It was late night. Sam had gone out and brought back food and they'd eaten hours ago. They'd even managed to get a little bit into Dean, but hadn't forced him. He was still under the influence of the pain meds and in the grips of a fever. Every once in a while, either Sam or John cooled Dean off with wet compresses and made sure his fever didn't rage out of control.

Eventually, Sam realized that though he was staring at the television, he wasn't really seeing anything. "I think I'm gonna hit the sack," he told his father, getting up and starting to strip to his shorts. The truce was back between them, and it was better. Course Sam was one to overthink things, and he'd gone over their conversation twenty times in his head and realized his father had never quite answered his question about what would be his last resort. But there had been conviction in his voice when he said Dean would be saved, and Sam had to believe, he had to count on that. He would.

As he got into bed next to Dean, he even made a joke. "We'd better enjoy this..." he nodded toward his sleeping brother. "When he starts feeling better, he'd going to be a bear."

It would probably be a long night, and he wouldn't sleep straight through. He'd keep checking on Dean and bring his fever down whenever necessary. Maybe the fever would break soon... God he hoped so.

As he closed his eyes, he unconsciously laid his palm on Dean's chest to monitor him. "Night dad. Night Dean." When was the last time that those words had been the last thing out of his mouth before he went to sleep? It had been a long freakin' time. Still, a smile played on his mouth as he started to fall into sleep.

When Sam announced he was going to bed, John looked up and nodded from the table where he was busy reading through various files on Jacobs computer that Sam had managed to break the password on earlier. The other hunter still hadn’t answered his cell phone or returned to his motel room the last time John had checked, and the elder man had to conclude that he was either a captive with the werewolves as Dean had been… or dead.

John had already called some of his contacts, other hunters, and told them about the werewolf pack. They had agreed to come and help him take care of it.

Of course John had not mentioned anything about Dean. That he had been a captive of the werewolves or that he’d even found his son, and he wouldn’t. At least not until he could come up with a convincing story that wouldn’t make other hunters suspicious of where his son had been or what had been done to him.

Jacobs might be a problem… if the man was even still alive… John guiltily almost wished the other man wasn’t, for Dean’s sake. Which was why John was going through the files on the other hunter’s computer right now. Erasing the photographs and anything that even mentioned Dean. As well as searching to see if there were any clues the other hunter had told anyone else about the werewolves or Dean.

So far it seemed Jacobs had only told him. Luckily no one but he, Sam, and Dean would have any clue what had happened to his son, and John meant to keep it that way.

The elder man smiled and chuckled a little when Sam mentioned his brother’s tendency to be rather… cranky… when he was feeling ill. Though Dean was never ill very often thank god, he was hurt more than ill, much to John’s dismay. But his elder son was never a very good patient even at the best of times. Dean hated being taken care of, always wanting to do things for himself and look after others rather than himself. So he would often push himself too much too quickly once he started feeling ‘better’ if he were sick or wounded, which had made John feel like strangling the boy on more than one occasion.

Though John chose not to point out that Sam was an even worse patient than his brother. The younger boy’s attitude could drive him insane even when his younger son wasn’t ill, so when Sam wasn’t feeling like himself for any reason, it made him absolutely impossible for John to deal with. Thankfully Dean had been more than willing and able to handle his brother when Sam was sick or hurt. The one time that both his sons had been sick at the same time, John had been about ready to attempt an exorcism on both of them. It was either that or put a bullet in his own head just for some peace.

“Good night, son.” John said softly, still smiling a little as he turned down the volume on the television so it would not disturb his boys as they slept and went back to the computer. An hour later, the elder man turned off the TV entirely, shut off the computer and lights before getting into his own bed. A gun loaded with silver bullets placed on the nightstand within easy reach on the nightstand.

***

Dean woke with a start. Gasping in the darkness, his heart beating fast and hard against his ribs. His eyes darting around the room frantically, still partially caught in the grips of the nightmare that had woken him.

Not so much a nightmare, but a memory. More like his worst fear. The day they had decided to make him a member of the ‘pack’. When they had pinned him down no matter how hard he thrashed, as Cassandra bit savagely down on the soft flesh of his thigh, ignoring his screams to stop. Begging for them to simply kill him, anything but that…

He shivered a little at the memory. Or maybe it was from the cold. He felt chilled even though he was sweating and covered to the chest with blankets. His head felt foggy and his throat was dry, and he recognized the feeling of having a fever. Or had. He didn’t feel hot anymore, but he did feel the warm weight of an arm across his chest.

Dean blinked a little. Wondering if he was dreaming now as he turned his head to follow the arm to who it belonged to. Memories that weren’t quite clear trickling through his mind as he did. He remembered Cassandra trying to seduce him, again. Him refusing her, again. He remembered the pain in his stomach after he’d drank the water that had been left for him. Realizing it had been poisoned, knowing he was going to die and almost welcoming it despite the pain.

Then… he thought he’d been dreaming when he saw Sam. His father. Rescued. But he was definitely awake, he didn’t feel that much pain now, and he certainly wasn’t dead. He could hear his father’s snoring in the bed next to his, and Sam… his brother was right beside him. Warm. Alive. Real.

“Sammy…?” Dean whispered, almost hesitantly, as though afraid to shatter the illusion just in case it wasn’t real.

In a light sleep because he’d been checking on Dean every once in a while, Sam came instantly awake. His mind crowded with worry as he turned on his side and moved his hand up to Dean’s throat, then forehead. He was still a bit warm, but not fiercely feverish like he’d been before they’d cooled him off in the bath.

A little light penetrated through the slats in the shuttered windows, so he could see Dean’s face. “You alright?” It was frustrating, that he couldn’t see whether Dean’s eyes were clear of the effects of fever and drugs. “You should drink some water,” he decided, coming up on one elbow, and stretching across to the nightstand next to Dean, and getting the cup he’d left there for him. “Can you sit up?”

He wanted so badly to hear Dean say he was fine. That everything would be alright. But he was nervous… he knew everything wasn’t, and that there would be a lot to deal with once reality hit Dean. “Dean?” He started to help him sit up, while holding the cup in the other hand.

When Sam’s eyes opened, Dean’s soft voice waking the younger man from an obvious light sleep, the elder man could clearly read the concern in his brother’s eyes. He’d never liked it when Sam worried about him. It wasn’t his little brother’s job to worry about him, after all. But at that moment he honestly couldn’t say he had ever seen a more welcome sight. The younger man’s touch proving him that he wasn’t dreaming or hallucinating after all when he felt Sam’s fingers slide up to his neck and brush across his forehead.

A faint smile curved Dean’s lips despite how much like crap he felt right now. Genuine happiness flowing through him so strong he felt almost giddy just looking at his brother.

Dean nodded a little when Sam asked him if he were all right. Maybe he wasn’t, but this was the first time in what felt like forever he could lie and it was almost true. He nodded again when his brother said he should have some water. Starting to push himself up a little, though it wasn’t easy, even with Sam’s help.

His stomach protested the movement, and his arms shook a little from the effort, but he managed to prop himself up a little. His brother moving a couple of pillows behind his back so at least he could lean back and wouldn’t spill the water all over himself as he drank.

From this angle now he could see his sleeping father, and he turned his eyes back to Sam questioning.

“How did you…?” Dean began to ask, his voice trailing off as a hundred different questions suddenly ran through his brain all at the same time. How had they found him? What had happened to the werewolves? Was Sam all right? Was Dad all right? Why was his brother here? Had Sam… been looking for him the whole time he was gone? Had they… had they seen the bite on him? Did they know what the bastards had made him?

The joy he felt at seeing his brother, his father, knowing that he was finally free from the monsters that had tortured him in every sense of the word all these months was short lived. He’d thought he was going to die there. Eventually they would kill him. He’d given up hope on being rescued and now… he realized it didn’t matter because… because it was too late. He was one of them now…

“Sam… I… they…” He whispered in dawning horror, his breath and pulse quickening.

As various expressions flitted across his brother’s face, Sam could almost see the wheels grinding in Dean’s head. Too soon. To soon for Dean to start worrying.

Setting the cup aside, he put his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Stop.” Their gazes locked, and he knew Dean’s mind was still spinning with possibilities, with the knowledge of what happened, and that he was considering the consequences. He had to stop him from leaping to the same conclusion he’d thought his father might go to.

“Dean,” he shook him slightly, “just stop. We’re handling this, okay? Dad and I. We didn’t come get you for nothing. It’s not for nothing, so don’t go thinking. Just…” he closed his eyes for a moment, trying to find the words that would convince his stubborn brother. “Just don’t think for a little while. Let it alone, and we’ll take care of it, okay?” he nodded toward his dad. “You’re not one of them. You won’t be. I swear Dean, we’re gonna fix this. Together. All three of us. Believe.”

Sam's words were soft, but firm at the same time. The hand on his shoulder, grounding, and Dean found he simply couldn't look away from his brother's eyes locked with his own. His brother was so fucking calm. How could he…

Handle this? Fix it? How the hell were they supposed to fix it. He'd been bitten!

"Sam… I'm a fucking werewolf! You can't… there's no…"

God…

The reality of it was hitting him hard for perhaps the first time. He was a werewolf and when the full moon came he was going to… Dean could see it. Clear in his mind as though it were happening right now. Changing. Becoming a monster. Attacking his brother. Ripping out Sam's throat with his teeth…

Dean felt his breath speed up even more but none of it seemed to be getting into his lungs. His heart beating against his ribs like a frightened bird beating its wings bloody against its cage. He was shaking. He could feel himself shaking and he couldn't stop it.

He was losing it. Oh God, Dean was about to lose it, and that would be bad. Once his older brother got something in his head, it was almost impossible to change his mind. He had to nip this in the bud, stop the self loathing before it started.

“You’re not a fucking werewolf, you’re my brother. Dean!” he gripped his shoulder tighter, wanted to force him to listen... to believe. He was prepared to argue, to lecture, to talk to him until morning if necessary until he drove away all of Dean’s doubts, but suddenly he started to feel the tremors.

Searching the depths of Dean’s greens, he saw flicker of fear. The weight of the world had settled on Dean’s shoulders as hard as they had earlier on Sam’s. Well dad had surprisingly given him what he needed, and it was his turn now.

“Come here.” Without waiting for Dean to move, Sam put his strong arms around his brother and drew him close, holding him so tight it had to be hard to breath. Even if he tried to pull away, he was no more going to let go of Dean, than his father had let him go earlier in the hall. “We’re going to handle this Dean, together. You want to know the worst case scenario? I fucking tie your ass down around the full moon, that’s it. I talked to dad about it already. Better case? We’re looking for a solution, a reversal. There’s material out there, and we’re chasing it down.”

Okay, he was lying, but some lies were necessary. Besides, tomorrow he’d start some serious research and there had to be something... there had to... and he’d find it, if took him the rest of his life, he’d find it. “Dean, say something. Tell me you’ll let us handle this. Tell me you won’t pull anything crazy,” he said, his voice getting husky with emotion. This was all wrong... all wrong, his brother... his ‘look the world in the eye and tell it to fuck itself’ brother... afraid and shaking like a leaf.

Suddenly Dean found himself embraced within warm strong arms, held securely against his brother's broad chest, and all of his thoughts, his fears, spiraling out of control, abruptly came to a screeching halt.

It wasn't comfortable. Not when Sam was holding him almost too tightly. The younger man's arms putting an uncomfortable pressure against his bruised back, but Dean didn't try to pull away. At least, not at first. Surprised perhaps by the unexpected display of affection neither of them had really indulged in. Even when they were kids.

Or maybe surprised by his own reaction to the unexpected hug. How warm and… safe… his baby brother's arms around him felt right now. Like the rest of the world could just go to hell in a hand basket and nothing would touch him, them, as long as they stayed like this.

It was probably those uncharacteristically emo thoughts, especially coming from him, that broke his momentary paralysis, and he finally began trying to pull back. To untangle himself from the younger man's embrace. Part of him feeling that he would somehow… taint his brother by touch alone, and Sam had to let go of him right the fuck now… but Sam simply wasn't letting go. Whispering words of reassurance into his ear. Promising him things… he knew weren't true, but he wanted to believe them so fucking bad.

And before he knew it, he was not only relaxing into the embrace, but his own arms were wrapping around the younger man, holding onto Sam just as tightly as his brother was holding onto him. Pressing his face into the younger man's neck, taking deep breaths, and ordering himself to calm the fuck down. At least so he could stop shaking like a kid in the dark.

"You're such a girl…" Dean finally muttered. More to break up the tension that felt like it was choking him, than anything else. Considering he didn't even release his brother after he said the words.

Even when Dean tried to struggle out of his grasp, Sam held on. A part him thought he was doing this for his brother, but another part of him questioned whether it was because he needed this just as much. He needed to know Dean wouldn’t do something stupid or crazy, or both.

And then it all changed, and Dean was returning the hug. Uncharacteristic... should be scary... but it wasn’t. Relief flowed through Sam who merely tightened his grip and told Dean again it would be alright.

The accusation made him choke on a laugh, but it didn’t make him forget. “Fine... fine, I’m a girl and you’re still juvenile. Make your promise.” He pulled away only enough to look Dean in the eye. “Please.“ He whispered the last, seeking that connection they’d had as kids and relying on his brother’s ability to see this was important.

His brother's almost laugh and reply made Dean chuckle softly. It was a harsh sound, but it wasn't forced. Not completely anyway. But then suddenly Sam was pulling back, and the elder man felt an irrational stab of fear he wanted to kick himself for, but his brother didn't let go of him. Drew away only far enough to look into his eyes, Sam's eyes begging him as much as his brother's soft plea.

Don't pull anything crazy. That was what the younger man had said. Almost as though his brother had known the thoughts in his head even before they had fully formed for himself to recognize. Dean's eyes flickered briefly over to their father and then back to Sam. It wasn't 'crazy'. If his father or brother wouldn't do what needed to be done...

But Sam was asking him not to, begging him even, to let Sam and Dad 'handle' it. To try to find a 'cure' for him even though they all knew none existed, and... he couldn't live like this. A monster. The risk he might get loose and kill innocent people. That he might kill his father... brother... wake up the next day with their blood on his hands...

He could see in his brother's eyes that Sam simply wouldn't listen to him if he tried to explain that and, frankly, Dean didn't want to argue with him about it. Not now, at least.

Best case scenario... He had three weeks... give or take, he wasn't even sure what day it was now... before the full moon. Before he would turn and one way or another he wasn't going to let that happen. But he had three weeks to live. To spend with his family, with his brother, and he could be selfish for once couldn't he? Put off till then what had to be done... right?

"I won't do anything 'crazy', all right? I promise. Now get off me, bitch." Dean finally said, feigning annoyance at the extended chick flick moment. It wasn't the truth and it wasn't a lie either, but it was what his brother wanted to hear, so he said it.

He believed Dean. He believed he wasn’t lying, that he wasn’t appeasing, that he meant it. A surge of pure joy and relief had Sam grinning, and through closed teeth, responding with a distinct, “jerk.”

He let Dean go and rearranged the pillows, watching him under his lashes. In the dark, he couldn’t see Dean’s pallor. Though he looked a bit gaunt, for the most part, he looked normal. It would be different in the light of day though, he realized that. The bruises would be visible, and the other evidence of the torture he’d been through would be there for all to see.

“What did they do to you?” he asked softly, pushing Dean back to force him to at least rest. Just for a minute, a steely look entered his eyes, so eerily like his father’s.

If he felt just the slightest bit guilty seeing his brother's relief to his words, Dean didn't admit it to himself. Just like he wouldn't admit that he missed the feeling of the younger man's arms around him almost as soon as Sam let him go. Or how he let his brother fuss over his pillows and crap because he didn't feel like fighting with the younger man right now, and not because he was simply feeling too tired and drained to put up that fight. Letting his brother press him back down into a reclining position without so much as a token protest.

Dean was a little surprised by his brother's question. Though he raised an eyebrow more at the expression on the younger man's face that Sam probably didn't even realize that he could see, when his brother probably could barely make out his face.

He wondered if Sam was asking out of 'curiosity', or because he wanted to make sure that Dean wasn't going to die on him in the middle of the night from something he didn't know about. If it was just the former, he would have told Sam firmly that he didn't want to talk about it, and that would be the end of it. But if it was the latter, he knew his brother would just persist and nag him, and again, Dean really didn't have the strength to argue with him.

He sighed softly, resigned.

"They beat me pretty good for trying to escape not long ago. Knocked me in head a little, but I don't think they did any damage." Dean said matter-of-factly, offering his brother a slightly forced grin before he continued. "That wasn't out of the ordinary though, they made sure never to do permanent damage. The bitch wouldn't let them…"

Dean frowned a little at his own words, then sighed. Rubbing his stomach and wincing a little just how tender and sore it felt. That part hadn't been a dream after all either…

"They put something in my water, but I didn't drink all of it. Bitch. Word to the wise, Sammy, werewolf chicks don't take 'no' for an answer very well."

Of course he’d known that Dean had been beaten, he was wearing the signs of it in color... yellow, red, and blue all over his body. Fucking bastard werewolves. Though Sam tried not to imagine the pain that Dean went through, his mind was ahead of him, filling in the blanks with images of Dean shackled in that room and tortured within and inch of is life, nursed back, and tortured again. It tore him up inside... for so many reasons, but mostly for not being there.

“Bitch. Werewolf bitch,” he echoed, imagining a bitter old woman who would hate Dean’s attitude and make him pay for his disrespect. Not that anything like a beating would stop Dean.

Turning his face toward Dean, he saw him rubbing his stomach. “If they wanted to kill you, why’d they bother with poison... why not just rip your throat out.” He tensed at the thought that it could have gone that way. His jaw hurt from the way he was unconsciously gritting his teeth. “That sounds like someone with a personal axe to grind. You must really have given her a titty twister.”

Other questions welled up in his mind. Ones he was almost afraid to give voice to. “Dean.” He faltered, licked his lips and got the courage to continue. “We saw pictures. Of a... I don’t know, looked like a pig pen. There were dead people and... you.” He didn’t mention the weapon in Dean’s hand, or the blood.

Sam’s words gave Dean a brief pause because he honestly hadn’t thought of that. If Cassandra had really wanted him dead she could have easily done it herself right then and there. Snapped his neck with a flick of her wrist or, as his brother had helpfully pointed out, ripped out his throat. Maybe she had just wanted him to suffer slowly… or maybe there was another reason…

Dean didn’t really think about it too deeply. Mostly because it didn’t much matter now, and because his brother’s next words had him laughing hard, and oh that hurt his stomach bad, but it also felt good too.

He stifled his laughter behind his hand quickly however because he didn’t want to wake up their father. Even though it would be good to see and talk to the older man again, Dean was jealous of his time alone with his brother right now. Maybe that was a little selfish of him, but he hadn’t seen Sam in so long… he just wanted a little bit more time alone with him.

His brother’s question regarding the pens however made the smile slip from Dean’s face entirely and he paled a little. Dad and his brother had seen… photographs? Where had they gotten photographs, Dean almost wanted to ask, but he still hadn’t yet gotten over the fact that Sam and their father had seen him in the pens. If there was one thing he could have wished that his brother and dad never knew about what had happened to him there, that would have been it. He certainly would have never volunteered the information. Now he had no choice…

Dean swallowed hard and looked away from his brother. Staring at a corner as shame threatened to strangle him. His voice barely louder than a whisper when he finally started to speak.

“When they first… brought me there. There were about ten of us all together. They… they liked to hold… games. Fights. To see which one of us were the… strongest. The ones they wanted to make a part of the pack…” Dean swallowed again, still refusing to meet his brother’s eyes, his voice shaking a little as he remembered the blood on his hands. The blood he’d been forced to spill because if he hadn’t, he would have been killed, either by the werewolves or the other fighters. “They killed anyone who refused to fight. They made us fight… until only one of us was alive…”

“I’m sorry, Sammy…” He finally whispered brokenly.

Sam had no idea why Dean laughed, but he sure as hell regretted his question about the pen when the laughter died. The room went ominously silent, and Sam’s heart dropped to his stomach. He tensed, and searched Dean’s face, knowing his brother was fighting an internal battle.

When Dean finally spoke, Sam fought the urge to close his eyes against the waves of shame and guilt emanating from his brother as he haltingly described what he’d been made to do. Sam wasn’t stupid, nor was their father, and they’d both independently reached conclusions that were at least close to the horrendous reality Dean described. Only... it was different when someone put it to words.

Dean’s apology hit Sam with the force of an unstoppable train.

“No! Look at me.” When his brother refused to, Sam rolled over slightly, bracing is weight on his hands on either sides of Dean’s body and looking him straight in the eyes. “You listen to me. You did what you had to, and you don’t apologize to me for that, not ever. If you’d died... if you’d let yourself get killed... THEN you’d owe me an apology.”

Just the thought of standing at his brother’s grave brought tears to his eyes, and he was glad about the darkness surrounding them, though he could do nothing about the way his voice lowered an octave. “I’d fucking follow you to hell if I had to and kick your ass if you had, you know that?” It was a demand, more than a question. And whether his brother liked it or not, he was already lowering himself down to give him another strong hug. "Don't you ever go thinking anything like that."

Sam ordered him to look at him, but Dean simply couldn’t. Not after telling his brother how he’d killed people… people, normal people damn it. Not monsters. Not possessed. Just people who’d been unfortunate enough to get caught by a bunch of sick twisted werewolves.

Maybe he hadn’t been given a choice… no, he’d had a choice. The choice between living or dying. Killing or be killed. And he’d chosen to live… and right now Dean couldn’t help thinking that he’d made the wrong fucking choice.

But then suddenly Sam was leaning over him, his arms braced on either side of his body, and so close they were practically chest to chest, and Sam wasn’t giving him a choice but to look at him. Not giving him a choice but to listen. His brother not forgiving him for what he’d done, instead telling him he had nothing to be sorry for in the first place.

A part of Dean wanted to argue, to tell his brother that just because he had done what he ‘had’ to, to survive, didn’t make it right or absolve him of his crime. But he was having a hard time forming thoughts much less words with his brother so fucking close.

So close Sam’s eyes, filled with tears, was practically all he could see. His voice thick with emotion, and so close he could feel the heat of his brother’s body washing over his in waves. His scent, god Sam’s scent… Every breath he took that was all he could smell, and it was more intoxicating than anything he’d ever smelled or tasted before in his life, and he felt drunk with it.

His hands came up to rest on his brother’s shoulders of their own will when the younger man shifted closer. His brother’s bare shoulders, he realized absently because Sam wasn’t wearing a shirt and neither was Dean, and that wasn’t something he should really be noticing, at least not noticing like it mattered, but it did fucking matter. Especially when Dean found himself wanting to pull his brother even closer, tangle his hands in the younger man’s hair, and just cover himself in his scent. His taste…

That seemed to finally wake Dean out of his stupor, enough to at least push back on his brother’s shoulders, stopping his brother before Sam could fucking hug him again. His brain swimming with confusion as he practically stuttered, “Christ, dude. Enough with the friggen chick flick hugs…” Trying to brush the moment aside and to ignore just how fast his heart was beating in his chest, not to mention the less than pure reasons why.

Sam winced at the gruff tone and words. Right, just because Dean had opened up earlier didn’t mean he would again. And maybe he did blame Sam just a little, for not being there. Not that he could blame him at all... not when he blamed himself.

A single tear rolled down his cheek and he pulled himself up to a sitting position. Looking away, at the wall across the room, he ran his hand over his face. “Alright... alright Dean. No more. But if you want to talk...” he swallowed over the painfully hard lump in his throat. “Just know, I meant every word I said.”

He didn’t know why, but suddenly he felt like crying. Maybe it was all of the emotions of the day crashing down on him again. Maybe it was seeing his big brother in pain, not only the physical sort, but the sort that could tear him up inside. Maybe it was guilt, whatever it was... he had to hold it together. He just had to.

Unable to say anything more without giving himself away and adding to Dean’s worries, he slowly lay back and closed his eyes. He wanted to hold Dean, he wanted to put his hand on him, make sure he would notice changes in temperature... anything that he needed, but he didn’t. He just decided he’d sleep lightly, or just pretend... cause nothing was more important than Dean's wellfare. Nothing.

Sam obviously had no idea that Dean had seen the tear that had rolled down the younger man's cheek. Obviously had no idea that Dean's eyes were now much keener in the dark than a 'normal' persons, or his brother never would have let him see him cry. But Dean did see, and he felt like he'd been kicked in the gut.

God, as though he didn't feel guilt ridden enough already. Well, at least his less than pure thoughts were pretty much over now. Now he just felt like the world's biggest asshole.

He hadn't meant to hurt Sam's feelings, he just…

Fuck, he must be more exhausted than he realized. He had to be for getting so emotional in the first place… distracted… by his brother's scent, his half nakedness… Maybe sleep really was the best option right now before he said or did anything else stupid, but Sam…

Sam wasn't looking at him anymore. He was laying down, closing his eyes, feigning sleep, and Dean could practically feel the misery rolling off of him in waves. Whatever Dean might be feeling inside was nothing compared to that. He'd only ever cared about whether or not Sam was happy, and his brother definitely wasn't happy right now.

Fuck… if he really wanted a friggen hug that badly…

Dean sighed softly and rolled over carefully in the bed, facing the younger man. Hesitating only a moment before slipping his arms around his brother for a quick hug. Just a quick hug so Sam would stop fucking pouting. He'd never admit that maybe, just maybe, it would make him feel better too.

Sam felt Dean moving around, but he didn’t stir. He needed to get a hold of his emotions, something he was finding was hard to do. And then, out of the blue, Dean was freakin’ hugging him. Instantly, he put his arm around his brother and held him in place, unconsciously preventing him from pulling away.

Did this make him feel any better? Not really. Not this time around. All he really wanted right now was to get it out of his system, just cry it out and never think about it again. But he couldn’t, not here... not like this.

To be honest, he didn’t even know what the hug was about. He’d wanted to comfort his brother, but he had a gut feeling this wasn’t about Dean. That it was Dean appeasing him, or something, which didn’t sit well with him at all.

Even though he wanted desperately to say something, Sam managed to utter only something unintelligible against the side of Dean’s throat before letting him go. If he was lucky, Dean would crack a joke and then he could pretend to laugh and go to sleep.

His brother’s arms came up around him almost the second Dean’s arms wrapped around the younger man. Holding him tightly for a few moments before letting go, but Sam remained about as stiff as a plank of wood in the embrace. As though Dean might as well not have even made the effort at all to make him feel better, and the elder man frowned.

Damn it, his brother could be such a fucking girl sometimes!

Dean grumbled several curses under his breath, but he didn’t roll over back to his own side of the bed like he probably should have. Instead pressing himself even closer to the younger man. Practically laying half on top of him as hugged his brother even tighter.

Cuddling. Yes, cuddling against his little brother and staying there, making himself comfortable. Resting his head in the crook where his brother’s shoulder met his neck with a sigh.

“If you think I’m giving you a kiss goodnight, you’ve got another thing coming.” Dean mumbled against his brother’s chest. His fingers ghosting lightly over the skin near his brother’s ribs. Threatening to begin tickling if the younger man didn’t at least crack a smile.

“Bitch.” He whispered affectionately.

“Dean!” Sam caught Dean’s hand, gripping it tight to stop him from following through. They both knew that Sam couldn’t stand being tickled, and he’d shout... and then they’d have to deal with Dad’s wrath... and yeah, that was dad with a capital D. He’d probably leave Dean alone and focus it all on Sam, and say he ought to know better.

Eyes still closed, he shook his head and gave a choked laugh. Yeah, maybe he was a bitch. And maybe he was a bit selfish, but it felt good to have Dean close. It kinda reminded him of old times, of how Dean could calm him when he was afraid or angry. Okay, half the time Dean was the reason he’d gotten mad or angry, but still...

Swallowing hard, he folded his arm over Dean and leaned his cheek against his forehead. Maybe words weren’t necessary. Maybe this was enough... this was Dean’s way of telling him that they’d work together and make sure everything... everything was okay.

Slowly, all of his tension melted away. He even managed a joke himself. “Dude... I hope you don’t drool anymore, cause ewww...”

Dean grinned, quite pleased with himself. Chuckling softly when the younger man grabbed his hand to stop his ‘attack’ before it could truly begin. They both knew that Dean wasn’t above playing dirty to get what he wanted.

Hearing his brother’s soft answering laugh and feeling Sam’s arm slip around him once more, Dean felt content. Yeah, maybe life royally sucked right now, and even that was an understatement. But right now, this was all that mattered. Chick flick moment, or not, this was exactly where Dean wanted to be right now.

Feeling the younger man’s soft breath tickling his hair. Hearing Sam’s strong steady heartbeat beneath his ear. Dean closed his eyes with a sigh, letting himself relax even more against his brother. He felt exhausted. Even though he’d only really been awake for a few minutes, they had been draining and emotional, and he felt himself drifting off even before he heard the younger man’s soft teasing joke.

The elder man only smiled, and if he snuggled just a little closer to his brother and brushed a soft kiss near the younger man’s collar bone, then he’d never admit it in the morning.

***

His arousal was hot and heavy. Aching, and he couldn’t help rubbing it against the hard warm body beneath him trying to relieve some of the pressure. Moaning against soft sweat slicked skin that his tongue eagerly darted out to taste. Dancing around a peaked nipple that hardened even more beneath his tongue. His fingers dancing across a wide broad chest, slowly trailing down quivering muscular abs and then around and up the length of a strong back.

Dean moaned again against the hot flesh he tasted. Nipping lightly as he rocked his hips more firmly against the other man’s. Feeling an answering heat, practically burning, branding alongside his own. Leaving scalding wet trails of pleasure across the flesh of both their stomachs.

He licked, nipped, and sucked a wet path up the length of his lover’s body. Drowning in the other man’s taste. His scent. Purring in the back of his throat as he bit down hard at the junction of his neck. Not enough to break the skin but definitely enough to bruise. Leaving a mark that would last for days. His passion only growing when the body beneath him bucked, beautiful moans urging him on in the sweetest way as his lips finally found his lovers, and he swallowed them. Savoring the vibrations against his tongue like he savored everything else.

He was close. So close… low purrs became almost growls as he thrust harder, grinding their hips together. Clutching the younger man to him even tighter. Hearing his name whispered over and over.

Dean… Dean…

‘Sammy…’ He whispered back, thrusting hard one last time with a cry as he came.