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The bunker was quiet when Sam got back, two fast-food bags in one arm and the other one free, just in case. But from the sound of things, it was all quiet. Cas had settled into a backroom and Dean was probably fast asleep.
Sam let his eyes drift closed for a second, willing back the surge of tiredness and hurt that threatened to well up inside of him. He knew that Dean wasn't responsible for his recent actions- well not completely responsible anyways- but he couldn’t shake some of those words that still rung in his ears.
Maybe it’s the fact that if it weren’t for you, my mother would still be alive.
Sam didn’t let himself go there. He couldn’t make Dean unsay those words, and maybe he couldn’t even fully cure Dean of the Mark, but the one thing he could do right now was deliver the bag of greasy food to his brother and make sure he ate it.
Sam headed towards Dean’s room, expecting him to be asleep. So when his ears picked up the sound of running water coming from Dean’s bathroom he went to knock and tell Dean his food had arrived.
“Dean, food’s here.” There was no answer.
Sam knocked louder on the bathroom door. He could tell it was the faucet and not the shower running.
“Dean c’mon, eat something.”
Still nothing.
Sam could hear muttering from inside, over the sound of the water. Brow furrowing, Sam grasped the handle and shoved, but the door wasn’t locked and opened inward.
Dean was standing over the sink, scrubbing at the arm that bore the Mark. Bottles of rubbing alcohol, toothpaste, bathroom cleaner and Windex were clustered on the sink. He’d rubbed the patch of skin raw, and Sam could see in the mirror reflection that Dean’s eyes were red and leaking tears.
“Dean, what the hell are you doing?” Sam rushed, one stride taking him over to his brother hunched at the sink.
Dean looked up like he hadn’t heard Sam knocking from outside the door, and promptly tried to hide what he had been doing to his arm.
“Sam, I'm just--just--” Dean returned to the Mark, and Sam could see that he’d even used his own toothbrush to scrub away at the skin. Dean’s mouth was tight.
Sam could feel anger roiling in his stomach. He felt thirteen years old again and watching Dean stumble home, drunk because he had fought with Dad and covering up the hurt with cheap alcohol. Dammit, he had always looked up to Dean, wanted so desperately to be like him, but his brother had been crumbling for so many years now and Sam felt powerless to help him. He remembered Dean cooking his dinner, buying him cold medicine, helping him study, everything that a parent should have done; but he also remembered the sneer on Demon Dean's face and the way Dean had let Gadreel posses him. But the Dean in front of him was clinging to the sink, desperately trying to rub his own skin off and get rid of the Mark that had controlled him for so long.
Sam reached out slowly to take hold of Dean’s arms. Dean was rubbing bathroom cleaner into the patch now, blinking from the fumes of the chemical. When he felt Sam’s hands though, he jerked back violently.
“Don’t, Sam, don’t touch me please,” Dean’s voice broke and he shuffled backwards so that his back was against the shower door. “I’m not clean, not while I’ve still got this-” he gestured to the Mark. “I thought- thought if I could just get it off then I’d be ok but it won’t come off- and y'don't deserve to be touched by something this evil, Sammy-”
It had been so long since they had touched each other, first the trials then the Mark coming between them, and now Dean was forbidding Sam's touch again. He could only watch as his brother came apart, his shoulders hunched and his hand rubbing the raw patch on his arm he’d given himself. Dean was trying so hard not to give in to the horror inside him, of what he’d done and of how he’d felt and Sam could feel the desperation emanating from him.
Sam’s own throat was still choked with every word Demon Dean had said to him, his mind fogged up with every sneer, but he shoved it back and walked the three steps to his brother and caught Dean’s wrists.
There were so many big things Sam could have said. He could have talked about forgiveness or the future or family, but he didn’t want to right then.
“C’mon, I’ll patch that up.” he said quietly, pulling Dean over to the sink again. Sam wet a towel and wiped the residue of chemicals and rubbing alcohol and was that toothpaste? off of Dean’s arm. Dean just watched him and didn’t try to pull away this time. Sam spread some antibiotic ointment on the Mark and taped a white square bandage over it so that Dean wouldn’t have to see it. Dean’s eyes followed every movement of Sam’s hands.
When he’d finished, Sam left the mess in the bathroom alone and led Dean back out to his bedroom. Dean was having trouble looking Sam in the eyes, and just sat on the edge of his bed and stared at the floor.
“‘M sorry, Sam.” he said softly. “I messed up real good this time, didn’t I.”
Sam’s heart was pounding in his chest; the need to reach out and touch Dean, be held by him and hold him was overwhelming. But he was also still hurt. He wanted to be ten again and have his big brother put his arm around him in the backseat of the Impala. Or he wanted to be twenty-two and see Dean again for the first time after being apart for four years, or he wanted to be twenty five and be sitting in the front seat of the Impala while he and Dean drove through every state in the U.S.
Dean's gaze was still fixed on the floor. "Wouldn't blame you if you never wanted to see me again, Sammy." he whispered, voice cracked.
With all those images running through his head, Sam sat on the mattress next to Dean and in one movement, kissed him.
At first Dean stiffened against Sam, but after a couple heartbeats he relaxed and clutched at Sam right back, shoving his hands into Sam’s long hair.
Finally, finally they were touching again. After so long and so much. Sam deepened the kiss, rolling them over so that he was lying over Dean on the bed. Dean’s legs were tangled around Sam’s, and he arched his back against him. Sam could taste salt in the kiss, but didn’t know or care if it was him or Dean. All he knew was that his brother was pressing back against him, mouth swollen against his and strong arms wrapped around his torso.
He held Dean as tight as he could; there was time for gentleness later. With his open mouth he pressed kisses down Dean’s neck and throat, needing to hear Dean make more noises and arch harder.
“Sammy, Sammy, you sure ‘bout this?” he heard Dean pant breathlessly. “I ain’t clean. . .still got Cain’s mark on me and I’m sorry Sam, I’m so sorry I got it, I wasn’t thinkin--”
Sam pressed another kiss over Dean’s mouth, stopping the rush of apologies.
“Doesn’t matter,” he breathed into Dean’s mouth. “Doesn’t matter.”
Dean moaned into the kiss, relief and want rushing through him and making him roll his hips up into Sam’s. Sam ground down, denim against denim, sliding one calloused hand under Dean’s shirt. With all the fierce love and anger he felt he gripped Dean’s hair tightly with his other hand and held his brother’s head to one side while he trailed kisses and bites down his neck and collarbone. Dean thrashed a little, huffing noises escaping his swollen mouth as he rubbed himself off harder on Sam’s thigh between his legs.
Sam pressed a kiss to Dean’s eyelids, each in turn, feeling how the skin was hot from crying. He wanted to hold Dean so hard that they would meld into one person. All Sam could think about was all the years he and Dean had spent not being together, and knew that he was going to try his damnedest not to be apart from Dean again. There were unfinished things between them, sure. A lot that needed forgiving and learning from, but nothing that was going to break them apart.
Sam couldn’t take the layers of clothes between them any more, and broke away from Dean’s lips briefly to start unbuttoning his shirt. His eyes asked Dean’s permission.
“Yeah, do it Sammy,” breathed Dean, starting to do Sam’s shirt down. He quickly popped all the buttons as Sam dragged Dean’s jean zipper down, every ratchet catching and sending vibrations through his hard dick.
Sam took a moment to look over his ridiculously beautiful brother, head tilted back, shirt and pants undone, and lips red from kissing. The sight went straight to his cock and Sam pushed back against Dean harder than before, slotting his left leg between Dean’s bowlegged thighs and rubbing their cocks together through the layers of denim and boxer material.
Dean moaned as his excitement grew. He felt lost in Sam’s presence, every groan and huff and smell so incredibly familiar to him. He rutted helplessly against Sam, feeling his brother reciprocate and lose any sense of rhythm in his desperation. Dean felt wild, but not the way he did when he was a demon- rather he felt so forgiven and loved that it almost broke him. With his eyes screwed up against Sam’s neck and his hands touching whatever inch of Sam they could reach, Dean ground harder against Sam, feeling the low coil of orgasm stir in his belly and spread. Sam was pressing kiss after fevered kiss to Dean’s jaw, his dick hard through his boxers and swelling more with every movement that Dean made.
No coordination, no rhythm, just blind clinging and rutting and kissing. Time seemed to stop for Sam, nothing existing but his brother panting under him and his sweat on Sam’s skin. His veins felt like they had sparklers in them, and an image of a long-ago fourth of July flashed across his memory. A small smile broke across Sam’s face, highlighting his flushed cheeks. Dean’s brow was still furrowed as he moved, all the hurt of the past few days showing plainly.
“Hey,” breathed Sam, watching his brother like nothing else mattered.
Dean looked up, straight into Sam’s eyes, not breaking contact as their bodies heaved together. He watched Sam, and what he needed to hear was plain as written word across his face.
Sam’s climax was ready to shudder through him. One look at his flushed brother was all he needed, and as he tipped off the edge he pulled Dean as close as possible:
“Love you,” Sam gasped, his body bucking hard. Through the haze of orgasm he felt Dean lose it too, his brother crying out Sam’s name over and over until they both fell back against the bed.
Sam entwined their fingers after a moment, pressing a kiss to Dean’s rough knuckles. Dean watched, lips slightly parted. He was finally home.
Things weren't fixed, not by a long shot, but as long as the brothers had their love, then each one knew he could deal with all the rest that was to come.