
on long enough to say, “Can we use mine?”
 
Dean grinned that wolf grin; teeth and eyes and whatever it was in Dean that
made him just that fraction darker than Sam.  “Now you’re talking,” he
breathed. 
 
Everything was just about to get much more interesting, when something in the
distance made both hunters freeze.  Years of long ingrained instinct kicked in
as they both detected a noise not created by wind or bird.  It was the sound of
something or someone stepping where they shouldn’t have, and then not moving at
all to try to compensate for the mistake. 
 
Dean exhaled slowly, calmly and gave Sam the smallest nod.  It wasn’t a demon;
if it was, it would’ve attacked right away, not caring to hide.  That meant
humans.  There were ample trees around for cover, but Sam could tell Dean knew
where the noise came from.  Fluidly, Sam moved off of Dean with an exaggerated
sigh, pulling his jeans up a little and belted them. 
 
“Your turn?” he asked, carefully righting himself just enough to appear
normal.  “Or mine?”
 
“Not been keeping track, Sammy?  I’m hurt,” Dean said with a grin.  “It’s your
turn.”
 
Sam nodded and then closed his eyes, letting that part of him rise up to the
surface.  The animal in him, the hunter.  The supernatural element within Sam
Winchester was always looking to show off, to help him be a better…whatever he
was.  He focused deeply.  Heard the wind, the trees, the gentle rustle of the
leaves and then he heard breathing.  He heard human lungs taking in air. 
 
He spun, flinging a small silver knife hard in the direction of the lungs. 
There was a gurgled scream of shock.  Dean shoved away from the car and headed
towards the sound.  When he came out of the shrubs, he was dragging a young
boy, no older than twenty.  Sam’s knife had hit a few inches above the heart. 
  
 
“Enjoying the show?” Sam asked the boy with a smirk.  “Or were you planning on
something stupid, like trying to kill us?”
 
Dean yanked him up by the collar and gave him a once over.  “He doesn’t look
stupid.  He looks scared.”  He leaned in close and moved his nose up the boy’s
neck, smelling him.  “He is scared.  You see somethin’ boy?”
 
The boy spluttered and nodded, hands scrabbled around the knife.  “P-p-please!”
he managed. 
 
Dean sighed and dropped him.  “What did you see?  Tell us and we’ll take the
knife out, might even stitch you up.”
 
“Dean,” Sam said.  “He’s gonna go into shock.  We should just kill him and move
on.”
 
Now the boy was having some kind of panic attack. 
 
“Can do,” Dean said with a shrug.  “But I get the feeling we should find out
what he’s seen first.  Your call, baby boy.”
 
Sam supressed a shudder at the words, considering his options.  On the one
hand, he hadn’t had a good kill in ages. Hadn’t felt the blood flow and bone
break in so many months now.  On the other hand, Dean clearly thought they
should do The Right Thing in this instance.  Hmm.  There were always others. 
 
“Get the kit, I’ll pull the knife.”
The boy’s blood was thin, warm and sticky.  Sam let him bleed five seconds
longer than was necessary before patching him up.  He watched it pulse and
ooze, endlessly fascinated by it.  He felt Dean’s eyes on him the whole time. 
 
“So,” Sam said once the real danger had passed.  “For your sake, I hope you’ve
seen something worth telling about.”
 
“I was…I was sent here to give you a message,” he wheezed, clutching at the
painful area of his chest.  “Took me two days to find you.  Had to use a
tracking spell.”
 
Sam tensed and felt Dean do the same.  “Who sent you?”
 
There was a great big moment of hesitation before the young boy replied with
trepidation, “He said his name was John Winchester.”
 
===============================================================================
 Hope you all enjoyed that.  I'm working on this as hard as I can, along with a
few other projects so bear with me.  
 
Bex.  
 
x x x 
 
***** Old Ghosts, New Demons *****
                     -Chapter Two: Old Ghosts, New Demons-
                                        
                       ‘Holy water cannot help you now,
                   See I’ve come to burn your kingdom down.
               And no rivers and no lakes can put the fire out.
             I’m gonna raise the stakes, I’m gonna smoke you out. 
                          Seven devils all around me!
                           Seven devils in my house!
                See they were there when I woke up this morning
                     I’ll be dead before the day is done.’
                                        
                            -Florence + the Machine
 
“John Winchester is dead,” Dean said, voice cold and hollow.  “I emptied a
fucking clip into him.  He’s dead.”  He tried to keep the fear at bay…the icy
creeping fear that maybe something worse than a few thousand demons had crawled
out of hell.  That maybe John fucking Winchester had clawed his way out.  But
Sam heard it in his voice, he knew that.  Dean heard it too and hated it, hated
himself for it.   
 
The kid shook his head, eyes trained on the ground.  “He said you’d say that. 
He laughed about it.  Said you two always were s-slow learners.”
 
Sam was itching to grab him and force the truth out of him, Dean could feel
it.  They were so closely linked, often Sam’s feelings bled into Dean’s and
vice versa.  He wanted to do the same, except more than that – Dean wanted to
hurt the kid.  He wanted to wrench something other than what he was saying out
of his mouth so the sick feeling would go away. 
 
“What else did he say?” Sam asked, eyes flicking once to Dean and then away
again. 
 
“He said for you to come find him.”
 
“Where?” 
 
“He didn’t tell me a location.  He moves around all the time.  Last I saw him,
he was in Meridian, Mississippi.”
 
Something prickled over Dean’s memory; an instinct.  “Before that?”
 
“Uh…Enid, Oklahoma I think.”
 
‘Yup.  Fucking brilliant. A nostalgia tour of All The Places Daddy Hurt Deano. 
Fuck him and his bullshit,’ Dean though bitterly.  Sam picked up on it too,
probably before Dean did.  He just looked at him, calm and placid waiting for
Dean’s lead. 
 
“Get the fuck out of here, kid,” Dean warned him.  “Don’t go back to him,
though it’s just a suggestion.”
 
The boy didn’t need to be told twice and he scrambled off the moment Dean said
he could, leaving Sammy and him alone with the news. 
 
“Well, fuck,” Dean sighed, rubbing his face tiredly.  “Ain’t that just like
him?  Can’t even fuckin’ stay dead!”
 
Sam was deadly serious, though.  He could see straight through his attempts at
humour, straight to his core as always.  “Dean,” he said.  “This is bad.”
 
“Yeah, no shit.”
 
He move closer, Dean’s beautiful brother; darkness personified.  “If he’s out,
it’s because he’s a demon now.  He’d have been down there for hundreds of
years, soul twisted into something beyond recognition.  He was practically a
fucking monster before you killed him.  I can only imagine what he is now.”
 
There was a weight on Dean’s shoulders that hadn’t been there for years; a
leaden force pulling him downwards.  Since that day he’d murdered John, nothing
had scared Dean anymore.  Even being parted from Sam had been temporary, he had
always known that; always known he would find his way back to him, no matter
what. 
 
John Winchester was the only thing Dean had ever been afraid of.  The damage he
had done to him, but more importantly to Sam…well, it was the reason his hands
were shaking. 
 
“Dean,” Sam said insistently.  “You hear me?”
 
“Yeah,” he said, trying to shake the worst of it off and failing.  “Yeah, I
hear you Sammy.  Look, we know where he’s gonna be.  We find him, we kill him. 
No different from any other demon we’ve wasted.”
 
“Then why are you shaking?”
 
Dean rolled his eyes, not answering. 
 
“Dean, we need to talk about this!”
 
Dean got in the car and yelled at Sam to do the same. 
 
“Yeah, well – that’s obviously the best tactic,” Sam said, dark eyes avoiding
looking at his brother.  “What do you wanna do?”
 
Dean tightened his grip on the steering wheel and didn’t reply. 
 
*
 
Marnie Sanderson was really tired.  It wasn’t quite the exhaustion that came at
the end of the day, but it ran a close second.  More like the tiredness that
hit around midday and wouldn’t fade until caffeine intervened.  Marnie sighed,
remembering the last time she’d had caffeine.  It had been months.  Caffeine
was pretty rare where she lived and maybe it was rare all over the world, she
wouldn’t know.  Since the demons, she’d stayed in her small town, Frankfort,
Kentucky.  It was small enough that most of the bad stuff had bypassed her and
the remaining residents. 
 
Marnie worked in the only gas station in town and it was a dangerous, tiring
job.  Her two brothers were outside with shotguns, keeping watch for trouble
makers or something worse.  She worked the register.  The store inside was
sparse; the once fully stocked shelves now barren, save for a few cans of food
no one would eat given a choice.  The good stuff was in the back, where select
few could afford it or needed it. 
 
People came and went, mostly passing through with horror stories of other
states and occasionally, other countries.  It made her grateful to be in
Frankfort and reasonably safe. 
 
She still had a couple of hours to go before she usually went home, but it had
been a slow night and she was thinking of closing early.  She was starving and
her brothers would definitely be hungry too from a long day of sitting outside,
keeping watch.  It was actually sounding like a pretty great idea when a car
rolled up. 
 
The engine sounded in nice shape, something of a rarity lately.  She peered
over the counter, mildly curious and saw a sleek, black car.  Vintage maybe,
she didn’t know a lot about cars.  As she watched, two men got out, smiling and
talking animatedly to her brothers, Ray and Aaron.  The eldest one was
gesturing a lot, grinning and rabbiting on a whole lot while the other put gas
in the car.  Both her brothers were talking to the older one, Ray was laughing
at something. 
 
Once the car was filled up, the taller one came to join them.  Marnie thought
he was beautiful; the kind of beautiful that made her chest tightened and made
her wonder what she was going to say when he came in to pay. 
 
Then everything went to hell. 
 
The older one did something to Ray, a sudden movement that looked like he was
punching him in the chest except for the spray of blood that erupted out of
him.  Aaron staggered back, shocked for a moment before he went to aim the
shotgun, but the younger one yanked it away and turned it on him, firing until
it ran out of shells.  Marnie let out a strangled scream, wanting to run and
help, frozen with shock and disbelief. 
 
They’d heard her scream, though.  Both sets of eyes locked onto her and her
knees went weak.  The older one smiled, covered in her brother’s blood and
moved towards her but then the taller, younger one put his arm out to stop him
with a small frown.  Marnie took her chance and dropped under the counter to
grab the gun hidden there.  She’d shot it plenty of times, knew it well; knew
the feel, the trigger.  It was an old six shooter, fully loaded.  Both her
brothers had shown her how to shoot it, how to feel comfortable with it.  She
supressed a sob and tried to focus.  They weren’t demons; there were devils
traps all around the gas station, they wouldn’t have been able to move.  So
they had to be human.  Marnie had killed worse things than humans, or so she’d
thought. 
 
She took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment and tried to focus.  One
good shot each - that was all they needed to go down.  She heard the door open,
heard them enter.  She exhaled and waited. 
 
“Hey Sammy?” one of them said, voice playful and light.  “I thought I saw a
pretty girl in here.  Y’know…I bet she’s under the counter, finger on the
trigger of some old gun.”
 
The other didn’t reply and Marnie tightened her grip, steeling herself. 
“That’s a pretty good plan, except that I’ve got her friend here.  The one not
blown in half by his own shotgun.”
 
Marnie didn’t breathe.  She listened for any indication of it being true, of
Ray still being alive. 
 
“C’mon, asshole – make some noise for the pretty girl!”  There was a groan as a
result of some kind of blow given by the speaker, probably a punch.  It sounded
like Ray.  “That’s a boy!  Come on out now, sweetheart.  Your friend here
doesn’t have to die.  I only nicked him.”
 
“Don-don’t do it, Marn!” Ray spluttered. 
 
“You shut the fuck up,” warned another voice.  Lower and more serious. 
 
“If you don’t come out and show me that gun, I’m gonna gut this boy and trust
me, I can do it real slow,” the playful voice warned her.  “I’ll throw him to
you, piece by piece.”
 
“I’m already fucked, Marn!  You shoot them first chance you get!” her brother
implored. 
 
“Not even gonna count to three, sweetheart!” the bastard called.  “You either
get up right the fuck now or your friend-”
 
“It’s her brother,” the other one interrupted softly. 
 
He chuckled at that.  “Get your ass up here or the first part of your brother I
throw you will be his dick!”  Marnie didn’t move.  “Suit yourself!”
 
She heard her brother scream and all the rationality left her.  She jumped up
from the counter, swinging the gun around at the men.  The shorter one was
holding Ray up, knife digging in his throat.  She saw blood, but not enough
that he’d been fatally wounded.  The tall one was watching her carefully, no
weapon in sight.  She kept the gun aimed at the short one, the one who was
smiling. 
 
“That’s a dumb fuckin’ move,” he laughed.  “Still – deal’s a deal.  You want
your brother?  I only got him in the shoulder.  Lot of blood there, but not
fatal if treated.  Now, you put that gun down and I’ll let you patch him up. 
Sound good?”
 
He was watching her with a dark kind of hunger that made her stomach turn. 
“You’ll kill me if I do.”
 
He laughed again, cold and cruel.  The taller one stepped forward slightly and
said, “What’s your name?”
 
She hesitated before replying, “Marnie.”
 
“Marnie.  I’m Sam, this is Dean.  We need gas and a few other things you have
here.  Now, we killed that guy out there…”
 
“Aaron!” Ray screamed.  “His name was Aaron you piece of shit!”
 
Dean sniggered, but Sam went on and said, “We killed Aaron but we don’t need to
kill you.  We don’t care about you.  We just want some supplies and we’ll be on
our way.”
 
She badly wanted to believe it, it sounded honest.  But there was something
missing from the both of them.  It was in their eyes, their faces.  They were
going to kill her, she felt it. 
 
She decided to fire, to take her shot but before she got a chance to squeeze
the trigger, Sam whipped out a gun so fast she barely saw it.  He fired and
pain exploded in her arm, the one holding the gun.  In shock and pain, she
dropped the gun, let out a scream and staggered back. 
 
“Stupid bitch,” Sam muttered. 
 
“Nice one, Sammy.  I’ll watch them, you find supplies.”
 
Marnie took huge, heaving breaths.  She’d never been shot and it hurt like
mother fucking hell.  The bullet was stuck in the bone of her arm, she could
feel it there.  She heard a body drop.  Was it Ray?  She couldn’t see, the
counter was blocking her view. 
 
The short one, Dean came around the counter, confirming that Ray had been
either knocked out or killed.  He was smiling charmingly and under any other
circumstances it would have been breath-taking.  He stopped when he got near
her and crouched down. 
 
“Ouch!” he said, looking at her arm.  “You’d better put some pressure on that,
sweetheart.  Wouldn’t want you to bleed out just yet, would we?”
 
She gasped, her eyes flooding with tears.  “Wh-what are did you do to Ray?”
 
“He’s taking a nap,” he answered, eyes roving over her.  “It’s better for him,
really.  You’re the starter.  A warm up, y’know?  He’ll be the main course. 
Good looking guy like that?  My brother will take hours with him.”
 
Marnie tried not to throw up.  “You’re sick,” she whispered. 
 
“You got nothing to worry about from Sam,” he said with a wink.  “He hates
girls.  Hates to kill them, says they whine too much.  No, honey.  You’re all
mine.”
 
“Dean,” Sam called.  “They’ve got a decent amount of ammo, along with the stuff
we needed.”
 
“Great,” Dean replied, never taking his eyes off of Marnie.  “Load the car up,
baby boy.”
 
Marnie tried to shuffle away, because his face was closing in slowly – almost
like he was going to kiss her.  “Y’know,” he breathed and she felt it on her
lips.  “You’ve got beautiful skin.  It’s all smooth and untouched.  I bet you
don’t have a single tattoo, huh?”
 
After a moment she shook her head in confirmation.  He grinned.  “Mmm, clean
canvas.  I like that.  I’m gonna draw all over you, pretty girl.  Make you into
a fuckin’ Picasso.”
 
“Dean,” Sam said, and he was close by.  “C’mon.”
 
Dean yanked Marnie up by her injured arm, causing her to scream and struggle. 
“You stay close to me, honey.”
 
She saw what they were taking.  Aside from ammo, they’d taken a lot of salt. 
Some food, two petrol canisters which she knew they would fill.  Once Sam had
taken everything they apparently needed, he came over to Dean, smiling softly
and nuzzling into his brother.  The gesture was unmistakably sexual, though
Marnie was too shocked and terrified to feel any disgust. 
 
“Kill her, Dean,” her murmured.  “Kill her and we can play with the other one.”
 
“But I wanna play with her first,” Dean replied. 
 
Sam pulled away.  “No,” he said, sounding annoyed.  “Kill her.  Now.”
 
Dean tightened his grip on her arm and Marnie winced.  “Please…” she cried. 
“Please let us go.”
 
“Shut up, bitch,” Sam hissed and she saw the disgust in his eyes.  Dean was
right; there was genuine hatred there.  “You say another fuckin’ word and
you’ll beg for death in any form!”
 
“I’m gonna kill her, Sammy.  But I just want-”
 
“No.”
 
Dean grabbed Marnie’s hair and pulled it cruelly, bringing her close to him. 
“What are you gonna do about it?  You gonna let some fuckin’ bitch shrink your
dick?”
 
“Fuck you, Dean.  You know as well as I do why you wanna tear her apart. 
You’re fucked up about John and this is how you deal!”
 
Marnie felt dizzy and sick; they were talking about her like she was livestock
that couldn’t understand the things they were going to do to her.  She had to
get away, had to make a break for it even without Ray.  Her gun was on the
counter where she’d dropped it, right behind her.  She could spin and grab it,
get off a few shots and run. 
 
“This is who we are!” Dean snarled. 
 
“Like when we used to take hostages?  Like when you’d go out and find girls
wearing his fucking jacket?  You’re full of shit!”
 
Dean threw her down viciously and she skidded away from the counter, near to
Ray who was still unconscious on the floor in a pool of blood.  She watched as
Dean punched Sam in the face, breathing hard – all traces of the playful, charm
gone.  “How can you say that to me?” he breathed. 
 
“Because it’s true!” Sam replied, spitting blood.  “We can’t go down this road
because of him!  That’s what he wants, that’s why he sent that kid to tell us! 
He knows you, Dean!”
 
Dean shoved his brother back against the counter, hand around his throat.  He
was shaking, Marnie could see it.  She began to inch backwards towards the
store room, eyes fixed on the pair. 
 
“That’s not true,” he told Sam.  “It’s not!”
 
Sam brought his hand up and despite being strangled, he lovingly stroked Dean’s
cheek.  He shook his head and waited. 
 
Dean let out a breath and his grip loosened.  He dropped his head to Sam’s chin
and closed his eyes.  “I’m sorry,” he whispered.  “I’m sorry, Sammy.”
 
Sam dipped down, tilted his brother’s face up and kissed him.  Marnie was
almost at the door when they broke their kiss and looked at her.  “You’re
right,” Dean said with a nod.  “You’re always right, baby boy.”
 
Sam smiled and Marnie knew what it meant for her. 
 
*
 
Author's Note: So sorry for the huge delay, I can't even begin to apologise
enough.  Something pretty huge and distracting (and wonderful!) has happened in
my life but things should be back on track now.  Next chapter will be nowhere
near as long a wait, I promise.  
Anyway, I hope everyone enjoys this.  More to come soon.  
Feedback and thoughts would be adored!
***** Chapter Three: Shatter the Light *****
Chapter Notes
     I am so way beyond sorry that this basically got abandoned. I started
     writing it right before I had a baby and that was probably a stupid
     move. Anyway, this is NOT abandoned and I will finish it, God damn
     it. I really hope this long chapter makes up for the short one
     before. This got filthy and dark, but that's nothing new. Hope you
     enjoy.
                                        
                                        
                      -Chapter Three: Shatter the Light-
                                        
                      ‘You're made of my rib bone baby,
                            You're made of my sin.
                    And I can't tell where your lust ends,
                         And where your love begins.
                        I didn't want to hurt you baby,
             I didn't want to hurt you. I didn't want to hurt you,
                       But you're pretty when you cry.’
                                     -VAST
 
Sam’s eyes were closed, face tilted up slightly and Dean knew he was
listening.  To the world, the wind, to everything.  Sam was, and had always
been, so in tune with certain aspects of things, especially the supernatural. 
Dean had instincts, well-honed and sharp, but Sam was different.  Sam was, for
lack of a better word, magical.  Psychic, maybe.  Tied to all things dark and
strange. 
 
Sometimes he would listen for hours and Dean would let him.  He’d just watch
his little brother at work, doing what came naturally to him.  Sam’s intuition
was a large part of what kept them ahead of the curve, trouble wise.  At times,
it kept them alive and it always kept them connected. 
 
When Sam opened his eyes, it took him a few seconds to adjust to the world
around him.  He blinked slowly, as though returning from somewhere very much
else.  Dean waited. 
 
“It’s definitely bad,” he said, somewhat grimly.  “There’s something else too,
hovering around him.  Something really bad, but I can’t see it yet.  We need to
get closer.”
 
“What kind of bad?  Our kind of bad?”
 
Sam shook his head, frowning.  “No.  Something…else.” 
 
Dean let his posture appear relaxed and welcoming as Sam shifted into his
space, behind him, resting his head on Dean’s shoulder.  “We’ll be OK, baby,”
he said softly.  “We always come out on top.”
 
Sam smiled into Dean’s skin.  “Usually, you come out on top.”
 
“Usually,” Dean smirked.  “But you know I’m versatile.”
 
Sam growled a little, arms wrapping around his big brother possessively. 
“There’s something out there, Dean.  I don’t like it.  It’s new, but it’s old
too.  Very old.”
 
“A demon?”
 
“No, definitely not a demon; they all smell the same.” 
 
“Well, fuck whatever it is.  I’ll kill it for you,” Dean said, as Sam opened
his mouth and dragged his teeth roughly down Dean’s neck.  “I’d kill anything
for you.  “You love it when I do that, don’t you baby boy?”
 
“You know I do,” Sam mumbled against Dean’s neck.  “Love everything you do.”
 
Dean sighed a little and stilled.  “We’re gonna kill him, Sammy.  Together. 
For real this time.”
 
“I want to kill him,” said.  “I want to do it this time.  You got to do it last
time.”
 
“Seems fair.”
 
“You should have let me kill him when I asked you to, the first time.”
 
Dean rolled his eyes with a grin.  “Sammy, you were seven.”
 
“I could have done it.”
 
“And what if you’d messed it up?  What would he have done then?”
 
“Worse than what he usually did?”
 
Still and quiet once more, Dean replied, “Maybe.”
 
“I hope he’s hard to kill,” Sam said with undiluted loathing.  “I hope he
fights this time.”
 
“He will,” said Dean with certainty.  “Trust me, he will.”
 
*
 
Sam was seven years old and for the first time he realised the potential of
guns.  He’d known how to clean, disassemble and even fire a gun for almost a
year but never before had he reallyunderstoodwhat they could do. 
 
John had told him they were for killing monsters.  Sam believed him, he just
hadn’t realised until now that John was a monster himself. 
 
Guns put holes in monsters.  They shot and tore and made blood leak and pour
until the monster died.  John was a monster.  Only a monster could hurt Dean
like that.  Nothing human could hurt Dean because Dean was strong and tough. 
He could run faster than Sammy, fight better, shoot better.  Apart from math,
Dean was better at everything.  He’d killed things before too. 
 
So when their father hurt Dean badly enough to make him cry, Sammy knew the
truth and knew exactly what he had to do about it.  John had to die. 
 
Sam sat eating his Lucky Charms, watching John drink more and more of the stuff
that made his eyes go red and his breath stink.  Sam sat still and stayed quiet
the way John liked, as if he wasn’t there…and planned to kill him. 
 
Sam knew where to shoot to kill monsters.  Sometimes the heart, usually in the
head.  To be safe, he’d shoot John in both.  Then Sam supposed they’d have to
get rid of the body.  Dean would help, he was stronger than Sam. 
 
John looked up.  “You OK there, Sammy?” he asked, eyes narrow and unfocused. 
 
Little Sammy nodded gently and continued eating his Lucky Charms.  His legs
swung back and forth underneath the table as if he was thinking about bikes and
baseball, not about when John would pass out so Sam could kill him.  John
couldn’t see his legs, couldn’t see that Sam was happily, excitedly imagining
his death.    
 
“You do your homework?”
 
“I don’t get homework yet,” Sam told him, not for the first time.  He always
got that mixed up.  Maybe he thought Sam was actually Dean, but then if he did
he wouldn’t care whether or not Dean did his homework.  Dean always cared about
Sam’s reading and school stuff.  “But I did some reading with Dean earlier.”
 
Nodding, John turned back to the wall he’d been staring at.  “WhereisDean?”
 
Sam’s legs stopped swinging.  “Dunno,” he said carefully, thinking of the gun
he was going to use to kill his father.  Probably one of the Glocks, Sam knew
them better than the others.  Absorbed the kick well. 
 
It was getting late, almost time for dinner and Sam knew Dean would be along
shortly to cook for all three of them.  Sam also knew exactly where Dean was,
always did.  He was in the shower, trying his best to wash away the dried
bloody in strange places he thought Sam hadn’t seen. 
 
“Tell him to get his ass out here!” John yelled, knowing full well that Dean
could hear him.  “Leave some God damned hot water for the rest of the town!”
 
Fingers tightening around the spoon, Sam worked hard to keep his face neutral
and not scowl at the way John spoke to Dean.  It was his fault Dean needed to
shower like that anyway.  It made Sam sick to think of his Dean being hurt in
such a way.  Made his skin crawl with a burning hatred for the man.    
 
Minutes later, Dean emerged dressed and composed, much cleaner than he had been
this morning.  He ran his hand through Sam’s long hair on the way past him and
ruffled it; an involuntary gesture, he probably didn’t even know he’d done it. 
Sam supressed a smile, delighting in the contact. 
 
“Sorry, Sir,” Dean said perfunctorily.  While he busied himself with boiling
pasta and making sauce, he caught Sam’s eye and winked.  His way of apologising
for leaving him with John, of letting him know everything was fine.  Even if it
was a lie.  Sam could always tell when someone was lying, especially when it
was Dean. 
 
Dinner was quiet and quick, neither Sam nor Dean wanted to spend unnecessary
time in John’s presence when he was like this. There were days when he didn’t
drink that stuff, when he trained them relentlessly.  Over and over again until
they couldn’t move where their muscles ached so badly.  Times when he was sharp
eyed and focused, perhaps even less of a bastard.  But there were times like
this too. 
 
“Bed early for you t’night, Sammy,” John slurred as Dean washed the plates and
Sam dried them, standing on a chair.  Sam forced himself not to look at Dean,
not to react…because he wasn’t stupid.  He knew what that meant.  It meant Dean
being hurt, Dean crying sometimes and cuddling his little brother close not for
his own comfort, but to protect him. 
 
“’kay,” he said simply.  Yeah, he’d go to bed early.  But he wouldn’t be
sleeping.  He’d be loading that gun and then creeping into the room where John
took Dean.  He’d be killing John.  Putting holes in him until there simplywasno
more John. 
 
Then he’d sleep, wrapped in the arms of his big brother.    
 
Later, dressed in boxers and a faded hand me down tee of Deans, Sam was
silently loading the gun of his choice.  He felt the weight, reassuringly heavy
and gripped it in his small but capable hands.  The noises from across the hall
had stopped a few minutes ago.  Sam had decided to wait until there were no
more noises.  No matter how much it hurt him to wait, he knew it was safest. 
Sam was a good shot but he wasn’t so good that he couldn’t make a mistake in
the dark.  No, he had waited until John would be passed out and alone. 
 
Sam felt a dark thrill of anticipation, unlike anything he had ever felt
before.  Not only for freeing Dean, for saving him…but for actually killing
John.  He was looking forward to seeing the mess the bullets would make of
John’s strong body.  Most of all, he wanted to see the blood. 
 
As he opened the door of his bedroom, he realised Dean was standing there,
waiting for him. 
 
Biting his lip hard, Sam looked at his big brother.  At his face, the tear
tracks he’d obviously wiped away with a hand.  The blood on his lip, a nasty
fresh bruise and other injuries hidden by his clothes. 
 
“Sammy,” Dean whispered and his eyes went straight to the gun.  Sam waited,
breath held in tightly, to see what Dean would say. ‘You can’t kill him, it’s
wrong to kill!’or ‘How could you do that to our father?’ran through Sam’s mind
and he felt nervous that Dean would frown upon this.  Upon him. 
 
But Dean only smiled tiredly and gently pushed Sam back into the room, closing
the door behind him.  “I can’t let you Sammy,” he told him. 
 
“Fine,” little Sammy said fiercely.  “Don’tletme.  Gonna kill him anyway.”
 
“No,” Dean said, calmly.  He sat down carefully on the edge of the bed and
looked at his little brother.  “You’re not.”
 
“Why not?” Sam hissed, careful not to raise his voice.  “How can you protect
him, Dean?”
 
“I’m not,” Dean explained patiently.  “I’m protecting you.  He’s tougher than
you know, Sammy.  There’s no way you could be sure you got him.  He’s a light
sleeper, too.  Can’t take the risk.”
 
Sam didn’t understand how Dean could be like that. “But I want to kill him,
Dean!  Let me kill him for you!”
 
Dean shook his head and smiled again.  “You’re not ready.”
 
That gave young Sam a moment’s pause. He looked at Dean, really thought about
what he meant.  “But someday I will be?”
 
“I think so,” Dean said, holding his arms out for Sam.  “There will come a
time, trust me.” Sam climbed into his lap and wrapped himself around Dean
carefully, lips resting on his neck, breathing him in.
 
“I hate him hurting you,” Sam sobbed gently into his brother’s skin.  “It makes
me burn, like there’s a hand in my chest gripping my heart.”
 
“I know, but it doesn’t matter so long as he’s not hurting you, baby.”
 
Sam wanted to say that itdid toomatter, it mattered a whole hell of a lot, but
he didn’t. 
 
“Do you love him, Dean?”
 
His big brother was silent for a while, contemplating the answer to the extent
that Sam thought he simply wasn’t going to answer at all, but then he replied,
“I did once.  I still remember what it felt like to love him.  To look up to
him and respect him.  Part of me loves him in a way, I think but it just loves
that memory of him before Mom.”
 
Sam snuggled closer.  “I don’t have any of those memories.  I don’t think I
ever loved him.”
 
“That’s better for you, Sammy.  Believe me.  You see him for what he is.”
 
“He’s a monster, Dean.  Same as any we’ve ganked.” 
 
“I know that.  Just can’t risk anything happening to you.  There’ll be a time,
baby boy.  You’ll see.”
 
After that, Dean went to brush his teeth and do final checks on salt lines. 
Sammy felt almost numb with disappointment.  He’d been anticipating seeing
John’s blood, watching the life drain from his eyes.  Ever since John had
started hurting Dean in that terrible way, there had been a darkness in Sam,
sitting patiently within him.  It grew a little every day, changing the way Sam
saw the world and everyone in it with the exception of Dean.  Dean was the
still point of the turning world and nothing would ever change that. 
 
It would have been nice to kill John.  Maybe even wonderful. 
 
Still, Dean had promised him and his big brother always kept his promises. 
 
*
 
Quinn had been a demon for one hundred and three years and by his own
estimation, he was a pretty decent one.  In that he was fast, strong and
enjoyed a good ritual disembowelment as much as the next soulless fiend.  He’d
met all kinds of other demons, one or two of whom turned even his stagnant
blood cold in his veins. 
 
The recently resurrected John Winchester surpassed them all. 
 
He kept his distance from the guy; he’d witnessed first-hand what a bad idea it
was to be too near him if he was given bad news.  It wasn’t that John was
especially cruel, or even violent.  It was that he was very
imaginative…creative, even, when it came to pain and torture.  He was a
powerful son of a bitch too, had a few tricks Quinn had never seen. 
 
“So,” John Winchester drawled coldly.  “Tell me again?”
 
Quinn hadn’t been the messenger until now and he had really liked it that way. 
Previous messengers, particularly those bearing bad news, weren’t exactly in
good shape…or any shape at all unless you counted puddles as shapes.  Quinn had
bad news to repeat, he’d already said it once and could tell where this was
headed so he decided to try and spin it another way.  A way that might not
result in grisly dismemberment. 
 
“OK, so although we don’t have an exact location for the uh…targets, per se –
we do have an idea of where they’re going.”
 
Winchester’s eyes flashed.  “Oh?”
 
“Yes.  Sam and Dean are heading in the direction you pointed them and the
targets are following them.  We think.”
 
“How do you know?” he asked, watching Quinn carefully with unblinking black
eyes. 
 
Quinn cleared his throat a little before continuing.  “There was a sighting.”
 
“Finally got those cowardly pieces of shit involved.  I knew my boys would get
their attention sooner or later.  OK then.  Let’s saddle up and make tracks.  I
wanna feel what it’s like to kill one of those fuckers.”
 
“And your sons, sir?  What is the uh…objective in regards to them?”
 
John Winchester stared long and hard at Quinn, unblinking and genuinely
terrifying.  It was difficult not to notice that the other demons behind Quinn
had taken several steps backwards in anticipation of slaughter and bloodshed. 
 
Then he laughed.  A bark of laughter that made everyone flinch.  “There’s no
objective, you dumb ass son of a bitch!  They’re my sons.  Mine.  If I see any
one of you go near ‘em, I’ll rip your guts out and use them as boot laces. 
Focus on the targets and the rituals to weaken them.”
 
Quinn nodded, fighting back the intense relief that he was still alive.  “Yes,
Sir.”
 
“Good, now go keep a close eye on my boys and those fuckers hovering around
them and next time, come back with good news or don’t come back at all.”
 
He didn’t even reply that time, just nodded respectfully and left.  Once he was
out of earshot, he let out a huge breath.  This was not going to end well for
Quinn.  He felt it.  Even if John Winchester somehow succeeded in his insane
plan, he’d probably kill Quinn to use his skull to piss in, just for the hell
of it. 
 
Quinn, not for the first time, had made a mistake.  A bad alliance.  Chosen the
wrong side in allying himself with John.  It wasn’t like he could just quit,
either.  Guts for shoelaces, remember?  Fuck. 
 
The remaining option was hardly appealing, but this was a cruel, new world and
needs must. 
 
Fucking Winchesters were going to be so smug. 
 
*
 
Sam Winchester was ten years old and so in love with his brother he couldn’t
stand it.  He knew there was a difference between what he felt for Dean and
what normal people, like the other boys in his class, felt for their brothers. 
It had only become clear to him recently that the aching feeling in his chest
and body whenever Dean was nearby, meant that he had fallen in love with him. 
Sammy had always loved Dean, loved him so completely it eclipsed everything
else.  This was new, or at least the intensity of it was new. 
 
Dean was fifteen and so beautiful, it hurt to look at him sometimes.  His body
had changed; he was strong and capable andstunning.  Sam couldn’t stop looking
at him, no matter how much it hurt.  Sam had realised a few months back that
these feelings he was having, the desire and longing he felt for Dean…it was
because he was in love. 
 
It changed everything for Sam.  He knew now that he would never love anyone
like he loved Dean.  He knew he would always be drawn to him in this way and
that no other would suffice. 
 
He knew other things too.  He knew the darkness in him was growing.  Knew that
one day, it would be ready to let loose upon the world he so despised.  The
world that stood by and did nothing to protect them from their father.  The
world that couldn’t save itself, let alone two young boys.  The world that
allowed Dean to be hurt. 
 
John still hurt Dean, only now Sam knew the word.  Rape.  He’d heard it in
school, on the news.  Knew what it meant and who it applied to.  The other
injuries aside, bruises and cuts from fists, John was hurting Dean by raping
him.  Dean still did nothing about it.  Still allowed himself to be hurt, to be
raped and used until he bled and tore and sometimes, cried.  Sam knew why he
still allowed it; he was protecting his little brother, of course. 
 
There was no limit to what Dean would withstand to protect Sam and Sam had
fallen in love with him because of it.  It wasn’t just that Dean was now the
personification of beauty and desire; it was because Dean was his whole world
and he knew, heknewhe was Dean’s whole world in return. 
 
Sam also knew Dean was in love with him, too.  He felt it, in everything Dean
said and did.  Knew it deep in his soul.  But Dean wouldn’t or couldn’t
acknowledge it yet.  Maybe Sam was still too young for him to see it.
 
He would wait, patient and enduring, for the day when Dean would realise that
he was in love with his little brother. 
 
“Sammy!” yelled John, bringing Sam from the pleasant reverie with a snap.  “Get
your ass out here!”
 
Smothering a scowl, Sam rolled off the bed he’d been laying on and went to
John.  He and Dean were outside the hotel; Dean bent over the Impala, head not
visible as he examined the engine.  John was finishing loading up the car with
all their minimal belongings.  Leaving another town, another state. 
 
“You ‘bout done?” he asked, for once sober and sharp. 
 
Sam nodded.  He had emptied the room of any trace that he and Dean had spent
time there. 
 
“Good,” said John, distracted as he packed up the car.  “That’s good.  Dean,
you got it?”
 
“Yeah, just about,” Dean replied.  Sam knew he was replacing the spark plugs;
an easy task for either one of them.  When he withdrew from the hood of the
car, he caught Sam’s eye and Sam forgot how to breathe.  It was a hot,
sweltering evening in Fort Valley, Georgia and Dean was only wearing an oil
stained vest.  When he smiled, slow and almost shy before looking away, Sam was
literally spellbound, caught painfully between aching arousal and all-consuming
love. 
 
“All right, let’s hit the road.  I’ll drive first, you two boys can sleep in
the back, get some rest for tomorrow.”
 
Dean’s looked surprised at the uncharacteristically generous offer from their
father.  It was almost how a normal father might treat his sons.  “You sure?”
 
John looked at him and Sam watched carefully.  There was a trace, only a trace
mind, of something resembling guilt as John observed Dean’s surprise at the
basic gesture of kindness.  “Yeah.  I’ll drive till morning then we can
switch.”
 
Sam and Dean knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth and they took
the rare offer of rest without further questioning. 
 
They piled into the back seat, Dean laying down first, arm open for Sam to
climb into his embrace.  They’d always slept this way in the car.  John didn’t
even notice it and if he did, he never said anything.  When Sam was wedged up
against Dean, uncomfortable but blissfully happy, Dean dragged the old blanket
over them both, for warmth. 
 
This was when Sam felt at peace, truly happy and safe.  Face pressed into
Dean’s chest, breathing him in.  Dean’s arms wrapped around his little brother,
keeping him away from the rest of the world and to himself. 
 
Dean sighed, hugging Sammy closer.  “My Sammy,” he breathed.  “You’ll always be
mine.”
 
*
 
The trail wasn’t cold, far from it - but Dean and especially Sam knew when they
were being lured into a trap.  The demons that overran the Earth had often
crusaded after the Winchester brothers, sometimes even trying something
moderately smart but this felt different. 
 
Dean knew it was something else. 
 
It was midday, on an open road with the sun causing the car to overheat a
little.  Dean pulled over so and he Sam could get some air, potentially fuck
against the car and most importantly, Sam wanted to see if he could finally get
a sense of what this thing was following them. 
 
Sam took his tee-shirt off and threw it into the back of the car, tipping a
bottle of lukewarm water over his head. 
 
“Jesus, Sammy,” Dean groaned.  “I am gonna fuck you through and through, baby
boy.”
 
Sam was smiling, soft and coy with that underline of danger.  Dean could never
get enough of his unpredictability.  It was how his little brother had always
been, right from the start. Unpredictable, but utterly Dean’s – heart, soul and
mind. Sam was the only one who had ever surprised Dean.
 
It was here, on this brightly lit sunny day when Dean could almost have
forgotten the world was overrun with demons, that it happened.
 
Sammy had clearly been expecting it, didn’t seem the least bit concerned. There
was a rush of air, like wings slicing through the heat waves on the road and
there it was. 
 
Or, there he was.  A normal ass looking guy wearing a fucking beige trench-coat
and blue tie.  He was kind of hot, in a bible salesman kind of way. 
 
“There you are,” Sam hissed quietly.  “I’ve felt you following us.”
 
Dean looked to Sam, not sure what exactly this guy was.  Sam was glaring at
him, eyes bright and full of that delicious violence only Sammy could unleash.
 
“He’s an angel, Dean.  Can you believe that?”
 
“A fuckin’ angel?  Shit, yeah I believe it but…wow.  That’s some irony right
there.”
 
The guy, angel, beg pardon – was standing ramrod straight, head shifting as he
looked at Dean and Sam in turn.
 
“You have to stop it,” the angel said in a deep, gravelly voice. 
 
“Stop what?” Dean asked calmly. 
 
The angel narrowed his eyes, looking somewhat ruffled.  “Stop what you’re doing
with each other.”
 
Sam laughed, rich and amused. “That’s funny, you know,” he said, sitting on the
hood of the car. “When I was on my knees, about to pass out with my Dad’s cock
down my throat and I prayed for an angel to save me, you weren’t exactly around
then, buddy.”
 
“I couldn’t…” the angel faltered, clearing his throat and shaking his head. “We
can’t intervene.”
 
“What the fuck is this, then?” Dean asked, chuckling.
 
“There’s no time to explain such things and it wouldn’t matter if I did,” he
said, looking mostly at Dean.  “John Winchester has a plan in place that has to
be stopped.  You won’t succeed if you continue this…relationship.”
 
“Because?” Dean said, moving closer to Sam, his hand skimming over the surface
of his strong shoulder.
 
The angel glared.  “Aside from it being a sin,” he explained.  “It’s what John
Winchester is looking to exploit.”
 
“You got a name, angel pie?” Dean asked smoothly.  He felt Sam shift, not
liking the pet name at all. 
 
“Castiel,” the angel answered after a hesitant moment. 
 
“Awesome.  Cas, you can just stop right there, OK?  We don’t need your help,
instruction and least of all interference.  So, fuck off back to whatever cloud
of privilege you came from and let us deal with dear old Dad.”
 
“Or stay,” Sam said with a feral grin. “And join in? I bet it sucks having to
watch everything from on high, never getting to touch or feeling anything.”
 
“That is not my concern,” Castiel said gruffly, but his cheeks flooded with
pink and Dean couldn’t help but grin.
 
“OK, well what if we have some terms?” Sam asked quickly, cat like reflexes
coming into play. “How about it we only agreed to temporarily stop fucking long
enough to kill John, but in exchange for something?”
 
“…in exchange for what?”
 
“Like how about letting me fuck you?”
 
The angel’s flat stare was too much and Dean let out a laugh, shaking his head.
“Cut it out, Sammy,” he said affectionately. “Look, we know how to deal with
John, OK? You being here is proof enough so seriously, fuck off.”
 
“Or,” Sam couldn’t help adding. “Fuck you?”
 
“You two have walked a dark path long enough and we have stood by and allowed
it because we were anticipating a moment like this,” Castiel said, finding his
voice once more. “What John Winchester has planned cannot come to pass.”
 
Dean growled a little. “Yeah, but everything else he did before was swell,
huh?”
 
“It was not our concern,” he repeated.
 
“Then neither is the fact that in about twenty seconds, I’m gonna fuck my
little brother till he begs me to hurt him just that little bit more, so he
comes all over himself, bent over the hood of our car.”
 
Sam moved closer to Dean, the anticipation of the sordid act clearly delighting
him. “Wanna watch?” he asked with mock shyness. Dean loved how dangerous and
unpredictable Sam was sometimes, especially when around someone new, someone he
could play with. Dean also got the sense that Sam didn’t particularly like the
angel, which made it all the more delectable.
 
“You have to stop it,” the angel said, but he looked away a little.
 
“No,” Dean said finally losing his patience. “We won’t. You can stay, keep
saying it if you like. Send the big guy down, get him to try if you like. We
won’t be stopping anything besides that piece of shit who couldn’t stay in
hell.”
 
There was a whisper of wings on air and Castiel was gone.
 
“Fucker,” Dean grumbled. “Coming down here giving orders.” His body language
was smooth and calm, but Sam could tell something about the angel had gotten to
Dean.
 
Sam gave him a measured look. “You think he’s hot.”
 
Dean shrugged. “In a bible salesman kinda way.”
 
“I don’t like the way you looked at him.”
 
“Baby, you don’t like the way I look at anyone.”
 
“Because you should only be looking at me.”
 
Dean turned quickly, grabbed Sam by the shoulders and held him still while he
moved his face close, lips hovering over his brothers. “I am only ever looking
at you, baby. That’s the whole problem. That was always the problem. You’re the
whole fuckin’ world, Sammy. Everyone else, they just wander in and out of my
peripheral now and then. Nothing more.”
 
Sam tangled his hands in Dean’s hair. “Tell me, then” he begged. “Tell me like
the first time all over again.”
 
*
 
Sam Winchester was thirteen and realised for the first time that his big
brother was just as fucking obsessed with him as he was with in turn. It was
the kind of obsession that hurt every day, ached deep in his chest and stomach;
sank low into his groin where it sat, heavy and noticeable for what felt like
eternity.
 
The world had narrowed irreversibly, the moon and the stars were named Dean
now. The night sky, the taste of his own blood from a thumb tack…everything
good and enjoyable was tainted with the knowledge that Dean was behind it,
would make it so much better.
 
Sam’s head swam with his burning, all-consuming love for his brother. It drove
him crazy, sent his body into a frenzy whenever Dean was nearby, brushing
against him and smiling. Sometimes Sam wanted to die, wanted to
fuckingexplodefrom how much he loved him and it was all
lovelovelovefuckfuckfuckneedneedneed. Sam was a teenager, spent every possible
moment alone with his cock in hand and there had never once been any thought
besides his brother. That was the way it had always been. No girls, no other
guys, no tits or strangers. Just Dean, the centre of his universe, fucking him.
Sucking him, kissing him, biting him. Drawing blood, making delicate bruises.
Tying his hands, tying him down. Making him come untouched, making him come
again, making Sam cry with overstimulation as he begged for more. Inside, deep
inside him in the way his body burned for. He was hollow without him, it echoed
in his heart.
 
But Dean had never said anything, never shown any genuine glimpse of a mad
passionate longing his little brother. He loved Sam, it was and had always been
evident that to Dean, Sam hung the moon. But Dean fucked girls, sometimes boys.
Dean kissed Sam’s cheek, then went out and fucked people who weren’t his blood.
Sam hated it. Couldn’t bear the inadvertent betrayal.
 
Until Dean slipped up.
 
Dean was a little drunk, smelling that way he always did when he’d fucked a
guy. That specific scent of aftershave, not perfume. Stronger sweat, faintly
detectible smell of come that wasn’t his own. Girls smelled so different from
boys. Sam hated either smell, hated that his brother carried his so-called
conquests into whatever shithole they were staying in, covered in someone who
wasnotSam.
 
But this time Dean was clearly upset and had gone drinkingafterhe’d fucked the
guy.
 
“S’mmy,” he slurred, pouring himself a glass of water. “You up?”
 
Of course he was. Sam never slept when Dean was out, hated being alone in the
bed, hated how he had to spend the entire night imagining what Dean was doing.
 
“Yeah,” he called, making his voice sound sleepy. “Whassup?”
 
“Uh,” Dean paused, like he’d forgotten where he was. “No, nothing. Go back to
bed, baby.”
 
Sam’s heart lurched, hot blood flooding his face and cock. Dean sometimes
called him that, albeit unintentionally. It made Sam’s head swim with desire,
wanted to chase the word right out of his mouth and make him say it over and
over, swallow each endearment until they were hot and heavy and Dean was
screaming them.  
 
“You OK?” he asked, because Dean was pale and taut, despite being a little
drunk.
 
“Yeah, seriously – go back to sleep.”
 
“I wasn’t asleep,” Sam said. “You know I wasn’t.”
 
“I know,” Dean said, dropping his head as he leant over the sink, hands braced
on either side. “I know, Sammy.”
 
“You have fun?” Sam couldn’t help but ask, his voice cold even to his own ears.
 
“No,” Dean said outright. “I uh…made a mistake.”
 
Concern rose up fast. “What happened?” Sam demanded. “Did someone hurt you?”
 
“What? No, nothing like that. I just…made a mistake.”
 
“So? Who cares? You need to me to kill them?” Sam asked casually and Dean
chuckled, but they both knew Sam was deadly serious. They rarely spoke of it,
as they did many things, but Dean knew who Sam was, knew what he wanted to do.
Knew his heart. Fucking owned it too.
 
“No, but thanks.”
 
Sam waited and then said, “What’d you do?”
 
“I said the wrong name,” Dean said, voice oddly strangled.
 
Sam’s breath caught. “Oh?”
 
Dean closed his eyes, facing away. “Yeah, the guy was pretty pissed.”
 
Determinedly sounding casual, Sam asked, “Whose name did you say?” When Dean
didn’t reply, he pushed on. “That guy from the steakhouse? He was hot. Or uh,
that older guy from the gas station in Louisville?”
 
“No.” The word was laden with finality, like Dean was begging him to stop but
Sam could never stop, could never back away.
 
Sam demanded quietly, “What does it matter whose name you said? You’ll never
see him again, who cares?”
 
So quietly, Dean spoke. “I said ‘Sammy’. Right when I came.”
 
Now Sam couldn’t breathe. Dean was going to say how fucked up it was, how
disgusted he felt.
 
“That doesn’t mean anything,” he lied calmly. “Like, I probably just popped in
your head, y’know?”
 
But Dean wouldn’t take the out, wouldn’t nod and force himself to smile. He
turned around, approached Sam and dropped to his knees in front of him. The
desperation on his face was unbearable.
 
“I can’t do this,” Dean whispered, even though John wasn’t there and there was
no need to be quiet and stay hidden. “Can’t keep lying, can’t keep it inside me
anymore, Sammy.”
 
Dean was gripping the material of Sam’s sweats, head bowed as he confessed
through gritted teeth what Sam had only ever dreamed about.
 
“Say it then,” Sam whispered, trembling all over.
 
“Need you to say it first,” Dean said, his voice shaking. “If I’m wrong…if you
don’t feel like I do…I’ll die, Sammy. I’ll fuckin’ die.”
 
Sam dropped to his knees, grasping Dean’s face with his hands.
 
“Dean,” he moaned low and urgent. “You know I’m in love with you.”
 
His big brother was stone cold sober now, Sam knew his face so well. Dean
looked like he couldn’t believe it. “Say it again,” he asked seriously, because
this was not something he would accept lightly.
 
Sam swallowed a sob. “I’m in love with you, Dean. Not the way brothers are
supposed to love each other. I think about you every minute of the day, I want
you so badly it hurts.”
 
Dean let out a little punch of air at that, like he could barely believe it.
“Jesus Sammy, this is so fucked.”
 
“No,” Sam said, reaching behind Dean’s neck. “Tell me now. I said it, Dean.”
 
Dean seemed to break. Sam had never seen it before and it was beautiful.
 
“I’m in love with you too, Sammy,” Dean confessed as he looked down, sliding
his hands into Sam’s long hair. “I think…I think I always have been.”
 
Sam’s heart was thundering in his chest, in his ears. He could barely keep his
breathing steady.
 
“In love how?”
 
Dean looked up. “In love like you’re all I see when I fuck other people. In
love like you’re in my bloodstream and my heart and my mind. In love like I
said your name when I came less than three hours ago.”
 
Sam tried to stay calm, but he felt like he was going to shake apart. In all
the time he’d had these feelings for Dean, he never seriously thought it was be
reciprocated. Dean was his guardian, his protector and best friend. To ask for
more had seemed impossible.
 
“Don’t cry,” Dean said, voice cracking as he wiped away the tears on Sam’s
face. “Tell me what you’re thinking, baby boy.”
 
“I’m thinking,” Sammy said, trying to get a grip. “That this is a dream.”
 
Dean kissed Sam then. He leaned forward and closed the small gap between them,
pressing his lips to his brothers with tentative care and obvious hesitation.
It was chaste and closed mouth, testing the waters. “S’not a dream, Sammy,” he
breathed. “I’m so in love with you I can’t see straight. I think… I think I
always have been.”
 
Something inside of Sam simply snapped. He slammed his mouth to Dean’s, sloppy
with inexperience and desperation. Dean returned the kiss, tangling his hands
in Sam’s long hair as he moaned into his mouth. Dean’s experience was evident
to Sam but it meant nothing anymore. Dean had been thinking of him, saying his
name as he came. It was love, it was the definition of love.
 
Dean stood up, taking Sam with him and the two kissed in the middle of the
harshly lit kitchen. Sam dragged Dean backwards, forcefully keeping the kiss
connected. When the back of his legs hit the table, he pulled Dean downwards
and shuffled back until he was lying down on the table, his big brother heavy
on top of his. Christ, he was going to drown in this feeling and never
resurface.
 
He was so hard, leaking precome indecently through his shorts. “Dean,” he
groaned, breaking away for air as Dean trailed sloppy, wet kisses all down his
neck. “Fuck me. Do it, I want you inside me.”
 
Dean stopped, pulling back. His lips were red and somewhat swollen, fucking
delicious. His eyes were wide, pupils blown and Sam wanted to fucking explode
just looking at him. “No, baby,” Dean said. “We’re not doing that till you’re
older.”
 
Sam sat up a little, leaning back on his elbows. “Seriously? Dean… I don’t give
a fuck about being older!”
 
“Well, I do,” Dean said and Sam knew there would be no winning this argument
tonight. “But I’ll make you feel good, baby boy don’t you worry.”
 
He pressed a searing kiss to Sammy’s mouth and his deft, work-roughened hands
slid down the inside of Sam’s shorts and into his boxers, gripping his eager,
aching cock. Sam gasped as his head fell backwards, hitting the table with a
thud. He was going to come embarrassingly soon.
 
“That’s it,” Dean whispered, lips against Sam’s ear as he worked him pumping
rhythmically. “So hot, so hard for me baby, huh? You gonna come for me?” Sam
cried out, biting his lip as he tried not to, wanting this to last forever.
Dean bit his ear, hard enough to send a jolt through Sam’s whole body and his
orgasm his him like a freight train. Dean worked him through it, whispering
filthy, hot words into his ear, nestling in his brain and ruining him for all
eternity.
 
“Love you,” Sam slurred. “So much.”
 
Dean kissed him and said, “Show me.”
 
*
 
 
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