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If Dean really wanted to think about it, and he wanted nothing more than to go back to hell and face Alistair on the rack once more rather than go into deep thought about this, he might be able to pinpoint the source and the origin he might, maybe and even then he's pointing some sort of finger, at the night that their mom died and his dad placed Sammy into his arms and told him to "Take Sammy outside as fast as you can and don't look back."
He'd like to blame their dad for putting so much responsibility onto him and so much of everything onto his small shoulders, the later years didn't help at all either since he was responsible for looking after Sammy, if that meant that in the beginning he had to be the one to feed and diaper and change Sammy while their dad was God knows where and later on hunting and looking for answers on what happened to mom, it later became that he would lay down his life for Sammys in a heartbeat.
Ever since the fire Sammy had become the number one person in his life. He was the reason he started to smile and talk again after watching their house burn down in flames with their mom inside with it. He was the reason, and really the fact that he was putting so much into an infant at such a young age should have been a giant glaring red sign but apparently their dad wasn't paying attention at the time, but Sammy became the reason that he was able to get up in the morning and why he was able to get through each day.
It was all rather pure back then, before puberty at least. There wasn't any sort of sexual feelings or desires or wishes for release of any sort.
That came later.
But the only thing, the only thing that prevented him from all but stabbing himself in the chest to try to make sure that he didn't do something like molest Sam in both of their sleep or something was that it started way back then. Back when it was all hugs and comforting Sammy when he had a nightmare and kisses on the cheeks or the foreheads. Smoothing out the curls and knots in his hair and bandaging scraps and wounds from the playground.
It was simple and pure love for his brother, feeling his chest warm up when Sammy would grin up at him, a small gap in between his teeth showing that he had lost one tooth. How his face would light up whenever Dean would take his lunch break at school to sneak into the lower grades and would see him.
Everything changed however once he started puberty.
Suddenly, it seemed at least, everything was about his dick and about what he could do to get it off.
It so didn't help that they were still sharing one bed, their dads attempt at finding various ways to save money.
Sam was still small enough to fit into his arms, and he took as much advantage of that as he could, the little bastard; he loved him. Sam loved sleeping in the same bed together, would jump into the middle of it and sit there, blinking his precious hazel eyes up at Dean, his hair flopping in front of his face.
Sammy loved curling up close to him, sleeping right next to one another to the point that they could feel each others heartbeats through their chests and shirts.
And unfortunately to his confused and constantly horny dick it meant a warm body to rut up against in the dead of night and the early morning before he could wake up and really understand what his body was doing.
Every morning that it happened the second he realized just what his body was doing his eyes would snap open and he jump off of the bed and into the bathroom almost in a single leap, leaving behind a very confused and still half asleep Sammy on the bed.
He would lock the door, lean against it with all of his might, and he would try to finish in the bathroom, thinking of anything else besides his little brother and how nice he felt against his own body.
So Dean would like nothing more than hormones to blame for what he felt but as Sam continued to grow, turning from Sammy to Sam, although he would always be Sammy to him no matter how many times he would protest the nickname. He turned from a scared little boy to a stubborn as hell teenager and then a standing tall and proud man.
And if anything, his feelings and whatever the hell the emotions that were going through him were, grew along with Sam as he continued to grow.
And eventually so did his shame and guilt he was feeling.
And the worst part? The absolute worst part was that nothing he did manage to make the feelings go away. He went to countless bars and tried to drown his feelings and liver in alcohol and he took every willing woman and man to his bed in an attempt to chase those not right feelings out of him.
He tried to substitute the feelings, give them a different outlet to focus on rather than his brother. Towards the end of Sammys teenage years he started to take more people into his bed that resembled Sam in some sort of way. Either the right shade of hazel eyes or brown hair, dimples when they smiled, or simply a light in their eyes that reminded him of Sam.
Once Sam left for Stanford he breathed out a small sigh of relief, despite how his heart was twisting in his chest and making it hard to breathe, he was going to blame that entirely on all the alcohol and maybe he got some sort of STD from one of his barmates, he hoped at least because that would make it a little bit better than feeling as if his entire being was being ripped out because his little brother had left the family for college.
However Dean realized, with such a clear clarity and revelation that left nothing for the imagination and nothing to even second guess when everything that he managed to push back into the deepest and darkest corners of his mind, to the point where he would sometimes only rarely think about it when his thoughts wavered to about Sam was the night when he broke into Sams apartment, fought with him, and pinned him to the ground with a "Whoa, easy tiger."
And he knew that he was double screwed when Sam turned it around and pinned him to the ground instead, the feeling of his brother on top of him stirred sleeping feelings inside of him that he hadn't even realized and he quickly scurried out from under Sam before any part of him could come and stand at attention.
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It was simultaneously better and worse being back on the road with Sammy once more. Better because he had something to distract himself, Sam was mourning after Jessica and swearing to get revenge for her death, something Dean wouldn't deny him; he'd never been good at denying Sammy anything.
Worse because they were pinned at the hips once more, pinned together as only two people who spent all their time together in almost every way but sexual. They lived in each others pockets, lines blurring together as they would catch each other in every state of undress either because of showers or wounds that needed to be patched up or the few times one of them, mostly and at times mainly Dean. He needed those distractions more than anything now that he had so much more to see of Sam and those few glimpses that left nothing to the imagination.
Although at the same time he was starting to go to bars less and less, flirting with girls less and less, spending more and more time with his brother and more by his side.
Often times he would have to stop himself from reaching out to wrap his arm around Sams waist, pulling it back to just in time to slide it into his back pocket instead. He would sometimes lean forward as if to kiss Sams cheek or something, maybe his lips a corner of his mind would tell him, but always immediately pull back and crack some sort of joke instead.
It really shouldn't have been a surprise to anyone really when he sold his soul for Sam to come back to life.
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The four months, the forty years, he spent in hell weren't that bad physically, he could handle pain and if he couldn't well, he would just close his eyes and try to pretend he was somewhere else. When they ripped off his eyelids so he couldn't that anymore he just tried to think of better things.
It was the mental torture that was worse than anything else. Hell, and especially Alistair, was a master of torture and that was never limited to just physical tortures. Hell was just a whole bit optical illusion really, nothing was really concrete and nothing really had a shape of its own, another way of torture if they could look like someone else that would rip straight to the core of the persons being.
At first Alistair liked to take dads shape, his image and his voice down to a perfection. But he had accepted a long time ago just how badly dad screwed up with them, how much crap that he had put on them, mostly him, so within a few short months, hell time of course, he managed to block out Alistairs attempts of his dad completely.
Everything changed however when he used Sam instead.
He broke almost immediately
He thought that at least the image of his brother, the subject of his affections for so long, torturing and hurting and breaking him entirely would at least be able to wipe away whatever he felt for Sam.
He knew that was wrong the moment he hugged Sam after forty years in hell and realized that Alistair had never really gotten his smile or his eyes just right.
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Dean grunted as Sam dug his thumb into his shoulder and fought the urge to pull away from him.
"Stop whining, I need to do this before your muscles lock up." Sam repeated to him as he pressed again in the same spot.
"Doesn't mean that I need to like it." Dean mumbled as he tried to roll his shoulders back and groaned at the pain.
Sam tightened his grip on his other shoulder. "Stop moving." he said. "You're going to make it worse."
Dean sighed through his nose and tried to remain still even as it felt that Sam was digging his fingers into his nerves.
He let his mind wander slightly, a part of him enjoying that Sams hands were on him and touching him, even through a shirt.
He'd more or less made his peace with being in love with his brother, its been years and they've been through a fuckton, to say the least, and there were always something more important to focus on.
"One of the reasons this hurts so much, is that you're really tense." Sam said, rubbing the heel of his palm against the back of Deans neck. "Seriously tense, I'm surprised that you haven't snapped in two yet."
Another grunt was his only answer, he didn't want to talk or think about anything besides Sams hands on him and imprinting the entire thing to memory as best as he could.
"When was the last time you got laid?" Sam asked suddenly.
The question was so sudden and out of nowhere that Dean opened his eyes and turned his head to look at his brother. "What?"
"When was the last time you had sex?" Sam repeated, staring at him. "You haven't gone out in ages, I've noticed Dean, and if you had sex, you might not be as tense and rigid."
"What happened to respecting partners and not going after them just for sex or looking at them like pieces of meat?" Dean asked, raising an eyebrow.
Sam rolled his eyes and pressed harder on the pressure point making Dean yelp. "I still mean that but I know you, you do respect your partners, yes I said partners you're not as slick as you think you are I know all about the guys. I don't like doing that but that's me. I know you."
Dean just stared at him in slight surprise, towards the end he hadn't really been hiding the fact that he swung both ways but he still thought he had some sort of secrets from his brother, especially since he never said anything.
"So maybe if you have sex, you'll be a bit more...looser and not as rigid." Sam continued and finished with a nod.
Dean opened his mouth and closed it, grinding his teeth together as he searched for the right words.
Some of the words were that it wasn't any of Sams business. Some of them were that he just didn't need it as much as Sam thought he had needed it. Some of them were just simply that he wanted his brother and no one else would suffice.
That in all honesty he just couldn't imagine ever going to bed with anyone else besides his brother no matter how sick or how wrong that sounded. That he was willing to not have sex for the rest of his life, no problem, because he couldn't help but keep imagining his brother and that wasn't fair to his partner.
"I'm fine Sam." he finally said, turning again to stare straight ahead. "Just hurry up and set my back straight so I can get to sleep."
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Everything came to a head when they were on a hunt one day and things went south quicker than the engine on the impala. They had been hunting a rouge werewolf, something that was always hard for Sam because each werewolf reminded him of Madison.
This one had been a fast one too, moving faster than any other werewolf they had faced before and Dean barely managed to get two shots in, neither one of them even coming close to touching it.
The only thing that really managed to shake him to the core was when he saw the werewolf jump and land on Sam, its jaws snapping too damn close to Sams throat, claws in his chest, and before he could even blink he had brought his gun up and shot three times, each one landing in the things heart and killing it almost instantly.
"Sam!" Dean shouted, running to his brother and skidding to a halt next to him. His brother had pushed the corpse off of him and was gasping for breath, eyes wide with adrenaline and fear.
"Sam, are you alright? Did he bite you?" Dean demanded, reaching out to cup and touch Sams face and down to his chest, feeling around for wounds or blood.
Sam shook his head, breathing slowly evening out as slowly he started to calm down. "I'm okay." he said, smiling softly as he did. "I'm alright, barely touched me."
Dean would never be able to fully admit the feeling of relief that would go through him every time he learned that Sam wasn't hurt and was okay, every wound that his brother got almost felt like a failure of the worst kind, he would have preferred that he had gotten hurt instead. It was why he would almost always try to throw himself in front of whatever was going to hurt him but those times he failed, it was almost worse than his time in hell because this, this was real.
Taking a deep breath to try to steady his nerves he felt a small chuckle escape him and within a few seconds he started to laugh, one arm curling around his stomach and the other still on Sams chest.
He felt Sam start to laugh as well before he heard him. Soon enough the both of them were laughing hard, their entire bodies shaking until there were tears gathering in the corners of their eyes and they couldn't breathe again.
"Why are we laughing?" Sam asked, when they had a moment to breath and try to talk.
Dean shook his head. "I don't know." he said and they were laughing again, leaning on each other and laughing until they weren't making a single sound and they were gasping for breath.
Still grinning he looked up at his brother and felt his breath get caught in his throat. The full moon was shining on them from above and just helped to illuminate all of Sams features, the light in his eyes and just how almost perfect his hair fell in front of his face. He would always tease and joke about Sams hair and its length but in all honesty, it suited his brother more than anything. His face was soft and relaxed as he stared at Dean with a small smile still tugging at his lips.
Sam tilted his head slightly. "Dean?" he asked softly.
Forgetting everything, forgetting everything he had ever told himself and every barrier he had set up and every last bit he ever thought Dean leaned forward, closed the remaining distance, and kissed his brother on the lips.
Sams lips were softer than he ever imagined, soft and easy and with just a flick of his tongue parted easily as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss, their tongues curling around one anothers with a small moan as he pressed closer to him and-
His eyes snapped open and he tore himself away in horror, one hand coming up to his mouth as he pushed himself back against the ground to give Sam more space.
Sam opened his eyes as well and his tongue slid along his bottom lip, obviously tasting Dean there. "Why did you stop?" he asked softly.
"I....what?" Dean asked, his eyes wide and his heart hammering in his chest.
"Why did you stop?" he repeated.
Dean slowly brought his hand down as he stared at Sam incredulously.
Sam raised an eyebrow at him. "Dean." he said, gently as if he believed that Dean was made of glass and needed to be handled with care. "I've known for a long time, you don't need to be scared about it and you don't need to be so damn scared. You never had to be."
Years of being ashamed and years of hiding and years of hating himself flew past his eyes at that moment. "Why didn't you say anything?" he asked in a hard almost angry whisper.
"Because you needed to do it first." Sam said, still in that soft gentle voice. "Because you never would've accepted just me doing it, you needed to realize it yourself and realize that it was okay and you can do it." He smiled and crawled over to Dean, crossing the remaining distance. "Because I know you and you needed to make that first move. And I've been waiting a long, long" he leaned forward and his breathe ghosted over Deans lips. "time for this."
This time Sam pressed his lips to Deans and moaned at the feeling, one hand coming up to course his fingers through Deans short hair, pulling the strands at the ends before tightening and pressing Dean closer.
It was everything Dean had wanted and more than he had ever hoped. He ripped away from the kiss but brought his hands up to grasp Sams shirt tightly. "There's no way you've been wanting this longer than I have." he rasped. "And I am pissed off at you."
Sam grinned and leaned in to kiss him again. "Yeah." he breathed, almost moaned out, "What are you going to do Dean? Spank me?"
"Don't tempt me brat." Dean grounded out as he wrapped his arm around Sams waist to pull him into his lap and kiss him once more, unable to get his fill of the kiss.
"Well don't threaten me with a good time if you don't intend to deliver." Sam shot back.
Dean tightened his hold on Sam and grounded up into him, causing Sam to moan hard.
"Gotta get back...to the motel." Sam gasped out, grinding down against Dean. "Don't wanna do this on the forest floor."
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Later, after all the touches and kisses, after the caresses and the tastings, when they were lying spent in the bed, curled up together and listening to each others heartbeats Sam decided to talk.
"So how long?" he asked, looking down at Dean.
"Mm?" Dean sounded, not entirely sure of anything at the moment.
Sam nudged at him. "How long?" he repeated. "You said that there was no way I had wanted this longer than you have, so how long have you wanted this?"
Dean breathed out through his nose and looked up at Sam. "You first." he said. "You tell me first."
Sam smiled and seemed to decide to amuse him for the time being. "I was a kid, I think I was about six or seven." he said, playing with the hairs on the back of Deans neck. "And we were talking about getting married and people spending the rest of their lives together. I realized that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you, no one else could even hope to compare and I guess...that feeling just never really went away." He leaned down and kissed the top of Deans head. "Still hadn't, your turn."
He considered lying and saying something similar, or something different. He thought about saying that he had realized it when Sam started to show interest in other people and how he would get jealous. He thought about saying almost anything else other than the truth.
But anything else seemed almost like a slap in the face, the lie that it was and Dean never, ever wanted to lie to his brother ever again.
So he looked up at Sam, leaned up to kiss him softly, one hand cupping the side of Sams face, and whispered against his lips. "My whole damn life."
