The Giving Tree

Disclaimer: If you think I own them then you is crayzee. I just like to play with the shiny toys.

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i.
Sam plunks the bottle of golden whiskey in front of Dean, a twisted grin on his features and Dean knows better than to ask what is going on. He just grins back with a tense anticipation as Sam readies the shots, downs his glass and waits for the refill. Sam has been stressed and snappish since starting his senior year in high school, Dean assumes this is what his little brother needs in order to blow off steam and maybe, just maybe, open up.

Sam’s rictus of a smile stays in place while continually plying Dean with alcohol. Dean isn’t stupid, he notices that Sam isn’t matching him shot for shot; he knows that whatever is coming, it isn’t going to be good. The alcohol burns in the best way as it goes down and Dean waits, knowing that Sam won’t be able to stay silent forever.

The liquid in the bottle lowers until it is half-empty. Everything has fuzzy edges and Dean stopped counting how far Sam was, shot wise, behind him a while ago. His limbs feel loose and disorganized but his mind hasn’t had enough yet to let go of its edge of panic. He grabs the bottle and takes a long pull from it, notices from the corner of his eye that Sam is watching him.

“Wha’s on your mind, Sammy,” Dean says, hopes he isn’t slurring too badly. Sam has leaned back in his chair, the kitchen table solid and wide between them. He has what Dean calls his thoughtful look on, the one that means business.

“I need…” Sam trails off, the words hanging awkwardly between them. They both know that Dean will give Sam anything, do anything that Sam asks and damn the consequences.

“What?” Dean asks as he leans forward, letting the heavy glass bottle settle on the table.

Instead of answering, Sam pushes away from the dinette and is suddenly towering above Dean. Little brother isn’t so little any more, Dean thinks and laughs. It’s a happy, if drunken, sound and Sam flinches away from it.

Without warning Sam is leaning over Dean, his mouth sealed over Dean’s in a desperate almost kiss. Dean jerks back, unsettled and uncertain. He doesn’t spit out recriminations as Sam half expects; he just searches Sam’s face as if he’ll find the answer there. Sam doesn’t know what Dean’s looking for, what emotion he should be displaying in order to get what he wants.

“Please,” Sam whispers and even he doesn’t know what he’s asking for.

What little hope he had sinks as Dean extracts himself from the chair, steps away from Sam. He stands rigidly for a moment and Sam braces himself, waits for Dean to hit him with an unforgiving fist.

“Are you sure?” Dean asks, his breathing is heavy as if he just run five miles.

Sam nods, his bangs flopping into his eyes. Dean reaches out and grabs Sam’s wrist, pulls his brother to him. With a deftness that defies his drunkenness, Dean maneuvers Sam into the tiny room that they sleep in. Their Dad is gone, hunting, probably won’t be back for another week or so. Dean thinks he understands the whiskey now.

With the awkward clumsiness of teenagers, Sam knocks Dean down onto the thin mattress. He’s already scrambling out of his clothes and Dean stops him simply by splaying his hand across the tight skin of Sam’s belly.

“Whoa, slow down there cowboy,” Dean teases. He doesn’t know that his voice is a rough rasp from the whiskey; that is face is open and unguarded. He thinks it’s anticipation that makes Sam shiver like he’s cold.

Dean pulls Sam down next to him, explores Sam’s mouth with a kiss that is almost too sloppy. Sam keens in the back of his throat, his hands pushing and pulling against Dean. Once Dean knows what Sam tastes like, beneath the alcohol and desperation, he lets Sam pull off some of his clothes. Their bare chests slide together and its Dean’s turn to shudder at the contact, to suck his breath in as his eyes drift closed.

Sam’s impatience gets the better of him and he nips at the delicate skin behind Dean’s ear. Dean works on removing their pants while Sam continues to bite and suck at different areas of Dean’s neck. They’re both shaking with desire by the time that they’re naked.

“I… I want your mouth on me,” Sam yelps suddenly, an embarrassed flush covering his cheeks. Dean swallows before nodding, his eyes trailing downwards until they see Sam’s erection. Dean’s tongue lathes down the flat planes of Sam’s stomach, testing and tasting every inch that he can.

Too eager to wait, Sam tangles his fingers in Dean’s short hair and tries to push him lower. The bass chuckle that Dean gives reverberates against Sam’s thigh and makes him cry out wordlessly. Sam has turned into a creature of want and desire, his whole body is flushed and beautiful to Dean.

Keeping his eyes turned upward, Dean’s head slides to the side and his mouth circles the head of Sam’s cock. Unable to keep his hands to himself, Sam’s huge paws are on either side of Dean’s head with Sam’s thumbs lying along Dean’s jaw. Dean starts with shallow bobs of his head, his tongue lapping at the underside of Sam’s cock. Sam’s head falls back on the pillows, his fevered eyes no longer watching Dean.

Sam’s cock is too long for Dean to take all of it in his mouth so he wraps one hand around the bottom half and jerks it while mouthing the top half. He doesn’t expect Sam to last long, since Sammy doesn’t have much stamina while jerking off Dean doubts that he’ll last longer when getting a blow job. Dean’s other hand and arm are doing their best to keep Sam’s hips still, he doesn’t need his brother shoving his entire monster dick into Dean’s mouth.

Just as Dean is certain Sam is going to make him choke, Sammy gives a plaintive wail and begins to come down Dean’s throat. Dean pulls back until only the head of Sam’s dick is in his mouth and swallows what he can. He climbs between his brothers legs and stares down at Sam, laying loose and looking fucked out. Dean did this. He gives a small growl before rubbing his own iron hard cock against the soft groove on Sam’s hip. It only takes a little bit before Dean is coming, his spunk covering that soft skin and part of Sam’s belly.

Dean collapses next to Sam, deeply inhaling the soft scent that he has always associated with Sammy. He curls around his brother, their legs tangled together and Dean’s arms wrapped around Sam.

“I need your help with Dad,” Sam says finally, his voice soft and muffled against Dean’s neck.

“Sure, anything,” Dean tells him, trying and failing to keep the sleepiness out of his voice.

“You aren’t going to like it.”

“I usually don’t,” Dean sighs and Sam hears the honest truth in that statement.

“I. I applied to some colleges. I got in,” Sam finally manages to get out. He’s shivering again, this time from fear. Dean’s arms tighten around him and even Dean isn’t sure if it is to comfort Sam or out of his own terror.

“You’re gonna go?” Dean asks, as if they would be having this conversation if Sam hadn’t already planned on leaving.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

Dean is quiet in the darkness of their room. There is a panel of brightness across the middle of the bed from the light that is still on in the kitchen. The rented house creaks and settles around them.

“When?”

“I was planning on leaving couple of weeks after graduation. I’m gonna need to do a lot of work in order to meet the requirements,” Sam answers easily. From the ease with which Sam says it, Dean knows that Sam has had this planned for a while. He wants to tell Sam that he would have helped him without Sam seducing him. He doesn’t want to hurt Sammy, though.

“Okay. Okay, man. We’ll tell Dad when you’re ready,” Dean tells him, he hopes Sam can’t hear anything but acceptance in his words.

Sam grins, his teeth bright in the darkness. There is a heaviness in Dean’s chest, one that he refuses to acknowledge or think about.

ii.
John, predictably, takes the news badly. Words fly, heated tempers loosen tongues, and nothing Dean does can ease the tension between John and his youngest son. At the end of it all, John tells Sam to get gone and not come back. Dean knows that their dad doesn’t mean it, but Sam’s eyes show that he means to follow this order to the letter.

The Impala is already packed with Sam’s meager possessions. In one duffle is a wad of cash that Dean stashed there without Sam knowing, hopefully it’s enough that Sam can get by for a while without getting a job. Dean also has a bag in the trunk with what he really needs. He feels lightheaded and a little freaked out.

By the time he tells John that he’s taking Sam, he’ll be back soon; Sam is already in the car. He’s hunched over himself as if something vital is hurt. Maybe it is. Dean eases into the driver’s seat and starts the car. They’re fifteen miles down the road before Dean stretches out his arm, his hand lands on Sam’s shoulder.

“I can drive you to California,” Dean offers. They’re in Ohio.

“No. Just drop me at the bus station,” Sam says woodenly. There are tears buried under the careful neutrality.

“I’m offerin’ to come with you. For good.”

“I said just drop me off at the fucking station,” Sam barks, tears finally trailing down his cheeks. Dean understands. He was never supposed to go with Sam; Sam is cutting all his ties. Something sick twists in his gut and Dean jerks his eyes back to the road. He should know better than to ask for things.

He takes the turn off for the bus station.

iii.
It’s been four years, but a day hasn’t gone by that Dean hasn’t thought of Sam. He breaks into the little apartment that Sam lives in; half giddy, half terrified. Sam does a good job of posturing in front of his girl and Dean is ready to drop his good ole boy act. See what sweet Jess makes of that because Dean’s damn sure that Sam hasn’t told her about their past.

“Dad’s on a hunting trip. He hasn’t been home in a few days,” Dean grates out through his teeth. He sees the exact moment that Sam understands what he’s saying. An almost palpable wall crashes down between Sam and his girl, Dean wonders why he isn’t happier that he’s won.

Over the days Dean does what he can to try to lure Sam back into the life. He feels crushed and broken as he drops Sam off and Sam doesn’t even look back. Dean really should have known better. Everything has always been what Sam wants, what Sam needs. Dean has always been secondary.

Sam’s apartment has almost faded from his rear view mirror when he turns around. Dean doesn’t have a reason; he just needs to see Sam one last time. Because, deep down, Dean knows that neither of them will call. There should be something more final between them instead of this tenuous bridge that the weekend built. Dean needs to see that Sam can make it without him, needs to know that he’s never meant anything to Sam.

When he gets there, the fire has just started. Beautiful Jess is pinned to ceiling and Sam is ready to die, he isn’t even trying to escape. Dean saves him anyway, knowing that Sam will hate him for this. Smoke is thick in their lungs and the heat is almost unbearable. They make it out just in time, just like before.

As they wait for the blaze to be put out, Dean realizes that Sam is ready. He’s committing himself to hunting, to avenging Jess and Mom and anyone else that this thing has harmed. Dean feels heat lick his insides and he knows that he’ll give anything, anything, to keep Sammy with him.

iv.
Dean wakes, frantic, realizing that Sam is missing. Something as enormous as his brother can’t just vanish into thin air. Right? Looks like he’s wrong and Dean spends the next week searching until Sam calls him. Everything turns upside-down as events reveal themselves. Sam covered in blood. The knife in the car. The dead hunter.

Dean covers it all up like a pro, though. He does it even as Sam is freaking out because that’s what his job is. He protects his little brother. Even when it’s something wearing Sam’s body, something evil and old and possessive.

Jo will probably never forgive them; she’ll certainly never forgive Dean. He’s known about her crush, thought about it, poked at the idea as if it were a sore tooth. But he’s realized, honestly he’s always known, that there isn’t room for anyone else in his heart. Sam is his whole world and Jo would never be able to accept that.

Sam, demon ridden, has broken into the bar and almost killed Jo. Dean didn’t even pretend for a moment that her life meant anything. If Sam had killed her, that would have been tragic, sure. But it wouldn’t have made Dean pull that trigger. Wouldn’t have been worth the risk to Sam.

She’s been around hunters all her life. Jo should know better than to try to step between a man and his obsession. Her heart tells her to try; maybe if she’s enough then Dean can let Sam go. Maybe he’ll be able to love her.

“You can have something for yourself,” she whispers, her tiny hands wrapped around his bicep.

He gives a small, depreciating laugh. It’s the only answer that he can give, how else could he explain that the only thing that’s ever mattered is Sam? He has to keep giving until there isn’t anything left. And he’ll make others do the same, as long as Sam needs him to.

He promises to call her. They both know it’s a lie

v.
Old Yellow Eyes is a slippery son of bitch, but he needs something and that makes him vulnerable. What Dean can’t understand is how he could make Sam disappear into thin air. He feels that frantic pull from a few months back, when Sam was possessed.

He gets to Cold Oak a fraction too late. He sees Sam and it’s like he has tunnel vision or something because Sam is all he can focus on. He doesn’t even notice the other guy until Sam’s face is grimacing in pain and shock.

Sam is so heavy in his arms, heavy and hot. Dean knows he’s speaking, knows that words are flowing out of him but he isn’t sure what he’s saying. All he can hear is the labored sound of Sam breathing and all he can feel is the hot gush of blood on his hands.

Suddenly the world is silent and Dean thinks that maybe he’s gone deaf. Maybe he’s losing a sense at a time. Between one heartbeat and the next, Dean realizes that Sam is dead, that’s why there is no noise. Sam is dead.

Bobby does what he can, but eventually Dean snaps. All he is aware of is his monumental failure, how nothing can ever be right in the world again. The world could die and all Dean would do is laugh and laugh and laugh. He wants to hit Bobby, he almost does, and that’s what scares Bobby into getting gone. You don’t want to cross a Winchester.

Dean is driving before he knows it, speeding toward his fate. The bitch at the Crossroads could ask for anything and he’d agree. Anything for Sam, everything for Sam. A year is a bonus. An extra day would have been more than Dean hoped for, more than what he would have dared to ask.

When she kisses him, she tastes like Sammy did when he was eighteen.

vi.
Dean is adamant that Sam not try to break his deal with the demon. He’s tired. He’s been saying that since River Grove and Sammy has been not listening for twice as long. Dean just doesn’t have it in him anymore and everything seems oddly flat. Eating and fucking and hunting; an endless cycle until his time is up.

When his year is over, Dean will relinquish his life and soul for his brother. He finally won’t have anything more to give. Although, knowing Sam, he’ll demand more.