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[SPN fic - Ever the Same - Sam/Dean - NC-17]
Title: Ever The Same
Author: Lily, annabeth_fics
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Wincest
Fandom: SPN.
Genre: slash
Warnings: incest, language, UST for most of the fic. Angst.
Spoilers: Season 1: "Hell House." Season 2: "Everybody Loves a Clown," "Playthings," "Houses of the Holy," "Born Under a Bad Sign," and "Heart." Season 3: "Sin City."
Notes: all section beginnings are lyrics from the song "Ever the Same" by Rob Thomas, which is also the title. This song just struck me as the quintessential Wincest song. It reminds me so much of Sam and Dean... Approx. 3587 words (including the lyrics)


Ever the Same

We were brave like soldiers

"Dean! SHOTGUN!" shouted Sam at the top of his lungs, followed by the loud report of the shotgun as it blasted into the spirit menacing Sam. It was just another day at the office for the Winchester brothers, or it would have been, if the alleged spirit hadn't continued to charge Sam.

"The fuck! Rocksalt doesn't work on this guy?"

"I don't know, but--" Sam dodged out of the way of the axe swinging towards his head. "Maybe we better come up with Plan B!"

"There is no Plan B," Dean said, "except: RUN!" Dean spun on his heel and went for his shotgun again, even though he had to know it was useless. Sam wheeled away from the axe again and paused to stare incredulously at his brother.

"That's our plan? You gotta be kidding, right?"

"Not so much, Sammy," Dean said, firing again to no avail. "This ain't working quite as I'd hoped. Come on, time to beat a strategic retreat and come back when we know what we're dealing with." He ducked under the next blow of the axe as Sam swung the duffel bag over his shoulder and took off running. He heard the powerful footsteps behind him and paused to make sure it was Dean following, and not the spook. They hightailed their asses out of that house as fast as they could.

--

Dean entered the motel room to the sound of the shower running and grinned to himself. Perfect timing. He got out the little packet of itching powder and began sprinkling it into Sam's boxers, listening carefully to the shower to make sure he didn't get caught -- and trying not to think about what his brother might be doing in there.

"I'm back!" he called through the closed door.

"I'm almost done," Sam shouted back, "then you can have your turn."

The shower knobs squeaked and the falling water abruptly halted, followed by the door opening behind Dean. He shoved the packet of itching powder into his jeans' pocket and whirled around to come face-to-face with Sam's naked, gorgeous torso. He gulped and forced what he hoped was an innocent smile. Dean would have sworn his brother had been working out if he didn't know it was mostly the result of fighting demons and other evil supernatural monsters.

"I think it might be a tulpa," Sam said, and he must have continued, but Dean was so preoccupied with the sight of his brother in naught but a towel -- something that could have been a regular occurrence but wasn't; Sam was always so modest usually -- that later on, at the diner, Dean couldn't remember what they had already discussed.

He did notice a suspicious lack of squirming, however, which was unusual considering the amount of itching powder in his boxers.

"Er, Sam," Dean began, swirling his coffee around in the cup, "you don't notice anything about our laundry soap, do you?"

Sam's brow furrowed as he scanned his laptop. Absentmindedly he said, "No, why?" And then, after a moment, his face cleared and he glanced up at Dean over the open laptop. "Did you try to prank me again, Dean?" he asked.

"What, me? No, no of course not." Dean ducked his head and tried to hide behind his coffee cup. There could be only one reason Sam wasn't itching his balls off right now, and that must be because he wasn't wearing any underwear. Dean struggled to keep from imagining unbuttoning those three buttons and reaching inside and--

"Dean? You listening to me?" Sam said, closing the laptop. "I've got a plan."

Just let me hold you while you're falling apart

The fire was flickering in Sam's eyes when Dean finally got the courage to look over at his brother.

"Y'know, Sammy, we're going to get through this. It'll just take a little time but--"

"No offence, Dean, but I really don't need your consolation right now." Sam turned away from the burning pyre and swiped a hand across his eyes before walking back to the Impala. He opened the door and got in, staring through the windshield at the fire burning itself out, all that was left of their father's corpse. Dean turned away from the fire and studied his brother in the car, the tears on his cheeks visible even at a distance. There were a thousand emotions struggling to get out, and all Dean could think of was how much he wanted to feel those powerful arms close around him and hold him. He might not cry. He tried hard not to let those tears he felt inside fall. But he knew as well as he knew there were monsters in the dark that Sam would never let Dean hug him right now, just as much as he knew that he could never ask for a hug from Sam. It went so far beyond brotherly that Dean spent most of the time he thought of it pushing it out of his mind, usually not very successfully. He waited for the fire to burn down to embers, then doused them with holy water just as a precaution. He doubted his father would come back and haunt anyone, having known what he did in life, but it was not a chance Dean was willing to take. Glancing back at the car, he found that Sam's head had lolled back onto the seat and his mouth was slightly open as he slept.

The little "o" of those lips was almost irresistible for Dean, but he forced his body to behave and once again shoved those unwelcome urges into the back of his mind, compartmentalized into "do not disturb."

Walking back to the Impala gave Dean some time to compose himself, and by the time he opened his door and inadvertently woke Sam his eyes were dry and his breathing steady.

There was really no need for his Sam to know he'd been crying, or why, if it came down to that. He started the car and drove them back to the motel.

Just let me hold you so we both fall down

Another night, another crappy motel, and Dean was lying on the single bed staring up at the ceiling, trying not to think about his brother sleeping in the bed a foot away. It was an impossible task. Sam rarely slept anymore due to his nightmares, but eventually exhaustion wore him down and he collapsed, and now was one of those times. It didn't seem to matter though, to Dean, because whatever Sam did nowadays was an unbearable turn on. Sure, he pushed Sam at girls, and yeah, he chased a lot of skirts himself, but always in the dark the secrets crept out of their hiding places in his mind and begged him to come play. There was no sweeter succubus than those soft words in his brain; the sound of his brother as he breathed, the way the moonlight fell through the curtains and caressed that cheek in a way that Dean could only dream about.

Sam's breathing hitched a little and Dean tensed, waiting for the telltale sounds of a nightmare, and the excuse to crawl out of bed and touch Sam's muscled shoulder and try to shake him out of whatever horrific vision he was experiencing. Dean took every available opportunity to touch Sam, and while there were plenty, there just weren't enough to satisfy him. He wanted to reach out and clasp hands with Sam's hand hanging over the side of the bed; he wanted to climb onto that bed and press his lips to his brother's slightly open mouth and slip his tongue inside. Oh he wanted. He ached with it.

Sam's breathing turned deep and regular again however, and Dean sighed into the darkness. Another chance lost. Another opportunity not realised. Almost before he could stop himself he was reaching under the covers, reaching for his cock and then--

"Dean?" Sam's voice, husky with sleep, drifted over to him in the darkness. "You really shouldn't let me sleep," he said, and Dean could hear all the rustling and shifting that came with his brother turning onto his side to face him. Even though Dean knew all the moonlight was on his brother's bed and there was no way Sam could see -- or guess -- where his hand had been wandering -- or why -- Dean still went completely still.

"Sammy, you need to sleep sometime," he said, the huskiness in his own voice belying his feelings. No way for Sam to know why that was, though.

"Dean," he said again, only now his voice was even lower, darker. "Come here."

There was no way in hell Dean was going to give into that request, no matter how heartfelt. He mimicked sleep instead, breathing deeply with a little bit of a wheeze that he knew about because Sam complained often enough about the noise when Dean slept and Sam struggled to keep himself awake.

"DEAN." Sam said a little louder, but Dean rolled away from that persuasive voice and the slight sexy rasp. He didn't know if Sam did that on purpose and he didn't care. Some things were never meant to happen.

Tell me everything you want me to be

It was just another night on the road, no different than any other. Except that Sam couldn't sleep -- well, that wasn't news. Not precisely. But sitting cross legged on his bed watching Dean sleep -- that was relatively new. Dean had been giving him looks lately. The type of looks he usually gave the next girl he wanted to fuck. And Sam couldn't explain why it didn't bother him. He couldn't explain why it intrigued him far more than it should have. Longing looks between them were nothing new. They'd spent the last year and a half in a car together, and when they weren't driving, they were sleeping in the same room. This was a stately old, likely haunted, hotel, and as such was quite a bit nicer than most of the places they spent their time. And Sam was drunk. Still. Dean had put him to bed hours ago, and there had been a moment there where Sam was drunk enough to cup those cheeks in his hands and reach up for those perfect bow lips. He still couldn't explain where the urge had come from. He had gotten so good at hiding his true feelings that a sudden out-of-the-blue kiss would have blown his cover entirely. Make Dean think he had lost his mind as well as being drunk as a fucking dog. He cradled his head in his hands and watched Dean sleep. He'd lain awake for hours, waiting for Dean to pack it in.

He had felt Dean's eyes on his back, and if he hadn't known better, he would have said he'd felt those eyes on his ass, too. So he didn't feel guilty about staring back. He didn't feel guilty about imagining his brother's hands gripping his hips as they thrust against each other, or the glazed look in his eyes he'd get just before he came. Because he would, wouldn't he?

"Dean," he whispered. He didn't really want Dean to hear him, but he was too drunk to keep his mouth shut. "I want you, Dean. Like, I really want you. I enjoyed your hands on me. I--" But the words wouldn't come. Sam's stomach suddenly shifted in a way he knew and it didn't bode well. He flopped back onto the bed, jeans constricting him despite the lack of underwear. Or maybe because of. He wasn't really sure. Hell, he wasn't sure of anything anymore, and he tried to make sense of his muddled thoughts...

I'll be there for you and you'll be there for me

"How was your day?" wasn't an unusual beginning to a conversation between the Winchester brothers, and it wasn't strange hearing Dean ask about angels and demons and Gregory. But sitting on that hotel bed, staring into green eyes so much like his own, Sam wished he'd never asked. Because he wanted, needed to be saved. And maybe it wasn't just his destiny anymore. Maybe now it was something bigger; or maybe this was what the demon meant. Maybe Sam would change a little bit at a time into someone unrecognisable. Someone who lusted after his brother in secret and believed in angels because it was the only thing keeping him sane. And just maybe Dean had known the truth all along, had been right that there were no angels, no such thing as a higher power. Maybe Dean was the only thing that could save Sam.

And maybe Dean was the one thing that was going to damn him forever.

"Maybe...God's will." Dean said, though, and Sam looked harder at those eyes. His brother wasn't lying. His brother truly believed what he was saying, or he wouldn't have even considered it. And suddenly Sam knew why they were perfect for each other. It wasn't just the demon-hunting or the hours spent in each other's company. It was because Dean would die protecting his little brother, and because Sam would die a thousand deaths if that ever happened.

There was no primetime hug or chick-flick style conversation to follow. Just two brothers packing up their things and getting ready to move on. But maybe, just maybe, this time it was enough.

Man, this doesn't need to be the end

Waking up covered in blood wasn't really Sam's idea of a good time. Discovering that he had no idea where he was, and no idea where Dean was either, was a lot less exciting than it sounded.

In the end it didn't matter, because the previous week was a mystery and the following couple days was like a rollercoaster ride that wouldn't end. Sam could see himself walking and talking, he could see Dean -- and for once the lust he felt seemed entirely normal -- he could feel the rage building and building.

"You've gotta kill me, Dean!" Sam jumped up from the bed, watching himself move like he was watching a movie.

"I can't. I'd rather die."

After that everything's a blur. Somehow he knows that he knocked his brother out with the butt of the gun. And he sees Jo like she's right in front of him, but he can't control himself. He knocks her unconscious, too. In fact, he brutalises her emotionally and he enjoys every minute of it. In fact he enjoys kissing his brother when Dean's sleeping, too, although he can't be sure if that really happened. He can't be sure when he turned so evil that beating the shit out of Dean is something he enjoys, but feeling the welcome burn in his fist is something that--

"Did I miss anything?" Sam shook his head and felt his arm burning fiercely. He can only remember snatches, but he's not surprised when Dean punches him hard in the jaw. He doesn't blame his brother, either; the blood and bruises on his face are his own fault, and he can only wonder when and why he got so vulnerable to demonic possession.

You may need me there
To carry all your weight

"Sammy, I got this one, I'll do it."

"No, she asked me to."

"You don't have to," Dean said.

"Yes, I do."

There wasn't much Dean could say to that, but watching the tears streaking down Sam's cheeks, he could feel his own heart breaking. Somewhere along the line the love he felt for his brother had turned to lust, and then back to a much deeper love underscored by that same lust. It hurt that Sam had made love to someone else, but it hurt much more that his baby brother was suffering. There was nothing he could do. Sam was set on his course, and Dean couldn't find it in himself to feel shy about the tear that escaped just before the gunshot.

It felt like the most natural thing in the world to put an arm around Sam's shoulders as they left the apartment. And maybe it was, in a brotherly way. But Dean knew it wasn't. Dean knew that the feelings he had for his brother had long ago gone beyond brotherly and he could no longer bring himself to care. He'd caught the glances Sam gave him. He could read people, he wasn't stupid, he could guess what Sam was thinking. So maybe it wasn't so natural to tuck his brother into the bed in the room at the next motel they stopped at for the night. Maybe it wasn't normal to climb into bed with his brother and wrap his arms around that broad chest and rest his head on that shoulder. But Sam didn't stop him. Sam didn't stop him, either, when Dean pressed a feathery light kiss on that cheek and fell asleep holding his younger brother.

There are some things that even an older brother can't protect his younger sibling from. Dean could hold his own against some pretty nasty monsters, but not the one that Sam faced now: heartbreak. It was very late at night when Dean awoke to Sam nuzzling his face into his shoulder. From his breathing he could tell that Sam was deeply asleep, but the erection Sam was pressing against his thigh wasn't something Dean could ignore, and he became aware of his own erection, and he wanted to do nothing more than reach out under the covers and stroke his brother 'till he came. But Dean knew better. Sam might be dreaming of Madison for all he knew. Sam might not even want Dean in the way that Dean so obviously wanted him, no matter what those looks spoke to.

It broke Dean's heart all over again to climb into his own bed and watch the forlorn expression on Sam's face as he slept. The tears that dampened his pillow, the hair that was wet with sweat. Dean had no idea what it was like to love someone like Sam had loved Jessica and then lose them. He had even less idea what it was like to start falling in love again only to have to kill her himself. But Dean knew one thing for certain. He was never going to leave his brother if he had a choice in the matter. They had been there for each other for thousands of miles. They could weather this storm, too -- and they would. Together.

But you're no burden I assure

Miles to go before they could sleep, Sam thought, resting his head against the seat. It had been long enough since Madison that he could smile without feeling like his face would crack, but deep down he knew that the pain he felt was a drop in the bucket compared to Jessica. And he knew why. He'd been crushing on Dean for so long that making love to Madison had felt like a diversion, an attempt to shake off the feelings that plagued him every time he looked at Dean. And while he had been falling in love with her in a way, he knew that he could never love anyone the way that he loved Dean, which was why he did what he did next.

He couldn't explain it to his brother, and the comical expression in his face was priceless. But he didn't move his hand an inch. He let it rest in his brother's lap, on the inside of his thigh, with his pinky finger pressing lightly against his brother's cock. And he smiled. This no longer felt like evil inside fighting to get out. Now it felt like coming home after working in an office and finding dinner already made and the bedspread pulled back.

So the smile they shared when they dropped their things in their next motel room was about equally as bright. Mirrors on the ceiling and magic fingers to the beds -- what more could they possibly ask for?

But I can only give you love

"Sam?" Dean asked, rolling onto his back and studying himself in the mirror. His brother twisted onto his side and rested his palm open on Dean's chest.

"What's up?"

"You sure this is all right?"

"Are ghosts real?" Sam replied, and grinned. This was a stop he could get used to. "I'm positive, Dean."

"Then what the hell am I waiting for?" Dean said, and then their lips were together, their eyes meeting in the mirror. Dean had kissed a lot of girls, and Sam had kissed his fair share, but neither brother had ever been as aroused as they were now. These kisses were the best kind of kisses: forbidden, wet, and powerfully erotic. Sam's eyes closed unwillingly, because much as he wanted to watch them kissing in the mirrored ceiling, tasting Dean's mouth kept him from being able to concentrate on anything else. And when Dean's hand slipped inside his jeans and found only his cock, Sam couldn't help the grin that spread over his face, interrupting the kiss.

"That would be why the itching powder didn't have any effect, Dean," he said with a laugh. Dean's only response was to kiss the laughter away into arousal.

end.