It was their second week in a pay-by-the-week motel room in BumFuckNowhere, Kansas. It was hot, it was dry when it wasn't flash-storming, and Sam was certain a tornado was going to sweep down at any moment, just like in the movie, and carry them to Oz. Still, the motel had a pool and functioning ice machines, so Sam was okay with it.
Nine days into their stay at The Royale (the name didn't fit at all), and Sam was sitting beside the pool. Next to him was the girl staying at the other end of the string of rooms, whom he had met the evening before. It was only the two of them out on the patio, which was lit by lights scattered about and by the large neon sign above the motel.
They were laughing over a story the girl, Jackie, was telling. Sam wasn't expecting her to lean over and kiss him, and it caught him off-guard. He blinked at her as she pulled back and shot him a smile; moments later, she had her mouth pressed against his again.
Kissing her wasn't quite like kissing Dean. Her mouth was soft and full, as was his brother's, but it was.. different. He knew he should pull back – Dean would be pissed if he walked out and saw them right now. It felt nice, though, different nice, and – hell, he was 15 years old, so his libido was doing most of the thinking at the moment.
They kissed for a while, exploring one another's mouths; it was when Jackie slipped her hand up his thigh to brush his groin, while sucking at a spot on his neck, that he pulled back. Kissing was nice, but he belonged to Dean. Body, heart, and soul. He smiled at Jackie as she teased with a saucy smile,
"Too soon?"
"Gotta get back," he murmured, "My brother will worry. He kinda freaks when he's worried."
"Too bad," Jackie pouted, "I should too, though, my mom will also freak. She thinks I shouldn't be out in the dark, someone might get me." She rolled her eyes, and Sam smiled and refrained from telling her that her mom might be right. "We're leaving in the morning," the girl continued, "Maybe I'll see you again sometime." She dropped another kiss on his mouth before standing and heading off in the direction of her room.
Sam entered his own room minutes later, softly closing the door behind him. His eyes fell on Dean, whom was sitting on the small sofa, watching television and drinking a beer.
"How was the pool?"
his brother asked, glancing at him, and Sam crossed to sit next to him on the couch.
Before he had a chance to answer, Dean froze, eyes on his face.
"What's wrong?"
The man's eyes roamed his features before the older Winchester raised a hand to trace a finger along his bottom lip. He pulled his fingers away, and Sam saw the pink smeared on his fingertip: lipstick.
"Oh," Sam stared at the lipstick smear for a moment before raising his eyes to meet his brother's green gaze, "Um.. some girl kissed me. At the pool."
"She do that, too?" The man touched his neck, and Sam remembered that the girl had been kissing him there, too. He raised a hand, touched the spot that he was suddenly certain was sporting a hickey, and bit his bottom lip.
His brother stared at him, and he dropped his gaze.
"Dean, I'm sorry."
The older man shoved himself to his feet and headed for the door.
"Dean.." Sam's call was ignored; the door slammed shut behind his brother with a loud bang, causing him to flinch.
Moments later he heard the rumble of the Impala's engine.
Shit.
His brother didn't come back that night.
Nor the next.
Dean was gone for two days. Sam, for his part, stayed in their room, pacing and biting his nails, leaving only for caffeine and food.
He had just walked into the motel's 'lounge' on the third morning, in search of coffee, when a reporter's voice on the small television caught his attention.
.. The third body was found this morning at approximately 4:42 AM. The images are too gruesome to show here. Again three bodies have been found over the past 48 hours. All three appear to have been brutally murdered, police reports indicate.."
Sam stared at the television for a moment, chewing his bottom lip.
His brother wasn't one of those people who left bodies to be found. He wasn't one who went back to the scenes of his crimes, nor basked in newspaper or television reports about missing persons or the few bodies which had, eventually, been discovered.
His brother did what he did to fulfill whatever needs drove him to do it; it wasn't for attention and he didn't possess that typical need many serial killers had to display the dead or leave them where they could be quickly discovered. He didn't kill multiple times a week. It was once every few weeks, and sometimes even months passed between the acts.
He wasn't certain Dean had killed the people the reporter was talking about on the small television (though he suspected he had); if it was him, he was angry. To leave the bodies in the open? To kill three in as many days? If it was Dean, then his brother was beyond angry.
Sam finished his coffee in two gulps and tossed the cup in a small trash can. He watched the news report until the reporter moved on to another topic before leaving the lounge to head back to his room.
Sam had just closed the door behind him when he was grabbed and shoved back against it. He let out a startled yelp as he was pinned; relief flooded him upon seeing his brother.
"Dean.."
"Been out with your girlfriend?" Anger traced the older man's voice and Dean's fingers bit into his wrists, where they were pinned against the door. Sam shook his head no immediately, taking in the other man's appearance. Dean had a stubble on his cheeks, unshaven for three days; his clothes and arms were spotted with what Sam assumed was dried blood; there were dark circles beneath his eyes and a cut on his bottom lip.
Sam swallowed as his brother leaned in, pressing hard on his wrists, body pinning him when he squirmed in discomfort.
"Three people, Sam," the man's voice was low, husky, almost a growl, "Three fuckin people. It took three people to keep me from coming back here and kicking in the door to that bitch's room and slicing her to fuckin ribbons. Her and her entire fucking family."
The man shook his head, gaze on the far wall. Sam was about to speak but the words died on his lips as that green gaze flicked back to him.
Dean's voice was gravel and rage as the man continued, "I was going to come back here and cut your pretty throat. Right here –" The man's fingertip trailed over the now-faded hickey the girl had left on Sam's neck, "- all the way across. Cut your throat and then shoot myself in the head. I didn't because I love you too fucking much."
"Dean, I'm sorry," his own voice was a whisper, remorse and pain in the words. Not because of the very-real threat his brother had just spoken, but because he could see the hurt on Dean's face.
"Three fuckin people are dead because of you. Hell, maybe it's because of me. Maybe I can't give you what you want anymore. Is that it? You need more than I can give you, Sam?"
"Dean, no!" Sam raised a hand toward his brother's face; he felt like he had been kicked in the chest when the older man jerked away from him, avoiding his touch.
It felt like his heart had been altogether crushed when the other told him,
"Don't fuckin touch me."
He watched, tears welling in his eyes, as Dean turned and went into the bathroom. When the shower started two minutes later, he slid down the door to sit on the floor, arms wrapped around his knees, and sobbed.
Sam was sitting in the same position, head buried in his arms, when his brother stepped out of the bathroom a short while later. He didn't raise his head – he couldn't bear to see the anger and disappointment in Dean's face again. He heard footsteps moving through the room but kept his face hidden in his arms.
Sam flinched, startled, as he felt a hand brush through his hair a minute later.
"Sam."
The teen raised his head, tears slipping down his face still, and found Dean kneeling in front of him. The man's brows furrowed as their gazes met; a moment later, he was being pulled into his brother's arms.
"Sam," the other man whispered near his ear, pulling him into a hug, "Sammy. Baby. I'm sorry. Don't cry, Sammy. Please don't cry." Lips brushed his forehead and another sob tore from his throat.
"Didn't mean to hurt you," he slipped his arms around his brother and clung to him, "Didn't mean it, Dean. Please don't leave me."
"Baby, no," fingers brushed through his hair, a soothing gesture, "No. I would never leave you, Sammy. There isn't anything that could make me leave you. I would kill us both before I did that. I was pissed, baby, but I wasn't going to stay away for good."
"Didn't mean to hurt you," Sam pressed his face against the side of Dean's neck, breathing in his brother's scent, "Only want you, Dean. Just you, I swear, just you. You can punish me if you want. I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
He raised his eyes to his brother as Dean shifted and stood, tugging him up to his feet. The man led him to the bed and sat down, tugging Sam down beside him. He stretched out, pulling the younger Winchester in his arms, and began stroking fingers through his hair.
"S'okay, baby," the older man murmured against his temple, "It's okay. I overreacted, I just get so fucking jealous when anyone else touches you. Makes me crazy. Love you so much, you know? So much it aches. Never gonna leave you, babyboy."
"Promise?" his voice was little more than a whisper, but Dean heard it. Their gazes locked as the older brother vowed,
"Promise. Only way is if I'm dead first. I love you, Sammy. You're my life."
Sam nodded, raised a hand to caress his brother's cheek.
"I love you too, Dean, more than anything else. You're my life, too."
The brothers fell asleep a short while later, wrapped in one another's arms.