Chapter 4

Sam didn't argue when Dean packed up the car. He just slipped silently into the passenger seat and dropped his head against the window as Dean pulled away from the motel and headed for the interstate.

"He'll follow us," Sam says, an hour into the journey. They're the first words he's said since it happened.

"I know." Dean taps his fingers on the steering wheel, thinking. "We thought we were chasing him. But he was chasing us. I figure he'll keep at it. But I needed to get you outta that room, Sammy."

"I'm okay, Dean."

Dean scoffs. "Right. Okay, good." He understands the need to shove it down. "But he's not getting near you again. I won't let him. He'll keep chasing us. But it'll be me he goes after. You saw it, Sammy. He was you when he came after me. He wants the full set. I'm gonna give it to him."

"Dean." There's pain in Sam's voice, but resignation, too. "Don't do this for me."

"I'm not," Dean says. "It's the only way I can think of to end it. We gotta get him when he's vulnerable? The only time he's vulnerable is when he's distracted." Dean hesitates, unwilling to make Sam dredge up what happened, but he needs to know. "You think it'll work? He get lost enough when it counts?" He glances at Sam, quick, furtive. "You know, during."

Sam's fists are bunched on his thighs. His knuckles are white, like he's barely clinging on. "Yeah," he chokes. "I thought he was you, Dean. I swear to god I thought he was you."

"I know, Sammy. It's okay."

"I had the blade." Sam's voice is flat, forced. "I could have put it in his heart and he wouldn't have had a chance. I should have—"

"It's okay," Dean says, but it's not. If Dean hadn't been drunk off his ass, if he'd kept it together... He should have been there. He should have been with Sam. It should have been him Sam was with, him losing control, losing time, getting lost while his baby brother fucked him. "I'm gonna kill him," he says. "I'm gonna end it, Sammy."

"You're gonna let him fuck you," Sam says.

"That's what it's gonna take." This time Dean's fingers tapping at the wheel are relieving the tension. "Yeah, I'm gonna let him fuck me, and when he's coming, when he's completely fucking lost I'm gonna stab that fucker in the heart, Sam. I'm going to kill him."

This time, Sam's voice breaks when he speaks. "I don't want him to touch you."

"I didn't want him touching you, either, but he did."

"I'm sorry." Sam's voice breaks on a sob.

"Jesus christ." Dean pulls the car over to the side of the road, turns off the engine. "Sammy, this wasn't your fault." He reaches out, gets his hands on his brother. "This isn't on you. I went out and got drunk, I should've been there." He doesn't mean to say it, but it slips out. "It should've been me."

Sam freezes, his eyes locking with Dean's. "I wish it had been you. You don't know how much I want it to be you, Dean. You."

All the oxygen seems to get sucked out of the car. Dean can't breathe, and Sam is gasping, too. Dean slides across the seat, and Sam doesn't need this, Sam shouldn't want this, but Dean can't help himself when Sam pulls him close.

Then they're kissing. On the side of the road, traffic flying past them, teeth and tongues and sharing spit like it's the only way either of them will ever be able to breathe again.

You two were made for each other the monster said, and Dean can believe it, there's no one Dean's ever felt more right kissing.

---

They should keep going, make the monster think they're on the run, but after the makeout session in the car, without either of them needing to say a word, Dean pulls into the first motel they reach, and it's about the shadiest-looking place they've seen in years. It looks like it hasn't been updated since the 60's, and it's right on the outskirts of some tiny nowheresville town where the streetlights don't reach. The neon is just a collection of fizzing, buzzing lines, parts of letters that spell out nothing at all.

As soon as the door closes behind them, Sam shoves him toward the bed, lips already on Dean's. There's a desperation in the way Sam kisses, in the grasp and tug of Sam's hands as they pull at Dean's clothes.

"You sure 'bout this?" Dean says, gasping for breath he can't seem to catch. He feels raw, torn open and lightheaded. There's an unreality to this moment, as though they are existing out of time, in some kind of liminal space, like a dream or alternate world.

Sam sucks a bruise into Dean's throat and shoves the shirt off of Dean's shoulders, stretches the neck of Dean's t-shirt to expose more flesh. "I need this," he growls, and bites down. "I need you."

In reality, it's less than 24 hours since Sam fucked the other Dean, the fake Dean, the monster. They shouldn't be doing this at all. "Maybe it's too soon," Dean says, and makes an move to push Sam away, but the attempt is feeble, his muscles betraying him.

"I don't wanna think about it," Sam says. "About him." He pulls back, just enough to lift Dean's tee by the hem and rip it off, and Dean just lets him, lifts his arms like a child.

"We don't know when he'll catch up to us." Sam yanks his own shirt off over his head and starts on the fly of his jeans. "Could be weeks from now, or it could be tomorrow. And I know what you're going to have to do when he does." He stands there, his fly undone, jeans still hanging off his hips. "But right now, Dean?" Sam's eyes track the length of Dean's body, settle on his crotch. "I know you're you. Really you. And I want you. I want you before he can have you. I want as much of you as I can get." He lifts his eyes, stares at Dean, pleading, intense. "Tell me to stop. If you don't want this, just tell me to stop."

Dean lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding and shakes his head. "No," he says, and he drops his hands to his fly and unbuttons his jeans. "Just tell me what you want. I'll give you anything, Sammy. Anything you want."

Sam's eyes drop again, and he watches as Dean lowers his zip, tucks his hand into his open jeans, slides his palm over his cock, hard and straining and leaking into his shorts.

He looks as though he's about to speak, but then licks his lips like his mouth is too dry, bites down on his lower lip and pulls it through his teeth. "Fuck, Dean," he says, and then sinks to his knees. "I need to taste you."

"Oh, shit," Dean says, and his knees go weak. Sam tugs Dean's jeans and shorts down to his knees, and Dean loses his balance. Sam gives him a gentle shove, and he falls back onto the bed.

Then Sam's mouth is on him, and it's hard to think. There's a flicker of wonder, if Sam did this to the monster, but Dean pushes it away. It doesn't matter what they did together, it wasn't real, but this, this is real, his brothers wet, hot mouth around his cock, this brothers agile tongue, pressing, exploring.

Dean can't keep his hands out of his brothers' hair, fingers combing through the strands, fisting bunches and desperately trying not to hold Sam's head so he can thrust into Sam's throat.

Sam moans around him, and the vibrations travel through Dean's body and he makes an echoing sound. Sam tugs the denim and fine cotton off Dean's legs, tosses them away and manouvers himself between Dean's thighs.

Dean falls back, then Sam's gone and Dean's cold and exposed and there's a brief moment of panic, but Sam's reaching for Dean's duffel.

"Lube," Sam says. "Tell me—"

"Side pocket—yeah that one—holy shit, Sammy." Dean's fingertips are numb, he can't breathe, and then Sam pushes Dean's knees up into his chest and with slick fingers, circles his hole.

"I don't know what I'm doing," Sam says, and he sounds timid, hesitant.

"Suck me," Dean begs. "Suck me again and I won't fucking care what you do."

Sam's mouth is on him again and Dean's head falls back and his eyes close and when Sam's fingers slide inside him they go in easy. Dean can't keep his mouth shut, wordless sounds of want and need and more more more until Sam finds it, while exploring Dean's insides, the trigger.

Dean's prostate has always been a slut. It's why he fucks guys, why he likes to be fucked, and it's why he came without being touched that night in the cave, because he was on top and he was driving things, and he fucked Sam's big cock into his prostate again and again and again until it was all over.

Now it's Sam's thick, agile fingers. Sam's not stupid, when Dean starts yelling he notices, and he lets Dean's cock slip from between his lips, and he starts talking.

"You're so fucking beautiful, Dean," he says. "Like this, like you were in the cave, riding my cock like you wanted it, like you hadn't been forced into it. I wanna see you come—"

"Fuck me," Dean chokes, barely holding on because he wants to come, he's going to come, his balls tight and aching like they might explode, his cock twitching and leaking a thick, viscous puddle on his belly, his spine fused and every single nerve on fire. He tries to strain away but Sam's still working his prostate with thick fingertips and Dean can't, can't, his body fighting him at every turn. "Fuck, inside me, wanna come on your cock, Sammy, please."

Sam moves like a blur, Dean's left open and gasping in shock for just a moment and then Sam drives his cock inside in one thrust and Dean's full, and stretched, and complete.

"Fuck me," Dean says. "Fuck me, Sammy, like you fucking mean it, don't you fucking hold back, I wanna feel it, come in me, come inside me I want—"

His words are cut off when Sam kisses him, hard, all teeth and tongue and spit. He wraps one long arm around Dean's waist and drives his cock into him, long, swift thrusts that reach deep inside, all the way up inside him, over, and over, and over again.

All Dean can do is hold on, arms wrapped around Sam's shoulders, fingernails digging into the muscle, mouth going slack and breathing in Sam's guttural grunts as every one of his solid, punishing thrusts hit Dean's prostate like he's trying to destroy it, destroy Dean, beat him into a bloody, wet mass of flesh and sweat and bone.

Sam falters, thrusts stuttering. "Coming," he growls, and one final, deep, violent thrust sinks him deeper than ever and Dean's entire body bursts into flame and all that heat, like lava, pours out of him until there's nothing left.

Then it's gone, fading, and Sam's softening inside him, and the sweat on their skin makes Dean shiver, and a flood of something, feeling, emotion, fear and relief, bursts out and there are tears on his face and he's sobbing, desperately clinging to his brother and begging, "don't leave, stay inside, please, please don't pull out."

"I'm here," Sam says. "Not going anywhere, Dean, fuck, you're so beautiful, love you so much, you're so good to me, so fucking good."

A fresh flood of tears come, like they're never going to stop, and Dean can't stuff it down, wants to stuff it down but it's out now and it's never going to go back in.

"I love you, I've got you." Sam pulls Dean tighter into his arms, and with the movement, his cock slips out of Dean's body, and Dean whimpers at the loss but curls into Sam's embrace and eventually he can breathe again.

---

"I don't know how I could ever have thought he was you," Sam says, later, when they're showered and clean and tucked naked together in between the crisp, coarse motel sheets. "He was nothing like you. It was just sex. There was nothing else. I didn't know it would be like this between us."

It finally makes sense. The demon said 'their lovemaking' released him. Finally, Dean understands.

"So that's how we'll know," he says. "That's how I'll know, when he catches up to us."