notrighteous | things we try to hide

things we try to hide

He told Sam to let him go. He told Sam to get on with his life and just get the hell away from him. But he just couldn't do that, could he? No. Not Sammy. Kid spent is whole damn life insisting he wanted out, wanted normal... But Dean had always known what he was really running away from.

Part of it anyway.

It wasn't just monsters under the bed... because not all monsters were tangible things. Some liked to lurk inside you. Some liked to remind you what a freak you really are and how you're never going to be normal.

Well, Sammy wasn't going to get normal. He wasn't letting Dean get away that easy either.

So maybe he could get some fun out of this at least. Sammy brought him 'home' and crammed him in thedungeon for safe-keeping... until he figured this out. Well, that wasn't gonna do.

Dean managed to pick the lock on the restraints after a while and then it was just a matter of slipping out. "Sammy," he called out, scanning the halls to see if he was alone, if he'd run into Sam or get to explore a bit.

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He couldn't let his brother go because Dean was family. Family was everything and after everything that they'd been through, Sam couldn't. He simply couldn't. Let him go? No. He had to bring Dean home and cure him, he had to find a way to make this right.

We can fix this, Dean.

As much as Sam had railed against his past, against hunting, that was the one thing he'd hung on to. Family can fix anything. It's the one thing that helps get him to soldier through the exhaustion, through the nagging pain in his shoulder.

So maybe he fell asleep in the library, slumped over a pile of books while Dean was locked down in the dungeon. The call in the corridor is enough to snap him awake, adrenaline dumping immediately into his system. Sam's hand wraps around the familiar bone hilt of Ruby's knife.

"Dean?"

There are so many words Dean could have over 'Family was everything', but later. Much later. Right now, he just had to find Sammy. "Wow, you are still a geek."

The taunt came easily from his lips as he steps into the library. He leans casually against the door frame and crosses his arms as he looks Sam over. "Come on... we both know you're not gonna stab me with that. Put it down, Sammy."

No. No he wasn't going to stab Dean with the knife and they both knew it. But that didn't mean Sam was stupid enough to put it down. "Dean. I'm just trying to help you. We can cure this, we can bring you back." Bring back the brother he loved, the brother he'd wanted most of his life.

"Please. Just let me help you."

"See, I don't really want your cure, Sammy." He walks forward, casual, and leans against the side of Sam's table.

"And I don't need your help." There's a pause as he considers Sammy, looking him up and down. The smile that comes to his face is twisted and cruel, no real hint of warmth.

"You just don't see how this all as its perks. I'm happy, Sammy. I like being like this... no guilt, no pain."

And this time, he leans forward, closer to Sam. "No pesky morals to keep me from doing whatever I want. You, of all people, should be interested in that."

It's dangerous. Dangerous to get this close to Dean when he's a demon and free in the bunker. Sam lowers the blade, but he doesn't let go of it, not yet. "Yes you do, Dean. You need to come back."

And with that final insinuation, Sam felt his heart plummet somewhere in the vicinity of his stomach. No. No, Dean couldn't possibly know, could he?

"I can bring you back Dean."

"But why would you want to, Sammy?" He leaned closer, reaching out, he pressed a hand to his cheek.

"This could be so much more fun if you'd quit fighting it. Just give me a chance, baby brother."

Fun. Sam's heard that tone of voice before, the sort of voice Dean usually reserved for the local pretty face he wanted to drag back to the motel room for a quickie while Sam sat in misery at the local library or even the Impala.

He should say no, he should turn Dean away and lock him down again but dear God help him, he's been so lonely since he'd brought him back to the bunker.

"I can't Dean. I can't. But I can save you, I can bring you back." And if he clings to that line, maybe soon he'll begin to believe it.

The smile fades and his eyes narrow on Sam before he leans even closer. If he's going to be like that, then Dean's gonna shut him the hell up one way or another. Kill him, fuck him... so long as he quit going on about saving him when he didn't want it.

And so that's why he leaned in, quick, but not to attack... no. He was going in for a kiss, rough and deep, and not tinged with affection but lust. Much as he could feel at the moment.

That look, it sends his pulse skittering out of control and Sam isn't sure if Dean is going to kill him or.. or.

Oh. Oh god. He lunges in and it's a sudden crashing of lips and teeth and tongue and every dark fantasy Sam has harbored in the middle of the night, in the solitude of his room. He groans, wrapping his arm around Dean and keeping him close.

This was crazy. Beyond crazy. But his heart was pounding and Dean was kissing him like he was going to devour him whole.

There.

Knew it. He grins against Sam's lips and drags him in closer, holds him there as he bites at his lower lip. "See, Sammy?" He murmurs darkly. "So much more fun when you stop the whining and just shut up. Told you I could give you what you wanted. What you really wanted... and it wasn't just a brother, was it, Sammy?"

No. It wasn't just what he wanted. Hadn't been since he was in high school. Hell, it was part of the reason he'd fled to Stanford - to get away from the dark part of his mind that wanted his brother.

"Dean," Sam whispers brokenly, pressing in for more. "Please."

"See, you cure me... I'm gonna feel too much like shit, doing this. Gonna think I'm messing up my baby brother... screwing his life up even more." Even if it was Sam who'd screwed up his life plenty just by existing...

He shakes off that thought and leans in for another deep, rough kiss, letting it linger as he clutches Sam closer.

Oh he'd been screwed up long before then. Since high school when he started looking at his older brother with more than just the usual affection. Sam's hand fists into his shirt, keeping Dean close as he kisses him back desperately.

"Don't stop. Please."

He should stop, should use the holy water in the flask in his back pocket to drive him back but he couldn't. Weren't they due this? Who cares if they were brothers? After all that they'd sacrificed to save the world?

"Not gonna, Sammy," he murmured lowly, practically purring the words out as Sam clung to him. He'd thought about killing him, but--

Nah. Maybe later.

There were so many other ways he could break him down, destroy him that would be way worse than death.

Leaning in, he bit at his lower lip playfully. "Bedroom, Sammy."

Bed. There's nothing but heat and danger in his voice but Sam can't bring himself to care. He's been dancing too close to the edge for too long and now - to finally have everything he's ever wanted offered up?

He never was the strong one.

Dean could have shoved him down right there on the table and Sam wouldn't have fought it, as long as he could have him close, feel Dean's mouth and hands on him, opening him up and for just a few wonderful moments, make the entire world go away.

So to his room they went.

Dean followed Sam to his room, a twisted smile on his face to know that he was getting exactly what he wanted -- that he'd have Sam wrapped around his finger.

He wasn't gonna be cured. He wouldn't let that happen.

And Sam was a stubborn bastard, so his only option was to either kill him or keep him distracted... and well, right now? Distraction was more fun.

When they were finally to the bedroom, Dean didn't waist a second shoving Sam down against the bed and climbing over him, claiming him in a fierce and heated kiss.

He shouldn't be doing this. Sam might be lonely, might be desperate, but he's not a complete fool. But tonight he doesn't care. All he cares about is the heat in Dean's eyes as he pushes him back against the bed and crawls up his body, all heat and warmth and want.

Sam kisses him back fiercely, the fingers of his hand tangling in the back of his shirt, clutching at him. Too much. Too much, not enough, god he needs this, even if it's just once. To have Dean over him, in him, like he'd been dreaming about since he was a teenager.

Dean reaches for Sam's good hand, guiding it to the bed to hold it in place while the other goes to work on the buttons on his shirt. He nips at Sam's lower lip playfully, grinning against his lips. "How many times have you thought about this happenin', Sammy? How long?"

Getting him to admit to it, own up to it... that was probably the best part about this. "Want every detail, little brother."

"'s why I left for Stanford. Why I always left," he pants, shifting to help Dean get his shirt open and off. "Didn't want you to find out how fucked up I was."

But he came back. He always came back. Whenever Dean called, Sam would follow because he loved him. His eyes screw shut and his head tips back. "Know I'm a freak. But I didn't want you to know."

"But, Sammy..." He sighed out, almost in exasperation as he looked back up at him.

"I already knew, baby brother. I knew all along." That Sam was a freak, that he was in love with him. He could own up to it now, admit it. He could enjoy the impact it had on him too.

He leans down to kiss a line down Sam's chest, biting here and there as he went. "Your face always says everything you're thinking, you know... Your poker face is shit."

A faint, broken sound slips free as Dean answers and Sam stares at him down the line of his body. "You.. you knew?" Jesus. He knew? He knew all this time how screwed up he was?

Then Dean bit down on his chest, sending a sharp spike of pleasure through him, want drowning out anything else. "Why.. why didn't you say anything?"

"Why would I, Sam?" He looked up as he moved even further down, low on Sam's stomach.

"Thought you were sick. Thought maybe I made you that way... but now I can see you got plenty messed up all on your own. Hell, it was in your blood, wasn't it?" This wasn't confession time. Wasn't time to say he'd wanted it to growing up, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Cross that line that'd trap Sam anymore than he already was.

Of course, he'd also sucked at ever really letting Sam go, hadn't he? Been too weak. Too stupid.

And that was enough to dampen any further want he'd been feeling, to have Sam pushing up and away, attempting to put any kind of distance between them. Because he was sick, screwed up in the head and there was no fixing that, no fixing him. He loved Dean, he always would, but he can't.

"No. Don't.. Dean.. I can't. I can't do this."

Sam dragged a shaking hand across his face. "I can't."

"Of course you can." He reached out to take Sam's hand, draw it away from his face.

"You can do it. You can take what we've both always wanted. Don't back out on me now, Sammy."

"This isn't you." And one day he's going to get Dean back - and one day Dean will hate him for this, for taking advantage and letting the demon talk him into this.

"Dean, this isn't you."

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