Title: To the Moon and Back
By: mickeylover303
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: PG-13
Words: 2539
Summary: Later on, Sam would claim he was tricked into doing it, but Dean would be quick to remind him that he didn't necessarily mind the second time around.


“He’s still watching you,” Dean said softly, breathily, and with his voice so damn close that Sam was beginning to forget whatever the hell it was he was supposed to be concentrating on.


Somewhere in between the growing stubble on Dean’s chin lightly touching his cheek and the strange fluttering in his stomach, eventually, Sam remembered there was a map in front of him, a crudely drawn representation on a crumpled piece of paper that was in his hand. It was the one that guy gave him…Chris, right? Yeah, it was Chris because Sam was trying his hardest to forget the hastily scribbled telephone number on the other side of the map.


But it was even harder for Sam to concentrate with Dean apparently forgetting the meaning of personal space, harder to resist the urge to close his eyes when he could practically smell Dean. Like cheap beer and salty chips and dirty oil from working on the Impala. It was garnering more of Sam’s attention than it should have, and Sam didn’t hesitate to reason it was why the map he was trying to read was actually upside down. As long as Dean didn’t notice, it was okay. Dean only needed to keep thinking Sam was just trying too hard to memorise the layout of the abandoned underground subway beneath the Gannett building in Rochester where the local Nachzehrer apparently hung out.


Dean’s breath was warm, too warm, with his nose brushing against Sam’s hair and his chest putting pressure against Sam’s back and–


Sam slammed the map on the table, the sound of his hand and the paper hitting the wooden surface lost among the noise in the club. The music was loud, the flickering neon lights were flashing too brightly in his face, and his brother finally deciding to put some distance between them was Sam’s only reprieve.


 “Would you,” Sam started, turning his head to see Dean seemingly not bothered by the fact he was practically plastering himself to Sam. “Like really, could you be any closer?”


“What?” Dean asked with a forced kind of indifference that Sam found increasingly more obnoxious with each use.


Sam knew he wasn’t imagining things. And he didn’t have to second-guess himself because he could see right through his brother’s charades. He always could. It was that little smirk that gave him away, the one Dean thought he could hide while feigning ignorance. Once upon a time, when Dean was first introduced to hormones and began trying to supposedly “perfect his craft”, Sam would think Dean looked more constipated than anything. But then people started to fall for it, become taken by Dean’s expression, and Sam saw it develop into a familiar gleam Dean hadn’t been able to use against him since they were kids.


It didn’t help that it was the same gleam Sam was seeing now.


“Is the concept of personal space new to you?”


Dean raised his eyebrows. “Dude, I’m just trying to read that sorry excuse for a map.”


Sam didn’t remark about the map’s quality because he did agree it was poor. Chris had made it on short notice, and since he was a hunter who happened to be familiar with the underground Nachzehrer scene, Sam wasn’t going to complain.  Although, Sam did take the time to fix the map so he could actually read it this time. He was still hoping Dean hadn’t noticed. “And I’m pretty sure you can do that without standing on top of me.”


Snorting, Dean backed away and took a seat in the empty chair next to Sam. The sound of the metal legs screeching across the floor was sharp in Sam’s ears. “What crawled up your ass and died this time?”


And suddenly, it was like they were back to normal. Dean was teasing him again, a small smile on his face because of Sam’s reaction to what was apparently just some twisted part of his imagination and one Sam wasn’t sure he wanted to explore further.


Sam sighed. Ignorance would be the safest route, forgetting it ever happened at all would be better, but Sam knew he wasn’t lucky enough to be granted either of those things.


“So, we hitting these things tonight or what?” Dean asked, breaking the awkward silence that was mostly on Sam’s part. “I mean, the axe is no problem, but do we even have enough quarters to paralyse a couple of undead suicidal turned homicidal teenagers?”


Not paying attention to Dean’s ill placed humour, Sam looked at his watch. “It’s only nine. Supposedly, no one saw them around here until midnight, so we still have a little time. Chris said we could catch them through the abandoned tunnels, but I doubt we’d have much luck with them in the dark.”


Dean didn’t answer, choosing instead to scoff at Sam’s words.


Sam looked at his brother with confusion, the lines on his forehead creasing. “What?”


“Nothing.” Dean shrugged his shoulders carelessly, crossing his arms as he leaned back in his chair. “I didn’t say anything.”


“You didn’t have to say anything. What’d I say?”




Okay,” Sam said slowly, not appreciating the look he was currently receiving from his brother, the one that said Sam was unaware of something obvious.


“I don’t trust him.”


“I don’t trust him, either,” Sam pointed out. “Then again, we don’t really trust anybody. But he seems to know this area all right, and I’m willing to take what we can get so we don’t go into this unprepared.”


Dean leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table. His turned his head to the side, eyes narrowing as his gaze travelled to a young man sitting at the bar. It was Chris -- tall, blond haired, blue-eyed Chris with the nearly illegible handwriting and questionable drawing skills Sam didn’t realise was still sitting where Sam left him a few minutes ago.


Sam looked between his brother and Chris in surprise when the latter returned Dean’s glare. He called his brother’s name, feeling as if he was missing something important when Dean turned to him.


“Hmm?” Dean replied, almost absently as he set his eyes back on Sam.


“I’m taking it that you don’t like Chris?”


“What, you like him or something?” Dean asked, his tone challenging Sam to say yes.


Sam shook his head. Chris may have been a fellow hunter, but that was about as much in common as there was between them. “But what does that even have to do with anything?”


“Good,” Dean muttered, but not low enough for Sam to miss it.


Dean’s eyes were once more on Chris, who was again returning the heated gesture. He wasn’t sure what Chris did to Dean, if the other man did anything at all, but before he had a chance to interrupt Dean’s pissing contest, he felt a hand palming the back of his head and pushing him closer to a pair of lips that were suddenly pressed against his.


Eyes wide in something precariously close to horror, Sam found himself in some state of shock. It wasn’t so much that he was being kissed but rather who was kissing him. It didn’t matter that some part of him was more than simply enjoying the feeling of fingers kneading his scalp. They were Dean’s fingers, his brother’s fingers, and with a loud smack between them, Sam pushed Dean away.


“Dean, what the…” Sam began. His chest was rising and falling too fast to get anything out remotely coherent. “What the hell?” He swallowed, attempting to collect his breath as he ran a hand through his hair. Remembering whose hand had also been in his hair, Sam forcefully placed his hand on the table, glancing away before pointedly looking at his brother.


He wouldn’t even try to deny the obvious fluster on his face. He was probably completely red by now, but he couldn’t decide if it was because he was scandalised, embarrassed, afraid, or some strange combination of all three.   It wasn’t like the crowd around them would have cared one way or another, but Sam cared, and Dean was going to have to use more than one too many drinks to explain himself this time.


“He was staring at you,” Dean said simply, and some part of Sam didn’t know whether he should laugh or cry.


“Dean, you…” Sam stammered, mentally validating his inability to speak with the fact that his brother had just kissed him.


“And I’m pretty sure he’s one of those German bloodsuckers.”


Breathing returning to some semblance of normal, Sam was going to try ignorance once more. If Dean was trying to change the subject, this time Sam was more than helpful to oblige because that would mean it really was his imagination or he had finally gone crazy.


Either one would be fine.


“How can...how can you tell?” Sam asked, pleasantly overlooking the fact that he was still stuttering.


“You told me he said he didn’t have any family, right?”


Sam nodded slowly.


“I bet it’s because he killed them.”


Sam looked at his brother blankly, any hope of retaining sanity through Dean’s logic now gone through the window. The fact that he was going to rely on Dean’s logic for any kind of reassurance in the first place should have been warning enough. However, it did serve to take Sam’s mind off the non-existent kiss he hadn't shared with his brother.


“A hunter that’s also a Nachzehrer, Dean?”


“Yes, a Nachzeherer,” Dean said firmly, words coming through clenched teeth as he sent another glare at Chris. “Quick, he’s looking this way, again.”


Any further protest from Sam was covered by Dean’s pressing his mouth against Sam's once more.


The kiss was slower this time, not as rushed, and if Sam didn’t know he was going to hell before he could bet this would be the one thing that would confirm it. Because he was thinking about it, comparing his first kiss with his brother with their second one.  And he didn’t mind the fact that Dean’s hand wandering in his shirt, cool against his skin, was making him feel inexplicably numb. His arms began to relax, and the map that was curled in the palm of his hand fell silently to the floor.


Sam knew he had problems, had even come to accept the fact that his entire family (what was left of them, anyway) had problems, but there were too many reasons as to why this was wrong, this thing in particular that was becoming more enticing than it should. He could call his brother’s hand in the back of his pants and grabbing at his ass a distraction that would nullify his ability to think clearly, if at all, but it still didn’t justify why he was taking his sweet time to think about those reasons that made Dean groping him in public wrong.


Jess was one reason. Jess with her long hair, innocent eyes, and soft lips, but Jess was nearly a year ago, a lifetime back. Dean was now, he was then, and the only person who could convince him that being wrong could feel this good.


It helped that the stubble from earlier wasn’t so bad, and Sam found himself liking it, appreciating how it tickled his skin in a way that Jess never could. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Sam came to the realisation that Dean was a guy, and that he wasn’t gay, the epiphany quickly forgotten when he gasped, his lips parting slowly and allowing Dean’s tongue to enter his mouth.


Maybe if the whole situation wasn’t so fucked up then maybe Sam wouldn’t have minded as much. Because maybe then thoughts of where Dean’s mouth has probably been wouldn’t have been so prominent, and Sam could have forgotten about the fact he was contemplating participating in some kind of tongue war with his older brother.


And maybe, just maybe Sam wouldn’t have felt so breathless when Dean finally pulled away.


“It’s okay, now, he’s not looking anymore,” Dean said reassuringly. He licked his lips, nodding his head in some obscure show of blatant satisfaction. “Sam…?”


Dean looked at him questioningly, almost hesitantly with the confidence he displayed earlier waning, but Sam found it hard to speak.


“Sam,” Dean tried again. He looked worried now, and Sam thought it was fitting. It was either that or ashamed because it finally clicked in Sam’s head. Though, he didn’t want to think too much about the fact that it took him so long to understand his brother’s recent behaviour.


Maybe Chris’ arm around his waist was a friendlier gesture than Sam initially thought.


“So,” he began casually, resisting the urge to touch his lips to see if they were as swollen as they felt. “When girls hit on me, it’s okay?”


“I didn’t say that.” Dean looked away, eyes back at the bar and the empty seat where Chris was sitting before.


“That’s what you’re implying,” Sam countered. He didn’t understand why Dean just didn’t tell him about Chris. Even if Sam didn’t believe it, there were better ways than Dean making out with him. Never mind that Sam wasn’t complaining. “But when a guy stares at me-”


“It’s different, okay,” Dean interrupted. “It’s a guy thing.”


 “Dean…” Sam stared at his brother. “I am a guy,” he said flatly.


“Look, I didn’t have an explanation for any other time, so I’m not sure why you think this time is an exception.”


Sam ignored the taunt, and Dean’s attempt to redirect the conversation. “You kissed me twice. Twice, Dean,” he repeated.


“I had to get him off your back. I told you that guy was staring at you. Didn’t you notice he was hitting on you earlier?”


“Before or after you dragged me away from him?”


“He’s one of those people who can’t take no for an answer.”


“And when am I all of a sudden not able to take care of myself?”


“Well, I didn’t like the way he was touching you,” Dean mumbled. “Didn’t seem right.”


“So, it makes more sense to make-out with me?”


Dean looked away, a slight blush on his cheeks. “I got carried away, all right,” he said defensively. “Now, would you stop with the twenty questions already? It wasn’t like you said anything, anyway.”


“You’re right.”


Dean turned around quickly, surprise etched across his face. “What?”


“You’re right,” Sam said again. He didn’t say anything because he didn’t mind. He just didn’t know where it left the two of them. “I could have said something, but I didn’t.”


Noticeably more relaxed, Dean sighed. The relief was palpable on his face, and it made Sam feel a little better. Things were strange enough already and they still had those Nachzehrer to hunt.


“You’re a jerk,” Sam said, breaking the small quiet between them. But he was smiling, the fluttering in his stomach returning when he saw the look in his brother’s eyes.


“Well,” Dean began, readily returning Sam’s smile with a grin of his own. “What the hell,” he whispered, leaning closer to Sam. “Third time’s the charm, right?”


“Yeah,” Sam agreed, grabbing the sleeve of Dean’s jacket and bringing their lips together.