Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4135764.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Character:
      Benny_Lafitte, Bobby_Singer, John_Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      Anal_Sex, Underage_Sex, Explicit_Sexual_Content, Blow_Jobs, Anal
      Fingering, Explicit_Language, Alternate_Universe, Alternate_Universe_-
      Canon_Divergence, Top_Dean, Top_Sam, Bottom_Dean, Bottom_Sam, Adult
      Content, Angst_with_a_Happy_Ending, Sibling_Incest
  Series:
      Part 1 of Bayou_Cane_AU
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-06-15 Words: 13335
****** Four Years ******
by deawrites
Summary
     Dean & Sam have been lovers for seven years before Sam get's accepted
     to Stanford University. Reunited after four years apart can they
     rekindle their relationship, or are they going to stay apart forever?
     This is an alternate reality where the pilot episode and subsequent
     seasons never happen.
Notes
     All mistakes are my own. Feed back and comments encouraged. Thank you
     for reading! (edited and re-posted 8/28/16)
     And yes, I know Benny's last name is Lafitte and he didn't live in
     Bayou Cane but I changed that.
He could barely remember a time when he and Dean hadn't been having sex.  Eight
months after his eleventh birthday, Sam had finally garnered enough courage to
tell Dean how he felt.  Dean had not raged and yelled at Sam. He had not
shouted that Sam was a disgusting freak, as Sam assumed his older brother
would. Instead, Dean's voice had cracked in a way Sam hadn't heard for a few
years and this time it wasn't hilariously funny. He could clearly see pain
etched on Dean's features, and it worried him to near frantic proportions.
Instead of pushing him away, Dean had stuttered that Sammy was far too young to
know what romantic love was, to which Sam emphatically countered, that his
older brother was full of shit.
"I know what I feel and how much I love you, Dean. I want us to be together.
Don't you?"
 
Dean had attempted to lie, but failed miserably beneath Sam’s scrutiny.
 
For the first four months whenever they were alone all they did was kiss and
cuddle together.  They would slump on the couch intertwined, watching
television. There were times Dean would pull Sam into his lap and hold him,
either across his lap; or with Sam's back to his chest, the younger boy nestled
between his thighs.  Dean would comb his hands through Sam's shaggy hair, and
make one of his patented lame jokes or puns, between kisses and minor caresses.
 At bedtime the brothers would nestle together upon the same full sized
mattress, with Sam using Dean's chest as a pillow. Sam always pressed his face
into his big brother's neck, as he ghosted all his secrets across Dean's flesh
in whispers.  This was his own safe haven, where he reveled in Dean's scent and
the physical security of his arms.  In the mornings, Dean would be the first
awake and have to extricate himself carefully from a tangle of arms and legs
Sam had contorted around him during the night.
A month shy of his twelfth birthday the gently peppered or deep, impassioned,
French kisses reached a fever pitch within Sam.  He wanted more than just
innocent touches and kisses.  He could tell that Dean; now sixteen years old;
was exhausted by holding back as well.  He knew that Dean was a shameless
flirt, but there was more to his flashed smiles and bedroom eyes directed at
the local female populace.  Sam knew that Dean might not date them but he sure
as hell hooked up with girls his own age or older.  Sam felt his heart break a
little more every time Dean returned to their motel room or temporary lodgings;
guilt ridden and smelling of quick and easy conquests.  He was hurt by Dean's
betrayal and angry that his older brother continually turned to them for the
very physicality he should embrace instead with Sam.
While puberty had just recently sparked within Sam's lithe frame, inside Dean
it was a roaring beast that needed frequent release.  What Sam didn't know
about seduction he easily replaced with skilled emotional manipulation.  The
younger Winchester knew his big brother's psyche as acutely as his own breath.
 After softening Dean's resolve with fake tantrums and earnest beaten down
puppy dog eyes, Sam hardened his features with determination and approached
Dean with a logical proposal: Why go to strangers for sex when Sam was both
able and willing to provide for Dean's needs himself? A little tilt of the head
followed by a few blinks of his long lashes, compounded with a heart seizing
plea later, and Dean was proverbial putty in Sam's hands.
Sam's fathomless bravery floundered only a tiny bit the first time he touched
Dean's cock, but trepidation was quickly squashed by curiosity. It wasn't long
before Sam was craving the feeling of that same appendage in his hand, mouth or
body.  He was insatiable to learn what to do with his own body in order to coax
particular noises and reactions out of his older sibling. What things Dean
didn't realize he should be teaching him, Sam looked up on the Internet hacking
through child cyber locks like they were flimsy door latches.  And why
shouldn't he explore all potential avenues of pleasure? Sam was dead set on
maintaining physical supremacy over Dean's body sexually, so that he wouldn't
go wandering back to the only segment of the sexual population Sam couldn't
compete with.  Sam successfully kept Dean so sated and wound tight around his
own cock, that Dean could hardly keep a thought in his head that wasn't Sam for
the next seven years.
Manipulation had come naturally to Sam, and it was no challenge to entice Dean
to be open and begging for him.  The all consuming force of nature that was
Sam, had Dean so emotionally and sexually intertwined with his own identity,
that Sam never realized how dependent he was on Dean as well.  Because of this
omission, Sam was blindsided by Dean's fury in a way that tore him to the core.
 The thought that a single piece of paper could ever change anything between
them was ludicrous, until an acceptance letter to a college arrived.  A college
that Sam never intended going to, and had only applied for in order to see if
he could get in, cut Dean to his soul and his eyes damned Sam for his careless
betrayal.  School had always been important to Sam. Dean seethed how Sam
forever whined about fitting into a life that was considered 'normal', but
raged that any attempt to grasp that life was a clear declaration of
abandonment from the family business and Dean combined.
The more that Dean shrieked at Sam that he was ungrateful and selfish, the less
the notion of acceptance to college was a curiosity and the more it became a
sought after goal.  If Dean was convinced that Sam was trying to break his
heart and turn his back to the life that meant so much to the two of them, then
by god Sam was going to go to Stanford and create himself a future that didn't
include hunting. Their father John's out right refusal and argument had been
soft, background static compared to the raging war that erupted between Sam and
Dean.  For once in John Winchester's life, he found himself acting the referee
and the voice of reason as he struggled to physically separate his fighting
sons.  Dean was trying to tear Sam apart limb from limb, and Sam was determined
to smite him first.  In the end, John could only cow Dean by throwing him back
into the living room wall and braced himself against his eldest son. He shouted
at Sam to cease and desist, however, Sam grabbed his belongings vowing to see
them when classes let out in the summer. Realizing his intent, John informed
Sam that if he walked out their house rental door that he better continue
walking forever.
In all four years of pursuing a greater education, Sam had never once called
his father or brother, sent a text message, E-mail or nostalgic post card.
 Instead, he took his mother's maiden name and didn't feel any regret when he
signed Campbell to all of his official documents. The worn name Winchester felt
like shattered glass on his tongue and he felt much lighter just disowning it
altogether.  The minor alteration freed him from his previous life, in addition
acting as a childish 'fuck you' to Dean. His older brother was proud of the
family moniker and would rather die than disown it.  Dean had declared his path
and in turn forced Sam to diverge upon his own.  It had taken four years of
constant focus upon everything but Dean in order to banish the incessant thrum
of his brother from his blood.  He told himself he could no longer feel Dean's
presence coursing through his body, and that he was even happy about his new
life: And for a while he was.
Of course, Sam knew he was ultimately lying to himself as he came to know that
he was just as bereft without Dean as he had made Dean without him. Yet that
hardly mattered. Now living in Palo Alta, Sam knew Dean was on the opposite
side of the country chasing monsters with their father. John finally had his
hunting partner all to himself without Sam cluttering up the scenario with
ceaseless questions and combative attitude. He had never gotten along with
John, therefore his father's banishment of him had been a blessing in disguise.
 In a perfect world he would have escaped the life with Dean at his side, but
nothing was perfect and the world didn't work like a convenient plot ending to
a half hour sitcom.
With a BA in Anthropological Folk Lore under his belt, Sam knew it was time to
do the only thing that made any sense: Find Dean.  Sam's first stop was Sioux
Falls, South Dakota at Bobby Singer's Salvage yard.  Even if Sam hadn't kept in
touch with John or Dean, not a month had gone by during his college years, that
he failed to check in with his surrogate father Bobby. The man had been the
inspiration for his degree. Sam had long loved research and knowing monster
lore. Bobby had a head for memorizing facts and orchestrating cases by matching
hunters and resources to them.  Sam could easily see Bobby's life as his
probable future, and hoped to build his own reputation for accurate advice and
exceptional hunting and support skills.
Eventually Sam wished to have a home base for his rapidly amassing library. A
place that he and Dean could share and create together. He wouldn't give up
hunting initially, but rather balance his time out in the field with Dean, to
those of the duties required of him at their designated headquarters.  While it
would never be a sky blue house with a white piquet fence; with Dean a home
maker and Sam their primary source of income; it would at the very least be a
place where they belonged. A place where they could have a dog or two, and a
history together that didn't entail them crisscrossing the country and leaving
places in the dead of night like criminals.  It was a sound dream, an ambition
that was not only obtainable but desirable. Sam felt completely sated just
contemplating the structure of the images within his mind, as a whole.  He felt
it entirely conceivable that once Dean discovered Sam's intentions that he
would readily adopt the vision as his own touchstone as well. And why not? Was
it so unreasonable to imagine this life; a constructive and passionate one;
together?  Sam's escape to college had been the first time in his life that he
had seen the possibility of a future, so perhaps Dean could do the same.
There was only one way to find out.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dean knew he was dying a slow death.  Every day it got a little harder to
breathe and increasingly difficult to make it through to the next dawn.  He
drank too much, slept too little, and became a miserable, nasty piece of work,
that just didn't give a fuck.  There only exception was his 1967 Chevy Impala
gifted from his father and christened "Baby".  Everything and everyone else was
background static.  Dean no longer hunted in the grand tradition of his
ancestors.  He had traded the dive roadside diners, moldy, back woods motels,
fake badges, faker credit cards, and piss poor financial status for something a
little more stable. He had shaved, cut his hair, acquired a false past complete
with the appropriate historical records; and headed to Langley Virginia to
become an F.B.I. agent.  Dean was tired of playing at something he had a true
talent for, even if everyone he considered close family figured Dean would
become an auto mechanic; specializing in muscle cars if he ever left the
hunting life.
While the move was unorthodox, Dean was surprised to discover that the change
worked and he had an aptitude for his new vocation. The bureaucracy of the
Bureau training and job protocol, were surprisingly welcomed changes from the
chaos and unpredictability of his previous life. He thrived under the
structured expectations of his days, and soon went from trainee to solid agent
in a meteoric rise upon graduation.  He was assigned a partner, and not only
did they work their cases, but closed them. Before long Dean was being eyed by
various task forces, yet thus far managed to avoid being assigned to any of
them. When he was honest with himself, he knew could not shed an entire life of
living under the radar for a gold star of achievement in his personnel jacket. 
Task forces were high profile and Dean wanted to have a job where everything
wasn’t laying upon his shoulders.  Aside from that, he enjoyed working with
Agent Benjamin "Benny" Lafayette. And when he took his honesty a step further,
Dean admitted that the stability of his new vocation provided a projection of
success in the outside world that his failing mental state could not.
He was unstable, but only "after hours", and that was when his real face
revealed itself. His utterly stubborn, miserable, dying, shattered core of a
face.  Benny had seen glimpses of Dean's destroyed self, but he wasn't one to
judge. Everyone had their demons, even if Dean's were flaying him alive every
second he remained breathing; well that was a private matter.  The drinking and
depression hadn't affected Dean's work performance, nor jeopardized anyone's
personal safety past Dean's own, so Benny kept Dean's confidences and helped
his friend and colleague any way he could.  Benny had offered Dean a room to
rent in his house, and there were times Dean would pass out on the couch too
intoxicated to find his way to his own room.  Deep in the night, Dean would
twitch and throw punches, or scrabble desperately for some sort of purchase;
always with the heart wrenching plea of "Sammy" on his lips. The morning
following the first incident, Benny had asked Dean who this, Sammy person was,
and spent an entire uncomfortable day with Dean's utter contempt and silence as
company.
In all, Dean found that life in Bayou Cane; which was seventeen miles outside
of New Orleans, Louisiana; tolerable.  The commute to work to New Orleans
wasn't bad, and people left him alone when Dean didn't feel like being
sociable; granted, which was most of the time. Benny however, was well known
and loved in town due to his family having settled there since the township's
inception. Therefore, by proxy Dean was afforded respect and protection of the
other residents.  He repaid their generosity when he could, but mostly he
preferred to keep to himself.  While it was true being alone was killing Dean,
there was not a soul in Bayou Cane including Benny's; that could slake the
torment Dean felt: Sammy; only Sammy could save him.
The only concession to his past that he made, was calling his surrogate father,
Bobby Singer once every week to check in. No matter how devastated or drunk he
was, Dean never missed a week.  Of the hunter community; including John
Winchester his hero and biological father; Bobby was the only one that Dean
contacted.  While he could cut ties and separate from everyone else in the
world that wasn't Sam; Bobby was the only person that Dean refused to say
goodbye too. Dean couldn't pretend that he didn't care about the gristly,
intelligent, gruff of a man; and if anyone asked he would proudly retort that
Bobby was his dad.  In truth, Bobby had been an actual father to him and Sam,
while John descended into madness in the hunt to find the yellow eyed demon
that had killed his wife, Mary; and nearly killed Sam as a baby.
Dean had a small patch on his right elbow scarred from the flames of the house
fire. He had been four years old the night John Winchester shoved a blanket
swaddled Sam into his arms, and desperately ordered him to run down the stairs
and out of the house as fast as his feet would fly.  His little eyes were wide
with fear, as flames erupted in the nursery door jam, catching his elbow
aflame.  Dean didn't dare stop running to the stairs and down, with his baby
brother clutched to his chest. Once he reached the landing and unlocked and
tugged open the front and screen doors, did he think of his own safety.  Dean
jostled the baby in his hold, and patted out the flame with his left hand. It
hurt, but the look of abject horror in his baby brother's eyes scarred him
deeper than the burns.  From that moment on, he vowed he would protect his baby
Sammy no matter what; and up until Sam had left for Stanford Dean, had held to
his word.
There wasn't a week that went by that Dean didn't replay the roaring argument
within his mind. He could see everything so clearly, every detail seared into
his memory. He could recall every single word Sam had bellowed at him, and each
time he heard the words his wounds opened afresh to bleed.  After the blood
began to seep, the regrets rolled in like waves on his stubborn beach head. If
only he had gone after Sam; chased him out the door and stopped him from
leaving. If only he had stopped yelling, and just taken a breath and talked to
his little brother perhaps they would be together now.  Or not; Sam had made
his decision quite clear to Dean that day; it was over between them, and half
of Dean's heart now resided with Sam.
At first Dean had been able to circumnavigate the vast numbness that consumed
him, with fathomless bottles of alcohol and a bevy of nameless women parading
through his bed.  Warm bodies served as secondary distractions, but once Dean
had come, the knowledge that they were inferior to Sam in every way washed over
him and pinned him to the mattress.  Sheer anger propelled him to his feet to
usher each woman out of the motel room door as quickly as possible, so that
Dean could begin drinking and repeat the cycle once more.  While the women were
ultimately not to blame for anything, Dean despised them as much as he did
himself.  Sam- Sam was the only person in the world he wanted and also the only
person in existence that he couldn't have.
Now living in Bayou Cane with a population well below ten thousand, Dean's pool
of available women had dramatically shrunk. In order to indulge his hedonistic
destruction, he had to drive to New Orleans and bar hop for possibilities.
 Impala or hotel sex, if the women didn't want to take him home with them, or
rushed ladies room rutting and quickies in alleyways, before Dean moved on to
the next pretty face.  He didn't date, didn't commit any part of himself to
anyone, past his numb body in sexual acts. The women weren't Sam, and Dean
wasn't worth loving anyway.  Sam had said as much when he left, and Dean had
reflected the same in turn back onto his younger sibling, by not chasing after
him.  He should have gone to Stanford and dragged Sam kicking and screaming
into the Impala if he had too. But all Dean had done was call Sam's cell phone
and listen to the prompt just to hear Sam's voice. A million times he had
called and a million times he never left a message. What was the point, when
clearly Sam had ditched that phone and was using a burner?
Sammy was always too smart for Dean's own good.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sam had stayed at Bobby's house for three days catching up with the older man.
 Bobby had printed out the college graduation snapshots Sam had sent him from
the ceremony, and hung them in a multi picture frame on the living room wall.
 From his seat at his battered desk, he could look up and see Sam towering over
a couple of his friends, Jessica and Brady, all smiles in their caps and gowns.
 He was immensely proud of Sam for his accomplishment and obtainable future,
but that still didn't mean he didn't want to wring the overgrown idjit's neck.
 Every week Dean had called him, and every month Sam would do the same. Each
brother never asked about their counterpart thus ensuring Bobby would not have
to betray either of their trusts by reporting on one to the other.  At least,
he hadn't had too for four years until Sam's current visit.
Sam sat on the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, fingers laced with his
hands dangling between them. His brow was furrowed in sorrow as he addressed
Bobby softly.  "Dean never... he never asked if you at least knew if I was
okay?"
Bobby loved the two boys like natural sons. Hell, he would have stolen them
from John outright if the blasted asshole hadn't waited until they were
practically teens to bring them by. Yet as much as he adored the two, he
accepted their flaws; especially that they could be so brilliant and stupid in
the same instant when it came to their relationship.
"You didn't." Bobby pointed out managing to keep his tone pleasant, when what
he really longed to do was to throw the book he was holding directly at Sam's
head.  "And if he had, you would have gotten all bent out of shape at me for
gettin' in the middle of you two."  Bobby paused as Sam looked down at the
floor and shifted on the couch. He could almost hear the swelling of tears in
Sam's eyes. "Sides, I know what happens to anyone that manages to wander in
between ya."
Sam frowned and raised his head.  "What happens?"
Bobby's mouth worked into a thin line and his voice raised somewhat in
disbelief.  "They end up losing that's what!" Bobby motioned with a hand at
Sam. "Criminy Boy! Don't tell me with that big ol' brain, in that thick skull
of yours you never once noticed that?"
Sam shook his head, his frown fading.  "Will you tell me where he is Bobby?"
Bobby sighed and took off his trucker cap to smooth back his thinning hair with
rough fingers, before placing the cap back upon his head.  "You going to go get
him and stay with him for good this time?"  Sam nodded in earnest promise, and
Bobby glanced away in consideration before looking back at Sam. "Bayou Cane,
Louisiana. It's a few miles out of New Orleans. I'll get you the address."
Sam's heart beat a little faster and affection sparked in his gaze.  "Thanks,
Bobby."
"Yeah, yeah." Bobby grunted, and searched the desk for a pen and something to
write on.  "Just promise you'll bring him by the house before you boys get too
far back into hunting."
Sam rose from his seat and walked over to Bobby, taking the folded slip of
paper from him. As he looked at the address he calculated in his mind how long
it would take him to get to his destination.  "There's one more thing you
should know." Bobby stated, sitting back in the office chair.  "About Dean's
situation I mean."
Sam looked up from the note to Bobby, and felt his stomach constrict in fear.
 "What situation?"
"Well," Bobby paused and wiped a hand on the nape of his neck.  "You went off
to college and Dean," Bobby grimaced and took a deep breath.  "He hunted with
your dad for less than six weeks before he went off on his own. At first it was
to hunt but then," Once more Bobby paused, this time longer as he stared into
Sam's green, blue eyes.
"Then?" Sam prompted, growing increasingly unsettled by the second.
"Then he applied to Quantico and got in is what.  He's an FBI agent now, Sam."
 Sam gaped at Bobby, who smiled. "Yeah, that's about how it hit me too. But
he's the real deal now and livin' in Louisiana. Rents a room in his partner's
house. Don't know much about him 'cept he's good people." Bobby shrugged and
waited for Sam to reclaim his voice.
An FBI agent?  No more rock star monikers and false identifications? Dean had
gone legit? Sam's mind was reeling with the implications.  "He left hunting?"
 Bobby nodded. "I never once thought he'd-" Sam shook his head and turned a
half circle in his stance, before looking back to look at Bobby.  "What? How is
that even possible? Why would he stop hunting?"
"You'll have to ask him." Bobby dismissed firmly. He had gotten in the middle
of the brother's rift as much as he was going to permit himself too.  Now it
was up to Dean and Sam to reunite and mend their own fences. Lord knew that
Bobby didn’t want to become one of the casualties he had warned Sam about.  "I
just didn't want you to walk into that completely blind."
"Th-thanks, Bobby. I appreciate it."
Sam spent the next fifteen and half hour drive attempting to wrap his head
around the concept of Dean making a living at something other than credit card
fraud, poker games, and hustling pool and darts at bars.  Dean paid taxes,
received a monthly pay check, and had paid vacation days once a year.  Dean
wore a suit and tie to work every day, and filed paperwork, and he was
accountable for his actions. He had a supervisor and HR policies. Dean was a
goddamned civilian, and Sam could barely breathe just thinking about it.  Did
he attend meetings and office parties during the holidays? Have to buy a gift
for a secret Santa? Did he say hello to people he passed in the halls? Tell his
female coworkers they looked nice and talk sports with the men? Dean Winchester
was a legitimate FBI agent? Had the world gone completely insane?
By one in the afternoon on Saturday, Sam climbed out of the 1965 Mustang Bobby
had lent him from the scrap yard. The car was in dire need of cosmetic body
work, but the engine was road ready and mechanics sound.  Sam shoved his hands
into the front pockets of his jeans, and gazed at the ranch house where his
brother now resided.  Sam determined it to be a three bedroom, two and a half
bath floor plan, yet it only boasted a single car garage. The Impala was in the
drive way covered with a protective tarp, and Sam would have recognized the
shape and tires anywhere. He swallowed and walked up the drive way to the front
door.  He rang the doorbell, and waited, not hearing any sound from inside the
house; the television wasn't on in the living room and there was no
conversation just behind the door. He shifted nervously and with drew his hands
from his pockets, wiped them on his thighs, and steeled himself for whatever
was to come next.
Dean looked through the peep hole and his gut churned, blood freezing in his
veins: Sammy?  Now? After all this time? Dean yanked the front door open and
stared down his younger brother through the screen door.  Sam exhaled in a
huff, as his nervous system flashed to life and he smiled gently at his
brother.
"Hi, Dean."  The older man said nothing and merely glared at Sam.  "It's good
to see you. C-can I come in so we can talk?"
Dean pushed the screen door open a little and stepped back to permit Sam entry.
 He closed the doors his brother walked through, and crossed his arms over his
chest. He blocked Sam's path out of the entry way and didn't offer Sam a seat
in the living room.
"Talk." Dean directed coldly.
Sam nodded and dropped his gaze to the sandstone tile on the floor, before
locking stares with Dean.  He had predicted the initial conversation would be
stilted, but somehow in his mind Dean had lashed out with anger and a free flow
of words rather than croaking out only one word sentences.  All the rehearsed
dialogues that Sam had run through his mind over the past few months abruptly
muted.
"I stopped by Bobby's. He uh, he told me where you were." Sam cleared his
throat and watched Dean's head tilt to one side slightly at the mention of
their mentor and surrogate father.  "And I understand that you're an actual Fed
now." Sam's smile was three quarter's disbelief and one quarter pride.
 "That's, surprising; but great. I mean, how do you like it?"
"It pays all right." Dean snapped, his jaw setting.  "This is what you want to
talk about?"
"No. No it isn't." Sam conceded gently. "When you, Dad and I had that fight
four years ago- it was never my intention to really go to Stanford. I applied
because I wanted to know if I could actually get in; receive a full scholarship
and feel like I'd accomplished something-"
"Normal?" demanded Dean his lips pursing.
"Yeah, exactly." Sam glanced beyond Dean's shoulder for a quick breath,
gathering his words before seeking Dean's features once more with his eyes.
 "But then Dad started screaming at me about being a hunter, and how important
it was to take down the demon that killed Mom, and you-" Sam halted and reached
out a hand to his older brother, and after several seconds of not being reached
out to in return, Sam pulled back his hand.  "You were so angry Dean, and I
don't remember anymore what I thought I knew; or believed; at the time, but I
wanted to make you and Dad hurt. I wanted to spite you both so desperately,
that I walked my ass to the bus station and bought a ticket to California.  And
the further I got away from everything, the more I realized I had messed up,
but by then I was there and it was registration, and suddenly there were all
these kids there-" Sam paused and shrugged, shaking his head gently.
"They had a really good anthropology program. I majored in lore, Dean. I know
so much about creatures we may face in the hunt now it's, it's really exciting.
 I was thinking that we could go some where and buy a house; set up our head
quarters there. I'd build up my library and try my hand at what Bobby does for
all the other hunters. I have some really good ideas to bring us out of the
shadows a little; more mainstream. You know, hide in plain sight kind of
things.  Then I though you and I could take a few cases here and there; then
when we were ready we could come home and I'd man the phones and you'd- I don't
know, go out with other hunters or work on cars. Have your own tools and space
for a change." Sam gazed hopefully at Dean, and bit his bottom lip for a beat
before smiling fully at his big brother. "This is tangible Dean; something real
we could build together. Something that is on our own terms. Not Dad's, not
some other Hunter's, but ours."
Dean's left eye narrowed a little, twitching before he jutted his jaw outward
and hissed.  "I don't hear squat from you for four years. Then you show up at
my door out of the blue, and suddenly you're asking me to set up shop with
you?"  Dean's upper lip curled into a snarl.  "While you were playing doe eyed
co-ed where in the hell do you think I was huh? I was knee deep in blood, guts
and sick, trying to keep Dad from getting himself killed. He became a goddamn
liability after you left. No one will work with him now. The great John
Winchester a human red flag to an ungrateful community. And even though I
haven't heard from him but three times in the past four years, seeing him would
still be less of a shock than me looking at you right now. I don't know if he's
dead, or drunk in some skank's bed, or choking out a demon but he didn’t desert
me."
Dean took a couple of steps forward, and Sam instinctively took one back, yet
from there he stood his ground. Sam was not angry, merely absorbing the cold
calculation of his brother's voice, allowing it to roll over him.
"Dean I know th-"
"You don't know a goddamn thing!" Dean shouted, his arms uncrossing as he came
to a stop before Sam.  "You left and every-damn-thing imploded!" Dean pushed
Sam away with both hands, sending him stumbling backwards toward the front
door.  "You left me, Sam! You packed your gear, and you waltzed off to college
like everything we were meant nothing to you! Do you remember that part? Huh?
Do you remember what you had said to me just the night before? What you
promised me? Breathed in this ear?" Dean pointed to his right ear and moved
forward to crowd Sam's personal space. His volume dropped to a near whisper,
his fury barely contained beneath the surface of his burning skin. "No more
hunting with Dad; you wanted it just to be the two of us. You told me you loved
me, and you promised me you'd always have my back. You told me that no one;
could ever love me the way you did, and that I was yours. Do you remember that,
Sam? Because you said it, and I fucking believed you!"
Dean gave Sam a last hard shove and threw him against the door, his fists
twisted in Sam's shirts and jacket.  "You lied to me! Think I can ever forgive
that? Think I can ever trust a goddamn thing you say again? Huh? Do you?" Dean
tore himself away from Sam, stumbling a few steps back from him, wiping a hand
over his mouth as his gaze glistened with unshed tears.  "Get out." Dean
hissed, taking a more controlled step away. "I can't even look at you right
now. Just leave 'cause I can't do this. Just fucking go."
Sam watched as Dean turned his back on him, and stalked off in the direction of
the kitchen.
"Dea-"
"Get out Sam!" Dean interrupted, without turning around.
Sam felt his chest constrict as his breathing was infused with painful sobs.
 No; if he left now who knew when Dean would permit him access again or if
ever?  Sam stood his ground and wiped the tears from his face with the back of
his hand. He was shaking, but he was determined not to leave. He had to
convince Dean to talk to him, work through their pain and try to be at least
brothers once more.  If being lovers were off the table, Sam hoped that family
would be enough for Dean to keep the lines of communication open.
Dean strode into the kitchen not entirely certain where he was going, but
knowing he couldn't stand being in the same room with his brother for one more
second.  He wanted to punch a cabinet, tear the door off and throw it, smash
the dishes in the dish drainer onto the floor and tear the pots from the
overhead holder that dangled them above the kitchen island.  He felt dizzy and
seized the counter top of the island with his hands, knuckles white, as he
closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe through the pressure in his
chest.
How could Sam do this to him? How could he force the final nails in the coffin
lid with just a few words? His mere presence brought Dean to his knees,
breathless and aching; he couldn't swallow for the emotion clogged within his
throat.  How was it possible that one person held so much power over him? At
one time Sam had deserved such a privilege, even reigned supreme; but all that
had changed the moment he had walked out the door and gone to California.  A
week after Sam had left Dean chased him, but there was a case his father
desperately needed help on. People were dying, and the demon trail had sparked
to life once more. Dean was dying too, but John failed to notice, not that he
ever did notice much of anything when it came to Dean or Sam's lives. Dean had
surrendered his own needs in favor of his father's, and now more than ever, he
wore the regret like a battered coat in the dead of winter. He was dying, and
he didn't have a clue how to stop.
Sam rounded the corner into the kitchen, stopping abruptly in the entryway, as
he stared at Dean gripping the counter edge. His brother's eyes were closed,
and he looked so much older than he should; long eyelashes lighter than he
remembered; dark circles beneath his eyes.  Sam moved to stand beside him, and
reached out with a hand. He placed it upon Dean's back, and flinched when Dean
jerked and hit his hand away, opening his eyes and taking a step back.
"Don't touch me!"
"Okay, I'm sorry." Sam promised, standing his ground as Dean glared at him.
 "Dean, I made the biggest mistake of my life leaving you that day, and I'm not
about to make it again. I know you hate me right now but-"
"Hate you?" Dean choked as if the word was completely foreign to him.  "I'm
pissed as all hell at you, Sam; but I could never hate you."  Dean blinked a
few times rapidly, and took a step towards his younger brother.  "I want to
punch you in the face until you're nothin' but hamburger under my fists, but I
don't hate you."
"That's, good to know." Sam felt a little intrepid and took a step or two back
from Dean. He wasn't frightened of his older brother, just not at all convinced
that Dean wouldn't lash out physically after all.  "You have every right to be
angry at me. God knows I've thought about how much I hurt you over the years
but-"
"Hurt me?" Again the adjectives sounded unfamiliar upon Dean's tongue.  "Try
fucking 'killed' me."  Dean corrected, halting in his approach.  "Look at me,
Sam. Really look. Do I seem at all like someone who's having a good time?"
"No. And I want to do everything I can to reverse that."
"You think it'll be that damn simple? That all you have to do is walk back into
my life and bam! I'm good as new?"  Dean held his arms out from his sides in
emphasis, silently demanding Sam account for his sins.
"No, I don't think it will be easy. But Dean, I'm here and I'm not leaving. I
want us-"
Dean pounded a clenched fist against the island, making the pots clang and Sam
jump slightly in reaction. Dean pointed a finger at Sam, his tone low and
lethal.  "There is no more 'us'."
Pain ebbed upon Sam's face, but he merely nodded in acceptance.  "I'm here
because I want you and I to be brothers again." He looked for a reaction in
Dean's eyes, and saw nothing shift or change in the slightest.  Sam took a
shaky breath, and set his own hand gently upon the counter top.  "I'm staying
at the Days Inn, room 103." Sam explained, keeping his tone even as Dean's hand
lowered to his side, fists clenching.  Sam reached into his pocket, pulled out
a folded over post it note, which he then placed upon the counter.  "Here's my
new cell number. I'd like for us to talk, maybe have dinner tonight, a drink or
something. We can talk now a little if you’d like, or-"
"Get out." Dean's hand snatched the folded post it note up, and he pocketed it.
"I'll drop by later."
Smiling and feeling a little more hopeful, Sam nodded and uttered a soft
farewell to his brother. He reluctantly showed himself out, and sat in the car
for several long seconds staring back at the house.  He realized his hands were
shaking somewhat, and he closed them for a few seconds to steady them.  Dean
wanted to see him, and that was as good of a start as he any could ever ask
for.  Just what he was going to do for the next few hours alone didn't matter;
Dean needed time to ruminate on their reunion, before the real discussions
could begin.  Sam worked to center himself, concentrating upon his body and
taking a few deep breaths. He hoped that Dean would be open to working past the
hurt, so that both of them could heal from the rift the past four years had
wrought.  It was stupid really, that he had left, and that Dean hadn't dragged
him back to his side and the hunt. Sam knew that he was much more to blame than
Dean could ever be; ultimately the separation had been Sam's fault, and now he
had some penance to pay.  A responsibility that was much easier to accept, now
that he had seen Dean and there was a real chance to set things right between
them.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When Benny arrived home, he walked into the volatile mine field that was Dean.
His trip to the lumber yard had coincided with Sam's unexpected visit, thus he
was surprised to find his housemate tearing down the fence at the rear of the
house, with his bare hands. Dean was coated in perspiration ripping the boards
down, or kicking them apart with his heavy and booted feet. The hammer and
crowbar lay discarded on the lawn useless, as Dean grunted and swore under his
breath, grappling with rotting wood, exerting more force than was strictly
necessary.
Benny watched him for several seconds, in attempts to determine what could have
set Dean's temper off so viciously. The truth of the matter was, it took so
little to make Dean froth at the mouth, or yell down a situation, but physical
expressions of this level of fury were few and far between.  Benny cleared his
throat, and when that failed to rouse Dean’s attention from his assault on the
fence, he raised his tone slightly.
"You want some help there, Brother? I recall earlier this morning we discussed
replacing the fence together."
Dean rounded on him, work gloves forming into fists, eyes narrowed, chest
heaving, in his sweat drenched tee shirt.  There were a few scrapes on his
forearms, but nothing that wouldn't significantly heal in the next twenty-four
hours.  Benny canted his head slightly, expression gentle, open, and curious as
he wordlessly coaxed Dean to slow the seconds down and breathe.  Dean's intense
stare widened a bit after several seconds of glaring at the other male, his
shoulders rounding, and Dean divested himself of the protective gloves. His
breathing shifted, speeding up into the regions of a panic attack. Dean looked
at his trembling hands, shook his head, wiped his forehead with a sweaty
forearm, and when he looked up at Benny there were tears in his eyes.
"S-ammy...." Was all he said before pulled his lips inward and looked away.
Benny nodded and reached out with a large hand and placed it on Dean's right
shoulder.  "Why don't we leave all this for now, Dean?" he asked motioning
vaguely to the fence.  "There's cold beer in the fridge with our names on them.
What do you say?"
Dean nodded and patted Benny's hand, before the other male withdrew his touch.
 Dean gripped his work gloves in one hand, as he followed Benny back into the
house.  It was several degree's cooler inside than it was outside, and Dean
went to the kitchen sink to wash some of the perspiration off of him.  Benny
stood by him, holding out an open beer bottle towards him, while Dean dried the
back of his neck and face with a clean dishtowel.  He uttered a soft "thanks"
as he took the beer from Benny, and took a healthy swig from the bottle. Benny
watched him swallow, and then opened his own beer and took a sip.
"Now that's a little better now ain't it?"
Dean's eyebrows lifted in immediate response, and he took another sip of beer.
He cast his gaze to Benny's deep blue eyes, and offered a slight smile. Benny
nodded in approval, and leaned back against the counter waiting for Dean to
begin his explanation.
"You asked me about him once. I guess I should have told you then but, it
didn't seem like it would make a difference." Dean sighed heavily, and forced
himself to continue to hold eye contact with his partner and friend.  "Sammy is
my... Well he's... Uh, he's my-" Dean stuttered, and fumbled verbally, feeling
the heat rise on the back of his neck once more. And just how could he describe
his relationship with Sam? It wasn't strictly a sibling union. Dean had raised
Sam, and in addition to being his older sibling was a father figure to be
certain. And then there was the romantic element, so just how was Dean supposed
to put a title to what Sam and him were?
"Your ex." Benny rescued mercifully. Dean wanted to protest but the longer the
statement hung in the air between him, the more Dean could not deny it's truth.
"Yeah. He left me four years ago and now-" Dean took a sip of beer and quickly
swallowed, less for courage and more about the passage of time.  "He showed
upon on the door step today and wants to talk."  Dean almost felt good
admitting the gravity of the situation to Benny, even though his words were
still somewhat cloaked, and Benny had no clue of just how fucked up Dean's
relationship with Sammy was.  "I can't not go, I just... I don't know what I'm
going to decide.  Taking him back means that this," Dean motioned to Benny and
the wider world of his being an FBI agent living in Louisiana. "Is done. I go
back to the life I had before, and I'm not sure I can live like that anymore.
With him yes, but in that life?"  Dean shook his head and looked away showing
Benny his profile.  "And if I say no, I have no damn clue what Sammy's gonna
offer. Or if he’ll want to find something alternate to suggest. Will he stay
here, or go, or whatever? I don't know, and that scares the shit out of me."
Dean held Benny's gaze once more.  "There was a time I didn't even have to ask
him a question to know what he would say or do.  I knew him like I was him, and
then he threw that all away. Just cut the cord, and left me to my own devices.
It was a mistake; I started to go after him and then I didn't, and that killed
anything we once had and that's on me. I get that. But he didn't try either,
and he's the one that left in the first place. Walked out after making me
promises that were so sweet I could have gone into insulin shock over them, and
now? Now he's just a few miles away, and beautiful, and everything I love; and
I don't have a goddamned clue if I should trust him, or what in the hell he's
thinking."
Benny waited for a few seconds after Dean was finished talking, cautious
against breaking the younger male's narrative.
"One question, Brother: that's all that matters. Are you still in love with him
and he with you?"  Dean's features paled somewhat as a tear rolled down his
cheek, and he gave the smallest of nods.  "Lead with that and the rest you two
can put into order together.  As far as dilemmas go Dean, this one's a no
brainer."  Benny toasted Dean with his beer, and he was about to swallow his
sip when Dean came at him, arms gripping him in a crushing hug and Benny
chuckled softly, patting Dean's back with a meaty hand.  "Ease up there, son.
 I'd appreciate your gratitude more if you didn't smell like gator bait in high
summer."  Dean groused at him through a smile, and withdrew his overly physical
affection. Benny patted his shoulder once more.  "There now. Why don't you take
a nap before getting gussied up to meet your Sammy?  The fence can wait."
Dean nodded, feeling the weariness in his bones, and he set his unfinished beer
on the counter top.  Benny was right; he needed some rest; and while that
wouldn't help push time faster, he would spend a little less time fretting over
it.  He still didn't know what he was going to say to Sam exactly, or what his
baby brother would say to him in return; but for now he could let the
uncertainty go.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
103.
 
Dean stared at the numbers on the green door, for what seemed like an eternity.
He was more difficult to raise his fist and knock to announce his presence,
more than he had anticipated. Sam was just on the opposite side of the door,
and Dean was afraid; afraid of ending up without Sam in his life for another
four, torturous years; or losing him altogether.  And what if Sam stayed? Would
they be able to recapture an ounce or more of what they once had? Or would it
be a hollow representation of the past, that never became actualized into
something real in the present?  Dean squared his jaw and brought his fist
against the door.
The knock was crisp and impatient, causing Sam to halt in his relentless pacing
and lunge towards the door.  The text from Dean’s phone had come about twenty
minutes’ prior, and the three words spun in his mind ever since. "On my way",
sent a cascade of emotions and questions washing over Sam in a ceaseless wave.
 Dean was coming but what was going to happen once he arrived? Dean had been
furious with him earlier, and now that he had time to marinate in his anger.
What possibly awaited him on the opposite of the door, was it traumatic or
soothing? Sam discovered he couldn't care less, and was impatient to just see
his brother as he nearly tore the door off it's hinges yanking it open.  He
drank in Dean's form, and stepped backward allowing his brother entrance into
the room.
Dean gave the room a cursory once over, deeming it nicer than any place the two
of them had ever stayed in during their childhood on the road with their
father.  It wasn't that Sam now exhibited champagne tastes per se, but rather
that it wasn't up to their father to dictate where they lay their heads at
night. Under Sam’s control the rooms were cleaner, safer, and better.  Dean
heard the door close and lock behind him, Sam nervously shuffled towards him,
and stopped just out of the radius reach of his arms. He pivoted to look at his
brother, and Sam couldn't help but smile a little as, he wiped the palms of his
hands down his thighs.
"So, do you want to eat or-"
"Talk." Dean interrupted, his voice hinged with authority he hardly felt but
needed to reestablish with his brother.  "I thought we'd start with that."
 Dean moved around the room, checking out the bathroom by leaning through the
open door way, before he circled the bed and moved back to where he had been
standing before Sam.
"Do you want to sit down maybe?"
Dean shook his head and asked, "Do you still love me, Sam? Like before? Or is
that all just the past now?"  He needed to know, and Sam's expression fell in a
way that worried Dean.
"No hold's barred, huh?" Sam teased with a mirth he didn't feel. "That's good,
I mean; getting straight to the heart of the matter." Sam swallowed, and had to
break eye contact for a few seconds or he would choke on his emotions all
together.  "Yes." He realized as much as assured. Sam raised his green and gold
gaze, and searched Dean's for acceptance. "I never once stopped loving you
Dean. I can't. You're more a part of me than is probably good for either of us,
but I don't care. I love you, I want you, I tried to love someone else for a
time, but I never could. You were always there; you branded me as yours and I
don't want it any other way: Ever."  Sam's throat was dry, and he was
panicking, but he couldn't stop rambling as the words poured from him like beer
down Dean's throat.
"I've been in love with you since I was four years old. So much, so that I
wanted to be you. And ever since I told you how I felt at age eleven, I've been
happy.  When you and I are together nothing else; no one else; matters.  I know
I messed us up by leaving, and I'm going to be paying for that mistake for a
long time, and if all you can ever be with me like that again: I’ll accept you
just being my brother, because at least then I'll still have you in my life."
 Sam took a visible but silent breath. "Are you, are you still in love with
me?"
"Yes." Dean stated, cracking Sam's heart open in a painful strike, the pieces
shattering like glass.  "It's killing me to be without you.  So you have to
promise me; and mean it this time; that you'll never leave me again."
"I promise." Sam breathed desperately, as he closed the distance separating him
and Dean, and drew his brother into his arms. "I promise Dean; I'll never leave
you again for any reason ever." He pressed his lips to the side of Dean's head
just above his right ear.  "I love you."
Dean's muscles went slack, and he encircled his arms around Sam; clutching him
so tightly that they both could barely breathe. Dean pressed his face into the
length of Sam's elegant neck, and inhaled his scent. It hadn't changed; not one
iota since they had last been together nearly five years prior.  Dean wanted to
sob, but there were no tears, he wanted to scream but no words existed; he
wanted to die but living meant he would be able to continue to be with Sam; his
Sammy; once more. Dean exhaled a huff of breath against Sam's flesh, and raised
his head. The two men barely made eye contact before they were leaning into one
another's lips.  The kiss was intense but loving; tongues not battling for
dominance but rather laving over deepest corners in appreciation of the past.
 Dean fisted a hand in Sam's hair, and anchored his opposite hand to the small
of Sam's back, reaching towards his brother's ass.  Sam had one hand pinned
between them, gripping at Dean's chest, the opposite hand running over his back
and face seeking purchase it couldn't seem to find. By the time they parted
they both were breathless and needy.
"Bed?" Dean asked more than demanded, his forehead pressed against his
brother's. Sam nodded and plowed forward, his momentum taking him and Dean both
to the queen sized bed and down upon it. Thoughts of drinks or dinner and even
further conversation, jarred out of their heads by the impact upon the
mattress.
Sam found himself rolled unceremoniously upon his back, Dean on top of him,
grabbing at his clothes and trying to tear them from Sam's body. His hands were
impatient and firm, leaving Sam panting and thrusting up into Dean's touch
wantonly.  They both worked to toe their shoes off, but when that failed, Dean
growled and tore himself away from Sam and dove to the end of the bed to divest
them both of their footwear. Above him, Sam peeled out of his shirt, and groped
at Dean's, yanking them off as he too grew increasingly anxious. Naked flesh;
they both needed it so desperately they tore at their jeans and boxer briefs
until nothing was between them but a thin layer of heated air.
Sam forced Dean back onto the mattress, and pressed into every dip and recess
his body could fill above him.  He held Dean's head in his hands, and kissed
him as if he were the sole source of oxygen in the room. Dean in turn, forced
their hips together pressing down upon Sam's pert and flawless ass. He moaned
within the kiss, having missed his hands on Sam's body, and he wanted
everything all at once from his baby brother. Dean was overwhelmed by the
sensations assaulting him now, that there were no longer any barriers between
them.
Sam kissed Dean hungrily, swooning at the taste, as their hard cocks ground
into one another. Dean's body was so warm, so familiar and he had missed it
like breathing; he had been suffocating without him, and hadn't realized it
until now. Sam answered Dean's moan deep within his chest and he broke their
kiss, his mouth finding the hinge of Dean's jaw, peppering kisses down his
throat and back up again to pant in his brother's ear.
"Dean, I need you in me so badly I- I can't even breathe."
"S'okay, Sammy." Dean whispered against his mouth, before kissing him tenderly.
 "You got any lube Baby Boy? Last thing I want is to hurt you right now."
"Yeah." Sam huffed, melting in his heart upon finally hearing his pet name of
'Sammy'. Dean hadn't called him that in four years, and it made him feel as if
he were flying to hear it now.  "I use it to masturbate. So much easier then
anything else."
"I know, right?" Dean teased in full agreement. He looked up towards the night
stand. "It in there?"
Sam groaned and pressed his forehead to Dean's. "No. I have to get it out of my
back pack." He sighed, disappointed and began to slowly pry himself off of his
brother. Dean groaned at the loss of contact and pushed himself up onto his
elbows.
"God you're so damn gorgeous, Sammy. I could stare at you forever."
Sam's cheeks reddened a little, and he smiled abashed. He cleared his throat
and yanked his back pack out of the closet, and opened a pocket digging into
the contents for what he sought. Bottle in hand, he dropped the back pack and
returned to the bed, waggling the bottle for his brother to see.
"Looking is nice, but touching is better." He fell upon Dean all hands and
mouth, making up for lost seconds of no contact.
Dean chuckled within the kiss, and smacked a hand down hard upon Sam's ass; the
sound louder in the air then a sting upon Sam's flesh. He knew his brother
liked to be spanked, and later he would indulge that fantasy; but for now all
he could think about was what Sam had asked for. He wanted to be buried to the
root within Sam's ass.
"And fucking's the best."
Sam could not agree more.
Dean worked Sam's body gently taking his time. He kissed and nipped, stroked
and scratched, his way down with mouth and hands from Sam's lips to his breast
plate and nipples. He traversed further downward ever slowly, covering each
inch of Sam's flesh in kisses and caresses. He took his time at Sam's hip
bones, the juncture of his pelvis to his groin, finally; blissfully; rubbing
his face upon Sam's twitching cock.  His facial stubble elicited the most
delicious gasps of pleasure from Sam, and his younger brother pushed down upon
the crown of Dean's head impatiently. Dean however, ignored the silent demands,
and continued at his own pace just as before.
Dean held on to the root of Sam's enlarged cock, mouthing the weeping tip,
tasting the memories of love upon his tongue.  Sam smelled better and tasted
like paradise to Dean. He hadn't forgotten that scent, that flavor, and
enthusiastically he swallowed several inches of his brother's cock down into
his throat.  He had missed this intimacy. Sam satisfied his desire in ways that
no one else ever had or even come close too. With Sam there was no longing left
after having sex. Dean was always completely fulfilled and content.
Sam's hips bucked upward, his cock scrapping the roof of Dean's mouth before it
angled correctly, and tipped down his throat. Dean worked him with tongue and
mouth, careful not to scrape his teeth upon the heated flesh he suckled on with
abandon.  Sam moaned Dean's name, and stroked his hair and scalp with the
fingers of both hands.
"Dean-" He paused gasping. "Those lips were created for kissing, but you're a
natural cock sucker you know that? Fuck... I've missed your mouth."
Dean redoubled his efforts and swallowed Sam down, until his lips were flush
against Sam's pubic hair, his chin baring into the dangling testicles.  Sam
arched his back, coming up off of the bed for a few seconds, and his fingers
tightened painfully in the shorter hairs at the back of Dean's head.  "Such a
tease. You gonna let me come or not?"
Dean forced himself to pull back and reluctantly he eased Sam's cock out of his
mouth, and smirked up at his brother's devastatingly gorgeous face.  "Not yet,
Sammy. You asked for my cock, and that’s exactly what I'm gonna give to you."
Sam growled longingly in his throat, and stroked Dean's features gently, his
thumbs running over his older sibling's plush lips before sliding up and over
his cheek bones.  "Then stop making me wait." he teased with a sensual grin.
Dean shook his head, and reached for the bottle of lubrication which lay on the
mattress against Sam's left thigh.  "So impatient Baby Boy. You act like I've
never fed you dick before."
"It's been too long, Dean." Sam groaned, raising his knees slightly to expose
his hole for his brother.  "Aren't you excited to feel me too?"
Was he ever. Dean's mouth watered at the sight of Sam's display, and for a
moment he forgot all about the lube coating two of his fingers, and he dove in
between Sam's ass cheeks like a starving man, and laved at the awaiting hole.
Dean drilled it with his tongue tip to pry it open, lapped at it to stimulate
Sam to cry out for him, and scrapped his teeth gently over it to delight in how
Sam's body spasmed and writhed just for Dean.
Sam clutched his own cheeks to spread them further for Dean, as his older
brother ate him out. He pushed back against Dean's ministrations, thrusting
Dean's tongue further inside of him. His thighs trembled, and Sam grabbed the
base of his cock with one hand to distract himself from his building orgasm.
"Dean," He begged, elongating his brother's name. "Please... I need... please
fuck me... or I'll come like this..."
Dean immediately raised his lips from Sam's rectum, and mouthed at his
testicles instead.  He pressed his two fingers against the puckered entrance,
applying pressure but not breaching Sam's hole just yet. Sam moaned, bucking
more violently as he gasped and swore at Dean to fuck him deep.  Dean slowly
inserted one finger, sliding it gently and continually until it was inside of
Sam. He nipped at his balls, and the underside of his cock, causing Sam to arch
off of the mattress and groan in frustration.
"More!" Sam pleaded, so Dean inserted his second finger, repeating how he had
entered the first.  Sam moaned loudly and pressed against Dean's fingers, as
his brother began to twist and thrust them inside of him.  By the time Dean had
stopped sucking Sam's cock, and had a third finger deeply inside of him, Sam
was about to go insane with desire.  Not wishing to tease Sam past the breaking
point, Dean rose above Sam's body, and lined his cock up with Sam's needy hole.
He withdrew his fingers, and pressed the first two inches of his cock into Sam,
echoing his brother's moan of relief.
"So tight Baby Boy... Just how... I love you... to be." Dean groaned, and
groped for the bottle of lube to coat the rest of his cock, before he continued
his forward breach into Sam's body.  "Sammy." He half begged half soothed, as
his lust filled eyes locked with his brother's.  "Can you feel it baby? I'm
home now... Home."
Sam counter thrusted against his older sibling, eyes locked, lips parted and
barely breathing. It felt so intense, so fantastic, that there were no words he
could use to convey how much he had missed Dean like this.  He moaned and
leaned up to kiss him, tongue intertwining with Dean's, legs spread wide, arms
pulling Dean against him.
"More." was all Sam could moan, just as the damn broke Dean's restraint and he
began to fuck his younger brother in earnest.  Sam closed his eyes for a few
seconds, as the sounds of Dean's huffing warmed his throat and ear, and the
slap of flesh made him smile with giddy delight.  Dean was indeed home, and Sam
never wanted him to leave again.
When it came time for Sam to take Dean, Dean wanted to be sitting up. Sam sat
back on his calves, and angled Dean up onto his lap. Dean had one arm
supporting his weight, and the other he encircled around Sam's neck. He had
refused the prep of fingers first, wishing for Sam to just enter him slowly to
make him feel every second of the burn from the breaching of his hole.  Sam set
an achingly slow pace for his lubed up entry, watching for any sign upon Dean's
features that the pain was too great, but Dean begged him to keep going, so Sam
continued on until Dean was seated fully on Sam's erect cock. He took a minute
or so to allow Dean to get accustomed to the stretch, before he began slow,
angled thrusts into his older sibling's body.
"Dean? You still with me?"
"Yes." Dean hissed, opening his eyes and grinning at Sam.  "Forgot just how big
you are Baby Boy... God I love this." His smile softened, and he touched Sam's
face with his free hand.  "Love you."
Sam's eyes shown brighter at the admission. "Love you too." He gasped, when
Dean clenched around him. "Ooh, not fair. How am I supposed to keep fucking
you, if you do that?"
"Don't know." Dean teased. "Just want to feel you try."
Sam had known that Dean sometimes wanted a little pain infused into his
pleasure. It was nothing that Sam couldn't stomach granting him. In fact, he
loved watching as he dismantled Dean piece by piece until his older sibling was
a quivering mass of slaked desire.  He had always looked at the infusion as a
self-test, and soon learned where the boundary lines were without Dean having
to direct him.
"Do you, now?" Sam challenged, granting Dean a particularly hard thrust that
had his brother nearly collapsing over against his chest.  He could see Dean's
support arm tremor, and he knew that the sharp spike of pain had rattled Dean
to the sexual core. Sam moved both of his hands to Dean's hips.  "Maybe I
should push you onto all fours and fuck you into the mattress. You want that
Dean? Want me to pound into you, until the only thing holding your ass in the
air is my cock?"
Dean moaned, his head falling back as he absorbed the brutal thrusts Sam was
now giving him.  The hands at his hips were searing bruises into his flesh, and
pressing him downward in time with the snap of Sam's hips.
"Well?" Sam demanded sharply. "Want that or not?"
"Please..." Dean begged in surrender.  "Fuck me raw, Sammy. I need it. Need you
so damn bad..."
Sam's smirk was downright evil, and Dean loved seeing the promise in it.  When
the sun rose in the next few hours, Dean knew he would still be feeling Sam's
cock inside of him.  In a way, it was the only thing Dean ever wanted to feel
again, and he knew Sam shared that desire as well.  Four years had been too
long for them to be sustained without physical intimacy, and now that they had
tasted one another, there was no going back to celibacy.  Dean knew he wouldn't
be able to keep his hands off of Sam for at least another month or so, when the
desperation would burn off to a more rational level of need. They need to talk,
certainly; but for now physicality took precedence, and Dean was beyond caring
about decorum at the moment. Sam was fucking the living shit out of him, and
Dean wanted nothing less than to be completely dominated by his younger
sibling.
Sam was more than just along for the ride.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
They made love again in the morning and took a leisurely shower together before
heading out for breakfast.  They sat in the back booth of a local mom and pop
diner, somewhere Dean had gone before and knew the wait staff there, so he and
Sam could have some privacy.  Dean couldn't contain his smile of approval when
Sam shied away from the health smart breakfast in favor of some grease and
carbs.  He had raised the boy right at least when it came to breakfast foods.
"So here's what I'm thinking;" Dean drew a strip of bacon through the pooling
syrup at one side of his pancake stack. He licked syrup off of his thumb and
locked gazes with Sam.  "We get our own place; there's a realtor that helped me
out when I first moved here; she's the grandmotherly type. I felt really bad
that I didn't end up taking any of the rentals she showed me, but Benny's offer
was too good to pass up."
Sam wet his bottom lip, interest spiking at the mention of the other male's
name.  "And Benny is your partner I take it?"
Dean nodded. "Yeah. And my friend. He got stuck with me after the academy, and
he's a really good guy." Dean shrugged, his gaze dropping from Sam's.  "Look,
he knows you're my ex." Dean picked up the maple dripping, slice of bacon and
bit off a chunk of it.
Sam stared at him across the table top warily.  "But he doesn't know that we're
related? Or does he?"
Dean shook his head. "No one does. I never mentioned you in that capacity."  He
polished off the slice of bacon, then wiped his mouth on a napkin.  "He heard
me say your name when I was asleep once. He asked me who you were, and I didn't
give him an answer. At least, not until you showed up yesterday. I had to tell
him something."
"Oh sure. I know." Sam agreed, shifting on the vinyl covered bench.  "I think
we can make this really easy for us, Dean. I don't use Winchester as my last
name anymore."  Dean's gaze narrowed in surprise and anger.  "I changed it when
I got to Stanford."
"You what now?"
"I use Mom's maiden name; Campbell. That'll keep the town from gossiping,
right?"
Dean felt his gut tighten. "Yeah, I guess." His voice fell away and he stared
down at his plate as if he had no earthly idea what to do with the food on it.
 Sam was no longer a Winchester. Dean felt a stab of pain at that, but elected
to table that discussion until a later time, as Sam's next topic seemed far
more pressing.
Sam cleared his throat.  "So, tell me about this Benny."
Dean's gaze snapped up to Sam's. "Are you jealous?"
"N-no. I just want to know more about him. You work with the guy every day, and
you live with him. I'm just trying to get a feel of how close you two are."
"No. You want to know if I'm fucking him." Guilt sparked in Sam's gaze and he
said nothing, prompting Dean to huff out an exhalation.  "No Sam; it's not like
that. He and I are good friends with zero benefits all right? There was only
you all this time."
"Now that I don't believe." Sam protested, pointing his butter knife at Dean.
 "I know for a fact that after I left you would have drowned your sorrows in
whiskey and women; just like you always do when you're hurting. Don't give me
that, 'only you' line of crap."
Dean shook his head with a light laugh. "Okay, I'll admit there were a few
women, but after I bailed on Dad that dried up too."  Sam was surprised by how
soft Dean's tone had gotten, and he awaited Dean's further explanation.  "I
don't know if it was just the drinking, or I broke somehow, or just the
pressure of everything, but I had a little trouble sustaining interest in sex
after a while. Then when I went to Langley, I didn't have time for getting off;
let alone the energy too; so it didn't matter. After I got assigned to New
Orleans and moved in with Benny, I just stayed celibate." Dean shrugged, and
took a large bite of pancakes hyper aware of Sam's stare upon him from across
the table.
"So, no sex for what, the past year?"
Dean considered this. "More like the past two." He reached for his coffee.
"What about you? College is the time for experimentation right? Well, so I’ve
been lead to believe by eighties movies."
Sam's cheeks flushed red, and he dropped his gaze to his plate and rearranged
some of his food quietly not wishing to answer. Dean prompted him after several
seconds of silence, and reluctantly Sam exhaled in a slightly exasperated
fashion.  "The first year I couldn't see past you, and was on auto pilot with
everything. The second year, I had a boyfriend, and the third and fourth year a
girlfriend. There were two one nightstands so in all, four people." Sam nodded
once curtly and began cutting his pancakes up once more.  He didn't feel a
cloud of jealousy burst from across the table, and he tentatively raised his
gaze to Dean's.
"Okay." Dean accepted, before continuing to eat. Dumbfounded, Sam gaped at him.
"That's it? Just, 'okay'?"
"What do you want me to say, Sammy? We weren't together the past four years, so
I can hardly punish you for gettin' jiggy with it at school now can I?"
"No." Sam agreed in disdain. "It's just difficult to hear about other sexual
partners now that we're back together."
"I know." Dean conceded. "But we don't have to worry about that anymore either.
Because after last night, you so much as look at another person with interest
I'm gonna rip their lungs out, then tear their heads off their necks with my
bare hands."
Violent, yes; but somehow Dean's promise of jealousy left Sam feeling warm,
cared for and necessary.  He refused to admit it to stroke Dean's ego, but he
liked the idea of Dean losing it if Sam so much as glanced at someone
flirtatiously, or they at him.
"Understood. Same for goes for you as well so, no more bar chicks."
"Copy that." Dean vowed, glancing at his watch. "After breakfast I should
probably swing back by the house. Get some things together so I can leave for
work directly from your room tomorrow."
"It's just so strange that you're an actual FBI agent." Sam chuckled shaking
his head in disbelief. "Suit and tie every day?"
"Mostly." Dean answered. "Sometimes just slacks and a shirt." Sam gaped at him.
"What?"
More laughter. "It's just... I never pegged you as being actual law
enforcement; you're a rebel and a bad boy."
"Former." Dean reminded in mock sternness. He rounded the conversation back to
a serious tone.  "So anyway, if you can gut it out living here for a while, I
wanna keep the job. You can still set up your library and aid hunters, just
like you said, but I'm done." He sighed softly and reached across the table
touching the fingers of Sam's left hand lightly. While the public display of
affection surprised Sam, he didn't withdraw from it.  "I want a life with you
that doesn't include hunting; at least not with me."
"I get it. I do." Sam assured, granting Dean's hand a momentary squeeze. When
he let go of it, Dean retracted his appendage back to his side of the table.
 "And I don't care what you do, just as long as we're together."
Dean nodded, and gave Sam a dazzling smile. "Just what I needed to hear,
Sammy."
Smiling back at him Sam, couldn't deny it was what he needed to hear as well.
They still had a lot to talk through and settle, but for now it was enough to
know that they were looking toward a future that both of them wanted.
"I am curious about something though." Sam said, shifting a little in his seat.
Dean motioned for him to continue.  "When you opened the door and I was
standing on the porch, why did you just invite me in? You didn't splash me with
holy water or pull a silver knife; you just accepted that it was me."
Dean nodded, and glanced out the window before he answered.  "Truth Sammy? I
didn't care if you were you, or a demon you that was sent to gank me.  If it
wasn't really you, I would have happily gone into the light or whatever. But if
it was you, I was not going to take that gift for granted."
Sam smiled tenderly and felt his insides warm.  "You really didn't care, huh?"
Dean shook his head in immediate response. "I wanted it to be you, and it was."
"Good thing." Sam chuckled, turning upon his breakfast suddenly famished.  "I
would have hated to have to have killed you."
Dean grunted in dismissal. "Not anything you haven't done already." He groused
playfully; but not completely; of Sam's abandonment.  At Sam's stricken look,
Dean held up his palms in supplication.  "It's okay now."
"Yeah, it is." Sam decided firmly.  "We're going to have a conversation about
how bitter you are I left, and how pissed off I am you didn't come after me.
And once that's done we let it go. Deal?"
"Scouts honor." Dean muttered, spearing some scrambled eggs with his fork.
While Sam wasn't completely convinced that Dean would stop dwelling on their
past conflict, he knew that inevitably they would have to face the discussion
some day; and the sooner the better. Yet for now, it was enough just to share
breakfast together and reconnect.  Four years was a lot to wash away, but he
was confident that given their renewed commitment to one another, they could
and would; successfully forgive one another.
Dean couldn't remember a time when he didn't love Sammy. At four-years-old when
Sam was born he had loved him, needed him, worshiped, and protected him.  No
matter what came their way, he was determined to face it down together, because
there was no force in the universe that could shake Dean from Sam: Never again
would they get in one another's way. Dean could endure many things, but the
four years apart had nearly killed him.  Sam smiled at him from across the
table, and Dean returned the gesture relaxing. It was going to be one hell of a
nice day.
The End
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