Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/119236.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      Wincest_-_Freeform, Knifeplay, Blood
  Collections:
      Sinful_Desire
  Stats:
      Published: 2010-09-20 Words: 2403
****** Pain ******
by sharkie335
Summary
     The fifth time that Sam snapped at Dean over nothing, Dean pulled
     over.
The fifth time that Sam snapped at Dean over nothing, Dean pulled over. The
road was bad enough in this little godforsaken part of Missouri that he needed
Sam to actually be a willing participant instead of acting like an unwilling
hostage. He knew that Sam hadn't been sleeping again. Nightmares struck every
time he seemed to close his eyes, but no matter what he tried to ask, Sam just
shut him out.
Sitting on the side of the road, afternoon sun glaring down on them, Dean tried
to figure out what to do and how to handle Sam. This required tact and
patience. "What the hell climbed up your ass and died?" Okay, so he'd never
been good at either.
Arms crossed over his chest, Sam continued to stare out the window. "Nothing."
"Don't give me 'Nothing,' dude. You've hardly talked all day and when you have
it's been to rip my head off. I'm getting tired of it."
Sam finally turned to look at him. "I said it's nothing. Let it drop, Dean."
Dean counted to ten. Fuck it. "Can't do that. I know you're tired - is that all
this is?"
"Yeah, sure." Sam went back to looking out the window, and Dean swore under his
breath. This couldn't continue, but he wasn't sure how to fix it.
Pulling back on the road, he puzzled over how to help his brother, and when he
saw the seedy, run down motel, he got an idea. Pulling off, he ignored the
questioning look Sam shot him and went inside to rent a room. The place looked
like it hadn't been redecorated since the fifties, hot and dusty with the air
conditioner struggling against the heat outside, but he didn't care about any
of that. He just wanted to fix Sam - that's all he could think about.
The girl behind the desk was cute, and under normal circumstances he'd have
been happy to bullshit with her, maybe see if she wanted to go for a beer, but
not today. He disregarded the desk girl's attempts at flirting, and took the
key.
Going back to the car, he continued to ignore Sam, simply moving the car in
front of the room. Going around to the trunk, he grabbed their bags and slammed
it shut. Circling around the passenger side, he glared at Sam. "Coming?"
"Why the hell did we stop?" Sam asked as they went into the room. "It's way
early - we could get another couple of hours in easily."
Dean looked around. Like the rest of the motel, it was run down, the
furnishings old, the wood panelling on the walls peeling, but it was fairly
clean and when he went over and flipped the switch, the AC kicked in with just
a rumble of protest. "We're stopping because you need to sleep, and you need it
now."
"I'm fine, Dean. I'm a little tired, but I can handle it."
"Right. And monkeys are going to fly out of my butt any moment now." Setting
down the bags, he turned to face Sam. "Strip."
"What?" Sam's eyes looked like they were going to bug out of his face.
Dean pulled out a bottle of massage oil. "I'm going to rub your back, you
idiot. See if that gets you relaxed enough that you can sleep more than twenty
minutes without a nightmare."
"Oh." Sam sat down heavily on the side of the bed. "Dean, you don't need to.
Really, I'm fine."
Moving up into Sam's personal space, he caught his eye and stared him down.
"No, you're not. And since I depend on you to get my back, that means I'm not
fine either. Now, strip. Shirts, shoes, and then lie. Down."
Sam sighed, but finally did as he was told. Flopping down on his belly, he
stretched out. Dean studied the lines of muscle that told their own story,
rigid with tension.
Kicking off his own shoes, he straddled Sam's hips and poured some of the oil
into his hands. Rubbing them together to warm them, he then spread some of the
oil over the fine skin of Sam's back.
He started with long, smooth strokes, gentling and calming Sam, trying to get
him to relax. His back was tight, full of knots, and slowly, he started to
focus on them, on working them loose.
Groaning under his hands, Sam shifted slightly and then moaned as Dean hit a
particularly big knot. "Oh, god."
"Yeah. No wonder you can't sleep, Sammy. How the hell did you let this get so
bad?"
"It's Sam, dammit." But unlike earlier, this time Sam's voice held none of the
venom that had been present all day. "And I didn't realize how bad it was till
you started to rub it out."
Dean added a little more oil, smiling to himself as the muscles under his hands
loosened and warmed. Thank god for having dated that massage therapist - she
taught him some good tricks.
As he slipped down Sam's legs so that he could work on his lower back, though,
Sam started to move restlessly. "Sam?"
"Uh, I'm good now, Dean. You can stop."
Puzzled, he lifted his hands off Sam's back but didn't move. "Didn't we go
through this already once today? Tell me what's wrong so I can fix it."
"You can't fix this, Dean. Just... let me up, okay?"
"Oh, hell, no. You're not getting up and ruining all my hard work." But Dean
slid to one side, resting one hand on Sam's back. "Tell me."
Sam flipped over suddenly, and gestured at the bulge in his jeans, ignoring the
color that was rising in his cheeks. "That, okay? I haven't been touched like
that since Jessica, and my body is just reminding me how fucking long it's
been."
"Oh." Dean glanced down, and then looked back up at Sam's face. "Uh..."
"Yeah. Told you, you couldn't help with it. Now, can I go be humiliated in
private?"
Dean swallowed hard. Carefully, he reached for the button on Sam's jeans,
giving him time to stop him. He couldn't tell whether he was relieved or
frustrated when Sam's hand came to rest on his.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"It wouldn't be the first time we helped each other out, Sam."
Dean was seventeen and Sam was thirteen, just kids, sharing a bed and wrestling
around as Dad did research at the small table. "You boys need to catch some
sleep if you want to go with me tonight," he had said.
"Can't sleep with the light on, Dad," Sam had whined, while at the same time
trying to hold Dean down so that he could tickle him.
Dad had shut his journal and stood up. "If I go work somewhere else, will you
two actually sleep or will you just destroy the room?"
Dean sat up, throwing off Sam in the process. "We'll get some sleep, sir."
"Okay." Turning off the light and closing the blinds, Dad had taken his books
out to the nearby coffee shop, leaving the two boys alone. They had wrestled a
while longer, but when Dean had finally pinned Sam down, Sam had settled.
Curling up together, Dean had closed his eyes, but the wrestling had had a
predictable effect and he was hard inside his boxers. He squirmed, trying to
pull back from Sam, but Sam had stopped him with a hand on his waist.
Whispering, Sam had said, "Here, let me," as a hand squirmed inside the
elastic. Dean had held his breath, trying to grab Sam's hand, but he wasn't
fast enough, and it had wrapped around his cock.
"Sam, it's wrong."
Sam's teeth flashed in the dim light. "It's okay, Dean. Just let me..." and
that soft hand started to move. Dean moaned softly, giving up at trying to tug
it out.
Pretty soon it was moving smoothly, touching him in all the right places, and
Dean was thrusting into the warm tunnel of Sam's fingers. It didn't take long
before he'd bitten his lip and come.
"Ewww," Sam giggled, and pulled his hand free, smearing the come all over
Dean's boxers. Dean could feel himself blushing, but he had to admit that he
felt better, and it wasn't very long before they were both sound asleep.
"Oh," Sam said softly, and pulled his hand away. "Just..."
"Yeah, I know, Sam. It's okay. Let me take care of you." Still murmuring
reassurance, Dean undid Sam's fly and tugged his jeans and boxers down.
Sam's cock was hard and grew harder under Dean's hand. He took it slow, trying
to drag it out, wanting to relax Sam so much that he'd sleep through the night,
but it didn't take long before Sam was thrusting up, breath high and tight in
his throat.
Dean tightened his fingers, gripping till it must have been painful for Sam,
but nothing seemed to work. "Dean, oh, fuck, I can't..." Sam said, hips moving
wildly.
He let go before Sam could hurt himself. "Sam, what is it?"
"I can't - just can't." Sam seemed to be beyond frustrated, almost angry.
"What you do you mean, 'can't?'"
Sam pulled away and rolled over on to his stomach. "I can't get off. Haven't
been able to since Jess..."
Dean sat there, thinking about what Sam said, long enough that Sam actually
pushed himself up and started to roll off the bed. "No, wait."
"I just want to take a shower, Dean."
"Sam, we can't let this continue. Do you trust me?"
He turned to face Dean, his eyes flashing wildly. "Of course I trust you. What
kind of stupid question is that? I just... I still hurt and I'm not ready to...
well, you know."
Pain. That gave Dean an idea. Gentling his voice, he rubbed small circles on
the small of Sam's back. "No, Sam. You're swallowing all this rage and pain and
it's not healthy. Again, do you trust me?"
Sam sighed. "Yes, I trust you."
"Then lie down, on your stomach, close your eyes, and don't move."
Sam studied Dean's face for a moment, and apparently saw something that made
him decide to stop arguing. Lying down, he sighed and relaxed as Dean continued
to pet him.
When he seemed like he was going to stay still for a moment, Dean stood up and
stripped off as quickly as he could. Going to his bag, he pulled out one of his
smaller silver knives. He didn't have any that were dull, but this one was
small enough that the blade wouldn't be able to do much damage.
He turned back to the bed. Standing there, he contemplatively stroked the blade
over his thumb. Sharp as always, the blade split the skin, drawing blood in an
instant.
Going back to Sam, he straddled his hips. He said again, "Don't move, Sam. Not
at all."
He waited for Sam's nod, then laid the knife gently against the skin of his
back and drew it down as lightly as he could. A thin line of red sprung up
behind the blade. Sam gasped, but he held firm, not even twitching away from
the knife.
"So, you blame yourself for what happened to Jess." Another line, perpendicular
to the first. "Because you weren't there to stop whatever monster it was that
did this." And another line. The smell of blood, rich and cloying, clung to
Dean's tongue and filled his sinuses, but he didn't stop.
"You're swallowing yourself up in pain." This line connected the first two, and
cut just a tiny bit deeper. The blood started to smear, cross his skin in tiny
rivulets. "You're destroying yourself in punishment." A new line, cut at an
angle.
With every cut, he forced himself to continue, pulling the pain out of Sam and
putting it on his skin, instead of deep inside him. "You need to let it go,
Sam. You need to stop punishing yourself before you get one of us killed."
By the time he cut the final letter into the skin of Sam's back, Sam was
quietly crying, for the first time since Jessica had died. Spelled out on his
back, in blood, was the word PAIN.
"There, Sam. You need to be punished, you've been punished." He sat the knife
down on the nightstand with a final sounding click. Sliding back on Sam's legs,
he knelt back on his ankles and pulled up on Sam's hips.
Sam came up on all fours, and then further back so that he was kneeling with
his ass in Dean's lap. Dean wrapped one arm around Sam's chest and held him
there, ignoring the strain in his own thighs.
His back pressed to Dean's chest, Sam relaxed into the hold. Dean kissed him
softly on the side of his neck and slid his other hand down and around, taking
his cock in hand again.
This time, he kept it slow, murmuring into Sam's ear. "It's okay, Sammy. It's
okay. Forgive yourself, bro, you need to forgive yourself and just let it go."
Sam started to move again, but this time was less frantic, more organic, and
Dean kept the pressure steady, refusing to hurt Sam any more than he already
had. When Sam started to moan, he knew that it was working, and he nipped at
Sam's throat, tasting salt and clean skin, hand moving a little faster,
focusing on that place right below the head.
He was hard, but this wasn't about Dean, it was about Sam, so he just ignored
it. Later, he could deal with it. Right now, he wanted Sam to just feel the
pleasure without any sort of obligation.
Finally, Sam cried out, striping his chest and stomach with his own come. Dean
continued to touch him through his orgasm, which seemed to last forever. When
it was over, Dean helped him lie back down, and climbed off his legs, ignoring
the way that pins and needles made his legs tremble.
"Better, Sammy?"
"Uh, huh," Sam muttered sleepily, eyes already closing. Dean smiled and went to
get a washcloth, cleaning Sam as best he could. The bleeding had already mostly
stopped, and where he'd cut a little deeper, he might scar, but most of it
would heal clean. Hopefully, so would Sam.
Then he sat down cross-legged on the bed next to him and stood watch as Sam
slept.
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