Work Text:
A week after they left Cierco, Indiana and eleven months until Dean’s time is up, he’s sitting on the edge of a motel bed, staring at the small, blue bottle held between his thumb and forefinger and turning it this and that way in the hazy orange light of the lamp. Sam had gone out for some fresh air or something, just another excuse for what Dean really knew he was up to. Just like him, Sam couldn’t get Dean’s deal out of his head. Instead of trying to find a way out of it though, Dean was just trying to live life to the fullest.
He pops open the cap and shakes out sixteen pills into his palm. Four months left before he’d need to contact a supplier. They were small, round white pills, looking no different than the allergy meds Dean's masking them as. Only an expert would even know that they didn’t stop you from the sniffles during allergy season. Sam’s yet to grow wise of them which means that Dean’s got four months to start thinking about if he wants to come clean with his biggest secret before he is dragged down to the pit.
He hears the grind of heavy feet on gravel outside. Dean hides the bottle in a pouch Sam doesn’t know about in his duffle and pulls out what looks like deodorant instead, giving himself a good spray. Just in case. He is never late on his pills, never misses a dose else it was hell and high water for him. But with Sam’s sharp nose and keen brain, it helps to take the extra precaution.
“Hey uh, grabbed you something to eat on my way back. Figured you can eat, I’ll pack up, then we hit the road?” Sam asks earnestly as he set the bag down on the rickety table in the corner of the dingy room. Dean stashes the scent blocker and stands up, lifting his duffle with him. Inside he can hear the pills rattle and once more feels like there’s a clock somewhere ticking down.
“Yeah, sounds good.”
“Are you sure our bad luck is over?” Dean grumbles as he and Sam stand in a fricken line in a run down motel. Seriously, he was pretty sure he saw a roach skitter between the feet ahead of them. “Cause a convention randomly showing up in fricken Pennsylvania? What’s up with that?” Sam just shrugs helplessly with his good shoulder. Lot of friggin help he is.
Finally they make it to the desk where a weary looking old man is standing there, looking like he’s ready for the end of the day. Funny, so is Dean.
“A double,” he says and the old man double takes. He leans in real close, closer than Dean is comfortable with.
“Trouble in paradise?” he asks gently and it is only because Dean is dead on his feet that he doesn’t get it immediately.
“Excuse me?” The man looks up at Sam, grey eyes locking on the sling.
“Oh! Is it the arm? Are you afraid of hurting him in his sleep?” Dean blinks, looks back at Sam, then looks back at the old man. Crazy old man, his mind corrects.
“What?” Oh hell, seriously? This again? “Dude, no! We’re not… we’re not mates!” The old fart startles back and starts to look distressed. People are staring, which is just freaking great! Just what he and Sam needs when all they wanted to do was sleep off their last weird ass adventure.
“Uh, what makes you think that?” Sam asks because why not? Let’s encourage the old coot! But Dean stops and listens because yeah, he wants to know, too. With the room full of people scent is unreliable. Sam probably couldn’t even pick up what half the people were with his superior senses and there was no way the old man could sniff out that neither of them smelled like a bitch. So yeah, Dean wants to know how he jumped to that friggin conclusion.
The man chuckles and taps his nose. “I have a nose for things like that. Can always spot them you know. ‘S how I met my soul mate, Nancy. There’s just a look about the two of you,” he says. Dean’s really not sure what to make of that and Sam’s expression isn’t giving him anything either. Wait no, that’s not true, it’s closed off. Not like he’s offended but like he just flat out can’t accept it and it makes something twist inside of Dean. He looks down and scuffs the toe of his boot over a questionable stain in the carpet.
“Yeah well, neither of us are omega so… that double?”
“Ah. Well, I’m afraid we only have singles. What with the convention and all.” Dean swallows a growl and hold his hand out. Fine. Whatever. He’ll sleep on the floor if he has to. The man books them into a room then finally hands Dean a key. As he does so though he catches Dean’s eyes and gives him a soft smile that makes him uncomfortable.
“If you’re worried about what people might say, we accept all kinds here. Gender never matters when it comes to true mates.” Dean almost squawks because now the guy thinks they’re gay and seriously, what the Hell? Why is their luck still so off when they charred that god damn foot? Not knowing what to say, he grabs Sam by the good arm and pulls him away as fast as he can.
“I bet he totally thought you were the bitch,” Dean says when they reach the door and Sam shoves him inside, almost making Dean eat carpet.
“Jerk!”
It hits him after they argue over the bed and the fact that Dean really doesn’t want to catch a disease sleeping on the floor that not once did he argue that they were brothers. And neither did Sam. Which had to be important, right? When they go to sleep he tries his damnest to stay on his side of the queen sized bed. They wake up in the middle of the bed in a tangle of limbs anyways, Dean’s nose crammed into the crook of Sam’s neck like he could breathe in Sam’s scent despite the suppressants dulling his senses. Neither of them mentions it.
Now every time Dean closes his eyes he sees Casey’s body falling to the ground, can smell the sharp bite of gunpowder, can hear the resounding retort of the Colt. But mostly, he sees Sam and the way his eyes were cold and hard when he pulled the trigger. Dean knows he was going to be forever haunted by how Sam had held no remorse for ending the lives of two innocent betas.
He swallows past the lump in his throat and reaches for the little blue bottle in it’s hidden pocket. When he takes the pill that night he flushes the rest down the toilet. He now knows what’s waiting for him in ten months and after how Sam was, after having witnessed that, there was no more room for secrets. And maybe, if he’s lucky, maybe Dean can still save Sam from himself.
Dean just has to figure out how.
It’s been three months since Dean stopped taking the suppressants and in that time he’d been wracking his brain, trying to figure out how to tell Sam while waiting for fifteen years of screwing with his hormones to finally clear out of his system. For some it could take years and they didn’t have that kind of time. Not when Sam was being a god damn idiot, going about risking everything by killing the one demon he shouldn’t have while letting others live. He’s got seven months until Hell but isn’t sure if Sam’s got that kind of time for Dean to help him pull his head out of his ass. So really, seven months is way too fucking long for Dean’s body to straighten itself out.
But because clearly Dean’s life is nothing but a cosmic joke, it’s Bela that sniffs him out first.
Security’s got the fancy gig wrapped up tighter than a virgin omega before their first heat. Being so close to Bela is making his skin crawl and seriously, what the hell is up with her perfume? For that matter the whole room is too bright, too loud, and Dean can’t fucking think.
“I’m thinking,” he hisses when she nags at him for a plan. He wants nothing more than to get away from her perfume and her touch, both of which is just screaming wrong to him. Find a nice, quiet place and figure out what the hell is getting to him. Even the color of her friggin eyes (bluish green and just not right) is weirdly pissing him off, and damn it, he needs to get his head in the game, not worrying about how Bela’s giving him the heebie jeebies. Because let’s face it, that is nothing new.
“Don’t strain yourself,” she quips then pauses. It takes Dean a second to realize that she is fucking sniffing him. Bela pulls her head back a fraction, her eyes wide but the curl to the corner of her lips belongs to the Devil.
“Interesting how the legend is so much more than the man.” Son of a bitch! Well, at least he doesn’t have to worry about whether or not the the suppressants are leaving his system…
“You rat me out I swear to God,” Dean growls but it does nothing to wipe the smug smile off of her face.
“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, sweet cheeks,” she say before falling in his freaking arms. Dean longs for the day where they’re done with her.
Really wants to be fucking done with her. Now because of Bela they have Gordon on their pasty white asses and vampires on top of that. Like Dean didn’t have enough on his plate still searching the right words and running out of scent blockers fast. It was only a matter of time before biology finally takes its natural toll on him and he really wants to tell Sam the truth before that happens.
“Listen to my voice and tell me if I’m serious,” he says, finger on the end call button. Her voice slides through before he can shut her up though, soft with a note that would have sounded concerned if it was coming from anyone but that bitch.
“Have you told him yet?” Dean hangs up and glances at Sam. Where would he even start?
It doesn’t help that while the deodorant makes him smell like the common beta, it does nothing to mask everyone else’s scent. Especially Sam’s. Dean’s aware of it no matter where they are, now, the musk of his little brother rich like the earthly scent that hangs in the air after a storm, heavy like the smell of old tomes and ink. It wraps around Dean in a way it never had before, now that his senses are clear. It’s like that for everyone, for everything, but nothing fills Dean up like Sam’s presence does. Dean’s never been so aware of his alpha brother before and he’s fully aware of what that might mean.
He’s even more aware now as they’re in each other’s faces, Dean pulling bravado around him like a wall while Sam just knocks it down. Damn straight Dean’s afraid, but not for the reasons Sam thinks he is. Thing is, Sam doesn’t know him like he thinks and it’s killing Dean. But if he isn’t careful, if he doesn’t play this right, he’s going to lose more than his soul.
It’s as Sam’s cleaning Gordon’s blood off of his hands that Dean decides it’s time. He can’t stop replaying their fight in his head, the pain of pressing gauge into his neck doing nothing to distract Dean from the desperation in Sam’s eyes that he still sees.
“I wish you would drop the show and be my brother again. ‘Cause… just ‘cause.”
Alright.
Dean looks up from where he’s sitting on one of the chairs in the abandoned house, catching Sam’s side profile as he scrubs his hands clean. His eyes are clear, the wet sheen to them gone. He’s frowning down at his hands, probably replaying how he had taken that bastard’s head off in more than a fit of Alpha Rage in his mind. Dean’s not the only one who wants his brother back.
“You don’t know me, Sam. Not really.”
Sam’s head snaps to the side, his hands going still under the water. Hurt flashes in his eyes. His shoulders stiffen and bottom lip start to protrude with Sam’s special brand of stubbornness.
“What.” Dean waits a beat, lines it all up in his head, then stands up. After their tussle with Gordon and his little surprise, Dean should have sweated off the scent blocker well enough. His heart is going wild beneath his ribs and sweat’s tickling the back of his neck again. His palms feel clammy. There’s no way to hide it now.
Sam yanks off the water as Dean approaches, his expression stormy as he turns to fully face Dean. He’s setting himself up for a fight, Dean knows, but he’s not going to get one. Feeling as terrified as he did when he presented at fourteen, (late bloomer as he was) Dean steps right into Sam’s personal space.
“But I want to change that.” He watches anxiously as Sam breathes in, gearing up to demand answers from Dean, but they don’t get that far. Just like Bela his eyes go wide, but there’s no smug surprise, just shock in the way his lips part. He sniffs again, deliberately, and Dean just stands there, waiting for the fallout.
“But… I thought?” And there’s the confused frown, the hurt in his eyes that makes Dean’s heart ache. Fifteen years of lies crashes down between them and there’s nothing that Dean can do to soften the blow, there really isn’t.
“I’m not sure I understand, Dean…”
“This is me. No meds, no scent blockers, this is the real me.” Dean swallows past the lump in his throat and watches Sam go completely still, the calm before the storm.
“Why am I just finding this out?” Sam demands tightly. Dean has the good graces to flinch.
“I’m sorry.” He doesn’t say it often but God when he does Dean means it. He stares at Sam imploringly, meeting that betrayed look head on and hating himself for it.
“Dad figured that when I didn’t present at twelve that I wasn’t going to be the alpha he wanted me to be. So he got suppressants, was ready for it when my heat came. Do you remember the time he left you at Pastor Jim’s so he and I could go on a hunt? Was gone for almost two weeks. I think you were ten…”
Sam nods jerkily and Dean plows on.
“Well, that was when it hit. He took me to Bobby’s, holed me up in his panic room until I got over my first heat. I started suppressants after that.” He was expecting the anger but the rage that burns red in those hazel eyes and the darkness that slides over his expression still catches Dean off guard. The spike of fear that wraps around the base of his spine, the sudden urge to bare his neck and do everything he can to calm the alpha down, is new. He thinks he hates it.
“Dad? Dad forced this on you?” Dean sets his jaw against his instincts and gets more into Sam’s face.
“Only because I asked him to, Sam! I wanted it! I went through one heat and that was enough for me. We’re hunters, in case you forgot, and that’s no life for a simpering little omega who wants nothing more than a knot up his ass and pups in his belly. How the hell was I supposed to protect you like that, huh? So yeah, when Dad offered a chance to stuff all that down, hide who I really was and become the alpha I was supposed to be, or as close as, you’re damn right I took those pills and I haven’t regretted it, not once.”
“It still wasn’t right! You’re talking, Jesus, that’s fifteen years on suppressants. That, that has side effects. You can’t just stop them without repercussions. You’re messing with your hormones, Dean!”
“You think I don’t know that? Yeah it does and my first heat after dropping them is going to suck ass but damn it, Sam, it’s the only thing I’ve got left. It’s my last secret, my biggest one. I don’t want to be hiding anything else from you when I get dragged down. And I just thought...” Sam has to feel it, this thing he can feel swirling between them, the pull that keeps tugging Dean towards his kid brother. He has to.
The anger fades, though there’s still red in Sam’s eyes, a thin thread around the iris, as bright as blood. Dean’s not sure what it means but hope blooms when Sam clasps his shoulder. His touch is tentative, soft, and Dean can see the wheels turning in that big head of his.
“But why stop taking the pills? You could have just told me, Dean. Why stop fifteen years of being a beta strutting like an alpha? Which, you did pretty well on that, by the way. Had me fooled.” His laugh is a brittle thing that makes Dean’s insides twist with guilt.
Dean finally starts to listen to the instincts he’s long since ignored. He lowers his eyes and tips his head to the side, just a little. It hurts what with tugging on the wound, but the pain is worth it for the hitched breath followed by the little growl Sam makes deep in his chest. He steps in closer until there’s nothing but Sam, even the pain of his battered body turning into a haze of sensation that gets shoved into the back ground. His muscles unlock and he presses his nose into the crook of Sam’s neck. A jolt runs through Sam and his fingers tighten on Dean’s shoulder. Dean’s eyes flutter shut completely as he’s hit dead on by Sam’s powerful scent, knees going weak as an unfamiliar tingle zips through him. It’s not arousal and it ain’t him growing slick but it’s something heading in that direction.
“I want you to see me as I really am, before… and maybe...” he says softly and desperately hopes he hasn’t fucked everything up.
There’s another hitch in Sam’s chest and a sudden tang that Dean identifies as fear in his brother’s scent. He’s just about to start backing away when strong arms come around Dean while Sam turns his head and places the gentlest of kisses into his temple. Dean’s breath escapes him explosively and he sags into Sam’s touch. It just feels so right, being in Sam’s arms like that, and he likes to think that Sam feels the same way, too.
“Maybe?” Sam asks, breathless and a little shaky and a whole lot hopeful. He nuzzles into the crook of Dean’s neck, opposite of Gordon’s bite, his whole body shivering when he breathes in deeply. Dean cups the back of his head and smiles into Sam’s sternum.
“Yeah.” Sam let’s out another shuddering breath and splays his fingers over Dean’s back, firm and possessive.
“We uh… we’re going to need to talk about this.” Dean rolls his eyes because of course they are.
“Figured as much.” There is a break in the conversation and Dean’s just starting to get really comfy when Sam chuckles.
“What?”
“I should have known.”
“Oh? And why’s that?”
“You always were too pretty, even for a beta,” Sam teases. Dean pushes him away and tells him to shut his cake hole. He carries Sam’s resulting laughter with him for a long damn time.
They don’t really get to that ‘talk.’ The car starts to rattle as soon as they leave town and that takes precedence over figuring out the thing that’s growing between them. Checking out the rattle on the side of the road turns into an impromptu lesson on car maintenance and that doesn’t leave much room for talking either. There’s a heavy tension in the air, a charged solemnity from having to acknowledge the fact that yeah, Dean’s really dying here, and that zaps all will for talking.
Dean slams the hood shut, then starts helping Sam put away the cooler and tools. It’s after they close the trunk when that heaviness becomes stifling and an itch starts to grow under Dean’s skin. He feels eyes boring down on him and looks up to get hit by that puppy dog earnestness that belongs on no proper alpha. But that was just Sam in a nutshell. They stare at each other for a long moment in the low light of an overcast afternoon. Dean’s not surprised that Sam’s the one who moves first.
He’s crushed in Sam’s arms, his kid brother a wall of solid, alpha muscle. Dean goes with it though, wraps his arm around the dork and lets Sam hold him. They might not be talking but they’re saying plenty just through physical contact. Sam’s scared and Dean knows it, wishes he could change fate but knows he can’t. In the mean time though he can at least make the rest of their year mean something.
And it’s easy, so easy, to brush his nose over Sam’s rough chin with a murmur of his name, get him to tip his face up. Sam’s lip part, his brows furrowed in question, and Dean knows he’s about form that question in the shape of Dean’s name but he beats Sam to it. Sam goes still under the press of Dean’s lips at first, his fingers twitching against Dean’s back. Dean waits him out, counts the jarring thud of his pulse and when he gets to three Sam rumbles like thunder and Jesus, he’s kissing Dean back, tentative going right out the window. Dean’s caught up in Sam’s passion and time slips away for a little bit.
It’s a week later, in the middle of November, when Dean really starts to feel the effects of coming off of suppressants. He feels feverish and slow and so fucking overwhelmed. It’s a lie when knot heads claim that they have more heightened senses than omegas. Alphas don’t know crap. Dean can hear the rustle of leaves in the wind outside of their motel, for God’s sake! Sam had to go out and find as much lavender he could after having sprayed all of Dean’s scent blocker around the room because the usual smells of a dusty motel had sent Dean running to the bathroom to say hello again to his breakfast. He’s naked, save for shorts, shaking and shivering on the softest sheet they could find. Slick’s oozing out of him, making his shorts and the sheet cling to his skin while his head pounds like someone’s taking a jackhammer to his skull.
The worse part is that he’s not even in heat. He’d choke Sam with his own monster dick before he even thought of coming near Dean with it. It’s just his body trying to get back to something like normal, going into overdrive in cleaning him out. Dean feels like he’s dying.
“Remind me again why I’m doing this to myself,” he whimpers through chattering teeth when Sam pads back into the room after having spread the lavender around. He doesn’t say anything as Dean listens to the harsh scrape and rustle of clothes being removed. He flinches when the bed dips and creaks, the sound grating like nails on a chalkboard to Dean’s sensitive ears. Then there’s a big paw on Dean’s shoulder followed by Sam’s body heat as he curls around Dean, chest to back. His breath tickles the nape of Dean’s neck and soon he can’t even smell the lavender, just Sam. It’s still sensory overload but it’s the kind that Dean can handle.
“Oh yeah,” he whispers brokenly and leans into Sam as everything else slowly starts to melt away. “That’s why.”
There’s a feather light kiss being pressed to the crown of his head and a hand is already rubbing the cramps out of Dean’s stomach. He sags, limp as a fucking noodle, and manages to sleep restlessly. The shower afterwards where Sam holds him up against his chest and scrubs all the filth away definitely makes the suffering worth it.
They’re on a regular salt and burn in Ohio at the beginning of December when it’s clear that other people are starting to notice. Dean scent is sharper now, sweet and cloying like any regular omega. Sam swears he smells like cloves and passion flower and Dean’s only a little smug when Sam now has to take longer showers after they wake up in a tangled mess with Sam’s morning wood almost always threatening to take Dean’s eye out. They buy a new can of blockers for hunts but sometimes it’s not enough to stop the douchebags.
They’re in a sketchy ass bar trying to get some info out of the locals about the weird deaths. Sam’s talking to a solemn older woman in the corner while Dean’s chatting with the bartender. The hand that suddenly grope his ass definitely doesn’t belong to Sam and the alpha jerk almost makes Dean gag, he smells so badly of cheap booze and tobacco.
“Where’s your alpha, baby? Or are you just waiting for my knot…” Dean sneers, skin crawling when the burly asshole starts sniffing him.
“Dude, you got three seconds before you lose that hand,” he grits out but doesn’t even make it to two before the guy is suddenly gone. He’s thrown right off of Dean and down on the floor with a crash, the impact upending a stool. Sam’s right there, standing between Dean and the asshole, panting, eyes red rimmed and canines elongated. He looks five seconds away from ‘wolfing out’ as people like to call Alpha Rage. Dean bares his throat immediately to him to try to calm him down. Sam’s nostrils flare but there is relief when his eyes lock on Dean’s throat.
“You okay?” Sam asks, sounding like he had just gargled glass.
“I’m okay.”
Three days later Dean finds himself pinned to a brick wall in an alley in Cincinnati with three alpha’s breathing down on him. One’s cradling his chest where Dean tried to kick his ribs in and another’s sporting a broken nose. Their scents are too pungent in the cold winter air and no matter how much they manhandle him ain’t no way in Hell he’s getting slick for them like they think he’s going to.
“What’s going to get it in your fucking heads that no means no!” He spats just before he’s hit by Sam’s scent. Dean smirks. “Or is my alpha gonna have to beat it in you?”
It takes Sam less than ten minutes to lay all three of them flat on the dirty ground among the rest of the trash that litters the streets. Sam’s heaving for breath, clenching and unclenching his fists. His knuckles are bloody. Dean’s grinning like a loon cause fuck, that was hot.
“This has to stop,” Sam growls down at the groaning assholes. Dean shrugs and holds his arms out in a helpless gesture, silently asking Sam why he thought Dean was on suppressants all those years. He’s not ready for the rush of heat when Sam’s dark eyes zeroes in on Dean’s neck. His smile slides away. “If you’d just let me…”
“We talked about this, Sam. No biting, no bond. I’m not doing that to you.”
“But…” Dean pushes off the wall and starts walking away. Well, that was fun.
“End of discussion.”
It doesn’t stop. No matter where they go, no matter how much of that scent blocker Dean wears, without the suppressants it’s still clear as day that he’s an unbound omega and he knows how desirable he was without his scent driving alphas insane. Sam grows moody as hell, snarling at just about anyone who so much as look at Dean twice. To be fair, he can’t leave Dean alone for a minute without him getting molested.
Case in point, all Dean had wanted to do in the bar in Indianapolis was to take a freaking piss. He’s barely got the zip back up before there’s a body pressing against his back and he’s choking on the musk of the latest asshole. Everything about the dick is screaming wrong and Dean is tempted to go for the knife in his boot. Scratch that and make it his gun when the knot head grabs Dean by the crotch.
“Hey!” Dean was pretty sure he’s the one who yelled but it’s Sam he hears. In a blink of an eye the guy is gone, getting thrown out of the bathroom with a muffled thud. Sam slams the door shut and locks it and when he turns around to stare at Dean through his bangs, Dean doesn’t know whether to be aroused or terrified.
“I’m okay,” he says quickly but Sam doesn’t slow down his prowl towards Dean. Dean backs away, hands out and head tipped back. He doesn’t believe for a second that Sam will hurt him but there’s still violence simmering under his skin and weaved in his scent and Dean’s not sure what all Sam’s about to do.
“I have had enough of people thinking that they the have the right to touch you,” Sam seethes. Dean’s back hits the wall and he’s got no where else to go. Especially not when Sam pushes himself up against Dean, his big paws locking around Dean’s hips. Dean just bares his neck and offers his scent, praying that Sam lets it calm him instead of doing something that Dean will never forgive him for. He holds his breath as Sam practically slams his face into the crook of Dean’s neck, his body heaving with each deep pull of air.
Dean almost start to relax. He buries his hands in Sam’s hair and holds him there, let him get hit after hit of his pheromones. Doesn’t even think twice of the open mouth kiss pressed over his skin. It’s when he feels the graze of teeth that he tenses and tightens his hands in warning.
“Sam.”
“I know,” and fuck, Sam sounds like he’s about to break, his tone agonized. “I won’t. I won’t do that to you, not without your permission. But God, Dean, I can’t stand this! I can’t stand watching other people try to take advantage of you, okay? I just… I can’t.”
Dean’s touch gentles. He runs his hands over Sam’s hair and his heart breaks for his kid brother. He knows that Sam wants so badly for them to mate properly when, if, Dean’s first heat comes, but Dean just can’t let that happen. It’s going to be one thing for Sam to lose him, it’s going to be another thing entirely for Sam to lose a mate. There have been actual cases of people dying when their mate does because they just can’t handle living without them. When that bond breaks their heart shatters right with it and Dean can’t do that to Sam. He just can’t because in the end Dean’s still going where Sam can’t follow.
“Sam, do you want me to go back on suppressants?” Dean asks softly. God no, he doesn’t want to screw his body up even more but if it means not hurting Sam any more than Dean’s already have…
“No.” The growl rips right through Dean, setting his nerves on fire. Sam lifts his head and pins Dean with a look that makes him burn. He hates to admit that any part of him is typical omega but fuck when Sam gets all possessive it does something to him, as much as Dean’s reluctant to admit.
“No. I know you don’t want to go back on them and I don’t want you to. I… this thing that we have now, Dean, it’s everything I could have asked for. I’ve wanted you for longer than you even know and I know we can still be together if you go back on the pills but…” Sam makes a suffering, rumbling sound in the back of his throat and drags his nose along Dean’s throat. He hums, hungry and appreciative, and kisses wetly under Dean’s ear.
“This is, you, Dean. I want you. I know it’s selfish but I want all of you. As much as you’ll give me.”
“Even without claiming me?” Dean’s voice is wrecked already. Sam’s hand are still on his hips, they haven’t even started kissing, but heat’s pooling low in his gut and he can feel himself growing slick. They have done heavier petting than this in the past couple of weeks and it hadn’t been enough for Dean to get wet over. But damn, knowing how much Sam wants him, feeling the evidence of that pressing against his groin, it’s really doing it for Dean.
“There’s other ways of claiming you than biting, Dean,” Sam says all honey tones and fuck, Dean’s knees go weak. Sam’s right hand moves then, sliding slowly up Dean’s body, slipping under his shirt. Callused fingertips brush up his chest then blunt nails scratches down. Dean feels a whimper bubbling up in his throat, drags Sam’s head from his neck to crash their lips in a messy, heated kiss before the sound can escape. Sam grinds against Dean, all appreciative growls and rumbles and fucking hell, Dean’s hard, straining in his jeans and so close to begging for it. They’ve made out, seen each other naked, has mapped out each other’s skin with their hands, but they haven’t let anything go too far, Sam too much of a friggin gentleman for that. Didn’t want to push Dean into anything he wasn’t ready for. Well, he certainly doesn’t seem to be holding any reserves now as he unbuckle Dean’s belt and pops his fly open. But then he fucking stops before he can get his hand on Dean.
“Is this… is this okay?”
“Oh fuck, yes,” Dean moans against Sam’s kiss bruised lips then keens when Sam’s long fingers finally wrap around his dick. He pulls Dean out, strokes him nice and slow, thumb rubbing over the wet tip and Dean’s gonna lose it before they even get started.
“Sam, Jesus, oh fuck.”
“I gotcha, Dean. I got you.”
Their kisses dissolve in clashing teeth and tongues, their hands everywhere. Dean can’t make up his mind if he wants Sam’s shirt unbuttoned or his pants undone and he’s making these needy ass noises that he never wants to admit to. It doesn’t help that Sam chuckles every time Dean whines.
“Wanna touch you.” And now Dean’s growling and he doesn’t get to be smug about the shiver that runs down Sam’s body ‘cause the bastard’s taking his hand off of Dean’s dick and seriously? Not okay!
“Sam!” Sam fucking laughs but then Dean hears the slide of leather and the clink of metal and soon there’s more than just Sam’s hand on Dean’s dick and holy fuck. Sam’s got them both in hand, thick fingers squeezing their shafts together and it’s almost too much for Dean. He smacks the back of his head against the wall and groans low and long. It’s slick and hot and Dean’s never thought this could feel so good but God damn it does. Then Sam goes and shoves his other hands down the back of Dean’s jeans to glide his fingers through Dean’s slick, groaning like a god damn whore when he brushes the pad of his fingertip over Dean’s hole.
“This good?” Sam pants and tightens his hand around their dicks, starts pumping them even faster, the wet sound of skin on skin only adding to the pleasure that’s burning Dean from the inside out. Dean makes a garbled sound in reply, already too fucking gone. Sam’s laugh is short lived when Dean tugs on his hair again and bites his bottom lip sharply.
When Dean comes it's to sparks igniting behind his eyelids and Sam’s chesty grunts swallowing his shuddering groan. He can feel Sam’s answering twitch and the hot release as they both lose it over Sam’s fist and mostly, he just feels good. Light and free and of course it would be Sam to give Dean something he’s never found before in sweet beta girls.
When he comes to though it takes him a moment to realize that the slickness running over his neck isn’t Sam’s tongue. Musk and sex is thick in his nose and he distinctly feels fingers rubbing over his throat. Sam’s rubbing their jizz into his skin!
“Dude! Gross!” Sam just laughs and kisses the hollow of his throat.
“Knot heads will be less inclined to mess with you if you smell like me,” Sam says all serene like this was perfectly normal. The freak.
“What are you going to do, rub your spunk on me every day?” Dean quips. Sam hums and strokes his hand over Dean’s sensitive flesh then rubs more of their mess over his neck, into his sternum. It’s gross as hell but Dean secretly likes it if only because yeah, it is sort of like being claimed. And hey, if that means sex with Sam every day, then hey, who was he to complain?
“You’re so fucking weird.”
“Yeah, so?” Sam asks as he tips his head back and holy shit that is not their jizz that he’s rubbing into his own neck, paints over his plump lips, looking orgasmic as he does it because he’s a kinky bastard. Dean’s head thuds against the dingy wall. Seriously, Sam is going to be the death of him.
Dean’s heat finally hits him at the worst. Timing. Ever. He’s panting in breaths of meadowsweet, pain singing up his arms. They say that stress has a tendency of jumpstarting a heat, well he’s fudging stressed all right! It starts as an itch under his skin and as Sam’s screaming, Dean feels hot and cold all over. At first he thinks it’s just pure terror until Mr. Leave it to Beaver grabs him by the chin and forces his mouth open.
“Oh ho ho! Do you smell that honey? He’s almost smells as good as the meadowsweet!” The fucker croons and Dean just goes cold.
“That he does, dear. He’s going to be quite the sweet treat, isn’t he?” They both lean in the smell the air while humming in gluttonous bliss like he’s a fucking Christmas ham. Behind him Sam’s going ballistic. Dean just goes numb.
They are saved by the bell, literally. Thank you, Santa.
As soon as they’re out of their ropes but before they can grab weapons to gank the fucking Cunninghams, Sam slams Dean into the wall and growls against his neck. Dean gets it, he does, Sam’s got to reassure himself that Dean is okay, but they don’t have time for this.
“Not a good time, Sammy. Let’s finish this and then you can sniff me to your heart’s content, okay?” He knows it physically hurts Sam to pull away from him, but they have a job to do.
It’s a miracle that Sam lets him out of his sight after that at all. Dean’s hot under the collar but he really needs some air and doesn’t even think it odd when Sam agrees to let him go on a beer run. He’s damn uncomfortable and his stomach is cramping up, but according to Sam’s obsessive research he still has at least eight hours before he dissolves into a writhing, mindless mess of desperation, even after having been on suppressants for so long. It was only going to be a short trip anyways, he had an idea of what he’s getting Sam.
When he gets back he is completely floored by Sam’s attempt at Christmas and is embarrassed by how slick that suddenly makes him. Sam notices, Dean knows he does and it isn’t just him turning bright red that probably clues Sam in. But Sam, being the ridiculous gentleman he is, continues on with the heavily spiked eggnog and the presents and is just a big freaking sap. Dean loves him for it.
“Hey Dean, y…” Dean looks up, heat flooding his system at the hungry look Sam gives him. Sam looks away though and physically steels himself for a minute before looking up at Dean again. He licks his lips and Dean tries not to squirm. “Do you feel like watching the game?” It’s an out, Dean knows, but it’s not one he feels like taking.
“No.” He sets his drink aside and rises and Sam’s the one looking suddenly cagey. He leans back when Dean approaches, fingers digging into the sofa with a white knuckled grip. Dean brackets his arms on either side of Sam’s head, bracing himself up by the head rest. The scent of air fresheners is pungent in the air but Sam’s pheromones are heady and thick. He wants Dean but he’s too afraid to ask. Dean’s heart breaks a little.
“What I want, Sam, is for you to take me to bed.”
“But… your heat. Y- you’re not ready yet, Dean.” Dean understands Sam’s reluctance but he is so wrong about Dean not being ready. He is, he so is. He leans down and kisses Sam softly, no more than a chaste peck on the lips. Sam’s trembling beneath him.
“By tomorrow morning I’m going to be out of my mind and knot crazy. First time I feel you inside me I want to be able to enjoy it, Sam. I’m close enough to where you’ll probably knot me, even, and I want to know exactly who I’m tied with. We’ll go slow but I want…”
Dean doesn’t get to finish his train of thought before Sam’s gun calloused hands are framing his face and pulling him down for a heart breakingly sweet kiss. Dean deepens it, licks across the seam of Sam’s mouth and his baby brother comes alive beneath him. He rumbles like thunder and grabs at Dean’s hips, pulling him into his lap and kisses Dean thoroughly.
Needs slams into Dean so hard he’s dizzy from it, openly whining into Sam’s mouth. He tries to grind down into Sam but he’s held fast. When he tries to goad Sam with a dirty twist of his tongue Sam remains calm, keeps the kiss sweet until Dean starts to relax again, breathing roughly still but a little more even. Sam, bless him, is probably going against every damn instinct he has to keep Dean from swan diving right into a full blown heat. Dean couldn’t have asked for a better alpha.
“Take me to bed, Sammy.” Sam shudders beneath him, catches his mouth in a hotter mesh of lips and tongues, groaning guttural with want. Dean’s only warning is hands coming under his butt before he is lifted right off the couch and into Sam’s arms. Dean wraps his arms around him, fingers buried in the soft silk of Sam’s hair. He lets himself be carried, cares only about the heavy thrum of Sam’s heartbeat pulsing against Dean’s chest, cares only for the way his heartbeat is matching Sam’s.
Sam lays him down on the bed and climbs up after him. Their mouths parts but for a breath and Sam quickly chases after Dean’s lips while his hands are skirting up Dean’s sides. Dean undulates beneath him. He grazes his teeth over Sam’s bottom lip before surging up as Sam tries to pull back and sucks his baby brother’s tongue into his mouth.
“Dean.” It comes out wrecked when Sam pulls away, eyes lust blown and wild. The lights from the Christmas tree lights Sam’s features, makes him appear softer despite his ragged inhales. He straightens up, pulls his hair back and out of his eyes.
“Dean I…”
“If you ask me if I am ready…” Dean half growls but Sam stops him with a shake of his head.
“I love you, you know. I wanted to say it, before.” Dean moves from out beneath him and gets up on his knees before Sam. He grasps his face, heart in his throat as he meets Sam’s eyes. While he usually balks at such declarations, he’s glad that he’s of a clear mind to be able to say it back without it being cheapened by his heat.
“Yeah, me too, Sam. Love you, too.”
Sam’s leaning down as Dean tips his head up. They meet in the middle, hands framing each other’s faces, neither holding back. Clothes are shed soon after, layers peeled slowly and then new skin explored once it’s exposed. There’s little about each other that they don’t know by now but it all feels new that night. Dean catches the sight of snow falling in gentle drifts over Sam’s shoulder and they can hear Christmas music coming from somewhere in the complex and somehow it’s just all new.
When the last article falls to the floor, Sam urges Dean back down onto the green bedspread and covers him with his body. He’s careful of their injuries, makes sure not to drag his bandages against Dean’s sensitive skin. Dean shows he’s grateful for the care Sam takes in the way he scrapes his nails up Sam’s back and calls his brother’s name as Sam kisses down his neck. His self control astonishes Dean, he was surprised that Sam hadn’t lost it when he was peeling slick soaked boxers off of him. But Sam, sweet Sam, doesn’t rush in peppering kisses across his throat, doesn’t even lose control when he sucks a bruise right over where he would bite had he permission. He’s still not rushing even though Dean’s squirming by the time Sam reaches his nipples, swirling his tongue over each bud until they are pert and tender. When he drags his tongue over Dean's treasure trail, Dean is outright whining for it, hips bucking and grinding his aching dick against Sam’s chest but still Sam won’t be rushed.
“Sam. Baby boy, please.” The kiss Sam brushes over his tummy feels like an apology but still he doesn’t rush.
He takes Dean apart slowly, first with his fingers slipping through Dean’s slick as his mouth slides over his dick. It’s torture, the way he opens Dean like they have all the time in the world, sliding one finger in at a time. Dean keens and half sobs, needs crashing over him like ocean waves in a storm. Even Sam’s mouth is gentle as he sucks Dean’s cock, spends more time running his tongue over his shaft than anything that would remotely bring Dean off. How he can stand it, breathing in Dean’s rich, honey sweet scent Dean doesn’t know. Doesn’t have the brain cells to ask.
He’s close to real sobs when Sam is finally sliding his fingers out and kissing back up his body. He grabs at Sam, hands desperate, needing Sam with a burning fervor. He tastes himself as he licks into Sam’s mouth and lets out a broken whine when Sam’s pulls away from the kiss far too soon.
“Shh. It’s okay, Dean. I got you.” And Sam’s lifting one of Dean’s legs up, bent at the knee, and soon there’s something blunt pressing against his hole, pushing in. Dean’s back arches, breath hitching as Sam fills Dean up for the first time. He doesn’t even have words for how that feels, how to properly describe the stretch and burn, the fullness, how Dean feels so good he’s fit to burst.
“Oh God,” he chokes out and wraps his legs around Sam. Sam holds him even tighter and now he’s losing it, panting raggedly against Dean’s neck and absolutely trembling. When he bottoms out Sam’s the one who lets out a pleasure soak sob and goes still, waiting for Dean to adjust. But within seconds Dean’s begging him to move, making a wreck of his hair, then crying out when Sam does.
They get completely lost in each other then, fill the room with their moans and the slap of skin against skin. They find their rhythm, moves together flawlessly with the same harmony they have in the field, in about everything they do together. For what feels like forever they move as one.
Their rhythm breaks when Dean feels Sam’s knot catch against his rim and he jerks like he’s just touched a live wire. He can sense Sam starting to pull back before he actually does and Dean locks his legs around him. He wants it even though he knows it’s going to hurt. His heat is coming down on him fast with every moment that Sam fucks him but it’s not enough to save him from feeling that stretch down to his bones and Dean wants it. He knows he may not get another chance to have all of Sam outside of a full heat.
“Want it. Want it, Sammy. Please, come on! Give it to me.” Sam finally snaps. The growl rises from deep in his core and reverberates through Dean as he pulled back and begins slamming home. Dean has no choice but to hold on and push down, to take it. And hurt it does, the pain is bright, lights erupt in his vision but he doesn’t ask Sam to stop. Wouldn’t fucking dare.
Then Sam’s knot pops in, tearing sharp cries from them both. Dean’s eyes snap open and it’s like getting stabbed in the gut, all air punched right out of his lungs. But it’s a beautiful agony, one that rocks him down to the marrow and he comes from that, spills hot spunk between their bellies while Sam makes wounded sounds of ecstasy and fills Dean pulse after pulse until they collapse in a sweaty, breathless heap.
Stunned and so full, Dean experimentally squeezes around Sam. He gets this amazing, wheezy sound of pained pleasure and a warning bite to his sternum. Dean does it again though and Sam jerks violently and comes again, Dean’s name a cry on his lips. Dean closes his eyes in bliss and rides out the aftershocks, an awed smile curling his lips upwards. He feels like he’s on cloud nine, it’s amazing.
“Awesome.” He laughs breathlessly and Sam starts cursing him out even as he holds Dean as close as possible.
Hours later Dean wakes covered and sweat and slick and he burns. He arches away from the starchy sheets and sobs for Sam. He’s so empty it hurts, feels like there’s a gaping hole in his core and he needs, oh god he needs. Sam’s there immediately before Dean could start to wither away, large hands cool on his heated skin. Soft lips feel like a benediction on his forehead. When he turns Dean onto his side he goes willingly, whining pitifully for Sam to fill him up, begging for his alpha’s knot.
Sam fucks him on their sides, one hand splayed over Dean’s chest while the other stretches Dean’s leg back and over, opening him to be thoroughly plowed. Dean grabs hold of what part of Sam he can and moans with pure abandon, his shouts and praises of Sam raising in octave with each punishing thrust. Sam remains quiet except for possessive growls and bites down on the back of Dean’s neck, so close to a binding bite without it being one, when he forces his knot inside of Dean and climaxes seconds before Dean screams his release until his voice breaks. He passes out, sated, before Sam’s even finished pumping him full.
The next time he wakes up, Sam’s got his hips pinned to the bed, down on his front, and his tongue delving deep in Dean’s ass. He’s licking Dean out, sucking his own come along with Dean’s honeyed slick, making these erotic chesty groans and completely ignores Dean’s pleas for more. Dean’s left to rut against the mattress, fingers clawing at the pillows while Sam drives him to complete madness. He comes from that alone, tears adding to the mess soaking the bedding. Sam climbs on top of him while he’s still coming and so sensitive it almost hurts and fucks Dean until he loses his voice and his fingers are numb from how tightly he clutches the sheets.
It goes on for four days, Sam right there to scratch the infernal itch before it could consume Dean. They barely make it out of bed during the rare times that Dean’s not a mindless, sex crazed bitch. Sam forces light food stuff in him, makes him drink as much water as he can take. On few, blissful occasions Dean’s able to handle hot showers and Sam washing the grime off of Dean’s body with only his hands and body wash. On one such occasion Dean’s heat slams into him with full force and Sam fucks him against the shower wall. Somehow they actually manage to break a tile but that’s nothing compared to the bruises that mottles Dean’s skin by the time they make it back to bed, shivering from the water going cold before Sam’s knot deflates.
The last time Sam fucks Dean through a mindless wave Dean’s riding him, making punched out whines each time he slams down on Sam’s cock. Sam guides him with his hands on Dean’s hips, fingertips playing with his sore and tender hole. He says things like, ‘beautiful,’ and ‘mine’ and were Dean in his right mind he might punch him for it but it only ramps Dean up. It’s slow going compared to the frenzied sex of their earlier escapades, both of them pushed to their limits but it still scratches that itch so good. They are wrecked and hoarse and Dean’s knows instinctively that he’s not going to be able to walk straight for a week but he knows too that neither of them will complain. Dean’s got five months to live, barely even that, and the chances of them sharing another heat is slim to none before then.
“I wish you would let us bond,” Sam says in such a small voice that Dean almost doesn’t hear him over the screams he makes when he shatters into pieces. When he collapses on top of Sam, tied for what turns out to be the last time, Dean kisses him soft and slow and heartfelt but he still can’t bring himself to let Sam take them that much deeper down the rabbit hole. Not when Dean knows that there will be no way of climbing out.
Dean’s going to the pit, he’s already accepted that. An eternity of torture is his only future. He won’t let Sam sign up for a life time of his own personal hell if he can help it.
And this? This is what you’re gonna become!
Dean bolts upright with a broken half sob, hands scrabbling at his chest, searching for buckshot. He can still see himself in the dark, his other self, with eyes black as night. For a minute he wonders if he ever woke up from the dream at all.
“Dean?” Dean flinches when there's a flick of a light switch and the orange glow from the bedside lamp spills over them. They’re in a hotel a day after that dream walking fucker tried to take Sam’s life by smashing his head in with a baseball bat. Oh and he messed with Bobby too.
Point was, the dreams are still too fresh and in the twilight hours of the night, Dean can’t shake them off. He feels like he’s falling apart and there’s nothing he can do about it. He finally decided to fight, but was it too late? He's wasted so much time already.
“Hey. Hey it’s okay.” Firm arms wraps Dean up and Dean’s not ashamed to admit that he broke right then and there and let Sam pick up the pieces. He’s scared, he’s so fucking scared. Torture is one thing. Dancing with demons, that was fine, there was nothing Dean could have done, right? But he doesn’t want to become one. He doesn’t want to go so far down that he can only rise as black smoke. Anything but that. But he already feels like it is too late, he fucked himself over ten fold. And he’s almost out of time to not fuck up the only thing he has left.
They’re in the shower after catching another hour of sleep when Dean decides to give Sam the only piece he has left. Sam’s so gentle with him that morning it almost pisses Dean off, hates being treated like porcelain. But he gets it. Sam’s scared too, and Dean finally realized what he’s been asking for all along. He’s going to lose Dean and there’s only one thing Dean can give him to keep a little piece of him all to himself. Even if it can possibly be the death of him too.
“Sam.” Sam looks up from where he was mouthing silent words over the constellation of freckles that spreads across Dean’s shoulder. Water runs down his tanned form in rivulets, catches in his eyelids. Dean loves him so much at that moment that he trembles with it. “I’m sorry.”
Sam frowns in confusion, runs his hands down Dean’s arms as if to soothe him.
“What for?”
“For not getting it. For holding back from you. I’m sorry.” Dean’s voice cracks and his heart’s jumped in his throat again. He slides his hands over Sam’s hips, slides his thumbs into the hollow dips between Sam’s hipbones. Then he tips his head, baring his neck. He knows that there’s no hesitancy in his eyes.
“Dean?”
“But I get it now, Sammy. I want you to. Please,” he whispers over the spray of the shower. Sam’s hands tremble over Dean’s shoulders and he looks like a hush of a sound could make him topple over. Dean nods and it’s all Sam needs.
“Thank you,” Sam says, heartfelt, before he kisses Dean breathless. He smears his lips over Dean’s cheek and down his throat, smears soft ‘thank yous’ until Dean’s about to cry because he does get it now and he hates himself for denying Sam for so long.
And then Sam bites down, sharp teeth piercing through skin and Dean’s world whites out. He feels it right down to his soul, a scorching heat that goes supernova. When he comes to it’s with a gasp that’s echoed by Sam, his mate. His heart is pounding under his breast and he’s deliriously aware of Sam’s heartbeat, as if it’s wrapped around his own. They move as one, embracing each other tightly, clinging to each other in their own world in a small shower in another dingy, nameless hotel. Dean can only hope that it’s enough to save Sam in case it is already too late for him.
Epilogue.
Dean meant to go to Bobby’s after dealing with… whatever the fuck that was back at the gas station. He’s alive, shaky as all hell, thoroughly confused, and can’t reach Sam. He needs to know that Sam’s alive. Needs to know that his death didn’t kill his baby brother when their bond broke.
Fingers brush over smooth skin and Dean has to swallow down a sob at the lack of a scar. He’s whole, scars he used to have gone. The only mark on him is a freaky hand print and that’s worse than waking up without any scars. It’s like someone else went and claim him and… it’s just not fucking right.
So he’s thinking of heading to Bobby’s but as soon as he starts leaving Pontiac his arm starts to throb and a deep seated panic begins rising. It doesn’t stop until he turns around and heads back into the city. He doesn’t know what the hell is guiding him and it doesn’t help that he tries for Bobby again because he needs to know about Sam, but he goes where his instincts take him, even though he doesn’t know quite what that is leading him into.
When he takes a turn down Adams road Dean feels a spark light under his chest and the mark feels warm and nothing is making any sense still but the urgency he feels knocking under his ribs is hard to ignore. He can’t explain it but he knows he needs to head into Astoria Motel like his newly reborn life depends on it. As soon as he steps out of the beat up car he starts running.
The undefinable thing leads him up to the second floor of the dingy motel just as a door is flung wide open. Dean freezes in front of the tall figure and he can’t believe who he’s seeing framed in the doorway. Sam’s there, braced against the door frame, fingers digging into the wood. He looks as stunned as Dean is.
“Sammy?” Dean croaks and Sam moves. He isn’t expecting getting grabbed by the front of his shirt and spun into the room. Sam kicks the door closed and slams Dean up against a wall but Dean just lets him. He’s still too overwhelmed by the fact that Sam’s alive.
“Who are you?” he demands and it’s so good to hear Sam’s voice again that Dean can’t answer at first. Sam pulls him forward then slams him against the wall and roars the question at him again. Dean bares his throat and isn’t surprised when Sam puts a knife to it instead of scenting him. It kills Dean a little but he didn’t raise Sam to be an idiot.
“Sam, it’s me. It’s Dean.” Sam’s expression is ugly and full of pain and the knife digs in a little. It nicks his skin but Dean barely offers a hiss. He doesn’t doubt that the knife is silver.
“Sam, it’s me. Your brother. Your mate.” Dean implores. Sam if off of him in a flash like Dean physically burns him. He’s covering his mouth with one hand, the other shaking as he points the knife at Dean. Dean dabs his fingers against the small cut on his neck and slowly moves away from the wall. His theory that Sam brought him back is starting to fill with doubt.
“Didn’t you bring me back?” he asks. Sam shakes his head but he still looks like a caged tiger.
“It’s not you,” he says and Dean’s heart breaks under the tone of pure agony. “It can’t be. You died, Dean. I felt you die!” Tears start streaming don’t his face and Dean thinks nothing of Sam still being armed and approaches him. Sam jerks but he doesn’t stab Dean when he grabs him by the shoulders. Dean considers that a win.
“I don’t know what happened, Sam.” Dean’s still not convinced that Sam didn’t have something to do with it. “But I’m here. I’m alive. It’s me. Your mate. Can’t you feel that, Sammy?” The knife clatters against the dirty carpet and Sam grabs handfuls of Dean’s dusty jacket. He let’s Sam pull him in and bares his throat as Sam presses his nose to where his bite once laid and inhales a shuddering, sobbing breath. Dean closes his eyes and wraps himself around the scent of his mate.
“I missed you so fucking much, Sam.”
“Oh God. Oh my God.” Dean finally gets his arms around Sam and holds him while his baby brother breaks apart. The hold each other with the same desperation they held the night before Dean became a Hell Hound’s chew toy. He should be getting on Sam’s case for not testing him more, but his scent is probably enough, or maybe it’s the thing he feels deep down in his gut that tells Dean that he doesn’t need Sam’s bite to know that they were still bound somehow.
“I tried, Dean. I did. I tried everything I could think of but no one would deal with me, there wasn’t a spell that would have brought you back whole. It almost killed me, Dean. I wanted to die.” Dean shushes him then, draws back and kisses his chin, then his stubble roughened cheek.
“Hey, It’s okay. We’ll figure out why I’m back. Go to Bobby’s, we will figure it out. The important thing is I’m back,” Dean soothes. Sam still looks so close to breaking and Dean doesn’t know how to fix that but he goes with instinct and leans in and kisses him, again and again until Sam makes makes a broken sound that’s half sob and half relieved laughter and soon Dean’s being kissed to an inch of his life.
They really don’t have time, he knows, but Dean doesn’t protest when Sam starts leading him to the bed against the far wall. His fingers are restless over the smooth patch of skin on Dean’s neck and he knows what Sam’s thinking and he understands. Explaining the weird ass hand print was going to be awkward, but they will cross that bridge when it comes. Until then, Dean doesn’t deny Sam’s need to re-establish their bond, especially when Dean had to go forty years in hell without Sam. Everything else can wait.