Title: Personal Weirdness
Author: Dhvana
Series: 1) The Monster Under the Bed, 2) A Little Help From Bob, 3) The Temptation of Dean, 4) Questions Without Answers, 5) Don't Lose Your Head, 6) Retribution and Remorse, 7) The Return of an Old Fiend, 8) Undulating Dynamics
Rating: hard R
Pairing: Sam/Dean, but the Wincest is implied and unrequited (so far)
Summary: Dean's idiocy pushes Sammy to the edge.

***

After picking Sam up from the hospital, they hadn't been back at the Inn for more than thirty minutes before Dean curled up into bed and fell asleep, staying there for most of the day. Sam had entertained himself at first by watching Dean--there was something soothing in being able to watch his brother sleep so deeply and so peacefully--and then when he'd realized how strange he would look if he was caught staring, he entertained himself by chatting with Judy. However, the second Dean had stumbled down the stairs, she'd been all over him, rushing him back up to bed, bringing him everything he needed, and Dean had lapped it up.

Sam observed his brother--his big, strong, take control, demon killing, evil hunting, badass brother--simper and pout and mewl his way through the day, sucking up every ounce of sympathy and mothering he could get from Judy. With a flutter of his thick eyelashes, a well-placed wince and a whimper, and a sugary-sweet smile, Dean had their innkeeper eating out of his hand.

It was disgusting.

"You're taking advantage of her."

"Shamelessly," Dean said with a satisfied grin, blowing on his hot cocoa--with extra marshmallows, no less--as he lay comfortably tucked into their fluffy bed.

Sam sighed, and turned to stare out the window. He knew a hopeless situation when he saw one. If he'd thought it bothered Judy, he would have put a stop to it, but she didn't seem to mind, and the truth was, he was worried enough about his brother not to make too big a deal out of it. For the most part.

Dean frowned as he stared into his mug. "There's too much cocoa in my marshmallows."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Doesn't Judy wonder how it is you could get up at the crack of dawn to come pick me up but now can't manage to sit up without getting your pillows fluffed first?"

His brother looked over at him with undeniably irresistible Bambi eyes and said, "I've missed him so much. I have to go to the hospital, even if the only thing I can do is watch him sleep." He grinned. "She sent me on my way with tears in her eyes."

Sam glared at him from his place by the window. "You're despicable. You should be ashamed of yourself."

"And I will be, just as soon as I run out of cocoa." Dean then turned the full effect of the Bambi eyes on him. "Sammy, don't you think I deserve a little pampering? Especially after everything I've been through."

"You've been through much worse," he said, standing up and walking over to the wardrobe where he'd hung his jacket, "and it never required lemon bars with extra powered sugar on top to help you recover."

"That's because lemon bars weren't available before," he said, patting the spot on the mattress next to him. "Have a seat, Sammy. You shouldn't be up and wandering around."

"I'm fine. I was thinking I'd go for a walk."

"Then I'll go with you," Dean said, opening his mouth wide enough to suck down the remaining half-melted marshmallows from the mug. Mouth full of goo, he threw back the blankets and slid out of bed.

"You can't walk," Sam protested.

"I can hobble."

"Judy will stop you before you get halfway down the stairs."

"We'll go out the back."

"Dean--"

"Sam, you're not walking anywhere around this town alone."

"Then I'll drive."

He snorted. "Like hell. And even if you didn't have a bum arm, like hell."

"I can take the keys and be out the door before you get halfway across the room to stop me."

"Sammy," Dean began, and Sam knew--he just knew--from the tone of his brother's voice, he was about to get suckered. If he didn't get the upper hand now, it would look like he'd caved, and he wasn't caving.

"All right," he said, heaving a sigh that clearly stated 'I'm humoring you because you're injured, so don't expect this to last', "I won't go out. I'll just take a shower instead."

It took all his self-control not to smirk at the stunned expression on his brother's face. So, Dean wasn't as indifferent as he liked to pretend--not even close. It looked like there were dozens of cracks Sam could pry open if he just applied enough pressure. He simply needed to choose which crack to start on first.

"Ye-yeah. That sounds good." And in an instant--much faster than Sam had been hoping for--Dean recovered his self-control and grinned as he fell back into the bed. "I can smell you from here."

But Sam wasn't fooled. He'd caught the uncertainty in his brother's face, the flare of interest. He could smell like a New Orleans sewer in the middle of August and Dean would still look at him with that particular gleam in his eyes. Time to apply a little pressure.

He moved over to the bed and sat down on the mattress, lifting his legs up into Dean's lap. "Shoes?"

"Yeah yeah," he grumbled and began unlacing Sam's shoes. "You'd be helpless without me."

"Or I'd be wandering around barefoot," Sam said and reached up to undo the first button on his shirt. His brother was so distracted by his shoes that Dean didn't become aware of Sam's growing state of undress until his shirt was half-unbuttoned.

And then he couldn't look away.

Sam watched, amused, as Dean stared with wide eyes at each button as it was released from its hole. Trembling fingers shook the laces in his hands, inadvertently pulling them tighter in the shoe. When the unbuttoned shirt finally fell open, the laces fell from his fingers and Dean remembered to close his mouth. Swallowing hard, he whispered, "What are you doing?"

"Getting undressed. You'll have to help me cover the stitches so I don't get them wet."

"Stitches. Right."

He could tell this was going to take some specific instruction, as Dean's senses had clearly scattered. "In the bag I brought home from the hospital, there is some waterproof tape and bandages. Go get them."

"Bag," he nodded and slid off the bed, limping over to the bag next to the door. Sam took the opportunity to grin while Dean couldn't see him--he really didn't know what he'd been worried about. His brother was even more far gone than he'd been before the Horseman had separated them.

When he returned with the bandages and tape, Sam looked up at him with wider than necessary eyes. "Could you help me get my shirt off?"

Apparently, Dean didn't stop to remember that Sam had gotten into the shirt on his own just fine. He set the bandages and tape on the bed and reached with none-too-steady hands towards his brother, letting them come to rest on Sam's shoulders and hooking the shirt beneath his thumbs. Their eyes met and held as Dean slowly slid his hands over his brother's skin and down his arms to his elbows, carrying the shirt with him until Sam was sitting nearly half naked in front of him.

Both their breathing increased as their contact grew more prolonged, neither of them attempting to move away. Sam started to harden at the look of pure need in his brother's eyes, at the warmth of Dean's hands on his skin, at his own desire rising to the surface.

Come on, Dean, he silently willed his brother. It won't take much. Just kiss me.

And for a moment, he thought it would happen. Dean seemed to be moving forward, his tongue flicking out across his lips, and Sam's heart stopped in his chest. That's right, Dean. Just a little bit closer. But then his brother took a quick step back and their chance passed. Sam watched the green eyes fill with despair and knew that backing away was the last thing Dean wanted to do, and yet his brother continued to fight himself.

Sam nearly slugged him.

"I think you can take it from there," Dean said in a strangled voice, trying to look anywhere except at Sam. "Let's get you bandaged up."

He bit back a few choice words and pulled the rest of his shirt off. Hard-headed, insufferable, maddening. . . there weren't enough words to describe his brother. He didn't know what he was going to do if he couldn't even get Dean to meet him halfway. Except maybe knock him around until he came to his senses.

Dean's handiwork with the bandage and tape was quick, but not careless. Even in his hurry, his brother wouldn't do anything to endanger his healing process. While Sam appreciated the concern, he would have been much happier getting a few of those stitches knocked loose holding onto the headboard for dear life while Dean fucked him through the mattress. By the time his brother finished with covering his stitches, he was more than a little ticked off and had reached new levels of frustration.

Sliding off the bed, Sam stared directly at Dean as unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans and let them fall to the floor, followed by his boxers. He stepped out of the clothes pooled at his feet, turned around, and stormed into the bathroom, letting the door slam behind him on his goggle-eyed brother. Turning on the water, he stepped into the shower and tried to forget the stubborn, stupid, fucked-up man in the next room, but it didn't work. The more he thought about Dean, the harder he got until he couldn't do anything else except slam his fist against the tiles. And then do it again. And again.

"Sammy, is everything all right in there?" Dean called through the door.

He didn't answer. If Dean wanted to know, he'd have to find out for himself. He'd had enough of accommodating his brother for one day.

Emptying the contents of a bottle of conditioner into a pool in his hand, Sam sent a nasty look towards the door and put the conditioner to its second most popular use.






Dean sat cross-legged on the bed, his injured ankle placed slightly in front of him, and stared at the bathroom door.

The slamming noises had stopped, and he supposed that was a good thing, unless it meant Sam was lying unconscious on the shower floor. He hadn't answered when Dean had called. Was he incapable of answering? Or was his little brother just not speaking to him?

Considering the intense scene they'd just gone through, the look in Sam's eyes as he dropped trou and stormed into the bathroom, the semi-aroused state he'd had been in--which Dean had tried not to notice but couldn't miss--considering all of this, he wouldn't blame Sam for not talking to him. He'd passed up on the opportunity to throw his brother to the bed and finally find out what Sam felt like inside and out. It was something they both wanted--he didn't bother denying it, but he couldn't make himself hurt Sam like that.

Focus.

That was his only goal. Focus. Save Sam. Protect him from the rest of the world. Protect him from evil. Protect him from. . .

"You reek of desire."

. . . from that.

"You both do. I don't understand. Why do you resist?"

"To protect him," Dean said, still staring at the door. He didn't have to look at the monster to know where it was standing. He could feel it behind him, almost touching him, but not quite.

"By hurting him?"

"You don't understand. I can't protect him if I'm--" He cut himself off and glared at the monster. He didn't need to explain himself to anyone, least of all to that thing. "Never mind. It's none of your goddamn business."

"You are correct," it said, running a finger down the length of his neck. Dean shuddered pleasantly and brushed the hand away. The monster didn't seem to mind. "The more you deny yourself the release of your desire with him, the more I get to enjoy the fallout."

"Quiet!" Dean held up his hand, craning his head towards the door. "Did you hear that? Was that a thump? Do you think he fell? Is he all right?"

"I didn't hear anything. Perhaps you should look, ease your fears."

"I can't look in there--he's naked."

"Which is exactly why you want to look in there."

Dean turned to the monster with a fierce glare. The monster smiled as it shrugged, and he couldn't help following the play of muscles in its chest at the motion. "Don't you ever wear clothes?" he growled, turning his eyes back to the door.

"I have no need of clothes."

"I can think of a few reasons for you to--there! That was definitely a thump. He's hurt, I can tell."

"Then you should check on him."

"Fine, I will," he grumbled and slid off the bed. He walked over to the door and tapped on the wood with his knuckles. "Sammy? Do you need help?"

There was no answer. He tried again.

"Sam?"

"You're going to have to open the door."

"Shut up," he snapped at the monster. Taking a deep breath, he reached for the doorknob and slowly opened the door. "Sam, are you okay?"

His brother continued not to answer and so he opened the door a little bit more and peered inside. "Sammy?"

When he couldn't immediately see him, Dean pushed through the door and peered a little more until he was looking directly at the shower. What he saw through the steam and the glass was enough to make his knees go weak and his heart nearly pound out of his chest. His brother, his baby brother, the one he was meant to protect and take care of, had vanished. In his place was a young man--a beautiful young man all long limbs and lean muscles and glowing wet skin touching himself, resting with his back against the wall, his mouth open in pleasure as his hand moved up and down over his fully aroused, fully hard, fully adult penis.

Dean whimpered, his own erection pressing painfully against his jeans.

Go to him, said a voice inside his head. He's thinking of you. He wants you. You want him. Go to him.

He shook his head and closed his eyes.

No.

He backed out of the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

No.

He had to focus. He had to remain in control. He had to--he had to get the hell out of there, that's what he had to do.

Dean turned and fled into the hallway, slamming the door shut behind him, but a door between them wasn't enough to help him escape from Sam. The image of his brother's naked flesh was burned into his mind. It was all he could see no matter where he looked. "Oh, god, Sammy," he whispered, pounding his fist against the wall to keep from touching himself. He repeated over and over again, "I will not think about my brother. I will not think about my brother. I will not think about my brother."

The bedroom door next to him opened and an arm reached out, yanking him inside.

"What the--"

His protest was broken off as a mouth was pressed against his.

"Hey!"

"Shut up," the monster said, pushing him onto the bed. "I'm not going to let this go to waste."

It quickly undid his jeans and boxers and pulled them off his legs, but it didn't immediately take him in its mouth. The monster moved to straddle him on the mattress, reaching between them to stroke Dean's cock.

"You're a fool," it said, holding Dean down with his free hand as he struggled to liberate himself. "I will never understand why it is you choose to deny yourself what it is you want."

"That's because you're evil," Dean said, trying with both hands to pry the thing's fingers from his chest while resisting the urge to push his hips against it. "You don't know the difference between right and wrong."

"So in your mind, it's wrong to love your brother?" it said, lowering its head until its mouth was brushing across his neck as it spoke, the hint of movement making his body tingle. "Or is it just wrong to desire that pure delicious flesh? To want to trace the veins in those arms with your tongue, to touch your lips to his as he writhes beneath you? This is wrong?"

"YES!" Dean shouted, his anger giving him the strength to roll them over. He knelt over the monster, his nails digging into its shoulders. "I'm not supposed to want him like that!"

"But you do," it said, rubbing wantonly against him and sending welcoming sparks through his veins. "You want nothing more than to feel his body wrapped around yours, to bury yourself deep inside of him. You want to mingle your essence with his and claim him as your own. I can see it in your eyes. You want to taste him, touch him, lick him in his most intimate--"

"SHUT UP!" he yelled. "Just shut up!"

The monster looked at him with its devious gold eyes and smiled, wrapping its long legs around his waist. "Make me."

Dean growled and entered the monster with one thrust. They both cried out, the monster in victory and Dean in anger. His body was already trembling with the need for release as he pounded into it, the long golden legs clinging to his waist pushing him deeper. "Is this what you wanted?" he snarled, knowing that his actions would have been ripping apart the insides of any human. "Are you happy now?"

"Yes," it hissed, its smile ecstatic. "Give me more."

Dean closed his eyes, too ashamed to look as he complied, releasing all his pent-up frustration for Sam into the monster. It hadn't been lying--it wasn't like a human inside. Instead of tightness and heat, it was soft and elastic, wrapping around him and creating a kind of suction that was intensely erotic. He didn't last long, his body shuddering a few thrusts later as he spilled into the creature.

Defeated in his release, Dean collapsed onto its chest and the monster held him, stroking his back. It didn't say anything, for once, and he was grateful. He just let it hold him as his gaze turned to the wall separating himself from Sam. His insides twisted as he thought of how he couldn't even kiss his brother, whom he loved with all his heart, but could fuck this thing he would gladly see dead. He wanted to cry, but his eyes were completely dry. He just stared at the wall and wished he could wake up from this nightmare.






Sam glanced up from the laptop as Dean walked into the room, noting the haunted look on his brother's face and feeling a spark of concern. "Where've you been?"

"Nowhere."

So much for showing brotherly concern. "Fine," he said, and looked back down at the screen. If that's the way he wanted to be, then Sam wasn't going to argue with him. He was still mad that Dean had been such a complete and total jerk earlier--he should have known nothing would change in an hour. "I've been searching for work, and I've found a couple things we should look into."

"Great," Dean said, grabbing his case of knives and steel sharpener. He took a seat in the window and began sharpening the blades.

"How soon will you be up to leaving?"

"Tomorrow."

Sam was a little surprised at that--he'd have thought Dean would have wanted to stick around Judy's cooking and the comfortable bed for another couple days.

On the other hand, his brother probably didn't want to be stuck in the same bed with him any longer than he had to be, and at this point, Sam didn't disagree.

"Fine. Then we can leave tomorrow."

"Great."

Sam rolled his eyes. Whatever. He wasn't going to waste the time and energy it would require to fight with him. If Dean wanted to be an asshole, that was his problem--one of many, Sam thought bitterly as he scratched at an itch on the inside of his thigh, unable to help noticing the way Dean's eyes focused on the movement. His brother was in such denial.

"Don't you even want to know where we're going?"

The green eyes snapped back to the blades and he shrugged. "Pick someplace."

Sam frowned as he flipped through the options he'd left up on screen. Even Dean at his pissiest usually couldn't hold back Dean the professional. He had to wonder if there was more going on than his brother was revealing.

The itch grew as he hesitated on the job in South Dakota and he acknowledged the message from his inner baggage. Guess they were going to South Dakota, he thought, scratching vigorously at his thigh, and Dean slammed the knife in his hand down on the windowsill.

"Did you pick up an infection at that hospital or something?" he growled and Sam raised his eyes to meet his brother's gaze.

"What?"

"You keep scratching at your leg."

"Oh." He glanced down and shrugged. "That. Don't worry about it."

Dean's eyes narrowed. "Don't worry about it? Is there something I should be worrying about?"

"Blue balls?"

His brother shot him a dirty look then returned to his knives. "Fine. If you want to be a whiny little girl, be a whiny little girl."

"This coming from the queen of whiny little girls?" Sam snapped, setting the computer aside. "You want to know why it is I keep scratching? Then I'll tell you. I keep scratching because that's how whatever it is that's inside of me lets me know something's about to jump our asses and we need to start paying attention."

Dean stared at him for a minute, then tilted his head, an expression of pure confusion on his face. "What?"

Sam sighed, wanting nothing more than to drop the whole discussion and go hide downstairs. His personal weirdness wasn't Dean's favorite subject to begin with, so getting his brother to understand what he himself was clueless about was going to be a pain in the ass. "Look, you know that shit I didn't want to talk about before?"

"Yeah," Dean answered a little reluctantly, as if already sorry he asked. Yeah, well, then maybe he shouldn't have asked, Sam thought, annoyed that Dean could fight off a ghost bare-handed but turned squeamish at the thought this something supernatural could have hold of his brother.

"This is just more of that, so don't worry about it, okay?"

"No, it's not okay!" he snarled, and Sam read the tremor in his voice to mean Dean was seconds away from lashing out. He decided to be generous and stop poking the lion with a stick.

"Look, here's what I know," he said, doing his best to sound conciliatory. "Whatever it is that gives me the dreams, whatever it is that lets me sense evil when it's around, whatever it is that let me feel what was going on inside of you at the hospital and let me into your head, the thing responsible for all of this is inside of me. I don't know how it got there, I don't know how to control it, all I know is that it's getting stronger."

"What is it?"

"Specifically? How the hell should I know?" he said nastily, and from clenching of the lion's paws, realized he was walking on dangerous ground and put the stick back down. "What is it to me? The best way I can describe it is some sort of electrical current flowing beneath my skin, but I don't know how to let it out, which is why I keep scratching at it. It tries to surface every once in a while, especially when there's something unusual going on, kind of like an early warning system. Only, I usually don't get much of a warning, at least, not yet. I have a feeling I might, if I ever learn how to control it."

"So when you were scratching just now, it was this current trying to get out?"

"Yeah."

"Why?" Dean asked, looking around the room and reaching for his knives. "Is there something in here with us?"

"No, I don't think so. I think it was letting me know what job to take. The itching kept getting worse every time I stopped on a site talking about skin-walkers on the Pine Ridge reservation in South Dakota."

"Skin-walkers?" Dean asked, his voice filled with dismay. "Sammy, if I have to kill myself again--"

"People-to-animal skin-walkers this time."

He sighed with relief. "Good. Because I don't know if I could handle pumping another couple rounds into my chest."

"That makes two of us," Sam muttered under his breath. He still had nightmares about Dean's lifeless body staring at him with empty eyes.

"So back to your little power issues."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "I would appreciate it if you wouldn't trivialize this."

Dean arched an eyebrow. "'Trivialize'? Sammy, I'm not trivializing anything, least of all anything that has to do with you. What else do you want me to call it?"

He was left silent by the absurdity of the question. How was he supposed to answer that? He didn't know what was going on inside of him, much less what to name it. "I don't know," he growled.

"All right then, your little power issues."

"Not that."

"Whatever," Dean shrugged. "Does it hurt?"

Sam looked over at his brother and his annoyance faded a little. The deliberate lack of concern in Dean's voice wasn't fooling him in the slightest. He knew if he answered 'yes', Dean would be up in arms and ready to do anything to help him.

It was almost enough to tempt him into saying 'yes', just to make him suffer, but he resisted.

"No, it doesn't hurt. I can feel it constantly running under my skin, but it doesn't hurt. It just itches every once in a while."

"When there's danger."

"Right."

"Or you want inside my head?" he asked pointedly, and Sam flushed.

"I didn't ask for that. It's just that you were touching me in the hospital and somehow I got inside your thoughts. I didn't mean to."

"So, what did you see?" Dean asked, trying to sound casual, and making it even more obvious he was dying to know what Sam had witnessed.

"I saw that we've got a lot of shit to hash out between us."

"Oh, so you didn't see anything important," he shrugged, then flashed his glowering brother a grin. "What? You think you saw something special? Sammy, we'll always have shit between us--you don't have to spy on me to figure that out. That's one thing that's never going to change."

Not unless you do, Sam thought, trying to fight back the ill feelings that surged forward as he recalled being rejected earlier that afternoon. But even if that particular aspect of their relationship did change, this was Dean he was talking about. His brother was always going to have his barriers, and, Sam supposed, he probably would too, though that didn't mean there weren't certain things he wanted to be able to discuss with Dean without getting immediately shut down.

But he wasn't in the mood to have that argument, not now. That Dean was able to talk about this without freaking out was a step in the right direction, and he didn't want to ruin it.

"So, South Dakota," Dean said, changing the subject, and Sam realized his brother's comfort level regarding his personal weirdness had just reached its limit. So much for being able to talk.

He nodded. "South Dakota."

"Cool. Well, then," he said, slapping his hands on his thighs as he stood up, "I'm going to hobble downstairs and let Judy know we'll be heading out tomorrow, maybe see if I can talk her into packing us a basket of goodies."

Sam watched the door close behind him and sighed. As usual, they'd managed to gloss over another rough patch and force things back to normal. One of these days, he'd have to confront his brother and have it out with him. He couldn't do this forever, pretend there was nothing between them. There was too much else out there for them to figure out, the current lurking inside of him the first on his list, but his brother could barely talk about that. Being around Dean confused things, and while he'd hate to do it, if they couldn't reach an understanding, he'd have to go at it alone. He never thought he'd see the day when he'd take up hunting on his own, but he was starting to think there was no other choice.

With another look towards the closed door, Sam picked up the laptop and began researching their next case, wondering if it would be their last.

***

Next story in series - On the Road Again.