Title: Who Am I?
Author: Jace22
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: incest
Disclaimer: I don't own em.
Summary: His father used to tell him, We don't know who we are until we see what we can do.


When Dean was very young—but not young enough that he couldn't learn how to use a gun or the right way to destroy a corpse—his father said to him, "We don't know who we are until we see what we can do." Then he handed him the gun and made him shoot at empty soda-cans until his shot improved.

For some reason that's stuck with him through his life, and now that he's twenty-six he figures he should know who is already. He's done a lot in his life, but he still doesn't have the faintest idea of who is he.

"You're my brother." Sam says simply, like it's the easiest thing in the world. "You're a smart aleck, a general pain in the ass, but you're my brother. Who am I?"
"You're my brother." Dean mimics easily. "You're always stepping on my toes and you're a bitch, but you're my brother."

"Oh, now that was just a low blow." Sam cocks his head to the side, used to being called a bitch by Dean. "You know you aren't supposed to use the bitch thing against me."

Dean smirks, "Well, as long as you're my bitch, I really don't mind."

Sam knows it's a joke, but as he turns away, Dean can see a faint blush appear on his cheeks and for once Sam doesn't have a witty retort. Dean leans back in the seat of the car, still smirking, and feeling satisfied with himself. Making Sam squirm always seems to have that effect on him.

When Dean was driving to Sam's dorm in the middle of the night, he wondered who he was—to himself and Sam. Why was he so sure Sam would help him?

Because their father was missing, and how could he not help his own father? Their father. But that hadn't stopped Sam from turning his back on the family before.

This was different, though. This was serious. Sam would understand. He knew he would. He had to.

Sam had understood two years ago when Dean had showed up at his dorm, horny and lonely and just aching for Sam.

"Jesus, Dean. I thought we agreed that once I was out here this would stop. I want to just be normal. There's this girl..." Sam had stood awkwardly at the door—because Dean hadn't just walked in that time—hand rubbing at the back of his neck, his legs shifting and making Dean notice just how long they were. He imagined them wrapped around him and he bit his lip.

"Dean, I'm sorry—" He'd started to say, but stopped when Dean had kissed him suddenly, and he didn't pull away.

"Just this one time?" Dean had whispered against his lips.

"Just this one time. And then don't come back, Dean. I don't need this anymore." Which was a lie because Dean could hear Sam breaking, he could see it when Sam couldn't meet his eyes, and he could feel it against him when he pressed himself against Sam.

So, yeah, obviously Sam would understand. And he had. After he and Dean had beat the crap out of each other. You have to work for what you want, which is another thing their father used to say, Dean remembers.

Who the fuck do I think I am? Dean asked himself the entire night. The only answer that came to mind was simply, his brother. That's who. Like that gave him every right to do the things he did regarding Sam.

"Who do you think you are lying to the cops? You think it's funny to yank my chain?" The sheriff asks him, scowling at him over the desk.

Dean shrugs, a small smile playing on his face. What Dean really thinks is funny is the phrase yanking my chain.

Who does he think he is? He thinks he's someone who can handle this a whole lot better than the cops. This is his job and hobby. His life."Oh, you know, just a curious passerby."

"Bull shit. Unless curious passerbys tend to impersonate U.S. Marshalls nowadays." He looks at him levelly.

He keeps pressing him for answers until he gets the urgent 911, and Dean knows who just called, and he's proud that he can think I'm his brother.

Dean's driving away when he feels this tingle down his spine. The feeling that this isn't over, that something isn't right, but mostly he just knows he doesn't want to do this on his own. Screw the interview, Sam should be with him on this. They should be together; fuck law school. It should be about them.

He turns the car around, determined to get Sam to come back with him. He thinks of a million speeches that he could recite like poetry to Sam, anything that would get him back without having a chick moment. He could say something like I love you and kiss him, but that's never worked before, so why should it now?

Who the fuck do you think you are? He wonders bitterly. Who does he think he is to keep Sam from his dreams—can you even call them dreams? It's not like he even cares what he does as long as it's nothing to do with things that go bump in the night—of being a lawyer, of being married, of getting a goddamned white picket fence around the house where his four and a half kids and German Shepard can play peacefully without being disturbed by ghosts or demons that can kill their mother, but most of all his dreams of being normal.

He loosens his fingers when he realizes that they've been gripping the wheel tighter than necessary, his knuckles turning ghost-white in the dark.

Dean has it all planned, the words are at the tip of his tongue, but he never gets to say them because before he knows it there's fire, and he's grabbing Sam and pulling him outside and away from Jessica's burning body.

And when Dean holds Sam tightly against him, he feels something surge inside of him. The knowledge that he's the one to save Sam's life—now and when Sam was just a baby. He's his protector, his savior (even though that's sometimes hard for Sam to see.) There is no one else in the world who loves Sam more than he does

Dean lets Sam fuck him tonight; he's trembling and breaking and Dean can feel all of Sam's pain inside of him. His long body looming over him and his hips thrust forward, and god Dean has never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

There's just so much fear and adrenaline and horror radiating from Sam right now, and it hurts Dean to see and feel because there's no one in this world that he loves more than Sam.

"Dean," Sam cries softly, gasping and coming, eyes closing shut as he loses control.

Sam leans forward and kisses him roughly, and Dean moans into the kiss, seeing splotches of light when he comes with Sam's lips against his.

He doesn't mind when Sam collapses on top of him—he prefers it to the cold that's surrounded him since that night two years ago.

"God, I've missed you so much." Dean says, trying to pull their bodies even closer together.

Sam pulls away a little, frowns, and shakes his head, "I just...tonight. I'm not being unfaithful to her, I'm not forgetting her, there's just so much fucking...I miss her already. I can't even accept it, but I know that she's not coming back like Mom isn't coming back. I needed this tonight. I didn't want to be alone, and empty, and you're all I have now, I think."

Dean strokes Sam's hair, resisting the urge to say something like, glad that's clear.

He does understand, though; he knows that if Jessica was still alive this wouldn't be happening, and he knows he shouldn't be glad for his brother's loss and loneliness, but this is just so much better than the cold.

"Who am I to you?" Dean asks.

"Everything." Sam says quietly, and Dean remembers that Sam's a lot nicer after sex when he's tired and spent and in Dean's arms.

We don't know who we are until we see what we can do. Dean hears his father say, even though he really shouldn't be thinking of his father at a time like this.

So who am I? Dean wonders, fingers still touching Sam's hair like he used to when they were younger and Sam was still sleeping curled up next to him every night. Dean has saved a lot of people by fighting the supernatural, but this gives him more satisfaction than any of that. Everything seems to revolve around Sam and sometimes it makes him so weak.

He feels Sam's breathing slow as he falls asleep, and he can feel their hearts pressing together, and Dean thinks about what it is exactly that he does. He tries to list things in his head, but there are only a few simple things that stand out to him. I save people—I save him. I accept him, and I know him better than anyone else. I'm everything he has. I'm the person who will always love him and comfort him. I'm his brother.

Dean still isn't quite sure who he is, but he knows that it's a start, and Sam would probably agree. Dean closes his eyes, feeling strangely satisfied.