#Jesus Sam these tags are out of control shut the fuck up dude!

[whysamwhy123]

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.........................................................................do I really want to write Ricky/Christian??

[writethelifeyouwant]

Paint It Black

Pairing: Sam x Dean 

Rating: 16+

Tags: wax play, unholy thoughts in church, incest, making out, angst

Word Count: 3.8k 

Created for: @spnkinkbingo - Wax Play Kink | @anyfandomgoesbingo - Locked In | @first-time-wincest-fest 10x16 Paint It Black 

Dividers: @firefly-graphics

The dreary grey of the Worcester sky matches the mood Sam is in as they trudge into the church on the main drag of the historic town centre. Dean is so convinced there is a case to be had here, but so far, Sam hasn’t seen any concrete proof. Just – as he had predicted – some unfortunately angled nude selfies on one of the deceased's confiscated cell phones. He had been less than pleased about that – to Dean’s endless amusement.

Sam leaves Dean with Sister Mathias to do what he does best, though Sam does have doubts about whether his brother’s charms will work on a woman sworn to celibacy in the service of Jesus Christ. Still, she wouldn’t be the most unlikely person to have succumbed to Dean’s flirting – Sam definitely holds that prize. Shaking himself from those thoughts – what a place to think about your weird incestuous crush, Jesus – fuck. Sorry, God – Sam follows the EMF meter in a circle around the perimeter of the congregational hall. The readings are consistent but low level, like a background energy of spiritual activity which, for a church, is not actually all that concerning to him. When a stronger surge registers at the entrance to a side chamber, Sam pushes at the door, happy to find it unlocked, and he ducks into the dark room after checking over his shoulder and seeing Dean standing quite a bit closer to the nun than strangers should be to each other.  

Inside, Sam can’t find the light switch, so he grabs his phone and turns on the flashlight, aiming it at the EMF metre to get a look at the readings. The spike that had registered outside the door a moment ago has died out, and only small blips are twitching the needle on its face. He shrugs to himself, but figures he may as well check out the rest of the room now he’s here. In the short beam of light from his phone, he can see stacks of bibles and hymnals, boxes of hosts, and piles of candlesticks – your typical Catholic accoutrements. A creak behind him makes Sam spin around, only to find Dean ducking into the room, looking furtive.

“Hey, man. Find anything?” Dean keeps his voice down.

“No,” Sam shakes head, holding up his EMF reader to demonstrate his lack of supernatural evidence.

“Yours broken?” Dean looks quizzically at Sam and reaches to retrieve his own from his pocket. “Mine was reading off the charts outside…” but he trails off when he sees his own metre is just as blank as Sam’s.

“Weird, right?” Sam shines his light towards Dean and makes his way back to his brother, when the light on his phone flickers and goes out.

“Dude, turn the light back on,” Dean demands in a hushed tone. Sam shakes his phone frustratedly, but he can’t get the light to reignite. His whole phone has gone dead.

“What the hell?” Sam mutters to himself, shoving it back in his jeans and carefully stepping the rest of the way to Dean. “Mine’s dead – try yours?”

“Mine’s in the car.”

“You didn’t bring your cell phone?” Sam asks, incredulous and exasperated. Dean is such a fucking idiot sometimes, it astounds him.

“Shut up,” Dean scoffs. “Let’s just get out of here.” He turns to open the door and step back into the church vestibule – but it’s stuck.

“Dude, open the door,” Sam shoves at Dean’s shoulder.

“I’m trying, dude. It’s locked.”

“You locked us in?” Sam hisses, resolving to smack Dean’s head against the door to get it open, if that’s what it takes.

“I didn’t lock us in, douchewad. I think this place is haunted – spook must’a blocked the door somehow.”

“Well, un-block it.”

“I’m trying, it won’t budge.” Dean hammers at the door, jangles the knob, kicks the baseboard – nothing. “Find some light, will ya? Can’t see a damn thing.”

Sam huffs, annoyed, but turns toward the table with the stack of candlesticks he’d seen earlier and grabs for a couple tapers. He passes one to Dean and pulls a packet of matches out of his wallet to light his, then taps the flame to Dean’s candle. Sam drops against the table, brooding, and not wild about being trapped in a small, dark room with his brother.

Things had been tense between them since Dean’s return to humanity. Sam isn’t precisely sure why, though. From his perspective, he’s relieved to have Dean back after spending so long separated and worried about whether the brother he had known had permanently dissolved into a demonic version of his former self. Dean, on the other hand, hasn’t been acting very relieved to see Sam. Sam isn’t sure what’s running through Dean’s brain these days, but whatever it is, it’s something he’s trying to keep off his brother’s radar, that much Sam’s sure of.

“So what’s your plan of action here, Rambo?”

“I don’t know, use some of your hair gel to grease the lock?” Dean snarks, crouching down to peer at the keyhole. Sam laughs reluctantly at the jibe, then hisses as a pearl of hot wax drops onto the back of his hand. Dean turns, concerned at Sam’s outburst, to see his little brother shaking his hand agitatedly. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Sam flexes his fingers to break off the wax that’s drying there. “Just dripped some wax on my hand.”

“Kinky,” Dean grins and waggles his eyebrows.

“Shut up,” Sam grimaces, hoping it’s too dark for Dean to see the blush creeping up his neck. Please, God, do not let him know about…

“Ooh, touchy subject?” Dean pouts, tauntingly. “What Sammy, got a wax kink?”

“Dean, shut up,” Sam realises too late that denying it is the wrong move. He absolutely just confirmed for Dean that he does have a wax kink.

“Well, well, little brother,” Dean grins, eyes glinting like a wolf’s in the dark of the small cupboard. “Someone is more adventurous than I gave him credit for – guess church is the place for confessions, heh?”

“Dean, I swear…” Sam grits his teeth, coming up blank on a decent threat to follow up with.

“Aw, don’t be like that, Sammy.” Dean is stalking closer to Sam now, his resemblance to a predator more and more pronounced with each step towards his brother, who is inconveniently trapped against the table he’s sitting on. The candle in Dean’s hand is dripping down its body, the trails of wax building over themselves, the rivulets driving their way towards Dean’s skin. “S’just a little wax, nothing scary.”

“I’m not scared, Dean,” Sam scoffs, but his hackles are up. He’s not scared of the wax – he is scared of how his body will react if Dean drips wax onto him as he’s threatening to do right now.

“Hold out your hand.”

“What?” Sam is genuinely nonplussed.

“Hold out your hand.” Dean’s voice rumbles through the small space left between them, and Sam can’t explain it, but he obeys. Like Dean is a magnet and his body is no longer under his own control. His hand extends towards Dean, stilling in the pool of light flickering beneath the candlestick in the older man’s hand. Slowly – cautiously – Dean tips the candle, directing the flow of the wax to Sam’s outstretched fingertips. The first drops sizzle against Sam’s skin, his nerves burning from the heat of the wax and the heat of the arousal that’s blooming in his belly. Dean moves the tip of the candle to drizzle over the tender skin of Sam’s upturned wrist without needing his eyes to guide its path, because the green orbs glinting in the warm candlelight are focused solely on Sam’s hazel ones, which are watering with the effort of not flinching.

“So” –Sam can feel Dean’s words against his cheek– “do you confess?”  

Sam gulps. Looks down to the pearly splashes on his skin, outlined in blush. He looks back up to Dean, who’s standing taller than him for once because he’s still leaning against the table, and he takes a deep breath.

“Agents?” A knock sounds at the cupboard door and it creaks open, dousing the brothers in light. They fly apart, and Dean drops his candle, the flame going out against the stone floor.

“Father,” Dean squawks, brushing his hands against his trousers like he’s cleaning them off, and pushing them in his pockets. “What time do you hear confession today?”

Sam hovers to the side of the confessional, trying to look like he isn’t eavesdropping, which is difficult because he is listening to everything Dean is saying about ‘Gina’ to the surely perplexed priest. They’d agreed, after connecting the dots on the murder/suicide victims’ relationship preferences, that Dean confessing his womanising ways to Father Delaney would be decent bait for this spirit. Sam had helped Dean work out a brief ‘script’ based on the infidelities of the previous victims, and he was pleased to hear that so far, Dean had mostly stuck to plan. He surreptitiously sneaks his EMF metre out of his pocket to check if the readings had picked anything up. Small jumps are registering and disappearing so fast Sam isn’t sure he’s actually seeing them but that has to mean a spirit is listening in – right? – even if they aren’t nearby right now, maybe they can still hear Dean, who has been in there for a while now, it occurs to Sam.

Sam sidles closer to the wooden partition and listens. Dean’s voice is quieter now but he is still talking to the father.

“–there’s things, people... feelings, that I- I want to experience differently than I have before. Or, maybe even for the first time.”

What on Earth was he talking about? That was definitely not part of the script they’d agreed on, so those words must really be Dean’s. Dean’s actual confession.

“–just starting to think that … maybe there’s more to it all than I thought–”

Well, that could mean anything, Sam told himself. More to what? He jumps back to Dean’s first statement in his mind. People and feelings that he wants to experience differently. Sam can’t help but think – me. He wants to experience me differently. He wants to experience his feelings for me differently. He remembers all the times Dean has shown his utter devotion to Sam, to their bond, their family of two. How do you experience that depth of love differently? Sam can only think of one answer, and his heart jackrabbits against his ribs at the thought. Could Dean actually want him the way Sam wants Dean?

The confessional door squeaks open and Sam breaks out of his reverie and moves towards the doors of the church, but not before Dean clearly noticed that he had been standing close enough to the wooden booth to be listening in.

“How’d I do Samwise?” Dean asks under his breath, smirking as they make their way down the aisle of pews.

“Well, hopefully, jerks like you are just what our ghost is looking for,” Sam smiles tightly, distracted by his own thoughts racing around his mind, and follows Dean back to the car.

Ghost roasted to the recommended internal temperature, and promiscuous nun left permanently behind them, Sam steers the Impala onto the freeway exit and starts them on the long drive from Massachusetts back to the Bunker. Dean had opted for the passenger seat when they packed up their gear at the motel, which was Sam’s first indication that something was most definitely not right. His mind flashes back to the confession he overheard the day before. People… feelings, that I want to experience differently… or maybe even for the first time. Sam hasn’t been able to keep his brain from playing the words on a loop since he’d heard them.

“So,” Sam hums, needing to fill the silence but not knowing how to keep himself from blurting out what he desperately wants to ask, “just back home, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Dean nods, looking over at Sam. “You know, unless we find something else to do along the way back,” he shrugs. Sam’s brain unhelpfully supplies, I know something else we could do, before he shuts that back down again. He glances away from the road and towards his big brother, sitting sullenly beside him. Seemingly of their own accord, his eyes scan downwards, coming to rest on the view of Dean’s hand in his lap, fiddling with a loose thread on the seam of his jeans next to his zipper. They go over a pothole and Sam’s eyes slam back on the dark highway in front of them.

“You know...” Sam tugs the corners of his lips into a tight smile, trying to inject a casual levity in his voice. He can’t just let this hang, he needs to know. “You were in that confessional a long time.” He looks back to Dean, trying to judge the stony face for a reaction. Dean’s mouth gives a half hearted twitch as if to say ‘yeah, so?’, so Sam tries again. “Look man, I’m just saying… I’m your brother. If you ever need to talk about anything, with anybody, you got somebody right here next to you.” If Sam could just make Dean see that it was okay to have emotions and feelings, and it was okay to need to talk to someone about them, maybe Dean would pick him to do that with. And even if talking is all it ever is, that’s fine with Sam. All he’s ever needed is as much as Dean is willing to give him.

Sam looks at Dean again, waiting for some kind of response, but all he gets is a short, dismissive, “Okay.” He doesn’t know why he expected more from Dean the Wordless Wonder, but he decides to try again from a different angle. Whatever these things are that Dean wants to ‘experience differently’ or ‘for the first time’, Sam knows why he’s worrying about that right now.

“I heard,” Sam starts again, “what Sister Mathias was saying about, you know, hiding pain by taking on a mission and, I- I know that’s what you’re doin’, a little bit, and it’s okay” –Sam’s rambling now– “I mean, it’s fine. I get it. I’ve done it before, too. But… I don’t buy for one second that the Mark is a terminal diagnosis. So, don’t go making peace with that idea.” Sam can’t have Dean make peace with that, he can’t have him sitting back waiting to die on him, that’s not gonna happen. “There has to be a way. There will be a way, and we will find it. That’s what we do. So believe that.”

“Okay, Sammy.” Dean looks at Sam forlornly, no doubt knowing he’s causing Sam some amount of pain, but not knowing how to fix it without giving up his own surly conviction that this Mark is gonna end him. Sam knows Dean isn’t ready for that, yet, but he can’t help pushing him.

“You wanna—” Sam scoffs, feeling like he knows the answer, but resolving to ask anyhow “— uh, try that again like you mean it.” I need you to mean it, he thinks to himself. He looks at Dean again, letting the puppy dog eyes surface in the vain hope Dean might give him what he wants. Dean blinks at him blankly, but then the crease around his eyes soften, just a touch.

“Okay,” he grunts, going back to staring at the road ahead.

It’s a twenty three hour drive from Massachusetts back to Kansas, so Sam pulls them over at a motel sometime in the middle of the night to get some shut eye and rest up for the next leg of the journey. Dean hasn’t said much since their last conversation – if you could even call it a conversation – so Sam has had a few hours to stew in the tense silence that swarmed the cab of the impala and think through all the possible permutations of meanings that could be behind Dean’s admission to Father Delaney.

As much as Sam doesn’t want to get his hopes up, and he really really doesn’t want to give his inner depravity even the slightest hit of open air – not after he’d spent so long burying it in the deepest recesses of his mind – he cannot come up with any explanation for Dean’s words than the one he so desperately wants to believe is true. That Dean wants him the same way that Sam has wanted Dean for so long, that Dean wants to know what it’s like to be more than brothers. And as soon as Sam let that thought form in his mind about a hundred miles back, he couldn’t shout himself down. And if it’s true… if Dean wants him… he has to know.

Sam watched Dean sling his bag onto the foot of the springy motel bed and slouch off to the bathroom to piss after their long drive. When he’s done Sam scurries into the bathroom, wondering how he’s going to do this. Because if he doesn’t ask, he knows he’ll never get to sleep. He splashes some water over his face and drags his hands through his hair, tugging hard, hoping the pain would help ground him. Then he takes a deep breath, and pushes back into their room.

“Dean,” Sam starts lamely, not knowing what he wants to say and floundering to the first thing he can land on, “are you sure you’re okay?” Fucking great, Sam, you know he’s not gonna answer that.

“I’m fine, Sammy,” Dean grunts, tugging his t-shirt off and chucking it on the floor.

“Listen, Dean,” Sam sighs and steels himself, “what you said, in the confessional—”

“I knew it,” Dean points his finger at Sam accusingly. “I knew you were listening in.”

“Why shouldn’t I have been, it was supposed to be a fake confession,” Sam defends. Dean huffs, full of derision, and turns away from Sam. “Talk to me,” Sam pleads, moving closer to Dean. “Tell me what’s eating you. Because I know something is. You’ve been different with me since you got back, so just... tell me,” Sam reaches out for Dean’s shoulder. Dean spins and catches Sam’s arm in the air, the Mark shining against the skin of his forearm.

“You wanna know what I was talking about, Sammy?” Dean growls, grip tightening on Sam’s wrist. “You want me to tell you just how much this thing on my arm has messed me up? All the shit that’s been in my head since I was a demon? All the fucked up things that demon made me think? About my own brother?”

Sam’s breath catches in his chest. “Tell me,” he whispers, eyes locked on Dean’s face. On his lips.

Dean surges forward – man of action over words that he is – and kisses Sam violently. It’s not tender, or loving, like Sam had dreamt about since he’d been a boy. It’s hungry and desperate, and Sam doesn’t have a problem with that. If Dean wanted to eat him alive he would let him. They break apart, chests heaving, the last pieces of them touching are Dean’s teeth clawing at Sam’s lower lip. Sam’s eyes peel open slowly, as if this will all evaporate when he looks at Dean, as if this is all still in his head. The pain in Dean’s eyes is radiant, and Sam realises that Dean thinks he’s ruined things now. Dean thinks Sam will leave him for this.

Dean backs up slightly, putting even more space between him and Sam, waiting on tenterhooks for the outburst that he’s clearly expecting from his little brother. Sam approaches Dean cautiously, like he’s trying to calm a cornered animal. He raises his arm and Dean flinches, but he continues to reach forward and lays hand against Dean’s neck, his grip stopping the older man’s further retreat. When Sam kisses Dean it’s slow and measured. He tries to pour every ounce of reassurance he can muster into Dean’s body, tries to tell him it’s okay. Tries to tell himself this is okay. Because even if they both want this – does that really make it alright? But when Dean kisses him back, Sam decides he doesn’t care anymore.

Sam starts to back Dean towards the bed, pushes him down on the edge, straddles his lap, doing everything he can to be just that little bit closer to his brother, just a little more connected – together.

“Wait, Sam,” Dean pulls back, his hands on Sam’s chest. “Wait, don’t you wanna talk about this… or something?”

“No,” Sam shakes his head and ducks in for another kiss, scared that Dean will manage to talk himself out of this if they stop now.

Dean pulls back again to protest. “We aren’t moving kinda fast here?”

“No,” Sam insists, kissing down the side of Dean’s neck. He can feel Dean is hard beneath his own arousal and grinds them together, sending both brothers into shaking groans. “Want you, De,” Sam pants against Dean’s lips.

“Okay, little brother, okay,” Dean gives Sam another kiss, his hands running comfortingly up and down Sam’s back. “But you’re sure you don’t want me to make our first time a little more special? You know, I could take you out to dinner, get you a little tipsy, do this right.” Sam pulls back to look at Dean, thoroughly confused as to where this romantic side of his brother has come from. “I could even get some candles, huh? Really set the mood.” Dean raises his brows and grins at Sam as if to say ‘Huh? Yeah? My idea rocks, right?’, and when Sam realises Dean’s making fun of him he reaches for a pillow and whacks him over the face with it.

“Fuck you,” Sam tries to pointedly shut the teasing down, but he’s knows he’ll never be able to get Dean to let this one go.

“Oh, I plan to fuck you, don’t worry,” Dean grins, and in a flash he’s flipped them over and pinned Sam to the bed beneath him. He pulls Sam’s shirt off and begins to kiss down his brother’s body, keeping his eyes on Sam his whole descent. “We can keep our first time vanilla, but don’t for a second think I’m gonna forget about that wax kink, baby brother,” Dean winks and mouths over Sam’s erection through his jeans. Sam wants to protest, but the heat of Dean’s mouth feels so fucking good, his head is already starting to go fuzzy. He settles on trying to catch Dean off guard instead.

“Only let you do it to me, if I can do it to you too,” Sam’s voice is far breathier than he’d hoped it would be. Dean glances up at him through his lashes, not at all nervous or off-put like Sam had been aiming for.

“Oh, you have so got yourself a deal.”

Tag List: @vulgar-library @tintentrinkerin @negans-lucille-tblr @fandomfic-galore @petitgateau911 @whoreforackles @schaefchenherde @kickingitwithkirk @little-diable @laxe-chester67 @kassyscarlett  @sonofslaanesh69 @akshi8278 @deandreamernp  @stoneyggirl @delightfullykrispypeach @lyarr24​ @lovealways-j​ 

[pallasperilous]

Morning Glory

Rating: Gen/Teen Word Count: 1795, complete Pairing: Dean/Castiel Tags: Temporarily Human Castiel, Canon universe, anxiety, insomnia, sleep disorders, angel vessels, references to the Empty, references to alcohol abuse AO3 version: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18163709 Prompt: Written as a lil clapback to the fanon trope that Human!Castiel Is Not A Morning Person. (For @cr-noble-writes and @chuckwinchester)

Dean couldn’t really explain why he’d assumed Cas would suck at mornings. Maybe the 24/7 bedhead and the “it’s always 5 o’clock somewhere” shadow; maybe the fact he never really seemed convinced that “taking a shower” and “eating breakfast” weren’t just some elaborate long con they’ve been pulling on him for the last half a goddamn decade. Maybe just the way he veers into grouchy asshole territory whenever the world takes a dump on his shoes, which is kind of the definition of mornings. 

Whatever: Cas just seems like the kind of guy who’d need forty minutes of silence and three cups of coffee before he’d count as human.

Hey, well, joke’s on Dean, ‘cuz the guy definitely (currently) counts as human, and he’s awake at five fucking thirty in the morning, every morning, bright-tailed and bushy-eyed and talking a mile a minute. A mile a second. He’s breaking the sound barrier and exerting serious G-forces. 

Dean would tear his own face off if he thought it’d make the dude shut up until the Pop-Tarts came up. Instead he just kinda lets the Cas Chatter wash over him, like really phlegmy birdsong, or the world’s weirdest morning chit chat show.  

Cas has at least taught himself to make coffee –– apparently all on his own, since Sam isn’t taking credit for it, and Sam loves taking credit for shit. It’s not the worst coffee, either. I mean, it’s bad coffee, nobody here is drinking Good Coffee, it’s a weapon, not an experience –– but it’s not watery or full of grounds or made with orange juice or some other weird dumbass goof. 

Sam’s take is that maybe Jimmy Novak was a Morning Person and now that Cas isn’t using the guy’s body as a kind of celestial thermos, some of the dude’s original behaviors or genetics or whatever are sort of…coming back online, reasserting themselves. “Like the burger thing,” Sam says, shrugging.

“Well, that’s ten kinds of fucked up,” Dean answers, but then the goddamn ghoul turns out to be a whole Leave It To Beaver nuclear ghoul family and the conversation gets extremely tabled.

There’s a morning awhile after where Dean wakes up still drunk and can’t handle the thought of two more hours riding the motel bed over the rolling seas of FuckUpistan, so he gets up and showers off the townie bar fug as best he can without waking Sam – only Sam, because it’s dawn and so Cas is already up and probably singing Disney princess songs to the seagulls haunting the trashcans in the parking lot. 

Dean reaches to scoop his keys and does a bleary double take when they’re not on the nightstand. He takes a moment to freak out at the possibility of Cas doing his clutch-smiting routine on the Impala, but something twigs and he peels open the door and yep, the car’s still in the lot, outlined in scribbly motel neon and highway dawn pink. There’s a faint warble of bass rolling off it in time tooooo…Dean’s gonna say Hole in the Sky? So he kinda queases his way over the lumpy asphalt and knuckles on the driver side window and Cas jumps a fucking foot, or he would if he weren’t wearing the goddamn lap belt in a perfectly stationary car.

Dean thumbs at the other side and Cas shakes himself off enough to lean over and pop it for him. Dean slides in and the car smells like three hour-old motel check-in desk coffee – his stomach immediately tries to file a lawsuit but the sanctity of the leather interior wins over his bodily need to evacuate poisons every time. Cas’s hands are back on the steering wheel, gripping it at 10 and 2 like a good boy but with his knuckles the color of popcorn, an abused-looking paper cup empty on the seat besides him, and Sabbath is still living on the profits of pride at top volume. Dean rolls it down to conversational levels so he doesn’t have to scream when he says “What’s the story, morning glory?”

Reminder: Dean is definitely still drunk.

Thankfully Cas doesn’t really know from Oasis or Sunday morning BJs so Dean just gets two blue eyeballs full of blank terror. 

Dean tries again, picks the cup up off the seat. There’s a rind of dried coffee juice inside. “What’s up? Sunrise three minutes off? Songbirds outta order? Thought you’d be out here braiding your hair and frolicking in the dew or some shit.” 

Cas blinks, which is something he’s been doing a lot more lately and frankly is a weird look for him. “No,” he says, voice cracking. “I haven’t done any of those things this morning.” He frowns, which is a little better. “Or any morning, to my knowledge.”

“So, what then? Bad dreams?” 

Cas scrunches his face up in his left hand, pulls it back through his already frankly insane hair, sighs out a gust of Eau de Flopsweat. “No. I didn’t dream at all.”

“Congrats.”

Cas goggles back at him. “As much as I dislike dreaming as a…subject, instead of an observer. I find its absence.” He hesitates. “Much worse.”

Dean rubs his eyes because this has that angsty metaphysical angel pong to it and that’s really more of a Sam Specialty. “How’s it worse? I drink for those nights, man. It’s a few hours off of. You know.” He gestures at The Universe, Generally. “All this shit.”

Cas scoffs and leans back in the seat, although he doesn’t release the wheel from the iron grip. “Dean, in almost four billion years of existence –”

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Dean mutters, because this is the traditional overture to an absolute diarrhea of angelsplaining.

Cas ignores him, or maybe Sabbath covers his tracks – “I have never been rendered…unconscious.”

Dean gives him a look, because bullshit. “C’mon. I’ve seen you knocked out before. Down for the count.”

Cas shakes his head. “I’ve been forced to cede control over my vessel. I’ve withdrawn into it to preserve myelf. I’ve experienced a fugue state, or been made to retroactively forget details of my experience. But I have never.” He breathes in through his nose, the edges of his nostrils going white to match his knuckles. “I’ve never been insensate and unaware at the same time.”

Some asshat pulling his rig out of the diner across the way opens up his jake brake and Cas flinches at the crack. 

“Huh,” is about what Dean’s got to serve up. “You worried somebody’s gonna snuff you while you’re down? We can take shifts when we’re on the road, if that’s what’s freakin’ you out.”

Another shake of the head. “Anyone truly invested in eliminating me specifically in this…state would be too powerful or competent to be defended against through normal means. Angels can be killed, Dean. My experience of a mortal death would be – ” he cuts himself off. “Less worrisome than the alternative, in many ways.”

“Cool, so, being murdered in your sleep, not a concern.”

“I’m more concerned,” Cas huffs, “that I am unable to defend you.” His forehead droops down towards the steering wheel, like a houseplant somebody forgot to water before a Disneyland vacation.

“Are you fucking kidding me,” Dean says.

“I am not,” Cas answers, “fucking kidding you.”

Dean snorts. “I made it thirty years without your feathery ass watching over me. Now you’ve just got a normal-ass…ass, you think I’m suddenly shaking in my boots? C’mon, man.”

Cas shrugs, which looks even weirder on him than the blinking.

Dean twiddles the paper cup, rolls it between his palms. “You haven’t been, like, watching me and Sam sleep, have you? Because you know I can stand that Twilight shit.”

“No,” Cas says, in a tone of infinite offense, like Dean has suggested he sleeps in girls underwear or something. “But, Dean. The experience of sleep. Dreamless sleep. It’s not. It’s not dissimilar to what we are told to expect, as angels, after death.”

(The music slides over into Symptom of the Universe and Dean desperately wishes he’d left something peppier in the deck when they pulled in last night.)

 “Only I’m given to understand that we are at least…in company with each other. Though silent and unaware. We share the same sleep. In a way it’s a return to our origin as an undifferentiated host. But in human sleep.” He looks over at Dean, face slack. “You’re alone. Prisoner in a corporeal cell. Did you know,” he goes on, practically stepping on himself, warming up the verbal jet engines, “that some individuals experience a phenomenon where, upon waking, they suffer a period of total bodily paralysis?” 

Dean frowns. “Yeah. Sounds shitty.”

Cas nods. “Jimmy experienced it semi-regularly.” Then he looks out and up, squints at the motel sign. Maybe he needs glasses.

“So you inherited it, huh?” Dean says, softly. Cas doesn’t respond. “So, sleeping’s shit. And waking up’s shit.”

Cas’s squint turns into a wince. “In the Bunker, I’ll get up and make coffee.”

Dean waggles the mutilated cup. “Yeah, noticed that. Thinking of buying stock in Folger’s.”

“I’ll visit the archives, or. Write letters.” (Who the fuck is he writing letters to, Dean idly wonders? Dear Angel Abby?) “Go up to the roof to,” he glances at Dean, anticipating the eyeroll, “watch the dawn. On the road, it’s…more difficult to keep myself occupied. Keep my mind off of the fact that I can no longer hear the rest of the host. That I am,” he stretches his palms out over the wheel, tenses his clenched fingers, “quite nearly useless,”

“Cas,” Dean says, even more softly.

“And that, in a mere matter of hours,” Castiel closes his eyes, or the eyes he is currently doing business under. “The cycle will repeat.”

“Cas,” Dean says. And he reaches out what he suspects is the memory of Mom’s hand and sets his palm on the back of the guy’s neck, against the damp skin and unwashed hair. The muscles there relax but the blue eyes stay closed and Dean drops the cup on the floor and sets the other hand that’s just his on the side of Cas’s face, and slowly sweeps the side of his thumb over the sandpaper jaw and waxy cheekbone. 

And he pulls Cas’s head towards him, then down against his own shoulder and chest. Cas’s hands peel off the steering wheel and drift to lie, palms open, up, across their undistinguished assortment of kneecaps and thighs.

After awhile, a few more tracks in the tape, Cas’s breathing goes smoothe and deep. Dean feels eyelashes flicker against his collarbone – guy’s already dreaming.

Dean watches the dawn, reflected on motel windows.  

[ezilyamuzed]

Everyone Needs a Sam- Chapter 6

Series Masterlist

Summary: Two Sam’s in the Winchester family is better than one. Reader is Named Sam, or sometimes called Red, a nicknamed given by Dean.

Warnings: Language. Mentions of Menstruation (you know because some people get grossed out). A little fluff and a touch of angst.

A/N: So sorry that this took a while, but life happens. There is only a few more chapters left to tie it up into completion. This has definitely been interesting to try and write with the whole body switch thing, but somehow I think I pulled it off. It’s 3:30 am, so sorry for any confusing (more than usual) parts.  

As always comments and feedback are welcomed (GIVE ME LOVE). Any errors are completely my own because I am human. If you want a tag in this or anything pop into the ASK box. Thank you for reading! Enjoy!

The little diner was a full of paying customers, happily shoving their faces in the food in front of them. The young waitress who looked like she was ready to keel over in exhaustion stopped suddenly in her tracks when she looked over at you.

“You need a table darlin’,” she smiled.

“Um, yeah. Two please,” you mumbled back.

She turned on her heels quickly and cleaned off a table in hurry for you and Dean to sit at. You gave Dean a confused look at her sense of rushing to get you both seated in her section. He just shrugged and walked over to seat himself down while you followed close by.

“I’m Angie. What can I get you to start with?” she almost purred while lightly touching your arm…well Dean’s arm.

You flinched away, startled at her touch while you gave a ‘help me’ look to Dean. You saw the grin moving up your face as he chuckled in satisfaction.

“Two coffees miss,” he stated after clearing his throat to get her attention.

She glared towards him, unaware that the female body that she was staring at held the real owner of the body she was just drooling over. She gave him a fake smile before leaving to retrieve your drinks.

“What the hell was that?” you leaned over the table to whisper.

“That was one of my favorites,” he smirked. “Flirty and direct waitresses.”

“Ew,” you replied while turning up your nose. “You are a pig.”

He gave you an ‘oink oink’ before wrapping his arms around his chest.

“Jesus it’s cold in here. Your nipples are like fucking daggers.”

“You’re the one who opted to not wear a bra,” you chuckled.

“Yeah, the therapy is going to be expensive enough after this. I’m not getting near that torture device.”

She came back, tray in hand holding the fresh pot and two mugs. She sat the mug in front of you gently while almost slamming the one in front of Dean. A slight smirk grew in the corner of your mouth watching Dean give a ‘what the hell look’ to her.

“Have you decided what you would like sweetie,” she almost cooed to you.

“Um, yeah. I will have the pancakes, bacon, and sausage,” you replied. “And she will have the strawberry waffles with extra whipped cream and a side of well-done bacon.”

“If you need anything else, just holler,” she winked while walking away with an extra sway in her step.

“Sammy, you know I get all tingly when you take control like that,” Dean winked. “But I could have ordered for myself…something better than that.”

“Dude, shut up. Trust me, I know what my body is craving right now,” you laughed while setting yourself back. You could feel your insides turning fiercely like you hadn’t eaten in days. “Why am I so damn hungry?”

“Yeah, that usually happens every morning. It takes a lot of calories to look that good.”

You could feel the gurgling moving through you, giving you discomfort that you needed to eat something quick- preferably something jam packed with carbs and calories.

“Remind me to shut up when I complain that you ate the last Twinkie,” you smirked.

“Will do Red,” he quipped back. He sat back and looked around at the crowd while you tapped mindlessly on the table. So odd it was to not have long finger nails to worry about breaking. Surprisingly Dean actually kept his pretty well manicured for someone who constantly plays in dirt, grease, and various bodily fluids from something. Dean let out a sigh before snapping you out of your thoughts. “So…you want to explain what happened back there in the shower?”

You could feel the heat rising through you in embarrassment towards your situation. Shifting in your seat you thanked the entities above that the waitress was coming back with plates in her hand. Perfect timing. She sat both plates down gently on the table before whisking away to a complaining customer in the corner. Dean glared at the meal in front of him and scrunched up his nose.

“They murdered this with whipped cream,” he commented while moving it around with his fork.

“Just shut up and eat it. You will thank me in a minute.”

He grumbled something before sticking his fork in and digging out a giant bite. As the mixture of the waffle, berries, and cream met his mouth you could see the surprise running through him through your eyes.

“Damn this is amazing!”

You smiled and let out a laugh while chopping on a piece of bacon. “You’re welcome.”

The two of you finished your meals at a record pace. At one point Dean was practically licking the plate clean.

“Ugh! I am so full,” he stated while patting your once flat stomach that definitely had a food baby present.

“I could still eat,” you said while looking around. Your eyes met the little display stand where it stood. Pie. Damn that sounded amazing. You raised your hand for the waitress to come back, her record speed towards you almost knocked down another in her way.

“Hi, yes,” you smiled while pointing at the case. “I’ll take the pie please.”

“Anything for you sweetheart,” she grinned while giving a quick wink.

Watching her go and retrieve the pie you gave Dean a little smirk.

“I could get used to this.”

“Don’t get too comfortable there Sam,” he glared, showing you the same exact bitch face you had given him so many times before. Damn it was scary on the opposite end. “I’ll be back. I gotta take a shit.”

“Very lady like there De-anna,” you laughed while watching him walk away. “Ladies room, remember!”

“Here ya go honey,” the waitress hummed while setting down the mouthwatering apple pie in front of you. Not hesitating you dug right in, shoveling it quickly down into your mouth. You didn’t even care to notice that she was still standing there above you.

“So you just passing through…”

You cleared your throat while rolling your eyes. Could this lady not take a hint?

“Listen, um Angie, right?” you said while giving her a serious look. “You seem like a nice girl. Hell any other day I am sure that you could definitely get a guy like this…like me, I guess, without a problem. But today is a little weird right now. Also I am kind of stuck with someone right now, it’s all a bit confusing.”

“Ah, so it’s serious huh?”

“I guess you could say that. We are practically the same person,” you smirked while watching Dean now coming out of the ladies room. He was giving you a disgusted look as a stupid idjit reached out and grabbed towards his backside. You couldn’t really react besides giving a surprised and shocked “O” face as he slammed the guys face down onto the table top. The waitress Angie now looked terrified as he walked back over. You shuffled out of the booth quickly, dropping cash down on the table. “Yup. That’s my girl.”

You grabbed the pissed off Dean’s arm and dragged him outside, while trying to hold back the laughter bubbling up. Of course you were a little upset that a guy had thought it was a great idea to touch your ass, but the fact that it was Dean who got to receive it was fucking hilarious.

“Why the hell do guys think they can do that,” he fumed while walking in a faster pace back to the hotel.

“What excuse do you want to hear? ‘The way you were dressed, you must have wanted it’, ‘It was just a harmless hello’ or ‘It’s all fun and games sweetheart’”

“I’m going to go back there and murder him,” he sneered while trying to turn around back to the diner. You grabbed at him again, pulling him away. Damn, you were strong when you get angry.

“Come on, no murders today. Remember those are my finger prints they would find on the murder weapon.”

In a sarcastic and annoyed scoff Dean followed you back to the room. There had been no word from Charlie or Sam yet, and Cas was still off trying to find ingredients to reverse the spell, so you were now stuck alone. Alone in a hotel room, with Dean stuck in your body, and you stuck in his. The situation sounded like a weird sci-fi movie…or a really good porno. Dean flopped down on the bed and let out another annoyed sigh.

“I’m bored now.”

“Congrat-u-fuck-u-lations,” you mumbled while turning on the T.v. Flipping through the channels aimlessly, Dean snapped up and yelled at you to stop.

“Dr. Sexy is on!” he squealed girlishly.  

“Okay, okay. Don’t start going all fangirl on me.”

“Shut up!” he barked.

“Someone is a little cranky,” you smirked while setting yourself down on the opposite bed. “How’s your stomach doing there? Cramping yet?”

You gave you a wide eyes glare. “Is that what that was?!?”

“What what was?”

“In the bathroom, it felt like I was in one of those lobster cracking things,” he blurted loudly making you laugh. “I didn’t know if it was just poop or if I was giving birth!”

Your sides started to ache as you continuously laughed. Dean was now glaring angrily at you while tears rolled down your face.

“Oh man, this is fun!” you said while wiping your eyes.

“Maybe for you it is,” he retorted back with sass in his voice. “You definitely had fun this morning with it.”

His comment snapped you out of your hysteria and you could feel the embarrassment rising up again. “That was an accident.”

“Accidents don’t happen accidently,” he grinned. “Now, hush. Dr. Sexy is on.”

You shifted yourself down on the pillows of the bed, making yourself comfy to sit patiently for someone to walk through the door to fix your ‘freaky Friday’ scenario. The episode was kind of boring. It mostly focused on a different doctor having to do some type of brain operation on his daughter’s best friend’s cousin, or something like that. You really didn’t pay attention too much as you kept getting lost in your thoughts about everything that had happened since you woke up. You shifted your glossed over eyes towards Dean, who was a crying mess. Seriously bawling his eyes out at the screen, making you furrow your eyes towards the sight.

“You okay there Deano?”

“The- poor-girl-has-so-much-to-live-for,” he cried while sobbing louder between each word. You got up and handed him the box of tissues that were on the dresser. He quickly pulled one out and shot a loud and wet blow into it.

“Dude, it’s okay.”

“Hold me Sam!” he cried while reaching out to you. He had tear stains and welts now all over your once smooth face. You sighed before sitting down next to him, letting him fall down into your arms. Instinctively you started playing with your long hair, humming a tune to soothe him down.

“That feels nice,” he whispered while snuggling into you.

“Yeah, a little petting and Zeppelin will do that,” you snickered as you continued. “I think you just had your first crash course on the magic of female hormones. Nothing like getting to experience it.”

“I will never think you are crazy again!” he muttered deep into you.

“Oh now, come on. Don’t say that,” you smiled. “I have my fair share of crazy ideas when I’m not all mixed up with a surplus of estrogen.”

“Yeah, that is true,” he giggled. “Like when you decided to use yourself as bait for that wolf pack.”

“Yupper,” you laughed. “And when I decided it was a good idea to down 3 of those energy shots to do that stake out with Sammy. I thought he was going to kill me for bouncing all around. But I do have to say, I was particularly ready and quick for when that cat jumped out of nowhere.”

The image of you jumping back and firing around at the sudden movement that had happened in front of you amongst some boxes. Luckily none of the shots landed on anything dangerous or alive for that matter, it had only been a little grey cat that sped off like a demon, unscathed, away from you.

“That poor kitty.”

“He survived. The wall…not so much,” you snorted. “That was in Albany right?”

“Yeah, why?”

That night where Dean had pinned you down and tickled you fiercely before surprising you with a little kiss flashed to your thoughts. There were so many unanswered questions. Like why did he do it? Why did he just leave after? Also, why hasn’t he mentioned it?

“Nothing… just seemed like after we left there you were a little different. That is all.”

“Was not.”

“Yeah,” you blew out a burst of air. “Okay. Whatever you say. You would practically run away any time it was just the two of us. Almost like a kid on a playground hiding away from their…”

“Crush,” he stated, interrupting you mid-sentence.  

“Yea, I guess…,” you moved back away from him. “So what exactly happened? I mean I know I was there that night, but even I have no fucking clue.”

“I don’t know…just curious I guess.”

“Curious about what?”

“How you would react. Your face kind of said it all.”

“Catching someone by surprise does not always mean that their initial reaction is the real one.”

“So…” Dean trailed off, waiting for you to continue on.

“So, I mean we were drunk ya know. Just laying around having fun like we always did. How was I to know what you were thinking before you literally laid it on me? It’s not like you really gave any hints before,” you replied somewhat nervously. Was this really happening. Were you actually having the talk that would change the dynamic of your relationship forever?

“So us hanging around all the time, you always calling the shots about what we do, and me trying to stop you from going off with sleaze bags didn’t give you any clue?”

“Well first, I like hanging out with you because TYPICALLY you don’t treat me like a weak little girl, unless of course we are on a hunt and then you try to push me back like I’m, what was that again? Oh yeah a Disney princess that needs saving. You tend to treat me like everyone else, so unless you are finally admitting that you are in love with Cas I don’t see how that proves anything,” you jabbed. “Secondly, you are the one who sits around waiting for me to call the shots about what movie we are going to watch, what restaurant we are going to eat from, hell even what kind of pie to pick up from the store! And thirdly, you butting your stubborn head into what goes on between me and those so called ‘sleaze balls’ only made you look like an asshole. Seriously Dean, if you would have just said something maybe we wouldn’t be sitting here and…and…”

“And what?”

“And maybe you would have known that I have started to feel that way too.”

Dean moved to place a hand on your cheek, using your (y/e/c) eyes, to gaze to you, into his green ones. You pushed you head back away from him, while shaking your head.

“This whole thing is too fucking weird. I mean, how can I be basically staring at myself and yet want to kiss you right now?”

He let out a sigh while running a hand through your hair nervously. “Yeah, definitely need therapy after this.”

“Well I’ll be right there with ya,” you grinned while pulling him close to you in an embrace, the warmth of your bodies together felt good as you both just rested together in silence. You could feel laughter moving through Dean as he pulled away, giving you a devilish smirk.

“So…tell me about that shower.”

“Shut up!” you laughed while hitting him with a pillow. His laughter only grew more as tears were now flowing down, barely being able to catch his breath.

“Hey, I can’t help it! I’m soooo fun to play with. You are too ya know.”

“Excuse me!” you blurted in surprise. “You did not!”

“Not to the extent that YOU WENT!” he laughed back. “But I have to say Sam, I did find some interesting spots that are sure to do the trick for what I want to do after this is all done and over with.”

“Oh really?” you raised your eyebrow and gave him a grin. “Hmm, this really did have its benefits. Very educational.”

He violently shook his head in return while mouthing “Very” in reply. As you laughed, the sound of wings flying into the room hit your ears and Cas stood tall in front of you.

“Oh thank you GOD!” you exclaimed while giving him a big hug.

“Has confusion or amnesia become another symptom that I am unaware of? Why is Sam calling me God,” he asked Dean in complete seriousness.

“Just really happy to see you Cas,” he smiled. “Did you get everything?”

“Yes I retrieved the necessary items. The scale of a dragon, a branch of the eternal tree, dirt that covered the fallen, and pubic hair from an amazon.”

Both you and Dean’s face turned into disgust as he listed the items. The last one left you both in confusion.

“Where did you…”

“We don’t have to drink that right?!?”

“It was not easy,” he breathed out. “And no, you just have to both face your faces smeared with it as the incantation is read.”

The two of you both grunted out an “Ew” before looking back to each other and in unison blurting out the word “shower.”

“Yeah, I will definitely need a shower after…”

“Maybe you can give me a hands on lesson about what YOU learned today,” Dean winked.

You rolled your eyes while watching Cas throw the ingredients into a large bowl. A smile rising up again as you laughed inside your mind about everything that had happened in less than 24 hours. Dean moved to have both of your hands interlocked together as Cas was finishing up smashing the ingredients together into a grey, tar looking paste. He glanced over at the both of you and cocked his head sideways at the sight.

“Dean, did you finally admit your feelings for Sam?”

The easy Sam joke made as short laugh escape from you, as you squeezed hands tighter.

“Yeah, Cas I admitted my feeling for Sam,” Dean replied while giving you a wink.

“I am sure coitus with Sam will be just as you imagined,” Cas announced proudly, making you completely lose it in hysterical laughter as you thought of what Sammy would have said if he was here to hear this. He always loved when the Sam joke was on Dean instead of him for a change.

Dean exhaled loudly while closing his eyes and shaking his head. “Yeah Cas, can we get on with this?”

“Yeah, let’s do this,” you added while calming yourself down, wiping a tear away.

Cas rubbed the gunk all over your faces rather quickly. Surprisingly it didn’t smell as bad as it looked. He chanted a few words while placing the palms of his hands down on the top of your heads. A burst of energy hit you, knocking you down onto your ass.

“What the hell was that,” you yelled while jumping up to your feet. You looked at Cas and then looked to your side where Dean, in his body was getting up from being knocked down as well. You ran your hands down your front as you looked down seeing everything that was all you back where it belonged.

Not caring about the goo all over your faces you jumped over to Dean, knocking him slightly back while placing a firm kiss on his lips. He returned it back just as fiercely as you heard an “Oh wow” coming from the doorway. Looking over there stood Charlie with Sam, taken back in disbelief mixed with confusion as to what exactly they were witnessing. You ran over and gave them both big hugs while exclaiming that it was you and everything was fixed.

“So Dean is back in Dean and Sam is back in Sam,” Charlie stated while glancing over to the younger Winchester.

“I, um…I have to go,” Sammy said while moving swiftly out of the room.

“What’s wrong with him?” you asked in uncertainty. Was he not happy that you were switched back? No, that couldn’t be it. It had to be something else. Charlie gave you an “oh shit face” as she looked over to Dean who was also baffled by Sammy’s actions.

“Um…yeah, we need to talk.”

 Bitch, Gimmie (You asked for it):  @waywardbaby @snffbeebee @curly-haired-disaster @waywardnerd67 @dean-winchesters-bacon @jaylarkson @ladywinchester1967 @hobby27 @wildefire @saltandburn-ilovesamwinchester

[writethelifeyouwant]

Dive Bar, Ch 8/?

Pairing: Dean x Sam (eventually, he he he) | Sam x OMC (Chase) brief 

Rating: 18+

Prompt/Summary: After a one night stand with a random college chick turns into a threesome that also featured his little brother, Dean- well, frankly, he panics. What’s even worse than gay panicking? Gay incest panicking. Luckily, Sam winds up being a little more cool about the whole thing than Dean ever would have imagined.

WC: 3,631

Tags: Awful flirting (but I’m not sorry), gay panic, angst, Dean having graphic naughty thoughts, male masturbation, blow job, rimming, anal sex, cock ring (? kinda) 

Warnings: thoughts about to brother/brother incest

Beta:  @negans-lucille-tblr, actual angel 😇

Divider: @firefly-graphics ❤️

Sam looked up at the sound of slow clapping, expecting it to be Dean returning with their refills just in time to see Sam pot the last ball. But he couldn’t see Dean, and it took him a moment to identify the clapper as the guy with dark blonde hair strolling towards him with a look of contemplation on his slim face.

“That was pretty impressive,” the guy nodded at the pool table, and Sam straightened up a little, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck.

“Uh, thanks,” Sam shrugged, the game he’d felt so proud of - and wanted to rub in Dean’s face a moment ago - now making him feel self conscious. He hadn’t meant to draw any kind of attention to himself. That was normally Dean’s forte.

“Where’d you learn how to do that?”

“My um, my brother taught me.” Sam clutched the pool cue between his hands, eyes darting around and landing on Dean at the bar. His breath eased a little once he knew where he was. The new guy’s eyes followed Sam’s and found him watching Dean at the bar.

“That guy’s your brother?”

“Yeah,” Sam nodded cautiously.

“Well, that is a relief,” he laughed fully, openly.

Sam was taken aback. “Why?”

“Because if he was your boyfriend I was probably gonna get beat up for hitting on you.” He smiled warmly, his eyes twinkling, but still a little shy.

Sam blinked, dumbfounded. He didn’t know why he hadn’t been expecting it. He’d had a suspicion that this place was an LGBT haunt based on the number of same-sex couples he’d noticed dotted around, but that hadn’t led him to the conclusion that he’d maybe have an opportunity he hadn’t had since Dean had picked him up from Stanford. Sam glanced nervously back to Dean at the bar, watching him knock back a shot of something, not paying attention to his little brother. But why did Sam even care if Dean saw him talking to this guy? He breathed out sharply when he realised that he didn’t have to hide this from Dean - he’d come out to him last month. He didn’t have to be worried about what Dean thought if he saw him talking to - what was this guy’s name?

“I’m Sam,” Sam offered his hand, and the man took it, shaking it firmly. Sam noticed how smooth the guy’s hands were.

“Chase,” he smiled wider still, like he couldn’t believe Sam was actually having a conversation with him.

“So are you, uh, here with anyone?” Sam wasn’t used to making small talk anymore. The only people he talked to were Dean or law enforcement - or witnesses to supernatural phenomena.

“A few friends,” Chase nodded behind him, but not with enough direction for Sam to actually tell which table of people he might have been talking about.

“Do you, um,” Sam let out a sharp, amused exhale, not really believing he was actually doing this. “D’ya want to have a drink?”

Chase smiled brightly. “Yeah, I’d love that,” he nodded, and the pair started towards the bar. “Then maybe you’ll be so kind as to show me just how you play that game over there?”

Sam grinned, this guy was pulling out a classic, but it was a good one.

“You want me to teach you how to play pool?” he smirked and moved closer behind Chase, bracing his hands on the bar on either side of him, and ducked down to speak against his ear. “I should warn you, I’m a pretty hands on teacher.” Sam felt Chase grin, even though he couldn’t see his face.

“I think I’m counting on it. I might need a lot of hand holding,” Chase laughed at his own joke, probably realising how lame it was, but Sam thought it was cute.

While Chase ordered drinks, Sam glanced over his shoulder across the bar and caught Dean looking right at them. Sam blushed under his brother’s intense gaze, a little embarrassed that Dean had been watching him come onto this guy so strongly. But how was that different to any time Sam had to watch Dean flirt his way through every available pair of boobs in these joints? He decided it wasn’t; he didn’t have anything to be ashamed of. Sam gave Chase a once over from behind, eyes lingering on his ass. Yeah, definitely not ashamed of this, Sam resolved. He flicked his eyes back up to meet Dean’s again and gave him a bold wink.

Dean’s face was blank, but his gaze wavered between shock and dread. He’d never seen Sam flirt so blatantly with anyone before. He’d never seen Sam flirt with a guy before either, but he guessed he should have expected that to happen eventually. It hadn’t really hit him before now what Sam being bi really meant. It wasn’t just that he was happy to have a threesome that involved two guys instead of two girls, it meant that sometimes he would want to sleep with guys, just because.

The pride Dean usually felt when Sam successfully picked up a chick wasn’t making an appearance right now, though. This was different. Dean reluctantly realised that the difference here was jealousy. He looked at the guy Sam was pressed up against and took in the spiky hair, the henley pulled across decently toned muscles, the black leather cord he wore as a necklace. He was about Dean’s height judging where he stood against Sam. Angry voices inside him shouted at Dean to break it up, stop Sammy from doing this, protect him, though from what, the voices didn’t care to elaborate. Hopeful voices inside tried to soothe his anger. Telling him that maybe Sam wasn’t with him now, but the guy he was with looked just a little like Dean… maybe… and what if that meant that Sam was drawn to him for that reason?

Dean shut down that internal dialogue with a grimace, and ordered another shot. He wasn’t gonna stay here and watch Sam hit on some guy without getting drunk.

Sam and Chase were two drinks in and back by the pool table, and Sam was having more fun than he could remember having in a long time. Watching Chase bend over the table, ass pressing tight against his jeans, and knowing that he was doing it so Sam could look… it was exhilarating. Even the vague prickling on the back of his neck every time Dean looked over at them gravely didn’t spoil Sam’s mood. He knew his brother was just being an overprotective ass.

Chase shot him a coy smile over his shoulder, still bent over trying to corral all the balls into their frame. Sam grinned back freely, eyes glinting with want that he knew Chase could see.

“You gonna show me how to hold this stick?”

“I’m gonna show you so much more than that,” Sam promised. He pressed against him and threaded his arms through the smaller man’s, slotting their hips and their hands together. “You want to hold it firmly, but not too tight. Just give it a little squeeze.”

Chase burst out laughing, shaking Sam off his body. Sam stood back, confused and a little offended at the reaction. Chase’s eyes glinted under the fluorescent light hanging above them.

“I’m sorry man,” he stifled another laugh and tried again. “Sorry, I just, I couldn’t not think about the innuendo there.” Sam smirked and moved back to Chase, bending him back over and leaning into him heavily.

“That was sorta the point man,” Sam breathed in his ear. “Now, put your hands back on that long piece of wood and do as you’re told.”

Sam realised then that he had been repressing this part of himself for far too long. Or at least his dick thought so, because it was paying quite a bit more attention than it usually did in public.

He was never shy about wanting to be the one in control in the bedroom, but with girls, he never really knew how they would take it. He always worried about hurting them if he was being too rough. With guys it felt a little different, he felt a little freer, like he didn’t have to be scared of throwing them around as much. And he’d had enough to drink that his filter wasn’t inclined to hold him back anymore. The shiver that had run through Chase at Sam’s words only solidified Sam’s resolve to take this guy home and absolutely wreck him.

Dean thought he was gonna be sick. Most people would think that was down to the amount of alcohol he’d just downed in such a short span of time - switching to tequila had either been a very good or a very bad decision on Dean’s part - but in actuality, he was still on the good side of drunk. The thing churning his stomach and pulling him apart from the inside was what he was watching his baby brother do to that twink pressed against the pool table across the bar.

Jesus, they were in public and Sam was practically dry humping the dude. At least respectable people would go to a club and hide behind dancing as an excuse. But there was his brother, his little kid brother, practically fucking some stranger right in the middle of the room. What the fuck does he think he’s doing?

Dean had never seen Sam so blatantly sexual before. Well no - that was a lie - he had seen him that way once, when he’d been pounding into Dany so hard he shook the bed, and looked right at Dean when he’d broken down inside her, staring right into his eyes as he came undone. But the way Sam was looking at him had Dean believing that, maybe, Sam wasn't thinking about Dany at all.

Dean wanted to pretend that he was only offended by the sight before him because it was indecent - not cool, bro - but if the guy below Sam had been him, he wouldn’t have given two fucks how decent they looked, so long as Sam showed everyone watching that it was them who belonged together. That Sam belonged to him, inside him. His.

Chase was a horrible pool player. But that might have more to do with the fact that Sam was grinding a semi against his ass every time he helped him line up a shot. Poor guy had to be at least a little distracted. After two games of utter domination from Sam, he took pity on his playmate and graciously bought him a drink to mellow the loss.

Locking eyes over the wet edged shot glasses, Sam tipped his back and swallowed, long and deep. Sam watched as Chase’s eyes traced his throat and down into the v-neck of the t-shirt he’d revealed when he unbuttoned his flannel during the second game. His eyes settled there for a moment, and Sam wondered how long he would linger there before he caught himself. His breathing quickened slightly - bringing his chest up and down with it, and Chase continued to stare. The attention only aroused Sam more. But it was over when Chase blinked harshly, and brought his eyes back to Sam’s, looking a little startled.

“What?” he said stupidly, fingers slipping on his glass, still full and hanging in front of his lips.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Sam enunciated, a knowing smirk back on his lips.

“Yeah,” Chase nodded and downed his own drink, licking his lips to catch the drop of alcohol that had spilled over. Sam’s eyes locked on his tongue and followed it back inside Chase’s mouth. Their lips met briefly, Sam pulling back almost immediately to check he hadn’t misjudged things - to check he was actually about to follow through on going home with this guy.

Chase’s face was hot, colour staining his already sun-kissed skin, eyes wide like he was staring into the sun. Sam jerked his chin towards the door, brows raised, and Chase nodded and leant in close so Sam could hear him better. “I’m just gonna grab my things, meet you outside?”

“Yeah,” Sam nodded and squeezed Chase’s arm in reassurance. “I’m just going to let my brother know where I’m headed.” Sam jerked his head to where he had clocked Dean hunched in a booth nursing a hefty glass of whiskey.

“Hey,” Sam slid into the seat across from Dean, slapping a rhythm against the table as he sat down.

“Someone’s chipper,” Dean grunted sourly, taking a swig of his drink.

“Someone’s bummed out.”

Sam’s sass tugged at the corner’s of Dean’s lips. but he didn’t let it get an actual smile out of him.

“Sorry the girls here weren’t exactly ‘your scene’,” Sam did look a little apologetic, but he couldn’t wipe the smug excitement off his stupid face.

“Yeah, well,” Dean grunted again, and knocked back more of the burning liquid, “about time you got laid, was beginning to think you’d accidentally pulled it off from jerking too much.”

“Ew, dude, gross,” Sam grimaced. “How would you know how much I jerk off, anyways?”

“We live in each other’s asses, Sam,” Dean excused, not caring to mention the fact that he knows Sam’s jerked off in the shower every night since he’d picked him up from Stanford, and he’s spent the last month joining in from the other side of the door. Choking down the jealousy and shame that came with it, Dean pushed Sam out of the booth with his foot. “Now go on and fuck your little boy toy, he’s over there waiting for you.”

Sure enough, when Sam checked over his shoulder, he saw Chase waiting anxiously by the door.

“You gonna be alright, man? You got a motel key?”

“Fuck off,” Dean grumbled, and watched sullenly as Sam made his way through the crowds of people to the door, slipping out behind his company for the evening. Dean knocked back the rest of his glass and stood, stretching the stiffness out of his joints. He didn’t want to stay here, but he didn’t have anywhere else to go besides the motel room. Remembering they had passed a convenience store on their walk here, Dean figured drinking alone was less embarrassing if he was actually alone while he was doing it, and made up his mind.

-

Arriving back at their room with a bottle of Jack he’d already cracked into, Dean crashed onto his bed and stared at the ceiling. What the hell was he doing? Sitting in the dark, drinking himself to sleep because his baby brother went home with someone else. Pathetic. Pining over Sam had become Dean’s new favourite pastime without him even realising it, and most certainly without his permission.

Dropping his hand over the side of his bed and groping for his duffle, Dean managed to dig his hand into the side pocket hiding the bracelets that he’d pushed out of sight nearly two months ago. Curling his fingers around the smooth-worn wooden beads, he dragged them out, clutching them hard until he felt his nails cutting into his palm.

More Jack; these relics in his hand from a time when he used to be a good big brother, one Sam could actually admire and love, and Dean decided he was done. If he was gonna add this to the list of everything else that was fucked up in his life, then he was gonna goddamn lean into it. He knew Sam had noticed that he wasn’t wearing them anymore, and the thought that Sam might think Dean was mad at him, or didn’t love him with literally everything he had was unacceptable now.

He dropped the beads on the comforter and the bottle on the nightstand, and rose to pull off his jeans. If Sam was getting off tonight there was no reason he shouldn't. But at the thought of Sam, Dean couldn’t stop himself thinking about the guy he’d gone home with, who he’d had bent over the pool table in front of the whole damn bar. It was too easy to picture what Sam was doing to him now. Dean settled back against the lumpy pillows and squeezed himself over his boxers, letting himself sink into the images flashing through his mind.

Sam pressing that bastard up against the door. Sam threading his fingers through the short, dark blonde hair and pulling - the very thought draws a gasp from Dean, wishing it was him Sam was doing those things to, pressing those kisses to, scraping his teeth against and leaving marks on.

Inside Chase’s apartment, Sam didn’t waste any time. He had him pressed against the door with his wrists pinned over his head in a heartbeat. His kiss started teasing and light. He nipped at Chase’s lips, and the tip of his tongue that had tried in vain to connect to Sam’s. He dragged his teeth across the five o’clock shadow that dusted Chase’s jaw and down, locking on the hollow up his throat and pulling a heavy sign from his partner.

Sam kissed his way back to Chase’s lips and devoured him this time. Their tongues slid together but there was no fight for dominance, no illusion as to how this night was going. Sam was in charge, and that was just where they both wanted him.

Lurching backwards, Sam pulled Chase along with him, and they stumbled blindly around the entryway and managed to fall through the door to the bedroom - Chase’s doing. Sam’s jacket and shoes were discarded on the floor, Chase’s henley tossed onto the scattered laundry piled at the bottom of his bed. The sight made Sam smirk, one more confirmation that he went home with a guy tonight.

Sam sat on the bed and dragged Chase on top of him, grabbing his neck and forcing their mouths back together. At a loud groan from Chase, Sam opened his eyes and stared into the blue-grass eyes he remembered admiring in the bar, but in this dim light they looked darker, greener, and suddenly, Sam wasn’t looking at Chase anymore.

Dean tried to picture something, anything, other than Sam but he couldn’t. He saw Sam rolling himself on top of that guy and dragging himself down - would they be on the couch, or a bed? - down to the fly on his irritatingly well-fitted jeans and popping the button open with a grin. He saw him pulling the denim down and off, saw him mouthing hungrily over the cotton-covered bulge he found himself faced with, tonguing along the head and leaving a dark stain behind.

Dean groaned and pulled himself free from his boxers, needing it faster, tighter, meaner.

Sam swallowed Chase down eagerly. He didn’t even have the patience to pull his boxers all the way off, and he twisted the fabric in his hands, pulled it tight. It had been so long since he’d had a cock in his mouth he nearly gagged himself in his excitement to suck down every last inch. Chase whimpered above him, lost in the heat of Sam’s throat. Sam could tell he was trying so hard not to lose it already, so he eased up a little. He didn’t want to see Chase cum until he had his cock inside him.

Granting Chase a brief moment of reprieve, Sam slid further down until his tongue was thrusting in and out of his ass. Chase tried to squirm away but Sam held him down, bracing his arm across the slim hips to keep his prey in place. Chase managed to fish the lube and a condom out of his nightstand and throw them vaguely in Sam’s direction without Sam needing to stop his tongue’s assault. Sam knew he was rushing, but by the time he pushed inside of Chase’s not-prepped-enough hole neither of them cared.

Dean could feel it, hovering out of reach. He wanted it so badly but he couldn’t get there, and the frustration was starting to outweigh the desperation. The volume of alcohol couldn’t have been helping things either, but logic wasn’t what Dean was interested in right now. He needed something else, something more. Grasping in his mind for the images of Sam to come back, Dean’s fingers clawed against the bedspread, tugging on his cock relentlessly. Then his fingers nudged something - Sam’s bracelets.

Without thinking too hard, Dean clutched them in his fist, bringing both hands to wrap around himself and pressing the small, cool beads against his heated flesh. He still wanted more, needed something to cut through this haze of want and really make him feel. He wrapped the worn strings around the base of his dick, cinching tightly, and squeezing a whimper of pain through his lips. But that pain was just the spark he needed.

The urgency he’d been chasing before came rushing back, and visions of Sam above him, touching him, choking him, calling him a desperate, pathetic little cockslut, beat against the inside of his eyelids, and he was cumming harder than he could ever remember. He felt a white heat burning through every artery, vein, capillary in his goddamn body, and it brought him to an edge he never knew existed. It was agonising, and perfect.

Sam fucked his hips into Chase’s faster and faster. Their teeth met more often than their tongues as they kissed frantically, both reaching the ends of their tethers. Chase grabbed himself and pulled, beating himself faster and faster until he spilled into the sweat pooling between their bodies, groaning Sam’s name. Sam thrust harder and harder and froze, crammed so deep inside he barely fit, and then he was cumming; spilling his seed into Chase, and spilling Dean’s name from his lips.

*

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