#nymph writes

[nymphalidaze]

I love isolated, no boundaries wincest.

Dean who hit puberty way before Sam and just jerked off when he felt like it because there is no privacy in a motel room. Sam watching out of curiosity and asking questions, Dean learning that he doesn't just not care about the audience, he likes it.

Dean teaching Sam how to make himself feel good. Demonstrating his favourite techniques on himself and Sam copying. Dean teaching Sam how to stave off his orgasm until he's begging Dean to let him come. He never even told him he needed permission, that just developed organically, and it makes Dean lose his mind.

One of them had a wet dream so they lie practically on top of each other on the dry side of the bed.

Dean being a creep and watching porn in front of Sam, sometimes not even to jerk off, but just because he's bored. Watching porn together and jerking off side by side. It progresses to jerking each other off because it's no big deal, they're basically just one person at this point. What's the big deal about helping your brother out?

Brotherly bickering over who blows who first, once they cross that line. Dean always throws scissors and lets Sam decide anyway.

Competitions for who can make the other come first, using all the tricks they learnt on each other - they know what gets each other off.

They don't even see it the same way as sex with other people. It's just something they do. Dean, being older, understands how screwed up it is first but doesn't say anything to Sam; he doesn't want to stop.

[nymphalidaze]

Sam is too young to go on hunts, but Dean has been doing it for years. Sam wants to feel useful, needs to be part of it somehow. He envies and resents Dean and John for their relationship - close in the way only hunting partners can be, in the way people who've saved each other's lives are. He does research but it's not enough. It's not practical. John and Dean both hold practical skills higher than anything else.

So Sam studies first aid. John taught him what he learned in the marines and through trial and error, but Sam wants to do it right. He practices stitching on old t-shirts and holey socks until they're perfectly neat. He steals bottles of disinfectant so the older Winchesters don't resort to vodka and whiskey. He practices wrapping bandages on himself, mummification as an expression of devotion.

Dean lets Sam take care of him after hunts and it's a ritual they both hold sacred. Under the too dim or too bright lights of motel bathrooms, Sam tenderly cleans Dean's wounds, stitches him together, sets disjointed bones, and sometimes, when Dean allows, will massage stiff muscles until Dean is half asleep and making content noises that go straight to Sam's dick.

But nothing gets him hard quite like the injuries themselves.

Something is very, very wrong with Sam. He doesn't understand how he can be so sincerely concerned about Dean and also popping a boner at the sight of Dean's pretty face covered in blood. Dean just suffers so beautifully. Sam always liked the old paintings of saints in their heavenly suffering, and Dean is like his own personal Saint Sebastian.

If Dean notices, he doesn't say anything, granting Sam a little dignity. He also doesn't try to avoid Sam's help, so that must count for something.

Sam extends the favour of a blind eye. He knows it's just residual adrenaline that pitches an impressive tent in Dean's jeans, but it's hard to fully ignore when he's kneeling before him and it would be so easy to just...

Holy holy holy, Sam thinks.

[nymphalidaze]

John knows about Sam and Dean but he doesn't stop them because if Dean is in love with Sam, it's less likely he will let John fuck him like he wants to, and at this point it's the only thing stopping him. He knows Dean is unquestionably loyal to him but he loves Sam the most and he wouldn't hurt Sam like that.

John has thought about it for years. Obsessed over it. What are the limits of Dean's devotion? Would he accept it as just another order, just another way he looks after his family? Would he be disgusted by John or sympathetic, given his own illicit attraction to his brother? He knows it's different with his boys: their desire is mutual, they can barely keep their hands and their eyes to themselves, even when their only privacy is John's turned back.

He can't help but resent Sam and it's destroying their already strained relationship. It isn't fair that Sam gets to have Dean when John made Dean, when he wanted him first. John's got excellent self-control. He may be a monster for wanting his own son but he isn't a rapist, and even he, living on the fringes of society and frequently committing felonies, understands that incest is a taboo. It feels like his boys are rubbing it in his face. It's feels like some sick joke.

Then Sam leaves and there is nothing stopping him. He lies to himself and says it's comforting Dean. Dean's drunk the first time and John pretends he isn't moaning Sammy with his eyes closed. If he puts his hand over Dean's mouth, it almost sounds like daddy.

[nymphalidaze]

I do not see Dean as sadist canonically even if I may sometimes write him that way in fic for funsies. Separation of church (fanon) and state (canon).

The man is horrified when Castiel asks him to torture Alastair. He doesn't want to do it, he literally begs not to. He was forced into being a torturer as the only way he could stop his own torture. He 'liked' it because it was a break from suffering, not because he wanted to do it or got off from it. He is adept at it because he had to be. It's also one of the tools of the trade (hunting). The fact he is good at it is devastating. He has to slip into the same mindset that made him survive Hell just to get through it. That isn't Dean, that's a trauma response and a coping mechanism. That's dissociating from his true self to be what he has to be so get the job done or spare himself. And the latter isn't a weakness but he still hates himself for it. He hates torture and he hates who he has to be do to it. What he did in Hell haunts him for the rest of his life.

And if he does ever 'enjoy' a kill, it's a righteous feeling - he has killed one more monster, prevented more death, avenged innocents, avenged the people he loves. At best, this gratification could be considered non-sexual sadism, but if that's the case, Sam and every other hunter is also a sadist. I see it more as righteous fury and satisfaction.

Both Dean and Sam torture people for the job. There's that episode where they torture a man possessed by a demon for information about Lilith. They both do it with the same cognitive dissonance of it just being part of the job.

Dean was also hunting with John from a young age and burdened with knowledge of monsters and what John had to do during a time when Sam was still protected from the truth. Violence and death were a part of him from a horrifically young age. He had to become accustomed to it because he had no choice. His still-developing brain has to build itself around some true horrors and he STILL grew up to be a good man who dedicated his life to saving people.

Dean is also shown as being gentle with his partners in bed, and often in a more submissive role, with women on top. There's no indication that he is sexually sadistic. (caveat: I have only seen up to s8).

[nymphalidaze]

John refuses to fuck Dean. He just can't bring himself to cross that last line even though they've done everything except that for years. It's the last shred of sanity he has left. It's his only saving grace when the guilt eats him alive, when Dean is curled up with his head on his chest, naked and trusting and so, so endlessly loving, and he can't stop thinking this is my son, this is my baby boy, and I touch him like I touched his mother. If he doesn't fuck Dean then he hasn't ruined him completely. If he doesn't fuck Dean then they can come back from this. If he doesn't fuck Dean then he isn't entirely a monster, even if he feels like one most days.

It's killing him. Dean is killing him.

He wants it so bad. He's wanted it for years, for longer than he should have ever even been thinking about something like that. He's tried everything: begging, bargaining, insisting that he wants it, that it will be good, he will be good, he won't be hurt by it, he won't be damaged.

He's already irreparably damaged. If he wasn't, he wouldn't want it.

Dean loses his patience eventually. He's curious and full of teenage hormones and John knows he's been burned by his denial one too many times, so he's out to hurt John, to make him jealous.

It works. He disappears one evening and returns in the early morning before dawn, walking a little more bow-legged than usual, and John knows. He knows by the defiant glint in his eye that gives way to a wobble of his lips and then a flood of tears and apologies.

He holds Dean while he cries and begs for forgiveness. He smells like another man, and he can't stop thinking about it: was he good to Dean? Did he make it feel good? Did he make sure he was ready? Did he appreciate the impossible gift he was being given? Or did he just use him like any of those malnourished boys that haunted truck stops?

Grief curdles in his stomach and he wonders if this was really better than just giving in.

[nymphalidaze]

It was just something that they did for themselves. It was private. It was always meant to be private.

John bought the camcorder from a pawn shop. He figured it would come in handy on the job, but the first time he used it, it was to capture the way Dean's wet skin glimmered gold as he emerged from a motel pool in the low reaching fingers of sunset. Dean hadn't noticed at first, but when he did, he gave John a coy look and made a show of stretching his long, lean body. He was already growing into an exhibitionist. Hard to avoid, really, when they stole moments together in the car or back alleys or secluded woodland. So many rushed encounters before or after hunts or between Sam leaving for school and coming home. So many times they were so desperate for each other they couldn't wait to touch and kiss and fuck, so many times they risked being caught and somehow never were. If it wasn't so fucked up, Dean might have thought they had a guardian angel, but nothing heavenly had any part in their relationship.

The camcorder got crushed beyond repair during a hunt. They tossed it in the first trash can they found and didn't think about it again. Dean still had a few tapes, their longer ones, but he had never been able to watch them, not after John died. That was... fuck, that was almost ten years ago. Ten years and multiple deaths and he had saved the world a few times for good measure. Ten years and now he shared a bed and an unconventional home with his brother. Sam knew, of course. They didn't talk about it, but he knew. Maybe he always had.

Dean didn't watch gay porn often, but sometimes the urge took him from his usual sites to seedier ones. The ones where the focus was older men with younger boys, the ones where you just had to hope the boys were actually 18 because they sure as hell weren't a day older. He found a playlist titled 'best daddy & boy amateurs EVER!!' and clicked play.

He recognised the motel room before he recognised himself. Whoever had digitised the tape had separated each scene and uploaded the footage in chronological order, starting with South Carolina, Summer 1994. The videos ranged in length from under a minute to thirteen minutes long. All of these clips must have been on the tape in the camcorder when they trashed it. It was recklessly stupid in hindsight, but they were both half-dead from the hunt and didn't think someone would not only fish through trash but salvage the tape left behind. Well, someone did, and they had immortalised them on the internet.

The playlist had over a hundred thousand views.

Dean stared in some sort of numb shock as John swept the camera up the length of his sprawled-out body, stopping on his face. He had a slight sunburn blushing his nose and cheeks. His freckles were a lot bolder back then. His hair was longer, parted in the middle and falling to his cheekbones.

"C'mon, we don't have long 'til he's back," his teenage self said. Christ, he didn't remember his voice being that high.

John's answering rumble of a laugh was as deep as he remembered and it made his heart fucking rip apart. He hadn't heard that sound in so long.

John placed the camcorder somewhere off to the side of the bed and came into view, kneeing up onto the bed and crawling between Dean's legs. He watched his younger self spread them wider and reached for John, who ducked down to kiss him. He forgot how small he felt under him back then. He forgot how much he loved that. It made him feel safe. It made him feel like something precious.

God, but they both looked so young.

Dean was so young. He was sixteen.

He watched his teenage self and his long-dead father progress from kissing to grinding to John pushing inside of him and fuck, he could almost feel the phantom pain of it. It always hurt so good. It always overwhelmed him and made his brain shut off. Nobody else could ever give that to him until Sam.

It was a simple tape, just them fucking frantically, Dean on his back with his legs wrapped around John's waist, John giving it to him good and hard, his big hands roaming Dean's slender body before one covered his mouth when he got too noisy. He loved that. He remembers loving that. There was nothing performative about it, no impressive positions or fake moans, just two people lost in pleasure. Just a father and son stealing a few moments together in a motel room, committing several sins and crimes and not caring one bit.

Tears rolled down his cheeks. He was completely soft in his jeans.

He clicked download on the entire playlist and then reported the site. God only knew how many people had downloaded copies of his sex tapes with his father. He didn't want to know. He didn't want anyone else to see this. It was only ever meant for them.

He scrubbed his search history, saved the videos to a USB, deleted them from his laptop, and took a shower. Sam returned home later with groceries and took one look at Dean before he put the bags down and wrapped him in his arms.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

Dean held on tightly and buried his face in the crook of his shoulder.

"Nothing. Just... thinking about Dad."

Sam pulled back but kept his arms around Dean. He looked him in the eyes, eyebrows doing that concerned scrunch that was so dear to Dean.

"You wanna talk about it?" Sam asked.

"Nothing to talk about. I just miss him sometimes."

Sam pressed a soft kiss to his lips, one hand sliding down low to pull him closer, kissing him again and again until Dean was breathless and his lips were swollen.

"I can make you forget him," Sam murmured.

They didn't talk about it, but Sam knew. Maybe he had always known.

[nymphalidaze]

The first time they fuck, Sam's not a virgin, but he's never been with a guy before.

Dean has, though he doesn't exactly admit it, his experience is evidence enough. He guides Sam through it in a way that manages to be both filthy and informative - yeah, like that, spread your fingers, fuck, gimme another one, curl them, oh God Sammy. Sam doesn't question how easy Dean takes it. He doesn't have any baseline to measure it against. Dean barely needs any prep most days because he's that eager for it, even though Sam's proportionally big enough that Dean sobs his way through sex half the time, all while insisting he likes it, loves it, loves the way Sam splits him in two and leaves him hollow and aching afterwards.

It isn't until they reunite after years apart that he realises something wasn't right about how easy it had been for Dean to take Sam's cock.

The first time after a long time, Dean squirms and pants and winces his way from start to finish. They barely bothered with prep before, usually because they were short on time or just that desperate for each other, and this time is no different. Sam slicks himself up and drives his cock into his brother and for the first time ever, it's hard getting into him. It's a fight for every inch, and Sam feels like Dean's gonna cut off the circulation to his cock. Dean goes soft before Sam coaxes him back to hardness and that has never happened before. Dean whines about how it feels like Sam is shoving a baseball bat inside him, and this time, the tears aren't good ones. They barely manage to finish, and afterwards, Dean lays there trembling.

"Been a while," Dean says by way of explanation that only raises more questions.

"Who were you screwing, back then?" Sam asks later.

Dean lifts his head up from where it's pillowed on Sam's chest. Two weeks later and Dean takes it a lot easier now. He just proved how back in the saddle he is by riding Sam like some demented incubus cowboy.

"What?" he asks.

"When we first started fucking. Who was he?"

Dean looks confused, and then that blank expression Sam remembers from when they were young shutters his eyes, and then that falsely light-hearted, joking look replaces it.

"Nobody. Why, you getting territorial?" he teases, but his voice has a nervous edge to it.

Sam can't stop thinking about it. Even when they didn't get a chance to fuck for weeks because Dad was always around, always needed Dean for something, always had his attention, every time they fucked it was like Dean was already ready for it, like he'd--

Like he'd just been fucked.

But the only other person Dean was every around was Dad. He barely left Dad's side. If they went drinking, they went together and returned together. They hunted together. They did the damn groceries together. They were always together.

When the hell did Dean find time for a secret boyfriend? Or even casual hookups?

It isn't until they find Dad again that it clicks. The way they rush into each other's arms, the tearful way they look at each other, the way Sam swears they're about to kiss but Dad's eyes flick to Sam and suddenly they're pulling apart.

He's wrong. He has to be wrong.

Then Dad's leaving again, so quickly after their reunion. As they're saying their goodbyes, he sees the dark marks left by Sam's mouth on Dean's throat and he touches his fingers to them, eyes going dark as his expression becomes something almost terrifying.

"War wounds," Dean tries to dismiss.

Dad locks his eyes with Dean.

"Don't lie to me, boy." His eyes snap to Sam. "I need to talk to your brother."

Then they're driving off and Sam's left holding the keys to the impala and questioning is own sanity. He questions it right until the moment Dean returns to their room, and Sam knows the shape of the bite marks covering the bruises he left on Dean's throat.

[nymphalidaze]

There are many acts of devotion you can perform for your father.

You can take his blood-stained clothes to the laundromat while he sleeps off a dislocated shoulder. You can pick up dinner without needing to ask what he wants because you've got his preferences memorised. You can pour him whiskey into the plastic cups from the motel bathroom because it feels a little more dignified than drinking from the bottle. You can unlace his boots when he's stiff and tired from a hunt and pretend the weight of his eyes isn't what keeps you kneeling long after they're off. You can massage a crick out of his neck from sleeping behind the wheel and not look down to where his jeans are tighter than they were before you laid your hands on him. You can stitch the wounds he can't reach and kiss the injury the way mom kissed your skinned knees and say all better, and not flinch when he thumbs the blood off your lips. You can preempt his needs and hand him the tool, the gun, the pen he wanted before he opens his mouth and bask in the fondness in his eyes. You can look after his other son like he's your own and give him one less thing to worry about. You can drop out of high school to be more available for what he needs: a hunting partner, a drinking partner, a surrogate housewife-mother-caretaker. You can say those three littlebig words you can't say when you're both sober on the nights when he needs to hear it most, and you can pretend he isn't crying, isn't repeating those words over and over and over again to you.

You can take your clothes off and let him look at you while he jerks off, but you can never, ever let him touch you. There are many rules you follow because your father tells you to, and no matter what you want, his word is law.