Keep This Secret: Part Three
Jun. 20th, 2019 01:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ellerkayMasterlist
Part Two
***
They ended up in a room which looked something like a Victorian saloon. The walls were hung with carmine silk. There were gleaming brass fixtures and a long bar made of rich wood with reddish tones. The room was full of fairies, and like the art that decorated the castle, they were human-shaped to varying degrees. Dean got a triple whiskey and found a table in a relatively dim, quiet corner. He sat down with his back to the wall, eyeing the assembly but quickly concluding that no one was paying him the slightest bit of attention, much less offering any danger. He got down to the business of drinking, letting a third of the alcohol slide down his throat in one swallow. It was smoky and sweet and burned in a familiar, comforting way.
Barnabas appeared a moment later, a bottle of whiskey ten times his size gripped in the crook of one elbow and a cup smaller than a thimble in his other hand. Dean couldn’t understand how he was flying straight, but he seemed to be having no trouble at all with his burden.
“Thirsty?” Dean said, as Barnabas set the bottle down on the table. Barnabas laughed.
“This is for you! So you don’t have to go back and forth to the bar every time you want more. I prefer nectar-based alcohols. Cheers!” He clinked his tiny glass against Dean’s.
“Yeah, cheers,” Dean said, without any real enthusiasm. He drank again, then looked warily at the whisky bottle. “Wait, how am I going to pay for that?” He looked at the drink in his hand. “For that matter, how am I going to pay for this?”
Barnabas looked shocked. “You are a guest! Drink your fill. Enjoy!”
“I’m not a guest, I’m a prisoner,” Dean muttered, but he finished his drink and poured himself another.
“You are sad,” Barnabas observed.
Dean glared at him. “What? No, I’m not.”
“You are! I can tell,” Barnabas countered. “Your aura is very clouded. Mostly grey with pain, but I see some red from anger, as well. This afternoon you were only dark blue with worry.” He cocked his head at Dean. “There is still plenty of that, but I think it is your default.”
Dean spluttered. “Dude, what – you don’t know me! Stop spying on my aura or whatever!”
He could just make out the frown on Barnabas’ small face. “Well, I haven’t known you for long, but we are still friends! If you are sad, I want to help.”
“Then mind your own business,” Dean snapped.
Barnabas looked at him for a long moment, and then flew to perch on Dean’s shoulder. Dean felt a slight pressure on his neck, and realized Barnabas was hugging him.
For fuck’s sake. Dean tried to stay annoyed, but the obnoxious little thing was trying so hard.
“All right, all right, already. Stop that, and I’ll tell you a little about it,” Dean said, voice rough as he attempted to keep his cool.
Barnabas made a pleased sound and flew into Dean’s line of vision again. Dean sighed and took another drink of whiskey, trying to figure out how to talk about this without really talking about it. Barnabas bobbed in the air impatiently as he waited for Dean to speak.
“So,” Dean said finally. “You’ve got a million siblings – ”
“Just a hundred or so!,” Barnabas interrupted. Dean rolled his eyes.
“Yeah yeah yeah, the point is, you have a fuckton.”
“Yes!”
“So, you must fight with them sometimes, right?”
“Oh, certainly,” Barnabas said brightly. “There are five I won’t even speak to anymore.” His face darkened. “They know what they did.”
Dean’s eyebrows went up, but he decided it would be better not to ask. “Uh, okay, right,” he said.
“Did you fight with Sam?” Barnabas’ eyes, which always seemed big in his face, were now huge with sympathy.
“Yeah,” Dean acknowledged. “And the thing is…” He felt that heavy dread in his stomach again, and he took another sip of whiskey, hoping to wash it away. “Unlike you, I don’t have dozens of other siblings to fall back on. I…I don’t even have a lot of other people in my life.” He swallowed, blinking back the tears pricking at his eyes. “It’s pretty much just Sam. And we just got this place together, kind of, and I thought we were maybe building, like, a non-mobile second home, and now I don’t know what’s going to happen.”
Barnabas made a sympathetic sound. As Dean raised his glass to his lips again, Barnabas darted forward and put his arms around Dean’s wrist. Dean paused, confused – if the fairy was trying to stop him from drinking, why hadn’t he put any force behind it? He was certainly strong enough. Then, Dean realized he was being hugged again. He chuckled and took a drink, Barnabas still clutching his wrist.
Barnabas let him go and picked up his own drink again. “I’m sorry you and your brother are fighting. But I am sure you’ll make it up! If it is only the two of you, you must love each other too much to let anything come between you.”
Pretty sure loving each other too much is our problem, Dean thought with a sick feeling. He immediately pushed the thought away and poured himself another drink.
***
It was hours later. Barnabas had dragged Dean by his collar back to his room and yelled at him in his tinny voice until Dean finally clambered up onto the bed, rolled over on his side, and fell into a drunken sleep.
Dean dreamed.
Sam was smiling, and the familiar sight of it made Dean’s chest ache. Dean had missed that smile like it was a part of his own body for almost a year and a half now.
“Sammy?” Dean said, heart pounding.
“It’s okay, Dean,” Sam said. “You can pretend it’s me. A year and a day of service. That’s all we ask.”
“What?” Dean croaked. Something was wrong. Something in Sam’s eyes. They weren’t his soulless killer eyes, but they weren’t right, either. Dean blinked rapidly, trying to see better. When his eyes were half-closed he saw the flash of something beneath the Sammy veneer. Something with olive green skin, pointy ears, and antlers growing out of its head.
“You’re not Sam,” Dean said. Not-Sam took a step closer, looking amused.
“No,” he said. “I’m Oberon, King of the Fairies. But we try to make your involuntary solitude more pleasant. A year and a day – just a few months or so in your world. You can spare that, can’t you? And to make things easier for you – ” Oberon gestured at his body. “You’ll only see me in this form. I’ll appear to you as the person you love most in the world.”
He smiled, flashing Sam’s dimples, as he drew still closer to Dean. He reached out and cupped Dean’s face, brushing Dean’s cheekbone with his thumb. Dean froze and his breath caught. Somehow, Oberon even smelled like Sam.
“I think you’ll enjoy serving me,” Oberon said. “If I keep this handsome glamour on, hmm?”
For a strange, fleeting second, Dean found himself wanting to agree. Something about Sam – no, damn it, Oberon – looking at him that way…
“Lie down,” Oberon said. Unfamiliar hands gripped Dean’s shoulders, started pulling him towards a table. Dean came back to himself with a start. He looked automatically at the beings that were holding him, but they were blazing with light, too bright to see. Dean yelled and started firing off shots and slashing at them with his knife. They released him.
“Your Majesty?” said an uncertain voice.
Sam’s laugh. “Let him go.” Sam’s voice, sounding amused. The room started to dissolve. “…deal with him later…”
Dean’s head was pounding as he came slowly back to consciousness. Eventually, he realized that part of the pounding was someone knocking on his door.
“Dean?” Sam’s voice, sounding worried. “Dean!”
“Jesus fuck, I hate everything,” Dean groaned. He looked at his phone; it was just after noon. Dean rolled out of bed, lurched across the room, and opened the door. “What?! My head hurts. I don’t wanna fight with you more right now.”
Sam took in Dean’s disheveled appearance. His mouth set in a disapproving line. “Wayne’s back with Adam,” he snapped. “Thought you might care.”
“Oh.” Dean blinked. “Right. Shit…” He looked down at himself. He was still in yesterday’s clothes.
“Is everything all right?” came Gilda’s voice from behind Sam.
“He’s just hung over,” Sam said. Gilda came up behind him, and he moved aside.
She looked at Dean, her brow furrowed with concern. “Oh, dear. Fairy liquor is very strong. No wonder it overwhelmed you.”
“It didn’t – ” Dean started, but she was already reaching out with both hands.
“Let me help,” she said in a tone which brooked no argument. “So you can see your brother sooner.” Her fingers landed on Dean’s temples. Light flared at the edges of his vision. It felt like a cool wave passed through his body. The aches in his head and muscles disappeared. Even his mouth tasted normal again.
“Wow,” Dean said, blinking at her as her hands dropped away. “What did you do?”
“I have a natural gift for healing,” Gilda said.
“I’ll say. Uh – thanks.”
She gave him a small smile and nodded. “Shall we go see about your brother?”
“Yeah,” Sam said. He sounded a little hoarse and Dean realized that he looked pinched and worried. Guilt flooded Dean. Sam had obviously been upset about this Adam situation for awhile. And last night, instead of taking care of him while they waited to see if Wayne was successful, Dean had made it all about himself. And then abandoned Sam. Fuck.
Well, there was nothing he could do about it now. “Let’s go,” Dean said.
***
Wayne met them outside the sitting room where they’d made their deal. He smiled when he saw them, although he looked a little wary.
“Your brother is inside, body and soul, as promised,” he said. He pursed his lips. “I don’t want you blaming me for the state of his mind, however.”
“What – ” Dean started, fear and anger rising in him.
“It’s okay,” Sam said quickly. “That wasn’t part of our deal. We know what time locked up with Lucifer does to someone.” He grimaced.
“Good, I’m glad we all understand the circumstances,” Wayne said. He started to walk away. Dean grabbed his arm.
“I know what the Cage does to people,” he said in a low voice. “But if I found out you did anything that could have made things worse for him – ”
Wayne jerked away. Anger flashed across his face, but it was quickly replaced by a smooth smile. “My dear boy, I’m not a sadist. I’m a pragmatist. Hurting him would do nothing for me, and I’m not eager to make enemies of you or your brother. Besides – ” His smile turned subtly nasty. “You’re still under my hospitality. You have a day and a half of sanctuary left. But let’s discuss your servitude to Oberon later.”
Dean felt cold as Wayne walked away. Sam looked concerned.
“We’ll figure it out,” he said.
“Don’t worry about it,” Dean said quickly. “Not right now.” He nodded at the door. “Let’s see how he’s doing.”
Sam knocked softly on the closed door, then turned the handle. “Adam?” he said gently, as he opened the door. “It’s Sam and Dean…”
They entered the room, Sam going first. Adam was in an armchair, knees drawn up to his chest. He wore the same clothes they’d seen him in when he was Michael’s vessel; when he’d fallen into the Cage. Adam’s eyes were wide and red-rimmed. The second his gaze fell on Sam, he gave a low moan and threw up his arm to shield his face.
“Please,” he said. His voice was hoarse. “Please, leave me alone. I’m sorry I let Michael in, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”
Dean glanced at Sam, who looked sad but unsurprised. “What’s wrong with him?” Dean asked.
“He thinks I’m Lucifer,” Sam said. “Lucifer used to make himself look like me a lot. He’d – ” He stopped talking abruptly and shook his head. “You go talk to him.”
“Fuck,” Dean muttered. He took a couple steps closer to Adam and cleared his throat. “Hey, man,” he said. “It’s Dean. I don’t know if you remember me.”
“Dean was supposed to be the Michaelsword,” Adam muttered.
“Right,” Dean said. He cleared his throat again, nervously. “Right, that’s me. And I’m – I’m sorry you did it instead, man. But look, hey – you’re out of the Cage, okay? You’re safe. I’m here, and over there, that’s Sam, not Lucifer. I swear.”
Adam peered out between his fingers and examined Sam. His eyes shifted.
“Who’s that?” he asked.
“That’s Gilda,” Dean said. She’d come in behind them. Her hand was on Sam’s shoulder, her palm glowing faintly. “She’s a friend. She helped us get you out.”
Gilda walked forward. “It’s nice to meet you, Adam,” she said. She held out a hand to him. Adam stared at it for too long before reaching out his own shaking hand towards hers.
White light flared where they touched. Adam gasped, clinging tightly to her. A few tears rolled down his cheeks, but his eyes looked a little clearer.
“Her,” he said. “I want to sit with her.”
“Sit wherever you like, dude,” Dean said.
Gilda guided Adam to the small sofa. He clung to her hand like a small child. When she sat down, he lay his head in her lap. She put her free hand on his shoulder.
“Uh, okay if we sit down, too?” Dean asked when they were settled. Adam nodded. Dean sat down across from him. Sam took another chair, leaving an empty one between himself and Dean. Dean’s chest ached at the choice, but he ignored it. It wasn’t the time for him and Sam and all their crap.
“Do you know who we are?” Sam asked. Adam flinched at the sound of his voice, but nodded.
“Sam and Dean,” he said. “My half-brothers.”
“You’re in the fairy realm,” Sam continued. “We made a deal to get you out of Hell.”
Adam grimaced. “What kind of deal?”
Dean glanced at Sam, who did not look back. “Don’t worry about it,” Sam said. “We had to tell Wayne – the fairy that got you – something, that’s all. It’s over. We’re safe, and so are you.”
“Well, you two are,” Dean muttered. He regretted the words immediately.
Adam looked at him, frowning. “What are you talking about?”
“Nothing,” Dean said, flapping a hand. “I’m supposed to, uh, serve the king of the fairies or whatever. We’re working on it. It’ll be fine.”
“How are you feeling?” Sam asked.
Adam shrugged. “About how you’d expect.” His eyes dulled. “Exhausted, actually. This is…weird. Being somewhere besides the Cage.”
“Would you like to rest?” Gilda asked. Adam squeezed her hand tighter.
“Will you stay with me?” He looked vulnerable and sounded lost. Dean had to look away, choking down a surge of guilt. Sam was right; they shouldn’t have left him for so long. They didn’t really know the guy, but he was still family.
“Of course I will,” Gilda was saying. Adam sat up slowly; she rose and helped him to stand. He swayed a little on his feet. Sam immediately stepped towards him, hand outstretched, but Adam flinched again, violently. Sam stopped.
Adam was shaking his head. “I’m sorry,” he said to Sam. “I know you’re not – him – but he looked like you so much of the time…”
“It’s okay,” Sam said quickly. He finally looked at Dean and jerked his head towards Adam.
Dean went to Adam’s side and got an arm around him. Adam leaned on him. The kid weighed nothing. It was as if he had hollow bones like a bird. Dean wondered how long it had been since he’d eaten. There couldn’t have been food in the Cage. It must have been magic keeping him going.
The four of them walked silently to their rooms. Dean supported Adam and Gilda walked beside them, a hand on Adam’s shoulder. Sam followed behind.
Dean hesitated when they reached their hallway, not sure where to bring Adam.
“Uh, me and Sam have our own rooms,” he said. “Wayne’d probably give you one, if – ”
“Hers,” Adam said, looking at Gilda. “I want to stay with her.” His eyes half-closed, and he seemed to force them open with an effort of will. “If that’s okay.”
“Of course,” Gilda said. She unlocked her door and motioned them in.
Dean helped Adam lie down on the bed. Gilda was there immediately, taking off Adam’s shoes and pulling a quilt up over him. He was silent and pale, moving when she told him to. His eyes kept closing.
“We can stay – ” Dean started.
“Or just Dean can stay,” Sam added. “It’s okay.”
Adam opened his eyes again. He shook his head wearily. “Can I just – I just want to sleep for awhile,” he said. “You two can…whatever.”
“Sure thing, man,” Dean said. He felt totally at a loss. It seemed like giving Adam what he wanted was their best option. “Get some shut-eye. We’ll see you later.”
Gilda had drawn a chair up next to the bed and taken Adam’s hand again. She gave Dean and Sam a sad smile.
“I will care for your brother,” she said. “Never fear. I’ll send someone to find you when he’s ready to see you again.”
Dean and Sam nodded and left the room.
“They have kind of a vibe, huh?” Dean said as soon as the door closed behind them. “Seems like there’s a Florence Nightingale syndrome thing going on.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “She’s gay, Dean.”
“Just because she went for Charlie? Hey, some people play for both teams,” Dean said.
“I talked to her last night,” Sam said absently. “She’s only interested in women.” He was staring into the middle distance, frowning deeply.
“You did?” Dean asked, surprised. Sam finally looked at him, for a beat too long, then away again.
“Yeah,” he said.
“Oh.” Dean felt suddenly very, very uncomfortable. Had Sam told her the secret? Dean tried to ignore the feeling. This still wasn’t the time.
“Hey, I’m starving,” he said, with forced casualness. “Come get some breakfast with me.”
“It’s after one p.m.,” Sam pointed out.
“Fine, come get some lunch with me.”
“I’m not really hungry,” Sam mumbled. Dean looked closely at him. He could tell Sam was not okay, and his instinct to take care of Sammy kicked in immediately.
“How long has it been since you ate?” Dean said.
Sam sighed. “I don’t know, Dean. Last night, I think. I had something with Gilda.”
“What did you have?”
Sam glared at him. Dean could almost see his petulant six-year-old brother in that expression. “I’m fine, Dean.”
That definitely meant he had not eaten enough. “Whatever it was, you’re six foot four and you need to keep that gargantuan body upright. Come on.”
Dean took a couple steps down the hall. When he didn’t hear Sam following him, he turned around. Sam was still glaring at him. Time for the trump card.
“You want to be ready to help Adam if he needs us, don’t you?” Dean said. “You can’t be there for him if you’re fainting like a Victorian lady who laced her corset too tight.”
Sam exhaled sharply, looking annoyed, but he started moving forward. Dean grinned.
“Atta boy,” he said.
***
Dean lingered over lunch for ages. It was partly to make sure that Sam, who was picking at his food again, ate enough. And it was partly to try and fill the time. He had no idea how long Adam would sleep. Maybe they wouldn’t even see him until the next morning. Dean had come out of Hell kinda wired, but he figured that had something to do with all the healing crap Cas had done to him – fixing his scars and everything. Cas must’ve recharged him, too. He had no idea how Sam had felt when he crawled out of the Cage, but it probably wouldn’t be the same anyway, since soulless Sam hadn’t needed to sleep. Anyway, Adam had looked totally exhausted and Dean figured it could be hours.
Dean kept up a steady stream of mindless chatter while they ate. He was trying to drown out his own thoughts as well as divert Sam’s attention from whatever emo shit he was focusing on. It felt forced even to him, but he didn’t let up. Every time he stopped talking for more than a few seconds, he could feel the silence between them like it was a tangible thing, heavy and awkward. He finally got what “a pregnant pause” meant (a phrase he’d thought was absolutely hilarious when he was a teenager and ran across it in English class). The outed secret and their fight the previous night seemed to stand between them in a thin bubble, ready to pop at any moment. Dean couldn’t let that happen.
After Dean judged that Sam had eaten enough – if not as much as Dean would have liked – he took Sam on a tour of the castle. He parroted as many of Barnabas’ stories as he could remember. They were good stories, but Sam didn’t seem like he was paying much attention. He was largely silent, looking worried and sad. Dean hated to see him like that, but he didn’t know what he could do besides try to distract him.
He dragged Sam to dinner, but Sam ate even less than he had at lunch. He said he wasn’t hungry, though they’d been walking around for ages. Dean cajoled him into having something but wasn’t particularly satisfied with his success.
After dinner, Dean tried to get Sam to come meet Barnabas, but Sam said he wasn’t in the mood. So Dean walked back to their rooms with him. They both looked at Gilda’s door when they arrived.
“You think we should knock?” Dean asked uncertainly. Sam shook his head.
“I don’t want to interrupt his rest. Gilda said she’d find us when he was ready,” he said. He looked frustrated. “I just wish there was something I could do.”
“At least he’s out,” Dean offered.
“Yeah,” Sam said. He didn’t sound comforted. “Look, I think I’m going to turn in.”
“Turn in? It’s barely seven,” Dean said, trying to keep his tone cheerful.
Sam sighed. “I want to be rested if Adam wakes up in the night,” he said. “And I…” He swallowed and looked down. “Look, I’m not trying to start a fight. But it’s still kind of hard to be around you right now. We spent the afternoon together. Isn’t that enough?”
Dean realized with a sinking feeling that while he’d been trying to make Sam feel better, Sam had been doing the same thing for him. Which meant neither of them really wanted to be together right now. Or, rather, Dean wanted to – he almost always wanted to be around Sam – but it seemed like he didn’t know how to be around him anymore.
“Oh,” was all he managed to say. “Right.” He tried desperately to keep his expression neutral, but something must have shown through, because Sam looked even sadder.
“I don’t want it to be hard,” he said. “I want things to be okay between us. I just…” He ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what to do, Dean. I’d…I mean, I’d talk about it. If you wanted to. But we have to really talk. You can’t just call me sick and storm out like last night.”
Dean’s stomach hurt and he suddenly wished he hadn’t eaten so much at dinner. Had he really said that?
“I can try,” he said hoarsely, ignoring the little voice in his head screaming at him to run away and get trashed again. He had to figure this out, for Sam’s sake. It killed him to see Sammy looking like that and knowing he was at least part of the cause. That he’d made Sam feel that horrible.
Sam examined him for a long moment. “Okay,” he said finally. He unlocked his door and they went inside.
Sam sat on the bed again. Dean stayed standing up, because he absolutely could not be on a bed with his brother right now.
“You’re going to have to start us off,” Sam said. “I don’t even know where you are with all this right now.”
Dean felt like something was squeezing his chest, making it hard to breathe. “You think I do?” he said, voice cracking. He cleared his throat. “I don’t – how am I supposed to feel?”
Sam blew out a breath. “I don’t know,” he said. “There isn’t really a guidebook for this kind of thing.” His eyes were like lasers. Dean felt like Sam could see straight through him. “Do – do you still think the secret wasn’t true?”
Dean’s breath was coming in fast, panicky gulps as he tried to force himself to answer the question truthfully. The answer was in his mind; he’d been trying to ignore it all day. It was like trying to ignore an air raid siren, but Dean had always been exceptionally good at compartmentalization and denial.
He opened his mouth, and at first, nothing came out. His muscles were so tense he was twitching a little. Sam started to look alarmed. That snapped him out of it.
“No.” Dean forced the word out. He felt like he was going to choke on it. It was a relief to admit it, and it was worse. “No. I know it’s true.”
He exhaled in a shuddering breath. Sam looked pained.
“Dean,” he said. “It’s okay if – ”
“I’ve been having these dreams?” Dean interrupted, because if Sam tried to give him an out right now he was scared to death he’d take it and they would be stuck like this forever. “I’ve been having these dreams, right? Ever since we decided to come here. About – about when the fairies kidnapped me. I had sort of repressed what happened, you know? Like I hadn’t forgotten, exactly, but I put it away and I never thought about it. The Winchester way, right?”
Sam frowned, puzzled. “What does that – ”
“He looked like you,” Dean barreled on. “Oberon. He looked like you, but he was acting like you with your soul, kind of. And he said he’d look like that to me, like the person I loved most. That I’d like – that I’d like serving him, if he looked like that.” He looked at Sam, anguished. “I missed you so much, then – the real you. But he touched me and I knew what he meant by serving him, and that was when I freaked out, because of course it was insane to think I’d want to – with my own brother, or even someone who looked like him – ”
Sam rose from the bed and put his hands on Dean’s shoulders. “It’s okay, Dean,” he said. “Deep breaths.”
Dean realized he’d been breathing shallowly and that he was shaking. He forced himself to take a long breath and felt a little calmer. But it wasn’t just the deep breathing that was making him feel better, he realized; it was Sam near him, the warmth of Sam’s hands on his shoulders.
“We’ll figure it out,” Sam was saying. “You won’t have to stay with him.”
For a second Dean had no idea what Sam was talking about. He managed a hollow laugh when he figured it out.
“Not the point of the story,” he said.
“I know,” Sam replied. He stared into Dean’s face with a concerned expression. His thumbs were stroking Dean’s collarbones in a soothing gesture. Dean wondered if he was even aware of it. Sam suddenly pressed his forehead against Dean’s. Dean’s heart start to pound with anxiety and something else, something Dean was afraid to acknowledge. He didn’t move.
“It’ll be okay,” Sam said. “I swear, Dean, it’ll be all right.” There was so much fear and yearning in his voice that it hurt to hear. He took a shaky breath.
“It’ll be okay,” Sam repeated softly, determined now, and somehow Dean knew with certainty what was coming. Sam leaned in with excruciating slowness, giving Dean more than enough time to stop him. Dean froze, wanting to pull away and not wanting to pull away at all.
Sam’s lips landed on his, warm and dry and chaste. Dean’s eyes closed and he thought no going back now, because it was true, they could never un-kiss each other.
And he was kissing Sam back, so natural it was like breathing. Like kissing anyone, right? Except that was Sam sighing against his mouth, and Sam putting an arm around Dean’s waist so slow and careful, and this was like nothing that had ever happened before in the history of the world.
Dean’s hand was rising of its own volition to land on Sam’s neck. All he could think about was how long he’d wanted this and how long he’d never, ever let himself know how much he wanted it. He’d channeled it into dumb jokes about Sam’s sex life and an inordinate obsession with Sam’s well-being and a consuming desire to have Sam close. He’d made Sam the center of his world and blinded himself as surely as if he’d pierced his own eyes with one of his knives.
He couldn’t unsee it any more than he could un-kiss Sam, any more than he could forget Sam’s mouth on his, Sam’s hands on his back. It was staggering, overwhelming. Dean felt like he was falling into an abyss of warmth and darkness, need flooding through his veins. He made a muffled noise; just an involuntary sound as his brain tried to catch up with what was happening. But it must have sounded like a protest, because Sam pulled away abruptly. His hands were on Dean’s elbows, and Dean instinctively grabbed the front of his shirt.
“I’m sorry,” Sam gasped. “Dean, I’m so sorry, I didn’t ask, I know you’re not – ” He looked stricken. “I know you can’t, not now, maybe not ever – ”
“Can.” Dean forced the word out. His throat ached with unshed tears and it was practically impossible to talk about any of this, but he felt like if they stopped, they might lose something and never get it back. Like a wall would go up between them that couldn’t be torn down again. Dean felt like if Sam stopped touching him he might shake apart.
“Dean…” Sam looked like maybe he was going to insist they stop, that they have a long talk about this. Dean couldn’t. This was the only way he could think of to process what he was feeling.
“Sam,” he burst out, “would you just shut up already and – and – ” Kiss me, he wanted to say, but the words seemed to be lodged in his throat. He hoped his parted lips and pleading eyes would do the talking for him. Evidently they did, because Sam pulled him close and – thank fucking god – kissed him again.
Sam kissed harder this time, although Dean could feel the muscles in Sam’s back twitching under his hands, like Sam was still holding back. The thought sent a wave of arousal through Dean’s whole body, head to toe, but he didn’t try to make Sam let himself go. Not yet, anyway. This was more than overwhelming enough.
Dean let his mouth fall open; Sam took the invitation. The feeling of his tongue sliding against Dean’s went right to Dean’s dick. Dean groaned helplessly, clinging tightly to Sam’s shirt. A shudder ran through Sam. Immediately his hands went from Dean’s back to his hips and he pulled them closer together. Dean’s pelvis jerked, because his cock was suddenly pressing against Sam’s thigh. And he was pretty sure that thing poking into his lower abdomen was…
Oh, god, he was in so far over his head.
Nope. Nope. In for a penny, in for a pound. Dean slid his hand into Sam’s hair, oh, fuck, it was soft and Dean never wanted to stop touching it. Sam was pulling him towards the bed, still kissing him, and Dean felt like his heart was going to explode. He hadn’t been this nervous about sex since he was a freaking teenager and just starting out with it. What if he fucked this up? He could come too soon or not be able to come at all or he might do something Sam hated – what if Sam had some unexpected hard limit Dean would never guess? With all the trauma they’d been through, it could be anything.
Sam broke the kiss and pulled Dean onto the bed with him, both of them still sitting up. He looked at Dean with a concerned expression.
“Dean, it’s okay,” he said, so soft. Dean realized his breath was coming in those panicked gulps again, and he forced himself to slow it down, to suck some air deep into his lungs.
“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” Sam was saying. “We don’t have to do more than kiss. Or – or less. We could just…I don’t know.” He reached out hesitantly and put his hand on Dean’s, peering into Dean’s eyes.
“Shoes,” Dean said. Sam blinked, frowning at him in confusion.
Dean cleared his throat. “Uh.” He still didn’t know what to say, so he just toed his shoes off. Sam watched him, then followed suit silently.
“Dean – ” he started.
“Sammy, shut up,” Dean interrupted. He grabbed Sam’s neck and crashed their lips together before he could think better of it. Sam made a sound that was basically a whimper and it made Dean kiss him tighter, pull him nearer, because Sam sounded vulnerable and Dean could not let him down.
Sam’s fingers were digging into Dean’s back and even though he was scared out of his mind, all Dean could think about was getting closer, getting more. He found himself straddling Sam’s leg, still kissing him, afraid to stop. Sam’s hands slipped under Dean’s shirt, impossibly warm on his bare skin. Dean’s cock jerked in his pants. He shrugged out of his overshirt and started unbuttoning Sam’s, felt the rise and fall of Sam’s chest under his hands.
The second he had it unbuttoned, Sam shrugged it off and pulled his t-shirt over his head, tossing it carelessly onto the floor next to them. He slid his hands under Dean’s t-shirt again, looking up at Dean silently with a questioning expression. Dean took a deep breath and nodded, and let Sam help him get his shirt off.
Sam pulled him close again for a long kiss, half-reclining on the pillows now. The skin-on-skin sensation of his chest pressed to Sam’s made Dean ache with a strange combination of desire and fulfillment. It was so much more than he’d even known he’d wanted, and it was nowhere near enough.
Sam was kissing Dean’s neck, then his collarbone, mouthing along his shoulder. “Dean, Dean,” he murmured. He sounded awed. Dean clung to him and tried not to come apart at the seams.
Sam’s hand was in his hair, fingertips stroking gently. “It’s okay,” he said.
“Sammy,” Dean croaked. He could feel Sam rock-hard against his thigh, and every drag of friction against his own erection sent sparks of pleasure through him. Fuck, he wanted more, but he didn’t know how to take that next step.
He couldn’t say any of this aloud, but Sam must have gotten the gist somehow, because he was still stroking Dean’s hair. He nuzzled Dean’s neck.
“It’s okay,” Sam repeated. “For once, let me take care of you, huh?”
Dean let out a shuddery exhale, not trusting his voice to answer. Sam didn’t seem to need one, though. He pressed a kiss to a spot just under Dean’s earlobe.
“Lie down,” he whispered, and Dean did, feeling terrified and safe all at once as he stared up at his brother. Sam kissed him softly and ran his hand down Dean’s chest. When he moved over the bulge in Dean’s jeans, Dean’s hips rose into his touch. Sam pulled away and stared down at him, mouth slightly open. The look of desire on his face made Dean flush.
Sam popped the button on Dean’s fly expertly with one hand, then slowly pulled down the zipper. He hesitated, looking at Dean. Dean forced himself to give a short nod, even though his breath was coming too fast again. When Sam slid his hand into Dean’s boxers and wrapped around his erection, Dean’s back arched so fast he banged his head against the headboard.
“Fuck,” he swore, but it wasn’t about the pain; it had barely been a bump, especially by their standards.
“Dean – ” Sam sounded worried.
“I’m fine,” Dean gasped out, although he felt anything but, because somehow Sam’s hand was on his dick and it felt so good he was sort of afraid he was going to just come in an instant like he was fifteen again. Especially when Sam swiped his thumb across the slit, making him groan aloud.
A couple of gentle tugs had Dean’s back arching again.
“God, Dean,” Sam said. That awed tone was back in his voice. “I can’t believe you’re – letting me – ” He leaned down and kissed Dean again, like he was trying to stop his own words. Dean did his best to let himself go, hips working against the movement of Sam’s fist.
Dean realized suddenly that Sam was getting nothing right now. It was unacceptable, and he pulled away and grabbed Sam’s wrist.
Sam paused, and Dean could breathe again, think again. “You,” he said. “Gotta do – you’re not – I’m not – ” He stared up at Sam, begging silently.
Thank god for Sam’s preternatural understanding of him. Sam’s smile was gentle and a little sad. “I thought you were gonna let me take care of you,” he said.
“Sammy – ” Dean started, but Sam silenced him with a kiss and then rolled off the bed, unbuttoning his jeans. Dean shimmied out of the rest of his own clothes, watching Sam out of the corner of his eye. He nearly choked on his own saliva when he saw Sam’s dick, big and flushed dark with blood, jutting out from his body.
Dean recovered himself just as Sam started to turn back towards him and managed to finish kicking his pants off. Sam’s eyes raked down his body with a fierce, hungry expression. Dean tried not to think about the fact that he was naked with his own fucking brother. Sex naked, not innocent naked like when they were little kids and used to take baths together.
Sam lay down next to Dean and pulled him close, rolling Dean onto his side so they were facing each other. Sam slid an arm between Dean’s neck and the bed. His palm landed between Dean’s shoulder blades, moving minutely. It reminded Dean to take a breath; just in time, because Sam tangled their legs together and suddenly that was his dick right up against Dean’s. Sam licked his other hand in a gesture so obscene and beautiful that all Dean could do was stare at him, and then Sam was wrapping that hand around both of their cocks at once.
“Oh fuck,” Dean said. “Oh, fuck.” He squirmed a little in Sam’s grip, the sensations overwhelming and really, really good.
“You all right?” Sam asked, voice strained. Dean nodded quickly.
“Sammy – ” he started, but he didn’t know what to say, so he just shook his head, slung an arm around Sam’s waist, and buried his face in Sam’s chest.
“Dean,” Sam breathed, and then fell silent except for soft puffs of breath as he started moving his hand, jerking them both together.
Dean’s head was swimming as the pleasure built slowly. He felt like he was drowning in Sam, Sam’s smell and the sounds he made and the taste of his skin under Dean’s lips. The feeling of him. The impossibility of what was happening between them. Dean still felt like it wasn’t real, even as heat coiled low in his pelvis and he started thrusting with abandon into Sam’s tight grip.
“Sammy, Sammy,” he heard himself saying. It seemed to be coming from a long way away.
“Yeah, Dean, yeah, it’s okay, come on,” Sam said. His tone was soothing but Dean could hear the strain in his voice, the need, and it pushed him over the edge before he knew what was happening, gasping as he spilled over his brother’s fingers.
“Dean, oh, god, Dean,” Sam was saying. His grip on them was a little uncomfortable for Dean now, but he just gritted his teeth. Sam was right behind him anyway, moaning as his cock pulsed against Dean’s.
“You okay?” they asked each other in unison. Sam laughed and Dean smiled even though he could feel something black and ugly hovering at the corners of his mind, ready to pounce now that the haze of lust had abated.
“I’m good,” Sam said. “You?”
“Yeah, I think so,” Dean lied. Only sort of a lie; at the moment he was kind of okay. He held onto that as Sam kissed him gently, as Sam pulled down the covers for them and pulled Dean into his arms, insisting on being the big spoon. Dean refused to look at the darkness gathering on the horizon of his soul. He couldn’t let Sam down that way. Not now, not after…what had just happened.
Dean clung to Sam’s forearm and when Sam pressed a kiss to the back of his neck, Dean forced himself to relax instead of tense. He thought about nothing except Sam’s heat and how good it felt to be curled up with him like this. Between that and the orgasm and the minimal amount of rest he’d gotten the night before, it didn’t take long for him to fall asleep.
***
Part Four
Part Two
***
They ended up in a room which looked something like a Victorian saloon. The walls were hung with carmine silk. There were gleaming brass fixtures and a long bar made of rich wood with reddish tones. The room was full of fairies, and like the art that decorated the castle, they were human-shaped to varying degrees. Dean got a triple whiskey and found a table in a relatively dim, quiet corner. He sat down with his back to the wall, eyeing the assembly but quickly concluding that no one was paying him the slightest bit of attention, much less offering any danger. He got down to the business of drinking, letting a third of the alcohol slide down his throat in one swallow. It was smoky and sweet and burned in a familiar, comforting way.
Barnabas appeared a moment later, a bottle of whiskey ten times his size gripped in the crook of one elbow and a cup smaller than a thimble in his other hand. Dean couldn’t understand how he was flying straight, but he seemed to be having no trouble at all with his burden.
“Thirsty?” Dean said, as Barnabas set the bottle down on the table. Barnabas laughed.
“This is for you! So you don’t have to go back and forth to the bar every time you want more. I prefer nectar-based alcohols. Cheers!” He clinked his tiny glass against Dean’s.
“Yeah, cheers,” Dean said, without any real enthusiasm. He drank again, then looked warily at the whisky bottle. “Wait, how am I going to pay for that?” He looked at the drink in his hand. “For that matter, how am I going to pay for this?”
Barnabas looked shocked. “You are a guest! Drink your fill. Enjoy!”
“I’m not a guest, I’m a prisoner,” Dean muttered, but he finished his drink and poured himself another.
“You are sad,” Barnabas observed.
Dean glared at him. “What? No, I’m not.”
“You are! I can tell,” Barnabas countered. “Your aura is very clouded. Mostly grey with pain, but I see some red from anger, as well. This afternoon you were only dark blue with worry.” He cocked his head at Dean. “There is still plenty of that, but I think it is your default.”
Dean spluttered. “Dude, what – you don’t know me! Stop spying on my aura or whatever!”
He could just make out the frown on Barnabas’ small face. “Well, I haven’t known you for long, but we are still friends! If you are sad, I want to help.”
“Then mind your own business,” Dean snapped.
Barnabas looked at him for a long moment, and then flew to perch on Dean’s shoulder. Dean felt a slight pressure on his neck, and realized Barnabas was hugging him.
For fuck’s sake. Dean tried to stay annoyed, but the obnoxious little thing was trying so hard.
“All right, all right, already. Stop that, and I’ll tell you a little about it,” Dean said, voice rough as he attempted to keep his cool.
Barnabas made a pleased sound and flew into Dean’s line of vision again. Dean sighed and took another drink of whiskey, trying to figure out how to talk about this without really talking about it. Barnabas bobbed in the air impatiently as he waited for Dean to speak.
“So,” Dean said finally. “You’ve got a million siblings – ”
“Just a hundred or so!,” Barnabas interrupted. Dean rolled his eyes.
“Yeah yeah yeah, the point is, you have a fuckton.”
“Yes!”
“So, you must fight with them sometimes, right?”
“Oh, certainly,” Barnabas said brightly. “There are five I won’t even speak to anymore.” His face darkened. “They know what they did.”
Dean’s eyebrows went up, but he decided it would be better not to ask. “Uh, okay, right,” he said.
“Did you fight with Sam?” Barnabas’ eyes, which always seemed big in his face, were now huge with sympathy.
“Yeah,” Dean acknowledged. “And the thing is…” He felt that heavy dread in his stomach again, and he took another sip of whiskey, hoping to wash it away. “Unlike you, I don’t have dozens of other siblings to fall back on. I…I don’t even have a lot of other people in my life.” He swallowed, blinking back the tears pricking at his eyes. “It’s pretty much just Sam. And we just got this place together, kind of, and I thought we were maybe building, like, a non-mobile second home, and now I don’t know what’s going to happen.”
Barnabas made a sympathetic sound. As Dean raised his glass to his lips again, Barnabas darted forward and put his arms around Dean’s wrist. Dean paused, confused – if the fairy was trying to stop him from drinking, why hadn’t he put any force behind it? He was certainly strong enough. Then, Dean realized he was being hugged again. He chuckled and took a drink, Barnabas still clutching his wrist.
Barnabas let him go and picked up his own drink again. “I’m sorry you and your brother are fighting. But I am sure you’ll make it up! If it is only the two of you, you must love each other too much to let anything come between you.”
Pretty sure loving each other too much is our problem, Dean thought with a sick feeling. He immediately pushed the thought away and poured himself another drink.
***
It was hours later. Barnabas had dragged Dean by his collar back to his room and yelled at him in his tinny voice until Dean finally clambered up onto the bed, rolled over on his side, and fell into a drunken sleep.
Dean dreamed.
Sam was smiling, and the familiar sight of it made Dean’s chest ache. Dean had missed that smile like it was a part of his own body for almost a year and a half now.
“Sammy?” Dean said, heart pounding.
“It’s okay, Dean,” Sam said. “You can pretend it’s me. A year and a day of service. That’s all we ask.”
“What?” Dean croaked. Something was wrong. Something in Sam’s eyes. They weren’t his soulless killer eyes, but they weren’t right, either. Dean blinked rapidly, trying to see better. When his eyes were half-closed he saw the flash of something beneath the Sammy veneer. Something with olive green skin, pointy ears, and antlers growing out of its head.
“You’re not Sam,” Dean said. Not-Sam took a step closer, looking amused.
“No,” he said. “I’m Oberon, King of the Fairies. But we try to make your involuntary solitude more pleasant. A year and a day – just a few months or so in your world. You can spare that, can’t you? And to make things easier for you – ” Oberon gestured at his body. “You’ll only see me in this form. I’ll appear to you as the person you love most in the world.”
He smiled, flashing Sam’s dimples, as he drew still closer to Dean. He reached out and cupped Dean’s face, brushing Dean’s cheekbone with his thumb. Dean froze and his breath caught. Somehow, Oberon even smelled like Sam.
“I think you’ll enjoy serving me,” Oberon said. “If I keep this handsome glamour on, hmm?”
For a strange, fleeting second, Dean found himself wanting to agree. Something about Sam – no, damn it, Oberon – looking at him that way…
“Lie down,” Oberon said. Unfamiliar hands gripped Dean’s shoulders, started pulling him towards a table. Dean came back to himself with a start. He looked automatically at the beings that were holding him, but they were blazing with light, too bright to see. Dean yelled and started firing off shots and slashing at them with his knife. They released him.
“Your Majesty?” said an uncertain voice.
Sam’s laugh. “Let him go.” Sam’s voice, sounding amused. The room started to dissolve. “…deal with him later…”
Dean’s head was pounding as he came slowly back to consciousness. Eventually, he realized that part of the pounding was someone knocking on his door.
“Dean?” Sam’s voice, sounding worried. “Dean!”
“Jesus fuck, I hate everything,” Dean groaned. He looked at his phone; it was just after noon. Dean rolled out of bed, lurched across the room, and opened the door. “What?! My head hurts. I don’t wanna fight with you more right now.”
Sam took in Dean’s disheveled appearance. His mouth set in a disapproving line. “Wayne’s back with Adam,” he snapped. “Thought you might care.”
“Oh.” Dean blinked. “Right. Shit…” He looked down at himself. He was still in yesterday’s clothes.
“Is everything all right?” came Gilda’s voice from behind Sam.
“He’s just hung over,” Sam said. Gilda came up behind him, and he moved aside.
She looked at Dean, her brow furrowed with concern. “Oh, dear. Fairy liquor is very strong. No wonder it overwhelmed you.”
“It didn’t – ” Dean started, but she was already reaching out with both hands.
“Let me help,” she said in a tone which brooked no argument. “So you can see your brother sooner.” Her fingers landed on Dean’s temples. Light flared at the edges of his vision. It felt like a cool wave passed through his body. The aches in his head and muscles disappeared. Even his mouth tasted normal again.
“Wow,” Dean said, blinking at her as her hands dropped away. “What did you do?”
“I have a natural gift for healing,” Gilda said.
“I’ll say. Uh – thanks.”
She gave him a small smile and nodded. “Shall we go see about your brother?”
“Yeah,” Sam said. He sounded a little hoarse and Dean realized that he looked pinched and worried. Guilt flooded Dean. Sam had obviously been upset about this Adam situation for awhile. And last night, instead of taking care of him while they waited to see if Wayne was successful, Dean had made it all about himself. And then abandoned Sam. Fuck.
Well, there was nothing he could do about it now. “Let’s go,” Dean said.
***
Wayne met them outside the sitting room where they’d made their deal. He smiled when he saw them, although he looked a little wary.
“Your brother is inside, body and soul, as promised,” he said. He pursed his lips. “I don’t want you blaming me for the state of his mind, however.”
“What – ” Dean started, fear and anger rising in him.
“It’s okay,” Sam said quickly. “That wasn’t part of our deal. We know what time locked up with Lucifer does to someone.” He grimaced.
“Good, I’m glad we all understand the circumstances,” Wayne said. He started to walk away. Dean grabbed his arm.
“I know what the Cage does to people,” he said in a low voice. “But if I found out you did anything that could have made things worse for him – ”
Wayne jerked away. Anger flashed across his face, but it was quickly replaced by a smooth smile. “My dear boy, I’m not a sadist. I’m a pragmatist. Hurting him would do nothing for me, and I’m not eager to make enemies of you or your brother. Besides – ” His smile turned subtly nasty. “You’re still under my hospitality. You have a day and a half of sanctuary left. But let’s discuss your servitude to Oberon later.”
Dean felt cold as Wayne walked away. Sam looked concerned.
“We’ll figure it out,” he said.
“Don’t worry about it,” Dean said quickly. “Not right now.” He nodded at the door. “Let’s see how he’s doing.”
Sam knocked softly on the closed door, then turned the handle. “Adam?” he said gently, as he opened the door. “It’s Sam and Dean…”
They entered the room, Sam going first. Adam was in an armchair, knees drawn up to his chest. He wore the same clothes they’d seen him in when he was Michael’s vessel; when he’d fallen into the Cage. Adam’s eyes were wide and red-rimmed. The second his gaze fell on Sam, he gave a low moan and threw up his arm to shield his face.
“Please,” he said. His voice was hoarse. “Please, leave me alone. I’m sorry I let Michael in, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”
Dean glanced at Sam, who looked sad but unsurprised. “What’s wrong with him?” Dean asked.
“He thinks I’m Lucifer,” Sam said. “Lucifer used to make himself look like me a lot. He’d – ” He stopped talking abruptly and shook his head. “You go talk to him.”
“Fuck,” Dean muttered. He took a couple steps closer to Adam and cleared his throat. “Hey, man,” he said. “It’s Dean. I don’t know if you remember me.”
“Dean was supposed to be the Michaelsword,” Adam muttered.
“Right,” Dean said. He cleared his throat again, nervously. “Right, that’s me. And I’m – I’m sorry you did it instead, man. But look, hey – you’re out of the Cage, okay? You’re safe. I’m here, and over there, that’s Sam, not Lucifer. I swear.”
Adam peered out between his fingers and examined Sam. His eyes shifted.
“Who’s that?” he asked.
“That’s Gilda,” Dean said. She’d come in behind them. Her hand was on Sam’s shoulder, her palm glowing faintly. “She’s a friend. She helped us get you out.”
Gilda walked forward. “It’s nice to meet you, Adam,” she said. She held out a hand to him. Adam stared at it for too long before reaching out his own shaking hand towards hers.
White light flared where they touched. Adam gasped, clinging tightly to her. A few tears rolled down his cheeks, but his eyes looked a little clearer.
“Her,” he said. “I want to sit with her.”
“Sit wherever you like, dude,” Dean said.
Gilda guided Adam to the small sofa. He clung to her hand like a small child. When she sat down, he lay his head in her lap. She put her free hand on his shoulder.
“Uh, okay if we sit down, too?” Dean asked when they were settled. Adam nodded. Dean sat down across from him. Sam took another chair, leaving an empty one between himself and Dean. Dean’s chest ached at the choice, but he ignored it. It wasn’t the time for him and Sam and all their crap.
“Do you know who we are?” Sam asked. Adam flinched at the sound of his voice, but nodded.
“Sam and Dean,” he said. “My half-brothers.”
“You’re in the fairy realm,” Sam continued. “We made a deal to get you out of Hell.”
Adam grimaced. “What kind of deal?”
Dean glanced at Sam, who did not look back. “Don’t worry about it,” Sam said. “We had to tell Wayne – the fairy that got you – something, that’s all. It’s over. We’re safe, and so are you.”
“Well, you two are,” Dean muttered. He regretted the words immediately.
Adam looked at him, frowning. “What are you talking about?”
“Nothing,” Dean said, flapping a hand. “I’m supposed to, uh, serve the king of the fairies or whatever. We’re working on it. It’ll be fine.”
“How are you feeling?” Sam asked.
Adam shrugged. “About how you’d expect.” His eyes dulled. “Exhausted, actually. This is…weird. Being somewhere besides the Cage.”
“Would you like to rest?” Gilda asked. Adam squeezed her hand tighter.
“Will you stay with me?” He looked vulnerable and sounded lost. Dean had to look away, choking down a surge of guilt. Sam was right; they shouldn’t have left him for so long. They didn’t really know the guy, but he was still family.
“Of course I will,” Gilda was saying. Adam sat up slowly; she rose and helped him to stand. He swayed a little on his feet. Sam immediately stepped towards him, hand outstretched, but Adam flinched again, violently. Sam stopped.
Adam was shaking his head. “I’m sorry,” he said to Sam. “I know you’re not – him – but he looked like you so much of the time…”
“It’s okay,” Sam said quickly. He finally looked at Dean and jerked his head towards Adam.
Dean went to Adam’s side and got an arm around him. Adam leaned on him. The kid weighed nothing. It was as if he had hollow bones like a bird. Dean wondered how long it had been since he’d eaten. There couldn’t have been food in the Cage. It must have been magic keeping him going.
The four of them walked silently to their rooms. Dean supported Adam and Gilda walked beside them, a hand on Adam’s shoulder. Sam followed behind.
Dean hesitated when they reached their hallway, not sure where to bring Adam.
“Uh, me and Sam have our own rooms,” he said. “Wayne’d probably give you one, if – ”
“Hers,” Adam said, looking at Gilda. “I want to stay with her.” His eyes half-closed, and he seemed to force them open with an effort of will. “If that’s okay.”
“Of course,” Gilda said. She unlocked her door and motioned them in.
Dean helped Adam lie down on the bed. Gilda was there immediately, taking off Adam’s shoes and pulling a quilt up over him. He was silent and pale, moving when she told him to. His eyes kept closing.
“We can stay – ” Dean started.
“Or just Dean can stay,” Sam added. “It’s okay.”
Adam opened his eyes again. He shook his head wearily. “Can I just – I just want to sleep for awhile,” he said. “You two can…whatever.”
“Sure thing, man,” Dean said. He felt totally at a loss. It seemed like giving Adam what he wanted was their best option. “Get some shut-eye. We’ll see you later.”
Gilda had drawn a chair up next to the bed and taken Adam’s hand again. She gave Dean and Sam a sad smile.
“I will care for your brother,” she said. “Never fear. I’ll send someone to find you when he’s ready to see you again.”
Dean and Sam nodded and left the room.
“They have kind of a vibe, huh?” Dean said as soon as the door closed behind them. “Seems like there’s a Florence Nightingale syndrome thing going on.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “She’s gay, Dean.”
“Just because she went for Charlie? Hey, some people play for both teams,” Dean said.
“I talked to her last night,” Sam said absently. “She’s only interested in women.” He was staring into the middle distance, frowning deeply.
“You did?” Dean asked, surprised. Sam finally looked at him, for a beat too long, then away again.
“Yeah,” he said.
“Oh.” Dean felt suddenly very, very uncomfortable. Had Sam told her the secret? Dean tried to ignore the feeling. This still wasn’t the time.
“Hey, I’m starving,” he said, with forced casualness. “Come get some breakfast with me.”
“It’s after one p.m.,” Sam pointed out.
“Fine, come get some lunch with me.”
“I’m not really hungry,” Sam mumbled. Dean looked closely at him. He could tell Sam was not okay, and his instinct to take care of Sammy kicked in immediately.
“How long has it been since you ate?” Dean said.
Sam sighed. “I don’t know, Dean. Last night, I think. I had something with Gilda.”
“What did you have?”
Sam glared at him. Dean could almost see his petulant six-year-old brother in that expression. “I’m fine, Dean.”
That definitely meant he had not eaten enough. “Whatever it was, you’re six foot four and you need to keep that gargantuan body upright. Come on.”
Dean took a couple steps down the hall. When he didn’t hear Sam following him, he turned around. Sam was still glaring at him. Time for the trump card.
“You want to be ready to help Adam if he needs us, don’t you?” Dean said. “You can’t be there for him if you’re fainting like a Victorian lady who laced her corset too tight.”
Sam exhaled sharply, looking annoyed, but he started moving forward. Dean grinned.
“Atta boy,” he said.
***
Dean lingered over lunch for ages. It was partly to make sure that Sam, who was picking at his food again, ate enough. And it was partly to try and fill the time. He had no idea how long Adam would sleep. Maybe they wouldn’t even see him until the next morning. Dean had come out of Hell kinda wired, but he figured that had something to do with all the healing crap Cas had done to him – fixing his scars and everything. Cas must’ve recharged him, too. He had no idea how Sam had felt when he crawled out of the Cage, but it probably wouldn’t be the same anyway, since soulless Sam hadn’t needed to sleep. Anyway, Adam had looked totally exhausted and Dean figured it could be hours.
Dean kept up a steady stream of mindless chatter while they ate. He was trying to drown out his own thoughts as well as divert Sam’s attention from whatever emo shit he was focusing on. It felt forced even to him, but he didn’t let up. Every time he stopped talking for more than a few seconds, he could feel the silence between them like it was a tangible thing, heavy and awkward. He finally got what “a pregnant pause” meant (a phrase he’d thought was absolutely hilarious when he was a teenager and ran across it in English class). The outed secret and their fight the previous night seemed to stand between them in a thin bubble, ready to pop at any moment. Dean couldn’t let that happen.
After Dean judged that Sam had eaten enough – if not as much as Dean would have liked – he took Sam on a tour of the castle. He parroted as many of Barnabas’ stories as he could remember. They were good stories, but Sam didn’t seem like he was paying much attention. He was largely silent, looking worried and sad. Dean hated to see him like that, but he didn’t know what he could do besides try to distract him.
He dragged Sam to dinner, but Sam ate even less than he had at lunch. He said he wasn’t hungry, though they’d been walking around for ages. Dean cajoled him into having something but wasn’t particularly satisfied with his success.
After dinner, Dean tried to get Sam to come meet Barnabas, but Sam said he wasn’t in the mood. So Dean walked back to their rooms with him. They both looked at Gilda’s door when they arrived.
“You think we should knock?” Dean asked uncertainly. Sam shook his head.
“I don’t want to interrupt his rest. Gilda said she’d find us when he was ready,” he said. He looked frustrated. “I just wish there was something I could do.”
“At least he’s out,” Dean offered.
“Yeah,” Sam said. He didn’t sound comforted. “Look, I think I’m going to turn in.”
“Turn in? It’s barely seven,” Dean said, trying to keep his tone cheerful.
Sam sighed. “I want to be rested if Adam wakes up in the night,” he said. “And I…” He swallowed and looked down. “Look, I’m not trying to start a fight. But it’s still kind of hard to be around you right now. We spent the afternoon together. Isn’t that enough?”
Dean realized with a sinking feeling that while he’d been trying to make Sam feel better, Sam had been doing the same thing for him. Which meant neither of them really wanted to be together right now. Or, rather, Dean wanted to – he almost always wanted to be around Sam – but it seemed like he didn’t know how to be around him anymore.
“Oh,” was all he managed to say. “Right.” He tried desperately to keep his expression neutral, but something must have shown through, because Sam looked even sadder.
“I don’t want it to be hard,” he said. “I want things to be okay between us. I just…” He ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what to do, Dean. I’d…I mean, I’d talk about it. If you wanted to. But we have to really talk. You can’t just call me sick and storm out like last night.”
Dean’s stomach hurt and he suddenly wished he hadn’t eaten so much at dinner. Had he really said that?
“I can try,” he said hoarsely, ignoring the little voice in his head screaming at him to run away and get trashed again. He had to figure this out, for Sam’s sake. It killed him to see Sammy looking like that and knowing he was at least part of the cause. That he’d made Sam feel that horrible.
Sam examined him for a long moment. “Okay,” he said finally. He unlocked his door and they went inside.
Sam sat on the bed again. Dean stayed standing up, because he absolutely could not be on a bed with his brother right now.
“You’re going to have to start us off,” Sam said. “I don’t even know where you are with all this right now.”
Dean felt like something was squeezing his chest, making it hard to breathe. “You think I do?” he said, voice cracking. He cleared his throat. “I don’t – how am I supposed to feel?”
Sam blew out a breath. “I don’t know,” he said. “There isn’t really a guidebook for this kind of thing.” His eyes were like lasers. Dean felt like Sam could see straight through him. “Do – do you still think the secret wasn’t true?”
Dean’s breath was coming in fast, panicky gulps as he tried to force himself to answer the question truthfully. The answer was in his mind; he’d been trying to ignore it all day. It was like trying to ignore an air raid siren, but Dean had always been exceptionally good at compartmentalization and denial.
He opened his mouth, and at first, nothing came out. His muscles were so tense he was twitching a little. Sam started to look alarmed. That snapped him out of it.
“No.” Dean forced the word out. He felt like he was going to choke on it. It was a relief to admit it, and it was worse. “No. I know it’s true.”
He exhaled in a shuddering breath. Sam looked pained.
“Dean,” he said. “It’s okay if – ”
“I’ve been having these dreams?” Dean interrupted, because if Sam tried to give him an out right now he was scared to death he’d take it and they would be stuck like this forever. “I’ve been having these dreams, right? Ever since we decided to come here. About – about when the fairies kidnapped me. I had sort of repressed what happened, you know? Like I hadn’t forgotten, exactly, but I put it away and I never thought about it. The Winchester way, right?”
Sam frowned, puzzled. “What does that – ”
“He looked like you,” Dean barreled on. “Oberon. He looked like you, but he was acting like you with your soul, kind of. And he said he’d look like that to me, like the person I loved most. That I’d like – that I’d like serving him, if he looked like that.” He looked at Sam, anguished. “I missed you so much, then – the real you. But he touched me and I knew what he meant by serving him, and that was when I freaked out, because of course it was insane to think I’d want to – with my own brother, or even someone who looked like him – ”
Sam rose from the bed and put his hands on Dean’s shoulders. “It’s okay, Dean,” he said. “Deep breaths.”
Dean realized he’d been breathing shallowly and that he was shaking. He forced himself to take a long breath and felt a little calmer. But it wasn’t just the deep breathing that was making him feel better, he realized; it was Sam near him, the warmth of Sam’s hands on his shoulders.
“We’ll figure it out,” Sam was saying. “You won’t have to stay with him.”
For a second Dean had no idea what Sam was talking about. He managed a hollow laugh when he figured it out.
“Not the point of the story,” he said.
“I know,” Sam replied. He stared into Dean’s face with a concerned expression. His thumbs were stroking Dean’s collarbones in a soothing gesture. Dean wondered if he was even aware of it. Sam suddenly pressed his forehead against Dean’s. Dean’s heart start to pound with anxiety and something else, something Dean was afraid to acknowledge. He didn’t move.
“It’ll be okay,” Sam said. “I swear, Dean, it’ll be all right.” There was so much fear and yearning in his voice that it hurt to hear. He took a shaky breath.
“It’ll be okay,” Sam repeated softly, determined now, and somehow Dean knew with certainty what was coming. Sam leaned in with excruciating slowness, giving Dean more than enough time to stop him. Dean froze, wanting to pull away and not wanting to pull away at all.
Sam’s lips landed on his, warm and dry and chaste. Dean’s eyes closed and he thought no going back now, because it was true, they could never un-kiss each other.
And he was kissing Sam back, so natural it was like breathing. Like kissing anyone, right? Except that was Sam sighing against his mouth, and Sam putting an arm around Dean’s waist so slow and careful, and this was like nothing that had ever happened before in the history of the world.
Dean’s hand was rising of its own volition to land on Sam’s neck. All he could think about was how long he’d wanted this and how long he’d never, ever let himself know how much he wanted it. He’d channeled it into dumb jokes about Sam’s sex life and an inordinate obsession with Sam’s well-being and a consuming desire to have Sam close. He’d made Sam the center of his world and blinded himself as surely as if he’d pierced his own eyes with one of his knives.
He couldn’t unsee it any more than he could un-kiss Sam, any more than he could forget Sam’s mouth on his, Sam’s hands on his back. It was staggering, overwhelming. Dean felt like he was falling into an abyss of warmth and darkness, need flooding through his veins. He made a muffled noise; just an involuntary sound as his brain tried to catch up with what was happening. But it must have sounded like a protest, because Sam pulled away abruptly. His hands were on Dean’s elbows, and Dean instinctively grabbed the front of his shirt.
“I’m sorry,” Sam gasped. “Dean, I’m so sorry, I didn’t ask, I know you’re not – ” He looked stricken. “I know you can’t, not now, maybe not ever – ”
“Can.” Dean forced the word out. His throat ached with unshed tears and it was practically impossible to talk about any of this, but he felt like if they stopped, they might lose something and never get it back. Like a wall would go up between them that couldn’t be torn down again. Dean felt like if Sam stopped touching him he might shake apart.
“Dean…” Sam looked like maybe he was going to insist they stop, that they have a long talk about this. Dean couldn’t. This was the only way he could think of to process what he was feeling.
“Sam,” he burst out, “would you just shut up already and – and – ” Kiss me, he wanted to say, but the words seemed to be lodged in his throat. He hoped his parted lips and pleading eyes would do the talking for him. Evidently they did, because Sam pulled him close and – thank fucking god – kissed him again.
Sam kissed harder this time, although Dean could feel the muscles in Sam’s back twitching under his hands, like Sam was still holding back. The thought sent a wave of arousal through Dean’s whole body, head to toe, but he didn’t try to make Sam let himself go. Not yet, anyway. This was more than overwhelming enough.
Dean let his mouth fall open; Sam took the invitation. The feeling of his tongue sliding against Dean’s went right to Dean’s dick. Dean groaned helplessly, clinging tightly to Sam’s shirt. A shudder ran through Sam. Immediately his hands went from Dean’s back to his hips and he pulled them closer together. Dean’s pelvis jerked, because his cock was suddenly pressing against Sam’s thigh. And he was pretty sure that thing poking into his lower abdomen was…
Oh, god, he was in so far over his head.
Nope. Nope. In for a penny, in for a pound. Dean slid his hand into Sam’s hair, oh, fuck, it was soft and Dean never wanted to stop touching it. Sam was pulling him towards the bed, still kissing him, and Dean felt like his heart was going to explode. He hadn’t been this nervous about sex since he was a freaking teenager and just starting out with it. What if he fucked this up? He could come too soon or not be able to come at all or he might do something Sam hated – what if Sam had some unexpected hard limit Dean would never guess? With all the trauma they’d been through, it could be anything.
Sam broke the kiss and pulled Dean onto the bed with him, both of them still sitting up. He looked at Dean with a concerned expression.
“Dean, it’s okay,” he said, so soft. Dean realized his breath was coming in those panicked gulps again, and he forced himself to slow it down, to suck some air deep into his lungs.
“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” Sam was saying. “We don’t have to do more than kiss. Or – or less. We could just…I don’t know.” He reached out hesitantly and put his hand on Dean’s, peering into Dean’s eyes.
“Shoes,” Dean said. Sam blinked, frowning at him in confusion.
Dean cleared his throat. “Uh.” He still didn’t know what to say, so he just toed his shoes off. Sam watched him, then followed suit silently.
“Dean – ” he started.
“Sammy, shut up,” Dean interrupted. He grabbed Sam’s neck and crashed their lips together before he could think better of it. Sam made a sound that was basically a whimper and it made Dean kiss him tighter, pull him nearer, because Sam sounded vulnerable and Dean could not let him down.
Sam’s fingers were digging into Dean’s back and even though he was scared out of his mind, all Dean could think about was getting closer, getting more. He found himself straddling Sam’s leg, still kissing him, afraid to stop. Sam’s hands slipped under Dean’s shirt, impossibly warm on his bare skin. Dean’s cock jerked in his pants. He shrugged out of his overshirt and started unbuttoning Sam’s, felt the rise and fall of Sam’s chest under his hands.
The second he had it unbuttoned, Sam shrugged it off and pulled his t-shirt over his head, tossing it carelessly onto the floor next to them. He slid his hands under Dean’s t-shirt again, looking up at Dean silently with a questioning expression. Dean took a deep breath and nodded, and let Sam help him get his shirt off.
Sam pulled him close again for a long kiss, half-reclining on the pillows now. The skin-on-skin sensation of his chest pressed to Sam’s made Dean ache with a strange combination of desire and fulfillment. It was so much more than he’d even known he’d wanted, and it was nowhere near enough.
Sam was kissing Dean’s neck, then his collarbone, mouthing along his shoulder. “Dean, Dean,” he murmured. He sounded awed. Dean clung to him and tried not to come apart at the seams.
Sam’s hand was in his hair, fingertips stroking gently. “It’s okay,” he said.
“Sammy,” Dean croaked. He could feel Sam rock-hard against his thigh, and every drag of friction against his own erection sent sparks of pleasure through him. Fuck, he wanted more, but he didn’t know how to take that next step.
He couldn’t say any of this aloud, but Sam must have gotten the gist somehow, because he was still stroking Dean’s hair. He nuzzled Dean’s neck.
“It’s okay,” Sam repeated. “For once, let me take care of you, huh?”
Dean let out a shuddery exhale, not trusting his voice to answer. Sam didn’t seem to need one, though. He pressed a kiss to a spot just under Dean’s earlobe.
“Lie down,” he whispered, and Dean did, feeling terrified and safe all at once as he stared up at his brother. Sam kissed him softly and ran his hand down Dean’s chest. When he moved over the bulge in Dean’s jeans, Dean’s hips rose into his touch. Sam pulled away and stared down at him, mouth slightly open. The look of desire on his face made Dean flush.
Sam popped the button on Dean’s fly expertly with one hand, then slowly pulled down the zipper. He hesitated, looking at Dean. Dean forced himself to give a short nod, even though his breath was coming too fast again. When Sam slid his hand into Dean’s boxers and wrapped around his erection, Dean’s back arched so fast he banged his head against the headboard.
“Fuck,” he swore, but it wasn’t about the pain; it had barely been a bump, especially by their standards.
“Dean – ” Sam sounded worried.
“I’m fine,” Dean gasped out, although he felt anything but, because somehow Sam’s hand was on his dick and it felt so good he was sort of afraid he was going to just come in an instant like he was fifteen again. Especially when Sam swiped his thumb across the slit, making him groan aloud.
A couple of gentle tugs had Dean’s back arching again.
“God, Dean,” Sam said. That awed tone was back in his voice. “I can’t believe you’re – letting me – ” He leaned down and kissed Dean again, like he was trying to stop his own words. Dean did his best to let himself go, hips working against the movement of Sam’s fist.
Dean realized suddenly that Sam was getting nothing right now. It was unacceptable, and he pulled away and grabbed Sam’s wrist.
Sam paused, and Dean could breathe again, think again. “You,” he said. “Gotta do – you’re not – I’m not – ” He stared up at Sam, begging silently.
Thank god for Sam’s preternatural understanding of him. Sam’s smile was gentle and a little sad. “I thought you were gonna let me take care of you,” he said.
“Sammy – ” Dean started, but Sam silenced him with a kiss and then rolled off the bed, unbuttoning his jeans. Dean shimmied out of the rest of his own clothes, watching Sam out of the corner of his eye. He nearly choked on his own saliva when he saw Sam’s dick, big and flushed dark with blood, jutting out from his body.
Dean recovered himself just as Sam started to turn back towards him and managed to finish kicking his pants off. Sam’s eyes raked down his body with a fierce, hungry expression. Dean tried not to think about the fact that he was naked with his own fucking brother. Sex naked, not innocent naked like when they were little kids and used to take baths together.
Sam lay down next to Dean and pulled him close, rolling Dean onto his side so they were facing each other. Sam slid an arm between Dean’s neck and the bed. His palm landed between Dean’s shoulder blades, moving minutely. It reminded Dean to take a breath; just in time, because Sam tangled their legs together and suddenly that was his dick right up against Dean’s. Sam licked his other hand in a gesture so obscene and beautiful that all Dean could do was stare at him, and then Sam was wrapping that hand around both of their cocks at once.
“Oh fuck,” Dean said. “Oh, fuck.” He squirmed a little in Sam’s grip, the sensations overwhelming and really, really good.
“You all right?” Sam asked, voice strained. Dean nodded quickly.
“Sammy – ” he started, but he didn’t know what to say, so he just shook his head, slung an arm around Sam’s waist, and buried his face in Sam’s chest.
“Dean,” Sam breathed, and then fell silent except for soft puffs of breath as he started moving his hand, jerking them both together.
Dean’s head was swimming as the pleasure built slowly. He felt like he was drowning in Sam, Sam’s smell and the sounds he made and the taste of his skin under Dean’s lips. The feeling of him. The impossibility of what was happening between them. Dean still felt like it wasn’t real, even as heat coiled low in his pelvis and he started thrusting with abandon into Sam’s tight grip.
“Sammy, Sammy,” he heard himself saying. It seemed to be coming from a long way away.
“Yeah, Dean, yeah, it’s okay, come on,” Sam said. His tone was soothing but Dean could hear the strain in his voice, the need, and it pushed him over the edge before he knew what was happening, gasping as he spilled over his brother’s fingers.
“Dean, oh, god, Dean,” Sam was saying. His grip on them was a little uncomfortable for Dean now, but he just gritted his teeth. Sam was right behind him anyway, moaning as his cock pulsed against Dean’s.
“You okay?” they asked each other in unison. Sam laughed and Dean smiled even though he could feel something black and ugly hovering at the corners of his mind, ready to pounce now that the haze of lust had abated.
“I’m good,” Sam said. “You?”
“Yeah, I think so,” Dean lied. Only sort of a lie; at the moment he was kind of okay. He held onto that as Sam kissed him gently, as Sam pulled down the covers for them and pulled Dean into his arms, insisting on being the big spoon. Dean refused to look at the darkness gathering on the horizon of his soul. He couldn’t let Sam down that way. Not now, not after…what had just happened.
Dean clung to Sam’s forearm and when Sam pressed a kiss to the back of his neck, Dean forced himself to relax instead of tense. He thought about nothing except Sam’s heat and how good it felt to be curled up with him like this. Between that and the orgasm and the minimal amount of rest he’d gotten the night before, it didn’t take long for him to fall asleep.
***
Part Four
