delanach_dw: (Sam Mystery Spot Hug)
[personal profile] delanach_dw
Title: When Everything's Made To Be Broken Part Three
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: NC-17
Beta: [ profile] seleneheart
Word Count: 4898
Disclaimer: Sadly, they aren't mine, I'm just playing with them for a while.
Warnings: Wincest, spoilers up to Season 3 episode 11, Mystery Spot
Notes: Set Between Mystery Spot and Jus in Bello. When Dean sees how Sam has been touched by the events in Mystery Spot, he insists that they take a week away from hunting and take a break, only it's not where Sam assumes they are going. This is the third in a set of fics which cover that week. I know, it's been a long time coming!

Chapter Summary: They get to their destination, which isn't where Sam expected. Dean continues to help Sam adjust, and things are said that needed to be said.

Previous Parts
1 - When Everything's Made To Be Broken
2 - I'd Give Up Forever To Touch You



They drove all through the day. The light was fading from the sky as the Impala pulled up outside a cabin that was more used to the latest RVs, and even the occasional Hummer, with kids piled in the back and maybe a dog or two. This time it got Dean and Sam, and a muscle car with a trunk full of weapons and salt.

Uncharacteristically, Sam had spent most of the trip dozing. As the car slowed to a halt he was still curled up, eyes closed, brow furrowed. Dean was reminded of when they first hit the road together after Jess had been killed. Sometimes the only sleep Sam had gotten was when they were driving, just like when he'd been little and the sound and motion of the car soothed him. Dean gently shook Sam’s shoulder to wake him up. As an afterthought, he kissed him, just because he could. Sam’s eyes opened sleepily and looked out of the windows, clearly confused by the tall trees and large cabin with a view past it to a lake.

“I hate to tell you Dean, but this isn’t the Grand Canyon.”

Dean pointed smugly to the neatly painted wooden sign by the cabin door that plainly said "Grand Canyon Cabin". Sam snorted and grinned. He scrubbed at his eyes, getting out of the car and stretching.

"How'd you find this place?"

"Internet. Looked more hospitable than a hole in the ground." Dean smirked, looking around.

The key was where Lori said it would be, under one of the planters on the porch. Dean opened the heavy wooden door to let them in to what would be their home for the next week. He gazed around, awed by the sheer niceness of the place. The first thing that struck him was the clean smell, all warm wood with a hint of pine freshness. The wooden floors were polished, the sofas oversized, their cushions still fat and plump and inviting and there was a large plasma screen on the wall. Dean had never lived anywhere near as nice. The closest he'd come to it was the odd night squatting somewhere, but the cabin had furniture, which was always a bonus, and a lot more besides.

Sam took his jacket off and hung it on the hook behind the door. Behind him, Dean dropped his jacket in a heap on the large sofa. When Sam turned and saw it lying there, he resisted the urge to grab it and hang it up neatly for all of a minute. Giving in, he hung it beside his and ran his hands guiltily down the smooth familiar leather, still warm from the heat of Dean's body. Months of automatically making sure everything was organized and in its right place were hard to shift. Being back in the middle of Dean’s brand of chaos was like coming home after a long absence, or waking up from a bad dream, but it hadn’t been a dream. He’d lived for long months without it and now he was having trouble being back in real life with those long months erased, but with stark, lonely memories rolling round his head.

So for Sam, the inappropriately named cabin was perfect. Everything was neat and tidy, like he'd kept things when he was on his own, and Dean was with him helping him stay in the present. Maybe this was a good idea after all, Sam thought, a chance to mesh together his two realities into something he could live with.

Dean checked out the spotless and shiny kitchen, hunting through the cupboards and fridge to see exactly what came in the welcome package. He found bread and milk and coffee, some eggs and a good deli selection of cheese and meats. It would do until they could pick up supplies in the morning.

As he turned round, Dean noticed Sam hanging up his jacket and his brow furrowed. Since when had Sam started tidying up after him? Dean gritted his teeth. Since Florida. He'd developed a hatred of the state since the day before and vowed never to go back there, no matter what supernatural threat reared its fugly head.

He watched as Sam picked up their bags and put them neatly by the end of the short hallway leading, Dean assumed, to the bedrooms. Then Sam wandered towards the big window that looked out over a deck and down towards the lake through the trees. His fists began to clench and unclench again as he got lost inside himself and this was exactly why Dean thought Sam was in danger. When he got caught up with his own thoughts like that, there was no telling what could go wrong if he couldn't pull out of them quick enough.

Dean's experience with other lives was very different to Sam's, but it gave him an idea of what he was going through. After his experience with the Djinn, it had taken him a while to shift the unsettling feeling that he was in the wrong place living the wrong life, even though this life, the one where he and Sam fought together, was the one he wanted. His own experiences hadn't been real, even though it had felt so very real, but Sam's ...

Dean shook his head and decided a distraction was in order.

"Dude! Look at the size of that screen! Maybe they get the porn channel?"

Dean grinned and Sam turned round to look at him, his fingers relaxing as he managed a small smile. Dean took that as a minor victory, and he aimed for another. He walked past Sam towards the other rooms in the cabin, squeezing Sam's shoulder on the way, leaving Sam alone for a few minutes while he investigated the master bedroom.

His eyes widened in pleasant surprise at the bathroom, which held a large tub and came complete with a steam shower big enough for two. There was a row of little bottles on the counter which turned out, on investigation, to smell mostly like apples and raspberries.

Back in the bedroom, Dean was admiring the king sized, Sam-sized, bed which was covered with a soft quilt and littered with pillows and cushions. He was about to throw himself on it, to test out the mattress, when Sam walked in. His eyes were intense and snapped to Dean as soon as he saw him. Dean got that prickling sensation down his back again, goosebumps rising under Sam's predatory gaze.

Sam surged forward, pushing Dean back as he kissed him hard, one of those bruising kisses that Dean was already addicted to. But his actions were edged with desperation, and the haunted look in his eyes was back. While Dean had no objections to being mauled by Sam, he wanted that look gone sooner rather than later. Lust, passion, all consuming need, Dean could deal with, but not that utter desperation. It was a huge kick to be the focus of Sam's intense desire. Dean wasn't a small man and prided himself on his strength, so being physically overwhelmed was something that was new to him. He'd been surprised that with Sam, he liked it, but right now he knew he needed to take control of this and give Sam what he needed at the same time.

Sam may have had the advantage over him with both height and weight, but Dean knew a few tricks. With Sam coming apart, it was easy enough to slip a leg between his. With a well timed move of his own, he pushed Sam back to land in a sprawl on the bed.

“Easy, tiger. This time we do it my way.” Dean pressed Sam down and kissed him roughly, not wanting to completely deny Sam the urgency thrumming through his veins, and reached down to open his jeans. He growled softly into Sam’s mouth as he took Sam’s straining cock in hand, thumb grazing over the head, smearing the moisture that was leaking from it along the length.

“Dean!” Sam gasped, biting down on Dean’s bottom lip. Dean groaned and rubbed his own hardness against Sam’s thigh.

“Want to taste you, Sammy.” Dean moved lower, keeping his hand on Sam’s cock as he nuzzled his way down the broad chest, mauling a nipple through Sam’s tee as he went, leaving a wet spot. “Want you to come in my mouth, swallow you down ...”

Dean pressed his face against Sam's stomach, the searing heat barely contained by smooth tanned skin. Sam whimpered, his hands clawing at Dean's hair, hips bucking up, almost demanding more. Dean mouthed the head of his cock and Sam cried out sharply. Dean sucked him down, running his tongue over the hard flesh wrapped in silk, learning the contours, drinking in Sam's musky scent as he took him deeper. Dean hummed around the shaft, pulling off until just the head was still in his mouth. He rolled his tongue around it, over it, teasing more moisture from the very tip. Sam's hands dug painfully into his hair, but Dean kept going, swallowing him again, pushing a hand inside Sam's underwear to cup his balls and roll them in his hand. Sam thrust between his lips, and Dean took it, relaxed his throat and let Sam fuck his mouth. Sam's rhythm didn't last, it wasn't the best position to do what he clearly needed to do, so Dean shifted, and held his hips still as he worked him hard and fast until Sam was shooting down his throat, shuddering and groaning.

Dean pulled off, making sure every drop of come was cleaned up with his tongue, and he slid back up Sam's body. He kissed him, shivering as Sam lapped at his lips, pushed his tongue deeper, seeking out the taste of himself in Dean's mouth.

Now the edge was taken off, for Sam at least, and his brother lay sated on the bed, Dean could finally take his time. The worn cotton of Sam's shirt was soft in his hands as he pushed it off his shoulders and then tugged his t-shirt off too. He ignored his already open jeans in favor of bending his head and lapping at Sam's nipples, getting them hard and causing goose bumps to shiver their way over the rest of Sam's chest.

When Dean raised his head, Sam was propped up on a pillow, watching him and with a ragged breath he reached down and pulled Dean up so he could kiss him, kisses laced with that hungry, ever present need. Behind the need, Dean saw, there was a deep trust in Sam’s eyes as this time he gave himself up to Dean, a trust Dean knew that he hadn’t always returned. Not since Sam had come back from wherever he’d been after Jake killed him.

Dean brushed his lips across his brothers as his fingers traced the open waistband of Sam’s low slung jeans, dipping further to graze over his hips. He could feel the small sounds Sam was making, warm against his mouth and Dean breathed them in, licking at Sam’s lips, coaxing his tongue to tangle with Dean’s. Still sated, Sam's kisses were languid, unhurried. He let Dean slip out of his grasp as Dean finished undressing him.

Dean stared down at Sam as he got rid of his own clothes with a little more urgency. Sam was perfect. Ripped muscle under smooth soft skin. The California tan had long faded, but Sam was still golden compared to Dean's own pale skin scattered with unwanted freckles.

Dean knelt on the bed and traced his fingers over Sam’s arm, lingering over a scar. He'd sewn up the wound that had left it behind himself. He moved onto a nick on Sam’s shoulder. Sam’s body was a roadmap of their life. Some were new enough to stand out pale against his skin, many were faded now and there were a few that had gone completely, but Dean knew where they had been and traced them anyway.

Sam reached for him, pulling him closer, and Dean straddled his chest. Sam's hand curled around Dean’s hip and the other one reached round and cupped his ass. Dean ran his fingers over Sam's mouth, loving the feel of Sam’s hands, those big hands of his, on his skin.

Sam let go of Dean's hip and curled his fingers around the shaft of Dean's dick. Dean bent forward, bracing himself on the headboard, to give Sam better access, and he watched with dark, lust glazed eyes as Sam rubbed the tip across his lips. They glistened with the slickness that leaked from the slit, and Sam parted them and mouthed the head. Heat pooled low in Dean's belly and his head hung low, unable to take his eyes off the sight of his brother slowly sucking him down. Warm heat surrounded his aching cock, and he shifted to give Sam a better angle to work with. Sam's hand tightened on his ass, fingers digging into the crease and grazing his hole and Dean couldn't help the needy sound that escaped.

Dean looked down and saw Sam looking up at him, and Dean reached down, taking hold of his cock, slippy with spit and letting go of the headboard so he could sit back.

Dean fisted his hand into Sam’s hair and eased him back until the head of Dean’s cock slipped from his lips and Sam whimpered at the loss. Dean took a hold of his cock, still holding Sam where he was, and pulled on it, so close he shuddered with the effort of holding back for just a little while longer. Sam's hand still cradled his ass cheek and his fingers explored more as Dean's new position spread him wider. Sam looked up at him, lips glistening and puffy from being wrapped around Dean’s erection, his eyes dark, pupils wide.

“Please Dean ... come on my face, mark me ...”

That was all it took. Dean's cock pulsed and jerked in his hand as he left heavy white splatters of come on Sam's cheeks, across his mouth. Sam licked at the corners of his mouth as Dean collapsed on the bed beside him, getting his breath back before pulling Sam close and helping him with the clean up job.

This time, Sam curled up in Dean's arms after they'd burrowed under the quilt. Dean held him close, kissed the top of his head. He relaxed as Sam fell asleep, snuffling against him every now and then. Dean looked out of the window. There was no need for curtains, there was an uninterrupted view down over the lake, and the reflection of a half moon glinted on the water. Sam mumbled something unintelligible against Dean's neck and Dean stroked his shoulder.

With this new thing between them, he didn't know who was in control and didn't care. It didn't matter. He wanted to push Sam past every limit he'd ever dreamed of, and would gladly give Sam everything, anything he wanted. Now, even more than before, he wanted to keep Sam safe. What they were doing was ripping him open and making him face things he'd pushed away until now. He didn't want to be apart from Sam again, ever. He didn't want to hunt for fear of having Sam taken away from him, and that made him feel like the world's biggest hypocrite because in a few short months, unless they stumbled across some kind of miracle, he'd be the one leaving Sam.


Someone once told him, “I guess if you’re going to have faith, you can’t just have it when the miracles happen, you have to have it when they don’t.”

Dean's faith in his Dad and even his faith in Sam, had been sorely tested over the last two years, but he had faith that all they did they did for a reason and an unerring faith that they were doing the right thing. There hadn't been many miracles along the way, but he’d seen the odd one. Not the fluffy angels and twanging harps kind. The twisted, dirty kind that left him with a brother back from the dead and the taste of ashes in his mouth. And that wasn't the kind of miracle he wanted for Sam.

Dean knew better than to ask for a miracle for himself. He’d walked into the deal he’d made with his eyes open even if he did have a broken heart and no other options. But for Sam? He asked for a miracle every day. It wasn't praying because Dean wasn't sure who he'd be praying to, it was more like a general shout out to the universe to give his kid brother a break because hadn't he been through enough already?

He held Sam through the night, only sleeping when the first hint of a sunrise turned the lake to blood.


Dean woke slowly the next morning, stretching and reaching out for Sam, confused that his brother wasn’t curled around him in some way, and he shot upright, blinking sleep from his eyes.


He blinked again when he saw Sam sitting cross-legged on the end of the bed, watching him. There was no trace of sleepiness on Sam’s face so Dean reckoned he’d been awake for a while and that’s when he noticed Sam’s hands, resting in his lap, clenching and unclenching as he studied Dean.

Dean’s brow furrowed and he reached out for Sam, but Sam stopped him with a word.


Dean snatched his hand back as if he’d been stung. Fear welled in his chest, fear that Sam had changed his mind about this, about them. If he had, Dean didn’t know how they would get back to where they’d been before Broward County.

“Sammy? You okay?”

Sam shook his head and looked away from Dean and down at the bed, his face so miserable that it took all Dean had not to grab him and hold him.

“Part of me hates you.”

Dean sat frozen in place by the softly spoken words and huffed out a breath as Sam went on.

“I know I should be grateful. You traded your life for mine, made the ultimate sacrifice. For me. But I don’t want it, I don’t want your sacrifice, Dean. If I could get the Trickster to turn back time, really turn back time to the night I died, I’d do it.”

“Sammy, no!” Dean looked around almost fearfully, as if Sam’s words would act as an incantation and summon the Trickster right into the bedroom.

“It’s not fair!” Sam spat.

“Sam, you get to live ...”

“But you die, Dean!” Sam’s anger faded and his next words were quietly accusing. “You’ve been dying ever since you made the deal, and I get to watch. You're selfish, you know that? You didn't want to be alone, I get that, but now I get to be alone and I get to watch you die first. For a whole year, I get to watch you die." Sam glanced up and Dean was knocked breathless by the pain he saw in his brother's eyes.

"I wanted you back, Sammy, couldn't let you die, not because I screwed up the only important job I ever had. All my life I looked out for you and then ..." Dean faltered, slung back into the mire of memories surrounding Sam's death. Catching him before he hit the ground. Holding him as the life seeped out of him into the mud. Screaming his name as if that would bring him back. Burying his face in Sam's already dead but still warm neck.

He flung himself out of bed, pulling his jeans on.

"I couldn't let you go! You're the only good thing in my life, Sammy, the only thing I ever did right was raising you and you lay dead on that bed and I needed you to wake up, needed you to be alive."

Dean pulled his t-shirt on and sank down into the chair by the window.

"I thought she'd give me ten years, like she gave everyone else. Ten years would have been enough, but she didn't and I couldn't walk away, I couldn't." Dean looked back at Sam sitting unmoving on the bed. "So yeah, I took the deal and everything it came with because I wanted you to live, maybe someday get out of this life again and follow your dreams."

Dean slipped his feet into his boots and laced them up. He needed to get away, away from the niceness of the house and from Sam's accusing stare, needed air, needed to run. But he paused at the door, not looking back this time.

"I don't want to die. I don't want to go to hell, Sammy, but I don't regret it."

Before he could move, Sam asked him a question, voice small and quiet in the stillness of early morning.

"Would you do it again? Knowing what you know now?"

"Yes." He didn't need to think his answer over. It was a question he'd asked himself a million times since that night and he always came back to the same answer. "In a heartbeat. And if that makes me a selfish bastard, I’m fine with it."

Then he was moving, stomping through the house towards the door, grabbing his jacket from the neat hook it hung on, and heading down towards the lakeshore. He kicked at the small stones littering the shoreline, sending them skittering into the water.

He knew Sam had every right to be hurting. Dean knew exactly what it felt like to know someone made a deal for your life, but he couldn't imagine what it would have been like knowing about it for a year before it happened. He would have torn the world apart looking for answers, looking for a way to save John, and he knew fine well that despite his own reluctance for a lot of that year to think about a way out, Sam had been looking for one anyway.

Dean sat down on a large rock perched between the water and the tree line. It was almost ten minutes before he heard the crunch of Sam's feet in the pebbles behind him, which he took as a victory over Sam's obsessive need to keep Dean in his sights. Sam didn't say anything, he just stood and stared out over the lake.

Dean watched him, saw the sad hunch of his shoulders and wished that they could have lived different lives. He’s even take them not being close over Sam hurting so much over something Dean knew was inevitable. If he'd died in the hospital after the crash, maybe none of this would have happened.

"You don't need me, Sam, not like you did when you were a kid. You left to go to college without thinking about it twice, you left me. Walked out the door and didn't even bother to call once in a while to let me know you were still alive. Had to make sure of that myself. Dad wasn't the only one lurking around campus." Dean's voice wasn't bitter, simply resigned.

"I asked you to go with me." Sam replied without looking round.

"But you knew I couldn't. Couldn't leave Dad. It tore me in two, choosing between you, but you were headed into a new life, and Dad ... Dad was always reckless on his own. I thought if I stayed I could stop him from doing something stupid. Guess I was wrong."

Dean looked out over the lake, listened to the water lap at the pebbles on the shoreline.

"In Chicago you told me that once we found Dad, you were gone. Again. Just like that." Dean shook his head. "You don't need me, Sammy, not anymore."

Sam's mouth twisted as he tried to curb the tears that prickled behind his eyes.

"So what? You think I don't need you so it's okay for you to decide to give yourself up for me? To die in my place?" Sam picked up a stone and hurled it out over the water. It skimmed and danced before disappearing with a splash. "I need you so much it hurts, and I'm not talking about the sex. The only one who's always been there for me was you. I never knew Mom, and every time I made a friend we'd leave town. Jess and Dad? Both gone, but I knew, I always knew, that you'd be there, even if we didn't talk on the phone.

Do you know how many times I almost called? When I was homesick that first year, homesick for you, I almost caved so many times and you know what stopped me? You. Even though you were pissed at me, I knew you were proud of me. When you dropped me off at the bus station, you told me that you knew I could do it, and that's what kept me from calling. I needed to succeed, not just for me, but for you too, to show you that you were right to have faith in me."

Another stone, again thrown with force.

"You're all I've got left, and now you're leaving me too. I don't want to watch you die again, don't want to live without you again."

Dean slipped off the rock and took the couple of paces necessary to close the distance between them. He laced the fingers of one hand with Sam's. Sam squeezed them tight, the only outward sign that he knew Dean was standing beside him.

"I'm sorry you're hurting." Dean whispered, and Sam's fingers spasmed around his. Some things needed to be said no matter how much they hurt. Needed to be said now, not left until it was too late. "I knew what it was like, knowing dad made the deal for me, I knew, but I wasn't thinking of that. You were lying there, cold and dead and I couldn't ... couldn't live with you gone." His thumb moved in little circles on Sam's hand. "I know how much you're hurting, I know. So you can hate me all you like, but don't ask me to be sorry for bringing you back, Sammy, because I'm not."

Sam nodded, the tears finally loosed and rolling down his cheeks.

"I don't hate you, I just wish ... I wish things could be different, you know? But I can't just let it happen. I have to try to save you, I have to."

"Yeah, I know." Dean's voice was thick with emotion, but he turned around and smiled at Sam, squeezing his hand. "You want breakfast? You hardly ate anything yesterday. I could go with eggs and good strong coffee to chase it down."

"Yeah, breakfast sounds good." Sam's voice was still rough, but he was ready to eat, glad that he'd got to say what he needed to say. He nodded and Dean led the way back to the house, never letting go of his hand.

"After breakfast I'm gonna take a drive into the town about ten miles back the way we came, pick up some supplies. Wanna come?"

"Yeah, sure."

"We need tequila and a bunch of limes. There's salt in the cupboard."

"That's your grocery list?"

"Yeah." Dean shrugged. "Could pick up pizza too."

Sam rolled his eyes.

"You brought us out here, to a place with a more than decent kitchen, and you want to live on takeout?"

"Well ..."

"We need a proper list with real food on it. Plenty of fruit for a start. Sometimes I wonder why you haven't got scurvy."

"That's what the limes are for." Dean grinned, and Sam's hand slipped from his as Sam jostled his shoulder.

"We need eggs and flour and milk for waffles. I saw a waffle maker on the counter in the kitchen."

"Quite the little home maker, there, Sammy!" Dean smirked and danced out of the way of a well aimed cuff to the head.

"No, Dean, just being practical."

Sam continued making a verbal list of what they'd need as they approached the cabin, and Dean smiled softly. He'd had no intention of living off take out for the next week, but it had been a distraction, a way to get Sam focused, even just for a little while, on something other than the train wreck their lives had become.

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