Dean had never had any trouble getting into bars. His father had given him his first fake ID when he was sixteen, mostly to help him hustle for some quick extra cash, but the older man had never complained whenever Dean had sat down with him at the bar for a beer or even harder liquor. Back then it had been a little iffy if his father wasn't there to pass off for twenty one, but now that Dean was nineteen none of the bartenders ever looked sideways at him when he flashed his ID and asked for a drink.

One of the bad things about small hick towns, especially small hick towns where they'd been holed up for a while, was that everyone knew everyone. Even in small run down bars. They would have pegged him for John's son, John's underage son, and kicked him out pretty much as soon as he walked through the door, no matter how good friends his father might be with the bartender. So Dean had drove two towns over before stopping at the shittiest little run down shack of a waterhole he'd seen in months. It fit his mood perfectly.

Still boiling in his anger at the younger boy Dean had first drank to try to cool that anger, and then afterwards he'd drank to forget his overwhelming guilt for having actually hit Sam. Not in a sparring match where neither of them pulled any punches, or when they sometimes wrestled and a stray elbow or knee might draw blood. He had hit his brother in anger and while part of him hated himself for it, smaller part of him insisted the little fucktard had deserved it and he wasn't sorry, which only made him hate himself more.

Sam hated him. Right now he supposed he couldn't really blame the younger boy, after what Dean had done. Maybe he was crazy. But everything he had ever done in his life had been for Sam. Ever since he'd carried his baby brother out of that fucking fire, he'd sworn he'd look after Sam, made sure nothing ever happened to him, made sure nothing and no one ever hurt him. He'd protected his little brother from bullies at school. He'd protected his little brother from all the fucking monsters out there, human and supernatural alike. He'd always made sure Sam had food in his belly and someplace to sleep, even when Dad wasn't always around to make that happen… and Sam hated him for it…

But why shouldn't Sam hate him? Especially now? After he'd fucking hit the younger boy. Every time he thought of it he wanted to get back in his car and drive home with the gas pedal floored to make sure Sam was ok, to make sure Sam hadn't left, to say he was sorry, over and over, he was sorry for being such a fucked up brother. Because maybe Sam hated him because a part of Sam knew about Dean's sick and twisted thoughts. He'd tried to keep them hidden, but maybe Sam had sensed it anyway. That when Dean looked at him his older brother noticed things he shouldn't be noticing. How Dean dreamed sometimes dreamed about kissing Sam's plump lips when they were pouting, or imagining how his brother's developing muscles would feel underneath his hands if he slid it up underneath his shirt or down his jeans…

Dean drank to drown out his thoughts. To drown out his guilt. To drown out his anger. To drown out his need. To forget about how Sam hated him, and how he loved his brother way too damned much. The bar was the kind of place that didn't give a damn if the customers got into fights as long as no one was knifed and nothing was broken. That night Dean got into three brawls, two he won, the last one he lost only because there were five of them and he was so drunk by then he could barely stand. Still he was so drunk by that point he barely felt the bruises, even though he limped quite a bit on his way out to his car. Shame that, after the way he'd hit his brother he deserved more than a little pain.

Yeah, on some level he knew it was really fucking stupid to try driving home when he was this fucking drunk, but most of him didn't fucking care. He didn't even care when he tried to take a corner too fast and the Impala ran off the road, slamming into a tree.

He was hungry. So very hungry.

He’d combed neighborhood after neighborhood, and hadn’t found one who could satisfy him. Until now.

Waves of pain, of lust, of regret, of guilt and self loathing permeated the air. Impossible love. Impossible need. Dirty, forbidden, taboo…

He practically wailed as he circled the air, seeking, searching the source of those emotions, practically tasting them, envisioning himself gorging, exhausting his victim, exacting his price. It would be beautiful…

There. It was coming from that vehicle smashed against a tree, with its engine still running. Smiling, he dropped to the ground and passed through the locked passenger door to sit down next to the driver. Handsome. Bleeding and marred, but handsome. More importantly, he was filled with emotions… they raged and battled in him constantly. He could give the boy peace.

Touching his shoulder without any perceptible pressure, he started to read what was in the boy’s mind. He filtered through his memories, saw every triumph and every failure. So many self perceived failures, so many hurts and aches, and a secret, unspeakable desire for his brother. His… baby brother.

This would be easy, but he had to be careful. This one was a hunter by nature. He’d have to be sucked in, immersed into the game before he figured out what was going on while he still had the strength to fight it.

Pulling the visor down, he looked at himself. A teenager appeared in the mirror, with longish hair, a strong jaw for one so young, and eyes meant for the bedroom. No wonder that one, Dean, wanted him. He looked down at his long limbs, and the firm muscles of a physically fit youth. Then he turned his sights on the driver, still slumped half way on the steering wheel.

Shutting the engine off, he shook Dean. “Hey, Dean… wake up.” Sam licked the blood off his mouth, but felt fresh blood forming.

Dean groaned softly.

He wasn’t sure where he was. He wasn’t sure what was happening. He knew he was in the car… his car… but he wasn’t sure how he knew it. Probably from the steering wheel jammed against his ribs uncomfortably. His chest ached sharply with every slow breath he took. His head pounded like someone had been using a jackhammer on it. He could feel blood dripping down his face from somewhere in his hairline, his short hair already sticky with it. His face was bruised. He tasted blood in his mouth, on his lips…

The hunter in him ticked off one hurt after another by instinct but he still wasn’t sure what had happened. The fact that he knew he was in the car should have been a clue, the heavy smell of alcohol should have been another. But he was still having trouble putting two and two together. His head was swimming in an ocean of alcohol and pain and his thoughts moved like molasses on a cold day, slow and sluggish.

His eyes slid open slowly, his vision fuzzy and unfocused. He blinked the blood out of his eyes and slowly the face of his brother swam into view.

“Sammy?” He whispered, his voice unsure, not quite believing what his eyes were telling him. What was Sam doing here? Something told him that Sam shouldn’t be here… he wasn’t sure why though… he couldn’t think… Maybe he was dreaming… or hallucinating… concussions could do that. Yeah, he had to be, since Sam was sitting next to him in the seat buck naked. If he was hallucinating though, couldn’t he hallucinate himself hurting a little less?

Dean managed to get his hands underneath him and tried to push himself away from the steering wheel a little, but almost immediately gave up with another groan of pain, letting himself slump weakly back against it. He blinked owlishly at his brother who may or may not have really been there but was still definitely naked. But if Sam really was there, maybe he had been in the accident too. Maybe he was hurt?

“You ok, Sam?” He asked, concern lacing his voice.

Sam shook his head, “not really.” He let that sink in, knowing the power of the idea of a hurt Sam had on Dean Winchester. “You hurt me.” Taking Dean’s limp hand, he brought it to the corner of his mouth, where his lip was split. “You’re gonna make it better. After I fix you.”

Leaning close to Dean and brushing against his arm, he took the keys from the ignition, opened the door and slipped out, moving very slowly, watching Dean from over his shoulder until he was behind the car and looking at him through the window. He opened the trunk, got the first aid kit, slammed it shut and met Dean’s eyes in the rearview mirror.

Looking down, he walked back around the car and got inside. “Sit back,” he said softly, using a cotton swab and alcohol to clean Dean’s wounds. Then he got on his knees on the chair, and leaned across Dean to take care of a cut below his far eye. Sam concentrated hard, bringing his face close to Dean’s and holding his tongue in the corner of his mouth, just inches from Dean’s. “Look up… almost done.”

Not really? Was Sam hurt? Dean blinked, trying to force his mind to clear. Letting his eyes look more closely at his brother’s body, something he’d tried to avoid doing lately, but especially when the younger boy was lacking clothing… like now. But if Sam was hurt he had to know where so he could… Dean’s thoughts froze midway when Sam clarified. Reminding him how Dean had hurt him. How he’d… hit his brother… in anger earlier tonight. Dean inhaled sharply when the younger boy took his hand, pressing it to his jaw where it was bruised, Dean’s eyes tearing a little when he took in the younger boy’s split and swollen lip.

“I’m s…” Dean began to apologize, but again his thoughts not to mention his words were cut off when Sam leaned closer to him. Brushing up against him as the younger boy took the keys to his car out of the ignition. Got out… where was Sam going? Dean heard the trunk open and close. Sam returned soon, with their first aid kit, and Dean managed a slight nod when his brother told him to sit back even though it hurt his neck.

This time when he tried to push himself up off the steering wheel he managed, another groan of pain escaping his lips, every muscle in his chest, arms and back felt bruised, and his vision swam a little as he sat back in the seat. He noticed the windshield was broken and there was blood on the steering wheel. His blood. Dean turned his head to look at Sam again, wanting to ask his brother again if he were ok. If he was this banged up…

But then his brother was cleaning his cuts and Dean closed his eyes, hissing softly at the sting of the alcohol. His brother was quick and efficient as always. His eyes fluttered open almost of their own will when Sam leaned over him. His heart beginning to beat a little faster and not able to help it. Sam was so close. Looking at him so intently. His eyes focused. His little pink tongue sticking out a little like he used to when concentrating hard on something, driving Dean crazy. Dean swallowed hard, lifting his chin as he was told so Sam could finish cleaning most of the blood off his face. He swore he could feel Sam's breath on his lips...

Was this a dream? It felt so... real... but...

He had Dean’s attention. He had his mind nice and clouded, with need, with confusion… just enough to make this all seem like a dream, to make it okay for Dean to participate in what he wouldn’t do in the light of day. He took his time, cleaning wounds that weren’t even there, focusing on them, on Dean like his brother was the center of his world.

The cotton slipped from his fingers. Eyes locked with his brothers, Sam fumbled for it, his hands brushing repeatedly over Dean’s cock. Giving a rueful smile, he leaned down, gripping Dean’s thigh, and then reaching between his legs to the floor board. He stretched, swaying back and forth a little, then using Dean’s body to climb back up.

Putting a hand on his brother’s face, once again he turned it and finished up. He tossed the cotton ball onto the passenger seat. “My turn, Dean.” Lifting his face, he distinctly said, “kiss it better.”

Sam was so damned close. He could feel the heat of the younger boy’s body soaking through his clothes. He could definitely feel his brother’s breath on his lips. He could practically taste it. So much sweeter than his own, laced with the harsh taste of alcohol and blood. Sam’s eyes were so close to his own they were almost all he could see, he felt like he was drowning in them, he couldn’t have looked away if he tried.

Then Sam accidentally dropped the cotton he was wiping his face off with. It had to be an accident. But when Sam’s hand went to retrieve it… Dean inhaled sharply when his brother’s hand went between his legs, searching for the fallen swap and every aching muscle in Dean’s body drew taunt. Especially the one where the younger boy’s fingers kept brushing…

The groan that escaped Dean’s lips then was definitely not from pain, and shame quickly followed. He was about to tell the younger boy to just forget about the damned cotton swab, when his brother leaned over him, his hands on his thighs for support, his face almost between his knees, giving Dean a splendid view of his long pale back. All soft pale skin practically glowing in the moonlight leading down to the perfect swell of his ass, and Dean’s fingers itched to run his palms over the baby soft cheeks.

Dean was breathing noticeably faster when Sam finally straightened and finished cleaning off his face. He was about to relax, figuring Sam would sit back now that he was done, but the younger boy’s words made him blink stupidly for a few moments before they finally clicked.

Kiss it…

It was said so innocently. Like when Sam had been four and had fallen and skinned his knee on the sidewalk and Dad hadn’t been able to make him stop crying. Only his eight year old big brother had calmed him down when Dean kissed the tiny scrape better. Now the request sent an incredible rush of heat straight south and his stomach twisted violently in shame as he felt himself hardening even more.

Still the way Sam was looking at him. Hopeful, expectant, innocent… Dean found himself slowly leaning forward, letting his lips brush lightly over the younger boy’s lower lip where it had been split by his own hand earlier.

The surge of emotions in Dean sent the blood rushing beneath Sam’s skin, making him flush all over. He needed more, so much more from Dean.

He hardly moved as Dean’s mouth touched his lip, just touched. Before Dean could pull back, Sam turned his head slightly, forcing Dean’s mouth to brush against his again. He gave an audible intake of his breath, and licked his lip, touching Dean’s with his tongue at the same time. “Make it better, Dean. You know how.” He pressed closer, swallowing hard as he heard Dean’s heart knocking against his chest.

Their mouths still barely touching, Sam put his hand on Dean’s thigh, moving it up and down, hoping to confuse… to mix him up. A tear squeezed out of the corner of his eyes. “Take away the hurt. Make it better. Dean?”

Dean held his breath when Sam’s mouth brushed his again, and then it all rushed out of him when he felt the tip of his brother’s tongue touch his lips. His lips felt tight and he felt flushed all over. Sam’s desperate words making him groan… and god did he really sound so obscene? This was his little brother, damn it, he couldn’t. Sam…

Better… make it better…

This had to be a dream, this had to… he must have knocked his head really hard on the steering wheel, hell, maybe his head even went through the windshield. He must have a bad concussion, maybe he was even in a coma or something having a really fucked up vivid fantasy… and Dean couldn’t say he really cared.

His breath began to come out in short quick pants as Sam’s hand moved along his thigh. God, he was so hard. He ached… ached so damned much… Sam had been making him ache for years now. Take away the hurt… make it better… yes, he knew what would make it better...

When Dean pressed his mouth against his brother’s again it wasn’t light or chaste this time. Neither was the moan that escaped him, the hand that came to rest on the back of Sam's neck, pulling his little brother closer, the tongue that slipped out of his mouth to swipe across his brother’s split lip, or how he sucked that sweet lower lip into his mouth. He felt the shame, he felt the guilt, he felt how sick he was for wanting this, but none of it mattered right now. Nothing mattered to him but the younger boy’s exquisite taste as he pushed his tongue past those soft lips into the sweet warmth of Sam’s mouth.

The more Dean fought against his desires, the more he berated himself for them even as he gave in, the more he enjoyed taking the essence of Dean’s emotions. So pure, unadulterated, so powerful, so delightful, it sent pure pleasure to every nerve center of the being.

At first, Sam was passive, letting Dean explore every corner of his mouth, ever so gently, even as the pressure his hand was putting on the back of his head, holding him in place, told him Dean wanted much more. He gave a low moan and curled his tongue experimentally around Dean’s, pushing himself closer. Dean’s response emboldened Sam.

Mouths still locked together, he pushed Dean against the back of the chair. Simultaneously, the chair slipped back, away from the steering wheel, and Sam straddled Dean’s hips. The instant he felt any resistance, he moved against Dean, rubbing his ass too gently over his arousal, making him need so much more.

Sam’s hands fluttered at the hem of Dean’s shirt, pushing it up wards and making a small sound. Immediately, Dean helped him peel it off his body, tossing it to the back seat. They stared at each other for a long moment, and before the spell could break, Sam thrust his hips forward, pressing the hard knot between his own legs against Dean’s bare abs.

“Hurts.” He gave his brother a watery smile. “Make it better.” And then he covered Dean’s mouth with his, and plastered himself to his brother. Let him hate himself for this. Let him curse himself for being all sorts of perverted, but he couldn’t resist, no, he’d never be able to resist.

Dean practically whimpered into his brother’s mouth when he felt Sam’s tongue curl around his own, stroking gently, a little insecure, a little inexperienced, but so damned good. Then Sam was pushing him back, climbing into his lap, and Dean’s brain practically short circuited. He knew he shouldn’t… he knew they couldn’t… this was wrong, even if it was only a fucked up dream of his own perverted fantasies it was still wrong. Even if it was only in his mind, it was still his baby brother he was molesting… But the feel of Sam’s ass pressing down on his hard cock trapped inside his jeans erased all thoughts of stopping from his mind.

Oh fuck, he was so hard, so hard he was hurting. His heart was beating so damned fast in his chest he thought he might just blow it out if this kept up. Maybe he should be worrying about a heart attack? Or a stroke? Maybe he was bleeding in his brain and that’s why he was hallucinating like this? He had just been in a fucking accident after all… but all Dean could really care about was Sam’s taste, the weight of him in his lap, his brother’s tongue in his mouth… even if it was just a fantasy, a fucked up illusion, dream whatever, he didn’t care.

His hands settled on the warm soft skin of his brother’s thighs and Dean groaned obscenely into his little brother’s mouth. Making small encouraging sounds in his throat when he felt Sam’s hands on him. Never once stopping kissing his brother, until he felt the younger boy’s hand pulling up his shirt. Only then did Dean tear his lips away from the younger boy, yanking off his shirt with little care of how his muscles screamed in protest of the movement. He felt blood dripping down his neck again, he tasted it from the various cuts on his face, and his vision swam a little in and out of focus as he stared at his little brother, but Dean didn’t care.

“Sammy…” Dean panted, groaning low in his throat when he felt Sam press closer, rubbing his hardening cock against his stomach and Dean’s hands settled on his brother’s ass. Tugging him closer, moaning as he kissed his brother again deeply, thrusting his tongue into that sweet young mouth and taking everything being offered. Not caring about the consequences. Encouraging Sam to fuck against him, his own hips lifting off the seat to rub against Sam’s ass. Groaning in pleasure and frustration at the layers of cloth still separating them, but too afraid to take that last step.

Sam put one hand on the ceiling and writhed almost too gently against his brother, deliberately heightening Dean’s frustration, fueling it with exaggerated gyrations of his body that enflamed rather than satisfied. He made little sounds against his brother’s mouth, took quick audible breaths, all geared to seem innocent but to drive Dean to the very edge.

When Dean’s fingers started to bite into his skin, Sam broke the kiss, leaned back and watched Dean under his lashes. He looked so deliciously tortured. So hot, so undecided, his eyes glazed with lust, his mouth wet with Sam’s spit...

Sam opened his mouth licked around the edges of his lips, knowing he had Dean’s rapt attention. In and out, he let his own tongue suggest the other uses his mouth could be put to. He knew the exact moment Dean got the message, the exact moment Dean felt his precum smearing cross his abs, and the exact moment there was no turning back.

Landing his mouth messily over Dean’s, he kissed him... plastered himself against him, like he’d never let go, raising and lowering himself... increasing the friction between his cock and Dean’s toned flesh, and his ass against Dean’s cock. This would last for hours and hours... he’d keep siphoning, never letting Dean have complete satisfaction... keep him wanting, so tomorrow night he’d be begging.... waiting... dying for him.

Dean’s head fell back against the seat with a moan that was as much pain as pleasure, as much satisfaction as frustration. His eyes glazed with lust and heavy with desire, he saw nothing but Sam, as he watched his beautiful little brother moving over him. He groaned at the feeling of the younger boy fucking against his stomach and rocking against his trapped erection. Feeling the hot slick trails Sam left across his skin making him shudder and it felt so good and hurt so much at the same time he simply couldn’t stop whimpering and moaning at the pleasure/pain.

“Sam… Sammy…” Dean panted his brother’s name over and over, his fingers digging into the warm flesh of the younger boy’s hips, sliding around to grip the soft round globes of his ass when his brother kissed him again.

He was oblivious to everything but the soft wet tongue sliding in and out of his mouth, imagining what it might feel like on his nipples, on his cock. Sam’s cock was a heavy hot brand against his stomach and god what he wouldn’t give to wrap his lips around it, sucking and licking until his little brother’s seed exploded down his throat. He imagined his fingers delving into the hot crease of his ass, discovering the tight puckered hole, teasing it with his tongue and fingers, pushing inside, the first to ever explore that tight forbidden heat.

He wanted it, needed it, so much. He knew it was wrong, he knew it was all kinds of evil and he was the worst kind of pervert in the world for wanting it, and he didn’t care. It was only a dream, only a fantasy, why couldn’t he have it now, just this once?

Dean didn’t know how long it lasted. He never wanted it to end. He didn’t care how much the rest of him hurt, as long as Sam kept rubbing against him, letting him thrust against that perfect ass. He didn’t care about the blood he knew he was smearing across his brother’s pale flesh with his hands, or the blood stinging his eyes. He didn’t care about the darkness edging around his vision, only their pants and moans and the wet sound of their kisses drowning out everything else, even the sound of the sirens growing steadily louder.

“Sammy…” He whispered, pleading for more, more of Sam’s kisses and touches, even as his grip on the younger boy grew slack and the darkness finally rose up to claim him.