Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Summer 2001

You remember the pale street lights dancing across Dean’s face as he drove you to the bus station. His liquid green eyes were frozen solid, pupils almost non-existent. You remember staring at his profile in the yellow haze projected by passing cars and the stars.

You remember reaching out to brush your fingertips against his jaw. Skin to skin contact always said more than words did anyways. The instant your skin came in contact with your older brother’s, he flinched away.

You dropped your hand immediately and studied his face. This isn’t the brother you grew up with. This isn’t the man you inevitably fell in love with at the age of fourteen. This was the cold façade of a broken man.

Knuckles white and jaw clenched, Dean chose that moment to turn and look at you. You remember how you shifted uncomfortably in your seat, unsure of how to react as your brother studied your eyes. He nodded and turned back to pay attention to the road.

You remember at that exact moment you thought back to the month you and Dean spent alone in December one year while dad was somewhere in Wyoming hunting a Wendigo.

Summer of 1997

Dean had convinced you take a week off of school. C’mon Sammy, don’t be a little bitch. You laughed at him and told him to fuck off, even though you ended up taking that extra week off of school anyways.

That was the first time you kissed your older brother.

Dean came home from work with hot chocolate and pot. With a coy grin he told you to kindly fuck off. You realize that it was Christmas, and Dean spent his entire paycheck on you.

An hour later you both were lying on Dean’s bed, smoking pot and drinking hot chocolate. Your head was on your brother’s lap, his fingers slowly running through your hair. You were both quiet for a while, Karma Police playing quietly in the background.

You sat up, and faced your brother. He smirked at you, pupils dilated and his bottom lip bitten red. His skin was warm, freckles running up and down his arms and across the bridge of his nose. For whatever the reason, you slowly leaned in to your brother’s face and nipped at his bottom lip.

You remember your brother laughing, grabbing your hair and pressing his mouth to your own, the taste of hot chocolate and weed and Dean.

You ended up on the floor with Dean on top of you, tugging at your shirt to feel your naked skin against his. He moans, and you could feel how hard he was against you.

“Oh fuck, Sammy,” he whispered against the exposed flesh between your neck and shoulder, as you slowly stroked his cock.

You came the moment he did, biting down on his lip and making him bleed. You took your hand out of your brother’s boxers and brought it up to your mouth. Dean shivered when you kissed him on the mouth, tasting himself on your tongue.

You spent the rest of the day laying there on that floor with Dean. You remember feeling bare skin brushing against bare skin, the taste of weed, and your older brother on your tongue. You think that’s the day you fell in love with him.

Three weeks later dad came home from a hunt; a few new scars and some bruises, but nothing he hasn’t dealt with before. Dean guided him to the couch and took his boots off for him. Dad was asleep within five minutes.

You remember a month after dad came home, he sent Dean on his first solo hunt. You also remember Dean coming home practically keeping his insides from spilling out with some dental floss that wasn’t stitched properly.

Dad wasn’t home when Dean walked in through the door all but crying, blood staining the carpet and dripping down his jeans. You were the one who sewed your brother back up, and kissed him on the mouth when he finally stopped shaking.

Summer 2001

You remember Dean pulling into the bus station, and turning off the engine of the Impala. “You really gonna do this, man?” Dean asked. You looked at your shoes, and nodded. He turned his head to look out of the window and gritted, “Then get the fuck out of the car.” You didn’t dare to move an inch. “Dean,”

You were cut off when Dean’s knuckles came in contact with your jaw “I said get the fuck out of the car.”

You remember staring at Dean, mouth agape and confused. But you were only eighteen and temperamental as hell, so you grabbed your shit and slammed the car door. You didn’t look back twice.

Dean stayed three hours after you left though, just in case.

Summer 2005

You’re looking at your brother sleeping in the motel bed across from you. The profile of his face is illuminated by the neon motel 6 sign outside, and the moon. He’s beautiful. Pale skin and freckles scattered across his shoulders. A small scar parallel to his collar bone, and his hair askew.

Jess is dead. Her skin branded into the ceiling above the bed the two of you shared, her bones marred into the ashes of the burnt down apartment.

But your brother is merely three feet away from you, breathing, and alive. Despite your abhorrence towards your father and the life he has forced you to live, Dean is worth it.

Living a life of constant terror isn’t something you can get used to. You aren’t afraid of broken bones or horrific scars. You aren’t even afraid of having your own insides torn out from your stomach and thrown on your feet. The only thing that terrifies you is the thought of losing your brother.

You thought running away to Stanford would fix everything. Instead, if anything, it only made it worse.

You can hear your brother’s shallow breathing in the bed next to you, and you know he’s awake. You know everything about your brother, and you decide that maybe it’s time you accept the fucked up life you inevitably will live.

You don’t know when you closed your eyes, but when you open them again you’re face to face with tired green eyes and a crinkled forehead. Dean’s pushing at your side with a sigh, “Scoot over, man, fuck you’re heavy.”

The last time your older brother laid next to you in a bed was a week before you left to Stanford. You haven’t felt his bare skin against yours in over four years, and it makes you shiver.

You want to say something, anything, to make Dean forgive you. You want to tell him you fucked up, that leaving him to deal with Dad on his own for four years wasn’t fair. You want to tell him you’re sorry for running away from him.

But words don’t affect your older brother.

You turn around and stare into deep green eyes. He looks older, but still the same beautiful man you left four years ago. You grab his wrists and pin them above his head as you press your mouth against his.

“Sammy,” he breathes into your mouth. It’s everything he wants to say and never will in one word. I forgive you. It’s okay, it’s okay. We’re okay.

You slide your tongue into his mouth and let go of his wrists, occupying your hands in his bed mussed hair. You’re both in boxers, legs tangled together and tongues rolling in your mouth.

His skin is cold against yours, and you gasp away from his mouth for air. You lick down his neck and bite at his skin, surprising yourself when the moan you hear is your own. Dean is tracing his fingertips against your sides, lingering touches marking you bone deep.

You lift your head up and Dean meets your gaze with wide green eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

Dean presses his mouth against yours and pulls away.

The neon yellow motel 6 sign outside is flickering against your brothers skin.He kisses your shoulder and slides his fingers through your long hair.

Skin to skin contact always said more than words did anyways.