Some things are better left unsaid; it’s better not to say Dean, this is wrong or let’s stop doing this, because she honestly isn’t sure what he would do. She’s almost positive he would never hurt her; he only hurts the people that want to hurt her. She doesn’t know exactly when things got so fucked up, but she thinks it was a long time ago, when she and Dean stopped being separate people. Probably back when Mom noticed they were more than what they should be to each other and suggested they spend some time apart; back when Sam had to clean up Mom’s blood from the kitchen floor, and take her body out to the woods and start a fire bigger than she was. Back then, when Dean had shaken his head and said he had to do it because Mom was going to take Sammy away from him, and she’d cleaned the blood off of his hands before they ran.
They’re in west Minnesota, and Dean’s skin looks pale under the light of the street lamp. It’s too close to closing time, but the bar is still letting them in. Under her shirt Sam wears a cross that used to be their mothers, and she presses her hand to it behind Dean’s back, feeling it bite into her skin, and she prays they’ll walk away from this like all the others.
Inside, there are only a few patrons left and they’re too drunk to notice that Dean is trouble. It’s hard to miss, tonight, that Dean is trouble; his left eye is bruised, and there are healing stitches above his eyebrow; his knuckles still haven’t healed, the splits in the skin still red and angry looking.
“You should wait outside,” Dean says, but she shakes her head and stays close to him. She has this irrational hope that if she stays close by the damage Dean is responsible for will be minimal; it never worked before, but there’s still hope left. She can see him eying the bar, probably thinking if he took out the barkeep now, he could just take whatever was in the drawer and make it out before the drunks ever realized what happened.
It’s what she’s hoping for, something quick, but it doesn’t happen like that. There are a few men, burly guys that look like they walked out of the backwoods, dressed like lumberjacks and they eye Dean for too long. The glint in Dean’s is something she wishes she could forget, wishes she would never see again, and it’s the one thing that she can never seem to get out of her head. She knows it’s going to be a bad night.
The lumberjacks are stupid enough to play pool with Dean; really, it’s not their fault, because they don’t know who they’re dealing with. She closes her eyes for a minute to say a prayer for them. Maybe, tonight, Dean will only hustle them – it’s going to be easy enough – and just leave.
“How about we double or nothing, boys?” Dean says grinning, and it’s feral, something animal and primal. He lost one game horribly, won the last by the skin of his teeth, and now it’s time to seal the deal.
“How about we call it even,” the taller guy says. “Whatever debt you got left your pretty friend there can settle for you.”
“Yeah,” the smaller one says. “She’s got a pretty mouth, and looks like she’s got a tight ass – she could fix us up real good.”
They laugh and she’s about to cry; Sam knows what happens now. Anyone makes a move on Sam, threatens her, or even looks at her the wrong way, Dean ends them – no questions.
Dean sets his pool stick down calmly. “You boys just made a big mistake,” he says like he’s telling them the weather. She watches Dean reach for his gun and closes her eyes; she jumps when she hears the first shot go off. One of the drunken women from the corner screams and Dean fires off the next four rounds in quick succession. When she opens her eyes again, the last people in the bar made their exits before Dean could finish them, and the rest are lying dead on the floor, blood starting to pool around their bodies. Dean fishes through all their pockets, takes money and leaves credit cards – can’t leave a trail, because that’s how they find you, Sammy.
Still, after all this time, she still feels the prickle of tears – only, she doesn’t know who they’re for anymore, doesn’t know if they are for Dean or herself, or the dead bodies lying on the floors. She stays where she is while he empties the cash register and makes his way back to her.
“Time to go, Sammy,” he says, and her eyes are drawn to the blood on his hands. She nods without really meaning to – just a force of habit – and lets him lead her out of the bar by her arm. They get to the car and gun the engine, peeling out of the parking lot in a squeal of tires and spray of asphalt.
They find a cheap, nondescript motel when they cross into North Dakota only hours later. Dean drove at least ninety on the interstate and they weren’t far from the border to begin with. She goes in, pays cash for a room for the night, and brings him back the key; they park the car behind the motel, out of sight, and Dean changes the plates quick while she brings their stuff into the room.
She’s standing in the middle of the room when it starts pouring outside, seemingly out of nowhere. A sharp crack of thunder makes her jump, and Dean comes barreling in, slamming the door behind him. “Fuckin’ shitty weather,” he says, scrubbing a hand through his hair to get the water out. For a moment, it takes her breath away; there’s no blood on him that she can see, and his eyes are just normal, just Dean like she used to know, and God, she loves him so fucking much. He laughs, bright and happy, when he takes his shirt off, already sopping wet, and tosses it aside. “You see that shit?”
“Yeah,” she says, “I see it.”
“You know what else I see?” Dean says, moving closer, smiling at her. She feels the heat move up her body, from her stomach to her cheeks.
“What?” She asks in return, suddenly breathless.
“I see you,” he says softly, coming to stand in front of her, hands warm and damp on her neck. “And you’re so fuckin’ beautiful, Sammy.”
“You too,” she whispers, leaning forward to press her lips to his. She can practically feel the energy buzzing under his skin like it always does after a fresh kill. His lips are so soft and warm, his tongue licking its way into her mouth, and she hardly realizes what’s happened until she’s backed up against the wall with Dean’s body pressing into her.
“Love you so fuckin’ much,” Dean says, hands working at the button on her jeans and then the zipper. She brushes her fingers over the healing stitches above his left eyebrow and he grunts, getting off on that little bit of pain like he always does. “Mine, Sammy.”
“Yours, Dean,” she whispers back. “Always yours, Dean.”
She fumbles with his belt, in a hurry to get it off of him, yanks the button and zipper down on his jeans. She pushes them and his boxers down just enough, down to his thighs, and hurries to get her legs out of her own jeans. She waits for the sound of the condom – telltale tearing of the foil, the wet sound of Dean rolling down over his dick – but it doesn’t come and he’s lifting her up, pulling her legs around his waist and pushing in.
She gasps out loud; it’s been over a week, and Dean isn’t huge, but he’s not average, either. He’s big enough that she needs a minute, hell even just a few seconds to get used to the feel of him inside of her, but he doesn’t give her that. He hits somewhere deep inside of her that’s some kind of mixture between pain and pleasure, and it makes her cry out and dig her nails into his shoulder. She throws her head back against the wall with a dull thud, and he presses his face into her neck.
“Always want you,” he says into her skin. “Want to show everyone you’re mine, fill you up, Sammy.”
She chokes at his words; there is no missing the meaning in them, and she’s suddenly terrified. It’s one thing for her to love him so unconditionally that she’d follow him around anywhere, follow him around even though he’s wanted in half the US, even though he’s taken more lives than God, and it’s something entirely different to bring a – to bring someone so innocent into this life. And still, she feels the thrill of it down deep, rushing through her at the danger of it, and she moans out his name.
“Mark you up,” he says, biting hard at the juncture of her neck and shoulder. There will be a big, tender bruise in the morning, and she’ll wear tank-tops for days to show it off.
It’s almost done now; she can feel it in the way he loses his rhythm, in the way he’s gasping into her neck. She can feel her own orgasm teetering on a knife’s edge, and when he pushes in to deep again, hitting that spot that makes her jerk in pleasure-pain, that’s it. She gasps and cries out oh God, Dean.
“Oh God, Sammy,” he says in return. “Shit.”
His last thrust is too hard, and her back will be bruised, but she can feel him pulsing in her – naked, no condom – and she spasms hard once more with a thrill of terror spiking through her chest. He crushes his mouth to hers, kissing her hard and dirty and wet, letting her legs slip from his waist, letting his spent cock slip from her.
When he pulls back and opens his eyes, when he looks at her like this, she forgets that he’s his own brand of monster. She forgets that he’s a murderer and a thief, forgets every bad things he’s ever done and only remembers that he’s Dean – her brother, the man she fell in love with too long ago to ever leave him – and she realizes that it doesn’t matter what he does, she’s still going to follow him anywhere and everywhere he goes.
He slips his hands into her hair, and tilts his head down a little, so they’re perfectly eye-to-eye. “You know I love you?” She nods her head. “I love you so much, Sammy. I wish I could give you everything, wish I could fix everything… But you gotta understand I can’t let anyone take you away from me,” he says softly.
And she understands, she does; they don’t exist without each other.