Prologue

Lots of rich college kids with shiny clothes and polished watches. Their laughter is always fake: meant to impress, to entertain. They're too unsure of themselves. Don't know where they stand between Daddy's money and Mommy's fussing. Who cares? Their lives are the dreams TV shows are made of.

Their attitude, that's not played, not pretended, and that’s why he’s here tonight.

The reality of his job is rough fucks in back alleys, against dirty walls or on stained bathroom floors  -- not this 90210 version with clean college types with false smiles and expensive cars and fucked-up fantasies -- but he’s got no choice tonight. Prices go up with this clientèle. And he needs the money.

He cleaned up okay, not too much. Blue jeans and heavy leather jacket over a black shirt. They like it; he can tell the moment he walks into the bar: they like the taste of roughness and experience, the unbreakability he boasts.

They like him on his knees.

He gets why they do it, why they see him and want him. It's some kind of rebel thing against a dominating father or bigger brother humiliation; they just need to get it out of their systems, and they’re willing to pay. They throw around money as if it has no worth.

They hardly ever want a fuck; it’s probably too gay. He huffs to himself and winks at the bartender, sweet blonde thing. He needs some alcohol and now – he'll need the liquid to numb his thoughts – doesn't want to think about the amount of spunk he plans to taste and spit and swallow tonight.

It’s not that he doesn’t like it – sometimes.

He's barely into his second beer when a hand on his shoulder startles him. He goes for nonchalant when he turns on his stool. Why the stranger knows his name and why he’s making big friends with him, that goes beyond him. He’s never seen this guy before. He’s fucking huge but not bad – not the type he’s looking for because money doesn’t reflect in his appearance – but the simplicity and warmth in the stranger’s eyes is intriguing.

That guy belongs here as much as he himself does.

Maybe he should give it a shot.

ONE

He looks rougher than ever before, Sam thinks before he taps on the broad shoulder.
“Hey Dean.”

Dean spins around on the bar stool and looks at Sam. His eyes drift down Sam’s chest shortly before his gaze fixes on his eyes. He winks and gives that come-fuck-me-smile he normally reserves for the younger waitresses. Sam’s seen it a thousand times but it was never directed at him.

”Since you’re in advance, knowing m’ name ’n’ all, care to tell me yours, pretty?”

Sam tries to not look like he’s choking on the small sip of beer he’s just taken from the bottle in his hand. Surprise and laughter slip into his voice when he answers: ”That’s definitely a new one. You nearly had me, Dean.” Still chuckling, he claps Dean on the back, his palm greeting the familiar leather of their dad’s jacket.

”Haven’t had you before, have I?” Dean asks a little stiffly but not unfriendly. Sam’s irritation must show on his face anyway because Dean relents: “Hey, come on. I’m sorry.”

“Damn, man, you can’t just do that. That wasn’t funny, Dean.” Sam sits down on the bar stool next to his brother. “So, how come you’re here?” Sam smiles, waits for Dean’s answer. God, they haven’t seen each other in ages, but it’s good to know Dean is alright.

“Erm, you know, moving around. Same old, same old.” Dean tries and puts the extra glitter in his eyes, touches his tongue against his lower lip. “Wanna take this elsewhere?” He pulls up his eyebrow suggestively while he practically leers at Sam.

“Whoa!” Sam stills and stares at his brother. What the hell’s wrong with Dean? Is he hitting on him? “Are you hitting on me?” He splutters and stands up. “You really don’t know me?” Sam’s world tilts and he forgets how to breathe. I’m supposed to be the most precious to you and you don’t remember me?

“Dude, you alright?” Dean gets up, too, worried lines marring his face, and he grabs Sam’s arm. “Let’s go outside, dude, get some fresh air or something.” Dean puts an arm around him for support and Sam's confusion grows because this is something Dean’s done for him a thousand times. This is how he remembers his older brother.

Sam’s shoved outside by Dean, pushed up against the side of the building, slightly out of sight of the people entering and leaving the bar, but with a good view of the parking lot.

“Where’s the car?” Sam squeaks, panicked when he can’t see the Impala nearby.

“What?” Dean asks, confused, his voice coming muffled from Sam’s waist height.

“What are you doing? Dean?” Sam tries to weasel away but Dean has his hands on the front of his jeans, he pops the button and pulls the zipper down. “What? Hey!” Sam shoves at Dean. This can’t be happening.

“Gonna make you feel better, man.” Dean says and engulfs Sam’s still flaccid cock in his mouth.

“Oh god!” Sam’s brain shorts out, goes blank and refuses to analyze what’s going on. His other brain, the one just under the waistline, doesn’t seem to have any problems, though, and Sam’s cock grows rapidly, surrounded by spit-wet warmth. Dean works his tongue along his member, sucks slowly until it reaches full length.

There’s a flutter of nowrongno in Sam’s upstairs brain and he tries to hold onto it: “Stop! Dean! Stop right now. Oh my god! You can’t-“ But Sam loses the ability to form thought or talk the moment, he’s deep throated by Dean, his brother’s nose buried in his pubic hair. He grabs helplessly for Dean’s hair. It’s too short. He can’t get a grip. When he finally manages to hold onto some strands, his hand is just following the movement of Dean’s head, back and forth along his cock.

Shocked by his own participation, he shoves Dean away, his hand’s heel against Dean’s forehead. “Stop! I said stop, Dean.”

To Sam’s relief, Dean halts his movements and looks up at him.
“What’s wrong with you, man? Just shut up and relax.”

Sam stares at Dean, lips pouty and wet with spit and probably precome, and Sam’s somewhere between shame and lust. “My name’s Sam...” His breath hitches and Dean takes that as an invitation to continue, sucks Sam down greedily again. “My name’s Sam and I’m your brother!” Sam yells and bites back a desperate moan.

Dean looks up at that, directly into Sam’s eyes, while he licks along the slit, tasting precome. “Whatever you want, little brother. Just let me make you feel better, Sammy,” Dean says, and his voice is rough from the work his throat has already done, constricting around Sam’s prick.

Glassy-eyed, Sam can only stare down at his brother when he takes his cock again, hungrily, as if he’s enjoying it. There’s whimpering that comes from Sam and grunts and slick sounding sucking noises Dean makes. Sam can’t help it, not anymore, and he holds onto Dean’s head and urges him on. With both of his hands in Dean’s hair now, he begs Dean’s mouth nearer, faster, harder with every push and pull. Sam feels the trembling start that signals the quickly approaching orgasm, and Dean seems to know it, too, because his hands slide around Sam’s hips, they hold onto the clenched halves of his ass. Sam feels Dean moan around his shaft again, and that’s what it takes to tip him off. He groans Dean’s name, draws it out while his hips snap forward, again and again, pumping hotly down his brother’s throat.

Done, he slides down the wall. His knees won’t hold him anymore, they tremble. His fingers are still holding onto Dean’s head, thick strands of hair clenched painfully tight. He looks at Dean with wonder; he can’t really understand what just happened.

He sees Dean fumble with his wallet. “What now?” He’s incredulous. “Are you robbing me?”

Dean looks at him warmly, smiling that Sammy’s-not-getting-it-yet-smile, and pulls some notes from Sam’s wallet. “Man’s gotta live off of something, right. Made you a good price, pretty, don’t worry.” He shoves the wallet in Sam’s direction who takes it, shocked by the revelation, on reflex.

Dean stands up, sorting his clothes, dragging the back of his hand along his mouth, obscenely checking for errant fluids, but he’s swallowed it all. He grins, obviously satisfied with the result, and that’s when it hits Sam. “You’re a- a prostitute, Dean?”

“Sure.” He shrugs. “What were you thinking?” Dean looks honestly confused at Sam, who’s sitting on the pavement, mop of hair standing in all directions, his limp dick hanging out of his jeans.

“My brother! I thought... Dean, you are my brother,” he squeaks, and Dean gives him that you-lost-your-marbles-look.

“Oh come on, man, that’s sick. Why’d I want to blow you if you were my brother? Sammy, I don’t know you. Sorry, okay? You’ve got me confused with somebody else or something, you know.” Dean shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders apologizing. “I gotta go.”

Sam gapes after his brother, who just turns and goes, leaves. Sam gets on his feet, stumbles, falls on one knee. His dick is pressed painful against one side of the zipper; he fumbles with it while calling out after Dean, who ignores him and gets inside a rusty old Ford covered with dirt. His Dean wouldn’t have been caught dead inside something like that car. But obviously this Dean is not the Dean Sam knew. The Ford clanks and shudders when Dean starts it, and it screeches when his brother drives away from him without even a backward glance. The plate’s barely hanging onto the car, but Sam manages to catch some of the letters and numbers on it.

He’s got to find his brother. He’s got to find Dean hunting something somewhere with Dad. Find him safe.

He has to find out that he really got this guy confused with Dean. For his own sake, dammit. He needs to find out that Dean is not selling himself for money.

He’s got to find out that this guy who has just given him the best orgasm in his life is not his brother Dean Winchester.

 

TWO

“Bobby, hey, it’s Sam. Long time no call, haha.” He hates how fake his own chuckle sounds. “Listen, I’m looking for Dean, you’ve seen him around maybe?” I think I let him blow me while he forgot he’s my brother.

“Hey Sam. ‘M looking for Dean, myself. He’s been outta touch a tad too long. His girl gets impatient.”

“He – he left a girl at your place?” Sam’s voice squeaks again on the "girl" in the phrase.

“Talking ‘bout his car. The Impala’s here.” Sam can practically feel Bobby roll his eyes.

“Thank God.” It’s not dead, the Impala’s still there. But why did Dean leave it at Bobby’s? What was he up to that he couldn’t take the Impala with him? And, shit: if Dean’s not with the Impala, he might be with the Ford and could be the hustler Sam just met.

“Sam, what’s going on with you boys?”

“How long since he’s been at your place, Bobby?”

“Hm, he was here, let me think, five and a half months ago. Yeah, I think, that’s about right.”

How many cocks can you blow in months?

“Thanks, Bobby, I gotta go. Call me if you hear from Dean.” Sam presses the disconnect button.

Damn! If the real Dean isn’t with the Impala, chances are the real Dean is man-whore!Dean. I can’t believe I just called him that even in my head. Pictures of Dean on his knees before him, lips swollen and glistening with precome, assault Sam and flood his cock with blood. Fuck. He had to stop thinking about Dean that way. No, he's not thinking about his brother Dean, he's thinking about the other Dean who is a whore and just can't be his Dean. No. Impossible. So it isn’t that taboo to think about the other Dean- oh fuck, who is he kidding, really?

Sam stares at his cell a while longer before hurriedly skimming through the menu until he finds what he was looking for. Connecting to John, the display shows, animated lines blinking from one animated cell to another. Sam’s heart pounds in his chest. He hasn’t talked to Dad since he left for Stanford, more than three years ago.

“This is John Winchester...” Fuck, mailbox. Sam waits impatiently for the message to be over. It pisses him off, that he can’t reach his Dad, but he has always been unavailable for Sam anyway. “I’m looking for Dean, Dad. Call me if you’ve seen him.” Short but clear and not giving away where he is or in what condition. Just like he has been taught all his life.

“Sam? Are you home?” Despite all the worry, Sam smiles upon hearing Jess call out for him. He doesn’t feel guilty for leaving Dad or Dean. No. He's not responsible if Dean turns into a hooker and forgets about his brother. No.

The hardon in his jeans is just a normal physical reaction to an outstanding sexual encounter. Maybe it’s the guy thing: used to the equipment and all. It’s definitely not the brother-thing. No.

Jess comes into the room, smiling brightly at him. Sam has the right to want and have a normal future, a future with Jess, glowing like the sun. He deserves it. He does.

“Look who’s happy to see me.” Jess whispers in his ear, biting his earlobe gently while she presses the heel of her hand to Sam’s erection.

“Hey baby.” He moans, pressing harder against her hand and bowing down to capture her mouth with his.

So what? He’s hard from a memory of being blow by some stranger in an alley. Most men fantasize about being jumped and deepthroated by some stranger – gender aside – at least once in their lives and he lived it. He’s lucky. He shouldn’t worry too much and just use the energy.

Sam pushes his tongue inside, touches it to hers. His fingers find the zipper on her back and follow it down her vertebra – clickclickclick - before traveling up again and shoving the thin straps of her dress off her shoulders. The dress falls to the ground, leaving her only in panties. Jess’ breasts feel hot against him, nipples tight even through his shirt when he pulls her against his chest. She mewls; she enjoys the way he takes control.

Sam guides her down onto the bed, one arm beneath her shoulders, his other hand under her knee, helping her lift her leg and spreading her thighs so he can lie between them. He rubs against her roughly, his denim-covered hardness shoving against her panties hard and she bucks, wanting more. He licks his way down her neck and bites where it meets her shoulder while his hands are busy opening his jeans and getting out his swollen cock. He doesn’t bother with her panties, just pulls them out of the way. He finds her hot and wet – so wet – for him already, asking to be filled.

He threads his fingers through her hair until he’s got a big strand of locks and he pulls it, makes her arch up the bed and bare her throat before he shoves into her rougher than ever before.

Jess cries out and digs her nails in his tight biceps. Her eyes fly shut with the next hard shove of his cock deep inside her and she bites her lower lip whenever she's not moaning. “Yeah, Sam, yeah. Just like that, just- yeah...”

And suddenly Sam can’t trust himself to close his eyes anymore -- he keeps seeing Dean kneeling in front of him whenever he does -- so he keeps his gaze fixed on Jess’ face. It’s contorted in pleasure, and her mouth is gasping and her lips are moving, asking for more. Her breasts are jumping in rhythm with his thrusts and he twists one nipple now, between his fingers.

Jess, you’re beautiful, you’re gorgeous like this, he wants to say, but he doesn’t trust himself to speak, doesn’t trust himself not to ask for a pleasure he denies himself with this shiny new Jess-future, not to ask for a whore looking like his brother, not to ask for his brother. And he comes then, feeling the contractions of Jess’ orgasm around his bursting cock and spills himself inside her deeply.

Eyes closed now, Sam’s waiting to hear that voice again: Dean’s voice, rough from swallowing Sam’s cock, asking for money for an invaluable service, for a deed one paid in Hell for.

“Wow,” is what Jess says after a while. She lies cuddled against him, in the safety of his arm with his chin resting on her head. She listens to his heart and it’s strong but beating too fast. She swallows and then, skimming her fingers over the skin on his belly, hard muscles clenched under her touch, she asks what it is that has him on edge this way.

“I miss my brother,” he says and it sounds – voice strained – as if he’s going to fall to pieces right in front of her and never be put together again.

“I didn’t know you have a brother,” Jess says, and he can see the thousand questions in her eyes. Questions he won’t – can’t – answer without destroying the normal he’d built for himself from scratch.

An eternity goes by before he speaks again. “He doesn’t know it either,” Sam says and gets up, unable to share more with her yet, maybe never.

Under the spray of the shower he feels dizzy and disconnected; there’s salty wetness mingling with the water and he’s stunned by the tears. He remembers the last time he cried. Almost four years ago he’d cried for a lost brother, too.

 

THREE

145 Zeppelin Street. It's approximately 9.00 a.m. when Sam's standing on a pretty dirty floor, in front of the gray door of a pretty run-down apartment building. He's knocked twice already, and there is no reaction from inside.

Last night he tossed and turned, while Jess slept through most of it. At 3 a. m. he got up and went to the police station furthest away from his apartment. Black suit, gelled hair and his impatient Tom Hanson impersonation got him on one of their PCs to check out Dean’s license plate. Turns out, Dean Yames registered October 17 last year and lives at 145 Zeppelin Street.

Back from the small rerun of his old life, Jess had been awake, waiting for him. At least, she let him finish his shower, before she cuddled up to him, and asked questions he already expected. He has a brother, yes, and he seperated from him and dad - they’re his whole family, yes, all he had before she came into his life – and he gave them up when he left for Stanford or they have, he isn’t really sure, and no, he hasn't heard from them since. Jess stopped asking questions, probably sensing his growing impatience with the topic but he could see the lingering curiosity in her eyes.

He's getting impatient now, in front of Dean Yames’ door, and he starts fumbling with the lock pick in his pocket when there finally is some movement inside, a grunt and some shuffling. Sam's heart is beating fast again, he still hopes against all hope that the guy inside is not his brother, is just someone with an unbelievable resemblance to Dean.

The door cracks open, just the few inches the chain allows, and half of his brother's face, one tired but clear green eye stares at him. Dean sighs exasperatedly, and presses the door closed again without even a word.

“Hey, hey- wait.” Sam shoots forward and tries to keep the door open, presses against it with his full weight, pounding with his other hand against the fake wood. He can tear the door down, can fucking kick it in if...

“Could you just calm down,” Dean growls at him. He has opened the door again and he's annoyed, but his eyes glitter a little bit curious, too. “Know how door chains work? You need to shut the door to pull it off?” Dean says, rolls his eyes and turns, disappears through a door on the left.

Sam feels foolish for his panicked reaction, but he was afraid Dean would shut him out like he always did. He huffs out a breath and goes inside the apartment, closes the door behind him. He can see a tiny kitchen and a bigger room with a TV and a black couch in front of it. The couch is used as a bed if the blankets and pillows on it are any indication.

“Dean?” He calls out and opens the door Dean went through, just to find him pissing, dick in hand in front of his toilet.

Sam blushes so hard he gets dizzy and he apologizes and knocks his elbow against the door frame in the rush to get out again. He's got to get himself in control: he’s behaving like the first man to walk the earth. Fuck.

He goes to the kitchen, suddenly feeling uncomfortable, left alone in an unknown apartment. What if this Dean really is some stranger and he doesn't belong here at all? Not that he belongs in the kitchen of his brother who's paying for it by whoring himself out to men. However, he belongs to Dean and- well, that's a strange thought.

Curious, Sam takes a closer look at his surroundings. The kitchen is mostly clean. There are a few used cups and plates on the counter and some Chinese take-out containers, maybe left from yesterday’s dinner. He opens some of the cabinets and finds only rudimentary kitchen equipment. How long has Dean been living here?

He hovers on the entry to the other room for a while; it feels too intimate for him to enter it. He’s allowed to look, though. This is where Dean spends most of his time? A ratty couch that he uses as bed too, old TV set and a cupboard that misses one door holds some clothes.

Sam decides to rather wait in the kitchen than on Dean’s bed. He sits down on the only stool in the kitchen. A board, fixed on the wall, is used as a table. Sam looks around; the walls are painted in a color just a bit shy of yellow, and the lack of personality in the whole room – no pin board with notes on, no pictures, no flowers, no nothing – is striking. Who are you, Dean Yames? Are you my brother? He tries to sort the mess of questions in his head and assign the right reaction to each of the possible answers Dean might give him, but his head feels like it'll explode from information overload.

It's probably less than twenty minutes later when Dean wanders in the kitchen, the only towel slung around his neck, both his hands gripping on one edge of it, pulling and giving in turns to dry neck and shoulder. Long muscles move under planes of wet skin, and Dean's dick swings wildly with the motions. Flustered, Sam looks down on the table top.

It's not that they haven't seen each other naked, living in close quarters the way they were raised, but it has never been like this. Dean hadn't made a show out of his body to embarrass Sam. Well, a tiny voice inside Sam's head speaks up, he wasn’t after your money for sexual favors then.

“Thought you'd be here for another go, yeah, Ted?”

“Sam.” The wrong name feels like a punch in the gut. Maybe this guy really isn't Dean. He looks up, relieved that Dean's not completely naked anymore. Dean has the towel now wrapped around his hips. “My name is Sam, Sam Winchester.” He holds Dean's gaze for a moment before he holds out a photo of them for Dean to take. “You look like my brother, you've got his name, Dean, and you're a lot like him and I- I just need to find out if you're him.”

“Whoa.” Dean stares at the photo, throws it back on the table in front of Sam, dismissing it, before he grins wickedly at him. “So, you really thought I was your brother when I blew you? That must've been awkward. Or well not so much, considering how fast you lost it.” He laughs, watching Sam's reddening face closely. “Hey, Sammy, you're a virgin?”

“What?” Sam's head shoots up despite his embarrassment. Dean is idly playing with a silver stud that goes through his left nipple. How long has that been there? He’s sure Dean didn’t have this when he left four years ago. Sam feels a rush of excitement and curiosity before shame crashes in. “Don't you get it? I thought you were my brother! Brother! And my brother doesn't turn tricks and, and he's not gay.”

This Dean looks exactly the same as his brother Dean when he's pissed off. “So you aren't either? Big brother, my hero, my idol, my Yoda?”

“Look – you don't know what you're talking about. You don't know- fuck, I don't know what I'm doing here at all. I closed this part of my life. I'm at Stanford now, going to be a lawyer. And you can't be my brother. My brother is... whatever. I'm sorry. I was wrong. I'll go and leave you to whatever life you lead.”

“That's very kind of you. I'm sure you'll find your way out alone.” Dean turns to go out of the kitchen.

Sam’s eyes catch something familiar on Dean’s back. “Wait!” Sam calls out suddenly and can’t help shaking from the feelings of awe and fear laced together. Before Dean can turn around, Sam is behind him, refrains him from moving with one hand on Dean’s shoulder.

“You've got a scar...” Sam dabs at a triangular scar under Dean’s left shoulder blade gently with his fingertips which results in goose bumps rising on Dean’s skin.

“It's a triangle. I- I sewed this. I was eleven. We stayed at Bobby's. Dad was away and we were going through combat training. I pushed you against a pile of cars, a piece of metal from one car’s door stood out and you- you hurt your back. Your eyes... I was terrified out of my mind. You tore your favorite shirt and took a deep gash; I sewed it because you didn't want Bobby or Dad to find out, they wouldn't let us train alone anymore and you'd wanted to show me moves Dad thought I was still too small for, but which would work to protect myself anyway and...” Sam drifts off but keeps tracing that knotted skin with his finger. “You really are my brother, Dean. I found you.”

“Sam. Sammy.” Dean turns around and meets Sam's gaze. “I'm sorry. I'm not your brother. I got this scar from falling onto a broken bottle neck. My aunt brought me to the ER, they sewed it there. Some assistant doc with shaking hands from lack of sleep. It hurt like a bitch for days.”

“NO. That can't be. It's too much of a coincidence. You're my brother.”

“I am NOT your brother. Why don’t you get it, Sam? I'm sorry, really I am, but I am not who you think I am.”

Dean doesn't flinch away when Sam's holds onto Dean's shoulders just short from shaking him. “Prove it, Dean. I don't know what they did to you. Brainwashed you, a spell or something or maybe you're just playing dumb. But you ARE my brother and-”

Sam is effectively shut up as Dean’s lips crash against his. Dean's tongue dives inside his mouth deeply at first chance. Sam moans in surprise and tightens his grip on Dean's shoulders. His tongue slides against Dean's - hot, wet and forbidden. Hunger and lust pulse through him harder, faster than Sam's ever felt before, hunger and lust for Dean – brother or not - and it frightens him in its intensity.

He yanks away, shoves Dean away from him.

“You're my brother.” Sam gasps out. He can still feel Dean's lips on his, burning like a taste of Hell.

“I'm not your brother. I don't want to be your brother, Sam,” Dean answers, pointing to the towel around his hips which is tented obviously. “You either accept that or you get out and don't come back.”

Sam stares at Dean, whose eyes are serious and vulnerable, something his brother had learned to hide well, but he'd never been this intimate with his Dean, so he doesn't know if Dean's different when he's got romantic interest in someone. Romantic interest – pffft – anger suddenly boils inside Sam's gut – can you talk romance with a prostitute?

He needs to get out of here, needs to get away from this man who refuses to be his brother and Sam doesn't know how or where to find his real brother, and this man-whore here is all he's got left, and he's just another customer. He feels cheated, and he wants his Dean back and wants him back like he was when Sam was still little and Dean was all he needed to feel safe.

“I'm sorry.” Sam says quietly and he leaves, carefully avoiding touching Dean, even looking at him. He pulls the door shut behind him.

 

FOUR

It’s a lazy Thursday afternoon and Sam and Jess enjoy it on the couch. Sam’s pretty content with how his life is going, how normal it is. Two days since he’s last seen the guy he thought to be Dean. He’s not counting, no. He hasn’t heard from Bobby or his Dad, but he thinks they’d tell him if there really was someone missing. He’s lived with the little gnawing voice that tells him to check on his family, to check on Dean, for more than three years now, and he’s pretty good at ignoring it.

Jess is watching a stupid chick flick; he only opens his eyes when Julia Roberts wears those high heels. She’s really hot. He thinks Richard Gere is an idiot. Sam’s way too possessive, and the thought alone that Jess might let any other man touch her body makes him blind with rage. It has nothing to do with Dean, no. Sam couldn’t be with Jess if he knew that she was giving herself to someone else at the same time and in the same way that she was giving herself to him. After being raised with nothing but a knife and a shotgun to call his own, he, for once, wants something only to himself. He’s not a sharing kind of guy at all.

His thoughts drift to Dean again -- and how he got in the situation to have to suck off guys for a living -- before he remembers that the guy is not his Dean and Sam’s not responsible for him. Not-Dean had been pretty ready to kiss him the first chance he got; chick flicks are fake and romantic exaggerations of real life. Jess looks at him curiously when he makes that statement. Why did he talk out loud again?

“You know, there’s always something real to a movie, and I think that prostitutes need a way to express love, something they don’t sell,” she says and waits for his answer, smart blue eyes fixed on his.

He’s got to give her that: movies often have a real background. Horror movies, not these pseudo-romantic tearjerkers. But he won’t tell her that. Hunting is not a part of his normal life. Hunting can never be a part of any normal life.
“It’s just a matter of the price the customer’s willing to pay,” he says offhandedly.

“Why would you think that? Do you think everybody is buyable?” She frowns at him with disapproval.

Sam knows, he won’t win this, can’t even get out of this without fighting with her. In his experience, people aren’t what they say they are and he’s never found motivation in saving people like Dean did. Why should anybody deserve a normal, undisturbed life if he didn’t, if his family didn’t? What’s the point?
“All I’m saying is that there is something everybody can be corrupted with.”

“Money. You’re saying for the right price everybody would do anything?”

Sam thinks about how he risks his normal life for ‘saving’ Not-Dean. “Yeah, probably.”

“So you think, for the right amount of money, I’d do anything.”

He hesitates a tad too long. “Jess...” He tries to relent but he can see on her face that it’s too late anyway. It’s not about money – everybody does what has to be done to save what is important to them. Money, love, family, revenge...

“And you, you wouldn’t?”

“Probably not, no.” Because there isn’t much I can lose. Oh god, why isn’t she, why isn’t my normal life not as important anymore as eight days ago?

She’s pissed off, nil to 180 mph in two seconds, standing up and ranting in front of him with her pointy finger jabbing in his direction mercilessly. “I hate that you think everybody is corrupt but you! I hate that you’re always doing the right thing, that you’re always politically correct and that you glide around like a slime worm fitting in everywhere.”

“Jess, I’m not... a slime worm.” He frowns, irritated, two seconds away from chuckling.

She grimaces. “So, where’s all your knowledge from? Have you ever been to a prostitute?”

Sam hesitates one moment too long again – Dean on his knees, Sam's dick sucked deeply in his mouth flashes through his brain, distracts him – and Jess’ face falls before her lips curl with that wicked grin, curiosity ruling out anger.

“When? Why? What did she look like?”

Like my brother, he thinks standing up. “Not gonna talk about it.”

“Oh come on – it’s... exciting?” She offers, her cheeks reddening slightly.

“Exciting how?” He stares at her. Jess has to be normal. He needs her to be normal in all ways possible. He doesn’t want her to be stained or tainted. He wants her as holy as the memory of his mother: shiny, blond, pure. She probably wouldn’t think it was exciting if she knew it was eight days ago.

“Oh come on, Sam. Isn’t it a bit... kinky to go to a whore? What for anyway? I don’t think you’d ever need to pay someone for regular sex. So what were you so desperately after that you couldn’t have with normal people?”

And there it is again, that word that complicated his whole life: normal. The easiest way to lie, Dean taught him, is to keep close to the truth and just shut up about the rest.

“Tell me, please?” She asks and sits down on the couch again, one leg up under her ass.

Sam can hear the accusation in her question. The you-never-tell-me-anything-about-your-past tone that keeps getting on his nerves. Fuck. He sighs; if he doesn’t tell her something, anything, she’ll bitch for days and ask a thousand questions. He just lacks the energy to go through the whole hassle right now, so close to the finals.

“Look, I was drunk.” He sits up and turns to her, takes her hand in his and adores the elegance of her fingers against his palms. “I was curious and I... and I saw this guy, I knew him from before, from school.”

“A guy?” Jess is confused. It's not what she expected to hear.

“I didn’t understand it, didn’t know what he was offering until he’d... he blew me, okay? And he asked for money and I decided I liked breast better.” Sam tries a smile; it’s as fake as the whole story.

“Oh,” Jess says and he sees her mulling the facts over in her head. “Did you kiss?”

“No, we didn’t...” Not that time.

“So, to get back to the point: Prostitutes don’t kiss. They reserve that for special people. For people they have... romantic interest in,” Jess says and crosses her arms in front of her chest. “Your own experience proves it.”

“I didn’t ask him to. I didn’t even know he was a prostitute until after he asked for money!” Sam thinks about the kiss he didn’t ask for, he didn’t pay for.

“If a kiss wouldn’t be something special to him, he’d have kissed you,” Jess insists. “Your lips are just too kissable to ignore.” She smiles brilliantly and leans in, intends to kiss him but only manages to press her lips to his cheeks when he turns away. He doesn’t pay her any attention when she pouts.

He stands up, the urge to get to some place alone, where he can think, indomitable.
“I’ve got to study. Could be long,” Sam says and grabs his rucksack, leaves, tries not to feel guilty about disappointing her again.

Sam wonders if maybe normal isn’t what he’s made for.

FIVE

His cell rings at 3.30 a.m. the same night - no caller-ID - and he takes the call barely after the first ring. Who else but family would call at this time? “Hello?”

“Is that Sam Winchester?” The voice sounds familar to Sam. Dean? Sam gets out of the bed silently; Jess turns but sleeps on. He goes into the bathroom and closes the door behind him.

“Who’s there?” He sounds gruff; he tries to pretend to be woken up when really he had been lying awake thinking about him all night. Again.

“Are you Sam or not?”

“I’m Sam. Who are you?” Is that you, Dean? Or is it Not-Dean? Are you both?

“Dean – maybe you remember me? The guy you chose to be your brother?” Not-Dean. In his chest, Sam’s heart starts to pound unexpectedly.

“I didn’t choose you! You’re the one denying to-“ Sam starts but Dean cuts him off, voice urgent and matter-of-fact.

“Look – I don’t have time. I need a favor. Come and get me?”

“What?” ‘Come and get me?’ What does that mean?

“Look – I’m in something like... a situation here. I need someone to get me out... you want to become a lawyer, right? This will give you an interesting inside view...” Dean drifts off.

But Sam connects the dots: “Are you in prison?”

“Erm... yes? Got arrested for, you know...” Sam can see Dean grin sheepishly.

“So, why should I bail you out?” I won’t.

“You’re my brother?”

Oh come on! “That’s weak, really, even for you. You didn’t want to be my brother as far as I remember!” Sam huffs.

“I...” Dean starts, but fumbles for the right words. “I don’t have anybody else, okay?” He says in a rush. Sam mulls that over in his head, adds it to the facts he’s collecting about this Dean.

“Sam?”

“Okay, yeah, right. I’ll get you. Where are you and how much is the bail?”

When Dean tells him the location, Sam groans. Of course Dean's got to be held in the police station he broke in to just a few days ago. But Sam doesn’t care what it costs, he knows his Dean is terrified of being locked up and this one seems to feel just the same about prison.

“I’ll pay you back, I swear. I’ve got the money, got some stashed away at my apartment, okay?” Dean really sounds desparate to Sam.

“Whatever. It’ll take me some time to get to you – don’t have a car.”

“I’m not gonna go anywhere.” Dean says smirking but he sounds freaked.

“I’ll be quick, Dean.” I promise. I’ve got you.

“Sammy?”

“It’s Sam-”

“Thank you.” And for once, Not-Dean sounds honest.

 

Sam doesn’t make any noise while he's searching for clothes to pack in the darkness of their bedroom. “What’s going on, Sam?” Jess slurs sleepily when he presses a kiss to her forehead.

“I’ve...” He pauses, thinking about what to tell her. “An old family friend called, he needs help with... something. I’ve got to go.”

“But...” Jess sits up, touches the lamp on the bedside table for light. “It’s the middle of the night and you’ve got that interview on Monday!”

“I’ll be back by then. I promise,” Sam says and kisses her good-bye before leaving with his old duffel bag in his hand.

He takes a combination of buses, a short stop at an ATM, and then he’s in front of the police station that holds Dean. He thanks whoever looks out for him that the officer who bought his fake Tom Hanson persona and let him use the PC system seems to have the night off.

 

SIX

It’s still dark outside when they finally leave the police station. Dean’s face is bruised badly, supposedly from cracking it against a wall or the floor when they caught him. He has dark circles under his eyes, looks tired and worn down. At first he hesitates, but then follows Sam back to the bus station.

It’s eerily silent and a little cold. Sam can see Dean shivering. The tight shirt doesn't look like it has any other function than to show off Dean's pecs and abs. Sam’s uncomfortable with Dean’s quietness, and he can’t stop thinking about the way they parted last time. He’s got a plan; he just doesn’t know how to make Dean follow with it.

“Look-“ Dean starts, but is interrupted by Sam: “Why did you kiss me?”

“Huh?” Dean says and looks thrown for real.

“You kissed me... in your apartment. Remember?”

“Course, I do.” Dean bites on his lower lip as if physically reliving the experience.

“Why did you do it?”

“What? Kissed you?”

“Yes.”

“Because I wanted to?”

“You kiss everyone you... you know?”

“Dude – what’s this? You’re having your Pretty-Woman moment?” Dean chuckles and Sam’s face flames up red. “Oh god – you’re not... Oh, come on!”

Sam watches Dean’s hand seeking the seam of his jeans and fumble with it. Dean’d do that everytime he got uncomfortable, often when talking about feelings.

“So, it’s true?” Sam looks into Dean’s eyes hesitantly.

“It’s not kisses they pay for,” Dean deflects with words and his body.

“I would.” Sam doesn’t know where that came from, finds his own brain gasping at him when he searches for an answer. But it made Dean turn around again and look at him with curiosity and a wicked smile.

“So you’re offering me a way to work off the bail?”

It couldn’t be so easy, couldn’t it?

“No- yes. God. Dean, look, dude, I want you to come with me, a few days. Visit a friend, make sure you’re really not my brother, okay?”

Dean doesn't really seem to contemplate the idea; maybe he lied about the stashed away money. “Alright. When do we start?”

Sam smiles, nervousness fluttering in his belly. “Right away. We can take your car, can’t we?”

 

SEVEN

Sam catches the car keys easily when Dean throws them in his direction.

Not Dean. Dean wouldn’t have let me drive. Dean because it’s not really Dean’s car, not the Impala. Dean because after half the night in prison, he’d be too exhausted to drive anywhere.

Sam puts their bags into the trunk, which only holds half a bottle of blue windshield washer fluid and some tools. Sam checked for a hidden arsenal. Not Dean.

Dean slides in shotgun. He pulls his jacket collar up and puts on his sunglasses. "Wake me when we get there,” he says and turns slightly in his seat to put the side of his face against the headrest.

It’s a two-day drive to Bobby’s, Sam thinks but spares Not-Dean that knowledge. Dean would have known.

Not-Dean fakes sleep until Stockton, and then he finally falls asleep for real.

Sam steers the crappy Ford mostly along the back roads, houses and people getting scarcer the further they come inland. He's surprised how well the car runs after a while, even the screeching stops when he presses his foot hard on the gas and goes above the speed limit. The faster he goes, the quicker the needle of the fuel falls, but Sam doesn't care. He's kept an emergency fake credit card up to date for, well, for cases like this one.

Dean agreed readily enough to go with him. Sam wonders why he's so trusting or if he just doesn't care whatever happens to him. The thought -- that a Dean who hasn't anyone at all anymore to care for, has no worth for his own life -- is terrifying on a level that makes Sam's heart stumble and hammer in his chest. Dean has no reason at all to trust Sam. He doesn't know him. If Sam had been in Dean's position, if he'd to chosen to go with a stranger, who behaves like a total nut case, without even knowing where to, exactly, and all that after seeing the guy two times, he'd never have done it.

Well, maybe Dean just wants him to let it go for good, and to prove that, he agreed to come with him. Or maybe it's really just about the money. Or maybe Dean thinks that there is a chance that he is Sam's brother...

Sam steals glances of Dean sleeping while he drives. There's a whole new set of emotions developing inside Sam. Emotions he doesn't want to give a name to, not even in his thoughts. But he knows he’s got to get his own head straight soon. He's got to deal with these sensations drifting around in his head, making his belly flip-flop, better sooner than later. When Dean's back, he needs to be the brother Dean knows and things will be awkward enough for Dean. Who knew how long he'd been on his own with no one to turn to, how long he'd had to live on the streets, had to earn money on his knees or on his back or...

Rage and possessiveness overcome Sam, thinking that countless people nursed their desires on his brother and Dean had- He's my brother! Sam thinks, and the urge to touch Dean, to reassure himself Dean's not a figment of his imagination is overwhelming. He never wondered before how Dean's skin would feel beneath his fingertips or if he'd like to feel Dean's hand touching his own. He'd never noticed before how much he'd like to spread his fingers out over Dean's muscled thigh. And maybe, maybe this Dean is not his Dean and he can have that, can touch and kiss and have all he wants with this guy who looks like his brother but isn't.

Of course, he'd never want to have that with his brother, at all.

Jess flashes through his thoughts and his stomach drops. He remembers the ring he had bought and which is stored in his bag now, remembers the future he dreamed of before he met his brother again, and it all seems too pale compared to the concept that is "Dean".

After more than 400 miles with a sleeping Dean sitting shotgun, Sam’s convinced himself that everything is okay and that he’s not going to worry again until they’ve arrived at Bobby’s. He tells himself it’s his brother Dean in the passenger seat and everything else was just an attempt at humor gone wrong. This way he has no weird feelings about men to deal with and he’ll just forget that he’d had the best orgasm of his life down his brother’s throat.

Dean, Sam decides, is the prank war king for the rest of their lives if he’d just wake up and be Sam’s brother again. Until then, he’s gonna behave as if there is nothing wrong.

When they drive by the sign that says “Lovelock, NV,“ Dean can’t stifle the laughter and gives away that he isn’t sleeping anymore – not that Sam hadn’t known he was awake for the last fifteen-something miles.

“Oh come on, what are you, twelve?” Sam grins. “We’ve seen weirder names than that.”

“We have?”

“Sure, we’ve been driving around the country all our lives with Dad, saving people, hunting things-”

“That’s why you left?”

And of course, Dean cuts down to the bone. Sam stays silent for a long time, the Ford shudders and offers nothing of the comforting murmur the Impala’s motor had.

“And what exactly were we doing ’hunting things‘?” Dean asks, grimacing, and Sam turns to stare at him, the knowledge that this isn’t his brother beside him, that at least it isn’t the brother who can remember being Sam’s brother, slams into him again as if it was the first time.

A horn blares and Dean flinches, grabs the dashboard. “Look at the street, dammit!”

Sam rips at the steering wheel. Screeching, the Ford turns away from the opposite lane just to buck and skid on theirs. Sam’s used to the Impala’s weight and center of gravity, and he holds onto the wheel white-knuckled and shocked by what this damn car is doing, behaving like a bull in the arena. He stomps on the brake pedal, lets it loose again to steer and gets a blinking ABS lamp for his effort. Finally, they come to a stop on the shoulder of their road, gravel spitting against the underside of the car. Sam has barely avoided running them off the street.

“Okay, I’m driving. You just got disqualified,” Dean says matter-of-factly, and Sam barks out laughter of relief. We’re not dead. That’s got to count for something. He’s out of the car the next second, shaking his long limbs. Adrenaline still pumps through his system and his body trembles with unused energy and he yearns for a fight.

He remembers something about muscle memory, something he heard about in his basic psych classes. Even when the brain forgets, the body still remembers. Before he can take time to think it over, he opens the passenger door and grabs Dean’s arm. He pulls hard and propels Dean out of the car. Ungracefully, Dean stumbles and goes down on one knee.

“What the fuck’s gotten into you now?” Dean yells angrily.

Sam grins at him, feels like a maniac, when he aims a kick to Dean’s head. He’s ready to pull it if necessary, but the next second he lands on his belly, a sharp pain racing up his leg.

“I knew it!” Sam manages to grind out before he feels Dean’s hand on his head, wrenching it up by his hair. Sam laughs, struggles and kicks Dean’s legs out from under him while he turns on his back. Dean collapses just in time, falling onto Sam, his underarm squarely over Sam’s throat, cutting off Sam’s air supply.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Why the hell are you attacking me in the middle of boon fucking nowhere?”

It's noon, the sun is glaring down on them, but it's nothing compared to Dean. His eyes are a blazing green, his cheeks flushed with anger and Dean's breathing hard; he’s using his weight just right to hold Sam down.

Sam gurgles trying to answer. Realizing he’s still strangling Sam, Dean pulls back with caution, just enough so Sam can speak.

“Muscle memory!” Sam says and Dean frowns uncomprehendingly. “My brother and I, we used to fight and you blocked the kick with just the move he taught me a thousand times over. You relied on muscle memory!”

“Dude, that was no muscle memory, that was just instinct for not getting the shit kicked out of me!” Dean yells, then huffs. “I can’t believe I’m with stupid! I lived on the streets – of course I can fight! Doesn’t prove a thing. I’m still not your brother.”

They hold each other’s eyes in a challenge, neither Sam nor Dean back down. Limits Sam thought already established have to be set anew with this guy who's so much like his brother, but isn't at the same time.

Still, this Dean is so much easier to deal with, Sam comprehends; this is not soldier!Dean with his unlimited adoration for their father and his savior-complex and his no-chick-flick-moments-walls. This is a pure version of Dean, one where he has to take care of only himself, where he doesn't feel the need to look out for Sammy, where he isn't killing himself trying to prove his worth to their heroic father who doesn't even notice it. Yeah, because killing himself hustling in the streets is so much better. There's nothing of their usual baggage getting in between them. Sam could use this, could find out things about Dean he'd never have a chance to learn otherwise.

There’s a smirk growing on Dean’s face, his eyes growing darker when he bows down to whisper into Sam’s ear. “Did you get hard fighting with your brother before?” Dean leans into him, grinds his crotch against Sam who realizes – suddenly – he’s so hard it’s almost, just almost, painful to press back into Dean. A low moan escapes his lips and he feels helpless against the offer of pleasure.

“No. Dean, please.” Sam begs but opens his legs and Dean slides between them, creating even more, even more intense friction.

Not Dean. Not Dean. Not Dean.

Dean smiles against his cheek, he can feel the corner of Dean’s mouth turning up.
“Come on, Sammy. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.”

Dean’s hand finds Sam’s hipbone, his thumb pressing on naked flesh; layers of clothes have slid up during their fight. Dean’s fingers encourage him to lift his ass, to work for more of the friction he needs, so desperately needs right now. And Sam feels Dean hard against him, too, gasps desperately because Dean –- no, not Dean, Not-Dean –- wants him, just as much. He won’t take long now to go over the edge.

“Dean.” Sam doesn’t know what to ask for. More? Stop? It's all the same.

He bucks up, rubs himself frantically against Dean’s body, against Dean's answering hardness –- Dean, Dean, Dean -- and cries out, nearly sobs when he comes, creaming the inside of his pants like he hasn’t done in years.

Fuck.

He wants to hold onto Dean but he feels boneless, weak in the aftermath of his orgasm. He doesn't hinder Dean from standing up and closes his eyes against the reality of this. He feels like a worthless, unmoral freak, lying on the hot sand with his come drying in his pants.

Sam gets his elbows underneath him, stares up at Dean who's looking everywhere but directly at Sam. "Don't you- l could-" What's he going to offer? Looking at Dean and thinking: Hey, do you want me to return the favor? is the most ridiculous moment in his life.

He sees his brother standing there, pale and shaky, and still hard, obvious even under the tight denim. He can see the change, the tension in his shoulders and the strain in his jaw, seconds before Dean turns and looks at him, eyes neutral, closed off.

"Just add it to the repay sheaf - who knows, maybe I'll even get out of this with a plus?"

Sam receives a smirk that feels like a punch in his face.
Wrath fills him and he understands how people can indulge in it. Maybe he should try to cover as many sins as possible so his inevitable trip to hell is really worth it. His fingernails have grown too long again; they bore painfully in the insides of his hands which he had clenched in fists.

Sam's been patient, really, had lots of understanding for this guy, but it's enough. He feels betrayed and ugly and naked in front of this smirking copy of Dean, who'd never hurt him like this, who'd never messed around with him like this - whatever way he interprets this.

Slowly Sam gets up, gets his feet under him and concentrates on overcoming the rage. He finds the cold calmness inside, quickly, that feels like all his bones, his spine, are made from steel. Unbreakable and potent.

"Make sure you don't make such a mess next time," Whore. "get in the fucking car and shut up," Sam hisses and Dean straightens in surprise, doesn't react.

"What-"

Sam is in front of Dean suddenly -- his huge hand wrapped around Dean's throat, the other at Dean’s shoulder -- and slams him against the Ford. There are a thousand things Sam wants to scream, yell, hiss at this Dean, but there’s unadulterated fear in his brother’s green eyes. Sam’s never seen Dean so obviously afraid, not in the face of monsters, not in the middle of a bar brawl, not even at the receiving end of Dad’s drunken rage. He’s never seen Dean in fear. Careful, worried, yes, but never afraid. To have Dean looking up at him, panicked, scared of him, of Sammy, makes all the words stick in his throat.

Slowly he loosens his grip, one finger by one, from around his brother’s throat and lets his hand slide up, cup Dean’s head, his thumb stroking Dean’s cheek. “I’m sorry,” Sam whispers, tentatively as if dealing with a nervous animal. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” There’s relief in Dean’s eyes, the fear slowly drawing back in hidden depth of his character. “It’s just, my brother and I, we’re close. No, not that way,” he answers the question in Dean’s eyes. “There’s nothing we wouldn’t do for each other. And it hurts me to see him, to see you, selling yourself cheap, selling cheap what we are to each other.”

Sam needs to look away from the intensity Dean’s green eyes burn with. I don’t know what you expect from me is written in block letters all over Dean’s features. He seems unable to deal with this situation: half-scared and dependent – no way out that doesn’t hurt one way or the other.

He’s seen that look from his brother Dean, has seen him look that way at Dad, hoping for praise, for love maybe, but arming himself for the disappointment, the hurt at the same time when it wouldn’t come. Sam wonders when Dean lost this look. When he stopped hoping for love and accepted that he couldn’t be a good son, could only be a good soldier for his dad. Sam hates that this Dean now looks at him the same way, waiting to be crushed and kicked by him for wanting, for wanting what exactly?

“I’m sorry.” Dean says, barely audible, with a sadness in his voice that makes Sam look down, meeting his brother’s gaze again. The want in Dean’s expression is so strong it makes Sam’s heart jump and his innards clench. He doesn’t want to be the one crushing this Dean. He could... it would only be until they’re at Bobby’s and after that Dean’d be himself again, remember what it means to be Sam’s brother, Sam’s savior, and these two days won’t matter in two lifetimes of saving each others lives...

NO. No – he can’t do this to Dean. He can’t take advantage of this vulnerable version of Dean. Dean wouldn’t ever want him, touch him, love him like this, and if Sam’s just went beyond that border of fucked-up – well, he’s got to deal with that. He can’t drag an unknowing Dean in and make him feel guilty for trusting Sam to do the right thing, to show the right way. No.

“It’s just another day. Tomorrow night we’ll know for sure if you’re my brother.” Sam sighs and backs up slowly, pats Dean down and straightens Dean’s clothes while he avoids his green eyes. The temptation is too big, to just grab this Dean and make him see how much worth he holds for Sam, how much he means. It feels wrong though, to worship this Dean if he isn’t his brother and it’s also wrong to worship him that way if he is his brother.

“And if I’m not?” Dean asks and sounds small for all the cockiness he displayed before.

“Whoever you are – we deal with it then. Alright?” Sam says and still can’t look into Dean’s eyes directly. He can feel the weight of a promise made but doesn’t even know if he can go through with it. He just can’t imagine how he’s gonna feel if there really are two Deans in his world.

 

EIGHT

They stop in Winnemucca because Sam feels fucking disgusting. Before they drove on, he cleaned up a bit with paper tissues, just enough so there wouldn’t be any stains on his jeans, but he needs to get out of the sticky underwear. Dean’s hungry but he doesn’t seem to want to say anything about it. He hasn’t said anything at all since they got back in the car, actually; he hasn’t even asked to drive.

“Let’s have lunch – you must be starving,” Sam says and feels weirdly like the big brother. He can’t drag up any memory of Dean needing to be coerced into eating. He goes to the back of the car where he finds some fresh boxers in his duffel and stuffs them in his pocket; he’s got to clean up before he can go anywhere inside.

He gets a twenty out of his wallet. “Order whatever you want, I’ll be there in a few.”

When he comes inside the diner he finds Dean, as presumed, at a table in the middle between the back exit and the front door where he can see all the new customers enter, where he’s got two opportunities to run should there happen something out of the ordinary. It’s exactly the place his brother Dean would have chosen.

When he sits down, Dean is grinning at him, ketchup on his chin, fries halfway inside his mouth and halfway out. Dean’s bowed deeply over the plate and saws off a way too big piece from his steak but stuffs it in after the fries anyway, fat running out of the edge of his mouth. It’s disgusting and adorable and sad that Dean’s this hungry. There’s nothing on the table for Sam, no coffee, coke or food and he’s irritated for a second.

“Didn’t know what to order for you,” Dean says and gives Sam a nice view of the mess in his mouth. It's such a Dean thing to do, such a big brother thing to do - otherwise there are many people with bad table manners. Speaking with a full mouth does not indicate if a guy's your brother or not. Sam grimaces anyway and waves for the waitress. He orders a couple of vegetarian sandwiches and steals some fries from Dean's plate just because he can.

"Why don't you order fries if you want to eat them?" Dean asks and stuffs as many fries in his mouth as he can manage. "These are my fries. Keep you hands off."

"Actually they're mine - I paid for them."

The mood on the table changes instantly.

"So," Dean starts and Sam knows it's going to be a fucking punch to the gut even before he hears the phrase out. "I'm yours too because you paid for me?"

Sam holds Dean's gaze, he'll keep the green eyes pinned until they open up and show him what he needs to see. Sam's always been able to read people this way. He just looks into their eyes until he finds what makes up the core of their being. It’s just an intense feeling, maybe instinct, to know how to approach someone the best way. But it's not something that worked with Dean; Dean's been too good at evading the heart-to-heart-moments. This Dean though is a completely different story, and predictably falls for the fake-challenge of a staring contest.

It's a shame the waitress gets her boobs between them when she bows down to bring Sam's sandwiches and to refill both their coffee cups. Sam thinks the topic is dropped and it surprises him when Dean speaks up again: "You don't own me - you just bought some of my time. You have no ownership of me and if you think you can order me around, this trip stops right here."

"Whoa! Look - you're the one making a big thing out of it - I only want you to come with me to Bobby and if we find out you're my brother Dean you're mine anyway-"

"You've got one fucked up relationship with your brother," Dean throws in, voice so loud people stare at them. Sam is oblivious and still tries to deal with the realization that he sees Dean as his. It’s strange this thought. He always felt like he was Dean’s possession.

"It's not..." Sam tries to explain but Dean shoots in again.

"I don't care what it is - it's fucking egoistic, is what it is. Your brother is his own person and got his own wishes. Fuck, I guess it's not his life plan to look after emo-Sammy all the time."

"Shut up! You don't know fuck about my brother." Emo-Sammy?
 
"Oh come on, at least I know he's one hot piece of meat." Dean wriggles his eyebrows at Sam, who never could hold onto his anger when Dean evaded by flirting like this. Sam tries to glare at Dean but ends up grinning. He takes a big bite from his sandwich to hide it. Wait – Dean evaded before all this by flirting with him?

Dean sucks grease of his thumb while he watches Sam chew on his veggie-sandwich until Sam asks, irritated, "What?"

Dean shrugs. "Do you have, like, weight problems or something?"

"Noo!?" Sam scrunches up his face.

"Then why do you eat that stuff?" Dean’s face looks honestly puzzled.

"Meat once a day's enough - don't think we should produce so much meat, kill so many animals if it's not necessary."

"You're kidding me? You said you and your brother - hunting that's what you do, family business. No wonder they kicked you out."

"They didn't kick me out - I left."

"Because you felt for the deer - man, you're totally screwed-"

"We're not hunting deer - we're hunting things that go..." Shit.

"Things that go?" And there's the you-lost-your-marbles look again in Dean's face. Great.

Sam contemplates the outs he has; he doesn't want to ruin this guy’s life with too much information. If it is Dean, the memory of hunting will come back with everything else. And he can't risk losing more of this Dean's trust already in the first quarter of the trip. "Just leave it - okay?" he says finally. "It's none of your business and it won't matter if you're not my brother. Alright?"

Sam can see the urge to protest in Dean's eyes but he shuts it down and blanks his face. "Back to business, I can do that, no problem," Dean says but somehow Sam doesn't think it sounds convinced. He hurries to finish his sandwiches and Dean puts Sam's money on the table with a grimace. They're out of the diner and back on the road seconds later. Sam drives and Dean fakes sleep - back to step one.
 

NINE

In Twin Falls, Dean asks to stop to take a leak and get more coffee. Sam realizes just then that he has to gas up the car anyway. It’s weird: if anything, Dean had a sixth sense for the fuel level – he was always aware of it, and what distance in what speed they could still drive until they needed to refill. It was a life-saving necessity.

Sam buys himself a latte and brings simple black coffee back for Dean, who’s already waiting shotgun again.

The silence between them grew comfortable a couple of hours ago, the fight in the diner seemingly forgotten. The short break to stretch their legs, to get some fresh air and now the delicious smell of coffee in the car helps.

Or maybe Dean is just bored when he asks: “So, you’re not gay?” Sam starts to turn his head to stare at Not-Dean. “Hey buddy, you just watch the street. I can hear you talking just fine while you look ahead.”

Sam rolls his eyes but embarrassment from their little involuntary trip to the road’s shoulder colors his cheeks anyway. “I’m not gay.”

“So, why do you jump me any chance you get?” Dean asks, and he’s so enjoying it; Sam can feel Dean’s grin down to his bones. “Or is it that I’m just that irresistible?”

Sam’s silent for a long time. He tries to figure out an answer for himself, tries to find one for Not-Dean and at the same time, one that would be okay with his Dean when he remembers this later. “I’m confused?” he offers weakly.

“I don’t believe you,” Not-Dean singsongs.

Selfish prying son of a bitch. “Look, I’ve never, really, never thought about my brother in any sexual way before he blew me. YOU, I mean, before you blew me,” Sam breathes, tries to get his calm back. “See, confused! I’m just confused!” He doesn’t succeed.

“Thought about guys or thought about your brother in any sexual way?”

“Everybody has his gay fantasies, don’t they?” Sam reflects, stubborn.

“Oh, sure. Some people just have more of them as others, no big thing, I guess. Don’t need to end up like me and make a living out of it, just because you’re gay, you know.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t gay! Didn’t say I was gay either!” Sam is angrier by Dean’s admittance that he ‘ended up’ as a prostitute. He promises himself that he’d do something for this guy -– and if I teach him the basics of credit card fraud -- so he doesn’t need to sell himself on the streets anymore.

“Denial is a river in...”

God – how old is this Dean? Sam feels reminiscent of the days where he was a lanky pre-teen and Dean mocked him about it. “Just shut up, Dean. I don’t know. Maybe I like both. Why would you care?”

“’Cause you’re my baby-brother!” Dean winks at Sam but stops when Sam gives him a warning look. “Or because you’re my sugar-daddy?” This time Dean leers at him and Sam turns away, fixes his gaze back on the asphalt.

I miss Dean, my Dean.
It’s dark when they arrive at West Yellowstone. It’s not a problem to find a hotel; Sam Miller pays for a room with two queens. Dean leers at the girl behind the counter and she gives them a disdainful fake-smile with a raised eyebrow. Sam wants to spit in her face for looking at Dean like he’s less than her.

The room smells stale, but looks clean enough. Blue floral print on greyish walls. Two beds with dark blue blankets, a desk and a chair, a TV on a cranky looking drawer. They get their stuff and go for a shower. Routinely, Sam calls first dibs and Dean laughs at him for it. Weird how fast Sam gets back into their old rhythm even if Not-Dean doesn’t really fill his part.

In the shower, Sam tries to not think about Dean stretched out on the bed, shirt rising up to expose skin that shouldn’t be so pale. He remembers Dean laughing at that Peter André guy making the news because he collapsed from his daily five hundred sit-ups to keep the eight-pack. “Looks fucking unnatural if you ask me! These are muscles from hard work.” Dean rubbed his own belly, and Sam thought then in the heights of his puberty: I’ll never look as good as he does. Sam knows now that really, he’ll never look as good as Dean. He doesn’t think anybody male can look better than Dean.

When it’s Dean’s turn to shower, Sam tortures himself with images of how Dean’ll look when he comes out again. Wet hair, cheeks flushed and green eyes sparkling. He’s seen Dean come out of the shower a myriad of times, but everything feels new now: exciting, exotic, exaggerated.

Sam is sure he won’t be able to sleep in the next couple of hours. Driving hasn’t tired him too much and he feels like he could use a couple of beers. He doesn’t want to leave Dean alone, has to hope that he’ll come with him or maybe he gets a six-pack... no, bad idea. Really, really bad idea. Drinking with Not-Dean alone in a hotel room. Not gonna happen. Sam doesn’t trust himself enough to not take advantage of Dean. Ridiculous.

Dean comes out of the shower in jeans only, top button undone. Water still glistens on his skin and the silver stud through Dean’s nipple works like a beacon. Sam has to look away. Any moment now. The wet towel smacks him in the face.

“Wanna go for a drink, Sammy?”

The familiarity hurts and helps to stops the thoughts in Sam’s head he’s not supposed to have.

“It’s Sam!”

“Whatever. Beer?” Dean plasters the fake-winning smile on his face.

“Yeah, fine.” Sam busies himself with getting his jacket and checking his wallet while Dean throws on a way too tight white shirt. He leaves the top and the last button undone. The shadow of short black hair that Sam can see just over his belt-buckle is sinful enticement.

 

TEN

They drive down the street until they find a bar. They should have walked, it isn’t that far away. It’s comfortable to just sit at the bar with Dean and drink. For once he has shut up. They both look around the bar, share looks and small comments on people there. Dean’s gaze is stuck more often than not on some guys at the counter.  And then, after their second beer, Dean says he has to take a leak and goes for the bathroom.

Dean’s gone too long, Sam thinks while he continues watching the people in the bar. There are men, college types, whispering at the pool table before they break into loud laughter. One starts to make his way to the restroom and the others cheer him on, which is kinda weird. The guy doesn’t look like he needs cheering to take a piss -- that’s the moment Sam puts two and two together, but he can’t figure out the result through all the red haze that suddenly fills his head.

He’s at the door to the restroom even before that other guy, and he throws it open with so much force he hears the handle splinter against the wall. He finds Dean around a corner in front of the stalls on his knees, pumping another man’s cock with his fist.

“You got to wait for your turn, buddy,” Dean says, eyes challenging, the moment Sam’s shadow falls onto him, and then moans like the fucking whore he is, when that other guy rams his ugly cock down his throat again.

“I don’t think so,” Sam answers; the next moment, the ‘John’ is on his knees, gasping for air because Sam has punched him effectively just under the chin on his windpipe.

“Hey... what the hell did you do that for?” Dean starts, when the man who had needed encouragement from his buddies over at the pool table comes through the door.

“What’s going on here?” For a second it looks like he wants to kneel down to see after his friend on the floor but Sam gives him a look that makes the guy turn and run... and he comes back with all the other four from the pool table.

“I’m not your fucking kept boy!” Dean yells, but grins. Bastard. Gonna teach you!

Sam sees one of the guys bring a pool cue. Fuck. He stands in front of Dean to protect him the moment pain explodes where the cue met his left shoulder. Sam’s way too angry to answer so lets his fists fly; they speak for him.

Way too long since he’d been in a bar brawl.

No thoughts - just fight. Get everything out of your system.

…

Sam loses some time, 15 minutes maybe.

They’re in the car, motor not running, and he looks down at his knuckles, most of them swollen; over some of them the skin is broken and blood is still wet all over his hands. Dean holds his right hand to the side of his face, works his jaw before he spits blood out of the car’s window. There are bruises like a bracelet around Dean’s left underarm, shaped like Sam’s fingers. Upon looking out of the windshield, Sam realizes they’re not in front of the bar, but already parked in front of the motel.

Sam raises his hand to check on Dean, but he shrinks away and Sam’s stomach drops. Fuck. What did he do?

Very slowly now, trying to not make Dean even more uncomfortable, Sam gets out of the car.

“Would you fucking stop! FUCK. SAM. STOP.” Dean yelled and tried to tear him off of one of the guys. All of them were on the floor already, more or less unmoving. Sam tried to shrug Dean off, turned, unluckily, hit Dean’s face with his elbow. Dean kicked him and Sam grabbed for him, draged him out of the bathroom, uncaring.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t- I just didn’t want them using you- I didn’t mean to hurt you, Dean.” Sam toes dirt, standing in front of the passenger door.

He opens the car door, gets out. “Fucking hypocrite,” Dean spits like venom. Sam’s taken aback by Dean’s stormy green eyes showing his rampant anger. Dean makes his way to their hotel door, leaves Sam standing there.

“So that’s what you want. Should I have gotten in line with the others and let you blow me?” Dean turns around, teeth gritted. “That’s what you wanted, Dean?” Angry, Sam takes a step toward Dean.

“Didn’t need your knight-in-shining-armor shit either!” Despite Dean going backwards, Sam feels like he’s attacked full force. Why the fuck does Dean make an abject joke out of everything that has to do with feelings?

“I didn’t save you.” Sam snorts. If he wants it like this, Dean gets it. “Not from them anyway. I just put them in their places. You’re on my money and as long as you are, you do what I say.” Sam crowds Dean against the hotel door.

“Oh, we’re back to that discussion. Sure. Fuck me.” Dean steps forward and continues dangerously low key: “Every guy on this earth would use my time better than you!”

Sam shoves him against the hotel door, one hand on the side of Dean’s face, thumb under his jaw and the other fisted in Dean’s shirt. “So that’s what you want? Can’t find your place without a cock to blow or a prick up your ass?” Sam breathes hard before continuing. “How fucking needy are you?”

Dean stares, wide-eyed, tries to come up with some kind of comeback; Sam can practically see the gears turning frantically. His hands are on Sam’s pecs, trying to hold him off.

“Really, I don’t want to know about how much you hate yourself or think you’re disgusting or whatever.” Sam’s eyes flicker down to Dean’s lips. “Fuck, Dean. I can’t let you do this to yourself. You’re better than this.”

Dean stops pushing at Sam and lets his hands drop, lets them rest on Sam’s hips. He’s looking everywhere else but in Sam’s eyes.

“I don’t wanna do this to you. I don’t wanna be that kind of guy,” Sam says, breathless, and moves forward at the same time. They’re so close now, their bodies touch, hip and shoulder. “Can I...” Sam stumbles over the words, unsure, but he needs to ask, he needs to hear the answer, the allowance even more. “Can I kiss you?”

There’s wonder in Dean’s eyes – suddenly - and uncertainty, then he shakes his head, looks away again. “Not up for sale.” His voice is rough, broken.

Unhappy, Sam adjusts his hand so Dean’s chin is between his thumb and forefinger. He makes Dean look up at him, gets even closer to him. “I want you, Dean. I don’t want to buy you.”

Dean closes his eyes, Sam watches Dean’s tongue dart out to wet his lips.

“Give me this one thing because you want it, Dean.”

Dean shivers under Sam’s hands and Sam almost misses the small nod of Dean’s head. “Okay?” Sam whispers, close enough that he feels the warmth of Dean’s lips against his mouth, that he breathes the same air as- Please, don’t be my brother.

“Sammy,” Dean says, it’s more movement against Sam’s lips than a word he can hear, but Sam gets the please in it anyway and he doesn’t hold back when he dives in to kiss Dean.

Dean tastes like blood and come and it should be disgusting but it only drives Sam to lick deeper and suck it all out of Dean’s mouth. He needs to have more – needs to have everything – needs to fucking own Dean.

They kiss, harsh and biting. They press and shove against each other in search of friction for their cocks. “Inside,” Dean hisses before he goes for Sam’s mouth again, clinks their teeth together accidently. Sam grabs Dean’s belt, holds him close while he gets out the key for the door.

Before it bangs shut again behind them, Dean’s already stripped out of his jacket and shirt and helps Sam to lose his own clothes. Halfway naked they’re even hungrier for another, Dean cries out when Sam bites his unpierced nipple. Sam hesitates only a second before he closes his lips around the silver stud and sucks on Dean’s other nipple.

Please don’t be my brother. I want you like this forever.

Dean undoes Sam’s belt and rips his jeans buttons open, touches and squeezes his ass. He shoves at Sam until he sits on the edge of one of the beds. Dean is already kneeling between Sam’s legs and drags the boots, then jeans and socks of him while he slurps on Sam’s cockhead, spit running everywhere.

Sam can’t withstand this kind of exquisite pleasure too long, so he has to push Dean away, stop him or he’ll make a mess.

“Fuck. Stop. Come here. Come on,” Sam says between breaths and pulls on Dean’s upper arms to get him to stand up. It seems like magic that Dean’s already shed all of his clothes, too, and Sam finds himself eye-to-eye with another man’s cock for the first time in his life. Tentatively, Sam bows forward and puts his lips against the tip and when he draws back, precome sticks to his lower lip.

Dean’s eyes are as big as saucers when Sam meets them just before he lets his tongue peek out and lick Dean’s fluids away. He savors the taste of Dean sceptically, then smiles and goes back for more. Dean’s breath hitches, a high sound, when Sam takes all of Dean’s cockhead inside his mouth and swirls his tongue around it.

Sam lets his hands wander, let them roam and touch naked skin but he has a goal and he’s zeroing in quickly. He lets his palms slide up Dean’s legs on his ass and his fingertips seem to just accidently touch puckered skin...

It’s a fucking blessing that Dean’s a pro and takes over the second Sam starts to fumble. So he’s hasn’t done this before, whatever, he hasn’t done a thousand other things. He’s not afraid. Dean doesn’t guide him, doesn’t talk him through. Dean just does what has to be done, prepares himself, and then turns away from Sam, gets on his hands and knees.

“Hey, wait, no. I want- I want to look at you. At your face.” Sam says and Dean’s eyes flick down to Sam’s engorged dick.

He shakes his head. “Not gonna happen.”

“Please?” Puppy eyes.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Manipulative bastard,” he says but crawls toward Sam anyway. He stuffs most of the bedding behind Sam’s back. “Lean against it.”

A heartbeat later, Dean is on him, holds both their dicks together with a sure hand and pumps them with his still lube slicked hand. Sam gasps in pleasure. They move in sync easily, it just clicked between them, and Sam thinks, this has nothing to do with the fact that maybe we could be brothers.

“Where did you hide that?” Sam asks, stunned, when Dean produces a condom out of thin air. Dean winks at him and expertly rolls the condom down Sam’s cock without ever losing the rhythm they’ve got going. Sam forgets any question he had, the moment Dean scoots up and then sinks oh so slowly down onto his lap until Sam’s completely sheathed inside him.

Sam’s so surprised by the feeling of hot velvet all around his cock, he forgets to breath and doesn’t dare to move. He just stares up at Dean who has thrown his head back, eyes closed but mouth open, breathing rapidly.

Sam waits – frozen – until Dean meets his eyes again. Dean grins wickedly, puts his hands on Sam’s shoulders and starts lifting himself up. Sam groans and then slides his hands up Dean’s thighs offering support. Dean’s so hot around him and now Dean is moving, the pleasure is nearly unbearable.

“Fuck yeah!” Dean moans through clenched teeth and sets a faster, harder rhythm. Sam helps him, pushes Dean’s weight up with every lift. The strain makes his upper arms burn and sweat build on his pecs. It feels fucking fantastic.

“Not gonna last,” Sam whispers not two minutes later.

Sam sees Dean gripping his own cock with his right hand and squeeze. “Can’t say I’m so far behind,” Dean grounds out and obviously struggles to hold his orgasm back.

“Let me see you come. Come first. For me,” Sam pants and is rewarded instantly by Dean shooting hot come all over Sam’s rippling six pack. Sam pumps his hips up, once, twice and then comes up inside Dean, shuddering.

For a few moments, they stay connected like this, their panting and heart beats slowing.

Halfheatedly, Dean cleans Sam’s belly with the edge of the comforter and then collapses onto him. Sam withdraws, pulls the condom off and knots it with one hand, lets it fall over the edge of the bed.

He searches for Dean’s mouth and kisses him deeply, intimately. Sam wants to say something, wants to let Dean know what he feels but ‘Best sex ever’ or ‘Thank you’ are really childish things to say, so he just strokes his thumb against Dean’s cheek and presses another small kiss against Dean’s lips.

Dean turns away, mumbling protest about cuddling and then fakes sleep. Sam drifts off, holding onto Dean and listening to him breathe.

 

ELEVEN

Sam hasn’t felt this... accomplished ever before. It’s like all holidays, Christmas and Easter and whatnot on one day. This guy at his side, the road ahead, a secret to find out, like a hunt – he has everything he ever wanted. All parts of him busy: head, heart, soul and sex.

For a second, Sam’s thoughts drift to Jess. It’s not something he wants to deal right now, so he pulls back quickly. He glances over at Dean.

Dean stares out of the window, unmoving. Like a dark cloud on an otherwise sunny day, Sam feels Dean’s tension. He seems ready for flight rather than fight.

“What’s going on?” Sam finally asks, sighing internally. Who’s the one brooding now?

Dean takes a deep breath before he answers, still not looking at Sam. “This just doesn’t feel right. I know I am not your brother – you know that I’m not really your brother, deep down, you know that or the whole incest-gig had thrown you, too. I have an excuse – you’re very tasty man meat – you haven’t. I don’t remember you, but you totally remember me.”

Dean definitely has a point. Sam shouldn’t have been able to throw all inhibitions of sex with his own brother out of the window.

He’s not my brother.

Sam holds onto that thought. He doesn’t want to think about any other alternative. Doesn’t really want to think about Dean being the Dean he left for college. Bitter, cold, disappointed.

“Do you really want me to be your brother?” Dean asks and sounds ten years too young.

Sam stays silent. Every other mile he considers just turning the car around and driving off to wherever. Leave everything behind but Dean. This Dean with him, he could forget about hunting, could forget about school, could just live a life somewhere, simple but happy. Tempting.

“I don’t know.“ Too late, Sam lies. “Look, we figure it out. Somehow.” Sam puts his hand on Dean’s thigh and squeezes. Dean stares at his fingers like they’re alien. “If you’re not my brother, we’ll figure it out. If you’re my brother – there is nothing to figure out.” Sam smiles encouragingly.

Dean shrugs uncomfortable, still staring at Sam’s hand on his leg.

The whole rest of the drive, Sam doesn’t feel Dean relax under his grip but he refuses to let go.

 

TWELVE

“Hey, Bobby,” Sam greets.

“Sam – Dean.” Bobby nods at each of them.

“I’m not Dean.”

“Sure you are.” Bobby grins, pets Dean’s shoulder.

“Nope.” Dean shrugs.

“He’s lost his memories.”

“No, I haven’t – I’m just not his or your Dean for that matter. You’re not my father, are you?” Dean grimaces. Shocked, Bobby steps back.

Sam groans.

“Where is Dean?” Bobby asks, now wary.

“He is Dean!”

“Could be one of these things...” Bobby squeezes his eyes almost shut.

“Oh, we’re back to the hunting topic?” Dean grins.

“No!” “What do you know?” Sam and Bobby say at the same time.

“I have no idea. You’re racist, self-righteous angry white men for all I know... or serial killers... or both?” Dean shrugs.

“Sam!?” Bobby’s face is aghast. “Who... what is he? Why did you bring him here?”

“I’m Dean. Just not your Dean. I’m a whore on the streets of sunny San Fran and he paid me to come here, visit you.” In shock, Sam sees Dean winking at Bobby and, like an afterthought, Dean adds his tongue, darting out to wet his lower lip: “Special services included.”

Bobby chokes. He presses his fist against his mouth. Sam didn’t know Bobby could turn so pale. All the monsters and serious first aid in their shared past, Bobby never looked this revolted. Sam feels kinda sorry that he has to drag Bobby into this, but if Bobby can’t help them, there are slim chances anyone else can.

“Bobby. I really need your help,” Sam begs, suddenly afraid to be shot down.

“Sure, you do.” Bobby rolls his eyes, scratches his neck. “Get inside – and don’t let him out of your sight, Sam.”

As if! Sam thinks and nudges Dean with his shoulder to go into the house. Several protection and revealing charms and spells edged, drawn, burned inside the framework of Bobby’s front door don’t seem to do anything to Dean. Sam catches Bobby’s skeptical gaze and shrugs.

“Awesome!” Sam envies Bobby when the old friend hands Dean a beer and gets a real smile for it. They all sit down at the kitchen table and Sam tells Bobby of their chance meeting in the bar - of course leaving out all the dirty details - and how they drove straight up here to find a way to make Dean Dean again.
“And if he’s right? If he’s not your brother?” Bobby says after mulling over all the facts.

Sam stares back at Bobby, torn. If Dean is Dean he gets his brother back, baggage included. If Dean’s not Dean… well, things would totally go xxx-rated. Fuck.

Doubtful of Sam’s intentions, Bobby frowns but keeps waiting for an answer.

“I just… I need to know, Bobby.” Sam pleads with puppy dog eyes, and next to him, he can see Dean rolling his eyes.

Bobby nods, slowly, still obviously questioning what’s going on inside Sam’s head. Sometimes Bobby just is too perceptive to be comfortable to be around. Maybe it’s just the guilt balling up tight now in Sam’s belly.

“Look, why don’t you go out in the garage. Impala’s there. See if you can tickle out some memories with familiar stuff or something.” Bobby looks meaningfully at Sam. Translation: Get out while I make some calls and go through some books. No civilians are to be involved further than necessary.

“Great idea!” Over-enthusiastic, Sam jumps to his feet. He needs to get out from under Bobby’s speculating eyes and busy himself with something else rather than thinking about how Dean felt lava-hot around his cock last night. Will I ever have that again?

“Impala? Like in Chevy Impala?” Dean perks up.

“Hmhm.” Bobby nods slowly.

“Sweeeet.” Dean stands up, clearly interested in the car, and he follows Sam outside. The moment the door closes behind them, Sam feels Dean pinch his ass.

“Hey!” Sam complains and tries to slap Dean’s hand away. Dean grins at him openly, green eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Ashamed, you’ve been in the sack with me?”

“What?! Ssssh!” Sam looks around for listeners. Paranoid. “No!”

“Then what, still hanging onto the brother theory?” Dean winks at Sam.

“You saw Bobby’s reaction. He greeted you as Dean. He didn’t believe you weren’t Dean when you said so.”

“If you say so.” Dean shrugs and waits for Sam to open the garage door. “Is the Impala as roomy as they say it is?”

“Pretty much.” Sam shoves at the door with his shoulder; it refuses to open.

“Roomy enough for both of us big guys… doing, you know…”

Horrified, Sam stares at Dean. “You’re not serious! Bobby could come to find us any minute.”

“We better be quick then.“ Sam gasps when Dean’s body slams into his from behind, Dean’s palms hit the metal door hard and it gives. They tumble into the garage, together, barely avoiding landing in a heap in the dirt. Way too much body contact! Sam shrieks silently.

“That’s it?” Sam nods at Dean when he asks, pointing to the tarp-covered car shape.
Quickly, they strip the Impala of the tarp. Bobby must have put some hours of cleaning and polishing into it; it shines like it was brand-new. Its chrome parts sparkle like the piercing in Dean’s nipple. Fuck. Think of something else.

Dean slides behind the wheel with his usual grace. It gives Sam a stitch inside. He’s my brother. Sam closes his eyes, concentrates on breathing.

“Get in here, lazy ass.” Sam hears Dean calling, so he follows. What else is there to do?

He settles in shotgun, watches Dean fingering everything from the window crank over the dashboard to the gear-shift.

“Look at this, Sammy.” Sam rolls his eyes when Dean grins at him wickedly and pumps his fist around the lever as if it was a cock. My cock. He twitches and is about to break down and follow Dean’s suggestion when Dean’s interest is piqued by something tied to the rearview mirror. “What’s this?” Dean asks and makes a grab for it.

Sam watches Dean’s fingers close around the pendant; Sam gave that to him one Christmas a million years ago. Dean hadn’t taken it off since. Weird, Sam thinks, I didn’t notice it was missing on this Dean but it hurts to know now, that Dean left it behind.

Sam smiles ruefully and looks back into Dean’s face.

Dean’s pale and his eyes are wide. Horrified. Revolted.

He knows.
He’s my brother.

He remembers everything.

 

 

THIRTEEN

Sam watches Dean stumble out of the car, follows him out of the garage out into the night. They’re in the middle of car wrecks and it’s fitting.

Sam’s overjoyed with relief that Dean’s back. At the same time, he’s terrified of Dean’s reaction, if the panic right now is any indication. Dean’s been a whore. That takes some time to get used to.

“Welcome back, Dean,” Sam says and smiles his trust-me-calm-down-smile.

Dean just stares at him as if he was the one who lost it.

“Welcome back?!” Dean croaks. “That’s all you have to say?”

Confused, Sam takes a step toward where Dean stands, bowed over, hands on his knees, breathing hard. “Do you remember...?”

“I fucking remember! I remember everything!!”

“That’s good, Dean. That’s good for... working through it.” Sam pats Dean’s back.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” Dean hisses and shrugs Sam off.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to be touched right now. After what you’ve been through...”

“After what I have been through?!?” Dean yells, disbelieve in wide eyes. “After what you put me through!”

“I... I just wanted to help you!”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“When I found you... I just couldn’t leave you there. It wasn’t right. I needed to make sure you were you, or not you. Either way, I had to know.” Sam’s irritated now.

“And you waited to find out after—“ Dean breaks off, unable to even say it.

“I didn’t know!” Even to Sam’s own ears it now sounds ridiculous.

“Sam – not funny. You used me. You know – fuck – I’d have never agreed to something like that!” Dean’s face is torn with disgust, with regret. “I’m your brother, Sammy, your big brother. You should know that I’d never ever touch you like that. I was always there to protect you and I – I’d never used your rely on me for something so -wrong.”

“But you wanted...”

“It’s not about what I want – what I wanted. Brothers don’t fuck each other. They just don’t. I’m not into incest, I’m not even sure if I’m so much into guys, actually! There’s definitely nothing beyond brotherly feelings here.” Dean points at his heart, breathes. “You fucked up, Sam. I didn’t know it was wrong – you did and you still went through with it all. How am I supposed to trust you? Next time I’m unable to give my consent you try it again?”

“Dean, I’d never...”

“But SAMMY you have!”

“I didn’t know you were my brother...”

“Oh come on, how are the chances there are two of me? Sam, you know me all your life because I am your brother and we lived in each others pockets. There’s no way in hell you weren’t sure. You just didn’t want me to be.”

“That’s not true – I-“

“Tell me you don’t want this to continue?”

Sam’s face flames red.

“How can I live with this, Sammy? Knowing you want to jump my bones despite me being your big brother, despite your knowledge that I’d never do that to you because you are my little brother?” Dean turns away. “I can’t deal with this shit. And fucking stop the crying – that doesn’t change anything at all.”

“I’m so sorry, Dean...”

“Sorry doesn’t change anything either.” Dean slams his fist against the wall.

“Dean-“

“No Sam – we’re done. I’ll get the car ready and you get your things, tell Bobby good-bye – I take you back to Stanford and you shut the fuck up and live your normal life.”

“And you?”

“Oh let’s see... hunting or whoring in your neighborhood – well, it’s really hard to decide.”

“Dean.”

“NO, SAM, THERE IS NOTHING IN STANFORD I’LL EVER WANT TO GO BACK TO.”

 

 

FOURTEEN

Sam feels five years old because he’s barely able to hold in the tears. The Impala hums with aggressive power and Dean drives too fast, too hard. Other than saying good-bye to a speechless Bobby, Dean hasn’t said a word, hasn’t put on music, hasn’t even looked at Sam.

This is worse than the first time he left for Stanford – Dean was unhappy, Sam thinks, a little bit betrayed, but he had understood Sam’s wish for a normal life. The drive to the bus station then had been tense – they didn’t know what to say to each other – but it didn’t feel as much as a goodbye-forever as this one.

Eight hours in, after Dean stopped at the shoulder of the road for a quick piss and then continued driving, Sam tries. “I’m-“ is all he gets out before Dean says in a collected, deadly voice: “You shut your trap or you can hitchhike your way back.” Sam does shut up.

It takes them another eight hours and they’re in front of Sam and Jess’ apartment. There’s only a tick in Dean’s jaw when Sam looks at his brother before opening his door.

“Dean-“

“Good-bye, Sam,” Dean says and Sam feels tears bubbling forth again.

“Dean...”

Dean’s cell rings and he puts it to his ear, intent on the speaker’s voice, and waves Sam off. For a couple of seconds, Sam just stands there – uncomprehending in the cold indifference Dean shows him before he slowly pushes the door closed. He retreats with a feeling of loss so deep that he wants to throw up. He’s barely taken his hand off the Impala before Dean speeds off, tires screeching on asphalt, spitting stones at Sam.

Sam stares after the red taillights of the Impala, long after the car has turned corners.

Funny how everything he ever wanted doesn’t feel enough anymore without his brother in it. He turns and looks at his apartment; Jess will be waiting, and he really shouldn’t fuck that up as well. The interview is tomorrow and he’s got to clear his head for that.

There’s no choice anymore – Stanford is the only way left.

Slowly he makes his way inside and up the stairs. The door’s not locked but inside everything is dark. He wonders for a second why Jess didn’t lock the door when she’d obviously gone out, but decides to not be paranoid about it. This is normal life with normal people.

There are cookies waiting for him, and he smiles because he loves Jess. He loves Jess. He’s been distracted, sure, Dean had to be saved from a life of whoring – it got complicated, but it’s over now in more way than just one - but he’s back to before, to his normal life. He can make it work again.

He lets himself fall back on the bed, enjoys the taste of Jess-baked chocolate cookies on his tongue and decides to wait for Jess to appear. Everything smells of her and he misses her suddenly, wants to bury himself inside of her to feel connected, cared for, loved. He can have this – her and a normal life, a lawyer career and 2.5 kids, a house behind a picket fence and a dog to bark at the postman. He’ll make it work. He won’t mess that up. No, he won’t.

Something wet lands on his forehead.

Again.

Drops?

Feels like warm liquid between his fingers and he opens his eyes to look at his hand, stares into Jess’ pained eyes instead.

A tear opening her belly and blood pouring forth, raining down on him.

More and more blood and roaring fire, female screams, burning heat.

The smell of burned flesh melts both his lives together and there’s nothing left for him to fight for, to hold onto.

 

 

EPILOGUE

Fuck. Fuck! Fuck!!!
It’s an endless repetition in Dean’s mind. It takes all his will to concentrate on driving and not screaming out loud.

Fuck. Why Sammy, why did you... FUCK.

The worst of it? It’s a dream come true. FUCK. Dean slams his fist against the steering wheel.

The yellow-eyed demon haunting him, taunting him, and he did everything he could, gave up himself in the process to save Sammy and ended up worse off than before.

He should explain Sam the why’s and how’s.
He shouldn’t leave Sam thinking Dean hated him just because Sam loved him more than he should. Way to go beyond the brotherly emotion of sympathy. And in the end, he’d initiated it all. He’d been on his knees, blowing Sam before he even knew what was going on at all.

FUCK.

Sam’d been so miserable, destroyed and confused. He was still Sam’s big brother, he should at least...

The YED had been after Dean, had tried to make him get Sam back into hunting. The YED was after Sam and he should be warned, he should know that even in his normal life, he would need protection; he would need to be alert.

The Impala screeches when he spins her 180 degrees and steps on the gas.

He’ll warn Sam and then drive off. Leave him to his life.

He pulls the Impala back into Sam’s street, fishtailing.

When he sees the smoke, Dean knows. It’s too late for a warning. Maybe it’s too late for everything.

He gets out of the Impala before it even stops and runs into the building. The smoke chokes him and his fear takes his breath away. His heart pounds like he’s four years old again, and the fumes make his eyes tear up and moisture runs down his cheeks.

He kicks in the door to the apartment and finds Sam unmoving on the bed, Jess above him, burning.

The feeling of déjà-vu makes his stomach twist.

Sam doesn’t fight, doesn’t help when he drags him outside. Firemen are trying to take Sammy away from him, but he holds on. Sam’s okay, not hurt so far as he can see, just in shock.

“Sam. Sam, can you hear me?” Dean shouts at Sam, whom he’d settled against the Impala’s side. The asphalt is hard under Dean’s knees. Finally, Sam’s gaze focuses on Dean’s face; Sam’s eyes find Dean’s gaze and lock onto it.

“You came back,” Sam whispers, and there is so much hope in his expression, Dean thinks it’s ridiculous considering Sam’s girlfriend just burned to death on the ceiling. Like Mom.

“I came back,” Dean states.

“I’m glad you came back,” Sam says and then he’s crying, and Dean holds him. He tries to make out the words between the broken sobs despite “sorry” and “Dean” and “Jess” over and over again - but he doesn't understand.

An eternity later, he settles Sam inside the Impala’s passenger seat and goes to get a blanket out of the trunk, when a fireman approaches him.

“Hello Dean, my boy.” Yellow eyes fix on Dean’s out of the meatsuit. Middle-aged guy, fit and energetic-looking.

“You bastard!” Dean spits, heart hammering.

“Nah, nah. Don’t be like that, boy.” The demon waves him off, comes closer. Dean doesn’t move. “I should have thought of that,” The YED points with his thumb over his shoulder at the still-burning building, “way sooner.”

Dean clenches his yaw. The close proximitity of this demon is frightening, but he refuses to back down.

“Revenge is the most powerful force to drive a man. And with Sammy’s heritage, the apple does not fall far from the tree, right?” The demon smiles, lips pulling too wide, white teeth showing. “I just wonder... why aren’t you all hot to get back at me?”

Dean ignores the words, tries to concentrate on his options, tries to choose the right way to handle this situation.

“After all this time we spend together, Dean. I thought you understood that eventually I will suceed.”

“You don’t get him. I’ll do everything to make that not happen. I’ll die before-”

“Sure, sure. See, that actually is your problem.” The yellow-eyed Demon bows forward so Dean’s nose is almost touching its. “Make Sammy strong, Dean. One day you’re not going to be there to save him; one day, he’s going to need to fight for himself all alone. He needs to be strong and clever and learn all the tricks. You know that, right?”

What choice did he have? To not train Sam? To just leave him helpless, defenseless against the Evil at the horizon? Bitter with the thought that the yellow-eyed demon would get his way – for now – Dean shoves at the fireman.

The demon grins. “I’m very proud of you, Dean, for seeing reason.” He starts laughing and throws his head back. Black smoke shoots towards the sky and mingles with the fumes still emanating from Sam’s apartment building.

His cell rings and the sound pulls him back into reality. “Hey, Pastor Jim,” he greets him without enthusiasm and then listens to what he has to say. After the call ends, Dean gets back in the car and Sam looks at him with wide eyes, childlike, waiting.

“Looks like Dad is on a hunting trip and hasn’t been home in a few days.”

Sam nods, looks away. “Tried to reach him, too. Machine answered.” He whispers, it probably hurts his throat to speak after screaming, crying and all that smoke.

“Jim said it was in Jericho.”

Sam doesn't react at all.

Dad or Sam?

Sam or Dad?

Family or hunting or family and hunting?

Dean turns the key in the ignition and the Impala hums to life. With lots of effort, Dean puts his hand onto Sam’s thigh, squeezes. “I’m sorry, Sam. I’m so sorry.”

For everything.

Sam only stares at Dean’s hand as if it was alien.

Steering the Impala with just one hand is crap, but Dean refuses to let go of his brother Sam.

THE END

It took me ages to write this fic - why don't you take a minute and let me know what you think about it?

comment at relating livejournal post or email Druffine

* There were question about why Sam and Jess don't use condoms. Well, in this fic, they're in a committed relationship, they got tested for like everything and she's on the pill and they had never any form of intimate contact with any other partner before without a condom... I'm not taking the issue of HIV or Aids or any other STDs lightly -- you shouldn't have any sexual relationship without precautions. And no, they aren't able to cure HIV/Aids yet - there are just some meds that might make you live longer once you're infected. That's all. I'm sorry if I stepped on anyone's toes.