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1.
It wasn’t something he was particularly proud of. But as he watched Sam and the pretty blonde - bitch - talking and laughing together, all common sense Dean had ever claimed to possess flew out the window of the Impala.
He comforted himself with the knowledge that Sam was only doing this to piss him off in the first place. Just because Dean wouldn’t give in to the bastard and completely fuck up their lives even more than he already had…but still. Sam had this coming.
He wasn’t jealous, damn it. This was payback, pure and simple.
He kept that in mind when Sam got up and excused himself, smiling at the blonde - bitch - whose gaze glued itself to his brother’s retreating ass. Dean’s eyes narrowed, and he was out of the car and throwing open the door to the restaurant before his mind had even fully wrapped around the idea.
She looked up when he approached the table, questioning. There was time for it to sink in how young she really was, all small, budding curves and teenage naiveté. It should’ve given him pause, made him feel horrible and ridiculous. Instead, Dean drudged up the most sincere expression he could muster and began.
Five minutes later, Sam returned to the table to find Dean alone and waiting, twirling a toothpick between his fingers and studying the cheap menu with a raised brow.
“Dean? What the hell?”
Dean glanced up at the exasperated and confused sound of his brother’s voice. “Sammy.”
Sam looked around, lips forming a pout before his eyes returned to Dean. “Where’s…” He trailed off, a bit of realization darkening his eyes as Dean struggled to keep a straight face. “What did you say to her, jackass?”
“Me?” He was a little ashamed at how innocent he actually was able to sound. “Dude, I just came to see if you guys needed a ride to a movie or whatever, but she was saying something about a family emergency and running out like her hair was on fire.”
Sam was quiet for a long moment. Then, “I cannot believe this.”
Dean pushed away the guilt and forced a smile. “So. Wanna go see a movie?”
Sam turned back to look at him, something Dean couldn’t read written across his boyish features. Then he heaved a sigh, shoving a hand through his sloppy brown curls and muttering, “Fine.”
“Don’t sound so excited,” Dean grumbled, and knew he’d do whatever he had to do that night to make Sam forget what’s-her-face and concentrate on him. And he was pretty sure he succeeded in the backseat of the Impala, the sound of his own name on Sam’s lips a ringing in his ears for weeks after.
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2.
His fists were itching to reshape the face of the stupidfucking jerk-off who was chatting Sam up by the bar. First of all, he’d told Sam not to wear that goddamn t-shirt. It was too thin for the cooling September air in Tennessee, and too damn tight anyway. His brother had grown out of that shirt months ago, and who cared if Dean had been admiring the damn thing just that morning, it belonged in a trash heap somewhere and far away from Sam’s upper body.
Second of all, Sam had no business talking to anyone but Dean while wearing that shirt. He should’ve made Sam agree to that before they’d left the motel, but he hadn’t known what lay under his brother’s requisite hoodie of the day and really, Sam just should’ve fucking known better.
Maybe he shouldn’t have started that dumb argument over breakfast. But he was pretty sure they’d made up…he still had the bite marks on his belly to prove it.
Sam glanced over, a smile on his lips as he caught Dean’s gaze. He tilted his head, and Dean glared. Sam looked a bit taken aback, glancing from between Dean and the other guy, and Dean started forward without another thought.
He felt the guy’s eyes on him when he approached, sliding in behind Sam and pressing just a little too close, one arm hanging loosely around Sam’s shoulder. Friendly enough, but anyone who had reason to look would’ve gotten the picture.
He held the asshole’s gaze, smiling with his teeth. “Buy you a drink?”
The guy cleared his throat and made an excuse to leave before Sam could open his mouth and answer Dean’s question. Once they were alone Sam shrugged Dean off, turning around and looking pissy and exasperated. “The hell was that all about?”
“Just got thirsty,” Dean murmured, signaling the bartender for a new round.
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3.
Dean knew the night was a failure when they walked into the club and a drunken sorority girl threw herself at Sam and started eating at his brother’s mouth like Sam’s lips were on the dollar menu at McDonald’s. His knuckles went taut as Sam let out a surprised noise, instinctively reaching out to gently pry the girl away, but she just clung harder and Dean was about ready to grab his shotgun and salt the bitch.
“Sammy,” he said instead, voice sharper than he’d intended. “Knock it off.”
Sam flapped his arms, looking ridiculous as he caught Dean’s gaze, and Dean clearly read the “What the fuck do you expect me to do? Get her off!” expression there.
Fucking perfect. Sam was too much of a gentleman to shove the girl off and explain her mistake.
Dean had never considered himself much of a gentleman.
“Yo, princess.” He tapped the girl on the shoulder, waiting with pinched features for her to dislodge herself from Sam’s mouth with a loud, slick pop, and then added, “He’s got the clap, back off.”
“Dean!”
The girl blinked heavy lids, then pulled a face and pushed away from Sam with an “Ew!” and disappeared into the blinding, pulsing lights. Dean caught sight of her a minute later, draped around another guy, and grinned before catching Sam’s unamused expression.
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4.
Dean kicked in the door and caught his breath at the sight of the undulating body spread atop Sam’s thighs, vision sharpening and going out of focus as Sam looked up. His brother’s expression was flushed and dazed, eyes glassy. Pleading.
The succubus looked over her shoulder and smiled at him. Taunting and mischievous. “Don’t worry,” she purred, elegant fingers stroking softly up and down the length of his brother’s cock. Dean’s temper frayed at the edges when she added, “After I’ve sucked him dry, I’ll let you have a turn.”
Dean wished he had a clever turn of phrase to respond with, but wit and sarcasm had flown out the window the second he’d seen the demon fucking around with his property, his Sam, and all he could manage was a “Get the fuck off of him, bitch” before raising the gun and pulling the trigger.
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5.
His palms were clammy and fisted when he shoved them inside his pockets, waiting for the door to open.
She smiled up at him, a little puzzled but not unpleased, and Dean’s stomach knotted and roiled and his mind screamed at him to just get it over with before Sam woke up and realized he wasn’t in bed and tracked down.
“If you hurt him…” Dean’s throat clogged. “Just don’t. All right?”
Sarah blinked, and Dean hated her. Hated that Sam probably wanted to be with her, even when he’d had his brother underneath him not even two hours ago. Hated that he knew Sam deserved her, and she deserved Sam.
He was gone, stalking down the steps and shoving open the door of the Impala before he could hear the confirmation on Sarah’s lips. When he got back to the motel, he slept in the other bed and ignored the confused/hurt look on Sam’s face the next day.