Title: And so to bed...
By: Consternatio
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: incest
Note: OK, I'm not entirely happy with this one, but I figure it's redeeming feature is that it finally has some proper p0rn in it.
Series: 1) A Little Fetish, 2) Good to Talk..., 3) Bad Habits
Disclaimer: They're not mine, sadly. No, not even the car.
Summary: The boys finally get to the p0rn!


Dean is an unmitigated bastard. Sam's always known this, he's just never quite understood exactly how much of an asshole his brother is. He would swear that Dean has picked this route on purpose.

They've driven more miles than Sam wants to count and passed through three of the smallest towns Sam has yet seen, and in every one of them, Dean's told Sam to 'go find a drugstore', all with that damned arrogant smirk that makes Sam want to punch him. Or fuck him. Figures those options would have pretty much the same outcome, seeing as they've still got no lube because Sam is not going to embarrass himself just for Dean's amusement. Because that's what this is. Sam figured that out after the first town, and he's been fuming ever since.

He'd tell Dean to fuck off and get the damned lube himself if he wants to get laid so bad, but Dean would take that as tacit permission to fuck Sam, and while Sam know they're too far down this road now to reverse, he's not entirely sure he's ready for that yet. He's knows it's not fair, and equitable, but he can't help it. And it isn't like Dean has ever been that bothered about 'fair', anyway. There's also the fact that he knowsDean would be absolutely insufferable afterwards.

There's already a whole sense of 'same-but-not-same' about their relationship right now. They argue as much, Dean is still as annoying as ever, and the car keeps racking up the miles. And yet, underneath all of what superficially passes for normal for them, there's the knowledge that nothing is quite the same as it was before, everything is now inevitably and irrevocably coloured by the knowledge that they are, to all intents and purposes, lovers now as well as brothers.

Every time Sam thinks about Dean the feeling that rushes through him is a tangled mix of shame/want/love/fear/lust/anger/need/despair. Dean's always been able to evoke this kind of confusion in Sam, and now is apparently no different, it's just that there's some new emotions in the mix.

Sam's still fairly certain that he shouldn't be even considering fucking his brother. But every time he gets that thought straight in his head, Dean says something, or does something, or Sam just looks at him, and he's hit again with the whole want/need/lust thing. When he's looking at Dean, all he can think about is how it felt to touch his brother, to see his face as he came. When Dean's not there, that's when all the doubts and the fears creep back in. Sam's not sure yet which is the more disturbing of the two extremes.

Sam's still brooding when they pull into a gas station, right next to a motel. It's late, any they're both tired. Sam wanders into the gas station, trying to quell the panic and anticipation that the thought of sharing a room with Dean inspires. Somewhere, Fate must finally be taking pity on Sam, because stashed away in the toiletries section, he finds lube.

It takes him a good ten minutes before he can work up the nerve to buy it, along with several other things. The bored looking assistant doesn't bat an eye though, and Sam leaves, clutching the bag nervously.

Dean is leaning against the car, jingling a room key, and the look on his face, amused and aroused and slightly predatory makes Sam shiver. He can't decide whether he wants to get Dean in that room right now, or get in the car and get as far away from Dean, and this twist in their relationship as possible. Before he can decide though, he finds himself standing in front of Dean.

His brother stops fiddling with the key, and just looks at Sam, and it's like the night before. Sam just wants to touch Dean, wants Dean to touch him. Wants to do things he can hardly dare to name, even in his own head. Wants his brother in the worst possible way. He watches Dean's eyes widen, watches the way his pupils dilate, hears his breathing sped up just a little, and it seems that's all it take to get Sam hard these days.

He remembers the taste of cigarette smoke in Dean's mouth, the soft gasp as he slammed his brother against the wall, and he forgets why he ever wanted to get away. No-one has ever messed with his head in the way Dean does. No-one has ever understood him in the way Dean does.

Sam takes a breath, and nods at the key in Dean's hand. Dean's eyes flick to the bag Sam's holding, and when he looks back at Sam, there's a definite wicked glint in his eyes, and Sam wonders what the hell is going on in his brother's head, because damn it, that look has never boded well for Sam in the past.


Dean's been waiting for Sam for at least five minutes by the time his brother emerges from the gas station. He can tell immediately that Sam's finally found the lube by the way his brother's clutching the bag, as if the whole world is gonna know what he's bought, and what he plans to do with it. Dean's still not sure Sam's going to go through with this. He's prepared for Sam to back out, although after last night, that seems less and less likely. Still, it's one thing to let your brother go down on you, and watch him come, and something else entirely to fuck him, or let him fuck you.

Sam looks nervous, uncertain, like he's about to turn tail and run, but he keeps walking. Dean remembers the way Sam was the night before, the aggression and the passion, the way his brother kissed him, and he knows immediately that Sam's thinking about it too, just from the expression on his face.

There's a brief moment where they just stand there, looking at each other, then Dean gets a grip, and jerks his head in the direction of their room. He watches the anticipation and fear shift and merge in Sam's eyes, and really, that shouldn't be sexy. At all. But, hey, they're screwed up enough that Dean figures he really shouldn't be all that surprised.

Dean pushes away from the car, and heads for their room, peripherally aware of Sam following him. He can feel the tingle of anticipation, the knowledge of what they're going to do once that door closes behind them, and though the rough and spontaneous passion of the previous night was good, somehow this is better. There are no excuses now, neither of them can claim that they just got carried away. Now they've crossed the line, Dean wants to take this as far as they can.

He can feel Sam standing just a little too close to him as he opens the motel room door, and all of a sudden, it's not nearly close enough. He steps through the doorway, turns, grabs Sam's collar, hauls him inside the room, and slams Sam up against the door, using their combined weight to shut it.

He's kissing Sam and, yeah, it's as good as he remembers. He's pressed, full length, up against Sam, can feel that Sam's definitely as into this as he is, and it's wrong, fucked up on some many levels and it's so damned good that Dean knows why it's illegal.


Sam's caught by surprise when Dean slams him into the door and plasters himself all over Sam's front. The kiss is harsh and violent; lips and tongue and teeth. Dean's fingers dig into Sam's shoulders and all Sam can do is stand there and try and match Dean. Dear god, he can hear whimpering, and he's afraid it's him.

There's a dull thud, and Sam realises that he's dropped the bag, but he honestly couldn't care less. Dean doesn't seem inclined to let him go anytime soon, and Sam isn't complaining, even if he could get the words out past Dean's kisses.

It's a shock when Dean suddenly pulls away, taking two steps backwards. The only sound in the room is laboured breathing.

Dean's eyes are wide, barely any colour showing; his hands are clenched at his sides, and Sam would swear that there's just the faintest hint of a flush over his cheeks. Sam wants him, damn the fact that it's his brother, he just wants him. Wants to see Dean under him, arching and writhing and panting and coming. Dean looks as though he's going to say something, and Sam's sure he doesn't want to hear it right now. He doesn't want anything to remind him of the world outside this room.


When Sam steps away from the door, looking at Dean with an expression that Dean can only describe as predatory, Dean can't even remember what it was he was about to say. He's pretty sure it wasn't that important anyway.

Sam stops, barely an inch away from Dean. He reaches out, fingers touching Dean's face lightly, running over his cheek bone, then rubbing his thumb over Dean's bottom lip. Dean wonders briefly if he's somehow managed to pick up another shape shifter along the way, because this isn't a Sam he recognises; all sensuality and confidence. Oh, Sam's always had passion and fire, but this, this is new, and Dean decides that he likes this new Sammy very much indeed.

When Sam slides his hand down Dean's jaw and lets his fingers stroke the side of Dean's neck, Dean shivers. The touch is intimate, seductive, deliberate. Sam's fingers move, cupping the back of Dean's head and he pulls Dean closer. This time the kiss is gentler, less frantic. It leaves Dean feeling vulnerable, exposed. He's got a sneaking suspicion that was Sammy's intention all along because he's always going on about Dean's apparent inability to let anyone get close. Well, Sam's not getting this his way. Dean's not looking for gentle right now. Later, maybe he'll let Sam seduce him with soft touches and pretty words. Right now, he wants heat and desperation, he wants them to be overwhelmed and drowning in sensation.

Dean shifts his head, then bites down on Sam's bottom lip, sucking at the delicate skin. He can feel the tension start in Sam's body, knows his brother is going to pitch a fit about this later, but he just kisses Sam again, delaying the inevitable, using everything he has to distract.

He moves, managing to get a thigh in between Sam's, one hand moving to tangle in Sam's hair, gripping just this side of painful, knowing from the jerk of Sam's hips that Sam's definitely not thinking about anything much but the need to fuck right now. Dean gets a hand between them, pressing down with the heel of his hand as he presses up with his thigh. The response is immediate, and gratifying. Sam arches into Dean's hands, head tipping back and the groan he gives, oh fuck, he sounds like he's dying and it does strange and, frankly wonderful, things to Dean's libido.

Dean manoeuvres his hand, popping the top button on Sam's jeans, and sliding his fingers inside, the back of his hand brushing against the skin of Sam's stomach, while his fingers curled lightly around Sam's cock. The awkward position meant he couldn't do more than tease, but from the sounds that Sammy's making, he's enjoying it just the same. Dean tangles a hand in Sam's hair then drags his head back, so he can bite and lick his throat. Dean's tempted, just for a minute, to stay where they are and see if he can't make Sam come, just like this, with nothing but the Dean's mouth on his neck, and the touch of Dean's fingers.

But it's not quite enough for Dean, he wants to get things moving, so using the hand in Sam's hair, and the one on his cock, he manoeuvres them until the backs of Sam's legs hit the bed.


Sam suddenly finds himself sitting on the bed, without the faintest idea of how he got there. All he can think about is Dean's hand on his cock, Dean's teeth, scraping over the delicate skin of his throat. Right now, he has neither, and he wants them back.

Dean leans forward, forcing Sam to lean back, until he's propped up on his elbows. Dean has one hand braced on the bed by Sam's hip, the other is busy sliding under Sam's shirt, over his ribs, and chest, then back down to his stomach. Sam sucks in a breath. He wonders if this is how Dean is with the numerous women he seems to have no trouble attracting. He wonders how many men Dean has done this with, because he's damn sure this isn't Dean's first guy/guy experience. Sam's not sure whether he's annoyed that he didn't know this about Dean, or whether he's aroused by the idea of his brother fucking other guys. He's damned sure neither response is a normal one, but he's left normal some miles behind, and to be honest, he's not missing it much right now.

The hand that has been tracing warm patterns over Sam's body moves again, nimble fingers popping the buttons on Sam's fly, and suddenly Sam's done with waiting, done with slow and deliberate. He just wants to be naked, wants Dean to be naked, wants them to be fucking as hard as possible.

He flops back on the bed, arching his back as he struggles to get his shirt over his head, and of course, that's precisely the moment Dean chooses to free Sam's cock, and run his tongue all the way from root to tip in one, slow lick. Sam can't stop the way his hips arch, nor the strangled groan that escapes. Just once, it'd be nice if Dean played fair.

Seems as though Dean's as eager to get naked as he is though, because the next second, Dean's pulling Sam's shirt off, and stripping him of his jeans, pants and boots. Sam leans up, and Christ, but there is something hot about the fact that he's naked, and sprawled across the bed, while Dean stands between his legs, half leaning over his brother, and fully clothed.

It's hot enough that Sam's almost ready to let Dean fuck him first, because, seriously, he's never seen his brother look quite so fucking sexy before and that's definitely a thought he's going to be keeping to himself; Dean's ego doesn't need any further boosting and Sam doesn't need any more wise-cracks about chick flicks.

Instead, Sam reaches up, grabs a handful of Dean's shirt, and pulls him down. Dean's heavy, but dear god, it feels sordid, decadent, and wonderful to press up against him, to feel the texture of his clothing against Sam's bare skin; the soft cotton of his T-shirt, the rougher denim of his jeans. Sam attacks Dean's mouth, biting and sucking on his lower lip. Sam's never really been that bothered about kissing before, but then, he's never had kisses quite like these before, all heat and aggression and vying for control, for dominance. Shit, there's a word that makes Sam moan, dominance. He's just not sure whether he wants to be the dominator, or the dominated.

Dean pulls away, panting and wild eyed. Sam helps him pull his t-shirt off, and tries to help unbutton his jeans, fingers tangling with Dean's until his brother finally slaps his hands away and does it himself, removing jeans, pants and boots in one go. He reaches down to the floor, and when he straightens up, he's got the bottle of lube in one hand. Sam shivers, caught between the thrill of knowing they're about to break a huge taboo, and the lingering trace of 'oh my god, we shouldn't be doing this'. He's aware that the latter is probably only serving to increase the former though.

Sam scoots up the bed, making room for Dean to join him, staying propped on his elbows so he can watch, but instead of sliding alongside him, Dean smirks, and kneels on the bed between Sam's legs. He runs his hands up Sam's thighs. He fans his hands over Sam's hips, thumbs pressing into the tender skin where thigh met hip almost hard enough to bruise. Sam wonders if the thought of being marked by Dean, of walking around with the evidence of what they've done, hidden under his clothes will ever stop making him hard. He doubts it, hopes that it won't.

Dean's fingers tighten on his hips, and he bends forward, hot breath wafting over Sam's cock. Sam holds his breath. He can remember the exact sensation of Dean's mouth on him, and damn, his cock twitches at just the thought. Dean sticks out his tongue, curling it obscenely around the head of Sam's cock, and this time it's not just his cock that jerks, but his hips too. It's like every dirty, indecent and lewd thought that Sam has ever had has somehow been distilled and given form in the guise of his own brother.

When Dean cups Sam's balls in one hand, and slides his mouth oh, so agonisingly slowly down Sam's cock with the other, Sam can't stop his eyes closing, and his head dropping back, however much he wants to watch.

He's taken by surprise when Dean pulls back, releasing Sam's cock. He looks up in time to see Dean leave a stinging bite on his hip that makes his back arch, and his throat close around a gasp. The sting is soothed by Dean's tongue, even as Dean's other hand closes around Sam's cock, spreading the slick lube with slow, firm strokes that makes Sam's toes curl.

Dean moves, shifting on the bed until he's straddling Sam's thighs, hand still working Sam's cock, his other hand leaving Sam's balls, and dipping into the bottle of lube. Sam watches those fingers through half-closed eyes, knowing logically what Dean's about to do, but entirely unable, thanks to the hand on his cock, to really believe it.

When Dean slides those fingers between his legs, Sam holds his breath. Dean's hand stills on his cock, but Sam barely notices. He's far too busying trying to remember to breath at the sight of his brother fucking himself on his own fingers. There's no way Dean should be able to make it look as fucking erotic as he does. Dean's head is thrown back, and Sam can see a bead of sweat rolling down his throat, over the bruise that Sam himself left there, only last night, and dear god, but this is torture. And Sam never wants it to stop.


It's been so long, Dean had almost forgotten how good this felt. The knowledge that his little brother is watching only adds to Dean's arousal. He can feel Sammy twitching beneath him, and can hear his brother's laboured breathing. Dean's got no illusions, this is going to be a hard and dirty fuck and it's going to be over really quick. Dean has every intention of making the next time last as long as possible, of fucking Sam until he can't sit straight. It's yet another reason why he'd prepared to let Sam have first go.

He slides his fingers out of his body, shivering with the anticipation of what happens next. Sam looks as though he's died and gone to heaven as Dean positions them both, then sinks slowly down onto Sam's cock.

The burn of muscles stretching only serves to sharpen the pleasure and Dean can't remember why he hasn't done this more often. Knows that he's going to be doing this a lot with Sammy, and he almost wants this to be over, so they can start again.

Sam's groan is deep, pulled from his feet, and Dean can only echo it. He leans forwards, bracing his hands next to Sam's head, fingers clutching the sheets. Sam's hands are on his hips now, and Dean can tell that Sam is just itching to move. So Dean lifts his hips, slowly, deliberately, then lets them drop back down, just a fraction faster. The curse that leaves Sam's lips makes him smirk, and wriggle his hips in Sam's lap. That earns him a gasp and a curse. He moves again, lifting halfway up this time before letting himself sliding back down.

"Fuck. Dean, stop fucking teasing."

Well now, almost whole sentences, Dean thinks. Can't be having that.

He moves, establishing a rhythm. He feels Sam shift, bending his knees and gaining enough leverage to match Dean's movements and Christ-on-a-bike, that's good. The pleasure is harsh and rough, and Sam's fingers are leaving bruises on his hips and Dean loves it. Loves the way Sam moves under him, the way his brother throws his head back, and makes those damned broken mewing sounds that Dean has discovered are undeniably sexy. Dean sits up a little, bracing his hands on Sam's chest, nails digging in slightly as he fucks himself on Sam's cock.

One of Sam's hands uncurls from Dean's hip, and curls instead around his cock, and oh fuck, that's so good. Sam's stroking him just right, just the way he likes, copying how Dean stroked him earlier. Slow, firm strokes, fingers sliding over the head with every upstroke, twisting his wrist on every down stroke. It takes them some time to find a rhythm together, and by the time they do, Dean's thighs are starting to burn, but it's too good to stop and change positions, and Dean just accepts the sting from his overworked muscles, letting it sharpen the pleasure.


This isn't quite how Sam had envisaged this scene, the few dozen times or so he'd thought about it since last night. But, Jesus-fucking-Christ, it's so hot to be able to watch Dean like this. To meet Dean's downward motion with an up-thrust of his hips, and watch the pleasure/pain expression on his face, and know that he caused it. It's hot to be able to time stroking Dean's cock, finding out the rhythm that makes his brother curse and arch his back.

Dean's nails are cutting into the skin of Sam's chest, but he doesn't care, anymore than he cares about the fact that his fingers are leaving bruises on Dean's hip. If anything, it just makes him want to mark Dean more, have Dean mark him. He wants them branded, wants the sense of possession, of ownership, of the fact that they couldn't help themselves in their lust for each other. He'd suggest getting tattoos together, but Dean would run a mile at the suggestion of anything so overtly caring, and besides, Sam thinks, a tattoo is only done once, whereas marks made with nails and fingers and teeth can be made over and over again. He has a sudden image of Dean, with a set of virtually permanent finger shaped bruises on his hips, and shit, that's just so wrong, and so good.

He doesn't realise how much he's tightened his grip on Dean, hip and cock, until he hears the whimpers. Sam's scared then, scared of how much he wants to hear those sounds again, scared of how much he wants to hurt his brother, mark him, scar him. It's all too much, suddenly, and he can't breath and they shouldn't be doing this, can't ever do this again and he's going to let Dean's cock go now, going to stop stroking, and flexing his fingers, loosening a little, then tightening them again, he's going to....

...he's going to watch Dean throw his head back, every muscle in his brother's body locking into place as he comes, hot and sticky, dripping over Sam's fingers, and onto his belly. Sam can't help himself, he grips Dean's hips, fingers slick with Dean's semen and slams into his brother's body. He can't get the leverage he really wants, can't get as deep as he'd like, but Dean's still shuddering and trembling above him, and oh god, it's good enough, too good, and Sam comes, almost unwillingly.


Dean's thighs are trembling, and Sam's last thrusts into his overly sensitised body border on the unbearably painful, but then Sam's coming and Dean gets to watch properly this time. He's tired, and sticky, and sweaty and most definitely well-fucked and he can't wait to do this again.

He's vaguely aware that somewhere around the time his orgasm hit, Sam was freaking out. He sensed the change in Sam, realised that his brother was finally about to have that freak out Dean's been expecting all along, and dammit, it would have to be now, when Dean's so fucking close he can taste it, when it's all so damned good he's barely even aware of his own name. But all he can remember after that is the way Sam's fingers tightened on him, painful pressure on his hip, and almost painful friction on his cock, and then Sammy started this squeeze, release thing while he was stroking Dean's cock, and it makes Dean shiver just thinking about it. His orgasm hit him suddenly, almost without warning, and the next thing he knows is that Sam's slamming into him and coming, groaning Dean's name.

It's a long time before either of them moves. Dean's slowly becoming aware of the lack of feeling in his legs, of the faint burn in his arse, despite the lube, of the finger-shaped aches on his hips. He opens his eyes, sees the smears of blood where his nails have cut into his brother and wishes he were a little less sated because he'd really like to find out what Sam's reaction would be if he just leant down and licked those little pools of blood away.

Dean finally has to move, lifting up on definitely unsteady thighs, shifting, and falling in a heap on the bed next to his brother, too idle to move any more, even though he's half hanging off the edge of the bed because Sam's hogging most of the rest of the pathetic single bed.

He can feel the residual tension rolling off Sam, despite the fact that he clearly came as hard as Dean did. Dean is pretty sure that the freak out has only been postponed, and that sooner or later Sam's going to want to start talking and digging around in that whole murky area of emotions and baggage that Dean very deliberately avoids because it's a swamp the unwary can drown in, and Dean's never been one for even getting his feet wet if he can help it.

But he knows that he can't avoid this conversation, he can only hope it doesn't blow up in his face, like so many of his *serious* conversations with Sam have in the past. All he can do is get it over and done with, and hope that he gets it right this time.


Sam wants to enjoy the silence, the post-orgasmic lassitude, the feel of Dean's body pressed up against his, but he can't. He knows he's about to step into a veritable minefield, but he's can't just ignore the fact that for just an instant, he wanted to hurt his brother.

"Sam, are you going to lie there brooding all night? 'Cos you're gonna give us both a headache if you do."

"Dean. I really, I could have really hurt you. I wanted to, kinda. I left bruises, on purpose."

"Dude, do you see me complaining? Besides, it's not like I didn't leave some marks on you as well."

"Dean, it's not normal."

Dean raises his head then and looks at Sammy with that 'WTF?' that Sam's certain the vain bastard has spent hours in front of a mirror perfecting.

"Man, I've got news for you. We're not normal, OK? We've never been normal. Normal people do not hunt ghost and ghouls and demons. Normal people do not spend their entire lives travelling from small town to small town..."

"Normal people don't fuck their brother?" Sam asks, knowing his tone is spiteful, bitter.

"No, they don't. But we're not normal Sam. It's just the way it is."

"Dean, I can't, I mean...shit."

"Look, it's fine, OK. I like it, sometimes. I won't let you go to far Sammy."

Sam laughs, bitter and broken. "I think we've already gone too far Dean."

Dean's silent for a moment, and Sam almost wishes he could take everything he'd said in this conversation back.

"Sam, do you want to not do this again? Want to forget it ever happened?"

Dean's voice is strangely calm, almost entirely devoid of any emotion at all, and it makes Sam shiver slightly.

"I can't forget it Dean, OK? There is no way I can forget what it felt like to...."

"Fuck me, Sammy?"

Oh, hell. Yeah. Mental images of Dean straddling him, of Dean fucking himself on his own fingers, of Dean coming because Sam was fucking him.

"Yes. Christ Dean, I don't want to forget, I want to do this again. Jesus, that's sick, but I do, god help us."

Sam's almost whispering, a flash of hot, sick shame prickling across his skin, but it's the truth and he can't lie, not to Dean, not when Dean's so clearly waiting for Sam to up and leave again. It's all so fucked up and Sam honestly doesn't know what he wants anymore, but he does know Dean deserves the truth from him.

The sigh is almost inaudible, but even if he'd missed it, Sam wouldn't have been able to miss the way Dean relaxed, the way the tension blend out of his body.

There's silence for a while, broken only by the hum of the air-conditioning, then, out of nowhere, everything shifts, again.

"Tell me you this wasn't all the lube you bought? I mean, hell, we've used half the bottle already."

Right. Back to the Dean he's come to know and want to murder. Normally, Dean's all-too-obvious attempts to defuse moments he feels are emotion and shit he can't, or doesn't want to handle piss Sam off, but right now, Sam's glad for it, glad for the fact that he can put off dealing with the knowledge that they've just committed incest, for fuck's sake. Put off dealing with the fact that Sam loved it. That he wants to do it again, and again and again.

So, yeah, just this once, he can go with the change of subject, no problem. Just this once though. He doesn't want to let Dean get used to it, Dean's got far too many advantages already. Not that Sam's about to tell him that. Mr Ego-on-two-legs.

"It was the only size they had!"

"Why didn't you buy several then?!"

Sam can hear the surprise in Dean's voice, and it makes him smirk. Dean was clearly not expecting Sam to go with the change of subject. It feels good, even if it's just this once, to have caught Dean by surprise, and that makes it all the easier to carry on, like nothing has changed, and later, Sam's going to wonder whether anything really has changed, except in his own head.

"Fuck off Dean. You can buy it next time."

Sam knows that this is now going to be a running theme. He knows that he's going to have to deal with Dean making comments about this at random, and entirely inappropriate moments, because Dean never misses an opportunity to make Sam squirm. Although, these days of course, there's a whole new dimension to the squirming. Sam shivers. Great, now he's given up the angsting, he can't even get righteously annoyed at his brother without the whole lust thing rearing its head.

"Fine. Flavoured, or warming?"

Sam looks at him, and yes, Dean's looking damned insufferable, and he's leering. Some days, Sam really, really hates his brother, and as soon as he can move again, he's going to make sure Dean knows it. As soon as he works up the energy, he's going to tell the faint voice of dissent in the back of his head to shut the hell up, and then he's going to fuck that stupid, smug expression right off Dean's face.