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The small interrogation room was stuffy and crammed. There were two FBI Agents, one Private Investigator, two small-town cops, a lawyer, and a suspect. The suspect in question was a young man with freckled skin, dark, dirty blonde hair, and a sadistic gleam in his green eyes. He looked directly at the camera in front of him and smirked, making everyone in the room shift uncomfortably.

"My name is Dean Winchester…" he began. "I'm an Aquarius…I enjoy sunsets, long walks on the beach, and…" he glanced coldly at the women near him; one a cop, one FBI, and the other his lawyer, sending small shocks of terror down their spines.

"…frisky women…"

18-year old Sam had cried happily when news reached him of Dean's arrest. John had cried with him.

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Dean had been in that "High Security" prison for the better half of four years. It was huge, with plenty of murderers, rapists, child molesters, and the rest of societies monsters. But there was no-one quite like Dean Winchester.

Dean Johnathan Winchester, who sexually molested and abused his younger brother, Samuel Keith Winchester, since Dean was 13, killed women for his sick blood fetish and for his hate towards most of the female population, and his father had been oblivious the whole time.

At least, he had been, until four years ago.

"Three Aces," the convict in front of him said, pulling Dean from his musings. The man smirked.

"Well, that's good an' all, but…" Dean laid down his own cards; Ace, King, Queen, Jack, and 10 of hearts, "I think I win this round." Leaning over the table, Dean took the small pile of cigarettes in front of him while the convict, a man by the name of Davey something-or-another, sulked. Damn, this kid was good.

Taking his winnings, Dean walked to the other side of the courtyard, trying not to trip over the too-long pant legs of his orange jumpsuit. Why they gave him such a big outfit, he didn't know.

I'll bet it'd fit Sammy just fine, he thought to himself. He imagined what his baby brother would look like in the suite and came to the conclusion that, while sexy as fuck, orange was just not Sam's color. Maybe an earthy green, or brown, or, rather, nothing at all. He shook his head before his fantasy could get too out of control. Wouldn't do him any good to walk around that place while another part of him was standing at attention.

He stopped in front of an older man by the name of Archer (whether that was his real name or not, Dean didn't know and didn't really give a shit), who was either healthy and in his late fifties, or did plenty of drugs and was in his early forties. In there it was hard to tell.

"Somethin' ya need, Kid?" the senior member snipped. Well, someone was cranky. Dean smirked, glancing casually at the guards that surrounded the perimeter.

"This place…'s high security for a reason, yeah?" he said. The older convict raised an eye-brow, but didn't say anything. Dean continued. "Man, I'd feel sorry for any poor bastard that tried to get outa here. What do you think would happen to someone if they tried?" He turned directly to Archer, who shrugged, glancing at the barbed-wired fence that surrounded them.

"If they didn' know tha workin's of tha place, they'd prolly get themselves caught," he said slowly, glancing at the pack of cigarettes in the kid's hand.

"And if they did know the workin's?" Dean asked, slightly mocking, tapping the box on the wrist of his other hand. He again glanced around him, watching the men play basketball, converse in groups, play poker, and work out. He grimaced. These men were disgusting. At least he still had morals…

What? "Family First" was still a moral, wasn't it?

"Well, nobody knows tha inner workin's, boy," Archer scoffed, eyes flicking to the box again before back to the green eyes that seemed to intimidate him more than they should. Dean shrugged, handing the packet over to the older man. So, plenty of drugs and early forties. Good to know.

"Say that somebody did," he said slowly, counting it as a win as Archer accepted the bribe. "How would they go about doin' it?"

Archer smirked. He was beginning to like this kid.

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Dean watched from his cell as the lights began flickering, signaling lights-out in just a few moments. Dean had to act fast.

"Well, one would hafta wait 'til lights-out," Archer had whispered in the courtyard that morning, wary of the guards that surrounded them. "'til the lights started ta flicker. He'd hafta move fast, too, through tha vents."

"Those tiny things?" Dean asked incredulously. Archer nodded.

"That wouldn' be too hard fer a young man like yerself, would it?" he asked.

Dean smirked, his mind once again leading towards little Sammy. "Nah…I've been through…tighter quarters. Trust me."

Dean prided himself on the slightly disturbed look on Archer's face.

And so here he was, crawling through the vents like the soon-escaped-convict he was. He was almost convinced he wouldn't make it out when the alarms went off and he heard the guards running franticly bellow him, searching for their newest-not to mention dangerous-guest.

But he got out at 10:47 P.M. that night.

Sam got the call three minutes later that his brother had escaped and was looking for him.

Jess had never seen Sam so terrified.

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It took a whole week of dodging police cars and two days of walking along the side of the road in the scorching heat before he met a pretty blonde by the name of Chelsea who took him in, unaware of his…well, we'll call it a 'hobby'. She was nice, polite, offered him clean clothes of her husbands (who was stationed in Iraq, conveniently enough) a shower, some food, and a bed in the guest room for him to rest in.

Dean, after taking full advantage of the mentioned gifts, became enraged.

"I could be some serial killer and you wouldn't even know it until it was too late," he whispered into her ear one evening. She'd tensed, completely shocked, much to Dean's amusement. And, really? She didn't expect this to happen?

"Honestly," he continued as the woman ran down the hall to her phone. "You pick up some random guy off the street and expect him to be normal? Huh? The fuck were you thinking?" He shouted as he ripped the phone from her clutches before she could so much as press the number '9', kicking the back of her legs and shoving her to the ground. His cock only twitched slightly when she begged for him to let her go as he tied up her hands with the phone cable.

"We are going to have a little…chat…about your judgment of character."

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As Dean scrambled over a back-ally fence, police car screeching to a halt behind him, he idly thought that he should've killed the little bitch before running.

Don't worry, Sammy, he thought as he hot-wired a well-kept '67 Chevy Impala. I'm comin' to ya. Almost there.

That night, Sam didn't sleep at all.

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The first thing Dean did was track down Sam's old high school girlfriend. Her name was Chloe Ferguson, a chocolate-skinned sweet-heart who didn't really remember him, but once he mentioned Sam, she let him right into her apartment.

And, well, if that wasn't the dumbest thing she could have ever done…other than touch his Sammy, of course.

After chatting for a bit, he learned that Sammy was going to frickin' Stanford on a frickin' full-ride to become a frickin' lawyer.

And was going to propose to his girlfriend of four years after his interview to pursue his law career.

No. Fucking. Way.

That chat ended with her on the bed, disemboweled and throat slashed.

The red lights flashed as he stood with the on-lookers to watch the paramedics remove the dead girl. He felt himself harden at the fact that the Police were mere feet away from him and he wasn't getting arrested.

When Sam got the call he threw up and cried, and Jess cried with him.

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Today is going to be a good day, Dean thought randomly as he walked out of his motel room and into the California sun. He was about to drive up to the University of Stanford, maybe catch a glimpse of his precious Sammy-boy when some unknown feeling forced him to look to his right.

And there was Sam.

Tall, strong, long-limbed, innocent, his, Sam.

Dean couldn't help but stare at the grown boy in front of him. Four years had changed him so much. But he could still recognize his baby brother under all that unfamiliarity.

Dean turned away and got into the Impala as Sam looked up and nearly made eye-contact. No, no, no. Not now, Dean thought, driving away. Gotta wait until everything is safe, until nothing will go wrong. Sam's interview wasn't for another three days. Dean could wait until then.

But, of course, he had to keep himself busy.

Sam was looking over his shoulder the rest of the day.

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When Dean first saw the blonde girl with Sam in the Diner the next day, he'd wanted to barge in and kill her on the spot. How dare she touch his Sammy? How dare she defile him? How dare she take away what was rightfully his? His knuckles turned white around the steering-wheel, his jaw clenched and unclenched, sounding like metal grating metal in his ears.

Unable to watch, Dean pulled out and drove around the block, unaware of Sam looking up and watching the black car pull away with a small sense of unease.

Dean had followed them home later that evening and had waited until all the lights in the house were turned off before he scoped the place out. No dogs, no alarms, silent or otherwise, no nosey neighbors…Dean smirked.

Soon, Sammy. So soon.

Sam woke up screaming at nightmares not an hour later.

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Two days later and it was Sam's interview. Dean's pants grew uncomfortably (or comfortably, whichever you prefer) tight as Sammy walked out of his shared home in a neatly pressed black suit. Dean groaned at the sight, thinking of how much fun it would be to undress him. He decided that Sammy looked good in a suit, but, once again, came to the conclusion that he look better with nothing on.

Sam passed the interview, and proposed to Jess in the privacy of their front yard. She screamed 'Yes!'. Dean growled 'No'.

Sam had classes that night and agreed to 'celebrate' after he got back. Dean sneered. The only thing Sammy would be 'celebrating' would be the reuniting of Dean and Samuel Winchester. He became aroused at the thought and watched as Sam pulled away and Jess walked into their home. Alone.

Sammy was too happy to think anything would go wrong, and he should have known better.

Jess realized, as she came face-to-face with the subject of her fiancé's nightmares, that she should have known better, too.

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Sam was running down the hospital hallway towards the doctor that had called out 'Jessica Moore's name.

"I'm so sorry…" the graying man said softly. Sam just stared. This wasn't happening. It just wasn't! It couldn't be happening! Couldn't! Shouldn't!

But it was.

Dean stroked himself with blood on his hands that night.

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The next night, Sam wasn't sure what compelled him to go for a walk. He knew it was dangerous, knew he should probably go to class, knew he should call the fucking police or even his father but he couldn't bring himself to open his phone, where a picture of him and Jess was set as his background.

Dean stepped out from behind the next corner, facing Sam, cock swollen, machete in hand, smirk in place.

Sam stopped, eyes going wide fearfully before turning and running quickly in the other direction.

"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy," Dean whispered to himself before giving chase. "You should know better by now."

Dean had caught up with Sam at the Frost Amphitheater, the trees tall and thick enough for cover. He tackled the much larger, but younger, male. Sam let out a shout as his brother pinned him to the ground, kicking out, trying to escape. He knew he could easily over power his older brother-no, this monster- but Dean could always paralyze him with a look, a word, a threat.

Won't you walk into my parlor?

"Dean, you don't want to do this! Please!" Sam begged, crawling back a few feet as Dean reached for the rope around his waist.

"Silly Sammy," Dean hummed, tying one massive hand to a pole and tying the other to his machete, impaling it deep into the ground. "Of course I want this." He pulled out a small needle from his pocket, relieved at the fact that it hadn't broken during the impressive linebacker move he'd just pulled. "Don't worry, Sammy-"

"Dean," he pleaded.

"-this won't hurt a bit." Dean thrust the needle into Sam's exposed arm and moaned at the hiss Sam spat through his teeth. His reaction to the drug was almost instantaneous; laying back flat on the ground, eyes wide and pleading.

"Help! Somebody!" Sam cried out as Dean slowly removed his clothing. He could already feel his muscles relaxing and whimpered. He knew what came next-he remembered. "Please, help!"

"Shhh, it's okay, Sammy. You know I'd never hurt you," Dean whispered as he crawled over his bound brother. Sam twisted and turned and wriggled and fought all he could with his diminishing strength, whispering a familiar mantra of 'no' and 'Dean' and 'stop'. He sobbed when Deans hands pushed up his shirt, harshly rubbing his nipples before licking them like they were Dean's favorite treat.

Ohh, and they are, Dean thought, moaning. He let one hand trail down the impressively muscular chest to the waistband of his little brother's jeans while the other caressed his tear-streaked cheek.

"Dean, please…" Sam sobbed. "Please, stop!" He squeezed his eyes shut as Dean skillfully unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, the other hand leaving his face to pull off his shoes, jeans and boxers. Sam shivered as the cool grass touched his heated skin.

"Sammy, you know I can't stop," Dean whispered, kissing the inside of his thigh. He looked at his younger brother's limp cock and licked one solid stripe over it, making Sam shiver. Gotta get you in the mood, little brother, Dean thought as his took all of Sam in his mouth. He smirked at Sam's choked moan.

"No," Sam whimpered, trying to move away from Dean and his touches. The older man pinned his waist to the soft ground to keep Sam from escaping, not that he could, but still. Sam could feel himself harden in Dean's mouth and sobbed. "Dad!" Sam cried. "Dad, help me! Help!" He yelped when Dean grazed his teeth harshly over his half-hard cock and moaned at the vibrations of Dean's growl. In a second, a very angry Dean was in Sam's face, roughly grabbing his chin.

"Don't you ever mention him!" Dean hissed. "Don't you ever!"

"Dean, please," Sam half whispered half sobbed. "Please just let me go, please! I won't tell anyone you were here, I swear!" Dean ignored him, instead returning to his little brother's now-limp member, slowly working him towards arousal.

"Did she ever touch you like this?" Dean husked, fingertips brushing against Sam's hole. He watched as the small ring tried to contract against the threat of penetration but could only twitch due to the drug in little-well, big-Sammy's system. "Huh? Did she ever do this-" he licked Sam's sack before sucking it into his mouth, giving a couple hard sucks and relishing in the moans of his little brother above him before releasing him "-to you? Hmm?" He chuckled as Sam whimpered again, this time, though, in want.

Oh, yeah. Here we go.

"I'll bet she didn't," Dean continued, licking, teasing, and stroking Sammy the whole time. "I'll bet she made you do all the foreplay. And you, you were so used to playing with my cock that I'll bet you fumbled like a fucking virgin, trying to figure out her dirty little pussy, trying to figure out what she liked and how she liked it, not once worrying about you." At this, Dean paused, listening to Sammy's breathless moans and whines. He reached for his discarded jacket, giving himself a couple good strokes to take the edge off, and pulled out a small bottle of lube, squeezing a bit onto his finger. "But, me, I always worried about you," he whispered, Sam barely hearing his older brother over his booming heart-beat. "Always worrying about if I stretched you enough," he slowly inserted one finger, loving the scorching heat that instantly surrounded the digit, "about if I'd hurt you or if you'd enjoy it as much as I did." Dean kissed Sam's quivering thigh as he used his unoccupied hand to lift one of his legs onto his broad shoulder. Sam moaned as Dean brushed against his prostate and thought God, I tried. I did. I tried so hard to be normal, to live normal, to stay away. But, Dean, he caught me. He caught me! Like he always did. 'Won't you walk into my parlor?' said the spider to the fly.

It was all down-hill from there.

"Oh, God, please, more," he moaned, tears still leaking down his face. Dean smiled, not a smirk or a blood-thirsty grin, but an actual smile.

"There you are, Sammy," he said softly, leaning over his brother and kissing him deeply. "Knew I'd find you."

Sam sighed as his brother slipped in a second finger, moaned loudly at the third, and nearly screamed at the fourth. Dean kissed his brother's bruised lips, muffling any too-loud noises that he might have made. That would be Dean's luck, wouldn't it? Getting caught just as things were getting good?

"Dean, please, Dean, please," Sam whimpered. He knew he was done. He couldn't run away. No matter how many times he tried, he always went back home.

Back to Dean.

"Easy, there, Sammy," Dean moaned as he watch his brother thrust his hips up as much as his drugged body would allow him. He's bigger now, Dean thought. It might not last as long as it used too…

Sam cried out-"Oh, God!"-and Dean safely assumed that it wouldn't be a problem.

Carefully, Dean slipped his fingers out of the familiar warmth. Sam choked back a whimper at the loss, but he new something else was coming, something bigger, and a whole lot more enjoyable. Sam cried out, hazel eyes going wide as Dean's pulsing cock slipped it's way into Sam's ass.

"Shhh, it's okay," Dean soothed, massaging his brother's thigh. "Just relax, baby boy. Just relax." When Dean was completely buried inside Sam, he paused, allowing his brother to get used to him. After all, Dean thought angrily, it has been four fuckin' years.

Sam's voice brought him out of his thoughts. "God, Dean, move."

And move he did.

First it was a slow rolling of the hips. Dean could still feel Sam's tense muscles around him and knew that, if he just fucked him into the ground like he really, really wanted to, it would force them apart.

And all Dean really wanted as for them to be together again.

And to kill John. But Sammy came first. He always came first.

After a few more moments, Dean pulled out almost all the way, and then slammed back in. Sam cried out, Dean wincing as it echoed around them but smirking at the same time. He knew Sammy like the back of his hand, so knowing where that bundle of nerves were was a piece of pie.

Thrusting in a slow but slightly-rough rhythm, Dean kissed his brother hard.

And the best part was that Sam kissed back.

It was all tongue and teeth, like it had been ever since Sammy turned 16 and started becoming 'Sam'. At least, physically. Because, no matter what, Sam would always be 'Sammy' to Dean. Kissing down Sam's neck, Dean growled when he came into contact with Sammy's bunched-up T-shirt. Pausing in his thrusting, causing Sammy to moan pathetically and buck his hips up with more strength than Dean would have thought, Dean reached over to one of Sam's bound hands, the one tied to the machete, and released it. Immediately, Sam's hand went to the back of Dean's neck and forced him down to smash their lips together. Dean moaned, thrusting again, but not quite fast enough for Sam's taste, who moved with Dean, trying to get him to move just a tiny bit faster.

Dean growled against Sam's mouth, biting at his brother's lower lip until it was red and raw. "Wait, Sammy," Dean demanded, husky voice sending shivers down the younger man's body. The older Winchester grabbed the machete by the hilt, yanking it out of the ground and using it to rip off the offending piece of clothing. "There," Dean said nipping at Sam's collarbone. "Much better." Sam groaned in response, thrusting upward.

"Dean," he whimpered. "Fucking move faster."

Dean smirked. "Of course, Sammy." One long leg wrapped itself around Dean's waist while the other one dropped from Dean's shoulder to join it's twin, forcing Dean to go in deeper.

"Touch me," Sam whispered, a loud moan following closely behind.

Dean leaned down, licking the shell of Sam's ear before whispering, "No."

Sam choked back another whimper, his free hand moving from Dean's shoulder to in-between their bodies. But before it could reach it's pulsing, throbbing, weeping destination, Dean's own hand grabbed it and forced it away.

"Don't make me tie your hand again," Dean growled. "You're gonna cum just by my cock, you understand me? Just-" a harsh thrust "-like-" another "-this." And he bit-hard-onto the junction where Sam's broad shoulder meets his neck, causing Sam to cry out and his hips to jerk up spasmodically, hip bones knocking against Dean's own. And those are gonna be some purple bruises tomorrow, Dean thought. But it's so worth it. With a moan, Dean released Sam's hand, hissing in pleasure-pain as the short but sharp nails latched onto his back.

Sam's hips stuttered in their movement and his moans became higher in pitch. "Dean, Dean, Dean," he whispered, nails digging even deeper into his brother's tanned skin. "Almost, almost, God, Dean, yes!" Sam's cries grew louder and louder and Dean was almost sure security or a passing student or someone was going to hear them and fuck he was so close.

"This is it, Sammy," Dean grunted, hips moving faster and faster, heart beating so loudly in his ears he wondered if Sam could hear it, too. "This is it. Say it, Sammy, you know I love it when you say it."

Sam moaned loudly, panting as if he was running a marathon, but otherwise didn't say anything.

"C'mon, baby boy," Dean husked, breath buffing against his brother's ear. "Say it."

"Dean.." Sam moaned. "Dean…God!"

"Say it," Dean growled, stopping his frantic movements completely. Sam cried out, desperately trying to regain the friction that was lost, but Dean pinned him down.

"Dean, please! Please!" Sam begged, so close to release it wasn't even fucking funny.

"Say it, Sam," he demanded. "Say it or I leave you like this."

"I love you!" Sam cried. "I love you! Only you! Dean, please, please, please!" With a grunt, Dean began thrusting with renewed vigor, below him, Sam cried out-"Oh, oh, oh!"-and came. Dean's cry of pleasure sounded more like a howl, a predatory claim to whomever might be near enough to hear him, that this body below him belonged to Dean and only Dean and no-one was going to take that from him again.

Together they rode out their climax's until both were too sensitive to continue. Dean pulled out, careful not to hurt his brother. Sam looked up at him through half-lidded eyes, shivering when the cold evening air met his sweat-covered skin.

"Dean…" he sighed, head lolling to the side. He was tired.

"Ah, ah, ah," Dean scolded slightly, using Sam's ripped T-shirt to clean the two of them off. "No sleeping. Gotta go home first."

Sam's eyes blinked lazily. "Home?"

"Yeah, Sammy. Home. With me." The last part was said a little forcefully, causing Sam to shiver again, this time having nothing to do with the cold, but nodded. He wanted to go to sleep. Sighing, he watched as his older brother clothed himself.

"C'mon, Sammy," Dean said softy when he was fully clothed and noticed Sam hadn't moved from his spot on the ground. "We don't want you getting sick, now do we?"

I'm already sick, Sam thought. Sick enough to want to stay with you, doing this. And now I can never leave.

Gazing at his brother's smiling face, Sam felt himself slowly smiling back.

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The next morning had Dean in a good mood. After all, he had his Sammy back. There was really nothing that could put him in a bad mood. He was just waiting for Sam to pack his things so they could leave. After all, who needed college? Certainly not Sam.

And if it took a little bit of pushing from Dean's end to get Sam to see that, no-body was gonna call him out on it. Especially not Sam.

Glancing to his left, he noticed a pair of cops walking towards him. Ah, crap, he thought, quickly sending a text to his baby brother.

'hey gettin pickd up by th po-pos b back l8ter b redy'

He'd just erased his phone's history when the officers called out to him. Putting on his best "innocent civilian" look on, he faced the two men.

"Mornin' officers," he said. "What seems to be the problem?"

The two men glanced at each other. "Son, turn around and put your arms above your head."

"What?" Dean frowned, but offered little resistance when the cops forcefully turned him around and shoved his body onto the hood of his car. Fuckers, he thought as he felt the cuffs wrap around his wrists. Way to ruin my morning.

Oh well, he mused, small smirk in place as the cop that wasn't cuffing him told him why he was being arrested-something about suspicious behavior?- Sammy will still be here when I get back.

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Dean sighed as the Sheriff left the small interrogation room, leaving Dean chained to the table with a file laid out in front of him. Scanning the room, Dean did a double-take when he noticed something shiny holding the papers together.

A paper clip.

Fuck yes.

Slipping out, Dean couldn't help but smirk. This is it, Sammy. I'm comin' home.