The Truth 4/5 & timestamp

[rain_n_snow]

Almost surprised Dean hadn’t left him there, Sam held out his hand for the keys as he reached the Impala. Dean wasn’t stupid enough to fight him over driving right now, obviously, and handed them over without a glance, just moved to get in on the passenger side.

The anger rolling off Sam was scorching, and Dean wasn’t sure if it was his whiskey addled brain or just general confusion, but he wasn’t sure he knew precisely why Sam was this mad.

Actually, he wasn’t that drunk. He felt fairly sober, unfortunately. He had been distracted enough not to drink as much as he had gone in intending to, and had been trying desperately to focus on finding enough interest to take that girl home to the detriment of getting as drunk as Sam thought he was.

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“So, were you planning to actually fuck that girl, Dean?” Sam was practically yelling and Dean spared a thought to how many people might be in the motel that could hear him.

“Sure.” Dean leveled his best smirk at him.

Sam ran a hand through his already disheveled hair and turned with a growl.

“Why not?” Dean tried to sound convincingly unconcerned.

Sam’s face was red, mottled with color, and his eyes blazed as he rounded on Dean. “Why? Why are you so willing to give yourself to anyone with a pulse, except me? Protect stupid, innocent Sammy. He’s too dumb to know what he wants, and good enough to take care of, but not good enough to love.”

Dean shrank away from the tone, “You know I love you, Sam. That’s not even fair. You think because I have those sick thoughts I don’t love you? Wrong. Wrong wrong wrong. I won’t hurt you by acting on them, but I’ve never not loved you.”

“Then why am I not as good as she is? That girl that I would bet you don’t even know her name. “

“Not as good?” Dean barked out a laugh, it was harsh and grating and neither of them believed it for a second. “Sam, she is nothing. Nothing. You are…you’re everything. You’re everything that’s good in my life, everything I ever cared enough to try to do right.”

“Then touch me like that, Dean.” Sam whispered, stepping close to his big brother, breathing in the smell that he knew so well, the smell that meant safety and happiness and lust and love and home. The only home he ever knew existed inside Dean.

“Sam?” Dean sounded so young, so vulnerable, so uncertain. Sam looked at him. He looked scared. And he stood rooted to the spot, as if unsure what he should do. Dean was never unsure of anything.

“You know, you told me.” Sam said quietly. “You told me all those things. And I know you are angry that I forced so much of that out of you. I also need you to know that when I said I wanted to know what you thought about, when…you know…I wasn’t saying it was a requirement for me staying. I wouldn’t have left anyway. You need to know that.” Sam paused, and hoped it sunk in, that Dean believed him. He turned and sat down on the end of his bed and watched his brother stand there, hands clenched, muscles tight.

“I’m sorry I forced you to tell me stuff you didn’t want to share. Well, that’s a lie, really. I wanted and needed to know, and I’m not sorry it’s finally out there. But I also think you should get a turn, Dean. I won’t lie. I want you to ask me. Ask me anything, and I will tell you.”

Dean sat on his own bed, half turned toward Sam. “I don’t want to know anything, Sam. I just want to forget that I said anything, want you to forget.”

“Well, I need to tell you, Dean. So how bout you just listen, you’re good at that.” Sam wasn’t nearly as ready as he thought he was as he watched Dean try to keep himself together, try not to escape again.

Sam looked at Dean, who was holding himself so tightly he was vibrating with tension. But he sat, and Sam knew he at least had his attention, if not his gaze. Drawing a deep breath, Sam decided to forge ahead. Nothing else to do.

“I have wanted you…this…us for years. So many years. It wasn’t even a thing I really was consciously aware of at first, it was just you…you have always been there, something to admire and love and want and need. I didn’t think about it being wrong or weird, just knew that you were everything to me, just like you always had been, only all these other feelings were seeping in, merging with everything else.” He paused, looking at Dean, who was now staring at him, no expression on his face. Sam tried looking into those clear green eyes to figure out what he was thinking, but…nothing. No clue.

Dean felt like he had been punched in the gut, repeatedly. To hear Sam saying these things, to hear that maybe he felt the same as Dean did, or well, that was too much to ask for, but that maybe he felt something close. It was almost too much to take. For a moment, he sat there and let himself believe, hope just a little. His life had always been about doing for someone else, and he was good with that. He wasn’t sure he deserved more than to take care of others. But he couldn’t deny that his heart was beating as if it would leap from his chest given the opportunity.

Damn but he loved Sam, so fucking much it hurt sometimes, wanted everything that Sam was, from his geeky research boy side to that vulnerable unsure-of-himself sensuality, to the strong, knowledgeable hunter he had become. But this was too much, too good to be true…it always was for Dean. No one wanted Dean, sure lots of people wanted the pretty face and what he could give them in bed, but no one had ever wanted to know him, to actually be with him, just him. Certainly no one who had as much to offer as Sammy. Was there anyone who had as much to offer as Sammy?

Sam couldn’t get a read on Dean’s thoughts, so he sighed and continued. “You were always with some girl, someone who wasn’t ever good enough. They have never been enough, Dean, why don’t you get that? You have always sold yourself short. Anyway, I hated them. All of them. And maybe I would have hated you too, at some point, because you never saw me, but hating you wasn’t something I had in me. When my body changed, and other people started to look at me, look at me like I was desirable, I thought ‘finally, now he will see me, see that I could be something to him.’ But you never did. I was still just ‘little Sammy’, someone to be taken care of, watched over, but never wanted. At first I thought I was gay. I thought I would find 'you', I guess. Find a version of you that would want me. But, despite trying I couldn’t get any interest in guys. Girls were more intriguing and of course I tried that, too, which worked better for me. But it never really worked, it was always just…I dunno, incomplete? Unsatisfying. I’ve always known it was you. It needed to be you, to truly make me happy and feel right.”

Dean was staring at him, the tension in his body almost palpable in the room. But he was so damned unreadable, so closed off, Sam wanted to shake him, knock his feelings out of him with his fists, anything. He wished he had that truthspell back.

“I did this to you.” Dean finally said, his voice sure but quiet, and his eyes slid away.

“What?” Sam seriously wanted to shake his big brother, wanted to beat some sense into him.

Dean’s heart hurt. To come so close to having what he wanted, only to realize that not only was that ridiculously not possible, not for him, but to have it clearly laid out before you that it was your fault the most important person in your life was fucked up because of you, well, it was too much. Just too fucking much to handle. He needed to escape, escape Sam and all these words, all this talking.

It was like he was coming apart, and he needed to get away. But Sam would come looking for him. Sam would talk him to death some more, slice him apart with those words that he believed; no matter that Dean knew they were just sick extensions of his own desires.

“No more. Please, Sam. I can’t. I can’t do this right now.” Dean was up off the bed, his back to Sam. His body was taut, lines tight and prepared for a fight.

“Fuck Dean. Just…fuck, man, you are…you are impossible.” Sam felt defeated. But he wouldn’t give up, not now, hell, not ever. It might not be the time for it, but he would make Dean realize, soon.

Dean laughed, no humor in the sound. “Can we just get out of here, please? Just go get a drink, not talk for now?”

Not sure that drinking was going to solve anything, but certain that now wasn’t the time to push Dean, Sam just let out a defeated sigh and agreed. Getting Dean drunk was sometimes the best way to get what he wanted.

Drunk enough, Dean would put up with a lot of Sam’s touching and physical demonstrative gestures.

And then, a tiny frisson of hope bubbled up in him, and suddenly the idea of a bar, and drinking seemed like a pretty damn good idea.

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Frowning as he pulled his phone from his pocket, Sam looked down at it. Dean was in another booth, with another whore and appeared to be engrossed. Since when did he even know how to text anyway? Dean?

Maybe ‘grinding girl’ had accidentally pressed a button with her wandering fingers. Whatever. He flipped the phone open and felt hot desire shoot through his gut.

>> what the fuck are you doin sam?

Sam’s eyes flickered to his brother, who was facing him in the booth, eyes dark and narrowed, focused on him over the shoulder of the girl, like they were the only two people in the room.

It was too far away, but he felt like he could see the green burning into him. Dean looked mean, mean the way Dean looked on a hunt where Sam or their Dad got hurt. The heat burned a little brighter, a little deeper in Sam’s belly, and his muscles contracted like he had been touched intimately.

Determined to see this plan through, Sam raised a brow as if unsure what Dean meant and flipped his phone closed without answering and turned his attention back to the guy in front of him. The guy practically pressing him into the wall of the dimly lit bar.

He wondered suddenly if he would do it, how far he would take it to see if he could make Dean break (if that was even possible). He wasn’t sure if Dean would care, although the text had made him think it was more plausible, but who knew what Dean thought, ever.

“Everything ok?” Jordan asked, fingers skimming Sam’s wrist as Sam returned his phone to his jean pocket.

Sam smiled at him, lowering his head and grinning lopsidedly up through the tangle of his bangs. A blush staining his cheeks slightly. Let Jordan think it was for him, let him eat it up. Whatever it took. Push push push. If Dean wanted him, surely he wouldn’t let this happen.

Amber. He remembered her name, and Dean was proud of himself. But mostly he wanted to tell Amber to leave off, it’s not like he was able to focus on anything she was saying or doing anyway. Not with Sammy, his fucking Sammy, being fucked into the wall by pretty boy across the room. Dean thought he could almost smell his brain frying. He wanted to press a fist to his abdomen to relieve the pain roiling there. Sam looked like he was enjoying it, damn him.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. That fucking asshole had just run his fingers over Sam’s wrist, over that soft skin where his pulse would be evident. Was it racing as he imagined what was to come? Was Sam excited, hard as he stood there being touched by that guy? And then Sam gave the guy that look. That look up from under his bangs, that had almost brought Dean to his knees so many times, and the pain surged through him, spreading from his belly through to his heart, his aching, bloody heart. How much more was he supposed to endure? How much more could he endure?

And then the answer to that question was crystal clear.

When that fucking freak reached up and wound his fingers in Sam’s hair, stroking like he had a fucking right, that hair that smelled like Sammy, like innocence and love and home and everything that meant anything to Dean, he knew that was how much he could endure. He was free of the arms encircling him and across the room before he knew what was happening.

Pulling those fingers out of Sam’s hair and twisting them hard, wrenching the guy’s arm behind his back, Dean growled. He twisted harder, wanting to take that feeling out of those fingers, didn’t want this piece of shit to have a memory of something that couldn’t belong to him, that he should never have taken. “Don’t ever touch him. Never. Do you understand me? You fucking want to keep these fingers? Want to be able to use this hand again?”

Jordan was gasping, back bowed. “Y..yes.” He wasn’t sure what was going on, but knew he would to tell this guy whatever he needed to.

Dean grunted, jerking Jordan’s arm just a little higher up his back, fingers twisted in his fist. “Then when I let you go, you better fucking leave here and never, ever look back. Don’t you even glance at Sam again, got it?”

At the jerky nod, Dean released Jordan’s fingers and arm, and watched as he ducked his head and fled the bar like it was on fire, never raising his eyes to Sam’s or anyone else’s on his way out.

Sam knew at that moment he had Dean. Knew that somehow they would make this work. His heart was pounding frantically and the heat that pooled inside of him was a rush like he had never known. Dean, controlled, hunter Dean was jealous, over him. Not just jealous, but fucking 'lose your mind, ready to seriously hurt someone' jealous, and Sam felt his knees weaken, waver under him momentarily.

Not even disguising the flame burning in his green eyes, Dean looked at Sam across the eighteen inches that separated their faces. “Car. Now, Sam.”

Sam literally steadied himself with a hand against the wall for a few seconds as he drank in the look Dean gave him before turning and walking on shaking legs to the car; feeling Dean close behind him, body heat arcing across the small distance and burning into Sam.

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They stood, facing each other, both in a defensive stance, almost circling like they did when they trained, wrestled and tested each other to stay sharp, hone their skills. It was a scenario they knew, were comfortable with, unlike the underlying tension now sizzling between them.

Sam wasn’t going to let it go, he was too close to the prize. Too close to happiness, hell it was standing there before him and all he needed was to pull down that last barrier to find the light behind the wall, the beautiful perfection he knew lay inside his brother. “Dean. I want you, want us. I know you want it too, why can’t you let us be happy? I want this. You didn’t put this in me…it’s part of who I am and you can’t take credit for it.”

“I…I know you believe what you are saying. But it’s my fault. You have always just followed my lead. You had to have developed these delusions because of me, you must have seen it somehow and just assumed it was normal, and took it for your own. But it came from my sick, twisted heart, and I won’t let you think it was your idea.” Dean sounded so raw, so wrecked and broken, and Sam wanted to hold him so badly, to give back some of the comfort that had been Dean for him his whole life. Then again, he was angry.

'Fuck you.' Sam wanted to yell. 'Fuck you for not trusting or believing that I have a mind of my own. That I have never known my own heart.' Then something occurred to him. And hope rushed through him like a waterfall. Of course. The answer was so simple, just one little word really.

“Twelve.” Sam said simply.

Dean’s forehead wrinkled, head cocked to the side. “What?”

“I was twelve, almost thirteen when it started.” He just waited. Waited for Dean’s stubborn, self-sacrificing, perfectly gorgeous ass to catch up, realize what that meant.

Three. Four. Five. Something washed over Dean’s face, a dawning, understanding, and he looked at Sam with hope and still that fucking reservation, uncertainty. “No. You had just turned seventeen Sam. Shit, I’m not that sick. You were a baby at twelve, all arms and legs and looking like a praying mantis, falling over your own feet and…” His voice trailed off and Sam could see that he still wasn’t letting himself accept.

Sam sighed, banked frustration in his every gesture as he moved close, his hand coming up to rest on the back of Dean’s neck, looking into his eyes. “Uhh, hello? I’m talking about me. Remember, I have a mind of my own? I remember watching you damned near every minute; watched you come out of the shower, watched how you moved, saw you kissing girls, unaware that I was looking. I was thinking about you every time I jerked off, and it started when I was twelve. That’s when I first wanted you, Dean. When I first realized you were it for me. I just never thought you would want me, too. Hell I went all the way to Stanford, all the way to a relationship I was never truly invested in to escape that unanswered need.”

The third time Sam tried to kiss Dean, everything shifted. He brushed his lips across those full, tempting lips, tongue darting out to taste. Dean sighed, the fight going out of his body like air from a punctured balloon. His eyes opened as Sam drew back slightly and rested his forehead against Dean’s.

Dean’s tongue came out to swipe along his lower lip, tasting the lick Sam had laid there, tasting Sammy. Sam tasted like sunshine and rain heat and mint and like everything Dean needed to sooth his soul. Just like he thought he would, like he smelled, only better, if that was possible. Just that one real taste, and Dean was pretty sure he was done for…would never be able to go back.

Sam groaned softly as he watched that tongue track across that lip he had just tasted; watched Dean taste him. Damn but everything Dean did made him weak. “Dean, dammit Dean, I want you so bad, it’s eating me up inside.”

“Sammy.” His name was full of hope, like a shout contained in a whisper. And Dean accepted finally that Sam was in this for his own reasons, and Dean could love him without fear and guilt. It was enough to stagger him. His arms were suddenly full of Sam. His little brother who had somehow become a man, a man with everything to offer and Dean sent up a little prayer of thanks that this beautiful man wanted him, all of him, knew his shortcomings and his lack of perfection and still wanted to be with him.

Wrapping his fingers in too long, shaggy hair, Dean squeezed and sifted, reveling in this tiny thing that was huge to him. He had what could only be called an obsession with Sam’s hair, and clutching his hands in it made him soul searingly happy.

Sam leaned into the caress, happy to have Dean’s hands on him in any way. He raised his own hands to Dean’s waistband, fingers brushing just inside the top of the denim resting at his hips, stroking soft, warm skin there.

Fingers trailing from his hair down the back of his neck to his jawline, Dean watched Sam’s face as he soaked in the caress, eyes closed and breath a long sigh. Dean leaned in and pressed his lips tentatively to Sam’s, silently asking for permission. Sam opened immediately, tongue darting out to meet his brother’s questing one. It only took a moment for the kiss to turn needy and desperate, too many years, too many pent up frustrating years between them. Their mouths slanted and searched, drawing out the flavor of each other, the feel of tongue and lip and teeth almost too much, but still not enough.

Sam keened quietly, pressing his body as tightly as possible to his big brother’s slightly shorter frame. He tried to get his breathing under control as he felt the whole of Dean pressed to him from chest to thigh.

Drinking in that moan from Sam’s mouth, Dean kissed Sam once more, licking the taste of his brother from Sam’s tongue and sucking at that tongue until he was rewarded with another small moan, then moved his mouth down to Sam’s jaw kissing and nipping along that strong ridge before dipping down to his throat.

Dean felt so overwhelmed he was afraid his heart was going to explode from his chest. How does a lifetime of something you never expected but always wanted suddenly come true? It doesn’t in Dean Winchester’s life. He’s so terrified he is going to wake up and it’s going to be a dream, just another dream of what he should never want, can never have. Well, until he does...

He kissed Sam’s neck softly, licking that long expanse of tan, slightly sweaty flesh, feeling Sam’s own erratic heartbeat under his tongue. Sam stretched his neck, giving Dean all of it, wanting to feel those lips coasting over every tendon, then gasped when Dean bit, then sucked hard enough to leave a bruise. So he leaned into that too.

Sam’s hands were rubbing over Dean’s lower back, dipping into his pants to cover the edges of muscled ass, sliding to jutting hipbones, tight abdomen. He wanted to touch it all at once, but wanted to memorize every moment, every inch of skin he worships. Dean had always been the epitome of sex to Sam. Hell, to other people too, but Sam won’t think of that now, for now Dean was his, and he intended to savor every moment and try his damnedest to see that Dean never wants anyone other than Sam again.

Dean kissed Sam’s neck softly, licking that long expanse of tan, slightly sweaty flesh, feeling Sam’s own erratic heartbeat under his tongue. Sam stretched his neck, giving Dean all of it, wanting to feel those lips coasting over every tendon, then gasped when Dean bit, then sucked hard enough to leave a bruise. So he leaned into that too.

Then they were moving as if the plans were spoken, though they hadn’t been. They were backing toward the bed, hands and lips and tongues never pausing. Sam’s knees hit the side of the bed, and he sank onto it, holding Dean tight to the sinew of his throat where he was latched on, pulling his brother on top of him on the bed.

Dean’s eyes opened suddenly and a shimmer of uncertainty glinted there. Sam released Dean enough to let his big brother sit up on the bed, eyes still locked together, hands still skimming over bodies. When Dean was upright, Sam moved to him, throwing one leg over his lap and leaning in to kiss and taste those lips again when he saw Dean relax back into the situation. No pressure on Sam, keep options open.

The feel of Sam’s weight pressing him into the bed, his hard, huge cock coming to rest next to his own, even through their jeans, as Sam settled on him had the tension going right back out of Dean’s frame. He slid his fingers under Sam’s shirt, skimming that soft, muscled skin he yearned to discover, fingers greedily exploring finally.

Sam was suddenly pulling Dean’s shirt up, and Dean leaned back, letting him remove the soft cotton before tugging his little brother’s off him as well. Their eyes met for a few long seconds as they leaned in to each other, both moaning deep inside, bodies shuddering, as hot skin finally met hot skin. Both lost in sensations they had craved in their private moments, now shared. They ran frantic hands over each other, tracing scars they knew too well, the feel of skin they were just discovering, digging into muscle and sinew, fingers brushing and testing.

“God, Sam. Do you know how I burn for you?”

chap 5

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