Wolfling's Den: Stories

Heart's Desire: A Supernatural Series

IV: Where I Lay My Head is Home

by Wolfling and James Walkswithwind

(Rated NC-17)

Anywhere I roam
Where I lay my head is home
-Wherever I May Roam - Metallica

Dean pulled out the Apartment Finder's booklet, the newspaper, and the sheaf of printouts from the library, and tried not to think ungrateful things about his brother's need to be over-prepared. It was one thing to know what you were getting into when dealing with something that might kill you or possess your car, but this was, in Dean's opinion, a little ridiculous.

"It's that one," Sam said helpfully, leaning over and pointing out a listing circled in red. "I called ahead, the landlady should be waiting to show it to us."

"Why couldn't we just live in the motel?" Dean groused, though he knew perfectly well what Sam's response to that would be. He pulled the keys out of the ignition, giving the car a short pat on the dashboard in sheer defiance of the way Sam always smirked at him when he "fondled" the car.

Just like he was smirking now, in fact. "An apartment's more secure than a motel room," Sam said patiently, giving one of a number of reasons he'd repeated over the last couple of days.

"No, really?" Dean didn't bother making it sound like he wasn't being sarcastic. "I bet it's cheaper, too." Not that he'd really argued, but Sam had gone on and on about all the reasons why they couldn't just live in the motel. For a few days it didn't matter if they used a fake credit card, but for long term it had to be real money, which meant real cash.

Sam's full ride would help, but Dean agreed that paying motel rates for months on end was just stupid.

It wasn't that he really minded living in an apartment. It was the getting that made him want to drive back to Iowa and help dad clear out a house of ghosts and not come back until Sam said he'd signed the papers.

Sam sighed. "I know you hate this, Dean. If you really want me to, I can do it myself..."

"I don't hate it," he said quickly. He'd been fielding Sam's questions and looks all summer. Dean, do you really mean it. Dean, you don't have to go with me. Dean, are you sure. He didn't want Sam to think he'd been lying all those times he'd insisted this was what he wanted to do.

It was just so tedious. Why couldn't they just pick one in a good price range, and be done with it? It was pretty much what he and dad always did, other than sweep the area with the EMF meter. So why did Sam have to look at every single available apartment in town? With it being a college town, and them being here three weeks before the semester started, that added up to a lot of apartments.

"But you don't like it," Sam countered. He sighed. "Okay, I'll make you a deal -- we look at the three we were planning on going to today and unless they're all completely unworkable, we pick one of those. No more looking."

The offer completely surprised him. There were over a dozen Sam had circled, maybe even two dozen. Dean felt bad about being quite so obvious about his displeasure. "We can look at more than three," he said. "We've got plenty of time to find a place."

"If we decide on a place early, then we've got plenty of time for other things." Sam grinned.

"Shopping for furniture?" Dean said it with dread in his voice, even if he didn't actually mind that part. Testing out chairs and sofas they couldn't possibly afford, lounging in the leather chairs with the massage motors....

"Maybe. We could... test some mattresses."

"In the store?" Dean acted like he was shocked at the idea. Really, though, his cock was reminding him that for the last freaking month, dad had been with them. An entire month. Between Dad staying home with them or taking them both on hunts, Dean hadn't had Sam alone until two nights ago, when they'd finally reached the motel here in Palo Alto.

They hadn't got much sleep the last couple of nights.

"Well, maybe not in the store," Sam allowed. "Though... that might be a unique way of getting a discount."

Dean opened his mouth before he slapped his brain into gear. He knew ways to get discounts, and pretty damn good ones too, if he said so himself. Just not out loud, because he really didn't want to deal with Sam being all sad-puppy-eyed at him.

"Let's go look at this place before the landlady gives it to someone else," he said, getting out of the car. All the papers and whatnots slipped to the floorboards.

"Dean!" Sam scrambled over to try and catch the papers before they hit the floor and got all mixed up. After a moment of trying to reorder them, he gave up, shooting Dean a glare as he stuffed them in the new backpack Dad had bought him for school and got out of the car.

"What?" Dean shoved his hands into his pockets, glaring back, not really sure what bug had crawled up his brother's butt.

"We need those papers," Sam told him, exasperated, but not to the point of using his growly voice yet. "Unless you're planning on taking this place sight unseen."

"We don't need them in order to look at this place." Dean was pretty sure they didn't, at any rate. But he decided not to bother arguing with Sam about it, because otherwise they'd be standing out here for half an hour and not getting on with finding a place to live.

From the glare Sam gave him, he thought maybe a little damage control would do some good, so he walked over and grabbed his brother's jacket and tugged him in for a quick kiss. Sam stiffened for a second; neither of them were really used to being able to act like a couple in public yet. But it only took a second for him to relax into the kiss, even going so far as to slide a hand behind Dean's neck.

"We gonna go look at this place, sweetheart?" Dean asked, smirking a little at the look in Sam's eyes. They'd already agreed that it would be easier to let people assume they were lovers, not brothers, and Dean had his wallet filled with cards and ID that said his name was Dean Watkins. They hadn't had any chance to really test the idea that they could act this way in public, but Dean was looking forward to getting them both used to it.

As long as Dad didn't show up unannounced.

"Jerk," Sam said, but he said it with a smile. "Come on, we don't want to keep Mrs. Froson waiting."

"Bitch." Dean let go of Sam and headed towards the front doors to the apartment building. It was a converted house, a big one, that had been divided into several apartments. Dean had no idea which one was the empty one, but the building itself looked welcoming. The lawn out front wasn't huge, but it was big enough for grass and a flower bed, and the entire front walk was lined with some kind of scraggly flowering bush.

Unlike a lot of places Dean had lived, the paint wasn't peeling, and the windows looked in good repair. Most of the cars in the little parking area were cheap and old, but decent enough -- students lived here, he figured. Which made sense; that was what they were doing here, themselves.

Sam led the way inside and to the first apartment on the right and knocked. The door was immediately opened by a middle aged woman with salt and pepper hair pulled back into a pony tail and glasses perched on the end of her nose. Dean smiled automatically, cheerful and charming. She dimpled back at him, eyes glittering with amusement.

"I'm Dean, this is Sam," he said, though he was fairly sure the introduction wasn't necessary.

"And you're here to look at the apartment," she replied, smiling at them. "You boys are punctual, I'll give you that."

"We're pretty quiet, too," Dean said, giving her a sincere grin. Not that Sam had been all that quiet last night, but she didn't need that many details.

"Let me just get the keys and I'll take you up," she said, disappearing back inside for a moment and leaving them alone in the hallway.

"Dude, you're not flirting with her, are you?" Sam asked, turning a suspicious eye on him.

Surprised, Dean just said, "Of course I'm flirting with her."

"Dean, you can't flirt with our potential landlady!" Sam told him, keeping his voice low but still dripping with exasperation.

"Of course I can! Dude, if we want the place it'll help if she likes us. Thinks we're friendly." He grinned, then thought maybe Sam was thinking something else. He lowered his voice and hissed, "I'm not going to sleep with her, if that's what you're thinking."

Sam rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to say something else, but at that point Mrs. Froson came back, holding up the key.

"Here we are," she said, stepping out into the hallway and closing her apartment door behind here. "Now you boys just follow me and I'll show you where it is."

Dean gave her a smile -- deliberately making it as flirtatious as he could without making any promises he wasn't going to keep. As she turned to lead them to the apartment, Dean whacked his brother on the arm.

She led them down the hall and up two sets of stairs, the first wide and airy, the second set narrow and steep. At the top of the second set was a door; she put the key into the lock and turned it.

When she glanced back at them as she stepped through the door, Dean gave her an innocent, friendly smile. When her back was turned, he gave Sam a scowl. Not because Sam was up to anything, but because he was doing his 'I'm the Good Son, See How Well I Behave' act.

As if anyone who knew Sam for more than...well.. a few years, would believe it.

Dean scowled at him harder.

As they went up the last few steps, Sam kicked him in the shin. Hard. "Sorry," he said with a completely unbelievable smile. "Narrow stairs."

At least he was acting normally again, Dean thought, even as the pain in his shin made him wince. But they followed Mrs. Froson into the apartment like nothing was wrong, and looked around. It was large, and Dean realised it was a studio: just one large, single room. The kitchen was stuck in a corner, and two doors on opposite sides of the room were probably bathroom and closet.

They couldn't even pretend they weren't sleeping together. Dean glanced over at Sam, wondering if Sam had bothered checking for this sort of thing when he'd made his list. Of course, this was Sam so he'd probably not only checked for that sort of thing but also the entire history of a property going back to when it was built.

"Appliances come with the place," Mrs. Froson was saying, leading them into the kitchen area. "Utilities and garbage are all included with the rent, you pay your own phone and cable. Oh, but we do have internet -- there's wifi all through the house. General rule is no pets, but I've been known to bend it from time to time."

Dean looked around, and, despite knowing the answer, couldn't help but ask, "The house ever been haunted?"

"What?" The look she gave him was reassuringly disbelieving.

Dean gave her his most charming and disarming smile. "I've just always been interested in stuff like that. Spent some time in New Orleans, and everyone says their homes have ghosts. You know." He shrugged, as though dismissing the silly things people would believe.

He didn't even have to look over at Sam to know what his brother was thinking. But that was all right; Dean owed him for the bruise on his shin.

Sam had moved away from Dean and the landlady, walking the length of the place like he was taking its measurements or something. Which left Dean to chat with the landlady, something he was more than happy to do. He had no idea what the rent was on this place, but he and dad had never once actually paid a security deposit since Dean was six years old and knew what dad meant when he said "look hungry."

He ambled towards Mrs. Froson, making it look like his attention was all on the kitchen and its amenities. He poked and prodded, opened doors and checked the fridge -- discovering it was actually clean and didn't smell of anything, which automatically gave the place bonus points.

All the while he kept up a steady stream of polite conversation, asking Mrs. Froson about the neighborhood, the other tenants, the apartment. Never completely venturing into personal questions, but making it perfectly clear he was interested in listening to anything she had to say.

He smiled, and looked at her eyes when she talked, and looked at the apartment when he asked questions about it. He laughed when she made a joke, and made a similar one himself, keeping it almost as clean as her own had been, but just a tiny bit racier.

She smiled, and rolled her eyes --- Dean figured she knew what guys were like, and she clearly didn't mind their antics. As long as they didn't bring the bloody axes and evil spirits home with them, he amended.

Sam eventually ambled back over to them and worked his own brand of charm on Mrs. Froson, smiling so his dimple showed and being all yes m'am and no m'am and just generally giving off an air that seemed to make women want to take him in and feed him.

Which was perfectly all right with Dean -- if she popped by with plates of cookies and casseroles and whatever else, he would be perfectly happy to help Sam eat them. And even if Sam was a bitch and didn't share, it would still put a dent in their grocery budget.

Finally they'd seen everything they could possibly hope to see, and they told her they'd have to think it over. Had more places to see, and they'd call as soon as they could. Then they headed back downstairs, and Dean waved goodbye as she watched them walk back to their car.

"So what did you think?" Sam asked.

"I think she likes older guys, and would rather adopt us -- she'll feed you at least once a week if you even look like you might be starving. She won't offer to help with laundry -- but anything that needs fixing around the house we can offer to do, and probably get a cut in the rent."

Sam laughed. "I meant about the place, not the landlady," he said, bumping hips affectionately as they walked. "Though you're probably right on all of that."

Grinning at the sound of Sam's laugh, Dean asked, "Did it seem a little... lofty?"

Truthfully he had no opinion one way or another on the apartment itself. It was clean, had no sign of hauntings, and Sam had already said that the police reports for the neighborhood were fairly rare. Add to that the presence of a landlady who would almost definitely feed them, and he couldn't think of anything bad to say about the place.

"I like that, though," Sam was saying. "Makes it feel like it has more space. And with all those windows, it's really sunny in there. Cheerful, y'know?" He grinned at Dean. "Besides, it's not like we're not used to living in one room. This one just won't be in a motel."

"You don't think Mrs. Froson will provide us with little bottles of shampoo?" Dean asked, getting into the car and running his hand across the steering wheel to say hello.

"Does it matter?" Sam asked as he climbed into the passenger seat. "You always use that expensive stuff anyway." He reached over and teasingly ran his fingers through Dean's hair.

He jerked his head away from Sam's hand, not because he didn't love it when Sam touched him, but because if he didn't, his brother would assume he could just fondle Dean whenever the hell he wanted.

Which, okay, he could. But Dean was obligated not to make it easy for him. They might be having sex, but they were still brothers, and some things took precedence. "I don't use expensive shampoo," he protested, despite the fact there was no way in hell he could get away with the assertion.

Sam gave him a 'yeah, right' look. "Dean, you buy it at a salon. That pretty much defines 'expensive shampoo'."

"It's the only thing that works!" He glared at Sam, knowing that the next thing would be Sam teasing him about caring what worked for his hair, much less knowing to find it at a salon.

"Of course it is," Sam fake soothed, not quite hiding his smirk.

He took a moment to thump Sam on the arm, hard as he could -- almost. Then he pulled the Impala out of its parking spot and turned it towards the road, listening for a moment to the sound of its engine. She was running good, feeling fine. She wasn't the only one.

Sam rummaged in his backpack and pulled out the papers he'd picked up from the car floor earlier. "You know where to go?" he asked, as he began putting them back in order.

"Not a clue," Dean said, just to rile Sam up. He pulled onto the road going the right direction and waited to see if Sam would give him directions or a smartass remark.

"That's why you don't toss papers away when you might still need them," Sam said, speaking as if to a particularly slow child, then in his normal voice added, "Take a left up here."

"Left where? You sure?" Dean waited until it was almost too late, then slowed down and took the turn. Then he flipped Sam off and said, "Then I turn right at the second light, drive two miles and it's on the left? That's the next one?"

"Bite me."

"I'm driving," Dean complained. "No fair you telling me your kinks while I'm busy driving."

Sam gave him the finger.

Dean sounded out the meaning of the gesture, mouthing the words clearly, but as though he wasn't quite sure what they meant. Then suddenly he said, "You want to fuck me?" as though the concept was totally new.

Ignoring the fact he'd been wanting the same thing for months -- years -- and wanting to fuck Sam as well. But every time he thought he could do it, he chickened out. Sam only ever asked if he wanted to, but never pressed him when Dean said no.

There was silence from the other side of the car for a long moment. Then Sam finally muttered, "No fair doing that to me when I'm being righteously annoyed with you."

"Righteously? Righteously? Dude, you have to be right before you can be righteous. Didn't they teach you anything at that school of yours?"

"I'm right about you being a jerk."

"Am not." It was the lamest comeback Dean had ever used, but he used it every so often, just because.

"You're also five."

Dean scowled, hard. "Am not," he said, as sulkily as he could. If he'd had his brother's ability to pout, he would have done that, as well.

Sam chuckled. "Yeah, and that's really proving it."

Dean gave him a grin, then said in a normal tone of voice, "Then I want something to suck on."

"No fair telling me your kinks when you're busy driving," Sam parroted back at him almost primly.

Dean just laughed. He pulled the car through an intersection, then spotted what looked like the right apartment complex. He drove up, saw the sign, and pulled over to park beside the curb. "Hey, is this--"

On the other side of the car, Sam whimpered.

Dean looked over at the passenger seat to see Sam staring out the windshield at the building, though the glazed look in his eyes made Dean doubt he was actually seeing it. He was also white as a sheet and trembling, as if there was a current running through him.

Without really thinking about it, Dean scooted over and pulled his brother towards him, turning Sam's head so he wasn't looking at the building. He tucked his arms around his brother, and whispered -- anything. It didn't matter, just reaching out to someone who clearly wasn't really hearing him.

He knew what it had to be -- a vision, or memory, or whatever the fuck it was. Dean felt a cold punch to his gut, remembering the last time Sam had gone so pale. Someone had died, that time -- himself, he figured. The car crash Sammy refused to talk about.

Dean wondered who had died in this apartment building.

It seemed like forever before Sam's arms slid around him in return, holding tightly as he took a deep, shaky breath.

He kept whispering to Sam, reassurances that might or might not be true. He just kept talking to him, giving Sam something to hold onto that wasn't...whatever he was seeing inside his head.

Finally Sam nodded and pulled back a little, although to say he was still shaken up would have been a huge understatement. "Sorry," he said in a raspy voice.

"It's okay," Dean whispered, and he gave Sam a light kiss. He said it again, brushing his fingers through Sam's hair, pushing his bangs out of his eyes. He didn't -- couldn't -- stop touching Sam, running his fingers lightly, rubbing and caressing his face. He wanted to keep doing it until the pain in his brother's eyes went completely away, but he was afraid of just how long that would be.

Sam leaned into the touches, eyes fluttering closed, then springing back open immediately as if he didn't want to see what was behind his eyelids.

Dean stared at him, catching Sam's eyes. He kept Sam focused on him, looking at him until some of the panic seemed to dim. "You okay?" he asked, knowing that the answer couldn't really be 'yes.'

"I...uh..." Sam gave a little half laugh, though it was as far from amused as it could be. "I'm not sure."

"What do you need?"

Sam opened and closed his mouth a couple of times before saying, "Away from here."

"Okay." Dean nodded; it made sense, if whatever vision Sam had was triggered by the apartment building, or one of the ones nearby. Dean sat back in the seat and pulled away from the curb as quickly as he could. He had no idea where to go, but figured 'away' would be good enough.

It seemed to be because after a few minutes, Sam seemed to relax a little, leaning back against the seat wearily. "Guess I don't have to tell you I had another vision flash, huh?"

"I thought as much," Dean said, gently. "Seemed like a pretty bad one, too."

Sam gave another of those half laughs. "Yeah, you could say that." He paused. "I lived there. Or would have lived there."

It took Dean a moment to figure that one out -- he knew Sam had remembered his future, or possible future, or... well, that part of the whole thing didn't exactly make sense to Dean. But he realised what Sam was talking about before he said anything stupid.

He wasn't really sure what to say, though. He settled for reaching over and squeezing his brother's shoulder, trying for soothing.

"You remember that blonde I told you about? That I saw in the flashes about college?" Sam asked, staring out the windshield.

"Yeah." There hadn't been much about her -- Dean knew she'd been Sam's girlfriend, and that it had apparently been serious. In all the times they'd talked about plans for moving to Palo Alto, for Sam to attend Stanford, he'd never mentioned finding her. Dean had figured it was because, well, he and Sam were together. But apparently there was more.

"She died there." Sam's voice dropped down to barely a whisper as he added, "Like Mom."

Dean gripped the steering wheel, hard, and concentrated on not driving into oncoming traffic. "The fuck?" He almost continued shouting, demanding to know why he hadn't shared that piece of information before. But he knew his brother didn't always get everything from his visions the first time. Maybe he hadn't remembered until now.

Still. Dean took a deep breath and found a parking lot, some suburban strip mall thing, and he pulled into it and parked. Sam was staring out the windshield, sitting unnaturally still aside from a muscle twitching in his jaw. He looked terrified but was trying to hide it.

Dean turned to him, pulling one knee up on the benchseat and wanting...he didn't know what. To pull Sam towards him and tell him it wasn't real.

There was no way he could say that.

He swallowed, and asked, "When you say like mom, you mean... the demon?"

"She was on the ceiling." Sam wouldn't look at him, still hadn't moved at all. "I was lying on the bed and something dripped on me and I opened my eyes and she was on the ceiling."

Dean didn't remember much about the night mom died. He hadn't seen anything except flames and his dad putting Sam into his arms, then he'd run, gripped with the fear that he would trip on the stairs and drop his baby brother and break him -- then it was all outside and the fire trucks and dad saying things about mom that didn't make any sense.

But he knew what had happened. And what Sam was saying was exactly what dad had described. He reached out and grabbed Sam's collar and yanked him over, scooting forward to catch him. Sam clung to him like his sanity depended on it. This close Dean could feel how he was trembling with barely controlled fear.

The bitch of it was, there was nothing Dean could say to make it better. They'd been hunting the demon practically all their lives, and yet Dean had no clue how they were supposed to find and destroy it. Somehow, through the years of hunting, Dean had let himself think of the demon as something abstract -- a goal they'd never reach, but also something they'd never again be threatened by.

"We need to call dad," he said, making a decision.

He felt Sam stiffen. "No."

"What?" Dean pulled back, just enough to look at Sam without letting go of him. "Sam, he has to know about the demon--"

"No," Sam said again, shaking his head in denial.

"Sam," Dean said, firmly. He reached up and took hold of Sam's chin, turning his head to face Dean. It was on the tip of his tongue to say they had to -- and he was hit with the full impact of the fear in Sam's eyes. "Sammy, it'll be okay," he said instead.

"It's me. It wasn't just a random... Twice is a pattern. It's because of me."

"You don't know that," Dean said sharply. "You said yourself you don't get everything in these visions. How do you know it isn't happening other places, to other people?" He knew he was grasping at straws. But better anything than to listen to his brother blame himself for what the demon had done.

"You think it's just a coincidence?" The disdain dripping from Sam's voice was sharp enough to cut.

"I think we don't know enough about what the demon wants to be able to guess," Dean said, trying hard to stay calm. "You were six months old when mom died. How could you have had anything to do with that?"

"It was over my crib. Her blood dripped on me. And now... it was the exact same thing, Dean. The exact. Either it has something to do with me or I've got the worst luck in the universe."

"So, maybe it has something to do with you -- but that doesn't make it your fault. It isn't because of you." Dean wanted to shake his little brother -- shake some sense into him. But he knew from experience that wouldn't work. "Look, it won't even matter anyway, because you aren't going to be living with this girl."

Dean heard the half-formed thought underneath his anger. Once Sam met her, things might change. He'd loved her once -- who was to say he wouldn't fall in love again?

"I know that," Sam said, and the certainty in his voice went a long way to quiet those not quite buried fears. "It's not her I'm worried about. If this thing is really... focused on me, then anyone close to me could be..."

It only took a second for Dean to see where Sam was going. "Then why hasn't it gone after dad or come after me?"

"Yet." Sam stared out of the window, refusing to look at him.

"So what has it been waiting for, for eighteen years? How long did you know this girl, before it...went after her?" He swallowed the word 'killed.' No need to throw Sam back into that horrible, shocked silence.

"I don't know. Long enough to be living with her. But Dean-"

"But what? You've been living with me and dad all your life and the demon hasn't come after either of us. And I'm pretty damn sure we're close."

Of course, it hadn't been that long since he and Sam had.... If that were what counted as 'close', then reasonably the demon could be coming after Dean soon.

"It hasn't come after either of you yet. At least that we know of. But what if..." Sam trailed off for a second, and when he continued, he seemed less panicked and more focused. "Dad knows how to protect against demons -- didn't matter where we were, most nights we were sleeping behind protective barriers of some kind. Maybe it hasn't come after you because it can't get to you?"

"Wouldn't you have done the same thing for this girl? You were living with her, Sam. You wouldn't leave yourself open to that kind of an attack."

Which only meant that the sorts of protections Sam knew -- would have known -- weren't enough. So whatever Dad did for them, either wasn't enough and the demon had just never paid them any attention, or... Dean's head hurt. But, thank god, Sam was talking with him, listening and arguing back instead of looking like he was about to pass out, or lose his mind.

"I... don't think..." Sam was frowning, his eyes growing distant again as he searched his mind for something. When he spoke again, there was an air of sadness, but thankfully not panic. "I don't think I did use protections," he said softly. "I was trying to be normal. Normal people don't pour salt over door and window thresholds or draw protective runes on the floor."

Dean looked at him for a long moment. So much his brother wanted, so much he was never going to get. Dean knew what being 'normal' meant to Sam. How often, growing up, Sam had begged, fought, and argued for normal things that dad couldn't give them.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, because -- he still couldn't have them. He probably never would.

That brought Sam's eyes back to him, looking startled. Then he smiled. It was small, but a real smile. "You can pretend, but you can't really be anything but what you are," he said. "It took me a while to figure that out, y'know," he gestured at his head, meaning in the visions, "before. But here and now, I get it."

"You don't want normal, anymore?" Dean wasn't sure he believed it, but -- what kind of person took his brother to bed, and still pretended to be like regular people?

"I want to find my normal. I'm pretty sure it's not going to be like anybody else's." He gave Dean a considering look. "Well, maybe yours."

"I don't have normal," Dean said, without thinking. He put his hand on Sam's cheek and let himself just look. Sam was calm, now, though he was still upset -- perfectly reasonably, Dean allowed. But the crisis seemed to have blown over for now. He brushed his thumb along Sam's cheek, and wanted nothing more than to just kiss him and forget about everything else.

So he did.

Sam made that soft sound he always made when being kissed was exactly what he needed and pressed closer. Dean smiled into the kiss, and held his brother.

When Sam pulled back, he closed his eyes and rested his head on Dean's shoulder. "I'm still scared," he confessed.

He wished, fiercely, that he could tell Sam not to be. That the monsters were just dreams and there was nothing to fear in the dark. "I'm sorry," he said again, because it simply wasn't fair that anyone, especially his brother, had to know that evil could strike so close.

Sam nodded without raising his head, the movement brushing his hair against Dean's neck. "I'm not so scared with you."

"Well then, it's a good thing you've got me," Dean said, lightly. Breezing through the words like his heart hadn't just clenched and threatened to stop beating. He sat back in the driver's seat and gave Sam a grin. "Hey! Del Taco!" He'd spotted the fast food place across the strip mall and suddenly lunch seemed like a great distraction.

Sam just stared at him. "Now?"

Dean shrugged, realising belatedly that Sam might not be all that interested in food. But backing down would mean admitting that, which would mean talking about it more, which would risk making Sam get that look in his eyes while he remembered seeing his girlfriend die. "Fish tacos," he said, determinedly. "And you can get a burger."

Sam wrinkled his nose and said distinctly, "Eww."

Dean gave him a hurt look. "Sam, fish tacos. Fish, in a taco shell."

"What part of 'eww' is not getting through?"

With a pleading look, Dean repeated, "Sam, it's fish. In a taco shell. With salsa and lettuce and a lime and you can get fries!" He had a pretty good idea how much more he could say before his little brother turned green and threw up in the car. Close, but not there yet.

"If I throw up, I'm going to aim for you," Sam warned.

"No throwing up in my car," Dean declared. "Ever. For any reason. You open the door and jump out at 75, if you have to." He waited, then said, "Tartar sauce, I bet. The secret sauce on the taco."

He was ready for a lot of reactions from Sam, but his brother leaning over, grabbing him by the ears, and kissing him senseless wasn't one of them. It did shut him up, Dean admitted. It also made him think now was no time for fish tacos. Well, almost not -- talking about them had made him hungry. But being kissed like it was the only way to shut him up was a hell of a lot better than a taco.

When Sam let his mouth go, but not, Dean noticed, any of the rest of him, Dean asked, "Wanna head back to the motel?"

One side of Sam's mouth quirked up into a half smile. "Yeah."

He thought about their plans -- not the second apartment, fuck no, but the third, and the dozen more Sam had circled.... Dean looked at Sam, and thought it over. "Do you want to call Mrs. Froson and ask her for the apartment?"

Sam hesitated for a moment, then nodded and pulled out his cell phone.

~~~

Dean drove back to the motel as Sam spoke with Mrs. Froson. She'd seemed a bit surprised to hear from them so quickly, but agreed to start the paperwork right away. Dean overheard her mention a credit check, which seemed to worry Sam for a moment. Dean didn't have a chance to remind him that 'Sam Winchester' had no credit history at all, and the only credit history 'Dean Watkins' had was buying gasoline and motel rooms on a trip to Palo Alto.

They made an appointment to visit on the following Monday, then it seemed that all was said and done -- except for Dean mumbling under his breath about his tacos.

Sam was quiet the rest of the drive back, silently watching out the window as they drove. He seemed... not distant, but... contained. As if he were sinking into himself.

Dean couldn't decide if that was a good sign, or just Sam dealing with things they way he usually did -- thinking too much. He debated what he should do, until they were not far from the motel. Then he glanced over, and saw the set of Sam's jaw and the way he was simply looking straight ahead. "Sammy? You ok?" he asked, testing Sam's mood.

Sam nodded, but didn't actually speak.

Well, that left either jostle him out of his thoughts, or leave him to them. Dean wasn't sure which was better, but given what Sam would be brooding over, he figured maybe it was better to distract him.

"You've never had a fish taco, have you?"

It worked. Sam turned to look at him with a startled, "What?"

"I figure, you can't have had one, or you'd realise how good they are." Dean kept his tone earnest, like thinking about lunch had occupied him the entire drive back.

"Dean, I don't want a fish taco."

The look Sam was giving him was 'Dean, you're insane' -- which meant his distraction had worked. Except for the fact Dean was really starting to get hungry now, and he hadn't seen another Del Taco since the one back at the strip mall.

"Which proves you've never had one," he said, reasonably.

"Or it proves I have taste," Sam shot back, beginning to sound a little exasperated, which, really, was better than the alternative.

"You do taste good," Dean allowed, and was extremely glad he was pulling into the parking spot in front of their motel room. "But you also have no culture. Dude, fish tacos. Fish tacos."

Sam leaned over and whispered in Dean's ear, "If you want to have sex when we get inside, you'll shut up about the fish tacos."

The words -- and maybe the voice itself -- went straight to Dean's cock. But he pretended to think it over. He shut off the engine but stayed behind the wheel, mouthing 'fish tacos' and 'sex' as though weighing the benefits of each.

Sighing, Sam rolled his eyes and opened the car door. "I'll be inside when you make up your mind," he said, getting out.

"Yeah, ok," Dean said absently, staying where he was as Sam got out of the car. He knew he wouldn't last much longer, though the thought of waiting until Sam was inside, maybe even on the bed and naked....

Well, it wasn't like he didn't know he was choosing 'sex' over lunch. But he had to at least keep up the act for a little while. Pissing his brother off was fun, even without the sex.

He watched while Sam unlocked and opened the room door, and stepped inside. Chances were Sam wouldn't actually strip down. Chances were better that Sam wouldn't actually wait for him. If he took too long, Sam would get engrossed in something like rereading the Stanford campus directory.

Dean reached down and turned the ignition key.

His cell phone rang.

A glance at the screen told him what he already knew. He flipped the phone open. "Did you want me to get you something?" He was hoping Sam would tell him he was half-naked, to entice Dean inside.

"What I want," Sam's voice growled in his ear, "is for you to get your ass in here and fuck me."

There really wasn't anything to say to that, so Dean snapped the phone shut, turned off the engine, and bruised his knee trying to get out of the car and to the motel room.

He got to the door, tried to figure out where the hell he'd left his room key, then realised Sam had left the door cracked open and offered a silent thanks for brothers who were smarter than him. The second he stepped inside, he was grabbed and pushed up against the door as it closed, then had Sam's tongue down his throat. He didn't try to fight Sam off -- he wasn't stupid, for god's sake. He did try to drop his keys someplace he could find them later, and maybe try to shift so the doorknob wasn't poking him in the side.

Mostly he just stood there and hung on as Sam devoured him from the inside out. Sam was almost frantic, grinding against him, hands moving restlessly over Dean's body. He was making small desperate whimpering sounds as he ravaged Dean's mouth that spoke of a need that went straight to Dean's cock.

He'd only had his brother like this a few times -- and as Dean realised what the common denominator was, he reached up and held Sam's face, and began kissing him hard. Taking control, or at least asking for it, since really what this was about was whatever Sam wanted.

It didn't take a genius to figure out what Sam was trying so hard not to think about. Sam moaned against Dean's lips and his hands finally stopped moving, latching onto the front of Dean's shirt tightly, willingly giving up control as Dean showed that he was inclined to take it.

Dean pushed them away from the door, and walked them backwards towards the bed. He pulled at Sam's shirt as he did, tugging it up towards Sam's shoulder and caressing Sam's chest and back as he went. He got his hands on Sam's sides, then, when they hit the edge of the bed, he lifted Sam up to toss him onto the mattress.

Sam bounced when he landed, long limbs sprawled. He looked up at Dean with eyes dark with arousal and need, shirt still hiked up, jeans not doing anything to hide how hard he was.

"Jesus," Dean breathed, looking at Sam, seeing the way Sam was looking back. For a moment it seemed surreal -- despite the three months they'd been lovers, Dean wondered how the hell he had ever finally managed to get to this place.

He yanked off his jacket and shirt, deciding that thinking about it was definitely the worst of two evils. Kicking off his shoes, Dean fumbled for his zipper, unable to stop looking at the way Sam was watching him strip. Sam was propped up on one elbow, the other hand gripping himself through his jeans, staring at him through half lidded eyes.

"You wanna get those off," Dean told him, not sure he could wait long enough to pull Sam's jeans off for him -- even though undressing Sam was one of the best parts about having sex with him. The slow, sensual sex was one of Dean's favorites, although he would probably never admit it out loud.

Right now he was pretty sure Sam wanted it fast and hard and wild; he'd asked Dean to fuck him.

Dean pulled his underwear off, and walked over to the bed, naked and already hard at the sight of his brother. He watched as Sam undid his jeans, then lifted his hips to push them and his underwear down, wriggling until they were far enough that he could kick them the rest of the way off.

Standing where he was, Dean took a moment to just look. Sam, spread out, leaning back on his elbows. His cock was hard, and Dean wanted to crawl up and swallow him whole. He reached down and touched himself, running his hand down his own length, smirking at the way Sam's eyes widened.

"Dean." Sam made the name a demand, plea and benediction all at once.

He moved forward, knees on the mattress. Sam shifted his legs to make room, inviting him closer. He should just lean down and suck Sam off -- make him scream in about ten seconds flat. But... Sam had asked Dean to fuck him, and he'd been asking since the day they'd started this.

He had no idea if he was ready. But suddenly it felt like a cop out to just give Sam a blow job or hand job and leave it at that. Half sitting up, Sam reached for him, pulling him down and seeking out his mouth once more. He was still more than eager, but some of the franticness had faded now that they were... involved.

Dean pressed his body against Sam's, loving the feel of it beneath him. He kissed Sam like it was all he wanted to do, ever. He felt Sam tremble, and he rocked his hips forward, rubbing their cocks together. Sam gasped, arching his head back and offering his throat.

He didn't need more invitation; Dean leaned down and put his mouth over Sam's jugular, licking him gently first, then sucking, hard as he could.

Sam's hips bucked in response, his whole body shaking. "D-dean..."

"Yeah, baby," Dean breathed against Sam's collarbone, soaking up the feel of Sam's body. He slid a hand underneath Sam, palm against his back, and pulled him up, rubbing their bodies together as he went back to leaving hickeys on Sam's neck.

Each suck on Sam's throat sent another shiver through his body, until he was trembling and writhing in Dean's arms. "Please, Dean," he gasped.

Dean reached down and took Sam's cock in his hand, pulling at him in a move that was already as familiar as jerking his own. Dean ducked his head down, feeling a stab of guilt -- he didn't know if this would be enough, but he didn't think it would help if he tried to do more and couldn't follow through. Not that having his own freak out wouldn't distract Sam just as much, but actually having sex would at least be more fun.

He kissed Sam, hard, trying to apologise. Sam whimpered against his mouth as he tried to get closer.

Dean began moving his hand faster, dispensing with formalities and getting on with the business of making Sam come. He let Sam kiss him, keeping his mouth where Sam could do anything he liked with it, while he concentrated on jerking his brother off. Sam held onto him, shaking and panting, moving desperately against Dean, obviously on the edge, but just as obviously trying to hold back.

He actually debated what he should do. His hand slowed, and he knew -- Sam probably wouldn't ask. He'd asked a hundred times and Dean kept saying no. How long could he expect Sam to keep asking?

Dean moved his other hand down, still grasping Sam's cock but not really jerking him off, yet. With his other hand, he cupped Sam's ass, squeezing the cheek hard, and... thought about it.

Sam touched his cheek and Dean looked down into eyes that were dark and full of need. "Please," Sam whispered.

"I--" Christ. It wasn't like he didn't want to. Pull Sam's legs up and bury himself balls deep. Pound his cock into Sam... Dean shivered and wondered why the hell he didn't.

It wasn't like he could just do it. Not Sam's first time. But he didn't know if he could make himself take the time, now, to do it right. Wasn't sure if Sam could hold out for it either, which left the question -- did he just use his fingers, almost but not what he wanted?

Or-- "Why don't you fuck me?" he asked, voice raspy with arousal and not a little bit of trepidation. His reasons for not fucking Sam were the same as his reasons for never letting Sam fuck him.

Maybe those reasons didn't make as much sense as he thought they did.

The question stilled Sam entirely. He shifted, lifting his head to really look at Dean's face. "Are you sure?"

He shrugged. He hadn't been fucked in awhile -- since a couple months before he and Sam got together. But it was recent enough he knew they could without hurting him. That made it a hell of a lot better than giving in to the desire to fuck Sam, hard and wild and making him scream Dean's name...

Dean swallowed. "Yeah, if... you know. You want. More." He rubbed the palm of his hand over Sam's cock, letting him know what he meant.

Sam's eyes fluttered shut briefly at Dean's touch, but it didn't seem to distract him from the conversation. "You're not exactly projecting confidence, here."

"Huh?" Dean stopped moving his hand, and -- "Oh." Brilliant, Dean, he told himself. He smiled, then rested his head on Sam's chest and laughed, once. "Don't mean to sound so enthusiastic," he said sarcastically, laughing at himself. "I do... I just...." The amusement dimmed and he realised he might have to try to say what he was feeling.

The alternative was to let Sam think he didn't want this, and he had done enough of that over the summer.

He gave Sam a kiss, keeping it brief but hopefully heartfelt. "It's just... crap. This is gonna sound stupid so I'm only going to say it once, okay? I don't wanna fuck you here. Not... like this. Not when it's about something else, and... I want to be home, not in some crappy motel," he said, realising what else he was feeling only as he spoke.

The image of fucking Sam here -- while nice -- made him think of all the motel rooms he'd ever been in. They'd grown up in motels, and they reminded him of work and hunts and dad, and of all the times a motel room had meant whatever happens tonight will be forgotten once you leave.

He didn't want Sam to leave.

"I want to do it right," he whispered. "And if you ever tell anyone what a fucking pussy I sound like, I will kill you and stuff you in the trunk and make your ghost help me with the fucking hunts."

He took a deep breath, and said quickly, "So I'm sorry to make you keep waiting for me, but if you want something to...." Fuck, he was going to have to say it, remind Sam when the whole point was to forget. "Take your mind off stuff then I've been fucked before, we can do it without hurting me. It's no big deal."

Sam stared at him long enough for Dean to start to get nervous. Then he pushed at Dean's shoulder, tangling their legs together to get enough leverage to roll them over. Once he had Dean on his back beneath him, he leaned down and kissed him gently. "It is a big deal," he murmured against Dean's lips, before abandoning them and sliding down to take Dean's cock in his mouth.

Dean thought about trying to ask Sam what the hell he meant, but then his cock was over-riding any and all messages from his brain. He clutched at the blankets and thought that his little brother had certainly learned how to give a blow job.

Not that all his practise hadn't been on Dean. But still -- he'd really picked it up. Dean shifted his feet, pushing them flat against the mattress. He had no idea if they had anything for lube other than whatever was in the bathroom, but whatever was there would probably do.

He reached down and patted Sam's shoulder, trying to get his attention because he'd rather stop now to get prepared, than later. Sam ignored him, except to try and swallow him whole.

"Mrufug," Dean said, and gave up. Sam could suck him off, then fuck him. Dean wouldn't argue. Sam knew all of Dean's buttons and exactly how to push them and seemed to be taking this chance to demonstrate that fact. Dean writhed on the bed, happy to let Sam suck his entire being out through his cock. Arching his back, Dean tried not to slam his cock forward, but everything in him wanted to fuck, hard. He screamed again, hanging onto the comforter and shoving his head back, as he finally came.

Sam didn't let go of Dean's cock until Dean was completely wrung out. Then he slid back up Dean's body and kissed him, his hips pushing against him almost frantically. Dean kissed him back, holding onto Sam as much as he could when the only part of his body he seemed capable of moving was his mouth. But he nodded, and tried to look around for where the hell his duffel bag had ended up. "I've got--" he said, breaking away from the kiss for a second.

Sam cut him off by sticking his tongue down his throat. Dean left him to it for a couple seconds, then felt the way Sam was pushing against him. He pushed Sam back a little. "Sam, you gotta.. if you want to do this we need some stuff from my bag."

Sam shook his head. "This is good," he said breathlessly, a hitch in his voice showing how close he was.

"I thought you wanted--" and Dean stopped, because even if Sam did want to fuck him, it was too late to start now. He hung onto his brother's hips, pulling him close and holding him in place. It didn't take long before Sam was burying his face against Dean's neck and shuddering as he came.

Dean held Sam as he collapsed, rubbing his hands up and down his brother's back. He kissed him on the cheek, and said, "You're supposed to get it in me before you do that."

Sam chuckled, but didn't raise his head. "It can wait."

"Clearly it couldn't," Dean returned, wriggling his hips a little to nudge Sam's cock.

Now Sam did look up, catching and holding Dean's gaze. "It can wait," he repeated seriously. "Until... it is a big deal."

Dean frowned at him, then just said, "Yeah, ok. I... yeah, I get it." He nodded and gave Sam a kiss, thinking that he could have no sex at all except this and life would be pretty damned good. "Guess your firsts should all be nice ones." He grinned, and figured it was all right if he got a little soft in the head. Sex with Sam tended to have that effect on him.

"And you keep saying I'm the girl."

Dean reached up and brushed the hair out of Sam's eyes. Then he just raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, so we're both girls."

"I am not a girl," Dean said firmly. "Have you seen the car I drive?"

Sam rolled over until he was lying beside him on his back and stretched. He didn't answer.

Dean poked him in the ribs. "I wanna talk about your feelings," he said, managing to keep his face straight. "And you never call when you say you will."

"Dickwad," Sam said clearly.

"Your accent sucks," Dean told him.

Sam held up one hand. With one finger.

"Huh." Dean kept watching Sam, amused that for a change Sam's post-orgasmic bliss didn't involve talking. He wanted to make sure Sam wasn't brooding already, but so far he seemed just quiet, but relaxed. Rather like how Dean himself felt.

He tried to figure out if there was a good way to make Sam yelp and leap off the bed, but the ice machine was down the hall and he didn't feel like getting up. Dean rolled onto his side, towards Sam, and put his arm across Sam's chest. He grinned, thinking that if he could get his brother annoyed enough to start a pillow fight, then he could call the afternoon a success. He closed his eyes to consider his options.

He felt Sam's hand come up to rest on the back of his neck, fingers stroking lightly.

It didn't take long for him to fall fast asleep.

~~~

Dean stood in the middle of the apartment and looked around. It wasn't the first time he'd signed a lease, wasn't the first time in a long shot he'd signed a name not his own. But it was the first time he'd ever moved into a place expecting that he wouldn't be moving out any time soon.

She'd given them a nine month lease, the standard student contract. They had the option to extend for three months through the summer, and after that... she'd said the word 'yearly' but Dean had stopped processing at that point.

Sam came up behind him, wrapped his arms around Dean's waist and rested his head against Dean's. "You're freaking, aren't you?"

Putting his hands on Sam's arms, Dean held him in place. "No," he said, honestly, though the fact surprised him a little. "I think... I'm not freaking."

Maybe because it was still sinking in, but... this could be home. A place to live, not a place to stay in between hunts.

"You think?" Sam repeated, and Dean could hear the smile in his voice. "Not sure?"

"Give me a couple days," Dean said easily, turning his head and tilting back so he could shoot a grin up at Sam without banging their heads together.

A home, with Sam.

Wow.

Okay, maybe he was freaking a tiny bit.

"I can give you as long as you need," Sam said, his arms tightening their hold on him.

"Great." Dean went back to staring at the walls, letting Sam hold him. The place was really spacious, like Sam had said, though he figured once they got some furniture that feeling would go away pretty fast. Well, maybe not -- what did they need? A bed, a couch, a dresser? A desk for Sam. A lockable cabinet he could store some of his extra weapons in, and some of the books he didn't want to leave in the Impala.

OK, so, they needed to dig up a used furniture place, first thing in the morning. Hit a few garage sales if they could find any, or visit Goodwill and get the stuff they'd need for the kitchen, maybe some more towels, and...

For all the times Dean had done this before, he couldn't seem to quite make his brain stay focused on it.

Home.

Sam chuckled; Dean could feel the vibrations of it deep in his chest. "I can practically hear your brain whirring."

"It's not," he protested, then realised what he'd said. "I mean... Hell. What do you want for dinner? Chinese, pizza, fish tacos?"

"Dude, what is with you and fish tacos?"

He shrugged. "They make you make that face."

"The one where I'm about to ralph all over your shoes?" Dean glanced over his shoulder; yep, there was that face. "I'm not seeing the attraction."

Dean grinned. "Because trying to gross you out is one of the perks of being older." Not that it had been really easy, especially once Sam had started going on hunts. Nothing like having shoes sticky with bodily fluids to make a person stop turning his nose up at a mouth-full of partially chewed food.

"Chinese," Sam said, firmly changing the subject. "I saw a place just around the corner."

"I want sweet and sour pork."

"I know." Sam hugged him a bit tighter for a few seconds then let him go. "I'll go get food, you can stay here and.... not freak some more."

Dean gave him a mild version of the 'are you nuts' look he reserved solely for his brother. "I'm not gonna freak," he said, though he was pretty sure neither of them believed it. He reached back for his wallet as Sam stepped away, thinking that tomorrow he'd scout out some local bars and check for pool tables.

"I've got it," Sam said quickly, holding up his own wallet. "Dad gave me some cash when we left, too."

"He gave you cash?" Dean blinked. "How much?"

"A couple of hundred." Sam shrugged. "I think it was supposed to be a congratulations for getting into college gift."

Dean's jaw dropped. "Dude, you're holding out on me?" He shoved at the weird feeling in the pit of his stomach by reminding himself he'd got a car. Even if it had been more of a condolence than congratulations. He narrowed his eyes. "Maybe we should go find a card game and we can turn it into a couple thousand." He didn't seriously expect Sam to take him up on it, but hell, needling his brother was fun.

Sam put his wallet back in his pocket. "I'll be right back with food," he said, ignoring Dean's suggestion completely.

"We could go to Reno!" Dean called after him.

Sam threw him the finger over his shoulder as he left the apartment.

Dean sighed once Sam was gone, and took another look around. It would take him awhile to get back with food, and in the meantime... Dean had nothing to do but freak out.

He went over to the pile of crap they'd brought, two duffels and two sleeping bags, and a handful of things they needed to make the place livable. Dean went to work, salting the doorways and windows, then found some chalk and drew all the runes and sigils they would need, in unobtrusive places.

He was finishing up with the water pipes in the bathroom when he heard the front door open.

"Back!" Sam called out, coming in carrying a large bag in one hand and a six pack of beer in the other.

"I figured it was you, or somebody I'd have to shoot," Dean said, casually. He brushed the chalk dust off his fingers and reached for the beer. "They sell this at the Chinese place, or you find a liquor store, too?"

"Corner store across from the Chinese place." He handed over the six pack and carried the bag of food over to where Dean had laid out the sleeping bags.

"We'll check out the neighborhood tomorrow. See where the nearest Del Taco is." He winked at Sam, then grabbed some of the boxes of food and sat down on the floor. He found the chopsticks as well and began eating the first thing he opened -- something with broccoli and chicken, which meant it was Sam's.

"Give me that," Sam growled, grabbing that carton from him, but replacing it with another which turned out to be his sweet and sour pork.

"Hey!" Dean protested.

"Give it up. You hate broccoli." Sam leaned back on the pillows that were piled by the sleeping bags, pillows they'd scavenged from the motel when they left. "I've been thinking..."

Dean sighed. "This is never good."

Sam threw a wrapped fortune cookie at him. "This is our first night in our new apartment. I've been thinking... it's kinda a big deal, don't you think?"

"Yeah, I guess it is." Dean nodded. "I did all the wards and stuff," he said, though he figured Sam probably assumed he had taken care of it.

"Good. Thanks." Sam took another bite of his chicken before continuing. "So I was thinking, we should do something special to mark the occasion. Since it's such a big deal."

"Yeah, we can do that." Dean looked around, thinking there was nothing available to do any kind of marking an occasion. He got as far as saying "Maybe there's a--" when it hit him what Sam was saying. His mouth was still open and he thought maybe Sam shouldn't say stuff like that without some kind of warning.

He was already hard, and he hadn't even finished eating his dinner.

Sam was watching him with a little smirk. "I take it you agree."

Dean set his food down on the floor, staring at Sam.

The smirk faltered a little. "Dean?"

He moved onto his hands and knees, closing the distance and kissing Sam, hard. He tried to remind himself to move away from the food before he ended up kicking it over. He'd want it for breakfast.

He felt Sam fumbling with something for a moment then his arms were wrapping around Dean, pulling him closer and kissing him back just as hard. Dean had to shift his balance so he could get one hand on his jeans. He needed them off, right the fuck now.

There was a lot of squirming and awkward positioning for a bit as they both shed their clothes while staying in as much physical contact as possible. But finally they were both naked and pressed skin to skin head to toe.

Dean was losing himself fast in Sam's mouth and hands, when he realised that they'd had plans. He raised his head and looked around for his duffel.

Sam reached out one long arm and snagged it from where it sat on the other side of the sleeping bags. "Looking for this?"

Sitting up and straddling Sam, he grabbed his duffel and pulled it towards him. He rested it on Sam's stomach and frantically began digging through it. He found his toiletries bag and grabbed the small tube he kept in there for just such emergencies, as well as one of the condoms.

Sam watched him silently through dark eyes; Dean could feel the weight of his stare. Supplies in hand, Dean shoved the bag off Sam, and stopped. Stared back at Sam and his body was screaming at him not to stop, get fucked already and stop stopping for god's sake.

He swallowed hard and leaned down, kissing Sam again. "Fuck me," he forced out, wanting it so badly and somehow terrified he'd manage to screw up again.

"Fuck yes," Sam growled, kissing him hard, then toppling them over until Dean lay sprawled out beneath him.

Dean watched him, spreading his legs and wishing they were there already, Sam inside him and -- he couldn't hold back the whimper, no matter how needy and embarrassing it was.

Sam kissed him hard one more time, then took the lube from Dean's hand and sat up, kneeling between Dean's legs. Dean watched as Sam put some on fingers that shook slightly, then looked up to meet Dean's eyes. "Tell me if I do something wrong," Sam said, voice low and husky, and then pushed a finger inside Dean.

As though he could speak. Dean's body practically froze as Sam entered his body. He started panting, and he was going to come really too soon if he didn't start thinking about something else, something... something he couldn't think of.

Sam's attention seemed totally focused on what he was doing; his gaze locked at where his finger was breaching Dean's body. Then there were two fingers. Dean groaned and grabbed for his knees, holding onto them and deciding that he was probably the world's biggest moron for not doing this sooner. "Come on, Sammy," he panted, wanting Sam inside him before he came.

Sam groaned and closed his eyes for a second. "Is that enough?" he asked uncertainly when he opened them back up and met Dean's gaze. "Can I...?"

"Goddammit Sam, fuck me," Dean growled. He was still a little tight but he didn't fucking care. "Please," he begged, because dignity was pointless when he needed this so much.

"Fuck." Sam grabbed the base of his own cock, obviously in an effort to get some control. He quickly spread lube over his length and then he was moving, and Dean finally felt him pressed against his opening.

"Oh god." Dean breathed out, feeling Sam fill him, stretching him hard and fast. It hurt a little, but he kept his expression clear of it -- thinking instead of the fact Sam was in him. He gasped, choking back something he didn't want to look at. "Oh god, Sammy," he whispered. He was gonna come, he could feel it. Sam wouldn't even have to move, just be right there where he was.

Sam was staring at him and the expression on his face was so... Dean didn't think there were words to describe it. "Dean, I..." Sam began in voice that was hoarse and broken.

It pulled him out of his own arousal just enough. "Come on, baby," he said, softly. "Fuck me." He shifted his hips a little, helping Sam drive himself into Dean.

"God," Sam groaned, then he was moving. Fucking Dean hard and fast.

"Oh yeah, yeah, like that. Fuck me, Sam. Fuck me...." His voice died on him, as his orgasm started to hit. He had enough awareness left to wish he could have lasted just a little longer, then he lost it all in the sensation of Sam. Fucking him.

Sam didn't last much longer than Dean had, but long enough for Dean to watch the sheer wonder that shone from Sam's face when he came.

"Fuck," he whispered. He half-caught Sam as he fell forward, hoping Sam wouldn't pull out just yet. But he had to kiss him, so he grabbed onto Sam and pulled him down, taking his mouth, hard and open and trying to take everything he'd been given.

Sam kissed him back just as thoroughly, as if he wouldn't be happy until he could climb all the way inside of him.

"Love you," Dean whispered, in one of the moments his mouth was free. Or maybe he'd just thought it, because there didn't seem to be a time when Sam wasn't touching him, inhaling him and still moving against him like they were still fucking. He felt Sam slip out, and wished they could go again. Well, they probably could in a couple minutes -- there were advantages to Sam's being eighteen.

"I know," Sam murmured against Dean's skin as he peppered kisses all over Dean's face. "Love you too."

Dean felt himself tense. He tried to tell his brain it was good. It was wonderful, and it wasn't anything he didn't already know. He bit his lower lip, and pressed his face against Sam's shoulder, breathing in the smell of him until it filled his head. "You've never said that before," Dean said, so quiet he could barely hear himself.

Sam pulled back enough to meet his eyes. "I didn't think you'd hear it if I did," he confessed. "But it's always been true."

Dean just nodded, because he knew it was true. He'd known all his life that Sam loved him.

It wasn't the same thing as hearing it, and dear god, but Sam was right. He was a girl. He brought his hands up, thinking it would be better to just get off Sam and clean up, and get back to dinner before.... He pressed his hand against Sam's arm, and stroked his skin. He didn't want to ever stop touching Sam.

Sam smiled faintly. "You barely heard it this time. Guess I'll have to keep saying it."

"I heard you," Dean protested. It wasn't like Sam hadn't spoken loud enough for him to hear.

Sam just kissed him again. "I love you," he said against Dean's mouth.

Shivering, Dean thought that this was stupid. He didn't know exactly which part of it he meant, but enough was enough and he hadn't even eaten more than a bite of his food before Sam had brought up fucking. Dean pushed Sam away this time, rolling out from under his brother and trying not to look at him.

He heard Sam sigh. "And you still can't hear it," he said, sadly.

"I can hear you," he snapped. Sighing, he reached over and picked up his carton of sweet and sour pork. He didn't feel hungry, but he stabbed at it with the chopsticks.

"Yeah, that's why when I say it you practically bolt from the room."

"When you say it? Haven't heard you say it since you were eight years old." Dean didn't know why he was so pissed off, but he had to restrain himself from flinging his food across the room. He slammed it down, not really interested in eating.

"I just said it," Sam pointed out exasperated. "And suddenly the sweet and sour pork is more interesting than I am."

"I could care less about the fucking pork," Dean said, and he scrambled to his feet, unable to sit still and having no idea how he'd gone from relaxed and well-fucked, to this. He felt sore and sticky and he thought maybe a shower would cool him down.

"Fuck," he heard Sam mutter behind him as he headed into the bathroom.

Dean stopped in the doorway. He hated this. He wanted to shower off, have a beer and his dinner and just...not have this. But he hated leaving Sam out here, thinking that he'd fucked things up. Hell, who got mad because someone said 'I love you'?

He looked back over his shoulder, and tried to figure out what he could say.

Sam wasn't looking at him; he was sitting on the sleeping bag where Dean had left him, his head resting on top of his bent knees.

Fuck. It was worse than the puppy eyes Sam gave him. "Sammy," he said, and had to stop and try again, louder. "I didn't mean--" He stopped again, and looked down, grabbing the doorframe and wishing there could just be an easy way to fix this.

"I'm sorry," Sam said softly, still not looking up. "I shouldn't have..."

Dean huffed, half-laughing. "You shouldn't apologise for saying that kind of thing." It wasn't Sam's fault he could apparently barely stand to hear it. Not Sam's fault he was apparently so fucked up he couldn't hear his brother say he loved him.

Dean turned and walked into the bathroom, and switched on the hot water.

He stayed in the shower longer than maybe he needed to; he'd forgot to bring any soap, shampoo, or even towels with him so he ended up just standing under the spray until he had control of himself again. When he came out of the bathroom he saw Sam, curled up in his sleeping bag, back to the bathroom door.

Perfect. Just the way they needed to start this first night in their new place.

Dean walked over to the pile of towels they'd taken from the motel and dried off, then threw the towel down and mopped up the puddles he'd left on the floor. He threw the towel in the corner of the bathroom, then went back out and gathered up his shirt and underwear and socks, then gathered up Sam's as well, and added them to the pile. Their jeans would be good for another day; Dean hung them up, draping them over the clothes rod in the closet.

Sam hadn't moved in all the time Dean was moving around. As Dean walked over, he saw that Sam had fallen asleep. Whether or not he was still pissed at Dean... well, there was no real doubt there.

Grabbing some underwear from his duffel, Dean slipped them on, then tugged his sleeping bag back into place. He hesitated over how close to put it to Sam's, not sure if Sam would even want him near, tonight.

He ended up putting it about a foot away, then he lay down on his stomach, slipping his knife under his pillow. He took a last look at his brother, and wished that he hadn't been such a jerk.

~~~~

Breakfast had been cold Chinese food and a total lack of conversation. Dean hadn't been able to think of anything worth saying until finally they had to get on with things that needed to be done whether they were talking to each other or not.

A terse exchange got them agreed on looking for furniture first, then they'd headed out and Dean drove to the first used furniture place in the phone book. He'd been saving money all summer, hitting the pool tables and a couple mid-stakes poker games. He had nearly three thousand dollars to spend on getting the apartment set up and he expected they'd go through it all today. But he couldn't put anything on a fake credit card, not with needing furniture delivered. Using a fake card didn't work when they could track you down.

So it was cash, all carefully tucked inside a hidden pocket of his jacket with the rosary and throwing knife he carried. He was pretty sure he wouldn't need to make any holy water while shopping for couches, and he was just hoping he wouldn't need to use the knife.

"This place okay?" he asked as they parked in the lot of Big Ted's Used Furniture.

Sam looked up for the first time since they got in the car and shrugged. "As good as the next place, I guess."

Great. Sam was still mad at him. It looked like it was going to be one of those long, torturous mad-ons, as well. Dean sighed internally, resigning himself to days of Sam's mood.

"Fine," he snapped. He headed for the front doors.

Inside the place was full of cheap, used crap. The best kind of stuff to offload on students and people like him, he reflected. The only time he'd got something nice was the time he'd let the store manager test him out over the back of the couch he was buying.

Gritting his teeth, Dean wandered over towards the mattresses. Sam followed, trailing him like a lost puppy. Dean did his best to ignore the look on Sam's face as he considered the array of mattresses. He wanted at least a double, though a queen would be best. Unfortunately a mattress, box springs, and frame would wipe out more of his cash than he wanted.

Well, they could start with a top mattress and get a frame later. That meant there were two or three decent choices; Dean looked them over quickly, disregarding one for the huge sag in the center.

"Got any preference?" he asked Sam, indicating the two that would serve.

Sam seemed to shake himself. "I don't know," he said stepping forward and sitting, then lying down on the nearest one. He grimaced. "Not this one," he said, sitting back up. "Springs are about ready to come through."

"OK," Dean nodded, relieved that Sam was willing to at least talk to him about this. He went over and sat down on the second one. It wasn't great, but it wasn't immediately painful, either. "Eh," he said. He'd slept on worse.

Sam came over and sat beside him. "Better than the other one."

"Unless we go for a smaller one, I think this is as good as we can get. Well, unless you want to spend the day tramping around to every store in town." Dean hoped Sam wouldn't say that was exactly what he wanted to do.

Sam gave a half shrug. "It'll do, I guess."

"Great!" Dean said, faking enthusiasm. "You wanna go look at desks while I find a salesperson?"

He got another half shrug and a monotoned, "Sure."

Dean restrained the urge to smack his brother. He noticed a saleslady veer away from them -- apparently she was smart enough to not care if she lost a commission from two guys about to tear each other new assholes. Taking a deep breath, Dean decided there was no way he was dragging his brother through the entire shopping trip like this.

He grabbed Sam by the arm and bodily propelled him back outside.

"Dean, what the-" Sam began, showing more life than he had since the night before.

"Look," Dean said, trying to keep his voice sort of down. "I am fucking sorry about last night. Would you just fucking yell and get it over with instead of walking around being pissed at me because I'm not sure I can put up with this all day. Not without one of us getting his head kicked in and I'm pretty sure they won't sell us any furniture if we do that in their store."

"You think that I..." Sam stared, then closed his eyes for a moment and gave a sharp bark of laughter. "I'm not pissed at you, Dean. I thought... the way you've been acting, and after I.... I thought you were pissed at me."

"You...the fuck, Sam? Why would I be mad at you?"

"Because! Last night... it was a big deal and I wanted... and it was..." Sam gave another bitter laugh. "And then I had to open my big mouth and keep pushing and fucking ruin it."

"You told me you loved me," Dean said, and he caught the startled grin on the woman walking past them. "That isn't something that's supposed to ruin a big deal like last night."

Clearly they were both morons. Dean didn't figure that was news, and he had no idea if kissing Sam was a good idea, right here in front of everyone. Then again, did he care?

He darted forward, placing a quick, almost chaste kiss on Sam's lips. Sam stared at him for a long moment, then grabbed his jacket and pulled him in to kiss him again.

Dean laughed, and managed to wrestle Sam off him -- not right away, and not letting go of him, either. "Dude, we're a little public for too much of that." He couldn't stop grinning, though. "Unless you want to go home and break in the floor again and buy a bed tomorrow."

Grinning back, Sam said, "We're here now, might as well finish it while we can. Then we can break in the floor and the bed."

"So you wanna go back inside and try again?" he asked, still not letting go of his brother.

"Yeah." Sam's voice got quieter as he added, "And I am sorry."

Reaching up, Dean traced a line down the side of Sam's face. "Don't be," he said, voice threatening to break. "Not your fault I'm a freak."

"Maybe, but you're my freak," Sam said possessively.

"Yeah." Dean couldn't stop the wide, no doubt goofy as hell, smile that spread across his face. "You can tattoo it on my ass. Now, let's get back inside and see if we can actually look for shit."

"Right." Sam pulled away from Dean enough that they could walk back into the store.

Dean slid his hand down Sam's arm. What the hell, he thought. Live dangerously. He took hold of Sam's hand and headed back towards the front doors.

"You always did have a tendency to wander off," Dean said, not really truthfully, but he had spent a lot of time holding onto Sam's hand when he'd been very little. He thought it was more because they hadn't wanted to be apart from each other than anything else.

Which wasn't all that different from now.

"I was just following you," Sam replied with seeming complete sincerity.

"Well, follow me to the mattresses, and we'll see if we can find a salesperson we didn't scare off already." He tugged at Sam's hand, even though Sam wasn't lagging behind at all.

Sam grinned and tugged back. They kept tugging on each other's hands like two kids as they crossed back over to the mattress section.

"Can I help you gentlemen?" The saleslady who had avoided them earlier was back, this time all smiles.

"Yeah, we need a mattress," Dean told her, pointing out the one they'd sort of agreed on before. For some reason this sent Sam off into a fit of laughter. Dean raised an eyebrow at him and said, "Dude, it isn't like she doesn't know what we want it for."

That just made Sam laugh harder.

Dean rolled his eyes and told the saleslady -- Denise was the name on her nametag, "Sorry, he's a bit brain-damaged. So, I think we decided on this one. Just the top mattress," he added.

"No box springs or frame?" she asked, and Dean could see her mentally winding up her spiel.

"Yeah. We've got a whole apartment to furnish. Just the top for now," he said, letting her know she could still make a nice commission without trying to sell them something he didn't want.

Not that he was worried about falling for anyone's sales pitch, but he didn't feel like wasting time listening to it, today. For some reason, he was suddenly in a pretty good mood.

He glanced at Sam. Yeah. Some inexplicable reason.

"Why don't you pick out whatever else you're interested in and then we can talk," the saleslady said with a smile. "I'm sure we can work out a deal for you."

"Sounds good, Denise. Thank you." Dean gave her his best smile, though he was pretty sure that the grin on her face was due to the looks she kept sending Sam's way. Sam's dimples were in full force -- no way anyone, including Dean, could fail to be taken in by him.

It took them a couple more hours, though Dean wasn't sure they had really been focusing on the task at hand. But they ended up with a desk for Sam, bar stools for the kitchen counter, a dresser, a couch, and a bigger and much nicer mattress than they'd picked out because apparently Sam's dimples and laughter were just as good for getting discounts as anything Dean had ever tried.

Dean still felt a little stunned when he saw the bill, but he handed over the cash and signed the forms, arranging for everything to be delivered that evening.

"That was a productive morning," Sam said with satisfaction as they walked back to the car.

"Yeah. Now what are we gonna do for the next two weeks?" Sam's classes didn't start until nearly the end of August, and though Dean thought there was some kind of orientation he'd have to go to, they had no obligations at all, until then.

"I'm sure we can think of something." The comment didn't quite sound suggestive, though the shy look Sam gave him to accompany it did move it in that direction.

Dean pretended to think about it as they got in the car -- he very nearly suggested they drive up I-5 for a few days, just to drive. But he was pretty sure Sam would laugh at him, and he didn't want to make it easy for him. He waited until he'd started the car and let himself enjoy that first rumble to life, then he looked at Sam. "Did you want to go home and have sex?"

He could see in Sam's eyes what the answer was -- like he needed confirmation. But all Sam said was, "Do you?" managing to sound hopeful and like he was waiting for a punchline at his expense all at once.

Dean opened his mouth to make a joke -- when his brain kicked in. About two minutes too late, of course. He mentally thumped himself. Of course Sam would be hesitant. The last time they'd had sex, they'd had emotional trauma for an afterglow.

He gave Sam a smile, letting it be as real as he could. "Always, Sammy. With you -- always."

He was rewarded with one of Sam's bright as the sun smiles that always made him feel he should be keeping sunglasses handy just in case. "Sounds like we have our afternoon figured out then."

Dean grinned. "Great! Can we get Del Taco, too?" Much as he was just waiting for Sam's reaction, Dean really was getting hungry. And someday, even if it killed him, he was going to eat fish tacos in front of his brother.

Sam's smile dimmed a little, but didn't go away entirely. "Fine," he sighed. "But I'm not eating any fish tacos."

This time Dean kicked himself, hard, in the center of his brain. One of these days he was going to learn how not to do that. He reached over and took Sam's hand, interlacing his fingers with Sam's. He thought about suggesting something that would make Sam's smile return -- and the image hit him right in the cock, and he gasped.

Fuck, he had to not do that while driving.

"What?" Sam asked as the car did a little wobble as Dean tried to get more innocent thoughts into his head.

He considered the state of the tube of lube he'd had in his bag, and it was difficult to guess if there was enough. "We need to find a drug store," he said. There was no way he was going to risk running out in the middle.

He could still hear the objections in the back of his head, and still remember all the fear and shame he'd dealt with for so long. But strangely, when faced with what to do to make Sam stop thinking Dean didn't want this....it suddenly became pretty damn easy to choose.

"Okay," Sam said, easily agreeable. "What for?"

Dean looked at him, opened his mouth, then grinned. "Seems to me, today might be what you could call a special occasion." He said it seriously -- didn't want Sam to think he was taking this lightly. "We own a bed, well, a mattress at least, and tradition holds that it be broken in properly."

He felt his heart pounding -- realised he was actually, really, honestly going to do this. He took a deep breath, and looked at Sam. The expression on Sam's face made him smile -- made him want to kiss him, but that was kinda hard to do while driving.

"Are-are you sure?" Sam asked, stammering a little. "We don't have to if you-" he began, although his expression was clearly shouting how much he wanted it.

"Sam." Dean considered what he needed to say. There were a billion ways to screw this up, he knew; he'd gone through a hell of a lot of them already. "I want.. more than anything I want to fuck you. Well, maybe not more than I want you to fuck me," he added, thoughtfully. "And I know you've got no reason to believe me when I say I want to do this, now. Today. But as much as the idea still scares the hell out of me, I want -- god, I want you so bad I'm not sure it's safe for me to be driving right now. Turns me on so much, thinking of you underneath me, me pounding into you--"

Dean told himself he really should stop, before he drove them into a building. But he couldn't.

"Want you so much," he said again, trying to sound as calm as he surely didn't feel. "But the only thing I want more than you, is to not hurt you."

He focused on the upcoming intersection, then, glancing out at the other cars and street lights and wishing... He didn't know anymore what he wanted.

Except Sam.

He felt Sam's hand on his arm and glanced over at his brother. "You won't hurt me," Sam said, that belief shining in his eyes. Then his mouth quirked up. "Do you want me to drive?"

"I don't mean physically," Dean said, and he was about to pull over and take Sam up on his offer when he spotted a Wal-Greens Pharmacy. He could make it one more block. He hoped.

"Doesn't matter," Sam said with a shrug. "I trust you."

It took him a minute to answer. "I know you do," was all he said. He couldn't remember a time his little brother hadn't trusted him, whole-heartedly.

It was just himself he didn't always trust.

Sam frowned, watching him. "Do you trust me?"

That caught his attention. "Of course! Sam... I trust you more than anyone." He shrugged. "Well, you and dad. But you'll excuse me if I don't wanna talk about dad while we have a heart-to-heart about me fucking you, all right?" He gave Sam a half-smile.

Which Sam returned. "Good, because neither do I." Then he got serious again. "If you trust me, then trust me to not let you hurt me."

He wanted to say he did, reassure Sam that he knew this would be all right. But the trouble was, he didn't know. He glanced over at Sam, wondering if Sam could really keep that promise. Not that he didn't trust Sam -- he did. He knew that without even thinking.

Which meant even if he couldn't trust himself, he could still let his brother watch his six, and back him up when he needed.

Slowly, he nodded.

Sam smiled. "There's a parking spot on the right, up there."

"Huh?" Dean looked to where Sam was pointing. Oh. Right. Dean scowled and pulled the car into the spot, very carefully not looking over at Sam.

Didn't allow him to ignore the air of amusement from the passenger seat of the car, however.

He settled for just flipping Sam off. Then he got out of the car and hurried into the store, not really caring if Sam followed or not. He went directly for the aisle he needed -- boxes of lube, looking for the largest size they had. He paused a moment to grab the kind he preferred rather than the first one that caught his eye, no matter how much he wanted to make this purchase and go.

He noticed that Sam hadn't come in, so as he made his way to the registers he detoured. He'd intended to do this right -- he'd even entertained thoughts of making some kind of nice dinner, setting the mood and all that.

Dean grabbed a couple of Heath bars, and went to pay for everything. When he got back outside he faltered, then laughed. Sam was sitting behind the wheel.

"Don't say anything," Sam said, as Dean opened the passenger door. "I'm not taking a chance on us dying in a fiery crash before we can get home. I concentrate better under distractions than you do."

"Oh the hell you do!" Dean argued, even as he settled into the seat. He realised he'd never once ridden in his car before now. Maybe it would be kinda nice for a change. And Sam was right -- this way he could indulge himself in his distractions on the way home.

"Hey, you're the one who keeps saying that my brain never shuts off. I'm just agreeing with you." Sam held out his hand. "Keys?"

That surprised him. "You don't have keys to the car?" Well, he didn't remember ever making Sam a copy -- so no, he didn't have keys. "I'm sorry." He should have done that before now. Dean dug into his pocket and handed over his keys.

Sam shrugged as he put the key in the ignition. "No big deal. You drive me everywhere I need to go anyway."

"Yeah, but...you should have a key. You know. Just--" He stopped, because he had no clue what he was saying. It just seemed wrong for Sam not to have a key to his car.

Sam shot him a fond smile. "Okay."

"Can we just go home before I burn a hole in my jeans?" Dean was seriously beginning to get tired of the way lately being with Sam dragged all of his emotions out into the sunlight. Maybe he should have fallen in love with a girl.

Nah.

"We're going, keep your pants on." Sam pulled out into traffic. "For now."

Dean seriously considered unzipping and giving Sam a free show, but the traffic in the next lane was too thick to get away with it. Not to mention the fact Sam had this thing about not crashing -- and Dean had to admit he didn't want his car to get wrecked, either.

Luckily they weren't too far away from the apartment, and before he could really start to feel the pain they were pulling up in front of the house.

Sam turned off the car and they sat there in silence for a moment, the tension of anticipation thick in the small space. "So..."

Dean launched himself at Sam, capturing his mouth and kissing him as hard as he could. Then he pushed back. "Inside. Upstairs."

He watched Sam lick his lips once and catch his breath. "Right," Sam said, then was opening the car door and heading for the building just this side of a run.

It was a good thing they didn't run into anyone on the way in. Dean had a brief stab of alarm that he'd end up standing in the hallway making polite chitchat while his cock tried to explode. As it was, they got to their apartment, got the door unlocked, and got inside without anything or anyone stopping them.

Dean dropped the bag on the floor as Sam launched himself at Dean.

He ended up with his back pressed to the door and Sam pressed to his front, kissing him like he was trying to crawl inside. Which was perfectly all right with Dean. There was no place he'd rather be. He held onto his brother, tugging at his clothes to pull him even closer.

He knew he needed to figure out what to do -- how to go about this. Dean wasn't entirely sure he wanted to slow down long enough to let his brain work properly, but he knew he had to. He sucked on Sam's lower lip, then nibbled a short line down his neck and placed a kiss on his collarbone.

Right. Plans. Slowing down.

Dean looked at Sam and tried to form a coherent thought beyond "strip."

Well, but that was as good a place to start as any.

"Come on, Sam. We gotta get undressed before we come in our jeans. Again." He grinned. "Unless you want sticky pants." Dean snickered.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Y'know, that wasn't funny the first time and it hasn't really improved with repetition," he said, although he also stepped back and began to strip.

"Sticky pants," Dean repeated, because Sam was so, so wrong. It was funny. He pulled off his shirt and dropped it just inside the door, noticing how he and Sam couldn't seem to take their eyes off each other.

That earned him another eye roll as Sam toed off his sneakers and started undoing his jeans.

"You really have no class, do you," Dean said, sadly. "What the hell was I thinking when I fell in love with you?" Dean took off his jeans and let them fall on top of his shirt, then wondered where the hell he'd left the bag from the pharmacy.

"The same thing I was?" Sam suggested, as he raised one foot then the other to get rid of his socks. "That my brother was the best thing that ever happened to me?"

Dean felt himself blush, and looked down -- and spotted the bag. He grabbed it and tried not to respond to Sam's words with a joke. "Yeah," he said, because what Sam had just said was the truth. He looked up and found Sam watching him with a worried frown. Dean gave him a smile. "Yeah. You are."

If Sam's answering grin had more than a little relief in it, neither of them chose to comment on it.

"All right, so," Dean said, and pulled out the box of lube from the bag. He tied the bag's handles into a knot, hiding the chocolate from Sam for now.

"So," Sam said, looking suddenly a little nervous.

"So... did you read up on this at all?" Surely Sam had done some research. Whether it was porn on the internet, or books from the library -- he couldn't imagine his brother not knowing all the facts, even if he had almost none of the experience.

"Some," Sam said. "And then there's the... y'know." He did that hand gesture at his head that had come to signify his visions. His voice got quieter. "And there was last night."

"So," Dean said seriously, "Do you want me to talk you through this?" He paused and added, "I won't be fucking you this time -- I mean, all the way. It'll take some time to get you ready for that." Then another thought occurred and he said, "Unless you've been.. um. Fuck."

The image of his brother fucking himself, on fingers or toys... Dean worked his jaw up and down and wondered just how fast he could get a dildo. Tomorrow?

Sam blushed. "No. I thought... I wanted to wait for you."

Dean grinned. "And you call me the girl," he said, softly. He walked forward and gave Sam a kiss -- hoping to wind his brain down a little, and his body back up.

Sam kissed him back wholeheartedly, wrapping his arms around Dean's neck and keeping him from pulling away.

When Dean got possession of his mouth back, he asked, a bit breathless, "So do you want the lecture or should I just get you on the sleeping bags and legs in the air?"

He saw Sam's eyes go dark and a little glazed at his words. "What lecture?" Sam finally managed after licking his lips a couple of times.

"You know, talk you through it as we go. Or before we go, if you think you might not be able to concentrate." He gave Sam another kiss, placing his hands on Sam's hips and holding him tight.

Sam nodded, and seemed to think it over. "Which way do you want to do it?" he finally asked.

"If it were up to me? I'd go back in time and tell myself to do this a month ago, so that now I could just slide into you fast and hard." He grinned. "Did your visions at least get us here faster than the first time?"

Sam frowned, looking like he was trying to find the answer. "Took us longer to get to the sex. But the fucking was faster after that."

Narrowing his eyes, he asked, "I wasn't your first, was I?" He made it sound like he was only pretending to be jealous -- but, weirdly, he was.

"You were the first guy who counted," Sam told him, heartfelt.

"How many?" he demanded, unable to stop his smile from getting out. "Anyone I need to go beat up?"

"Dean, it's not like I can call up every little detail that-"

"You get any names, I wanna know." Dean scowled at him. "Especially if he didn't call you the next day."

"Dean..."

"Yeah?"

"Whatever might have happened in some other reality that might only exist inside my head, you're my first in this reality."

"Should it scare me that that doesn't sound weird?" Dean cut off any response Sam might have made by kissing him again. And he considered Sam's question, for real. "How about I talk you through it, and if you need me to shut up just let me know."

"Sounds good." Sam pressed himself close and kissed him again.

The kiss made it hard to remember what Dean wanted to tell him. One hand on the back of Sam's head, one on the small of his back, and a knee in-between Sam's legs and almost every inch of skin that could be pressed against Sam's body, was.

"I.. fuck. First thing we gotta do is get over to the sleeping bags before we do this against the wall."

That made Sam laugh, Dean feeling the sound as much as hearing it, they were pressed so closed. "I'll move if you move."

"Damn." Dean made a show of considering it. "We could do this here...." Except he'd need a third hand, or a table, or something. He gave Sam one more quick kiss then gave him a gentle shove. "Bed. Er, what the fuck ever. Now."

Laughing, Sam crossed the room and sat down on the sleeping bags then turned and gave Dean a comehither look. Never one to refuse Sam... most of the time, Dean went hither.

He stopped at the foot of the bag Sam was sitting on, and Dean glanced over at his own. Still askew, and too far away. He reached down and dragged it over. "You got a preference between on your back, side, or hands and knees?"

Sam opened his mouth, but it was a moment before he finally spoke. "I was going to say whatever way you think is best, but the truth is I want to see you."

Dean nodded, and leaned forward. He dropped the box of lube on the floor beside the sleeping bag, reminding himself to give himself time to get it out of the fucking box when he was ready for it, then moved in to kiss Sam again. He used his body to encourage Sam to lean backwards, pressing against him and trying not to forget what he wanted to do.

Sam went willingly, letting Dean press him back until he was lying flat, spreading his legs so that Dean was cradled between them as they continued kissing.

Dean moaned, and wrestled his hands underneath Sam. One on his back, one on his ass, and he rocked himself against Sam and told himself the whole idea was to go slow. Slow enough he didn't make Sam think this was their worst idea yet.

Of course he'd also told Sam he was going to talk him through this, and he'd apparently forgotten that meant he couldn't keep kissing him. It didn't make it any easier that Sam had wrapped arms and those long legs around him, pulling Dean closer as he rocked up against him.

Well, hell. All he'd wanted to do at this point was get Sam introduced to the idea. A finger or two, and get him off, and for that he didn't need much of anything that he didn't already have going. Dean kept kissing him, and reached over, blindly, for the lube. It took him a few moments to get the box open, and fumble the tube into his hand, but he finally got it and flipped the cap open.

If Sam noticed what he was doing, he didn't give any sign, seeming entirely focused on kissing Dean and moving against him. Dean heartily approved of both -- he had very quickly grown addicted to Sam's kisses, the way he seemed to focus everything on his mouth, like the rest of his body was just on autopilot. It made Dean's entire body come alive; when Sam kissed him like this he knew it would be possible to come from Sam kissing him.

Someday he'd even try it. For right now...he got the tube open and managed to get some lube on his fingers, then scooted the tube far enough away they wouldn't roll over on top of it.

Then he rolled onto his side and moved his hand to Sam's ass. Touched him with the fingers that weren't all lubed up, letting Sam know what he was doing. Sam stilled as he realised, but didn't tense up or pull away. Well, not any further than the few inches that he needed to be able to meet Dean's eyes.

"It's gonna feel weird," Dean said, quietly. Well, then maybe Sam didn't really need to be told, Dean thought. He had no idea just how much of this Sam had remembered in his visions. Instead of debating what else to say, Dean just moved down to suck on his favorite spot on Sam's neck. As Sam gasped, Dean slid a finger inside him.

Sam's eyes widened and he went still again. Dean moved his finger around -- not trying for anything but to let Sam get used to the feel of it. He kept sucking on Sam's neck, keeping him aroused.

"This is weird," Sam said on a half laugh, one hand coming up to stroke the back of Dean's neck. "I... remember what it feels like, but it's different somehow."

"What do you remember?" Dean asked. "Tell me what we did." He continued fucking Sam with his finger, slowly, in and out until Sam's hips were rocking with the motion.

Sam gave another breathless laugh. "Might be easier to tell you what we didn't do. I never knew I was so kinky. You on the other hand, I kinda figured."

That went right to Dean's cock and slammed into his gut, and he shoved his cock against Sam. "Tell me," he whispered, because dear god he had to know. He wanted to hear it, from Sam's mouth, in those hot, breathless gasps.

Sam's eyes fluttered closed. "There was a lot of fucking in public places," he finally offered, voice getting deeper and huskier.

Dean had to fight back the almost-orgasm that hit him. "Sammy," he gasped, trying to sound shocked. "You let me do this to you in public?" He figured it wasn't quite this, and probably not quite public, but the sort of semi-public where someone might wander by but never did.

The thought of making Sam writhe with need, in the dark corner of a bar, jeans unzipped and Dean's hand inside -- maybe a single finger, just like he was doing now -- Dean bit back a cry, and came.

Sam was staring at him, half bemused, half amazed, still pretty much all aroused. "God, you're easy."

Dean didn't try to lift his head and glare at his brother. Instead he focused on breathing until his brain seemed to be working again. Then he said, "Been thinking about having sex with you for a long time. Now you tell me I get to have one of my favorite fantasies? Hell yes, I'm easy."

His heart was pounding, and Dean lay still.

Sam's hand was back at the nape of his neck, toying with the short hairs there. "I probably shouldn't be telling you this but... you pretty much could have any fantasy just for the asking."

That made him stop -- he figured Sam was expecting a freak out, given the way he was rubbing Dean's neck. So he said, "I have a fantasy about you washing my car."

Sam snorted. "Sexual fantasies," he clarified.

"You could be naked," Dean protested, then thought that realistically Sam could be in a swimsuit, and yeah. That would be all right. With Dean sitting nearby with a shotgun to make sure no one who took a look did more than that.

It occured to him that they were having this conversation with Dean's finger still in Sam's ass, so he gave it a wriggle to see how distractable Sam really was.

He heard Sam's breath catch. "Y-you can't tell me that your sexual fantasies revolve around me washing your car," he said, though his voice had a more strained tone to it.

"Can't I?" Dean taunted, and he slipped his finger out, rubbing it against his ring finger to smear the slightly-dried lube there. Before Sam could do anything other than gather himself to glare at Dean, he slipped the tips of both fingers inside Sam.

Sam gasped and arched into the touch. "Dean..."

"You gonna...wash my car for me?" Dean asked, tilting his voice down into the low growl that had never failed to make his lover come. He knew it was nothing compared to the way Sam sounded when he yelled, and Dean made a note to explain that very clearly to Sam, soon, so that Dean could hear more of it. He pushed his fingers in to the first knuckle, then pulled them back out.

Sam whimpered.

"Including the tires," Dean said, working his fingers back in, slowly, not pushing farther than the first time. "Hubcaps," he added, giving Sam a kiss on his shoulder, then lowering his head to kiss his chest, once, twice, working his way down. He slid down Sam's body, kissing his stomach. "Rims," he finished, then he put his mouth on Sam's cock, and slid his fingers all the way inside.

Sam gave a wordless yell, his hips bucking up violently.

Opening his mouth, Dean let Sam's cock fuck him, even as he continued fucking Sam with his fingers. It didn't take long before Sam was shaking and screaming his brother's name as he came down Dean's throat.

He let his fingers still, kept his mouth moving slowly, wringing every last drop from Sam's cock, until Sam was slumped on the floor, boneless. Then he pulled himself up, slipped his fingers from Sam's ass, and reached over to grab the tshirt Sam had dropped earlier. He used it to wipe his hand clean, then tossed it vaguely towards the bathroom.

Sam reached up a hand lazily and tugged on Dean's arm, trying to pull him back down.

"God, you're bossy," Dean muttered, even as he let himself be pulled into place.

Sam wrapped himself around Dean and sighed in contentment. "Thank you," he said softly.

Dean hugged him, mostly one-armed from the way Sam was squished against him. He rubbed one hand down Sam's back, feeling the way Sam was so completely relaxed beside him. Dean's eyes slipped closed and he tried to make himself say 'you're welcome.' Finally he just turned his head and gave Sam a kiss on the temple.

Sam made a sound halfway like a purr and snuggled closer. It made Dean laugh, and he hugged Sam again. Sam's idea of a nap was clearly an excellent one, Dean thought, as long as they got up before anyone arrived to deliver their furniture.

They ought to at least be dressed by then.

But they had all afternoon, which meant they had plenty of time to indulge.

~~~

Dean had been awake and dressed for an hour before the furniture was delivered; he and Sam still hadn't talked about where anything went. Dean had a feeling Sam had worked everything out already, but as far as Dean cared, it could go anywhere.

Which was why he ended up standing in the kitchen, watching silently as Sam directed.

It was surreal, seeing the furniture get placed just so -- filling the apartment until, once the delivery guys were gone, the place looked like an actual apartment. Sam was grinning at him like they'd won a lottery, and Dean couldn't help but feel a bit shell-shocked by it all.

He told himself it was wallet-shock, because he'd had to hand over a tip for the three guys who'd carted everything up the two flights of stairs. Had nothing to do with the way Sam kept shooting smiles at him, practically vibrating with happiness ever since he'd woken up and give Dean a well-fucked grin.

As soon as the delivery guys were gone, Dean looked around, decided he didn't want to think about any of it, and said, "We need to hit the stores."

Sam blinked as if that was the last thing he expected Dean to say, then turned thoughtful as he looked out over their now furnished apartment. "Yeah, we do."

There was a list in Dean's head -- two, really. One was the list for 'we've just moved into a motel room'. It had two versions, one for the first day when it could be a overnight stop and could be accomplished at the nearest gas station. The longer version was for longer stays, but assumed things like housekeeping carts and desk clerks handing over travel-sized toiletries.

The other list was for staying in apartments. Not so often used, but Dean could rattle off every item on it, in order. It had changed only a little as they'd grown up; the Bugs Bunny toothpaste replaced by regular peppermint, though the sugar cereals had never left their spot at number five. Dean looked around and found his jacket, then caught up his keys -- a hardware store would be needed, as well, though it could wait until tomorrow.

Sam grabbed up his own jacket and followed Dean down the stairs. "This feels so... domestic."

"We've set up shop before," Dean countered, then he paused and looked at Sam, knowing what his brother meant. "Yeah."

Sam grinned at him then slid by and took off down the stairs at full speed.

"Gonna break your neck," Dean called after him, half-heartedly. He had no idea the number of times he'd yelled that same thing at Sam, since he was two years old and able to walk.

Sam just laughed and threw him the finger over his shoulder, without pausing once in his headlong rush down the stairs.

"Language," Dean added, hurrying down the stairs after him.

"Bite me!" Sam called back just as he hit the door.

Dean ran down the stairs after his brother. He didn't expect to catch him, and wasn't surprised when Sam was waiting for him at the car. Dean walked up to him, then tilted his head down and bit Sam hard on the biceps.

"Ow!" Sam pulled his arm away and glared at him. "Jerk."

"You asked," Dean reminded him. Then he skipped backwards, out of Sam's reach, and ran around to the driver's side of the car.

"You do realise that once we're in the car, you'll be well within reach?"

Dean just grinned at him. Sam's side of the car was still locked. Dean let himself in, locked his own door, and waited for Sam.

Sam looked at him through the window for a moment, then went over to the nearby dumpster. He returned with a long, thin piece of metal. "You going to let me in or do you want to risk me scratching your car when I open the lock myself?"

"You scratch my paint and I will kill you." Dean didn't move yet to unlock Sam's door, but when Sam raised the metal in his hands, Dean lurched across the seat and pulled the lock up. "Bitch."

Sam tossed the metal aside and got into the car with a self-satisfied grin. Dean resolutely ignored him as he started the car, then flipped on the radio and pushed the cassette into the slot. Motorhead roared to life as he pulled away from the curb.

"So where we going?" Sam asked a few minutes later when there was a break between songs.

Dean waited a second for the music to start again, then pointed at his ear and mouthed, "Can't hear you."

The look Sam shot him spoke as eloquently as any words would have.

Laughing, Dean just went back to driving. He'd looked up the address and checked a map of Palo Alto, and had a pretty good idea where he was going. It wasn't far, and if he understood the streets right, the grocery store wasn't really out of the way on the drive home.

He took his time driving to get a feel for the area. It seemed nice enough -- then he spotted something that he hadn't noticed before. "Palm trees?"

"We're in California, Dean," Sam said with a world weary patience. "That means palm trees."

"I thought that was just in Florida and Hollywood." His only trips to California had been farther south and north -- nothing in this part of California had ever needed killing.

"Nope, here too," Sam said. "Along with lots of sun."

"Huh." Dean glanced at the row of palm trees lining the road he'd just turned onto. Freaky. He saw the sign for the K-Mart in the distance -- and just this side of it, a sign that the universe loved him.

"Del Taco!"

Sam groaned.

"Aren't you hungry?" Dean pulled into the parking lot and headed directly for the taco place.

"I won't be after watching you eat fish tacos." Sam didn't however actually protest going there.

Dean gave him a frown. "You have to have one, otherwise it isn't any fun."

"Dean, I will do almost anything for you, but I draw the line at eating fish tacos."

He pulled up to the drive-thru, and didn't even glance at the menu display. "I thought you said you'd fulfill any of my fantasies."

"Sexual fantasies," Sam clarified. "And I'm telling you now if fish tacos enter into your sexual fantasies, I really don't want to know."

Dean just shook his head and gave his order into the speaker. He ordered three fish tacos and a burger. Sam would either eat the burger, or if he lost his appetite Dean would be happy to eat it for him.

Sam just sat on the other side of the car, arms crossed over his chest and resolutely looked out of the windshield.

"You really are going to--" Dean laughed. Sam would sit there and refuse to eat, just to prove his point that he had no idea how good fish tacos were.

"What? Not throw up?" Sam asked with a hint of an edge to his voice. "Yeah, I'm doing my best."

"Wimp." Dean took the bag of food and tried handing it over to Sam.

Sam actually shrank from the bag. "They're your fish tacos, you can keep them on your side of the car."

"You don't want your burger?" Dean dangled the bag towards him as though it were filled with jackal hearts.

"Take it out and hand it to me," Sam requested. "I don't want any fish cooties."

Instead of doing as requested, Dean dropped the bag in his lap. He waited until they were headed into the K-Mart before he pulled out the first taco.

"Just for your reference," Sam mentioned in a deadly casual voice. "You eat those things, you're not going to be kissing me anytime soon. Not without decontamination."

Dean took a bite, then held the taco out. "Did you want some?"

Sam looked at him, at the taco, then back at him, then turned on his heel and silently walked away. Dean watched him go, chuckling to himself. He kept eating his taco, and grabbed a shopping cart. He spotted Sam, head above the displays and other shoppers, and chuckled again as he took another bite of taco.

He caught up to Sam in toiletries. Sam didn't say anything to him, just added a large bottle of mouthwash to the cart. Dean reached past him and grabbed a couple of toothbrushes. One-handed, he added toothpaste to the pile. In-between, he kept eating his taco.

When he reached for the second taco, he grabbed the burger and held it out to Sam. Sam looked at him for a minute before taking it with a muttered, "Thanks."

"I've got extra tartar sauce," Dean told him as Sam took his first bite.

Sam paused but kept chewing. When he'd swallowed, he said, "I just want you to know I hate you."

Nodding seriously, Dean said, "Got it. Hate me. No tartar sauce." He continued walking down the aisle, reviewing the list in his head. Nothing else they needed here.

He left Sam to push the cart behind him, and turned the corner to the next aisle. He caught sight of a display hanging by the endcap, and grinned, grabbing the package on the top and tossing it towards the cart.

Sam picked the package up out of the cart to take a closer look at it. "Mutant turtles?" he asked, looking at his brother in disbelief. "How old are you, again?"

"That's for you," Dean pointed out. "What's the matter, Sammy? Don't you like turtles anymore?"

Again Sam fell back into silence, only giving Dean a disgusted look. He did, however, put the toy back into the cart.

"Did you want the Princess Jasmine one instead?" Dean held up one of the toys from the other side of the endcap display. Sam just pushed the cart away before Dean could drop the new toy in.

Dean followed him, not really minding that with Sam ahead of him, his brother couldn't get the full visual of Dean eating the fish tacos. Sam could hear the crunch of the taco shells, which was enough to remind him what Dean was doing.

They quickly finished with the bathroom stuff, and headed for the next section of the store. They needed -- well, everything. Dean glanced ahead and saw the towels and sheets and stuff. "Hey," he got Sam's attention as his brother headed that direction.

"What?" Sam asked, more than a bit wary around the eyes.

"We can get that crap at Goodwill." He nodded in the direction Sam had been walking.

"Yeah, but..." Sam hesitated, then continued softly, "I thought it might be nice to have new sheets and all for the bed. For... y'know."

"You know how much new sheets cost?" slipped out of Dean's mouth, before he could kick his brain into gear. Like he and their dad hadn't been saying shit like that for, well, eighteen years. But it wasn't like Sam didn't have a point. It would be kinda nice, for a change. "Sorry," he said, walking up beside Sam.

Sam nodded, silently accepting the apology. "We can get the rest of the stuff at Goodwill," he compromised. "Just one new set for special occasions."

"Yeah." He reached out and brushed his hand against Sam's wrist. "I guess it would be...nice. To have new stuff."

Sam gave him a small smile and started for the sheet aisle once more. Dean followed him, and when they turned down the aisle, Dean realised there were two problems with Sam's plan. The first was how the hell did anyone decide? Usually it was a matter of what was on the shelf at Goodwill that might reasonably fit and wasn't so garish that a person couldn't sleep.

The other problem was, how the hell did anyone decide?

Dean stared at the row of sheets, grouped by size and brand and thread count, whatever the hell that meant. He realised he was gaping when the taco in his hand began to drip sauce on the floor. Sam, on the other hand, didn't seem to be having any problem at all, going down the aisle and looking at the various labels, muttering to himself under his breath.

"Should I just close my eyes and pick one?" Dean asked, feeling a little overwhelmed. A second later he was feeling pissed off by the fact he was feeling overwhelmed by fucking sheets.

Then he looked closer and realised that some packages were full sets, and others were just fitted or flat, and how the hell did they expect anyone to know what the hell they were doing?

Sam pulled a package off the shelf and held it out to Dean. "These are the ones we want."

Dean took them, looking at the sheets, then his brother, suspicious and confused. "How do you know?" They were black, which was cool, but there seemed to be other black sheets on the shelves as well.

"They've got a high enough thread count to be good quality but not so high as to be insanely expensive," Sam told him, sounding for all the world like he knew what he was talking about. "And I thought black would... look nice."

His mouth was open to ask Sam what he was talking about when the image hit. Sam, naked, lying on the bed. Black sheets. Dean dropped the sheets into their cart.

Sam grinned at him. "Wait here. I just have to..."

Before Dean could say anything, Sam had disappeared around the end of the aisle.

Dean hoped Sam was running back to the lube aisle. He waited where he was, obediently, until Sam returned. Sam wasn't gone long, but the package he put into the cart when he came back was too big and flat to be lube.

Immediately suspicious, Dean reached down and picked the package back up. He felt his jaw drop to the floor when he saw the picture.

"You can't be serious," he forced out, eyes wide and sounding like someone had just handed him... well, exactly what Sam had gotten. "Dude, it's Batman." And it was -- a pillowcase, with a huge picture of Batman on both sides.

"Yeah, it is," Sam confirmed as if buying a Batman pillowcase was perfectly natural.

Dean stared at it for another moment, wondering if there was going to be a note on it saying it would only fit pillows for people age seven and under. "Sam, what are you.... Batman," he said again, because where had Sam found a Batman pillowcase and what on Earth had possessed him to get one, and -- it was Batman.

He had a Batman pillowcase.

"They had Wonder Woman too if you'd rather..." Sam began, reaching as if to take the pillowcase back.

Dean snatched his pillowcase away, before Sam could touch it, and scowled at Sam. "Mine." He knew he probably sounded like a stubborn seven year old, but -- he'd wanted Batman underoos, too, when he was little. Wanted the comforter, and the pajamas, and the battery-powered toothbrush.

He wasn't giving up his pillowcase now, just because Sam wanted to be a twit.

Sam grinned at him. "Yo