Ties that Bind

Keeping it Together
Word Count: 3162
Rated: NC-17
Sam and Dean talk after the events of "Scarecrow." Then they do something else.

A/N: This is a sequel to my story "Ties that Bind," found here. My thanks to shay_renoylds who helped eradicate girl!Sam and replace him with emo!Sam.


As soon as they'd put Emily on the bus, they'd rolled, putting that creepy little town in their review mirror. Neither of them had any urge to stop in Indiana, or indeed anywhere till they'd put as many miles between them and that damn scarecrow as they could.

When they were both too tired to drive any more, they pulled over at a crappy no name motel. The room wasn't much - the carpet was worn shag carpet from the seventies, for christ's sake - and the heat barely worked, but it had beds and a shower and that's all either of them cared about.

By the time Sam made it out of the shower, Dean was already in one of the beds, asleep. His right arm was above the covers, and Sam studied the leather bracelet on it for a long time, fingering his own, before the chill in the air finally drove him to his own bed.

Sleep was slow in coming, and all he could think about was what could have happened had he not come in time. He could have lost his brother, and never known what had happened to him, if he had gotten on that bus. His own stubbornness would have cost him the most important person in his life, and all he could do was thank god that he'd given in to the little voice in his head that demanded he go look for Dean.

He felt like the little warmth in the room was being leeched out, and he turned and curled on his side, trying to warm up. He didn't even realize he was shivering before Dean was behind him, shaking his shoulder. "Shove over, bro. Cold in here."

Sam did as he was told, scooting across the bed. The shock of the cold sheets made him shiver even harder, but then there was blazing heat behind him. Cautiously, he edged back into that heat, only to have Dean snort and wrap a hand around his waist, pulling him up snug.

From shoulders to calves, the heat soaked into him, finally warming him, and he could hear Dean chuckle. "You're too skinny, dude. Cold goes right to your bones. Should find you a girl to feed you up." He laughed along with Dean, though the thought brought pain with it as well. Jess had always said that he was too skinny.

One hand curled under his head, the other resting on Dean's wrist, above the leather, he finally closed his eyes and slept.

***

He got to the orchard just in time to see the scythe that the scarecrow carried slice across Dean's throat. He screamed, but the damned thing didn't even look up, just carried up and over Dean's face, ripping the skin off in one move. Dean, oh, god, Dean. He was too late. If he'd just been five minutes earlier...

"Sam! Sammy! Wake up! You're having a nightmare!"

Sam startled awake to a world of light, with Dean sitting up in the bed next to him, one hand on his shoulder, shaking him. "Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy. It's me. You awake?"

"Uh, I think so." The hand left his shoulder, but the heat it left behind radiated through him. "Sorry about that."

"What was it this time? Jessica again?"

"No." Sam sat up in the bed, resting back against the wood headboard. He was still blinking in the harsh light from the bedside lamp, but the pain in his watering eyes was reassuring in its own way. "Just a nightmare."

Dean slid back down in the bed, lying on his side and looking at him. "Need to talk about it?"

Sam smiled. "I thought you didn't go for that chick flick stuff."

"When it comes to your nightmares, I'd rather be a chick then let them carry on for months. So, spill." Dean looked strangely serious.

Sliding down in the bed, rough sheets beneath his skin, he matched Dean look for look. "Seriously. It was no big. Every day garden variety nightmare. No vision, no demon gluing people to the ceiling. Promise."

Dean studied his face for what seemed like forever, then nodded. "Think you can sleep some more?"

Nodding, he sat up to reach past Dean to turn off the light. Dean's hand came up and touched the leather wrapped around his wrist. "Did you ever take this off?"

Clicking the light, Sam settled back, trying to figure out how to answer the question. What could he say to that? No, but I thought about it? No, but only because I couldn't find a pair of scissors the night I was too drunk to do anything but think about how you and dad let me leave? He finally settled on just saying, "Only to replace it."

Smiling, Dean pulled out his own wrist and studied the leather. "Me too. You remember when we started wearing them?"

Sam laughed. "I remember how dirty we got digging up that second body. We looked like mud men."

"Did you - did you ever miss it? How well we used to get along?" There was something... something in Dean's voice. A hitch, and his breathing changed, becoming deeper, faster.

"I didn't miss the hunting." Sam debated leaving it there, but that wouldn't be fair to Dean, nor would it be truthful. He could hear Jess telling him that if he kept it bottled up, it would explode. Just thinking about how much it hurt to walk away from Dean brought back that sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. Swallowing convulsively, he closed his eyes and added, "But I was lonely for you. It was the first time that the two of us had been apart for more than a day or two and I felt... lost. I cried every night for a week when I first got to Stanford, and if you ever tell anyone that I will kick your ass."

Dean shifted a little closer, and Sam followed suit. They were so close that he could feel the moist heat from Dean's breathing, smell the clean sweat from sleeping so close together. Their knees brushed, and Dean bit his lip. "I promise I won't tell anyone else, but I'm gonna give you hell in private and you know it. If I didn't, you'd think I was possessed."

"This is true." Sam was getting hard from being so close, from the memories of the times they were together as kids. It hadn't been till he'd gotten to Stanford that he'd realized that normal brothers didn't do the things they'd done. He'd carefully studied those memories and chalked them up to the isolationist way they'd grown up. Carefully compartmentalized them so that he could stop thinking about the way that Dean smelled, the way he tasted.

The way he came.

They were both leaning together, in slow motion, like they were underwater. But neither one of them said anything about it. Instead, "You remember the look on Dad's face when he went to do laundry that week and found our clothes?"

This time, the laughter came from Dean. "Oh, hell. I thought he was going to murder us for letting those dry like that. One of the few times we got in trouble for something that mundane. And then you pointed out that it could have been from blood instead, and he just got so quiet. I think he used an entire bottle of Shout on those things."

"The stains never did come out of my shirt." They were so close together that they were breathing each others' air. One of them needed to say something, had to say something. "Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy," and then Dean's lips were on his, soft and gentle, and Sam stopped caring that neither of them had actually asked.

The kiss seemed to last forever. When Dean's tongue slipped into his mouth, wet and warm velvet against his, he moaned, the tension in his body disappearing. They were both breathing, panting, really, into the kiss, and Sam couldn't think beyond the touch of their mouths.

Dean's hand came up, tracing a light path up his side. Gooseflesh rose in its wake, leaving Sam shivering, until it rested on his face, fingers tangling in his hair. Pulling back from the kiss, Dean studied his face. "Say no, Sam."

"I don't want to." This time, it was Sam who leaned forward those few inches, Sam who slid his tongue into Dean's mouth, tasting toothpaste and sleep and Dean. He mirrored Dean's position, his hand on his cheek, feeling stubble and warmth, short hair winding around his fingers.

Sam moaned, realizing in that moment how much he'd missed the sheer physicality that had been his relationship with his brother in their youth. Ever since Dean had showed up in Stanford, the touching had been little and far between, but now there was no way that Sam was going to stop unless Dean wanted to.

And in the next moment, it became obvious that Dean didn't want to, as he rolled them both so that he was lying on top of Sam. They continued to kiss as Dean's hands ran along his sides and then up his arms, lifting them up and putting them above his head. Pinning them down lightly, he pulled back again. "You sure, Sam?"

Lifting his head, he managed to kiss Dean's chin. "I'm sure."

The only thing separating them now was their boxers, and he could feel how hard Dean was, pressed against his thigh like an iron brand. His hips bucked, and Dean moaned. "Don't, Sammy. Just stay still for me."

It was a struggle, but as Dean's mouth found all the sensitive places on his neck and laid long, open-mouthed kisses on them, he managed to not move. He couldn't stop his mouth, though, and moans and sighs became the sound in the room. When Dean nipped high, right below his jaw, he yelped and then said, "Fuck, yeah, Dean. So good."

Dean pulled back and smiled. "Some things never change - you still like being bitten."

Sam could feel the blood flooding his face. His throat was dry, and he didn't think that he could get any sound out, so he just nodded.

Dean didn't tease, thankfully. He just lowered his head and bit Sam again, a little lower. Sam hooked his fingers under the headboard so that he wouldn't be tempted to move them, and gripped hard as Dean marked his skin with sharp bites.

He was shivering, but in all good ways, as Dean moved over his chest and stomach. He wanted to watch, wanted to stare at Dean as he moved over him, but he couldn't. His eyes fell shut and he clung to the wood under hands with all he had.

When Dean's weight disappeared, though, his eyes flew open and he looked up to see Dean kneeling between his outstretched thighs, hands on his own legs. He was panting as though he'd just run a marathon, and Sam wanted nothing more than to soothe him. "You... you okay?"

"Yeah. Just trying to decide where to go next."

Sam closed his eyes, arching his back. "Anywhere, Dean," he whispered.

Dean made a soft sound, then his hands were back, this time sliding over his stomach and down to the elastic of his boxers. "You sure?"

"Just... stop asking, Dean. I'm not going to stop you."

Dean suddenly stood up, leaving cold air in his place, and Sam looked at him curiously. Before he could form the question, though, Dean was tugging his shorts off, and then with one last questioning look, doing the same for Sam's.

Naked, Sam shivered in the cold air, only to be warmed suddenly when Dean laid back down on top of him. "God, I've missed this."

"Mmm hmm..." Dean seemed distracted, and as he thrust lightly against Sam, Sam shut up.

Now there was nothing to get in Dean's way as he worked his way down again, and as he drew closer to Sam's cock, he stopped breathing. Dean had other ideas, though, and moved down so that he could bite at Sam's thigh.

In response, Sam spread his legs wider, giving Dean access to anything he wanted. Even if all he wanted was to tease the ever loving shit out of Sam. Gasping for air, he waited, impatient, for Dean to do something, anything.

That warm, wet tongue found his balls, licking at them softly. Sam whimpered, legs shifting restlessly. The touch was light, so light, and it was going to drive him right out of his mind, in the good way.

Dean chuckled against Sam's skin, and the vibration shot straight through his balls and right up to the top of his head. The rough wood under his hands cut into his palms as he fought the urge to let go and reach down to touch Dean, to pull him up for another kiss. "Please, Dean. Oh, god, please..."

Raising his head, Dean flashed a grin at him. "Begging already, Sammy?"

"Shut up. Bastard."

His mouth was just inches from Sam's cock, and he couldn't help but stare, silently willing Dean to do something. Dean seemed to know exactly what he was thinking, because he blew a stream of cool air over the head. "Is that any way to get me to do what you want?"

Sam bit his lip hard enough to taste blood. "Cocktease."

Dean just arched an eyebrow and stuck out his tongue, touching the tip of it to the shaft. Sam yelped, his hips coming up off the bed at the glancing contact. Dean looked gloriously obscene like that and Sam was forced to close his eyes and take a deep breath.

Only to have them fly open when Dean took the head of his cock in, sucking it hard. Sam no longer cared if he sounded like a moron, or that he was begging. "Please Dean, don't stop, please... Oh, god, so fucking good..." Dean was doing wicked, evil things with his tongue. "Oh, fuck me..."

Dean's mouth disappeared, "Do you want me to?"

It took a second for Sam to connect the dots and draw the pony. He was too busy whimpering over the loss of Dean's mouth to realize at first that he was offering to fuck Sam. When he did, though, Sam thought he just might come.

"God, yes. Been too fucking long, Dean."

The warmth and weight disappeared from his legs, as Dean swung over and started pawing at his bag. When he finally pulled it close enough, he scrabbled through it as Sam took deep breaths, trying to keep himself under control.

"Ah ha!" Dean came up on his knees, a tube clenched in his fist. "Knew I had this in there." He grinned, and Sam couldn't help the smile that split his own face.

"You gonna quit talking and fuck me already?" The smile disappeared off Dean's face, replaced by one of intense focus. Sam shut up in demonstration, spreading his legs in silent invitation.

But when Dean went to lube up his fingers, Sam stopped him with a grab of his hand. "No, Dean. Just fuck me."

"You sure, Sammy? I don't want to hurt you." Dean's focus got even sharper, as if he was trying to read his mind.

Taking the tube out of Dean's hand, Sam opened it and squeezed a small amount on to his hand. Wrapping it around Dean's cock, he spread it on him with firm strokes. "Yeah, I'm really, really sure."

Dean studied his face for a moment longer, then nodded. Pulling at one of Sam's legs, he lifted it over his shoulder and wrapped the other around his waist. As he leaned down over Sam, he bent his head and kissed Sam again.

Sam moaned into his mouth, teasing at his lips and tongue. When Dean's cock pressed against his opening, he moaned even louder, arching his hips and shuddering. Without breaking the kiss, he begged into Dean's mouth. "Please, now, Dean. Please?"

Slowly, Dean pressed into him. It burned, the stretch becoming almost too much, and Sam had to tear his mouth away so that he could pant. It hurt, yeah, but it hurt so fucking good. Dean stopped moving, pulling back just enough to look into Sam's face. "Sam?"

"I-I'm fine, Dean. Just... been a long time..."

Dean nodded and bit his own lips as he moved so slowly. As he slid inside, Sam could have sworn that he could feel every millimeter of it. Finally, though, his hips were flush with Sam, and he froze. Sam could feel the fine sheen of sweat breaking out over Dean's skin as he stayed still. He wanted to tell him to move, to not hold back, but he needed that time to adjust.

The burning eased, and Sam could feel that familiar feeling in the pit of his stomach as his body started to respond. "Okay..."

He started to move then, slowly, gently, and Sam had to bite his lip at the emotional response that got. Again - as always - Dean was thinking more about taking care of Sam instead of himself.

With a wordless cry, he arched his back, trying to get Dean to move harder. Dean held back for another moment, and then his eyes fell shut and he started to speed up.

Every stroke passed right over Sam's prostate, his cock pressed between their bodies, and Sam clutched at Dean's shoulders. "Please, please, please..."

Faster, deeper, harder, and Sam was feeling nothing but pleasure, flying high with it. The heat between them built, and Sam wormed one of his hands between them to grip at his cock. Dean moaned at that, and the force behind his thrusts increased.

Sam felt like he was in a positive feedback loop. He could feel it from the top of his head all the way to the soles of his feet, but it was starting to focus, to gather at the base of his spine, twisting and turning and taking Sam to the point of no return.

He let go of his cock, trying to hold back, but it was too late. "Fuck, fuck, fuck... Gonna... Oh, fuck, Dean!"

With another cry, he was coming, shaking and shuddering and coming apart. As he fell to pieces, he dimly heard Dean cry out as well, and then he was coming inside of him.

Dean collapsed on top of him, and Sam wrapped his arms around him, kissing the top of his head and relaxing. Dean was trembling, and Sam held him tightly.

"God, I missed you," Dean said, his teeth chattering.

"Shh," Sam said. "I'm here now. Not going anywhere again, I promise."

Gradually. Dean relaxed, but when he tried to roll off, Sam held him still. "It's all good."

"Dude, I'm too heavy."

Sam couldn't help the smile. "You ain't heavy - you're my brother."