Half of the problem had been taken care of. Dean was no longer sporting the black eyes, but the Mark of Cain remained firmly scarred on his arm. One problem at a time; at least Dean was alive and he wasn’t gone in the wind. He was safe. He was home.
There was some residual awkwardness after the entire ordeal. Sam was physically exhausted from taking beatings left and right simply trying to track down his brother, and the emotional toll from the extremes he went to to close in on him were really starting to settle in. Guilt, shame… but those were two emotions that he practically lived in, so it was a little strange to see that Dean was experiencing them as well.
Sam tried not to call too much attention to it. He wanted things to go back to normal. He didn’t bitch about cooking real bacon for breakfast or complain when Dean would load up old westerns on his laptop to watch at full volume in the library, which both delighted and annoyed Dean.
“What’s with the business class service, Sammy?” Dean asked when Sam sat a tumbler of whiskey next to him at the table.
“What do you mean?” Sam responded with his eyebrows giving a slight raise.
“I mean the drink service, the full cholesterol menu, unlimited screen time. Last time you were this nice to me, I had a hell hound on my ass. What gives?”
Sam looked a little shamefaced. He didn’t think he was being too obvious about it, but Dean could read him like a book.
“Y-you’ve just been through a lot,” Sam replied. “I figured you could use a break and just get settled in. Back to normal.”
“You’re one to talk,” Dean gestured towards Sam’s slinged arm before giving him an expectant gaze. “You look like shit.”
It was true, though. After carrying Dean’s corpse and putting him on his bed, Sam’s psyche spiraled. Hard. And then finding him gone with the knowledge that he was out there somewhere had him desperate. He wasn’t sleeping, he wasn’t eating, he had dropped some muscle mass (not to say he was anything close to not physically fit, but he simply wasn’t as strong as he had been before.) That’s how the demon had got the drop on him, even with Castiel as back up.
“I’m just sayin’. You’re patchy,” Dean spoke as he touched his own chin to signify Sam’s shortcomings on personal grooming. “And your hair, missing that Disney princess luster."
Sam gave a short scoff and a shake of his head.
“Yeah, well, I’m kinda down one arm,” Sam replied as he gave a small lift of his injured limb. He still showered and shaved more often than Dean, he’d put money on that.
Dean closed the lap top and let his boot fall from the chair it was resting on to stand before he moved to clap his hand on Sam’s uninjured shoulder.
“C’mon, let’s get you back in order.”
Sam wanted to argue, but Dean had that ‘don’t fight me on this’ look so he knew it’d be pointless. With a resigned sigh, he gave a tight lipped smile and a nod of his head before he let Dean push him in the direction of the showers.
Sam assumed this was Dean’s attempt at extending an olive branch. There was still plenty that they hadn’t discussed, if anything at all, but he knew Dean’s habits when it came to an apology without actually having to say it. Growing up, his brother’s go-to was sneaking Sammy out to do stuff he knew their father wouldn’t let them do, or letting him pick what they got to eat for dinner, or even picking the music when they were driving to the next town. It seemed those mannerisms had rubbed off on Sam because he was giving him the same treatment.
They entered the bathroom and Dean came behind Sam to unbuckle the sling that was wrapped around Sam’s middle, carefully helping him to remove it. They didn’t talk as he helped him get undressed, because Sam could manage that part by himself, he had done it previously when Dean wasn’t around, but he didn’t want to risk Dean changing his mind.
Sam leaned against the sink for a moment, watching his brother’s reflection behind him as he stripped down as well and moved to turn on the shower for them, his eyes following as the steam began to billow out once it was at temperature. Sam didn’t need to be babied, he was more than capable of handling things like showering or shaving, but he wasn’t going to pass this opportunity up. He missed Dean. The past couple of years had been just a pile on of shit that just kept getting worse and things such as personal needs or desires were permanently on the back burner. The trials, the angels, knights of hell, the mark of Cain… even their run of the mill hunting didn’t seem so important anymore, not with the fate of the world resting on their shoulders.
“You comin’ or what?” Dean asked as he stepped into the running shower and Sam gave a nod and followed suit.
The hot spray of water was actually welcome on his flesh. He wasn’t exactly due for a shower, but it was nice to be able to enjoy it this time under the premise of getting pampered. Dean had already reached for Sam’s shampoo and lathered it up in his hands.
“Head back,” he murmured. Dean hadn’t washed his hair in years. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he had done this. Maybe when he broke his arm? It seemed fuzzy. Definitely when they were kids, but he could remember the sensation perfectly. He tipped his head back to allow it to soak with water before Dean was working his fingers through his hair. Sam closed his eyes and exhaled through his nose, taking just a moment to enjoy before his guilt was nagging at him.
“You know you don’t have to do this,” Sam spoke softly.
“Consider it retribution for comin’ after you with a hammer.”
Sam chuckled slightly, giving a subtle shake of his head as he kept his eyes closed to keep shampoo from getting into them.
“Plus I needed a shower. Two birds, one stone.”
Sam simply smiled, tilting his head back when it was guided to rinse the shampoo out of his hair, Dean’s hands pushing back at his hair line to ensure none of the suds would temporarily blind his brother. He could feel his fingers slide through over the top of his head and to the base of his skull before he was being guided towards him, Dean pressing their lips together.
Sam could have easily gone weak in the knees at the soft embrace of lips. It felt like forever since they had shared a moment, let alone any physicality. He returned the kiss and with his good arm, he looped it around Dean’s waist and brought them closer together. It was slow and warm, their tongues languidly coming together as they made out in the warm drizzle of the water.
Dean guided his hand down the front of Sam’s chest, sliding it even lower until he wrapped his fingers around Sam’s length, which earned a small sound from the younger once the kiss had broken.
“Dean,” Sam exhaled, letting his shoulders drop some as he leaned forward and rested his forehead against Dean’s shoulder.
“S’alright, Sammy. I got you,” Dean replied, his voice low and encouraging. Sam’s right hand had been out of commission, but he hadn’t exactly been in the mood since… well, to be fair, he couldn’t really remember the last time he had even entertained the idea of pleasuring himself even when he had use of his dominant hand.
Sam didn’t get hard right away, couldn’t find the energy or the right state of mind to get into even with the skillful coercion of Dean’s hand. Ever since the trials, Sam hadn’t felt in control of his own body, like there was a disconnect from his nerves to his brainstem. It was hard to feel much of anything, and that added an extra dose of guilt on his conscience.
Sam squeezed his eyes shut even tighter as he tried to focus on the sensations of Dean’s hand working him from base to tip and the feeling of him being pressed close. Finally he felt himself harden and he parted his lips, exhaling a soft moan of pleasure. Dean responded in kind by laying his mouth against the bend of Sam’s shoulder and neck.
It felt good, Sam couldn’t deny that, but he was innately aware of his lack of libido which was a touch embarrassing. Dean didn’t seem to mind because he kept up his efforts, jerking him off with practiced ease. He increased his speed slightly, changing his grip now and again to help bring Sam closer to the edge. He was well practiced with him, knew what worked and what didn’t through years of intimate discovery. He could tell when Sam was close by the way his breathing changed and how his muscles tensed, so he continued on, determined to work him to completion.
Sam’s breath hitched, his exhale paired with a moan before he felt his arousal give a small throb. He came in Dean’s hand, his brother’s grip still sliding up and down to work him through the orgasm until he was sure he was thoroughly sated.
Their mouths met again until Sam felt weak in the knees again. The combination of the steam and the headrush from his climax had him leaning against Dean, grateful for being propped up.
“Alright, c’mon,” Dean spoke, making sure they were both rinsed before he turned off the water and guided Sam out, wrapping a towel around his waist. “Never really, uh.. Thanked you. For everything,” he murmured as he secured the towel.
“It’s fine, Dean,” Sam replied, careful not to jostle his injury.
“Nothing is fine, Sammy. I know we’re pretty screwed up on a global scale, but at least we’re screwed up together.”
Sam couldn’t come up with a response. He simply nodded his head and ran a hand through his wet hair as Dean wrapped a towel around his own waist.
“You wanna pick the movie tonight, or you think you can stomach another western?”
“So long as it’s Tombstone,” he replied. “Kilmer gets a pass.”
“Damn right he does,” Dean grinned.
↳ can be found on ao3 here.
