majestic_duxk | Fic: Fractured Bonds Chapter 5 (Reply)

Chapter 5

Sam had hoped that things would change, hoped that his sick feelings for his brother would pass. But his first wet dream when he popped his knot? Dean. All Dean.

All he could think of was Dean spread out underneath him, Dean begging for his knot, Dean moaning as Sam fucked him. Filled him. Claimed him.

It was embarrassing enough going into rut at home. Dad had been… weirdly happy about it. He congratulated Sam, told him to keep the bathroom clean, and then got the hell out. Sam was relieved in a way. He’d had no control over his thoughts, and if John knew that Sam was thinking about Dean… well, he was glad it never came up.

Although thinking about Dean…

Grimacing, Sam raised his hand, thankful that his history teacher was a beta and couldn’t smell his horniness. The bell rang as he made his way to the bathroom, and Sam was super fucking grateful he had a free period. At least he’d be able to get rid of his boner.

Sure, all alphas popped the inappropriate knot, but this was beyond ridiculous. Just thinking about his brother was enough to get him coming in his pants.

Freak, he thought sadly, as he wiped himself down. I’m such a fucking freak.

All his life all he wanted to do was protect Dean. And now it seemed the biggest threat was actually Sam.

Angrily he wiped tears away. Dean deserved better than that. Better than him.

--oo--

It was never ending.

The battles between the newly presented alpha and his drill sergeant father just got worse and worse.

And Dean couldn’t deal with it. The endless battles over nothing. The shouting, the screaming, the anger. It shouldn’t have mattered: after all, he was a Winchester, he fought fucking evil, but he was brought to his knees every time by the anger between his father and brother.

He’d tried to mediate and got thrown into a wall for it. His family had been mildly apologetic, and Sam and John had managed to not fight for two days. But that was it. And now they fought worse than ever.

So Dean avoided it. Instead, he soothed his soul in a pretty girl. Every night he went out, and every night he came back to his furious family. But Dean could weather that anger. It was easier than the way they went for each other.

He was mildly curious though. For a start, he couldn’t believe they even noticed he was gone. But they did. And why the fuck did they even care?

John was furious with him – did Dean even know who these people were?What they were? Did he think about what they could do to him? Dean had a fucking responsibility to be on call.

And Sam… Sammy was furious too.

Dean had staggered in at some ungodly time, and Sam was up, staring pointedly at Dean’s empty bed. Groaning, Dean headed to bathroom to shower, hoping that Sam would fall asleep by the time he was out. It was a faint hope. One squashed as soon as Dean threw himself on his bed.

“You’re worth more than this, Dean? Why do you do it? Treat yourself like you’re worth… nothing?”

What was Dean supposed to say to that? He’d lost track of how often they’d had the same conversation. Rolling on his back, he eyed his brother. Sam stormed around, staring at Dean. His fists were clenched at his side, eyes tinged red with alpha anger. Dean was too sad and tired to figure out his brother.

And too tired to lie.

“I’m so sick of the fighting.”

Sam stopped mid pace.

“What?”

Sitting up, Dean looked at his younger brother seriously. He was struck by how grownup he was. Little Sammy wasn’t a kid anymore. He was taller and broader than Dean. He was strong and sure and unhappy. And it was Dean’s fault.

“You and dad. I hate the fighting. So I get out. And if I meet someone who gives me a little comfort, well, what’s the problem with that? It’s not the end of the world, it’s not like,” And Dean had to steel himself. This was going to hurt. “It’s not like I’m your mate, Sam.”

And there it was. The expression that Dean never wanted to put on his brother’s face.

Shock.

Betrayal.

And heart wrenching sadness.

Dean was hurting the person he loved most in the world and telling himself it was for the best? That wasn’t helping at all

--oo--

It was just a matter of time before Sam left. Sam was meant for bigger and better things. And although Dean had given him that reason to leave, he still thought it would take longer than eleven days.

Eleven fucking days.

Sam had planned this. He’d applied for university, been fucking accepted, and how long had he known? Dean’s thoughts were interrupted by a screaming match. Somehow, Dean knew it would be the last one.

“Any other parent would be proud! Proud that I’d done this! But you? Are you proud? Of course not! You’re too caught up in mom-“

“I don’t want to hear a word about your mother! You know why we do this!”

“Mom’s dead!”

Dean’s eyes closed as he thought of the lonely, scared little boys growing up on the road. He thought he’d done ok, he’d certainly done his best by Sam. Looks like his best wasn’t good enough.

“Mom’s been gone a long time, dad. And we’re still here. Remember your sons? The two kids you threw into the back of a car and forgot abou-“

A bottle smashed and chair crashed to the floor.

“I never forgot about you!” John roared. “Everything I’ve done has been to keep you safe! You know what we do is important!”

“Important!” Sam was now loud enough to speak over his father. “Important? You destroyed my life, dad! Why is my life less important than someone else’s? Some fucking stranger that you’ve never met, and will never meet again?”

Silence. Dean shifted uncomfortably. That never meant anything good.

“There’s no point talking to you, is there? All you’ve ever seen are soldiers for your vengeance. Well, that’s not me, dad. Not anymore. I don’t need this, and I don’t need you.”

John’s growl could have rivalled that of an alpha. “You don’t need me? Fine, Sam. But if you leave, don’t bother coming back.”

And John left. Dean could hear him slamming about before he thundered down the steps.

“We’re leaving in the morning, Dean.”

“Dad-“

“For fuck’s sake! I don’t ask much, Dean! Just do what your fucking told for once!”

Pale and silent, Dean watched his father storm out of the house before slamming the door. Turning, he found Sam, bag already packed and an argument on his face.

“I don’t want to hear it, Dean.”

Dean had opened his mouth, but no words came out.

Sam was leaving.

Sam’s bag was already packed.

Shaking his head, Dean tried to make sense of it as he stared at Sam. His brother. His best friend. Whose bag was already packed.

Sam… who was Dean’s most important person was leaving, had planned it, and hadn’t even bothered to tell Dean about it. Well, it wasn’t as if he didn’t know where he stood. And wasn’t this what he wanted for his brother? To live the life he wanted: successful. Normal. Safe. Dean knew he had to let him go. He couldn’t stand in the way of his brothers’ dreams.

Clearing his throat, Dean fought for words. “Dad… Dad didn’t take the car. Can I drive you to the bus stop, Sammy?”

--oo--

Drinking alone at the bar, Dean wondered how his life had actually managed to get worse. He already knew he was nothing to his father, but being discarded within ten days of Sam leaving? Yeah, that was hard.

Eleven plus ten. Twenty one. Three weeks and he’d been thrown away by everyone he knew and loved.

Well, it wasn’t like it was surprising.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing here all alone?”

Turning hard eyes on the stranger beside him, Dean blinked. He was tall with shaggy hair and nicely built. It was stupid. It was fucking stupid, but he needed the comfort.

Raising an arched eyebrow, Dean let a smirk grace his lips.

“What makes you think I’m alone?”

Dean let himself be caught up in the flirtatious banter, and later in the strength and heat of a stranger’s body.

He could do this.

Dean was good at this.

Dean was good at pretending the outside world didn’t exist.

--oo--

Six months later he wasn't so sure. It was his third trip to the emergency department in as many weeks, and the trail to find his father was going cold.

He didn't want to go get Sam.

Well he did. But then again, he didn't.

He missed his brother. Sam was a part of him, and it was like a knife to the guts whenever his thoughts turned to his brother. And it wasn’t just thoughts. A tall man with long hair. A set up of dimples. Even when he was at a library, seeing a big man hunched over a desk made Dean hurt and ache in ways he barely understood.

He never sought them out though, these reminders of Sam. Not since that first time. It was too painful. It reminded Dean of all he had lost.

Of course he soldiered on. It was what he was trained to do, all he knew. He was functioning but it still felt like part of him was missing.

But that wasn't a good enough reason to find Sam. Especially since Sam... Sam was doing well. Every opportunity he got, Dean swung through town, checking that his little brother was still ok. And Sam was ok. More than ok. He seemed to spend all his time in the library (well, once a nerd, always a nerd), and he bartended two nights a week (Dean wasn't sure if that was because he wanted to or needed to. It's not like they'd had a chance to discuss the scholarship).

So Sam was doing well. He'd escaped, just like he'd always wanted to. It wasn’t right or fair that Dean was even considering dragging him back into it. Huffing a laugh, Dean finished his whiskey and ordered another. God, he was such an asshole. He was going to get his brother, wasn't he?

--oo--

If Sam thought it hurt when Dean was there but didn't want him, it hurt a thousand times worse when Dean wasn't there. And it pissed him off. Because here he was, at college and it was filled with all sorts of people. Normal people. The sorts of people Sam had always wanted to be around.

And all he did was miss Dean.

Instead of throwing himself into the new life, and becoming the normal person he knew he could be, he was hurting. It was like he was missing a part of himself.

At least it clarified one thing: Sam was even more of a freak than he'd thought. He'd somehow managed to convince himself that his brother - his beta brother - was his soulmate. And even though that was wrong, it couldn’t be, Sam couldn’t shake the feeling. Instead of being complete and fulfilled, he was rudderless.

He didn't know what to do: despite his issues with John there had been some… consistency to the old man’s orders. Without anything to push against, Sam fell back on old habits: research and training. Even now, here at Stanford, where the world was his fucking oyster, his favourite place was the library. He could hide from the world, and at the same time do a vaguely normal student thing.

Such a fucking fake. Six months he’d been here, and all his time was spent at the library, the gym, and the bar he worked at. It wasn't so different to the thousands of students he saw every day. The normal ones. Luckily, Sam had plenty of practice playing a role.

--oo--

Six months went by fast, Sam reflected as he shot his tip-winning smile at a large group of college girls. They tittered and flirted back, so hopefully he'd have a big tip in a few hours’ time.

He needed to focus on them, because tonight was going to be a bad night. Sitting at the bar was a man who looked like Dean. And yeah, that was exactly what he needed, to spend the night mooning over a brother who probably never gave him a second thought.

Turning away, Sam focused on the groups around him. He still couldn't help but tense up when Dean - the Dean lookalike - moved towards him.

“What, not even a hello?”

Sam dropped the glass and Dean laughed as glass the glass smashed.

“Well, I’ve had worse greetings, Sammy.”

--oo--

There wasn’t any question that Sam would go. Of course he would. Because the burn was still there. The want – no - the need to have his brother. It had been so hard without him, and Sam wasn’t going to turn away this opportunity to have even a little taste of what could, should, be his.

Sam took every opportunity to touch his brother: checked each and every wound, however small; offered his hand to help him stand; bumped shoulders while they waited in the cold; brushed their fingers when he handed Dean a beer, and while Dean accepted it, he never initiated anything.

Not even once.

Dean couldn’t have been more obvious if he’d punched Sam and rejected him outright. But this hurt more. Each kind pat, each smile as he eased from under Sam’s hand, each of these was a knife in the heart.

And still Sam couldn’t leave.

In bed at night, after Dean had fallen asleep, he’d sit and stare at his brother. Sam couldn’t help but stare at the shadow of Dean’s lashes as they brushed against lightly freckled cheeks, and at the rise and fall of his chest. Sam listened to the soft snuffle as he slept. Like this, Dean was so soft, so vulnerable. Sam needed to look after his brother.

And at the same time, even though Sam hated himself, he ached.

Did he want to fuck his brother? Absolutely. In his mind’s eye he could see Dean’s pretty freckles obscured with come. If he closed his eyes, he could picture Dean on his hands and knees as Sam watched himself stretch Dean’s little hole, little huffing breaths as Sam breached him.

Muffling a groan, Sam squeezed his cock. That was always a favourite fantasy… Dean’s perfect ass filled by Sam.

And only by Sam.

It wasn’t just that he wanted to fuck Dean into the mattress, and mark him so no one would ever look at him again. Or at least they could look, but not touch. Never touch. And despite Dean’s philandering ways, Sam would keep him so satisfied he wouldn’t want to look anywhere else.

Dean wouldn’t need to seek comfort and protection from anyone else, ever again. Sam would provide it all.

Sam wanted to care for Dean. To wrap him in his arms, and hold him at night. Make him feel safe enough that he could cry, and kiss away those tears. Yes, he wanted to own and claim and have. But he also wanted to protect and provide and care for Dean.

Sam was in love with Dean. There was no two ways about it.

A frustrated snort escaped him. Glancing at the window, Sam squinted as the sun peeked over the horizon. He’d been staring at his brother all night. All fucking night! Yeah, Sam was a sick twisted fuck, and a smart man would leave. Now. But now he had his brother back in his life, he couldn’t leave. He wasn’t that strong.

But he couldn’t be here staring at Dean when he woke up. Forcing himself to his feet, he shed his clothes, replacing them with sweats. He’d work off his lust the old fashioned Winchester way: physical exhaustion.

--oo--

The door swung too and Dean’s opened his eyes.

Fuck.

The scent of distress was in the air. Dean knew he was lucky – fucked up as he was, he could just taste the edge of despair. If he was fully functioning, well, there’s no way he could have laid there as his alpha watched him all night.

No.

Not his alpha. Never his alpha.

He’d hoped that Sam would move on. He’d hoped for Sam’s sake. Because there was nothing but pain if they continued down this path. Dean deserved it: he’d fucked up and never stopped paying the price, but that didn’t mean Sam deserved it.

He was going to have to leave. Sam obviously wouldn’t. And Dean would always do what was right for his brother. If there was just another way… But no matter how hard he thought about it, there weren’t other options. How could he admit how broken he was… how he had failed.

The decision hurt, but he was sure it would hurt Sam more any other way

--oo--

The longer they were on the road, the harder it got.

Sam never said anything, but Dean knew his brother. Probably better than he knew himself. Sam wasn’t sleeping. Sam watched over Dean. At night. Which meant Dean couldn’t sleep, worried as he was about Sam. When they hunted, more often than not, they came back with cuts and bruises. And the injuries were getting worse. Sam was getting hurt and it was Dean’s fault. He had to say something.

“Sammy… we’re partners. Hunting partners. You know that right?”

Staring at the gash in his thigh, Sam only grunted. When he’d seen the spirit heading straight for Dean, he hadn’t been able to control himself. Without thought he’d thrown himself in front of Dean, receiving for his efforts a knife to the thigh and a scolding from his brother.

And the twisted part? He loved it. Dean wouldn’t say anything if he didn’t care. And now, fuzzy from painkillers, he couldn’t keep the sappy expression from his face, as Dean leaned over his lap, pink tongue peeking out as he concentrated on Sam’s thigh. Which, when you thought about it, was very close to another much more interesting region.

To his disappointment, although not to his surprise, Dean’s eyes never strayed. Finishing the last stitch, he stretched. Arms reached up, and his shirt shifted as Dean reached higher. Sam’s eyes narrowed. There was old scarring across Dean’s belly: scars he didn’t remember seeing before.

Before he had a change to say anything, Dean spoke.

“Sam. This isn’t working. It’s… I don’t know.” Pausing, Sam could see Dean fighting for words. When they finally came, they were quiet and broken. It reminded Sam of something… but he couldn’t put his finger on it. “Don’t you trust me?”

In his haste to reassure Dean, Sam pulled his stitches. Earning a growl and a heavy hand to the chest.

“Stay the fuck down, Sam. I just finished and you popped half of them.”

Scowling, Sam stared at his brother. “I trust you, Dean. I’ve always trusted you.”

And it was true. He always trusted Dean. It was just that he needed to keep him safe. That was more important. He wasn’t stupid enough to tell his brother that, though.

--oo--

“Why would you do that Dean?!”

Wincing, Dean didn’t respond. There wasn’t really an answer Sam would accept. Stoically. Dean kept walking towards the bed, hoping that the silence would stop his brother. But of course Sam never let anything go. Especially something as important as this.

“Answer me, Dean! Why?” Sam was in his face, big body crowding Dean until his back was up against the wall.

Dean wanted to look away, but Sam’s angry eyes wouldn’t let him go. Eventually, Dean had to answer.

“I couldn’t let you die.” The words were terse, belying the emotion. Of course Sam heard it.

“Fuck!” Sam slammed Dean against the wall, staring him in the eyes. “How could you? How could you do that? I’m not worth it!”

It was Dean’s turn to push. Shoving Sam away, he stormed across the room. He needed space. He needed as much space as he could get. And Sam wasn’t in the mood to abide by their unspoken rules. Fucker was even following him now.

“You don’t get to make that decision! Next time you’re lying dead in my arms, Sam, maybe then I’ll be willing to let you fucking die! But it’s not your time! It’s not your time! And as long as I have a way, Sam, I’m not going to let it happen. You deserve… you deserve good things, Sam-“

“And you don’t?”

Sam knew he was shouting. What was he supposed to do?

“Why don’t you, Dean? What’s so wrong with you that you don’t deserve to live? You’re…” He trailed off. Dean was what? The most important thing in his life? What the fuck was Sam supposed to do?

A heavy silence fell over the room.

“How long?”

Slowly Dean looked at him, mouth working a little, before he coughed and looked away. Sam felt his eyes narrow.

“How long, Dean?”

Twisting away, Dean muttered, hiding his words under his breath, and something inSam’s heart broke. He was back in his brother’s space, once more pushing him against the wall.

“Dean.”

“A year, Sam! I got a year. Your life for a…”

Sam couldn’t listen to another word. Storming out, he didn’t know what the fuck he was going to do, but he wasn’t losing his brother.

--oo--

He wasn’t going to.

“We’re going to fix this Dean. We’re going to find a way to save you.”

Dean didn’t reply. He didn’t have to. There was no way to save him.

--oo--

A year passes quickly when you seek the holy grail.

While Sam put all his efforts into fixing the problem, Dean let loose. He ate and drank and fucked whatever he wanted.

Except his brother.

Never his brother.

He knew it made Sam angry, seeing Dean with a different body on his arm every night. He knew Sam was angry because he didn’t understand why he was angry. Dean knew Sam wanted him and thought it was wrong, thought that he was broken.

Dean never told him that it Dean that was broken. What was the point? He only had a year and then would Sam be able to move on. Telling him the truth? It would just hurt him more, and Dean had hurt him enough. Dean was broken and never good enough for Sam.

--oo--

Eventually, even Sam had to admit defeat. But true to himself, it was only on the last day.

“I can’t lose you, Dean.”

Nodding his head, Dean did what he’d wanted to do for as long as he remembered. He pulled Sam into his arms and hugged him close. There was a split second where Sam’s body was tense and unyielding, and then he collapsed on his brother, shedding the tears he’d been holding back.

“You can’t go, Dean! You can’t! You’re mine. I… lo-“

Dean silenced him with a kiss. It was his last gift to the brother he loved. Sam clung to him, lips desperately pressed against his as their tears mingled.

The howls of the hounds drew closer, and Dean pushed Sam back.

“I’m sorry, Sam.”

“Dean-“

“You’re a great man, Sam. You deserve the best. Remember that.”

Sam refused to turn away from Dean’s final moments. Refused to turn away as his clothes shredded and his skin did too. Refused to turn away as the man he loved was torn to strips in front of him.

--oo--

“Son, I really think –“

“I don’t want to hear it.”

Bobby sighed as he watched Sam dig the grave.

“Sam, I really think –“

Throwing the shovel on the ground, Sam rounded on the older hunter.

“I said, I don’t want to hear it! I know what we should do! But there is no fucking way I am going to salt and burn my brother!”

A small part of him regretted being so rude to Bobby. The larger part was so wild with grief he didn’t care.

Dean was gone. His Dean was gone. Sam hadn’t been able to save him, and there wasn’t a single fucking thing that Bobby could do about it.

Silence reigned as Sam lowered Deans’ coffin into the ground. Neither man spoke as Sam filled in the grave, each shovelful of dirt taking his brother further away.

When the last of the soil had been patted down, Bobby moved from his spot. Wrapping a hand around Sam’s shoulder he pulled him down. It was an awkward hug. The hug of a man not used to showing affection.

“Come on, son. Let’s go home.”

The words were rough, but it was all it took for Sam’s dam of tears to break.

“I’m going to find a way, Bobby. I’m going to find a way to bring him back!”

Bobby didn’t argue. There would be plenty of time for that.

--oo--

Before he broke, Alastair spent a lot of time at Dean’s belly. Lovingly slicing along the scars again and again and again. Sometimes he took John’s face and body as he fucked him, laughing as a demon burst its way out of Dean’s belly. Laughing as Dean screamed himself hoarse. Laughing as he did it again and again.

--oo--

“You really fucked up, Dean.” Alastair licked along his ear. “Sam was your mate. And the fact that you were a broken shell means nothing. Your blood still called to him. He couldn’t forget you. You destroyed him, Dean. Because you were careless and stupid, you destroyed him.”

to part 6