Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/8740642.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage, Rape/Non-Con
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Character:
      Sam_Winchester, Dean_Winchester, Original_Male_Character(s), Original
      Female_Character(s), John_Winchester, Jim_Murphy
  Additional Tags:
      Angst, Kinks, First_Time, Alternate_Universe, Drama, Abuse, Hurt/Comfort
  Collections:
      Sinful_Desire
  Stats:
      Published: 2008-07-02 Chapters: 2/2 Words: 12613
****** Walking In the Shadows ******
by Tempestquill [archived by sinfuldesire_archivist]
Summary
     Dean is twenty-one years old, and after losing his brother nearly
     seventeen years ago, Dean unexpectedly discovers Sam in a bar in
     Chicago...
Notes
     Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally
     archived at Sinful-Desire.org. To preserve the archive, we began
     importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in
     November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted
     announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or
     know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on
     Sinful_Desire_collection_profile.
     Author's notes: This story was written for a prompt by the lovely
     tigriswolf! She has been amazingly inspiring as of late and I
     completely adore the plotbunnies she sends my way. She asked for
     abused!whore!Sam, I don't know if I met her expectations, but I
     surprised myself with this fic. My beta kept saying it's whore!fic!
     Why is there sexual tension and no sex... OH! There it is! LOL. So
     enjoy! This fic is kinda of long... 23 pages, and um, has to be
     broken up in two posts. This is the sequel to "Learn to Crawl". Also
     there are some interesting uses of holy water within...
***** ONE *****
“Walking in the Shadows”
By C.K. Blake
 
It’s been nearly seventeen years since the last time he saw his baby brother. A
little baby pushed in his arms by his father while their mother burned to death
on the ceiling. He remembers making it outside and someone taking little Sammy
from him. He remembers his father gathering him up, crying over the loss of
their mother and little Sammy.
 
Dean Winchester has lived with the guilt of losing Sammy all this time. Sammy
was his responsibility and someone took him away and his father has never
looked at him the same since. No matter what Dean does…it’s never good enough.
He lost Sammy, never mind the fact that he was just four years old. He still
lost Sammy.
 
He is twenty-one now, sitting in a bar nursing down a bottle of beer. His face
is bruised, his cheek cut open from a nasty fight with a thing he doesn’t even
have a name for. All he knows is that it had claws, teeth, and a serious anger
management problem. It’s not a problem anymore, but that doesn’t stop the
stinging in his cheek.
 
He finishes the beer and raises his arm for another, when he picks up on the
shouting coming from the area where a couple of pool tables are set up. He
usually ignores bar fights unless he’s in the middle of one, but he still lifts
his gaze out of curiosity, and he sits up and stares at the young man who’s
around six foot five, dressed in tight fitting clothes, wearing eyeliner, his
shaggy hair all over the place, and he’s looking pissed.
 
There is something so familiar about the kid. Then Dean sees it. The kid looks
up and he sees the kid’s eyes and he knows without a doubt, because that kid
has John Winchester’s eyes. Holy hell, in a seedy bar in Chicago, Dean has
found Sammy.
 
He slips down from the barstool, walks across the bar, and gets between the
kid, Sammy, and the man hassling him. The man is about Dean’s height, but
Dean’s got years of fighting and surviving on this guy, and while the guy has a
few years on Dean, Dean knows he can take him.
 
“What’s the problem?” Dean asks, his voice sharp as he narrows his gaze on the
man hassling his kid brother.
 
“That little whore lifted my wallet in the men’s room. I want it back,” the man
hisses.
 
Dean lifts a brow, spares a glance back at Sam who is glaring at the man, and
looking all kinds pissed off. Dean files away the whore comment for later, and
turns his attention back to the man when he hears the sound of a pocketknife
snicking open.
 
Dean smirks at the man as the man holds the knife out. A crowd has started to
gather around them, and Dean can feel those familiar eyes, his father’s eyes in
the kid’s head, watching him.
 
“Sure you wanna do this? Cause I’m guessin' mine’s bigger than yours,” Dean
replies, and the man lunges and makes a swipe.
 
Dean jumps back, pulls his favorite hunting knife from the sheath at the back
of his jeans, and holds it in a defensive grip. His thumb is curled around the
butt of the hilt, the serrated edge of the knife is pointed towards him, and
the narrow sharp curve of the blade is pointed outward, ready for action.
 
“Still wanna give it a go?” Dean asks, his tone cocky.
 
The man swallows and pulls back. Dean looks the man up and down and then
snarls, “Don’t ever mess with my kid brother again. And next time bring a real
knife to a knife fight.”
 
The man gives a shaky nod, puts his knife away, turns tail, and runs. Dean
slips his own knife into the sheath in the back of his pants, and readjusts his
jacket to cover it again.
 
He turns to the kid, and the kid does not look pleased. Dean also notices the
bartender coming out from around the bar and knows it’s time to go. He puts an
arm around the kid’s shoulders, and while the kid looks like he wants to jerk
away, he notices the bartender with a bat in his hand, and decides he’ll go
with Dean for now.
 
Dean leads him out of the bar, and around to the alley where he’s parked his
baby, a ’67 Chevy Impala, that he and his dad fixed up at an old friend’s
place.
 
The kid looks the car over, a little impressed and Dean can’t help the smile of
pride on his face, then the kid looks over the top of the car at him and that
sulky look is back in place.
 
“Hey, I just saved your ass back there, so you gonna get in and let me buy you
something to eat. Looks like you could use a meal. I know a diner a few blocks
away. It’s a real shit hole, but the food’s decent,” Dean says, and he really
wants the kid to say yes, because everything about the kid’s eyes is screaming
Samuel Winchester.
 
“Cut the shit. If you want me to blow you for free, fine. I guess I owe you,
but I could have taken that asshole myself. It’s not like I need you doin’ me
any favors,” the kid snaps, and Dean winces. So the whore comment was true.
 
Dean holds his hands up and says, “Woah. Look, I can get my dick sucked for
free whenever I want. I just wanted to buy you a meal and talk, okay kid? God,
there something wrong with that? Look if there’s somewhere you need to be, then
I’ll give you a ride, but I’m offering free food. In my neck of the woods you
don’t turn that down.”
 
The kid pulls the car door open, slips into the car, his long legs taking up
most of the space afforded in the front passenger’s seat. Dean taps the top of
the car lovingly and then slips in behind the wheel. He turns the engine over
and spares the kid a glance before he pulls out and starts to head toward that
diner he mentioned.
 
“So, you got a name, kid?” Dean asks.
 
The kid slips him a bored, sidelong glance and shrugs. “It’s what you want it
to be.”
 
“I’m not in the market for a whore, now quit being a smart ass and tell me your
God damned name,” Dean growls, and the kid shivers, turns wide-eyed to Dean,
and Dean sees something real in the kid.
 
He nods and then, almost like he’s getting teeth pulled, he says, “Sam. My
name’s Sam.”
 
Dean feels his gut clench, and he knows for a fact that this is Sammy. He’s
finally found the brother he lost so long ago.
 
“Any family, Sam?”
 
“How’s that any of your business?” Sam snaps, getting all defensive and then he
raises a brow and looks at Dean. “And if you know my name, how ‘bout you give
me yours.”
 
“I’m Dean, and I had a kid brother once. You’re ‘bout what, seventeen or so? He
would have been about your age.”
 
“Yeah, ‘bout seventeen or so. And what, he die or somethin’?”
 
“Or somethin’,” Dean replies with a sigh, his fingers tapping along the
steering wheel as he pulls into the diner and cuts off the engine.
 
Dean sits behind the wheel for a moment, feels Sam’s eyes on him. He swallows
thickly, knowing that he’s got to tread carefully with this if he wants to get
Sam to come with him. And Sam is going to come with him. There is no losing
Sammy a second time. No way in hell.
 
“We goin’ in?” Sam asks pointedly.
 
Dean gives his head a shake and then nods. “Yeah.”
 
About fifteen minutes later Dean is picking over his fries while Sam wolfs down
a second hamburger and reaches across the table to snatch one of Dean’s fries.
 
Dean stares at him and pushes his plate toward Sam. He’s never seen anyone eat
like this. Sam looks up at him through hooded eyes and shrugs.
 
“Ain’t often a good, free meal comes along. Usually there’s strings. Still not
sure about you. It’s not right that a guy comes out of nowhere, bein’ so
generous without getting some kind of turn around.”
 
“And what if I do want something from you?” Dean asks, leaning across the
table, and Sam looks up.
 
“Like what? The only thing you get for that stunt you pulled back at the bar is
a free blowjob, that’s generous. If you’re into hands though, it’ll save me
some grief. You want a good fuck I’ll knock a hundred off the going rate.
That’s fair.”
 
Dean pulls back, runs a hand through his short, cropped hair, and sighs loudly.
The waitress comes back with a couple of refills, and Dean shakes his head as
he looks at the kid sitting across from him, and he wonders what could have
possibly led Sammy to this kind of life.
 
He runs his tongue across his upper lip and then he leans forward across the
table again, his knee knocking into Sam’s beneath the table. “Look, I don’t
want to fuck you. What if I told you that you’d never have to fuck someone you
didn’t want to ever again?”
 
Sam swallows, takes a long sip from his Coke, and runs his tongue along the
inside of his right cheek considering before he finally replies, “I’d ask what
the hell kinda scam you’re running.”
 
“No scam. Just come with me. You’ll never have to turn another trick. I’ll keep
you fed, clothed, a roof over your head. All you gotta do is come with me, and
maybe do the laundry every once and a while. That’s it,” Dean says, putting
everything out for the kid to consider.
 
“Bullshit. There’s got to be something you want from me if you want me to come
with you. Hell, you’re offering to be my sugar daddy. I’ve turned down rich
men. I say when, I say who, I say how much,” the kid snaps.
 
Dean rolls his eyes. “Sure thing, Pretty Woman, but I’m not gonna just take off
and leave you not knowing if you’re alive, or hungry, or hurt. Look, I lost my
kid brother, and you kinda remind me of him. No tricks and I’ll keep you fed
and clothed, come on. You don’t even have to do a damn thing and I’ll take care
of you. That simple. You can leave any time you want to if it doesn’t work out.
But don’t you think that’s a good deal?”
 
“Still don’t see what’s in it for you,” Sam says, and narrows his eyes.
 
Dean shrugs. “Call it the big brother program. Hell, I don’t know. All I know
is that my mom died when I was a kid, my dad’s off doing God knows what for a
job, and I lost my kid brother when I was four. If I don’t have someone to look
after other than my own sorry ass I’ll go crazy. I’m sick of being left behind.
This is more about me needing company than anything else.”
 
Sam pulls back and cocks his head to the side, considering the offer. “Fine,
I’ll go with you, but I get a say in when I leave if shit gets heavy. And you
don’t fucking touch me unless I say it’s okay. We need to stop by my place to
get my shit, and then I’m good to go. And you can do your own laundry. I catch
enough hell keeping my own clothes clean.”
 
“It’s a deal. You done here? I’d like to get out on the road as soon as
possible.”
 
Sam grabs the last fry off the plate, stuffs it in his mouth, drinks down the
rest of his Coke, stands up, and says, “Yeah, I’m good.”
 
About ten minutes later Dean is parked in front of what looks to be an
abandoned building, tapping his steering wheel with Metallica playing softly in
the tape deck. He shakes his head, hardly believing that he’s found Sam again.
This is almost like some kind of dream. He still doesn’t like the idea that his
brother’s been turning tricks to survive, but surviving is surviving any way
you cut it.
 
Dean can understand why Sam would choose taking off with a complete stranger if
this is the kind of life the kid’s been leading. Can’t really blame him. Dean
let’s his head fall back at the thought of what’s kept his brother alive for so
long, and he’ll be damned if Sammy ever has to return to that life again.
 
He knows Sam doesn’t trust him, but he’s going to do right by him. There are
too many shadows in the kid’s eyes, like he’s not even a kid, never was one.
One day they will be brothers again.
 
Dean jolts and shifts a little as the back passenger door is pulled open. A
couple of black trash bags are tossed in the back, and then the door slams
shut, making Dean wince. He gently pets the steering wheel of his car in
apology and then Sam is filling up the space in the passenger’s seat. Dean
takes in a deep breath and blows it out in a huff before he puts the car in
gear and starts to put Chicago as far behind them as possible.
 
They’re a couple hundred miles down the road when Sam flips the volume dial on
the tape deck, shifts so that he’s facing Dean, and then cocks his head, a
sultry pout to his lips and a suspicious gleam in his eye. “So, where exactly
are we going?”
 
“Got a job out in Tacoma, Washington. Supposed to meet my Dad out there by
Friday,” Dean answers.
 
Sam’s eyes widen. “Wait, we’re driving to Washington State? What the hell?
Where in the hell do you live?” Sam asks, his voice taking on an edgy tone.
 
Dean let’s his head roll to the side and he looks at Sam with a smile. “This is
home. My baby’s more than just a car. And once we cross the state line I’ll see
about getting us a room with a couple of beds. God, I could use a shower, and
you gotta lose that make-up. Jesus.”
 
“So you’re a fucking drifter?” Sam bites out.
 
Dean shrugs. “Something like that, but I’m a drifter with a heart of gold, a
kick ass soundtrack, and good comp’ny. Don’t need much else. And maybe we
should set some ground rules for this little arrangement of ours.”
 
Sam snorts and shakes his head. “I fucking knew this was too good an offer to
be true. So what, got some kinky ass road trip fantasy, cause I charge by the
hour, man.”
 
Dean bites down on his tongue, counts to ten, pulls the car over and shuts the
engine off. He turns in the seat, and glares at the kid.
 
“Okay, here’s the thing. I’m twenty-one years old, dude, I’m into chicks, and
I’m taking you under my wing cause you need somebody to look after your
stubborn ass before you get yourself killed turning tricks for the wrong perv
some night. Rules are as follows. No more turning tricks. Separate beds, if we
have to bunk in the car one of us gets the front seat and the other gets the
back. When we stop in a place long enough your ass is getting tested for
everything there is to get tested for. You can do what you want during the day,
but at night you come back to wherever we’re staying at the time and you either
keep your ass within my sight or shut up tight in the motel room or this car.
Got it? I do some pretty dangerous jobs, and I won’t see you get hurt. And when
you meet my dad, keep the smart ass attitude to yourself, no make-up, and
Christ we should stop and get you some clothes that don’t make it look like I
just picked your ass up off the corner. Sound fair?”
 
“Whatever,” Sam snarls, and then he slouches down in the front seat, which is
an accomplishment considering his size, and crosses his arms over his chest.
 
Dean turns the engine over and gets back on the road; his thoughts turn to
enduring the sulking that is obviously a constant with Sam.
 
It’s a long five hours later that Dean finally pulls into a cheap motel. Sam is
sprawled out in the passenger seat, his head laid back over the seat at what
looks like a painful angle, snoring. Dean rubs his eyes, and then goes to the
office where he gets a room courtesy of one Jonas Popovich, whoever the hell
that might be.
 
He pulls the car up to the room, gets his duffels out of the back, and then
rolls his eyes before he smacks Sam in the arm. Sam jerks awake and looks
around in a slight panic until he recognizes Dean, scowls, gets out of the car,
grabs one of the garbage bags from the back and follows Dean into the room.
 
Dean tosses his bags on the bed nearest the door, and Sam takes the bed closer
to the bathroom. Sam drops his bag to the floor and flops back on the cheap
motel mattress, clasping his fingers together and bringing his entwined hands
behind his head. He shifts so that he can see what Dean’s doing, and lifts a
brow as he watches Dean pour salt lines along the windows and doorway.
 
“Man, you’re seriously tweaked,” Sam says.
 
Dean snorts. “When you’ve seen the shit I’ve seen you don’t take chances. Now
if I were you I’d take a shower now, because if I end up in there first there
won’t be any hot water left.”
 
Sam scrambles up from the bed, and heads into the bathroom. A few minutes later
Dean hears the shower going and he sits down on his bed, his elbows on his
knees and his fingers threading through his short hair, wondering what he’s
gotten himself into. He wasn’t thinking when he made the offer to Sam, but he
knows that he couldn’t have left him behind either. This is a huge mess in the
making, he can just tell.
 
He pulls out a few weapons from his second duffel bag, a couple of guns, a
nine-millimeter and a revolver, and he pulls out his set of throwing knives,
and his favorite hunting knife. He lays them out on the rickety hotel table,
and then he pulls out the cloth he uses to clean them, a couple of barrel
cleaners, the gun oil and his whetstone.
 
He starts with the revolver first, taking it apart, cleaning the barrel and the
compartment for the bullets, and then he polishes the metal to a gleaming
shine. Next is the nine-millimeter, which he treats to the same care. He makes
quick work of sharpening and cleaning the throwing knives, and by the time the
shower shuts off, he’s running the blade of the hunting knife lovingly down the
whetstone.
 
At the sound of the bathroom door opening Dean looks up and lifts a brow. Sammy
walks out in a cloud of steam, a threadbare towel wound around his tapered
waist, and a towel in his hands drying his hair. Dean sets the knife aside, and
stands up. He shakes his head, and notices a few of the scars and old bruises
along Sam’s chest, and when Sam heads toward his bed, Dean can also see the
scars and bruises on his back.
 
Dean feels something strange pooling in his gut, and he swallows thickly. He
strides over to his duffel, pulls out some clean clothes and heads to the
bathroom. When he passes Sam he says in a strangled voice, “New rule. Clothes
are a necessity. You better be wearing pants when I come out.”
 
Sam snorts as the bathroom door closes behind Dean, and he hears a stream of
cursing coming from the bathroom as the shower is turned on. Maybe he should
have left a little hot water, but no one has ever accused Samuel Winchester
Montgomery of ever being nice.
 
While Dean is in the shower, Sam has an opportunity to explore. He finds a pair
of decent blue jeans in his bag, puts them on, and then he crosses the room and
looks down at the collection of weapons on the table. He doesn’t know how to
put the guns back together, but a knife is easy enough to handle. He picks up
the knife that Dean had pulled on that guy back at the bar.
 
His eyes following the gleam along the blade, and his thumb runs carefully
along the sharp blade. It’s an amazing knife, and as Sam looks at the
assortment of weapons and his eyes are turned once again to the salt lines he
wonders just what this guy is into. He gets up and rifles through the duffel
bag on Dean’s bed and finds clothes and Dean’s wallet.
 
There’s some cash, and a quite a few credit cards. None of the cards have the
same name on them. So the guy obviously runs scams. Not that surprising. He
thumbs through the cards until he comes across a couple of driver’s licenses.
One is from Kansas, another from Texas, and the third from California, and all
three have one thing in common, the name on them is the same. Dean Winchester.
 
Sam hears the water shut off. He folds the wallet and puts it back in the
duffel. He’s about to head over to his bed when ringing sounds from the duffel.
Sam stops. He knows he shouldn’t answer the phone, because who knows who could
be on the other end of the line, but curiosity has always gotten the better of
him.
 
He pulls the phone out of the bag, flips it open and brings it to his ear.
There’s a gruff voice on the line, and Sam swears that it sounds so familiar.
 
“Dean, I need you to haul ass up here as soon as you can. This skin walker’s a
tricky sonofabitch. You know the location. I’ll be waiting at the motel near
the reservation. See ya when you get here, son.”
 
The man doesn’t even wait to hear a reply, just hangs up like that. Sam freezes
at the sound of the bathroom door opening behind him and then spins around to
face Dean. His mouth falls open at having been caught, and he holds the phone
limply in his hand.
 
Dean lifts a brow and then says, “What did he say?”
 
“Something about a skin walker and you knew his location. Also said something
about a motel near a reservation, whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean,
and what’s a skin walker?” Sam asks.
 
Dean bites his lip and turns his gaze to the ceiling. “Just another job. You
might want to think about turning in. We gotta make a break early tomorrow if
I’m gonna make it there in time. Dad hates it when I’m late.”
 
“You mean that was your dad?”
 
“Yeah.”
 
“Sounded more like a drill sergeant.”
 
Dean shrugs. “He’s a retired marine. Never says more than he has to about a
job. Now turn in,” Dean says.
 
“I don’t know what kind of work you do, but I saw the cards. You’re a scam
artist right? Dean Winchester, is that even your real name?” Sam asks.
 
Dean narrows his eyes on the kid. “Nosy little bastard, huh? Yeah, Dean
Winchester’s my name. My dad is John Winchester. And please tell me you didn’t
swipe my cash, because it took me awhile to build up that stash, and I’d hate
to have to kick your ass so early on.”
 
“I only take what I’m owed. That’s why I swiped that guy’s wallet back at the
bar. If I get down on my knees I’m damn well gonna get paid for it,” Sam snaps.
 
“And that, my friend, is far too much information for me. Go to bed. We’ll
catch some breakfast in the mornin’, and then we’re bookin’ it the hell outta
here. The sooner we reach my dad the better.”
 
Sam rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure he’d just love to find out that his son
picked up a whore in Chicago and has decided to keep him like a fucking stray.”
 
That’s the last straw. Dean crosses the room and shoves Sam up against the
wall, his arm pressed firm against Sam’s throat. Sam’s eyes flash darkly and he
looks down at Dean with a smirk.
 
“I was wondering when you’d come out to play. Knew there had to be something
you wanted,” Sam says, his tone low, as he thrusts his hips forward and grinds
against Dean’s crotch.
 
Dean fights back the groan in his throat at the contact, and wonders what’s
gotten into him. His breathing is ragged as he gets up into Sam’s face.
 
“Look, I’m trying to help you out here. You’re better than some two-bit whore
turning tricks for food and living in that shit hole. You’re too good to get
down on your knees for a few bucks from some fucking sleaze. Grow the fuck up
and see me as someone trying to help you, be your friend. I realize you’ve
probably had a shitty life, but mine hasn’t been all fucking roses either. I’m
not gonna fuck you, I’ve already told you that! Now stay outta my shit and get
some sleep!”
 
Sam snorts and laughs. “Come on, your dick says you want me, and I gotta pay
you back somehow right?”
 
Dean pulls back like Sam’s hit him. He faces the door, trying to gain control
of his breathing and will away his hard on. Christ, Sam is his brother, why in
the hell can’t his dick accept this?
 
“Go the fuck to sleep. We eat and then head out in the morning,” Dean grinds
out, then he goes to the table, puts the guns back together and puts the
weapons back into the duffel on the floor.
 
He drops the duffel on his bed to the floor, yanks the covers back on the bed,
pulls them over him and settles in. He spares a glance at the other bed, and
sees that Sam is on his back, sheets pulled halfway up his bare chest, Sam’s
head turned toward him. Their eyes meet, and Dean swallows thickly, because
there are things swimming around in Sam’s eyes that have no business lurking
there, and below it all is desperation, long wilted hope, and something
bordering on what Dean is afraid to call lust. He’s determined not to go there.
 
He checks the knife beneath his pillow, makes sure it’s in its sheath, and he
settles down. Sam shuts the lamp off and Dean lies there for the longest time
wondering what kind of life his little brother survived to end up as a whore in
Chicago. Life is funny sometimes, but no matter how hard it would prove to be,
having Sammy back was a relief, because there is no more wondering what
happened to him all those years ago. Not when he’s here now, and Dean can
protect him again.
 
----------
 
Dean sighs, his grip letting up on the steering wheel. They’ve finally reached
Tacoma, though this past week has been a real trial on his patience. He shifts
his gaze to Sam, who is finally wearing decent clothes as opposed to the ripped
up, skintight rags he’d worn before. The loose look fits the kid, baggy jeans,
a hoodie, new sneakers that Dean had to spring forty bucks on, but Sam’s worth
it. The kid hadn’t liked shopping at thrift stores, but they managed after a
couple of fights and Dean being accused of sucking ass as a Sugar Daddy.
 
Dean takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly, bracing himself as he pulls
into the motel near the reservation. He sees his father’s truck, and pulls the
Impala into the space next to it. He cuts the engine, turns to Sam, and says,
“Well, we’re here.”
 
“Bout damn time. Getting tired of being in this damn car all day. She’s a sweet
ride, but I need to take a piss, and I’d love to stretch my legs,” Sam replies
crankily.
 
Sam is the first out of the car, and he walks around for a few minutes. Dean
slips out of the car, locks her behind him, and heads toward room 13. He takes
in a deep breath, and feels the looming presence of Sam at his back as he
knocks on the door. A moment later the door is pulled open to the extent that
the chain lock allows, and John is peering through.
 
He looks from Dean to the tall kid standing behind him, before he closes the
door and opens it. He cocks his head at Dean, a brow raised, and then lifts his
gaze pointedly to Sam.
 
“Who the hell is this, Dean?” John asks, his voice gruff.
 
Sam squirms a little under the scrutiny, not sure how to take John Winchester,
as Dean sighs. “Dad, this is Sam Montgomery, Sam, my dad, John Winchester. I
had some trouble in Chicago, took care of it, and kinda got stuck with him.
He’s not so bad.”
 
“So he knows what we’re hunting?”
 
“Not exactly,” Dean grinds out, and then Sam cuts in, “Hey, mind if I take a
piss?”
 
John steps back and the kid crosses the salt line and heads straight for the
bathroom. Dean steps into his father’s room, and the door shuts behind him.
Dean notices the news clippings and old food wrappers scattered around the
room, and then returns his attention back to John. “So how bad we talkin’ with
this skin walker?”
 
“Do you really think we should be having this conversation with some strange
kid in the bathroom listening in? Dean, what were you thinking? He’s a kid,
probably has parents worried sick about him, and you drag him halfway across
the country, like this? That’s kidnapping!” John snaps.
 
“Actually, it’s not. My parents died when I was seven and I went into a few
foster homes. The last one was a real bitch, so I took off. Ended up in Chicago
when the money ran out, and found myself in some trouble. Dean got me out of
jam, and decided he’d be my Daddy Warbucks, but he really does suck at this
whole Sugar Daddy thing,” Sam says as he steps out of the bathroom, and Dean
glares at him, while John looks at the kid with narrow eyes, trying to get a
read off of him. There’s something familiar about this kid that he just can’t
put his finger on.
 
“So, you’re a hustler?” John asks, and it’s a loaded question and Dean wants to
melt into the floor.
 
Sam pulls at the dark green hoodie, and shrugs. “I’ve been called worse, a
whore, slut, prostitute, all boils down to the same thing. I don’t get why your
precious Dean has taken me in. I’m not used to charity. Usually someone does me
a favor they expect a little payback. Can’t say I’ve made much headway with
him. But I’ll figure him out soon.”
 
John’s eyes widen and then he shifts his gaze to his son, and says, “Dean, mind
telling me why you’d pick up a prostitute? A male prostitute?”
 
“Sammy,” Dean says, and John feels the wind knocked out of him as he returns
his gaze back to Sam, and there’s that sense of recognition again, but it can’t
be.
 
Sammy is gone, has been gone since the night Mary died. No, this kid sees an
opportunity at steady meals, clothes, and security in Dean. That has to be it.
There is no way his youngest son, his Sammy, would be reduced to this.
 
“I highly doubt that, but fine. He can stay,” John replies.
 
“So how about some take out and then we can talk more about this job. I’m
guessin’ it’s not anyone on the reservation?” Dean suggests.
 
“I can have pizza delivered. I’ll get anchovies on mine, you still into that
beef, pepperoni, and ham?” John asks.
 
Dean nods and then looks at Sam. “I’ll share with Dean, but if you could add
pineapples to half of his, I’d blow you.”
 
John sputters, and Dean sends a glare in Sam’s direction. Sam just shrugs and
smirks back and Dean. He likes this edge on Dean, makes him fun, and he’s going
to figure out the limits and boundaries that Dean has working for him. John
looks like he has a short temper, so he’ll have to watch himself with the old
man, but a little fun won’t hurt anyone. Besides he’s pretty sure that Dean
could and would take on the old man to keep him safe.
 
John places the order for the pizza, and Dean looks around the room, notices
the two beds.
 
“Dad, think you can hold off on filling me in while I got get a room for me and
Sam?” Dean asks, and gets up to head to the door.
 
“Why? Are you fucking him?” John asks point blank.
 
Dean’s eyes widen and Sam pipes up from his place on the bed, “Not yet, but I
wouldn’t mind.”
 
“There are two beds in this room. I’m in the one closest to the door. You and
your whatever the hell he is, can have that bed. No funny business, Dean. I
don’t think I can take it. Christ, I… don’t even know where to begin, but we
have a job to do, and I’m sure you know all about safe sex with all the woman
you’ve left along the way. The same, I assume, goes for…”
 
“Dad, I’m not… That’s just NOT happening. Fine we’ll stay here with you. Now
please tell me you have beer.”
 
John waves to the mini fridge and Dean grabs a bottle, then tosses one to Sam,
and brings one back for his father. John looks disapprovingly as Sam pops the
cap on the beer and takes a long pull from the bottle, but it’s not really his
place to say anything. It’s not like he’s the kid’s father.
 
There’s awkward silence between father and son as Sam channel surfs on the
television and finally settles on a game show. At the sound of a knock on the
door, John gets up, answers the door, pays with two twenties and tells the
delivery kid to keep the change.
 
John sets the pizzas down on the table, and Dean comes over, takes the one
that’s his and Sam’s and goes over to the bed, he sits down next to Sam, and
opens the box and Sam snatches a piece covered in meat and pineapples and takes
a bite, a string of cheese hanging between his mouth and the pizza.
 
Sam moans and Dean swallows thickly before elbowing him in the side and taking
a meat covered slice for himself. Sam gives Dean an annoyed look, but finishes
the slice in silence.
 
Once they’ve eaten their fill, John and Dean start to talk shop. They’re
looking for a skin walker; John has narrowed down the suspects, the woman that
runs the infirmary on the reservation and the chief’s daughter. They need
silver for this job, silver and a lot of luck.
 
By the time John and Dean are done talking about the case and how they’re going
in to find the skin walker, Sam is curled up on his stomach, asleep. Dean gets
up and crosses the room to the bed, runs an affectionate hand through Sam’s
hair and looks up at his father.
 
“It’s him Dad. It really is. You’re crazy if you don’t see it,” Dean says.
 
John shakes his head. “He’s gone. There’s no getting him back. I thought we
dropped this years ago. You’re setting yourself up to get hurt. Hell, he’s a
prostitute. What are you thinking?”
 
“I’m thinking I have my brother back. That’s enough for me. Why is not enough
for you?” Dean asks.
 
“Because Sammy is gone, hell, he could be dead for all we know,” John hisses,
but as he turns his gaze to the kid curled up on the bed, he sees something
that could almost pass for innocence on his face, and the kid is young. He’s
had a hell of a life, that much is obvious, but John won’t give into Dean’s
crazy hope. Sammy is gone, just like Mary. He’s accepted that and moved on.
There is no going back.
 
“Just get some sleep, son. And don’t let him feel you up, and if my wallet’s
short tomorrow you’re paying me back,” John says softly.
 
Dean snorts. “He’s not a thief.”
 
John shakes his head, but doesn’t say anything as he strips down to his t-shirt
and boxers and slips into bed. He checks for the knife beneath his pillow, and
then he begins to drift off as Dean gets the light and slips into the other
bed, with the kid.
 
----------
 
At the sound of a crash and someone crying out, John reaches under his pillow
for his knife, slips out of bed and flicks on the light in the room. He’s
surprised to see Dean on top of the kid, straddling him and holding his arms
down.
 
He sets the knife down, gets his arms around Dean, and jerks him off of the
boy.
 
“I’ll be good, I promise. Please. Be good. Won’t do it no more. Please. I’m
good,” the boy chokes out.
 
He struggles with some unseen force and then he pulls back, slips over on his
side and curls into himself. He’s shaking and whimpering and John honestly
feels bad for the kid.
 
John exchanges a look with an equally stunned Dean, and then he bends down and
gives the kid’s shoulder a good shake. The kid jolts, stretches out and then
turns over. He blinks against the light, raising his arm to shade his eyes from
the light. “What’s with the lights? Not time to go already, is it?”
 
John shakes his head and says, “No, you just had a nightmare.”
 
The boy flushes red, and bites at his bottom lip before squeezing his eyes shut
and taking a couple of deep breaths. When he opens his eyes again he looks
straight up into John’s gaze and says, “Yeah. I’ll probably have another one
too. Happens all the time. Used to have night terrors when I was a kid.”
 
John nods, gives the boy an awkward pat on the shoulder then looks at Dean with
an expression that says, ‘He’s all yours, son.’
 
Sam lifts his head and watches as Dean draws up to the bed, and cautiously
slips beneath the covers. Sam’s pleased to note that Dean’s only wearing a pair
of boxers and sweat pants. Sam curls up against Dean, resting his head on
Dean’s chest, just over Dean’s heart.
 
Dean allows it, and is surprised that it feels so right when he was expecting
it to feel awkward. Dean lets his arm wrap around Sam’s back, and his fingers
play with the too long hair at the nape of Sam’s neck, and John watches as his
son and the boy fall asleep.
 
Unease gnaws at his gut at how attached Dean is to the kid, how they just
settled back into bed like it was natural for them to be together, like they’d
known and trusted each other their whole lives.
 
John flicks off the light, at the sound of the kid’s light snoring, and his
heart skips a beat as he hears Dean’s voice, soft and soothing.
 
“I won’t let anyone hurt you anymore, Sammy. Never again.”
***** TWO *****
Sam is finishing up his fries, Dean is next to him working on a burger, and
John is across from them, finishing up with his steak and eggs, and Sam keeps
flickering his gaze up and observing the older man.
 
There are some things that Sam has picked up on. John Winchester only speaks
when he deems it necessary, what he says goes as far as Dean is concerned, and
John Winchester is highly suspicious of him. In fact he’s caught John checking
his wallet a couple of times. Sam rolls his eyes. He’s not a thief. He only
ever takes what’s owed him, and there is nothing the old man owes him.
 
If anything, Sam does owe Dean. He’s been trying to figure out how to repay
Dean for everything, because this doesn’t feel right, sticking around, getting
meals and clothes for free. What does feel right is Dean’s arms around him,
because the nightmares stay away.
 
Sam isn’t comfortable admitting that there is something attractive about Dean.
Sam’s never found anyone attractive before, because sex has always been about
survival, but this morning when he woke up with his wood pressed against Dean’s
thigh, he’d really wanted to touch Dean, and somehow get Dean to touch him.
 
Instead he’d blushed, slipped out of the bed, and jacked off in the bathroom,
Dean’s name on the tip of his tongue as he came.
 
As he stepped out of the bathroom he’d noticed that John had been awake, and
John kept his eye on him as he took one of the little plastic cups off the
dresser, filled it from the tap and drank it down. Sam had almost felt guilty
under the man’s scrutiny, but then he turned his gaze to Dean, and felt
something lift inside of him. Maybe Dean could be the real thing, honest in a
con-artist kind of way, because so far Dean hasn’t made a move, and Sam doesn’t
really know what to think about that.
 
So here is Sam, sitting next to Dean, in a diner, and Dean’s father is getting
up to pay for the food, and then they are heading out. He feels Dean’s eyes on
him, and looks up from his Coke.
 
“What?” he asks.
 
Dean shakes his head and then sighs. “Why are you baiting Dad? Look, push your
luck with me, hell I dragged you into this, but don’t fuck with my dad. He
already doesn’t trust you, and I don’t want to get caught in the middle when
he’s finally had enough and just goes straight to kicking your ass. So knock it
off. Besides this job is already intense and we need to be on top of our game.
And tonight stay in the damn car. No matter what you might see or hear, you
stay in the damn car.”
 
“What the hell kind of job is it anyway? From everything I’ve picked up on the
last couple of days, you and your Dad are gonna go tramping through the woods
and hunt some kind of monster thing that doesn’t exist. I didn’t realize you
were crazy when I took off with you,” Sam says with a roll of his eyes.
 
“It’s better than whoring,” Dean hisses.
 
Sam bites down on his tongue as he takes one last sip of his soda, and they get
up to leave. Sometimes Dean really knows how to stick it to him and twist the
knife. That irritates Sam more than he cares to get into.
 
Once in the car they follow behind John’s black pick-up. Sam gets a little
nervous as they turn down what looks like an abandoned hunter’s trail, and
about two miles in, John pulls over and Dean does too.
 
“Now remember what I said. Stay in the car, no matter what. There’s a gun in
the glove compartment and a knife right here, if you need it. Just don’t shoot
me, okay?” Dean says, and Sam can sense something ominous in the air as he
nods.
 
Dean gets out of the car, pops the trunk, pulls a few of things out of it, a
couple of wicked looking knives and a sawed off shotgun, and then the trunk is
slammed shut, and Dean’s tapping against the window. Sam rolls down the window,
takes the keys from Dean, and then looks up at Dean, wondering how the guy can
trust him with the keys to his car.
 
He gets a sinking feeling in his gut as he watches Dean follow John into the
woods, and then he curls up on the front seat, and waits. Something is wrong,
he can feel it in his bones, and then it hits him, like a first class headache
and then he’s seeing things like a waking dream.
 
He leans forward, his hands clutching at his temples as the pain grows in
intensity, stabbing, clawing, burning, tearing into his mind, and he’s had this
happen before, but never like this.
 
There’s flashes of shadow and green tinted with blue, like he’s running in the
forest, and there is pain at his left side, and burning scratches along his
face, and his lungs are burning from the pain and the need to run, adrenaline
pumping through his veins. He peers over his shoulder for a second and a
creature the likes of which he’s never seen before is tearing through the
forest behind him.
 
The creature’s skin is dark, even in the moonlight flashing through the trees,
it’s almost hairless, save for the long strip of coarse, dark hair running from
the top of its head down along it’s spine. Its hands are almost like human
hands, save that they are too long and have extra joints and long tapered claws
extending from the fingertips. The face is almost human save for the snarling
snout with long, sharp, yellow and blood stained teeth dripping with thick
ropes of saliva.
 
Sam’s grip tightens at his temples and he whimpers, but he’s roughly pulled
from the vision as he hears something breathing heavily and scrambling through
the brush behind him. He sluggishly sits up and looks out of the window of the
car, and his eyes widen at the sight before him. There’s Dean clutching at his
side, his breathing ragged, covered in streaks of blood and dirt, and he’s
limping and crawling desperately toward the car.
 
There’s a long, mad howl coming from behind Dean, and then that thing from
Sam’s vision leaps from the woods. Sam’s heart leaps to his throat and he’s so
tempted to slip behind the wheel of the Impala, and haul ass, forget about what
he’s seen, and forget about everything, about maybe finding someone who sees
him as more than just a charity case or a whore. His gaze turns to the ground,
and Dean’s laid out, his back barely rising, as he tries to drag himself
forward to the car.
 
Sam takes in a breath and makes his decision. He opens the car door, and
reaches toward Dean. If he leans forward just a little more he can grab Dean’s
hand and drag him into the car. The thing’s snout lifts, and then it’s wild
amber eyes fall on Sam and he swallows thickly before he grabs Dean’s hand and
puts all of his strength behind dragging Dean into the car with him. Dean cries
out as he’s dragged roughly across the ground, and Sam winces.
 
He just manages to get Dean in the car, when the door slams shut against the
weight of the creature hitting the side of the car. Sam scrambles to lock all
of the doors, and then he pulls Dean against him. He sees the scratches along
Dean’s face, and the notices the blood that seems to be pouring from Dean’s
left side, not to mention the shredded condition of Dean’s jeans and the claw
marks he can see marring Dean’s legs.
 
Christ, what in the hell is that thing?
 
Sam’s head darts up at the sound of a gunshot followed by silence, and then
three more shots. The snarling creature is silent and twitching on the ground
and John Winchester is looking through the passenger side window of the car.
Sam leans forward and unlocks the door, because maybe John knows what to do,
because Dean is bleeding all over the place.
 
Sam takes Dean’s head into his lap, running his fingers through Dean’s short
hair, and Dean’s breath hitches for a moment as he looks up at Sam, a smile on
his face, almost like he’s at peace. He reaches up weakly with his hand, and
whispers, “Good having you back, Sammy. Missed you. Love you.”
 
Dean’s hand drops back limply to his side to hang over the seat. His head
slumps to the side, and his eyes fall shut. Sam takes in a breath and looks at
John, struggling to breathe, because he’s seen a lot of shit in his time, and
lived through hell, but he’s never watched anyone actually die before.
 
“What do I do?” he chokes out, and watches as John presses a shirt from the
floorboard against Dean’s side.
 
John looks up at Sam and says, “You follow me in this car. Do every damn thing
you can to keep up with me.”
 
Sam nods and then John slams the door of the Impala, heads to his truck and a
minute later they are speeding back down the hunter’s trail the way they came.
Within ten minutes Sam is pulling into the parking lot of an old church in the
middle of nowhere behind John’s truck. John gets out of his truck and runs back
to the car. He pulls open the door and gathers Dean into his arms like he’s
weightless, and from all the blood loss, Sam thinks that just might be a
possibility.
 
John then races towards the door of the church. He kicks sharply against the
doors, and then the doors are pulled open by a tall, thin priest with longish
salt and pepper hair, a beard and mustache. His eyes widen at the sight of John
with a broken Dean in his arms, and then he’s ushering them inside.
 
He leads them through a door, down into the underbelly of the church. He stops
at the second door on the right of the hall, and opens it up. John follows him
inside, and then the door is closed in Sam’s face, and Sam hasn’t felt this
helpless since his last foster home, when Judith would leave him home alone
with her husband Alden.
 
----------
 
John makes quick work of cutting open Dean’s shirt while his old friend, Pastor
Jim Murphy, takes care of Dean’s jeans. John looks over the knives, needles,
and thread littered on the table, from Jim’s custom first aid kit.
 
He reaches past everything for the bottle of holy water on the small table. He
takes the cap off and pours it into the wound in Dean’s side. Dean’s body
arches and shrinks away in the pain, as steam appears to rise up from the
wound.
 
Once John is satisfied that the wound is clean, he reaches for the antiseptic,
pours some over the wound. Again Dean’s body arches before it sags back to the
bed. Jim hands him a threaded needle and then John is stitching the wound in
his son’s side shut.
 
He’s quick and efficient at patching his boy up, and then he pulls back to
survey the rest of the damage. There are some scratches on Dean’s face, nothing
too serious, and Jim has taken care of the claw marks on Dean’s legs, nothing
as bad as that wound on his side.
 
John tapes some gauze over the wound on Dean’s side, and Jim finishes taping
some gauze over the deepest claw mark on Dean’s inner right thigh. An inch more
to the left and Dean would have bled out through his femoral artery. Thank God
for small miracles.
 
With their work done, Jim pulls a blanket over Dean, and then he looks at John,
his kind gaze meeting worried hazel eyes. Jim sighs and then asks, “So John,
who’s the boy? Was the skin walker after him? Was he the next victim?”
 
John shakes his head. “No. I’d rather not talk about it for now. I’m gonna just
sit with my boy, and make sure he keeps breathing. He lost a lot of blood.”
 
Jim nods. “Fair enough. We can always talk later, John. And if this is any
comfort to you, there was someone looking out for Dean tonight. Your son is
strong. He will make it through the night.”
 
John nods in return and Jim quietly slips out of the room, and comes face to
face with the boy who’d followed John into the church.
 
The boy stands nearly a whole head taller than him, and his clothes are covered
in dry blood, and there are tear tracks down his young face. The boy looks
young, certainly no older than eighteen, if he’s even that old, but his eyes
speak volumes of age, and Jim finds himself concerned for the boy.
 
“Hello, son,” Jim says gently.
 
“Is he gonna be all right? Will he live? There was so much blood. Oh God,
please tell me he’s gonna be okay,” the boy says, desperation in his voice.
 
“Dean’s a strong young man. He will pull through, now why don’t we get
something to eat and you tell me about yourself? How did you end up out there
to begin with?”
 
Sam takes in a breath and looks the man up and down. There’s nothing
threatening about him, and food would be nice about now.
 
“Okay,” Sam says, and a few minutes later they are in a small kitchen that’s at
the end of the hall, and Jim sets a plate of ham sandwiches down in front of
Sam.
 
Sam takes one and takes a huge bite out of it, and washes it down with some
water, and then he’s gobbling the food down like there’s no tomorrow. Jim takes
the chair across from the boy and just watches him, and as he watches him, his
eyes widen a little as he sees traces of Dean and John in the boy, and when the
boy’s finally done eating, Jim’s gaze locks with the boy’s hazel green eyes and
if he didn’t know any better, Jim would swear that John is sitting across from
him.
 
“What is it, Father?” Sam asks.
 
Jim shakes his head and smiles a little. “You can call me Jim, or Pastor Jim if
you prefer. It’s just you remind me of someone. It’s nothing really, now how
about telling me how you ended up out there tonight?”
 
Sam looks down at the table and worriedly tears at the paper towel lying next
to his plate, but there is something about this man that is honest and good and
decent, and Sam wants to come clean. He’s wanted to confess for years.
Confession won’t make him clean again. No, this is the kind of dirt that never
goes away.
 
So Sam sighs, and he only tells the pastor about meeting Dean in Chicago a
couple of weeks earlier, about being accused of stealing, and Dean taking up
for him. He tells about taking off with Dean, because it means not living on
the streets, and Pastor Jim just nods, though Sam can tell that Pastor Jim
knows more than what he’s being told.
 
And then Sam hesitates.
 
“What is it, son?” Jim asks him.
 
Sam closes his eyes and let’s out a deep breath. “Tonight, when I pulled him
into the car, he reached up and looked at me. He looked so peaceful and he said
something, that’s all.”
 
“What did Dean say, Sam?” Jim asks gently.
 
Sam bites his bottom lip before he looks up again and meets Jim’s eyes. “He
said, ‘Good having you back, Sammy. Missed you. Love you.’ No one’s ever said
that to me before. Do you…?”
 
“Do I what?”
 
“Do you think he meant it? He hasn’t known me very long, but I swear it’s like
he’s known me my whole life. I mean that whole week in the car before we met up
with his dad, it was almost like normal. Like he really means it when he says
he wants to help me. That he wants to be my friend. And there’s more. He’s not
like the others. He pushes me away, never asks for anything in return, but I
want to repay him. I… I want to touch him. I want him to touch me. I never want
anyone to touch me, but I want him to.”
 
Jim sits back in the chair and clears his throat a little. “So you’re attracted
to Dean?”
 
Sam nods. “I guess so. He’s the first person who’s ever treated me like I’m a
person and not some punk kid or a whore…”
 
“Whore?” Jim asks carefully.
 
Sam lets his head fall back and runs his tongue across his lips before he looks
at Jim again. “You do what you have to when it comes to surviving.”
 
Jim nods knowingly. “Yes, we do. Now you have choices to make. You could leave,
go back to what you know. You could stay with Dean. Or you can join me here, I
could use an assistant to help keep the grounds, and help me with research and
other things.”
 
“Why are you being so nice?” Sam asks, his eyes narrowing, and his tone
defensive.
 
“I’ve been where you are, son. I know about surviving and I know about loss,”
Jim replies.
 
“That may be, but you don’t know me. I’m not leaving Dean. I’ll help with the
grounds while he’s holed up here to pay for our stay, but that’s it. When he’s
better I leave with him,” Sam says firmly.
 
“What about John?” Jim asks.
 
Sam shrugs. “What about him? He doesn’t trust me. He thinks I’m fucking with
Dean’s head. Maybe I will in the long run, I don’t know. If he goes, it’s
probably for the best. Dean’s better off without him. John sucks the life out
of him, and I get that John’s his Dad, but Dean’s a different person away from
him.”
 
“You’re probably right. John hasn’t been the same since the loss of his wife
and his youngest son.”
 
“Dean said something about his mom and little brother dying,” Sam says.
 
“Oh,” Jim says, and looks up with interest. “Dean’s mother died, that much is
true. She died in a fire when Dean was four, but his brother was taken that
night. John sent Dean out of the house with little Sammy in his arms, and by
the time John made it out of the house, he grabbed up Dean, and Sammy was gone.
They never did find him.”
 
“Sammy? Dean’s brother’s name was Sammy?”
 
Jim nods.
 
“So Dean thinks I’m his kid brother?” Sam says with a harsh laugh. “No wonder
he won’t touch me. God, this is messed up. How do I prove that I’m not?”
 
Pastor Jim shrugs.
 
----------
 
John Winchester is gone, and Dean has been drifting in and out of consciousness
for the past few days. He’d had a fever the second night, and Sam sat with him
the whole night. When Sam isn’t with Dean he’s working on the grounds. He’s
mown the lawn, pruned the bushes, and helped Pastor Jim in the garden.
 
Right now he’s taking his lunch in Dean’s room, by his bedside. There is sweat
on Dean’s brow. He puts his sandwich down, and takes the cool cloth from the
basin on the small table next to Dean’s bed, and wipes the sweat away. He puts
the cloth back into the basin and finishes with his sandwich.
 
The color has returned to Dean’s face, and the scratches on his face are
healing nicely. The wound in his side hasn’t seeped blood since that second
night. According to Pastor Jim, Dean is doing fine, but Sam isn’t going to be
convinced of that until Dean wakes up.
 
Sam is done for the day. His body aches with an honest day’s work and he’s
surprised to find that he likes that. Honest work is a nice change of pace for
once. Sam lies down in the cot next to Dean’s bed. He lies on his side, and
studies Dean’s profile.
 
Dean’s lips are full and prominent, and Sam wonders what that mouth would feel
like against his own, tasting him, saying dirty things just to turn him on. Sam
sees the straight edge of Dean’s nose, and swallows at the sight of those
ridiculously long lashes, imagines them ghosting along his skin.
 
He takes in a deep breath, finds that his cock is stirring. He’s never felt so
aroused for someone without having to really work himself up to that point. He
knows about morning wood, and he knows about thinking of anything just to get
hard if the situation calls for it, but being hard because he actually wants
someone. This is kind of new.
 
He slips out of the cot, and kneels down next to Dean’s bed. He reaches out,
traces Dean’s jaw, stubble catching roughly on the pads of his fingers, and
then his fingers are gliding through Dean’s surprisingly soft, short hair. Sam
lets his breath out slowly and lifts himself up, then he bends down, his breath
ghosting across Dean’s mouth. He notices that Dean’s face twitches a little.
 
He holds his breath and then he leans down until his lips are lightly pressed
to Dean’s mouth, and his eyes flutter shut, as he opens his mouth and his
tongue slips across Dean’s perfect mouth. He startles and pulls back when
Dean’s mouth falls open beneath his.
 
His eyes shoot open and then he’s staring down into Dean’s confused green eyes.
Dean begins to focus and then his own eyes widen and he slowly brings his hand
up to his mouth, and stares up in horror at Sam, as he realizes what’s just
happened.
 
“No, Sam, we can’t do this,” he says.
 
Sam closes his eyes and sits down on the bed, waiting for everything to come
crashing down. Waiting to be left behind, abandoned again, but no. He’s so sick
of this bullshit.
 
“Why? Is it because you’re straight? Or is it because you think I’m your long
lost kid brother? Think I wouldn’t figure it out?” Sam snaps. “Christ. I don’t
care. Even if I am that little baby that got taken from you when you were a
kid, I’m not that baby anymore. I never will be again. This is me. I grew up in
hell and until recently I was a whore. I’ve never let anyone touch me without
paying first, not since… Not since I was fifteen. I’ve never wanted anyone
before. A man or a woman. But I want you,” Sam says, and his voice is breaking.
 
“I can’t. I lost you before. If I do this, it’s like losing you all over again.
This time I can’t lose you. I’m supposed to protect you, and I can’t do that if
I’m fucking you,” Dean says.
 
Sam snorts. “You were a kid when your little brother got snatched. It wasn’t
your fault. We’re not brothers. We never will be. We can be this though. Hell,
look at what you do to me. Do you think I get hard for just anybody? Do you
know what seeing you like this has done to me? You’re the first good thing that
has happened to me my whole life. I’m tired of fucking waiting. We talk, and
you treat me like I’m a human being, and you don’t care that I sold myself just
to eat. I thought you were dying when I dragged you into the car. I’ve never
been so scared in my life, and that’s saying something considering…”
 
Dean reaches up and brushes away the tears trailing Sam’s cheeks. Sam shakes
his head, sucks in a breath, and looks down at Dean. “Did you mean it?” he
asks.
 
“What?” Dean asks in confusion.
 
“When you said you love me. Did you mean it? Or was it just because you were
dying? I never thought I’d hear those words, and I want to know why you said
them. We haven’t known each other long enough for you to love me!” Sam snaps,
“And I saw you running through the woods, I saw what that thing did to you
before you came out of the woods. I saw it trying to kill you, like I saw that
man when he killed my parents. I was seven, and he stood in the middle of the
room, and suddenly they were on the ceiling and everything was on fire. They
took me to a psychiatrist. A couple of weeks later I was pulled out of my house
by a fireman. My parents were dead, and I was put into foster care. I never saw
them die for real. The fireman found me in my bedroom huddled in the corner,
but I know that’s how they died. There have been other times too.”
 
“You have visions?” Dean asks.
 
Sam shrugs. “If that’s what you call them. Maybe I’m crazy. I mean, what kind
of man has yellow eyes?”
 
“He’s not a man. He’s a demon. He’s what my dad’s been hunting since the night
my mother died and you were taken from me.”
 
“I’m not him, Dean. I’m just Sam, and I’m here, right now, and I want you to
touch me. I want to touch you, and I want it to be okay. Take it all away. Make
it all go away. Mark me, bite me, fuck me, talk dirty and ride me till you
can’t move anymore. Make me yours so that I belong to someone, because I’m sick
of this. Of never belonging, and always being turned out. If you want me to
stay, this what you have to do. I know you want me. You wanted me that first
night you slammed me up against the wall.”
 
“Why does it have to be like this?” Dean asks, his voice husky, as he looks up
and meets Sam’s wounded gaze.
 
Sam leans down and whispers, “Because I never get what I want. Now if you want
me to stay, I have to get what I want. What I want is you.”
 
Dean screws his eyes shut as Sam’s lips brush against his again, and tears seep
from the corners of his eyes, because this is wrong, he knows it in his gut,
but it feels so right. It feels right to the very marrow of his bones.
 
Sam pulls back, his eyes dark and hooded as he looks down at Dean. “I’ll make
it good for you, baby, promise.”
 
Dean lets his head fall back against the pillow as Sam’s mouth burns a trail
down his stubble jaw, across his collarbone, as he pulls the sheet down lower,
exposing Dean’s chest. He licks and sucks down Dean’s chest, paying careful
attention to Dean’s nipples, nibbling until they’re peaked. He continues his
descent, careful of the wound at Dean’s side.
 
He slips the sheet the rest of the way down, until it’s pooled at Dean’s feet,
and then he’s slipping Dean’s boxers down his legs, and Dean lifts up enough so
that Sam can get them off of him.
 
It doesn’t matter that he’s tired, or that he hurts. This is about Sam, about
convincing him to stay, because he needs looking after and Dean needs someone
to take care of.
 
Sam kisses and licks his way back up Dean’s legs, his tongue running along the
scabbed over claw marks, making Dean tremble, and then his large hand curls
around Dean’s semi-hard cock, and he bends down, his tongue flicking along the
tip, pressing against the slit.
 
Despite his injuries, Dean’s hips jolt forward, and Sam smiles, then he lowers
his mouth along Dean’s hard cock, swallowing him, and Dean arches up, and lets
out a long groan, as Sam’s hand slips down to fondle his balls. Dean’s hands
fist into Sam’s too long hair and Sam moans against his cock, creating more
friction. He works his head up and down, his tongue tracing along the throbbing
vein on the underside of Dean’s cock.
 
Dean’s grip tightens as the feels himself getting closer to orgasm. He jerks
Sam’s head back, and winces as teeth graze a little along his shaft, but that’s
his fault. Sam’s gaze meets his in confusion, and Dean drags him up and their
lips meet in a frenzy, Dean’s tongue sweeping inside his mouth, and when they
pull apart they’re breathing heavily, both of their cocks heavy with arousal,
Sam’s cock peeking out of the top of his boxers, and Dean’s erection painful
with the need to come.
 
His gaze locks with Sam’s and he says, “This is about more than me. Want to see
you come. Want to see you come buried balls deep inside of me. I have to be
yours first, before you can be mine.”
 
Sam’s eyes widen. “Are you sure? You want me inside of you?”
 
Dean grins up at him, and pushes his hair away from his face. “Yeah, but go
easy on me. Never been fucked by a guy before, and we got these injuries to
worry about too.”
 
Sam nods. “You sure you want to do it like this? I mean, it would be easier on
you for your first time if you were on your stomach, less strain.”
 
Dean traces Sam’s jaw with his fingertips. “I told you, Sammy, I wanna see you
come.”
 
Sam’s breath catches, but he doesn’t resent the nickname. He nods. “Okay. But,
we need some kind of lubricant.”
 
Dean bites down on his lip to think, and then he turns his head to look at the
basin of water on his bedside table. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but there’s a
cloth and some water in that bowl.”
 
Sam scrunches up his face. “Dude, Pastor Jim blessed that water. You want to
use holy water as lube?”
 
Dean shrugs. “This is kinda like a christening. I mean you’re officially
becoming a Winchester. You’re going to take my name if we’re doing this, and
this is for keeps. I don’t let just any guy fuck me.”
 
Sam nods. “I like the way that sounds. It would do me good to drop the name
Montgomery. Ain’t brought nothing but trouble anyway.”
 
Dean’s hand slips to the back of Sam’s head and he brings the younger man down
for another kiss, his tongue sweeping hungrily into Sam’s mouth as Sam’s grinds
his boxer covered crotch against Dean’s. When Sam pulls back he leans toward
Dean’s ear, his lips brushing the shell of Dean’s ear as he whispers, “Gotta
get you ready. Just remember to relax.”
 
Dean nods as Sam slips out of his boxers. Dean is impressed by the younger man.
They’re about the same length, which holds it’s own bragging rights, but Sam’s
is a little thicker, and Dean wonders how he’s going to be able to take all of
that inside of him. It’s too late to second-guess now though.
 
Sam takes the washcloth from the basin, the damp cloth dripping and slipping
along Dean’s thighs, and then Sam’s between his legs, helping to support Dean’s
weight against his thighs, and Dean’s body shudders at the feel of Sam’s length
against the crack of his ass, and then that soft, wet cloth is between his ass
cheeks, and he feels Sam’s finger at his puckered whole.
 
He tenses, and Sam looks down at him, and whispers, “It’s okay. Just relax.”
 
Dean takes a couple of deep breaths as Sam’s finger slips inside of him up to
the first knuckle, and damn if Sam doesn’t have some long ass fingers. Dean’s
head falls back against the pillows, his neck strained.
 
Sam leans down and nibbles and sucks against his throat, and works his finger
the rest of the way into Dean. Dean forces himself to relax as Sam adds a
second finger, damp from the washcloth. As Sam works the second finger inside
he grazes Dean’s prostate and Dean’s body shivers and Sam grins.
 
“Do that again,” Dean groans.
 
Sam scissors his fingers inside of Dean, stretching him, and then adds a third
finger, and while it burns, it’s not so bad as long as Sam keeps hitting that
spot, and Sam does.
 
And that spot and Sam’s cock rubbing between his thighs is making his dick
twitch eagerly for something more.
 
“Now, Sam. Fuck me now,” Dean hisses.
 
Sam bites down on his collarbone, the blunt head of his cock at Dean’s opening,
and he pulls back, looks Dean in the eyes and says, “I don’t have any
protection, not now, but I’m clean. I got checked regularly at the health
department. I got my results earlier that day you took me in. You don’t got a
thing to worry about.”
 
Dean nods, and then Sam is thrusting his way inside, and Dean arches up, his
spine going stiff as his ass burns with the sensation of Sam’s cock slipping
inside.
 
“Relax,” Sam sooths, as he kisses and licks at the bite mark he’s left on
Dean’s collarbone, and as Dean relaxes he thrusts all the way inside and Dean
jerks as Sam’s cock hits that spot again, and Sam is buried balls deep inside.
 
He nearly comes undone when Sam’s hand curls around his cock and starts moving
up and down, in time with his thrusting. Dean starts rocking his hips into
Sam’s hand, and Sam’s pace increases, until he’s pounding into Dean with an
intensity that Dean’s never known before.
 
Sam bites and marks, and scratches, and kisses like a man possessed, and yet
he’s tender and careful that he hits that spot over and over with every thrust,
and then Dean’s back is arching as his hips stutter against Sam’s hand and he’s
coming, hard and hot on Sam’s hand and his stomach, and then Sam thrusts in
deep, grazing that spot, and Dean sees stars at the over stimulation of having
just come, and then Sam’s back is arched, his head thrown back and he roars
Dean’s name and comes deep and hard inside of Dean.
 
He continues to thrust as he works through his orgasm, and then he collapses on
Dean, and Dean grunts. Sam nips at Dean’s neck, and whispers throatily, “Mine.
Never gonna leave, cause you’re mine now.”
 
Dean simply nods as Sam pulls out of him and then curls up around him. Dean
reaches down blindly for the sheets and pulls them up around them, and while he
feels sore, he’s satisfied, and the wound in his side isn’t seeping so the
stitches aren’t torn. There’s nothing to worry about, because he’s Sam’s, and
Sam isn’t going anywhere.
 
He’s spent his whole life walking in the shadows. The death of his mother, the
loss of his brother, his father’s disappointment has seen to that, but he’s
found his brother again. Sammy is lying curled up beside him, newly christened
in holy water and come, and he doesn’t care if it’s wrong, it’s right in his
bones, and he belongs to Sam, and deep down he knows that Sam belongs to him,
and that’s enough for now. It’s more than enough for now.
 
End.
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