“What the fuck was that, Dean?”
Dean paused in the process of raising his beer to his lips. Sam sounded seriously pissed off. Not the cold, distant anger that passed for normal these days. More how it used to be. Hot. Intent. Personal. Dean took a long swig of his beer and sighed nostalgically. Those were the days.
“I said, Dean, What. The. Fuck. Was. That?”
Oh right. No need for nostalgia. Sam’s anger was much less enjoyable in the present. Dean took a calculatedly slow second swig of beer.
“What? I normally have a beer after a hunt?”
Ah! There it was. A hint of bitchface 19 (don’t try and change the subject Dean) came and went. Dean watched in fascination as Sam’s features firmed into something harder, colder.
Sam’s mouth was a grim line. And the silence was a little uncomfortable. Dean caved.
“What was what, Sam?”
“The throwing yourself in front of a corporeal spirit when you had no weapons.”
Dean hadn’t been able to help himself. Sam was down, and this was ready to land a killing blow. In retrospect, Sam had just been adjusting his hold on his blade, but at the time, all he could see was some motherfucker about to hurt his little brother. Dean’s body had acted without his permission, practically levitating across the room. And he’d been lucky. A few bruises, a little scratch. Wouldn’t slow him down. Heck, he could hunt again tonight! But he wasn’t telling Sam that. They were strictly partners. Dean sucked thoughtfully on his beer. That might work…
“Don’t sweat it, Sammy. It looked like you were down, so I moved in to give you more time. It’s what partners do for each other.”
Dean may have gotten a little satisfaction from throwing that back at Sam. Maybe a little too much, as he didn’t even see Sam until the beer bottle was out of his hand and he was shoved face first into the wall.
“…the fuck, Sam? What’s your problem?”
“My problem Dean, is the way you are once again making decisions for me.” Sam was hissing in his ear. The hot breath tickling. Dean shook his head, and Sam gripped the back of his neck, holding him in place. “I don’t care if you want to hear this or not – you stop putting yourself in danger for me. You don’t need to look after me.” Sam huffed a little, biting out under his breath, “If anyone needs looking after, it’s you.”
Dean struggled in Sam’s grip. He didn’t want to have this conversation, and he definitely didn’t want to have it face first in the wall. Pushing back against Sam (when the fuck did he get so heavy?), Dean twisted and wriggled til his back was against the wall and he and Sam were face to face. Way too close, face to face.
“Look after me? What the fuck? You can’t even look after yourself? You almost died today—“
“So did you Dean! And I was perfectly—“
“I don’t need your help, Sam, the way you don’t need mine.”
There. He said it. Sam doesn’t need him. He knew that. And it sucked, sure. After all, Sam was his world. But all he had ever wanted was for Sam to be happy. Alive and happy. And this? Them? It wasn’t making Sam happy. He’d know that for ages but, yeah, Dean had problems letting go of what was important to him.
He doesn’t know what showed on his face, but the next thing he knew Sam had hoisted him over his shoulder.
Dean let out a strangled cry. Mainly surprise, but a little pain as Sam’s (ridiculously bony) shoulder reopening the (very small) knife wound on his ribs. Sam slowed but didn’t stop.
“Injured Dean? Funny that, ‘cos when I asked you earlier, you said you were fine. And you wouldn’t lie to me, would you Dean?”
Dean opened his mouth to an easy lie, but squeaked instead as Sam’s heavy hand came down on his ass. Before he had a chance to bitch his brother out, Sam was lowering him gently onto the bed. Dean immediately went to scrabble away, only to have Sam drop down to cover him.
And Dean feels trapped.Is trapped.
Of course he knew Sam was taller than him, but he’d never really appreciated how much bigger he was. Sam’s thighs splayed outside his. Sam’s arms caged him in, and Sam’s hands pressed his own into the bed. Hell, even Sam’s cock was pushing… oh fuck no.
“Christ Sam! What are you doing?” Dean tried bucking a bit. But Sam was an immovable object.
Well, mainly immovable.
The friction causing Dean’s cock to harden (and what the fuck self?) was causing Sam to get… even harder. Dean sent a panicked glance to Sam, who just looked back, eyes darkening with arousal.
“Sam? Can you get off?”
“That’s the idea, Dean.”
Dean looked at his brother expectantly. But Sam didn’t move. Well, maybe there were slight movements but… Ah. Dean’s mind finally caught up.
“Really, Sam? Really?”
Sam stayed silent. He just looked at Dean. Straight at Dean. Fuck, but it was uncomfortable. Having someone stare straight at your eyes was… yeah, uncomfortable. And Dean was out of practice, since hadn’t been around much. He felt his eyes flicker away. And for some stupid reason it felt like he lost.
“What you’re doing. It’s not ok.”
Dean’s mouth opened, ready to defend himself, but Sam’s tongue was in there before he had a chance to say a word.
Not that he really wanted to. Dean was taken off guard and Sam was a fucking amazing kisser (so, maybe demons had a thing or two to teach humanity). Sam’s tongue swept through Dean’s mouth as if it owned it. But Dean wasn’t one to lie back and let things happen. But it was like Sam could read his mind, as he pulled back and stared down and Dean’s kiss swollen and spit shiny lips. Dean felt light headed. Shit. He just kissed his brother.
“So, you aren’t going to do it anymore.”
How the fuck could Sam just start the conversation up again? It wasn’t even a proper conversation. Too broad. What he was doing wasn’t ok? That could be anything. From not eating enough fruit, to giving an angel permission to enter Sam. But something about Sam’s expression made him think it wasn’t about those things. Sure, Sam was still pissed (really, really pissed) at the whole angelic possession thing, but this seemed like it was about something different. Dean took a stab in the dark.
“I’m just doing my job, Sammy.”
Sam’s eyebrows disappeared behind his hair. “It’s not your job to get yourself killed.”
Dean couldn’t help but laugh. “Hunters never live long, Sammy.”
Now Sam’s eyebrows snapped down. “Let me put it this way Dean. You aren’t going to do this anymore. No more stupid risks. No more throwing yourself in harms way when you don’t have a plan. I’m not going to put up with it anymore!”
Now Dean’s eyebrows shot up.
“What? Not going to…? Sam, you can’t fucking tell me what I can and can’t do.” Fuck. Dean wished he was up and able to pace, not trapped beneath his brother. “What was it you said, Sam? Partners? Hunting partners? That was what you wanted, and that was fucking fine. But hunting partners - and this means you Sam! – stay out of each other’s face! You don’t tell me what to fucking do! I’m not your pet! As long as I’m doing my job – which I am…”
Dean trailed off. He wasn’t really sure what else he wanted to say. Well other than ‘fuck you’. But that didn’t seem right, given the circumstances and Sam’s darkening expression.
“You don’t own me,” Dean blurted out. And then promptly wondered where that had come from. “Anyway, get off me Sam. You didn’t like that I saved your ass again, fine, fine. I hear you, ok?”
“Do you really think I don’t own you, Dean?”
Dean rolled his eyes. What the hell? But before he could speak, Sam steamrollered over him. Again.
“You’ve been mine since I was born. Dad gave you to me.” Sam shouldn’t have enjoyed Dean’s flinch as much as he did. “You’re whole fucking life revolves around me. You raised me Dean. But kids grow up. I grew up. I don’t need you to be a parent anymore. And I don’t need you to like that.”
Dean felt his heart drop. Sam didn’t need him anymore. Well, it wasn’t like he didn’t know that. But to have it flung in his face like that… He couldn’t just lie there and take it. With Sam’s body holding him captive he could only move his fingers and his head. He wasn’t ready to head but Sam, but his fingers curled, nails digging into the backs of Sam’s hands.
Aside from a small grunt of pain, Sam gave no indication of pain. Bastard kept talking.
“Things change. You looked after me for a long time. You think that gives you the right to make decisions about my life.”
A lecture? A fucking lecture. It made Dean feel all of about two feet tall. He closed his eyes. Rip out my heart, but tell me why it’s for my own good, Dean thought bitterly. But that was Sam all over. Always more than willing and able to explain things. Well fuck that. Dean looked defiantly at Sam.
“I’m sorry I went behind your back Sam. I’m sorry I lied. And I’m sorry you don’t trust me. And do I deserve it? Yeah. Yeah I do. Because I’m not sorry that you’re alive. You’re my little brother Sammy – mine! And I’ll always look out for.” Dean willed Sam to hear the sincerity of his words. Sam just looked coldly back.
Dean felt his face fall. He’d never been good with words. He had so much he wanted to say, but no way to express it. With no way past this, he could think of only one resolution. He couldn’t – wouldn’t – change the past, but he could give Sam a gift for the futures. Dean girded his loins and looked Sam in the eye.
“But I get it Sammy. I get it. I took away your choices. There’s nothing else to say about that. But,” and Dean’s next words came out in a rush. “Partners isn’t working. You know it. I know it. So maybe it’s time for us to part ways. You always wanted your apple pie life. Well, you can have it.”
Dean smiled painfully, adding softly, “With my blessing.”
Dean closed his eyes. Any minute now Sam would stand, grab his bags and go. Dean didn’t need to see his brother walk away. Didn’t need to see the way he wouldn’t look back.
But Sam didn’t move. The heavy weight atop his body remained.
Dean opened his eyes.
Sam looked furious.
“Every time you open your mouth you just prove how incapable you are of making decent fucking decisions.” Sam shook his head. “Am I angry with you? Of course I fucking am. You made choices for me you had no right making. But now? Now that it’s all too hard you want to drop me and leave? No Dean. It’s not happening like that. It’s not going to be that easy for you.”
Dean glared. “That’s not what I meant and you know it – “
“And you know what, Dean? I may not be yours anymore – not your little Sammy to help, to look after, to mother, to make fucking decisions for…” Sam’s look was venomous. “I may not be yours, but you sure as hell are mine. And there’s no way you are walking out that door.”
Dean was exhausted by the whole thing. Sam was talking rubbish, and while Dean wanted nothing more than for Sam to give him some space, some things couldn’t be left unchallenged.
“Me? Me??” Dean spat. “You’re the one who’s always left Sam. You’re the one who wanted out of hunting. And now? Now I’m giving you the chance – no guilt, no take backs. The world is out there, Sammy – arms wide open! I’m giving you want – what you’ve always wanted. So can the theatrics, Samantha.”
Dean was gathering himself to say more, but the image of Sam’s face bearing down on him brought him up short. Was Sam going to kiss him again? He couldn’t… didn’t… Dean turned his head, but Sam’s mouth continued down, latching on Dean’s collarbone.
“Sam? What the? Ouch!” Sam sucked. Hard. Dean had had (and given) his share of hickies in his time. But there was nothing gentle or sexy about this. Nothing soft. It was hard and fast, the sole intent to mark.
Sam maintained the pressure as he felt Dean struggle. He allowed his body to sink deeper into Dean, and he tightened his hold on his brothers’ wrists. Despite this, Dean bucked and wriggled. It wasn’t until Dean went lax that Sam let the pressure up. Tilting his head, he sought the mark. His eyes creased in satisfaction. It already stood out well against Dean’s freckled skin, and it would only darken. It was placed high, difficult to hide.
“What the hell, Sam?” Dean’s voice was husky.
“You weren’t listening Dean. Sometimes I forget how talking about things doesn’t work with you. That I need to show you.” Sam licked the mark, and he felt Dean shiver, his head automatically tipping back. Dean’s head might not understand, but his body did.
“You’re mine Dean. You have been since you were four years old. I left because if I didn’t I would have pushed you down and fucked you til you couldn’t think of anything else. Marked you and claimed you. So I left, Dean. Left you to do what you wanted to do. But what happened? Every time I set you free, you found me, brought me back. From Stanford. From the cage. Even from fucking death. So you see Dean, you chose me. You chose me, Dean. You don’t suddenly get to decide you don’t want to do it anymore. You don’t get to make that decision.”
Sam looked reflectively at Dean. Dean’s eyes were wide, his expression resembling that of a deer stuck in headlights.
“I let you go, and you came back. So now you don’t get to choose anymore. You do what I say, when I say. You’re mine Dean. This time I’m going to make sure you remember it.”