Take It All Away (Every Broken Thing 2)
Fandom: Supernatural Pairing: Sam/Dean Rating: Adult. Warnings: Non-graphic m/m incest. Underaged sex. Spoilers: For the pilot. Word Count: 600 Sam needs this.
He needs this like he needs oxygen. Like he needs his shotgun and Jess' favorite necklace that she gave him before he left, saying, "Be careful, okay? I know that this isn't…well, whatever. I know there's more going on here and you're so telling me what it is when you get back, okay?
I love you, Sam."
***
Sam knows this is fucked up. He knows that. But so is a beloved woman, pinned to the ceiling, dripping blood onto his forehead like the mark of Cain.
Sam knows he's irreparably damaged, so many times, so many ways. So when it becomes too much, when he's trembling and standing over Dean's bed, when he's folding his long body into a crawl, moving toward Dean saying, "Dean…I need. Will you…"
Dean squeezes his eyes shut hard for just a second then lays his newspapers aside and says, "Yeah, Sammy. Yeah. Come here."
Dean reaches for him with both hands. That would be the best part but for what comes after.
Sam knows what he's doing to Dean. The guilt. How fucked this whole thing is. How he's rending Dean's soul bit by bit, binding it to his own with it's ragged, bleeding edges. Just like Sam knows he needs it anyway.
***
'When That Succubus.'
That's how Sam always thinks of it in his head. He never finishes the thought, never thinks about that job, what that evil fucking bitch did to them before they banished her ass back to the furthest corner of hell. Dad drank that night until he fell asleep and Dean took a shower that lasted entirely too long and Sam ended up in the little double bed with Dean, sweating and twitching and freaking out while Dad snored unevenly a few feet away.
Dean was sixteen and Sammy was twelve and they weren't living anywhere in particular just then.
***
"Okay, dude. Seriously. What? You keep shaking the bed with all your tossing and shit and it's really fucking annoying."
"Dean…"
"Sammy? What, man, you're…oh god you're burning up, what's…?"
"Dean I...she did something to me and I don't know…"
Dean takes a breath, "Oh." Then takes another and laughs a little too heartily. "I guess this means you're growing up, Sammy. Welcome to puberty."
"Don't make fun of me, Dean!" His face burns and tears prick at his eyes as he buries his face into the pillow. "I can't."
"I'm not, man, I'm not. Hey, it's okay." Dean's voice shakes a little. "I know what you need, Sammy. I'll take care of you."
***
Dean strokes his back as Sammy thrusts against the thin sheets and says things like, "Just… just move your hand up under and wrap it around…yeah there you go. Just. Yeah."
"Dean… Dean… Dean… Dean…"
"Shhh, man…it's okay. It's going to be okay. "Come on, Sammy. It's okay. Let go."
Sammy comes with Dean's newly deepened voice rasping in his ears and his broadening hand stroking from the back of Sam's neck down over the curve of his ass.
"She..."
"I know. But now it's yours again."
I think it's yours, Dean.
***
When his brother's fingers sink into his body, Sam can finally breathe, can finally close his eyes without fear. When Dean starts to fuck him, lowers his forehead to rest between Sam's shoulder blades, his shuddering breath whirling through the canyon of Sam's spine, when Dean unconsciously holds Sam down with their fingers entwined; Sam can finally stop fucking thinking.
And Sam needs this.
Like he needs oxygen and his shotgun and Jess' favorite necklace…