Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The following story is the English translation of “Toucher Divin”, a French text published here.
Warning: this is a wincest-oriented story, so if that upsets or displeases you, there's still time to turn around.
One clarification, however: I tried to include this very special relationship between Sam and Dean, as “coherently” as possible. Also, to integrate it into the continuity of the series, both in terms of chronology and adequacy with the universe.

Wincest therefore occupies a preponderant place in this story, but other familiar elements also constitute its structure, the aim being to modestly try to give this story the air of season 16.

Not all chapters will be reserved for an informed audience. This first chapter serves to set the context and can be read by everyone

However, I am classifying the story from the outset as "Explicit", not to tease but to make things clear to you all, if you wish to start reading.

As I said, the original story is a French text because it is my mother tongue. I wanted to offer it in English for a long time but I am not bilingual and therefore had to help myself with certain translation tools for this.

My apologies in advance if the quality of the translation leaves something to be desired.

To those who want to get started, enjoy reading and see you soon!

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 1

The chain gave way without difficulty, as soon as Sam had finished forcing the two padlocks that kept it firmly interlaced in the links of the fence. At his side, Dean, gun and lamp in hand, hitherto busy illuminating his brother's work while keeping a watchful, yet nervous eye on the surroundings, took a last look at the warehouse on the other side of the quay, the very one they had just inspected and where he was almost certain to have perceived a dark, unfriendly presence.
It was a clear, cloudless night, and the almost-full moon reflected in the harbor water softened the darkness a little. A boat's siren sounded faintly in the distance, a cricket made its stridulations heard, and Dean finally convinced himself, without totally losing sight of the potential threat his intuition was alerting him to, that perhaps he'd simply mistaken a banal shadow for a danger that wasn't one. Or at least, not the one they'd come to neutralize.
- Let's go, Dean, it's okay. ”

Gloucester, Massachusetts. The circumstances that had led the Winchester brothers to take an interest in this small port town in the American East had been peculiar from the start. A sudden upsurge of strange vice-related reports in neighboring counties, accompanied by several systematic crimes of passion that little or nothing would have predicted, three suicides, and the suspicion of a supernatural origin to these repeated disturbances was born. Possession by a tormented spirit? Psychopathic witch? Deranged cupid? Or a vulgar wind of madness for which two hunters had no remedy? It hadn't taken Dean long to reluctantly agree with Sam, who had seen the need for an investigation; and the demon opportunely cornered two towns away, who had sought to negotiate his salvation by betraying the secret of some occult force's recent presence in Gloucester, had had the privilege of an exorcism rather than a stabbing.

- Taken over by a rotten demon, and look at us!” Dean muttered in a low voice as they approached the large glass-and-steel-roofed shack whose fence they'd just broken. We're prowling around the fish crates like alley cats!
Sam didn't reply as he approached the small side door flanking the building. His brother knew as well as he did that it was less the demon's claims than the wake of those famous incidents, which were spreading like an oil stain, that had led them here, and with a gesture he called for light as he set about picking the lock.
- You've heard them all talk as much as I have about these “weird things” going on around the harbor, the younger Winchester reminded them all the same. It's worth checking out.
- Who, all of them?” pestered Dean, disillusioned. The guy who grabbed us on the way in? The half-stoned gas station attendant? If there's an asylum nearby, I bet they've got missing patients !
- I know, but we don't have any other leads anyway.
- You call that a lead,” retorted Dean, rolling his eyes.
- Okay, that's it,” Sam said, putting away his hooks. It's open.

Sneaking in nimbly and quietly, the elder Winchester entered the building, his senses as sharp as a fox's, scanning his immediate surroundings with a quick sweep of his flashlight as he held the Colt 1911 in his right hand, wrists crossed, ready to empty the magazine. A pungent mix of varnish, tar and other caustic substances filled the place, which turned out to be a large workshop dedicated to boat restoration. Two small, elevated fishing boats were lined up parallel to the long sides of the building. A pile of workbenches loaded with tools, chemicals and paint cans lined up here and there, and a rowboat seemed to be waiting to be refurbished at the other end of the workshop.
Through the glass roof, the pale night light tinted everything in the space in shades of gray. Close to each other, covering each other and gradually surveying the place like two eyes of the same head, gradually gauging the danger of an unknown place, Sam and Dean moved at a snail's pace between the two boats, evolving in an orderly jumble of ropes, plastic sheeting and steel parts. The light from their torches swirled back and forth to reveal the true nature of the shadows surrounding them, their vigilance at its highest, but nothing abnormal - let alone paranormal - seemed to reveal itself to them here either. There was no sudden, sharp chill to betray the existence of a ghost whose attachment it was in any case difficult to imagine, no trace of an unusual presence, and to smell sulphur in an environment saturated with aggressive fragrances was quite a challenge.
When they got beyond the two boats perched on their props, they soon formally identified the boat that had appeared from the other side of the shed, positioned against the wall, and it was when they pretended to approach it that things suddenly began to change. All at once, the smell that filled the room changed: the bitter fumes of plaster and epoxy gave way almost instantly to aromas of myrrh and incense, coming out of nowhere as if carried by an absent wind blowing away the fetid air, and the temperature warmed noticeably.
It was then that three large braziers ignited in unison with a sound of intense combustion, projecting their yellow flames furiously more than five feet into the air.
The two brothers leapt back to back like two wildcats and aimed at the three fires with a mixture of stupor and anguish, ready to defend themselves. It took them a moment to realize what had just happened, and although they understood nothing except that they had undoubtedly put their finger on a supernatural phenomenon, they pragmatically admired the existence of these three tripod-mounted metal vessels, arranged in a large triangle around them, and immediately sought to define the origin of this incongruous manifestation in the shabby harbor workshop of a small town that had only its panorama to offer.
The Winchesters, who needed a moment to acclimatize to the sudden increase in brightness, reviewed in their minds the occasions on which they might have been confronted with similar circumstances, both their hearts beating wildly during that moment of total vulnerability when they saw nothing, when guided not by their eyes but by their ears, they suddenly pointed their weapons in the same direction at the sound of the male voice that suddenly uttered these words:
- Here you are at last. It took you longer than expected.

The stranger was standing just behind one of the three braziers, the one that had appeared in the middle of the aisle separating the two boats. Finger ready to pull the trigger, taut as a bandaged bow, Sam and Dean riveted their squinted eyes straight on the individual, whose tall, slender silhouette they could just make out.
- Stay where you are!” ordered Dean. One move and you're dead!
Their target appeared to be conciliatory. As, with extreme caution, the two brothers moved sideways, each on his own side, to remove the blinding flames from their central field of vision, they were soon able to visualize the man who had just appeared. He was not yet thirty years old and had superb, impeccably coiffed blond hair, parted on the side, which gave him the air of a first-class man. His features had both the harmony and perfection of the finest works of antiquity, and the tailored black suit that made him look so handsome emphasized the athletic lines of his body.
The two brothers could have sworn they'd never met him.

- Who are you!” thundered Sam with a dark eye, his gun pointed at the stranger's forehead.
The interested party, at once dignified and nonchalant, watched him out of the corner of his eye, without saying a word or really losing sight of the other Winchester, which continued to move on its other flank.
- Did you hear that, Joe Black?! shouted Dean. Who the hell are you?
With a condescending flutter of his eyelashes, his hands placed one on top of the other in front of his crotch, the man in the suit breathed in slowly before querying in an icy tone:
- Please lower your weapons. If you'd like to chat, I'd appreciate it if you'd be more courteous first.
Sam and Dean remained deaf to their opponent's injunction. However, they began to lower their arms when, seemingly weighing the weight of a dead man, their weapons began to exert considerable pressure on their muscles. Startled, they tried at first to compensate for the invisible force at work, but it only increased, and soon became impossible to resist. The Winchesters' arms went numb; their torches, which they had not let go of, literally exploded in their hands, and panting, grunting in pain, they had no choice but to drop their anvil-turned-revolvers, even though when they hit the ground, they seemed to weigh no more than the day they had been assembled.
- Well, that's better, isn't it?” the man congratulated himself with a slight nod.
The two brothers stood still, ready for any eventuality, panting as if after a superhuman effort. They looked anxiously at each other, worried about the fate in store for this unusual adversary, and unsure of how they were going to triumph. They needed to gain time to recover and understand. A clue to the identity of the man in front of them and the solution might appear, through an incantation to declaim or a weak point to exploit. Anguish knotted Sam's throat, but he soon let out a short breath, his chest undulating ostentatiously beneath his jacket:
- Okay, we're unarmed. Now what?
The man in the suit raised an eyebrow in satisfaction and kept his gaze on his opponents, while Dean joined his brother. The elder Winchester didn't take his eyes off the stranger, glowering at him all the time it took him to get closer to Sam, then their assailant declared:
- Sam and Dean Winchester... I didn't know if we'd ever meet.
They shivered at the sound of each other's names. Dean gave a tense sneer, like a wild beast about to show its teeth, and with his hand already poised to seize the dagger hanging from his belt under his jacket, he snarled fiercely:
- Apparently you know us...
- Who doesn't know the famous Winchester brothers, archangelic hosts of flesh, slayers of the Evil One and eternal thorns in the side of entities alien to their kind...
- You know us, but we don't know you! tried Sam for the second time. Who are you, anyway? Are you responsible for these people losing their minds around here?
- You'd better answer,” shouted Dean with a threatening shake of the head, ”otherwise...
- I'm not here to do you any harm,” cut in the stranger with a tone as serene as it was implacable, ”so drop the belligerence, will you?
There was nothing he could have said that would have made the two brothers even more suspicious. They responded to his condescension with a posture of intimidation and the promise of hand-to-hand combat, but their interlocutor didn't care.
- I'm the one who drew you here,” he asserted without a hint of bitterness. Just as I finally decided to show my face to you, tired of the time it took you to get here.
- Have we kept His Majesty waiting?” ironized Dean after a few seconds, teeth clenched, with the unpleasant sensation of having been trapped.
- I'm not a king,” disagreed the man in the suit, inclining his head imperceptibly and looking vaguely offended.
Sam sensed the sudden danger and tried to moderate his brother's provocations with a gesture that he ignored.
- No kidding?” Dean snapped animatedly. Is what you've got on your back a valet's suit?
- Dean,” Sam murmured, alert.
The blond-haired man gave an evil sneer that made both brothers bristle. For the first time since his appearance, he set himself in motion, taking three slow steps in the direction of his opponents, without leaving them with his gaze as piercing as the point of a sword, and as he passed the brazier behind which he had been standing until now, he said:
- No. It's a god's.

Sam and Dean turned pale. The sudden appearance of the individual and the influence to which he had subjected them could perhaps have betrayed an action of a demonic or even angelic nature, but the change in environment, the sudden change in odors and the sudden appearance of the three burning metal vats, were more reminiscent of the noticed entrances that so-called superior entities liked to adorn themselves with, and besides, the place seemed to have changed again.
Where was the boat at the back of the hangar, the one the Winchesters had been standing in front of just a moment earlier? And the two big boats perched on their trestles; where was that opaque black mist falling from, which seemed to have swallowed them up? The two brothers realized that, apart from the inner perimeter of the braziers, which their flames were still illuminating, everything else had faded away, disintegrated like sand constructions diluted in water, as if their eyes no longer had sufficient acuity to distinguish anything other than what was in their immediate proximity. Dean looked up instinctively: the starry night was clearly visible, but the canopy had evaporated, and he could have sworn he was back years earlier, stargazing in the fields with Sam.
- A god,” he said in a strangled voice.

Unfortunately, this wasn't the brothers' first encounter with these otherworldly incarnations, and they knew from experience just how hard they were to shake off. In reality, fortuitous alliances, exceptional circumstances or even luck had enabled them to get out of such situations, but this time they were alone, unprepared to face an adversary of such stature, and their throats knotted.
Still, they had not reached the end of their tether. Suddenly, a silhouette seemed to slowly emerge from the dark veil that had engulfed everything, and the shape, which became more and more precise as it approached their opponent's shoulder at his back, soon revealed its human appearance as it positioned itself to the left of the blond-haired man. Sam and Dean thought they'd been fooled, but had to face the facts: the newcomer was a carbon copy of the first, identical in every respect, from stature to features to hairstyle. However, there was a difference, as visible as their resemblance, for in addition to wearing a white suit, the newcomer's hair was not the color of gold, but jet black.
- We are the sons of Cronos,” he said in a voice very similar in timbre to that of his twin. I take it you're familiar with the name?
Wide-eyed, Sam took aim at his brother, who almost fainted. Chronos. The god of time. Chased between eras by Dean, and killed by Sam with an olive stake through the heart. How could they forget?
- No,” swept the dark-haired man with a disillusioned sigh and a casual wave of his hand. I'm not talking about the god of Time...
The Winchesters were almost astonished that their thoughts had been so easily pierced, but nothing should surprise them any more about the faculties of the creatures whose paths they crossed.
Especially when they could boast such a pedigree.
- Cronos, Sam let out in a coughing fit between clenched jaws. The Titan.
- The Titan, indeed,” confirmed the wearer of the white suit. At least one of you understands who we're talking about.
- A Titan,” Dean repeated, clenching his jaws. Here we go again...
Dean didn't care if there were one, two or a hundred Kronos. Hearing the name of these mythological beings again reminded him with dread of their encounter with Zeus, Artemis and Prometheus, and he didn't need to see his brother's sclerotic expression to become even more convinced of the twins' obvious dangerousness.
- Okay,” he said, his voice uncertain, raising his hands slightly in an attempt to regain some control. If you are what you say you are, you can wipe us out with a snap of your finger, so what's the point of all this? What's the point?
Although he managed to hide most of the signs, his heart began to pound in his chest and it was almost deafened by the sound of his blood pounding in his temples that he stared stoically at the self-declared deities. Time seemed to stand still and the moment to last an eternity, and then the Blond finally answered in all tranquillity, demonstrating that “Olympian calm” was not an empty word:
- I've told you, we come before you with no malicious intent. We are not malicious. But your propensity to pursue us for days on end like two ants chasing the scent of nectar is starting to get annoying.
The threat was thinly veiled, despite what the man in black wanted to claim. The two brothers remained on full alert, their skin clammy with acrid sweat, and Sam concluded in a voice that didn't carry as far as he would have liked:
- It's you... You're the one who's provoking these strange behaviors in people... Why is that?
- Have we given you the impression that we're here to answer your questions?

None of the twins had uttered this sentence, and they continued to stare at the Winchesters, who jumped again, casting their eyes to the left to suddenly see, with extreme fright, a third head emerging from the darkness, similar to the first two.
The third brother had red hair, as red as the flames that cast incandescent reflections on his brown suit, and as he went to stand beside the other two he let Sam and Dean digest his appearance, contenting himself for a moment with toasting them condescendingly.
- Look at yourselves,” he addressed them with an infinitely haughty glance. You're as paralyzed as two mice in front of a snake.
- Three... snakes,” Dean admitted in spite of himself, with a tense smile, in one of his futile attempts to use humor to soften up his adversary and feign unfailing bravery.
Brown Suit emitted a brief nasal sigh as he nodded, before admitting:
- Three snakes, yes... But we have nothing to do with your nahash, and it's curious that I even used that analogy...
- The biblical serpent is the symbol of evil,” remarked Sam, who knew what we were talking about.
- And our exact opposite,” asserted Costume Noir in a didactic tone.
A heavy silence, disturbed only by the gentle tumult of the flames, prevailed for a few moments. Torn by uncertainty and fear, the Winchesters could not take their eyes off the three look-alikes, who were themselves observing them with a mixture of curiosity and irritation, in varying degrees. Sam muzzled his anxiety, and for the third time asked:
- Who are you, and what do you want from us?
- Who we are is none of your concern,” replied White Suit in a scathing tone that made both brothers bristle. As for why we've come to you, it's quite simple: we're here to give you a warning. A most cordial one. Stop interfering in affairs that are not your own, and we'll part as good friends.
Sam suppressed an evil sneer as Dean inclined his head slightly in disagreement. And with restraint, he reminded them:
- If you know who we are, you know that what you're doing here is our business.
Sam looked at his brother with pride and supported him with a combative smile, ready to support him with all his might in the conflict that pitted them against this divine Triad of which they knew nothing.
- Apparently you know what we've been through,” said the younger Winchester with forced aplomb. We don't give up so easily.
The White Suit, but especially the Brown Suit, seemed to see red. Their features froze in obvious indignation and, his eyes seeming on the verge of lightning, the redhead hammered:
- I can remedy your stubbornness in more ways than one, just be careful. Stay where you are, Winchesters. Why don't you go back to hunting low-grade demons and stop sniffing our trail?
- Why?” snarled Dean. Are you afraid we'll arrest you?
He saw nothing coming, neither gesture nor blow, but found himself instantly swept up like a bundle of straw, torn from the earth's gravity as if a giant's hand had seized him and thrown him to the four winds. Sam saw his brother glide several meters before falling heavily to the ground, where he slid again until he hit the base of a brazier and remained on the ground, half stunned.
- Dean!” shouted Sam, rushing to his aid.
The youngest rushed to pull the eldest out from under the burning basin, then checked that nothing was broken, and in particular that the blood dripping from his forehead was not the result of a deep wound. He noticed that the tripod was forged from the effigy of graceful, winged figures, and feared that the sharp edges of the carvings might have caused his brother a serious injury. Watching the two humans scramble on the ground, Black Costume raised his eyebrows in sorrow and sought to appease Brown Costume by saying:
- Please, no unnecessary violence... We are Love, have you forgotten? There's no need to mistreat them.
The redhead cast a troubled glance at his brother and seemed suddenly annoyed by his own gesture, as he watched Sam help Dean, apparently unhurt, back onto his legs.
- Humans have only worsened their ways since our last visit,” lamented Costume Noir. No matter how hard we try to guide them along the path of Love and Happiness, they persist in clinging to the jaws of the wolf trap they themselves have assembled.
The deity advanced peacefully towards the Winchesters, who stiffened before him, Dean still groggy, but she kept a reasonable safe distance from them so as not to give them the feeling that they were mortally threatened.
- You seek to protect your fellows from ancestral dangers you have long forgotten, she told them in a debonair tone. To your credit, we understand that. But contrary to what you think, we're not your enemies.
- No?” spat Dean, panting and with a murderous look in his eyes. Nor are you enemies of the people you've hammered?
- Man's heart is a fragile little thing,” philosophized White Suit wistfully as he approached a little closer. Unfortunately, not everyone is able to understand the nature of the gift we're giving them, and in some places even less than in others.
- A gift?” exclaimed Sam. People throwing themselves in front of trains? People who kill their wives, their neighbors or just give up for no reason at all?
- These are all events that you repeat day after day ad infinitum, and for which you don't need our influence,” snapped Brown Suit.
The hostile glances the Winchesters exchanged with him nearly set the world alight again, but White Suit ignored them and replied sullenly:
- It's true that some people are a bit confused by the Divine Touch, but that's only a tiny minority... Have you ever wondered, for just one lost heart, how many were swollen with joy? How many of your dark lives have been brightened by it? No, of course not. For you, we are nothing but malice and cruelty... Millennia may have passed, but you're still as obtuse and arrogant as ever.
- What are you talking about? Are you saying that you do good for people? That your actions are a blessing?
- They are,” assured the blond in the black suit. They really are.
- You're as twisted as any of your kind we've come across!” snarled Dean, his vision still clouded by the shock he'd received. And we're the arrogant ones? Do me a favor: if you ever feel like giving me a present, don't!
- This discussion's getting us nowhere,” growled Brown Suit with a dark eye. Why do we stoop to trying to make these limited beings see reason? Their species revels in torturing itself and perverting its true nature in a hypocritical quest for uniformity, yet they don't hesitate to kill each other. What are we still doing here?
His brothers took joint aim at him, and their silence seemed to indicate that they gave credence to his words. Black Suit seemed to regret the turn the meeting had taken, and while giving the impression that he was giving up on being heard, he nonetheless resumed with a peaceful glance at the Winchesters:
- We're the ones who drew you here, without you even realizing it. And if we did, it's because your feats of arms command respect; that despite the parasitic noise your determination to flush us out is making in our ears, we were somewhat curious about you. But we have to admit that the feats you have achieved have not made you any more open to dialogue than your co-religionists, which is deeply regrettable. Clearly, anything we might say to you is futile and futile indeed, so let's cut to the chase: as a gesture of goodwill, we're willing to free this land from our influence. You will assume responsibility for the mediocrity of the existence of those to whom we could have opened their eyes, and condemn them to remain prisoners of their artificial feelings, unable to access their true desires.
The Winchesters tried to understand the meaning of this surreal, even cryptic statement, noting how the triplets' eyes reflected the same expression of spite and sense of waste. Bewildered, they didn't know at first what to say, nor what to expect from their opponents, and then Sam finally intoned:
- What... What do you mean, you're... leaving? Just like that?
- It's up to us to decide where we intervene and whether it's worth persisting,” hammered Costume Blanc. Our aim is neither to cause undue harm to your fellow human beings, nor to fight a futile battle. We have more important things to do. And there are many other places on Earth that might consider our good deeds to be worthwhile; places... where you would be well advised not to interfere.
Both brothers were stunned by the triplets' apparent renunciation. Were they to be believed? They strongly doubted it, too familiar with the vice and cynicism that characterized the gods they had crossed or fought, but they suddenly had the feeling that even before his appearance, the Triad had decided not to continue its work here, whatever it was, and that it was probably even for this reason that it had finally come out of the shadows.
Sam and Dean wanted to believe that this encounter - which could only end in their demise if a physical confrontation were to take place - had a real chance of ending so easily, but all their senses warned them otherwise. One eye less open than the other, Dean clenched his fists, convinced that they would have to defend their lives dearly, and Sam, one last time, asked:
- Who the hell are you? What the hell do you want?
Brown Suit gave a superior sneer and gave the younger Winchester a bitter look. Then he advanced towards the two brothers, with a step as silent as it was tranquil, and in a fiendish tone he thundered coldly:
- There's no time for that now, gentlemen. It's time to leave us, but not without leaving you a souvenir of our meeting. It's up to you whether you wish to continue lying to each other, or whether you have the courage of your true aspirations.

The red-haired man then walked in their direction, and if until now the strangers had been careful to maintain a certain distance from the Winchesters, this resolution was now a thing of the past. At first in disbelief, Sam and Dean naively believed that Brown Suit wouldn't come any closer, but as the seconds ticked by and their opponent moved in their direction, it soon became clear that this time he was determined to make contact.
Trapped and powerless against such an adversary, the two brothers tensed even more as he closed in on them, threatening to leap for their lives, but to no avail - neither their inaudible warnings nor their aggressive facial expressions - and in an instant the god was upon them. Barely more than an arm's length from his position, feeling totally cornered, they went on the attack, seeking to bring their clenched fists down on him, but their gestures suddenly seemed diverted, drained of strength and, without understanding how, they found themselves sliding down Brown Suit's flanks like water around a rock, while simultaneously feeling the red-haired man's hands resting flat on both their hearts.

Then a terrible force was exerted, an extreme blast lifting them from the ground without their being able to resist it in the slightest, and immediately afterwards they flew across the room, thrown so far that they literally disappeared in the dark mist that surrounded them.

Chapter Text

- Sam? Sam, come on, get up. Hey, can you hear me? Sammy! Sammy, get up!
Dean himself was having trouble putting into practice the injunction given to his brother, lying on his side not far from him. Nauseous, with a pounding headache and a mind more foggy than the day after his most memorable binges, he remained seated on the concrete floor, legs stretched out, not really seeming to remember how to get back on his feet. With a muffled grunt, as muted as the one he'd uttered a minute earlier, Sam stirred a little more briskly, however, and by dint of effort he painfully managed to right himself, his torso at forty-five degrees, one arm on a crutch and the other hand pressed against his head, which was ringing bells.
- D...Dean?” he asked, his eyes almost closed, as if awakening from an all-too-short night.
- Who do you want it to be?” his brother scolded with the relief of seeing him regain consciousness. Prince Charming? Come on, Snow White: it's time to get up.

He set an example by struggling to get up himself, but once he was on his feet he needed to catch his breath as the room began to spin dangerously. He felt sluggish, as if in withdrawal from some foreign substance, but he was whole, they both were, and right now that was the most important thing. With a worried, bewildered look, Sam struggled to his feet, and when he realized that he and his brother were still in the harbor workshop, where the two boats and the rebuilt boat were now revealing unsuspected details in the early morning light streaming in through the glass roof, he asked:
- Everything's back to normal... Do you think they've gone? Ah, I feel like I've been in an acid dream...
Dean gave him a surprised look and, while watching him massaging his temples, said in a tone of mocking echoes:
- Say, did you get a taste of this at Stanford? You didn't tell me everything about your time there, did you? Are you okay?
Sam returned his gaze and nodded, his brow furrowed with worry lines.
- I'm fine,” he assured her. How about yourself? How's your head?
- Don't worry,” he minimized with a pout of disdain, dabbing at his crusty wound with his fingertips. A Band-Aid and you're all set.
Sam nodded, promising himself he'd take a look at his brother's wound later, when he resumed:
- Anyway, it looks like we're on our own, yes... Who the hell did we run into? I'm not even sure what happened to us! Do you understand anything?
The confused shake of his head showed Dean that he shared his incomprehension, but also that he was already trying to find the solution to the enigma.
Something he obviously couldn't do here.

- Okay, suggested the elder Winchester with a scowl, relying much more on Sam's intellect than on the clues they wouldn't find among the tools and paint cans. There's nothing left for us here. Let's get out of here before the locals come...
(A vague smell of ammonia suddenly assaulted his nostrils, prompting him to sniff his sleeve).
- ... or faint from the smell of nail polish remover,” he finished, raising his eyebrows.

On arriving in Gloucester the day before, Sam and Dean had taken a room at the Sea Lion Motel, a pleasantly located establishment that was far from the worst they'd visited. The more select part of the place even offered the use of a large ocean-facing pool, and Dean had lamented being here at this time of year when he'd seen the pool. For the moment, however, the pool was totally indifferent to him, for it was a much smaller tub that he needed. A few minutes after their departure from the port, he parked the Impala in front of the oblong building where they were staying, and went straight into the room they occupied on the first floor, passing his brother as he threw his car keys on the small table near the entrance, to say in an imperious tone:
- I'm off for a shower, I can't stand it another minute.
He took off his jacket, tossed it on a chair in the corner of the room and said ostentatiously:
- What kind of products do they put on these boats? Cancer concentrate in a jar? It stinks worse than a ghoul's ass!
- Go on, take a shower,” said Sam, closing the door behind him. As for me...
He didn't finish his sentence and, taken by a sudden dizziness, went to sit at the foot of one of the two beds arranged side by side in the center of the room. Dean watched him for a moment, looking worried, and seeing him blink strangely he cautiously inquired:
- Hey, are you all right?
Sam, shoulders hunched, nodded.
- I'm fine, don't worry,” he reassured him. I'm just a little dizzy, but it'll pass.
Not quite sure he could believe it, Dean nodded slightly, agreeing with a concerned silence.
- I'm next door,” he continued after a moment. Call me if anything goes wrong.
Sam nodded again, then his brother headed for the bathroom at the far end of the room.

It was a brand-new Dean who emerged almost half an hour later. His short hair still damp, a simple white T-shirt and clean jeans all his clothes, he carried his bundle of dirty laundry at arm's length like the corpse of a decomposed skunk. He was relieved to see that his brother had apparently regained his composure, as he found him sitting in front of the table, his nose in his computer. Dean couldn't suppress a small smile of contentment, and tossed as he returned to the bedroom:
- I think I must have soaked up at least a liter of detergent when Poil de Carotte sent me waltzing. I'm warning you, if the laundry doesn't get that stench out of my clothes, I'm going to make a killing. In any case, the shower is a blast.
Sam, who had regained his color, looked up to watch his brother pile his things near the door in preparation for an imminent departure for the cleaners. Dean, the corner of his forehead now marked with a small, clean wound, met his gaze as he turned and, with a gesture of his chin, asked:
- How are you feeling? Feeling better?
He went to take a seat at the table next to Sam, turning the chair towards him, and as he sat down in it with a heavy sigh, slumping his elbow on the tray, his youngest replied:
- Much better, yes. Your smell must have gone to my head, so... don't leave it here too long, okay?
His humor earned him a reproving look and the royal ignorance of Dean, who said nothing.
- Here, I went to get something to eat,” Sam continued, pointing to the paper bag behind his screen. This should be to your liking.
- Breakfast,” Dean rejoiced, glancing happily at the bag. Good news at last.
He grabbed the bag and, eyes round with greed, had the distinct pleasure of finding four large doughnuts inside, as well as a generous slice of pie that made him smile with happiness. He wasn't feeling a ferocious appetite, but there was something comforting and soothing about still being able to savor the taste of simple things, after the scare they'd both given themselves.

- Are you looking for information on the Jonas Brothers?” Dean asked after the second bite, already looking more tense and with open disdain, knowing full well that this was what his brother was doing. Got anything? Give it all you've got, Sammy, because frankly... I'm still wondering what happened.
Arms folded on the table, lips pursed and brow furrowed in concern, Sam shook his head slightly, then reluctantly confessed:
- No, I... Nothing yet, I'm afraid. I'm just... I'm trying to cross-check what little information they've given us, to search Cronos' descendants to find out who they might be, but...
He let out a short, dry nasal sigh of disappointment before continuing:
- The variety of myths is at least equal to the number of children he's supposed to have fathered.
- Okay,” nodded Dean in annoyance. Suffice to say, it's not looking good... What can we do, then, how can we find them?
- Find them? Dean, we don't even have a clue who they are. If classical mythology is anything to go by,” he pointed to his laptop screen, ”in addition to the most famous gods of the Greek pantheon, like Poseidon, Zeus or...
- That one,” cut in Dean, holding up his finger, ”has had enough.
- Zeus isn't the only descendant of the Titan, Dean. There are certainly other gods as devious as him, not to mention all the deities and demigods, or even the fabulous creatures Cronos is supposed to have fathered, like the centaur Chiron, Achilles' mentor.
Dean rounded his eyes and made one of his secret observations:
- Achilles... Brad Pitt's Achilles?
Sam gave him a sanctimonious look and replied:
- Dean, I'm serious. Apart from the fact that they're apparently brothers and that they refer to each other as... sons of Cronos, the clues are slim. And we don't even know if they've told us the truth, so as far as finding them, I don't know how you want us to go about it.
- I don't know if they've told us the truth, but given their arrogance, I'd give them their ass-cracking god medals with no problem!” exclaimed Dean scornfully. And how we're going to do it, I'll tell you: the old-fashioned way, the way we've always done it. By investigating, digging up old books and networking. There's bound to be someone who knows these guys or knows where to find the information, and there's bound to be a way to trap and kill them. We've been through this before.
Sam moved back a little in his seat to prop his back up against the backrest and opened his arms for a moment as a sign of goodwill, before agreeing:
- Okay, let's do this... It doesn't hurt to try, that's fine with me. I'll keep looking, and you...
He suddenly fell silent, fixing his gaze over Dean's eyes, who watched him for a moment before saying:
- What's the matter?
- Your wound,” answered his brother, rising to his feet. It's reopened. Hold on, I'll take care of it.
Dean removed two reddened fingers from his forehead, while Sam went off to get the first-aid kit, hearing his brother protest that the wound was just a scratch. Armed with what he needed, Sam then returned to him, retorting:
- Just because it's not serious doesn't mean you should let it bleed.
He moved his chair slightly so he could sit opposite the injured man, then soaked a compress in alcohol to dab the wound.
- Hey, Mom, I'm old enough to do it myself, if you haven't noticed,” grumbled the elder Winchester.
- Apparently you didn't do it as well as you should have, because it opened up again... Look at your shoulder, it's all stained.
Dean tugged at the fabric to see that his shirt was indeed stained with two large drops of fresh blood, and didn't reply, just gave an annoyed pout. He let his brother clean up and cover the gash with a thick bandage, which only took a minute, then stood up, demanding:
- Pass me a shirt, will you? Their washing machine will be running at full throttle.
He discarded his soiled shirt while Sam went to grab a plaid shirt from the top of the bag his brother had left at the foot of his bed. He then turned to go the other way and saw Dean, shirtless, casually dropping his shirt on the pile of dirty laundry. Without even thinking about it, Sam immediately noticed that his brother seemed to be in dazzling form; in attentive silence, the younger man approached slowly, just to give his elder brother time to claim his shirt and, for several seconds, Sam maintained an insistent gaze on Dean through which he seemed to detail him conscientiously.
- Thank you,” said the latter, taking the shirt and immediately putting it on.
Lazy enough to undo the few closed buttons, he slipped it on at the top, placed his arms in the sleeves and adjusted it with a few quick movements. Still under Sam's watchful eye, who hadn't moved.
- Well, I'm going to take this stuff to the laundry and make a few phone calls while I'm at it. Do you have any laundry to do?
It was his brother's insistent gaze that made Sam react, looking frozen and distracted.
- I... No,” he says, clearing his throat and trying to sound completely natural, ”I... I've got to take a shower first.
Dean looked at him for a brief moment, wordlessly noting that he seemed a little off, before deciding:
- Well, then, you're the one who'll take our laundry to the laundromat.
And, grabbing the bag of doughnuts and his car keys, he added:
- I'm going to make a phone call, just in case we get lucky and find out who the three jokers are. And make sure we've left my baby's windows open, so the smell of dead fish doesn't curdle the seats. Are you done yet?
As Dean lifted the paper bag, Sam realized he was asking about his share of breakfast.
- No, it's okay, you... I've eaten, you can finish,” he confirmed with a slightly pinched look.
- Okay,” said his brother, not without satisfaction. See you in a minute.
- Dean, wait.
Dean let go of the door handle as soon as he'd grabbed it, and turned back to Sam, who was staring at him with a look of some curiosity. He waited in vain for Sam to continue, then asked:
- What?
Sam opened his mouth to form a word, but stopped short. He squinted his eyes a little, seeming to scrutinize his brother's with suspicion, and finally said:
- Tell me, you... Have you been working out again lately?
The astonishment was such that Dean's face seemed to sag. He put on a comical expression and repeated:
- What?

- I don't know,” said Sam with a small, puzzled smile. You look... broader-shouldered than before, a little more... massive.
His face briefly lit up by the compliment, Dean discreetly and instinctively lowered his eyes, as if he could admire himself through the fabric of his shirt. Without even realizing it, he straightened up, stiffening his back, and just as he was about to reply, taking the remark at face value, his flattered smile suddenly gave way to a discomfited expression.
- Very funny, Sammy,” he spat with an outraged look. This is about the doughnuts, isn't it? Is this your way of telling me to watch my figure?
Looking mournful, he aimed for the bag and took two steps to drop it over the table, not without giving his brother a look as reproving as it was theatrical.

With that, he left the room without adding a word, ostentatiously turning his back on a bewildered Sam... then returned in a hurry, no sooner had the door closed than he plunged his hand into the paper bag and pulled out the biggest doughnut he could find, which he stuffed into his mouth.
Dean returned some twenty minutes later, his vexation forgotten and replaced by disappointment at not having been able to reach the hunters he'd hoped to get some immediate leads from. He had even tried to contact Castiel, but the angel had proved deaf to his call. A summoning spell, a mystical prison, a deicide weapon - anything would have been possible, and while he was still reluctant to leave the area, just in case there was still a chance of catching the triplets in the area and preventing them from doing any further harm, he was beginning to accept the idea that a return to the bunker for more solid and lengthy research was probably in order.
When he returned to the bedroom, he threw his keys on the table as he had done earlier and found the room empty. Water was running in the bathroom, and he deduced that Sam was in the shower. This assumption was confirmed by the clothes the youngest Winchester had left at the foot of his bed, which he had taken care to fold neatly even though they were dirty linen. Coquetry raised his brother's eyebrows, and he misunderstood the point of the gesture; he entered the room further, reaching and passing his own bed to stall in front of Sam's, and in addition to the shirt and jeans the latter had removed, he noticed a pair of dark boxer shorts rolled into a ball.
For a second, Dean's mind seemed to wander, his eye fixed on the undergarment and shot through with bizarre ideas, but he soon lost interest in himself when, looking disdainful, he came to.
He pivoted to retrace his steps and stretch out on his bed, but as the bathroom door passed into his field of vision, he noticed by chance that it wasn't completely closed. Left ajar, the white wooden panel revealed a thin strip of what lay inside; it was through this gap that the sound of running water clearly propagated, but also through it that Dean's hunter's eye perceived a series of movements. Without thinking or assessing the necessity of his gesture, he moved a little closer to get a better look and, as the angle of vision changed to place the shower cubicle under his gaze, he saw his brother almost immediately, behind the glass, rubbing his naked body to expel the sweat and dust of last night.
Because of their constant promiscuity, the Winchesters had already had occasion to see each other in the simplest of clothes, or almost. They'd also caught each other in gallant company on occasion, and had even undressed each other when it had been necessary, on occasion, to attend to the other's wounds in a hurry, which they'd both collected by the dozens. So, faced with this vision of Sam's naked body, Dean would usually have turned away in indifference, leaving him to his ablutions... but, for a reason that escaped him - and which, in fact, he didn't even think about - this time it was quite different.
No, this time Dean stopped completely and let Sam's image lock his gaze. Pupils dilated, he scanned his brother's body from head to toe, with the exception of his private parts opportunely obscured by the wide glass door handle placed at a strategic height, and with the blood circulating with greater vigor in his veins, he was immediately struck by the Olympic form his younger brother maintained. Dean had long known that Sam was a force of nature, cut like an ancient athlete with his tall stature and solid musculature and, to make matters worse, endowed with devastating charm and sex appeal. But as he watched him showering vigorously, the elder Winchester felt a kind of turmoil, a latent pride, like the sudden realization that his brother's beauty, which he'd seen amplify year after year, was even greater than he'd glimpsed so far.

And so he spent an indefinite time detailing his long, thick arms, their massive biceps rolling beneath the wet skin. He watched Sam's broad shoulders, which shifted to reveal his dark armpits from time to time, as the younger man lifted his arms to chase the water from his medium-length hair, and widened his gaze when he saw his brother's chest full-frontal, his powerful pecs, with their sharp brown nipples, glistening with warm water that had darkened their moderate hairiness. When he turned around, it was then his well-built back that Sam offered to Dean's view, who kept his gaze on the marked muscles undulating gracefully. Sam pivoted again, this time allowing his brother to linger, glassy-eyed, on the extraordinarily firm musculature of his abdomen, then suddenly closed the taps, opened the glass door to the cabin and let Dean's eyes literally dive on his now perfectly visible sex.
The elder Winchester had always felt that Mother Nature had been most generous to him, but it had to be said that she hadn't wanted to disadvantage one brother for the benefit of the other. With his breath temporarily suspended, Dean locked his gaze on Sam's broad penis beneath his shaggy fleece, noting the trail of larger veins on the surface of the supple, fleshy member, and couldn't help noticing, with complacent astonishment, that the smooth skin of his brother's opulent bursa, as round as it seemed heavy, was totally devoid of the slightest hair.
An unexpected twitch suddenly made Dean's crotch quiver, and reacting to it as dryly as if he'd felt the sting of an insect, he cast a startled glance at his fly. Pushed back to his feet by this totally unexpected reaction, he scrambled out of the bathroom doorway and threw himself onto his bed, half reclining, legs stretched out and hands crossed over his lower abdomen. What had gone through his mind to allow himself to daydream about his own brother's plasticity? And why had he been so slow to turn away? These questions were so prevalent that they seemed to swirl in his wide eyes, and the shocked look on his face could even have made Castiel smile, so caricatured was his usual expression.
Soon, he felt his physiology returning to a normal state, and was relieved to see that Sam was probably drying off and getting dressed. Dean let his eyes slide gently towards the small white door, and without warning, new questions arose: was Sam really already dressed? Or was he still mopping up the water glistening off his body? Had he covered his chiseled torso? Hid his two beautiful hairless bursae? As if these thoughts, as fleeting and insidious as the onset of sleep, had slowly slipped him into a vaporous torpor, Dean felt himself crack a smile in spite of himself and, all at once, stiffened his whole being to leap like a devil out of a box.
- Oh, come on, now!
- Dean?” called Sam from the other room. Dean, what's going on? Is everything all right?
The elder Winchester gasped in panic and almost knocked over the lamp on the bedside table, which he only managed to catch with a perilous acrobatic effort. Then, in a voice he tried to make sound as natural as possible, he called out to his brother:
- “It... It's ok, Sammy, everything's fine !
Then, two tones lower:
- Yeah, everything's fine.. ».

Chapter Text

Dean suddenly felt the need to take a deep breath of fresh air and hurriedly left the room, picking up his car keys. He blew out a deep breath, letting the sea breeze caress his face, and running a hand through his hair, now damp from the cold sweat that had gripped him, he then chose to take refuge in the Impala, where he sat behind the wheel and slammed the door shut.

There, he felt safe and calm enough to think coldly about what had just happened. If he wanted to be honest with himself, and recognize as his own certain acres of his secret garden, he had already thought of Sam, voluntarily or not, in terms other than strictly fraternal. Strange dreams with no clearly delineated form, uncontrolled thoughts left as they came, fleeting fantasies suggested by too-heavy intoxication, had manifested themselves on some occasion but harmlessly, almost unbeknownst to him, like a residue of thought that had randomly taken this form. Like a meaningless by-product of his brain activity. Living with his brother twenty-four hours a day, in the improbable conditions and circumstances that made up their daily lives, had always seemed a logical explanation for his mind's wanderings of all kinds, and he lived very well with that.

Only this time, things were less abstract; they had taken on sharper contours he hadn't anticipated, and it had been a long time since he'd caught himself rambling like this. Brushing aside in an instant the possibility of self-psychoanalysis, he decided he just needed a moment to digest the unexpected stir Sam's nudity had aroused, for he admitted to himself, in good conscience, that what he'd experienced, as well as the images he'd caught, were hardly unpleasant. It took no more than that for his brother's muscular torso to flash before his eyes again, his broad back with its plunging flanks over the arch of his loins, his fleshy sex whose half-exposed glans tip still seemed to sting his retina and, lest he stray again, Dean breathed deeply. He placed both hands on his face, rubbed his cheeks and eyelids while uttering a sort of incantatory borborygma, and as soon as he opened his eyes again he gasped in nameless terror, nearly smashing his skull on the half-raised window when he saw Castiel sitting motionless beside him, in the passenger seat.
- Damn it, Cass...! You know I've lost the habit of you just turning up unannounced like this?!
- Hello, Dean,” said the angel in the raincoat, with his usual look and almost inexpressive tone.
Dean took a moment to catch his breath as he glanced sideways at his sidekick. Then, his surprise having worn off, he resumed in a fairly reassured voice:
- No, really, you've got to stop playing Houdini, it's not good for the heart, you know?
Castiel looked at him for a moment, without saying a word, before letting his gaze focus through the windshield on a group of trees swaying in the wind.
- I thought you didn't hear me,” said Dean. It's been at least half an hour since I called you.
- I know you did. I came as soon as I could, I was... unavailable.
- Unavailable?” he repeated, looking at him quizzically. I didn't call you for no reason, you know. Can I ask what you were busy with?
Castiel turned his head towards him with a look that might have been described as stilted, if he didn't already look permanently affected. The angel waved his chin, seemed to be searching for words, then decided to keep things simple and to the point, as always, by soberly confessing:
- I was... in the bathroom.
He nodded softly as he looked at Dean, who stared at him in dismay. Time seemed to stand still, the two men facing each other, until the elder Winchester, totally disarmed, rolled his eyes and wondered why he'd asked that question.
- Okay. I don't want to know more,” he said.
- I felt like... tasting a paella,” Castiel tried to justify, to dispel the unease. I found the taste very... pleasant, so I asked for several plates, but... I think it disturbed the internal workings of my body a little.
- I said I didn't want to know any more, okay?” Dean glowered, discomfited, raising one hand in an unequivocal sign.
His friend took note and remained silent. The hunter shook his head in amazement, elbow on the door and chin between his fingers, before hearing Castiel ask him in a cautious tone:
- Well... I'm here now. Do you need my help?
Dean shifted his gaze in her direction, and after a few seconds, succinctly explained:
- Sam and I ran into a bone last night. A big, big bone. We need your insight, yes, because we got our asses handed to us. Triplets in suits, one blond, one dark, one red... swinging you across the room or conjuring up... flames, or torches, or coming and going in a black fog... Sound familiar?
Castiel turned a scrutinizing gaze on Dean and seemed to be making an unusual effort to decipher what he'd just heard.
- Can you... repeat what you've just said?” he asked.
- We came face to face with these three guys and got swept away, okay?” snapped Dean, whose patience had seen better days.
- The... triplets? The blond, the dark-haired and the redheaded?” assured Castiel.
- They claimed to be gods,” sighed Dean. The sons of Cronos.
- The God of Time?
- No, the other Cronos! The Titan. The father of Zeus, Zeus who's been given a hard time, by the way. Do you know anything about them? Who they are? How do you kill them?
Castiel nodded thoughtfully. He wasn't sure he'd fully understood what his friend had told him, but he thought he'd got the gist, and replied:
- It doesn't ring a bell... But I'll look into it. As for finding a way to kill them, pagan gods are generally sensitive to sacred materials, which I'd probably have less trouble finding than you. I'll look into that too.
Dean felt relieved. He inclined his head and patted Castiel on the shoulder, who greeted the gesture with perplexity.
- Thanks, Cass. I can't tell you much more, they didn't give us a name, nor did they say what they were doing around here... They just appeared in the middle of three barbecues to tell us they were doing the humans a favor and would appreciate it if we let them do their job.
- Is Sam okay?
Dean glanced reflexively at the angel, then confirmed:
- Yes, he's fine.
- Did you hurt yourself fighting them?” asked Castiel, placing his index finger on the bandage covering his comrade's forehead.
A bright light briefly whitened Dean's temple, and he felt the twinges caused by his injury disappear instantly.
- It's healed,” said Castiel.
- Well, thanks,” said Dean, peeling off the bandage. Oh, Cass, uh...
He gave a slightly embarrassed smile before continuing:
- I don't mean to be rude, but since you're here... With that blow to the head, I feel... a little confused, you know... Did you see anything wrong? Everything's... Is everything in order in there?
Castiel watched his friend with squinted eyes, seeming to wonder about the real reason for this request even though he was incapable of seeing malice. In all sincerity and as factually as possible, he declared:
- There's nothing in your head that's out of place, Dean.
- Right, okay,” the latter thanked him with a chuckle. I was just making sure.
- I'll leave you to it, if you've got nothing else to tell me. I'll let you know when I find something out. Give my regards to Sam.
He then disappeared as abruptly as he had arrived, leaving Dean speechless, the words he had thought of saying stuck in his throat now that no one was there to hear them.
But it was with a somewhat calmer mind, comforted by Castiel's support, that Dean returned to the room he shared with his brother. Sam was distractedly rearranging his bag, standing by his bed as if expecting to be suddenly interrupted, and on seeing his brother reappear he did so, taking two steps in his direction and questioning him:
- What's going on, is everything okay? I heard you grumbling, and by the time I got out of the shower you were gone.
The elder of the two brothers nodded at his younger brother, approaching at a more or less relaxed pace. He saw that Sam, wearing dark jeans and a crimson T-shirt on his back, was fully dressed.
- No, it's nothing, it's fine, it's... I managed to get a little help, Cass is on the case. He says hi... and you'll never guess where he's been for the last half hour.
- Cass?” gasped Sam, widening his eyes and not paying attention to the rest of the message. Was he there?
Sam didn't wait for the answer to the question he'd asked and walked over to Dean, suddenly noticing that his wound had completely disappeared.
- A little gift from our feathered friend,” he explained.
As Sam rubbed the corner of his forehead with the tip of his thumb, almost by instinct, his brother scowled and shooed him away with a gesture, more brusque than he'd intended.
- You don't have to touch me, I'm fine, I tell you.
Sam took note and, looking vaguely embarrassed, put his hands in his pockets, as if he'd just caught them where they shouldn't have been.
- Well, what did he say?” he asked. Does he know anything?
- He'll find out,” Dean said as he went to sit on the edge of his bed, facing Sam and the inside of the room. So, in the meantime, we need to decide what we're going to do on our end. Any ideas?
Sam curled his lower lip and shrugged.
- I'll keep looking for information, but there's only so much we can do here. With access to the books in the bunker, it would be something else. But...
- Yeah,” Dean continued with an annoyed look on his face, well aware of the problem. It's a twenty-four hour drive home. I wanted to stay a while, so as not to miss the chance to catch the three penguins, but if we don't get any leads...
- If we assume that they are who they say they are,” Sam analyzed, sitting down on his own bed opposite his brother, ”and that they did what they said they would do, there's a chance they won't be around anymore. Maybe we could wait a while, until tomorrow, just to rest, keep an eye on what's going on around us and see if Cass finds anything... If not, we'll go home.
Dean nodded ostentatiously, seeming to positively assess the soundness of the conclusion.
- Yeah, you're right. If you knew how much it frustrates me, not being able to run after them and wipe away their superior little smile...
- Yeah, I know what you mean,” says Sam with a worried look. You know, I've been trying to replay what happened and... even though some of the details are a little fuzzy, I wonder who we're really dealing with.
 Dean watched his brother with somewhat puzzled eyes, before saying, sensing that the answer might not please him:
- No wonder you're wondering. All they did was listen to each other talk, and apart from their pedigree, we've got nothing. No names, nothing! And if you figure out what they're talking about, don't hesitate to let me know.
- No, it's... Dean,” Sam tried to explain, leaning a little closer to him, ”I don't know if you've noticed, but they didn't act the way we're used to most of the time. They disarmed us, threatened us... tried to intimidate us, but they weren't that dangerous.
- We see it wasn't your head that was used as a gong hammer, Dean reminded with bitter sarcasm.
- No, okay, but... What I mean is, if they'd wanted to kill us, they wouldn't have had any trouble doing it. They forced us to drop our weapons without lifting a finger, they... dropped that mist and magically deployed their stage, they sent you flying without...
Sam stopped abruptly and frowned more sharply as his gaze became lost in the intense flux of his reflection. He'd just thought of something, Dean realized at once, and impatiently followed up:
- What? What is it, Sam, what are you thinking?
The latter looked up at his brother, then back down again, as his brain was obviously trying to make some sort of connection or to suddenly look at things from a different angle.
- I don't know yet, maybe it's just a detail... Something that's coming back to me. I need to check something.
He stood up quickly, but staggered almost immediately. Taken aback by the sudden dizziness that assailed his younger son, Dean had just enough time to get up on his feet and support him by wrapping his shoulders around him, and, worried, said:
- Hey, hey, hey! Sammy, what's wrong? Sit down, sit down. Gently, come on, sit down.
Sam clutched his brother's arms and slowly let himself sink onto the bed, shaking his head to dispel the dizziness, which seemed to subside as quickly as it had come. He took a few quick gulps of air, his fingers tightening around Dean's biceps, which he was slow to release.
- Are you feeling better?” asked the latter with anxious eyes.
- I'm better,” assured Sam, paling.
- Are you sure?” insisted his brother, still leaning over him. You don't look so good, bro.
- It's... it's... It's nothing, I... I've just been feeling a bit weird since last night, but I'll be fine, don't worry.
Dean chose to trust him despite his concern and took a step back, letting Sam get up slowly when he felt strong enough. After all, he himself wasn't necessarily feeling quite his usual self, and he agreed to let his brother handle the situation as he saw fit.
- Forget about the research for now,” he advised. It's better to rest.
- Okay,” Sam conceded with a brief nod. I'm going to get some fresh air and... do some laundry. It'll stretch my legs.
- I'm in. Call if you need me, or... Well, I'm not far.
His brother's concern and worried expression pleased the younger man, who assured him with a smile and a pat on the shoulder that he needn't worry. They exchanged a long, knowing glance, then Sam took the weight of his hand off Dean's shoulder, who watched him pick up the laundry and leave the room with a small, benevolent smile.

In fact, airing his body and mind seemed to be the ideal treatment for Sam, who felt revived from the very first seconds he set foot outside again. The sea-spray-laden sea air seemed to act like a balm as he breathed it in, and as he looked around, he took time to observe the vegetation alternating with the small adjoining buildings.
 The sky, so far leaden, tended to lighten a little, and after glancing at the Impala whose windows he saw ajar, Sam took advantage of passing another resident to kindly ask him for directions to the laundry, which was nearby. With his laundry under his arm, he made his way to the indicated place, remarking to himself that it was indeed much more plush and pleasant than the places they usually frequented. The tourist attraction of the nearby whales, in particular, was obviously no stranger to this, and although Sam wouldn't have turned down the chance to enjoy such a spectacle, he didn't lose sight of the fact that he and his brother were there for quite different reasons than a boat trip or a visit to the fishing memorial.

It wasn't very hot, but the young man felt as if he'd started sweating again, despite the fact that he was wearing only a T-shirt, which showed off his robust upper body and the total flatness of his stomach. He felt a little sluggish, although much more awake than earlier, but it was as if, echoing the dizziness that had tormented him since dawn, he was struggling to keep his thoughts clear and prevent them from rambling. He would have liked to regain all his concentration and clarity of mind in order to deal as effectively as possible with the problem facing him and Dean, but other solicitations, buzzing like background noise, tended to parasitize his reflections and monopolize him on subjects that had little to do with their business.
Subjects in which her brother occupied the most, if not the only, space.
The sight of him shirtless earlier had brought it all back, without violence but with the same intensity that had accompanied some of his most vivid thoughts. As far back as he could remember, he'd always had the utmost respect and admiration for his brother; firstly, whenever Dean had looked after him when they were very young and separated from their father, sometimes for days at a time; secondly, by the often feigned but comforting model of rage and optimism, when adolescence had changed one before beginning to look towards the other; and thirdly, by the image of strength and bravery, which the eldest had often displayed in adversity, on the battlefield, even in the face of seemingly hopeless situations.
 All those years spent with his brother, plying the roads to protect their fellows from perils unknown to ordinary mortals, had not always been easy. That was an understatement. But every crisis they overcame together, every danger thwarted side by side, had made their bond, already unbreakable, almost fused. However, Sam's love for Dean had never bordered on idolatry, for just as he was aware of his eldest's qualities and strengths, the younger Winchester also knew of his flaws and weaknesses.
But he'd be lying if he denied that he'd ever imagined, on occasion, sharing with Dean more than an endless journey, a desperate battle, or a journey between Hell and Heaven, beyond even death, eternal torment or resurrection. Letting his mind run wild at times, he had occasionally defied morality by imagining himself crossing forbidden limits, just for the blink of an eye, without knowing why or even thinking for a moment of seeing the realization of the absurd ideas that might have spontaneously germinated in his head under the action of some indefinable stimulus, but it had happened, even if these secret thoughts had only crossed his mind, as if in defiance of self-righteousness. He didn't know how many times it had happened, but he'd been perfectly aware of Dean's seductive powers for many years, which didn't bother him at all, because he knew he could be aware of them without it taking on any special significance. Sam hadn't doubted himself for a long time; he had his dark side and his secrets, like any human being, but he wasn't governed by them. He knew who he was, proclaimed his heterosexuality without hypocrisy, though morally open to any inclination, and hadn't studied to ignore how infinitely complex human psychology was.
 So what of those who had been bewitched, possessed, tortured, killed, resurrected and confronted with the worst nightmares haunting the world? If such men hadn't already gone mad, they never would; that wasn't what concerned Sam.

No, what concerned him was not whether certain irrational, almost dreamlike thoughts, the existence of which he had always denied, were imposing themselves on him due to some break in the mind; he knew better than anyone how much his experience with Lucifer had armed him in that respect. He knew better than anyone how much his experience with Lucifer had armed him in this respect. The question now was rather how vigorously these inconsequential thoughts had returned to him, and why this time they seemed to insist on sticking to him when they had always been just a fleeting, sporadic flash, sometimes as bright as lightning or with a softer glow than winter stars.

Arriving at the laundromat, he passed a young woman who had just finished her laundry and who thanked him warmly as he held the door for her. Remaining alone in the small room where several machines were lined up, he placed his pile of clothes on one of them and dipped his hand into his pocket, hoping to have left a few coins there and reproaching himself for not having thought of it before when he saw the slots designed to collect the change needed to start the machines. The smell of soap filled the atmosphere, and Sam saw that the place had no shortage of detergents of all kinds; he found the pennies he needed in his back pocket, started by emptying jackets and pants before throwing them into one of the drums and then, his finances being sufficient, decided to wash the rest of the clothes in the machine next door. Shirts, T-shirts, socks... He sent each piece one by one into the second washer, then laid his hand on Dean's blood-stained shirt and froze for a brief moment, the image of the latter's hairless, drawn torso returning powerfully to his memory. Sam saw again his brother's supple, flowing muscles moving as if before his eyes, and striving to banish this disturbing memory he buried the white shirt deep in the drum, hoping to abandon there too the tingling that tickled his belly, even if the sensation wasn't really unpleasant.
It was then that he was about to add the only garment he had left, but when his eyes recognized its nature, he seemed petrified.
The piece of black fabric was totally unremarkable. Except that it was Dean's boxer shorts. It lay there, on top of the washing machine, under Sam's staring gaze, his hands clenched so tightly that he couldn't seem to move them, and he didn't think he could feel so shaken by a simple piece of underwear. As his stomach seemed to contact itself until it had shrunk to the size of a walnut, Sam felt his heartbeat accelerate sharply and a sharp heat invade his neck. Feverishly, his right hand was the first to agree to obey him again, and with a tight throat he took hold of the object by one edge, as carefully as if he'd had to defuse a bomb or move a rattlesnake.
 The fabric appeared particularly supple, flaccid, almost elastic, characteristic of fibers already worn and relaxed by body heat and moisture. Breathing heavily, Sam slowly unfolded it, and the more he returned it to its anatomical shape, the more he felt the warmth reach his hairline. It took him only a moment to restore his brother's underwear to its basic form, and once it was flat, he shamelessly appreciated its width from hip to hip, observed the stitching at the waist or on the pass of both thighs, and above all the central pocket that burst his eyes. An unprecedented tension stirred every muscle fiber in his body, and Sam took a firmer hold of the boxer shorts; he secured his grip with his right hand on the left thigh of the garment, did the same with his other hand on the right thigh, and the cool sensation that tingled his fingers moved him even more. He literally screwed his staring eyes on the hollow bulge as he imagined his brother's sex filling it to the brim; fists clenched on the fabric and forearms contracted as tightly as possible, he gently lifted the underwear and slowly brought it closer to him, asking himself a thousand questions that his mind, suddenly, no longer filtered at all. Had Dean had an erection in this black canvas? Did he feel comfortable there? How big could his penis be, once it was at the height of its rigidity? How many times had he scratched his bursa while drinking his beer? How long had he worn it before taking it off? One day? Two days? Maybe even longer?

 Sam was losing his footing and he was aware of it. But he didn't care, because the excitement he was feeling was a source of well-being deep enough to dispense him from thinking about it. He was seized by a sudden, irresistible impulse, the origin of which he didn't understand, and in less time than it took to say it, he brought Dean's boxer shorts up to his face, without hesitating or even thinking about it, pressing them against his mouth to breathe in the scent.

That's how he discovered his brother's scent, slightly musky, pungent and virile, a blend of pepper and cinnamon. Penetrated by the tenacious fragrance that stung his throat, he felt his penis harden immediately, and the sensation was so pleasurable that he couldn't suppress a conquered smile behind the cloth whose molded hollows he was sniffing where Dean's parts had lodged. Greedily, as excited as he'd been at the moment of intercourse, Sam breathed in the scent of his elder's sex, and his erection was such that he was quickly forced to relieve the pressure by hastily unzipping his fly, allowing his phallus to fully unfurl in his own boxers. With his left hand, he held the boxer shorts firmly against his nose to continue smelling them meticulously, determined to imprint his olfactory memory with this new scent and, unable to resist the burning desire that took hold of him, he used his free hand to begin masturbating through his underwear, not thinking for a split second about those who might barge into the room at any moment. Sam's heart raced, as did his breathing, bringing more and more of Dean's effluvia into his lungs, and soon, unable to take it anymore, he plunged his brother's boxer shorts into his briefs to vigorously rub his beleaguered sex.

 Sam had no idea why he was behaving this way, but the more the seconds passed, the more he didn't care. He lived only to enjoy the unheard-of sensations that made every hair on his body stand on end, excited as he had rarely been in his life, and he would have ejaculated if the door to the storeroom hadn't suddenly opened. In a panic, he had to stop himself, pressing his pelvis against the washing machine to conceal his state, straightening up and pretending to program the machine, and the response he gave to the woman who greeted him was such a reflection of his nervousness and embarrassment that he uttered an almost incomprehensible hello.

Chapter Text

Sam didn't return to his room immediately. After the moment of intense bewilderment he'd experienced, it took him a few moments to calm down and regain some clarity of mind. So as not to appear suspicious, he forced himself to exchange a few polite words with the person who had disturbed him at the worst moment - a motel employee who had taken an interest in the feel of his stay without apparently noticing anything - and after assuring her that everything was perfect he had gently closed the conversation so that he could have the leisure to be alone again and urgently unbutton his fly.
Then he threw in the washing, left the laundry room and went for a walk to get some fresh air, to clear his head and rethink everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours.
He left to join his brother almost half an hour later, once again in control of himself. When he reached the door of their room, he hesitated to enter for fear of being discovered, as if he bore the visible trace of his crime, which he couldn't regret, even if his emotion had now dissipated. Why had he been struck by this strange fever that had led him to behave in such an improbable way? He still didn't know, although he was beginning to harbor some suspicions, but neither his desire to understand nor his questioning could make him forget the shiver he'd felt. He could still feel his nostrils tingling, so impregnated had he been with Dean's scent, and to dispel any trace of his actions he considered taking another shower, even though he feared this would arouse Dean's suspicions more surely than if he refrained from doing so. In the end, he abandoned the idea.
Largely because, despite the reputedly disturbing nature of his actions, he wanted to keep his brother's olfactory mark on his skin for as long as possible.
He ran a hand over his face, took a deep breath, then entered the bedroom to find Dean stretched out on his bed, and to see him hastily startle himself by frantically pressing the buttons on the remote control to silence the television, which was making unmistakable noises.
An awkward silence lasted for several seconds, Dean aiming at his brother with a falsely comfortable air as he crossed his hands over his lower abdomen, and Sam looking at him with critical, dejected eyes. A vaguely condescending expression passed over his face, and faced with his eldest's mute sneer, he sighed silently as he said:
- Please, don't stop on my account. Do they have Casa Erotica here too?
Sam moved towards the table, annoyed at his own remark, for he felt he had no right to judge Dean after what he'd just done. The latter almost replied with a frank smile on his lips, but immediately changed his mind and stammered with a neutral expression:
- It's... just...
He finally stopped searching for words, long after his brother had settled down in front of the computer, and changed the subject completely by asking:
- You... took a long time... Was there a line at the laundromat?
- No, I... Not really,” replied Sam, only turning his eyes towards him for a split second. I just stayed outside for a while to get some fresh air.
They were silent for a moment longer, when, refusing to maintain the unease any longer or to let Dean think he cared what kind of movie he liked, Sam asked:
- What's new with you?
Dean looked up, happy to seize the opportunity to talk about something else, and dropping the remote control from his pubic bone, he reported:
- No, nothing. No news from Cass yet. I finally got through to Earl, but he's dried up too. He'll check with his contacts and get back to us, if ever.
- Hmm,” nodded his brother without much hope. Fingers crossed someone's got a tip.

As he saw him resume his search, Dean stood up and moved to his brother's right. Standing close to him, he stared at the screen, seemingly trying to keep his concentration from waning, unaware that Sam tensed slightly at his close presence, and mechanically placing his hand on his younger brother's shoulder, he said:
- Are you making any progress? What did you want to check earlier?
Feeling the hardness of his brother's muscles under his fingers, Dean at first wanted to keep his surprise to himself, but couldn't keep his mouth shut. He let his fingers tighten a little as he rested his gaze on Sam's neck, and exclaimed without restraint:
- Wow, Sammy, you were making fun of me earlier with the workout, but you're the one who's been overdoing the cast iron! Your deltoids are as hard as concrete, what have you been poking yourself with? Liquid lead?
Dean's hand on his shoulder stretched Sam like a jet of cold water and, from his nervousness or the natural vigor of his musculature, it was hard to know what made him so firm. His brother was so close to him, and the curve of his fly plunged so directly into his field of vision, if he tried to turn his head, that the younger man felt the shiver twist his stomach again. But he wasn't the only one troubled by this innocuous contact, for Dean, too, suddenly felt a kind of vertigo, and the image of Sam's naked body came back to him so violently that a shimmering veil passed before his eyes. The two brothers stood still for a moment, silent and attentive, each trying to control his emotion and hide it from the other's gaze, while trying to understand why this incomprehensible feeling was manifesting itself so clearly once again.
Then Sam, the first, couldn't stand it any longer and, to escape the discomfort of the situation, even as Dean's embrace gave him a sensation at the opposite end of the spectrum, he stood up abruptly and walked over to the coffee pot, plugged into a sideboard on the other side of the door.
- You... (clears his throat as he grabs the carafe) The coffee must still be hot, can I get you a cup?
Dean, looking a little bewildered, looked at his brother without immediately understanding the question, but he quickly pulled himself together and replied:
- Er... Yeah. Okay, good idea...
With dreamy eyes, he watched as Sam turned his back, following the long line of his legs. With an imperceptible raise of his eyebrows, he gazed down at her shapely buttocks, ideally molded into his jeans, then plunged into the hollow of her arched loins, revealed by the flowing fabric of his T-shirt, before moving up her spine to her shoulder blades and steely trapezius, caressed by the tips of her hair. He remarked to himself that his brother really did have some extraordinary assets, and with a small smile of pleasure, thought again of his sex as he'd seen it in the shower, glistening and dripping with clear water, gorged with strength and vigor, pubis dark and bursa bare. It didn't take Dean long to feel the hollow of his pants begin to fill up, and it was with a pale, slightly dismayed expression that he was surprised by Sam, who suddenly turned to hand him his cup of coffee.
Sam, too busy trying to regain his composure, took no notice and dipped his lips into his own cup, as if to drown his fever, while Dean hastily turned to hide the sign of his renewed excitement from his younger brother. He was forced to face the facts: he felt desire for his brother, a desire he refused to describe as sexual, but how could he deny the undeniable signs his own body was sending him? With a hand in his pocket, he tried to calm his ardors and realized how much they had gone out of control; what he was feeling this time had nothing to do with the wandering, dishevelled, inconsequential thoughts his brain had sometimes orchestrated, and this realization left him as dazed as it did frightened. Did he owe these sulphurous ideas to the blow he'd received on the head? He highly doubted it, otherwise he'd have jumped Sam dozens of times by now. There was another cause for all this, that was certain, and even if he didn't know exactly what it was, he doubted its origin less and less.
- You know,” Sam said, looking dark and worried, ”I've been thinking about something they said. Caught off guard, Dean turned back to his brother, hand still buried in his pocket, and while doing his best to give the impression he was trying to put on an expression as serious as it was attentive.
- What are you talking about?
- They said they lured us there without us realizing it. Do you remember that?
Dean let his gaze wander for a moment, as he vaguely recalled what his brother was talking about, and then inquired:
- Maybe, yes. But then, who cares?
- That guy, the one with the red hair,” continued Sam, taking two steps forward with a look intensified by his reflections. The more it goes on, the more I get the impression we've seen him before, and maybe I'm just imagining things by turning it all over in my head, but... The man who tipped us off yesterday, the pump attendant. Wasn't he a redhead?
Dean found the shortcut hasty, but his doubtful expression soon flickered.
- Do you think it was him?” he tossed between suspicion and skepticism. Could it be that he disguised himself as a junkie gas station attendant so he could pull off his hippie act?
- I don't know,” said Sam, shaking his head. It sounds a bit far-fetched, all right, but in any case, if we hadn't talked to him we might not have gone to investigate towards the harbor.
Dean took note and could not deny the relevance of this last remark. Come to think of it, the other man who'd accosted them on their arrival in Gloucester, who'd had no real reason to come and meet them and who'd first mentioned “strange people” prowling the docks for the past few days, might have been in the triplets' age bracket by having the build too. And his hair had turned a pronounced black, if Dean could remember.
He remained pensive for a moment, and then suddenly, galvanized by this opportunity to finally become active again and fix his attention on something new, addressed his brother with an intense look and said:
- Okay, ready?
- P... Ready?” repeated Sam without understanding. Ready for what?
- To go to the gas station and see if we can find our good man, banana. Saddle up.
And with that, he picked up his keys, wallet and phone and raced out of the room, leaving Sam, taken aback, to follow awkwardly in his wake.

The gas station where they had filled up the day before was only a few hundred meters away, and the two brothers were soon on their way. Dean parked the car in the parking lot of the adjoining doughnut store, then they got out of the car, their roles already known. The elder brother would check with the station's staff to see if he could find the famous pump attendant, while Sam would re-interview the staff of the nearby shops. In addition to the sweet store, another opposite the petrol pumps sold summer furniture, and the younger Winchester started there.
It was still early, but both brothers found someone to ask their questions to, especially the one they were most interested in at the moment: who was this red-haired pump attendant of dubious hygiene and likely to have abused some illicit substance? None of the surrounding shopkeepers had a clear-cut answer. Some said they couldn't see who it was, confiding that they'd only just arrived themselves, while others assumed it was someone they knew who'd been called in to help out, or, on the contrary, a homeless person. In any case, Sam had no clear confirmation of the existence of the individual he was looking for, and was almost systematically advised to go and question the gas station manager directly.
When he had finished his rounds, he returned to the Impala, where his brother was waiting for him, leaning against the wing. And from the look on his annoyed face, he hadn't had much luck in his search.
- Hey,” said Sam, announcing himself. What's up?
- So, nothing,” Dean grumbled. The guy's nowhere to be found, and his boss swears he doesn't know a guy with red hair. The way I insisted, he must have thought I was a fetishist or that a redhead had caught my eye. Looks like you were right, Sammy.
- Yeah, possibly,” he nodded with concern. None of the people I talked to seemed to recognize the description either, like we were dreaming we talked to this guy.
- They've got to be kidding us!” his brother raged. They saw us coming from afar and we let them get away with it, and for what? For a tête-à-tête among the crates of junk! Those phony gods have always been perched, but this one takes the cake!
- It's weird,” Sam tried to understand, his gaze plunged into his memories of last night. I tried to understand the meaning of their words; that they mean no harm, and that it's our actions that will condemn people to unhappiness... they said they were Love, Dean.
- Oh yeah?” replied the latter dismissively. I can't remember. It must have been when I was too busy hearing bells ringing.
- When you were on the floor, yes,” said his brother, tilting his head in confirmation. After you hit the bowl. It had three legs. All three in the effigy of winged figures.
Dean tinkled.
- Winged?” he gasped. Like... with wings? And feathers? Come on, Sammy, what would they be... angels? Cupids? I mean, seriously?
- I haven't a clue. But as long as we don't know who they are, they could be anything.
The idea didn't sit well with Dean, who heaved an irritated sigh. All he knew was that he had the unpleasant sensation of having been played by the trio, tossed around like a mutt in pursuit of a laser beam, and that displeased him to no end.
- Let's get out of here,” he ordered, climbing back into the car. There's no point in staying here any longer.
The return journey was just as short as the outward journey, but seemed much longer to the Winchesters. With their hopes of relaunching the investigation dashed, they were back to square one, and immediately reunited with their new demons, not helped by their promiscuity in the Impala. Sam, on the passenger side, leaned against the window and watched the scenery go by, as if to put some distance between himself and his brother. He couldn't wait to get there, to have some time to himself or simply to go and get their clothes washed, just to get away, because staying too close to Dean made him worry about being found out. In the car, where he felt as if he could smell his brother, he kept thinking back to the latter's boxer shorts he'd so scandalously sniffed before plunging them into his own boxers, and that sulfurous memory had been enough to make his penis as hard as a piece of wood.
He thought he should have felt ashamed, or at least naggingly embarrassed, but he hadn't, and he himself was amazed to discover how indifferent it made him. Was it because he'd always harbored a more or less conscious curiosity about Dean? That he'd sometimes wondered about his anatomy, and on certain occasions, had even allowed himself to be won over by the thought that, had they not been brothers, he wouldn't necessarily have dismissed certain ideas, had the opportunity presented itself? What had always seemed to him to be meaningless reflections, born of his perhaps over-productive brain and so quickly forgotten, were now taking on an increasingly significant character. But he couldn't be bothered, and was pretty sure it wouldn't change.
He was more concerned not to let Dean suspect anything, while at the same time considering that the trip back to the bunker in Lebanon might be rather tricky if he didn't manage to fix his mind elsewhere.

He didn't know it, but his brother was no different. Dean drove almost automatically, without really thinking about it, as if his car were an extension of himself, and even though it hadn't been three minutes since they'd set off, his gaze had already turned to Sam at least a dozen times. Awakened by his younger brother's proximity like the itch of an insect bite by the touch of a fingernail, the memory of his brother's body in the shower had returned to titillate Dean and he kept leering at his crotch, which his seated position, legs moderately spread, displayed to advantage. Even if he hadn't guessed Sam's erection - the latter having positioned his sex in such a way as to conceal its fullness - the older Winchester persistently observed the curve of his brother's fly, and the image of his brother's fleshy penis kept blocking his field of vision.
Dean had never been physically attracted to another man. His experience in the matter was close to zero, not to say non-existent, and yet he couldn't stop thinking about Sam's body, nor repress the rush of the senses these images provoked in him. He saw again his brother's splendid nudity pass before his eyes, his heavy hairless bursae dripping with warm water, and as a minute later he parked the Impala in front of the building where they had their bedroom, the urge to broach this subject, which inexplicably obsessed him, became stronger than his desire to curb it.
With the engine barely turned off, Sam was already opening the door, one foot out the door, but unable to resist any longer, Dean decided to give it a go and held him back by launching into the most total improvisation.
- By the way,” he said, his tone both mocking and detached, ”I haven't told you... At the station, two guys were talking in front of the shaving cream bottles. You wouldn't believe what they were talking about.
Sam looked at him expectantly and let the door close as he pulled his right leg back into the car.
- What were they talking about?” he soon asked, vaguely anticipating some unworthy information.
Dean, hiding his embarrassment as best he could now that he'd jumped in, merely nodded dumbly. The words struggled to find their way out, and he was no longer at all sure he'd been right to give in to his urge to evoke, however indirectly, the thoughts he was dwelling on, especially considering the subject they concerned. But Sam's increasingly puzzled expression, as he waited to hear the rest, finally convinced him to speak up and, remembering his poker bluffing techniques, he hid his uncertainty under a mischievous sneer to confide:
- Well, these two idiots were wondering if they could peel off the family jewels with it.
He let out a dry laugh, a little too forced, and tried to catch up in a more measured voice:
- Nah, can you imagine? Probably tourists from Florida.
He tried to give the impression that he was laughing offhandedly, but was apprehensive about his brother's response, even though he was used to hearing him ramble on about subjects below the belt. Sam shot him a dismayed look, raising his eyebrows in vague embarrassment, and asked with a hint of skepticism:
- Were they having this discussion in the station? Loud enough for you to hear?
- Incredible, eh? They thought they were talking low enough, but you know I've got acute hearing.
Sam looked at him with a small, indecisive smile, trying to decipher the slightly snide look on his brother's face, and asked:
- Well, okay... What's next?
Dean put on an expression of astonishment and replied, raising his eyebrows in turn:
- Is that all the effect it has on you?
Sam shook his head in ignorance of the answer his eldest was waiting for, then continued:
- How would you like it to feel? Who cares, Dean? Everyone does what they want, what's the big deal?
- No, I wouldn't... I wouldn't say it's a problem,” he corrected with a relaxed air. But still, Sammy... I don't mind chicks having ideas like that, and frankly, I think it's even nicer to see a subway ticket above the little button than an overgrown lawn...
Sam interrupted, chuckling at the heaviness of the metaphor.
- But we're guys!” continued his brother, with all the machismo that often characterized his flights of fancy. Do you know many men who wax their waltzes?
- There are probably a lot more men than you think,” protested Sam.
- Yeah,” said Dean knowingly. Gay men, for the most part.
As soon as he'd said it, he regretted the words, which had come to him in an excess of improvisation, and which made the younger Winchester react sharply. The latter frowned, swivelled in his seat to get a good look at his brother, and looking offended by such a prim remark, he retorted:
- What? What? What kind of prejudice is that, Dean? Is it?
- I'm caricaturing a little, okay, but...
- Aesthetics, hygiene, comfort..., Sam interrupted dryly. There are all kinds of reasons why a man, even a straight man, might want to maintain those parts. I thought you were more evolved that way.
Dean pretended to search for words to trivialize his remarks, but faced with the difficulty of finding a justification, he changed his tune. With a slightly embarrassed smile, he looked at Sam and, as the opportunity presented itself to address the precise reason why he had started such a subject, he slipped to his brother in an innocent tone:
- Say, you look vexed... Did you take it personally? Have you ever tried to get your candy with a razor?
The image of Sam's testicles, round and smooth as hard-boiled eggs, came back to him so pleasantly that his smile took on a different nature, and embarrassment changed sides. The youngest Winchester tensed perceptibly in his seat, his lips tight, and refusing at once to confess or lie, he finally returned Dean's scathing address:
- If you don't mind... I'll take care of my balls myself. I'll let you do the same for yourself.
And he got out of the car, leaving his brother standing there, his eyes round and his mouth agape, to show anyone who would listen that he'd received the message.

The rest of the morning passed quickly, between fruitless phone calls, uncertain research and brief chores. Although they spoke on more than one occasion, including confirming their decision to wait until the following day to return to their headquarters, Sam and Dean remained essentially focused on the tasks they had assigned to each other, and the younger was almost surprised when the elder put the meal he had fetched on the table after midday.
But the atmosphere remained strange. The discussions may have been polite, free and constructive, but the two brothers couldn't really banish from their minds the troubling thoughts that had taken up residence there and, while pretending not to notice, they allowed a certain distancing to set in, like an excessive caution in the way they addressed each other or in the way they didn't stay too close to each other, preferring to establish a kind of safety distance by keeping at least a meter or two between them.
Dean, then, after checking the levels of his precious Impala and tidying up the trunk with a brief inventory of the weapons and substances still in it, had gone to lie down on his bed where, shoes on and beer in hand, he was trying to pass the time in front of the television. He had set the volume to a minimum so as not to disturb Sam, still seated at the table, in front of his laptop. And while the eldest Winchester was watching the anonymous series he'd stumbled upon without seeing it, he could see his brother's back much better, fluid, ample and solid under the fabric of his t-shirt.
The endless reflections that swirled like a cloud of butterflies in Dean's mind had succeeded in scowling at him. He was ruminating, because clearly the passage of time wasn't helping him to move on, quite the contrary. Whereas he had thought that the unexpected vision of Sam's naked body would soon leave his thoughts, he realized that it was actually only becoming more and more entrenched, and he had got it into his head that he now had to pull himself together, forcing himself to reject this absurd interest he felt in his younger son's plasticity.
Yet the more he tried to forget what he'd seen, the more his eyes wandered to the object of the crime. He would have liked to dream more about the generous breasts of the waitress at the bar where they'd had lunch recently, but it was Sam's virile torso that haunted his memory most of all. He would have preferred to feel his appetite whetted for the provocative fall of the damsel's loins, but it was his brother's parts that squatted in his thoughts. Which he found increasingly difficult, having underestimated the weight of this inexplicable attraction that he was desperate to see fade. The curious pleasure it had aroused so far had turned to frustration as the hours went by; he spoke less and less, made his silences last longer and longer, and as he couldn't refrain from reluctantly laying eyes on Sam, fond of his athletic figure, he caught himself at times harboring some bitterness towards him.
Yet he knew his brother had nothing to do with it. The identity of the culprit - or rather, the culprits, for there were at least three of them - was becoming harder and harder for Dean to deny, even though he would have liked more than anything to make his opponents of last night seem insignificant. Between what Sam had reminded him and what he remembered hearing himself from the mouths of the three self-proclaimed deities, the elder Winchester was trying to make the connection with this new stirring of his senses, or more precisely not to make the connection, looking for a good reason to rule out the likelihood of the triplets' influence in the matter.
But the more he tried to convince himself that the two events had nothing to do with each other, the more he looked at his brother and the more he convinced himself, in spite of himself, that they did. In the end, his gaze was so intense on Sam that he suddenly had the feeling he'd noticed something, the way he looked for a more comfortable position on his chair, or the way he seemed to want to turn his head but didn't follow through.
And when he really realized that his retreating attitude was likely to generate further discomfort, the fallout of which he had no desire to suffer, he stood up quickly to cut the whole thing short, leaving his beer on the bedside table.
- I'll... I'll try and call Earl again,” he said without any real conviction.
Sam, who had his back to him, again made only a half-movement accompanied by the sound of his mouth to signal that he had heard. This only proved to Dean that the atmosphere had deteriorated and that it would be better to slip away.
But he'd misinterpreted his brother's closed-mouthed look, which, with some hesitation, came to him just before he stepped through the door:
- Dean, wait, I... I may have found something.
The interested party went no further and looked questioningly at Sam, a new interest in his eyes.
- Something about the Wilson brothers?
For answer, Sam turned the screen in his direction, inviting him to approach. Dean stepped forward, took a moment to consult the results of his brother's research, and asked in response to what he'd just read:
- Erotes? What are these beasts?
Sam tilted his head and pursed his lips, as if he'd hesitated a long time before speaking, then took a didactic tone to briefly explain:
- According to many myths, the Erotes are the winged gods of love. Most often there are three of them, and they are supposed to represent the different aspects of love, such as affection and desire. They're generally described as brothers, and - get this - in some texts they're said to have been born following the castration of Ouranos by... his own son. Cronos.
Dean took a second to absorb this information and place it in an order more in line with his own way of understanding things. First, he tried to get rid of the bloody image of emasculation and then concentrated on the occurrences between his younger son's story and the three characters they had been confronted with. The notion of love and desire tickled him, as did the analogy with a certain caste of angels with whom they were familiar. Sam let him draw whatever conclusions he felt were appropriate, and soon heard him respond, looking puzzled:
- Wait a minute... Stop me if I'm wrong... So Cronos castrated his father... So that's how he would have... given birth to his sons, these... gods of Love...
- Ouranos was Heaven,” Sam narrated, ”and his blood was spilled on Earth, which would have produced many creatures, yes...
- Okay,” Dean continued, his eyes squinting as he put his money where his mouth was. So Cronos had... resorted to a sperm donor and a surrogate mother, of sorts. Earth.
- If... you like,” his brother thought he could confirm. But it's a myth, an allegory.
- And so, the three photocopies became... what? The gods of love?” said Dean in a funny tone. Wasn't that Aphrodite's job? Or that naked kid over there? Eros?
- Eros was surely one of the three,” Sam pointed out with a hint of seriousness.
- Ah great, he's finally learned to undermine himself,” Dean threw in with bitter sarcasm. What are they, cousins of the Cupids? As well as wings, they've got the whole kit and caboodle, bows and arrows? They already look like cherubs!
- Think of them more as... competitors to the Cupids,” he said measuredly. They're not angels, and they don't exist for the sole purpose of uniting two people who are supposed to end up together. Like all pagan gods, they are the personification of a concept from which they benefit, and even if, by what they represent, they are supposed to have a rather positive influence on the lives of men, they are undoubtedly not all about philanthropy.
- Oh, now we know we're not dealing with Mother Teresa's disciples,” grumbled Dean in a hollow voice.
- On the Net,” Sam pouted helplessly, ”it's hard to find anything more concrete. Only in the bunker can we really confirm who they are, understand how they act and, perhaps, discover their weaknesses. But, frankly... between their claimed paternity, their obvious family ties, the fact that they proclaimed to be Love, and even the ornaments on the braziers... That's a lot of common ground.
Dean nodded sagely, his mind racing with thoughts he kept to himself. He would have preferred to deal with less pernicious, more primal entities, but he rarely got his way.
- Nice work, Sammy,” he congratulated with a somber, half-extinguished air. Listen, we... We do as we said, get a good night's rest and hit the road first thing in the morning, okay?
Sam nodded with concern and taciturnity, undermined as he was by the questions his probable discovery had triggered, or more accurately amplified. He gave his brother a stunned look that he said nothing about, and went back to browsing the pages he'd already consulted many times, as if yet another reading could disabuse him of the increasingly obvious link between his new emotional troubles and the presence of the Triad.

Sam thought all afternoon about what to think, assuming that the triplets were indeed the Erotes of mythology. There was something comforting in having sufficiently strong suspicions to consider attributing to them responsibility for the stir that had been tugging at him since his awakening, for he would then have understood where these sensations had come from, which, far from being unpleasant, were far from normal, but which then induced a supernatural influence close to mind manipulation, and this idea made him flinch. He had too often been the plaything of occult forces or higher entities to approach this hypothesis with equanimity, for he knew only too well how quickly the situation could spiral out of control. He had only to think back to the violent crimes that had preceded their investigation, to the outbursts of passion that had driven ordinary people to the worst extremes, to deduce objectively that an external element had undoubtedly played a decisive role, and this refusal to find himself the slave of ascendants alien to his conscience had largely fuelled his reluctance to entrust his brother with his conclusions.
A certain sense of panic, too, stemming from the impossibility of foreseeing how far such a hold might lead, was beginning to nag at the youngest Winchester. But, carried along by a contradictory impulse, he still couldn't completely silence the little voice assuring him that all was well and, regardless of his will, his persistent interest in Dean remained, clear and frank.

The two brothers ate a light supper and went to bed early. The silence of the last few hours had shown that both were preoccupied, but neither had paid any special attention to it.
Confirmation of the triplets' still uncertain identity, and above all the possible consequences of meeting them, was what most occupied their thoughts...

That, but also other things.

Dean couldn't sleep. He tossed and turned in his bed, looking for a position that would help him fall asleep, but he sensed that the problem was in his head, not his body. This was partly true, however, as the intense brain activity that kept him awake was not without physical repercussions, and the more he tried to think of something else, the more the image of Sam in Adam's outfit filled his thoughts, fueling in him, like a fire fed with dry wood, a growing arousal that caused him to become increasingly erect.
This had been going on for forty-five minutes. Three quarters of an hour he'd been tossing and turning under the sheets, trying at all costs to divert his thoughts from the image of his brother's sex, and struggling to calm his own. His erection was now so strong that his penis ached; to relieve him of any unnecessary pressure, he had pulled down his boxers and thus laid his hand on a glowing stake, hard as stone and oozing with incompressible desire. He'd already tried to quell the fire at his crotch with inoperative caresses, or by squeezing his testicles as firm and smooth as pebbles. By lying on his stomach, or on the contrary, by staying on his back, legs half-bent to let the coolness seep in. But nothing worked. Under the sheets, his sex was rising tirelessly with extreme vigor, his glans as if ready to explode, and his breathing made wheezy by the haunting image of Sam's nakedness against which he was powerless, he finally alerted his brother who, also struggling to find sleep and hearing him restless for a long time, thought he might be ill.
- Dean?” he asked softly in a cottony voice, sitting up on one elbow. Are you all right?
As if he'd been caught red-handed, Dean felt a cold sweat run down his spine and reflexively turned his back on Sam, pulling the sheets up to his shoulders.
- Yeah,” he answered in a dry spurt. I'm fine, don't worry, it's... I'm just having trouble falling asleep.
Sam said nothing and stretched again, turning his back on his brother to face the bathroom door.
But he raised his head only a moment later when he saw Dean, dressed only in his black boxer shorts and t-shirt, skirting the opposite wall in the half-light of the bedroom to creep mechanically towards the shower room, whispering:
- I'm going to freshen up, it'll do me good. It's all right, go to sleep, don't worry about me.

Left alone in the silence, Sam forgot about his brother for an indefinite time, just long enough to close his eyes and perhaps doze off, until the memory of Dean's sex odor unexpectedly returned to titillate him. Both thrilled and dismayed by the shiver that ran through him at once, waking him abruptly as he felt his nipples harden and his sex tickle, he sighed at this new bout of fever, wondering if it was destined to cease one day or if he was going to have to learn to deal with this meaningless disorder that thrilled him as it had in his early teens. Sam looked toward his eldest's empty bed, and thought he must have fallen asleep for a minute or two, no more, or he would have seen Dean beside him. How long did it take to splash some water on his face? On second thought, while a strip of light was indeed visible under the bathroom door, no sound of running water emanated from it, and Sam began to wonder what was going on in the room. He propped himself up on an elbow, put his ear to the floor and waited, but no particular sound or movement came to him.
Intrigued, especially since his brother had seemed so strange, he stood up, gray T-shirt and pajama bottoms on. He slowly approached the closed door and, holding his breath, listened attentively. There was the sound of a horn outside, the irregular sound of the wind, and coming from the bathroom, the sudden impression of hearing a vague complaint. Sam decided to find out for sure and almost knocked, determined to make sure Dean was all right, only to find that the door wasn't quite closed, and that all he had to do was push it open a little. This he chose to do, for fear of being unwelcome, perhaps, or of looking ridiculous if there was ultimately no cause for concern, and when he spotted his brother standing over the toilet, Sam was confronted with a staggering scene that made his eyes widen and left him literally paralyzed.
Dean, his left arm resting against the wall, was staring at his crotch and, with his free hand, was busy masturbating frantically, his boxer shorts pulled down to mid-thigh.
Sam felt a violent sensation of asphyxiation as his heart missed a beat and his lungs seized up, his diaphragm completely contracted. Dumbfounded, he received the full force of the vision of his brother's splendid, round, fleshy buttocks, then immediately afterwards distinguished his hardened penis, which Dean was sliding ardently between his fingers. Sam felt an unprecedented wave of heat rise up inside him, so powerful that he briefly felt nauseous and, like the floods of a swollen stream, the blood immediately rushed into his tissues to stiffen his own sex, which unfurled with all its vigorous youth until it reached extreme hardness. The moan he'd thought he'd heard wasn't a moan at all; it was actually Dean moaning, as he energetically polished his stiffer-than-a-lump-of-wood penis, tasting the indisputably ecstatic pleasure that made his younger brother's breathing start to race again. Seeing his brother engage in such an act, being able to contemplate his steely buttocks and a good part of his sex, partially concealed by his position but whose flattering dimensions could be guessed without difficulty, put Sam in a state of phenomenal excitement and, sticking his back to the wall without taking his eyes off his eldest, he hastily pulled out his turgid penis to echo the scandalous scene he was inexplicably revelling in and in turn begin an unbridled masturbation. He grabbed his phallus unceremoniously, began to move it briskly back and forth between his fingers, devouring Dean with his gaze, and would have given dearly at that moment to see the latter turn and offer his dilated pupils a full view of his manhood.
Sam, however, contented himself with what he could see as the male scent of this part of his brother's body wafted back to his nostrils; he enjoyed listening to her concupiscent moans, admiring her naked buttocks as they jerked and contracted, and gasped, mouth ajar, sensing that his orgasm was about to reach its climax. Was there something in the air that could produce a similar effect on Dean? In any case, orgasm was approaching dangerously close for him too, and the way he bore his full weight on his left arm, contracting his sinewy hips, didn't deceive. He spent a few more moments shaking his penis furiously, more and more grunts escaping from his throat, clandestinely imitated in every way by his brother who couldn't remember ever having experienced such vertigo, and then, suddenly reaching the point of release, he tipped his head back in response to the extraordinary pleasure he felt and finally relieved himself of the phenomenal tension he'd built up. Before his younger brother's hallucinated eyes, Dean's sex began to spew long white streams, each time punctuated by a hoarse cry, and seeing the force with which his brother splattered the earthenware of the wall, Sam in turn ejaculated, unable to hold out any longer, making a superhuman effort to keep his orgasm quiet.

With his eyes closed and his head pressed to the wall, he continued to wiggle his phallus the whole time his semen was spurting out, then finally reopened his eyelids, sweating, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. Half-stunned, he only had time to realize that his semen had spurted so hard that it had soiled the sheets of the bed a meter away, and forced himself to quickly regain his senses so as not to be caught in such an embarrassing posture. Using his reflexes and concentration, he strolled back to his bed, covered the soiled section of sheets and quietly went back to sleep. A few minutes later, it was Dean's turn to return to the bedroom, and although there was total silence from then on, neither of the Winchester brothers fell asleep for a long time.

Chapter Text

The next morning, the final pre-trip preparations were made in an atmosphere of apparent serenity, where the excitement of the previous day seemed to be a thing of the past. The Winchester brothers divided up the tasks, one settling the bill and grabbing a quick bite to eat while the other loaded the car, then set off. Not without an aftertaste of unfinished business and defeat.
Direction: Lebanon, Kansas. The HQ of the Men of Letters, of which they were the heirs, and incidentally the geographic center of the United States.
The weather was clear and, in principle, should remain so. If all went well, they would be at their destination by dawn the following day. With a few breaks, as many bursts of speed and the Impala's nervous music to cheat the ordinary, Sam and Dean had driven in similar conditions a hundred times and weren't dreading the road.
However, a new concern, a major one, was inviting itself onto the trip, for no matter how skilfully they had put on a show, neither of them had forgotten the fire that had heated their blood a few hours earlier, and their incomprehensible behavior left them as perplexed as their hearts filled with nagging questions.
To hide the nature of his questions from Dean, Sam had resumed his research into the gods of Love, his nose on his phone. It was the perfect way to make any conversation optional, and to keep his mind off his brother's sex, which was still occupying all his thoughts. While he might initially have thought that his strange desire to capture the scent of his brother's penis had been the result of a momentary and curiously pleasurable fit of madness, the extreme excitement that had seized him when he caught a glimpse of Dean's penis in action had made him realize that things went much deeper than that. Which he'd quickly suspected, without necessarily immediately grasping its full significance. Was he ashamed? Disgust? Fear? Most of all, Sam would have liked to know for sure the origin of these unnatural feelings and how to more or less control their manifestations, but in good conscience, he couldn't say that he felt the need to reject them wholesale. His brother's body produced effects on him that were as violent as they were unexpected, it was hardly possible for him to pretend otherwise, and even though the whole thing felt abnormal, even immoral, it also gave him a kind of bliss that was helping him to come to terms with it for the time being.
Because he'd only thought or dreamed about it last night, the little time he'd managed to sleep, he wore a tired expression that, he supposed, encouraged his brother to leave him alone. Not that he minded. Between two websites, he tried to remember if he'd ever fantasized so clearly about Dean's anatomy, why he'd found his buttocks, his just-glimpsed sex, so strikingly beautiful, while picturing the image of any other man always left him indifferent. What he felt resembled less and less the furtive ramblings his mind had allowed itself in the past, and his research now revolved almost solely around the supposed powers of Erotes and not really around their identity.

- Okay, Earl,” said Dean, holding his phone to his ear as he drove. Yes... Tomorrow morning... No, sure, I agree... No worries... Great, thanks... Yes, next door... Don't worry, I'll tell him... Hi, Earl... We'll be in touch.
He hung up and threw the phone on the dashboard. The thump of the phone made Sam look up.
- Earl says hello,” Dean reported without taking his eyes off the road.
They had been out of Gloucester for about three hours and were driving along a monotonous road lined with thickets punctuated by scattered small farms, some of which had probably not been inhabited for more than a generation. Sam nodded and asked:
- Anything new?
- Not really, no. He put two contacts on it. But when I told him what we'd found, he just clammed up.
- You bet,” said Sam, who understood him perfectly. Before, hunting was all about vampires, werewolves, revenants... Occasionally, something more exotic, but gods...
- That's just what they call themselves,” reframed Dean.
- Still, they're a different breed from ghouls or simple demons. And the more you face, the more there are.
His brother couldn't disagree. And in an attempt to lighten the mood a little, he joked:
- The ransom of glory, Sammy. With the mess we've made from Hell to Heaven, we must have disturbed the anthill too much...
Sam didn't know whether to laugh or cry. But Dean, despite all his worries, didn't feel so bad. Even if their assets were still slim, he had every hope of regaining the upper hand in the confrontation with the trio, and as if the distance from Gloucester allowed him to relieve himself of the torment his senses were imposing on him, he had the feeling that his brother's body was obsessing him less and less, since they'd taken to the road, and this in spite of the conduct, shameful in his eyes, he'd had the day before. Relieved, he was beginning to convince himself that the blow to the head had not been all that unconnected with his curious state. He had considered that last night's irrepressible need to ejaculate might also have contributed to the ridiculous desire that had crept in, but he had quickly dismissed this hypothesis, preferring to convince himself that things were returning to normal, proof of which was that Sam's presence on his right wasn't causing him the discomfort he had feared.
They drove for almost three more hours, then stopped off at a small café, a little way off the main road, to stretch their legs and have lunch.

The establishment, predominantly brown and red in color, didn't look much, but it had the advantage of being quiet, well-run and, above all, offering a homemade hamburger recipe that was enough to make Dean's mouth water. While he and his brother had chosen a small table near the windows, facing the parking lot, he hadn't hesitated to order the proclaimed specialty of the place, fries, a soda and a slice of fruit tart, when Sam had preferred to ask for a large mixed salad. The meal was going well, and Dean had even flirted ostentatiously with the waitress, earning himself a look both sanctimonious and amused from his younger brother.
- What?” he feigned astonishment with an innocent air, his cheek full of bread and meat. I just said thank you. Why are you looking at me like that?
- Thank you?” returned Sam, flashing an unmistakable smile. Generally speaking, when you thank someone, you don't compliment them on their eyes...
- Bah what?” he insisted in bad faith, his eyes round with false surprise. We're not even allowed to be polite anymore?
Sam gave in willingly with a knowing chuckle and raised his fork to his mouth, shaking his head.
- Well, how about it?” said Dean shortly afterwards in a more or less relaxed tone. How are you feeling? No more dizziness, are you feeling better?
- Better, yes,” he reassured, nodding.
- Good,” his brother rejoiced modestly. Are you feeling all right?
Sam felt for a split second that Dean was trying to tell him something, but he only repeated:
- Yes, why, do you doubt it? I'm fine, my head's clear, don't worry about me.
Sam's mention of his clarity of mind made the elder Winchester smile, and he tried not to show how ironic he found the statement if he had to think back to the commotion he himself had experienced the night before, right up to the climax of the last evening. He was glad to hear that his brother was well, of course, but also seemed vaguely disappointed, as if he'd found comfort in knowing that he wasn't the only one who'd felt disturbed.
- Okay,” he answered with a nod of his head, convincing her of his satisfaction. That's fine then, let's not talk about it anymore.
Sam did so, a little regretful at having assured his brother that all was well, while confused and new feelings kept nagging at him. He watched as Dean grabbed the ketchup bottle, turned it upside down and squeezed it over what was left of the hamburger, and when a long red ribbon spurted out and crashed onto the bun, the younger Winchester immediately saw his eldest's semen squirting out again, with the instant hot flash this image provoked. Sam mechanically wondered why Dean had to have such beautiful sex, and was stunned by the thought. The pungent scent of the underwear he'd breathed in greedily yesterday came back to him again, and his hair bristling on the back of his neck, he coughed and cleared his throat before grabbing his three-quarters-full glass of water, which he drained in one gulp.
- Is your lettuce too spicy?” mocked his brother. Did they use too much vinegar?
Dean's gently disdainful gaze settled on his younger son's reddened neck, and the mocking smile on his face gradually faded as his green eyes caught Sam's skin. He noticed much more clearly than usual the muscles of his neck, the way they dipped towards his collarbones, accentuating the hollow at the top of his sternum, where he saw a pale wetness glow that he found quite sexy, and then he let his gaze drop a little lower, to the upper part of his brother's torso not covered by his open-necked shirt, where he caught a glimpse of his pectorals, only to feel his belly begin to tingle again. A shiver ran down his spine, and he tried to ignore the rush of excitement that unexpectedly seized him just as he'd thought he'd been delivered from it, but it was soon his crotch that he felt tickling and, pale, he stiffened in his seat with a decomposed expression on his face. Sam, across from him, thought he'd guessed something about him and, looking as tense as he was worried, asked suspiciously:
- What, why are you making that face?
- Dean replied, pretending not to understand. What, what face are you talking about?
- This face,” clarified his brother. The one you're making right now.
- It's my normal face,” he defended with an expression of innocence a little too detached not to seem fake.
Sam was too afraid of being forced to give himself up if he insisted any further, and chose to believe that Dean was sincere and that his apparent discomfort was just an impression. The two of them continued to eat, avoiding looking at each other too directly or speaking to each other for no specific reason, until Dean asked, a few minutes later:
- Well, otherwise, got anything to tell me?
The youngest Winchester stopped chewing for a moment before slowly swallowing the pieces of tomato in his mouth. Feverishly, he suspected his brother of wanting to broach a thorny subject, sure that his embarrassed expression earlier could have meant nothing else. But because he didn't have all the information he needed to interpret Dean's discomfort, he allowed himself to be overcome by a misplaced anxiety and retorted with a pale expression:
- What? To tell you? N... No, I... What are you...
- I don't know, you... I didn't want to bother you, but I saw you've been on your phone most of the morning, so I thought you might have found some more info on the three dickheads.
Sam felt both silly and relieved as he realized he'd been wrong about the nature of his brother's questions. Suddenly looking less tense, he said almost willingly:
- Oh... No, I'd... I'd like to, but I was just rereading a few pages, just in case. But nothing new, unfortunately.
- Yeah, well... You know, I've been thinking about how those people died, how they went berserk and killed their husbands, their wives, their neighbors, or even themselves... Sound familiar? Don't you think they acted like... Like they'd lost their souls?
Sam's eyes widened and he considered the question for a moment before giving his opinion. The trio had implicitly admitted to being behind the suspicious deaths or incidents that had enabled him and Dean to track them down, but despite the radical change in behavior that had reportedly befallen some of the victims or several of their assailants, Sam had never envisaged being confronted with the case of people influenced by the loss of their souls. Perhaps because he himself had already found himself in such a situation and didn't recognize himself in the modus operandi.
- No, I don't think that's it,” he delivered skeptically.
- Not everyone reacts in the same way to the loss of their soul,” Dean pleaded. The... Touch of God, that the three jesters talked about, or whatever... Whatever it is, they did something to those people who went crazy, so why shouldn't it be this?
Sam wasn't convinced. Even if the irrational and senseless behavior of ordinary men and women had been in stark contrast to all that people around them knew about them, there were, in his opinion, many other possible explanations than insanity or soullessness. Two hypotheses he had little desire to consider, for while his brother had been lucky enough to escape them, he didn't consider himself to have been necessarily spared the influence of the Erotes, if indeed they were those.
- You're assuming that people acted out of madness,” he argued, ”or because they suddenly became incapable of telling the difference between right and wrong.
- And why not?” claimed Dean with conviction. The simplest explanation is often the best, and what I've seen of these... suit-wearing clowns seems to fit the bill pretty well.
- I think, on the contrary, appearances are often deceiving,” challenged Sam with an intense gaze. How many times have we seen our first idea contradicted, come on, you were there like me... It's too early to jump to conclusions, and if we really have to deduce from all this that these three guys simply hammered whoever they came across, it'll be once we've eliminated all other possibilities.
His fervor left Sam somewhat disconcerted, as he realized in retrospect that he'd expressed himself with more passion than he'd intended, revealing his clear refusal to be threatened by such a peril, which he'd already ruled out from the outset. Now, this confused turmoil that shook him, the same persistent turmoil he unknowingly shared with his brother and which subjected them to feelings as powerful as they were contradictory, he found himself more and more foolish for not admitting more frankly the possibility that its origin might be an after-effect of their encounter with the triplets. The younger Winchester remained deeply convinced that he still had his soul, for having already lost it, doubt was impossible. He was also quite certain that he couldn't have fallen of his own accord into a kind of mild madness that could explain the shifting of his moral compass, but could he be so categorical if he included in the equation the hostile intervention of some deity with insidious powers? Even though, deep down, he knew nothing about it, he refused to accept the idea that he too might simply be losing his mind, and his obstinacy in believing in another explanation, in addition to the need to feel that he was still in control of his own destiny, no doubt also had something to do with the fact that, almost unconsciously, some of the words of the three brothers kept coming back to his ears to assure him that they were not as malevolent as appearances might suggest.
- When I tell you they've gone crazy,” Dean clarified, not unmoved by his brother's argument, ”I don't necessarily mean they've gone mad and are ready for the asylum... But maybe... something was done to them... Something that made them suddenly stop seeing things straight on, or become obsessed with something to the point of crossing the line.
He put forward such a hypothesis partly to reassure himself, but without achieving the desired result, quite the contrary. Sam, however, thought better of it and, trying not to give himself away, saw in it a possibility much closer to his own suspicions.
- As in the case of possession by a spirit, for example.
- For example,” continued the elder. Except that the three acorns aren't ghosts.
- No, they're not. Obviously not.
The two brothers sank into a sort of meditative reflection, continuing their meal morosely, without a word. They let themselves be caught up in their various reflections, each on his own, when his gaze fell once again fortuitously on his brother's upper torso, and Dean felt a tingling come back to shake his stomach.
- Say, don't you want to finish up in a hurry and get back on the road? The sooner we get home, the better.
Vaguely surprised by his eldest's sudden proposal, Sam, roused from his thoughts as if from a pleasant sleep, nodded without protest. The Winchester brothers hastily finished their breakfast and, after a trip to the bathroom and paying the bill, set off again.

Dean didn't even glance at the waitress.

The journey continued in an atmosphere quite different from that which had governed the morning. Reclining in the constant silence imposed by the secret thoughts they could no longer shake off, each of the brothers tried to make the best of it without becoming too visibly annoyed.
However, Dean's irritation could be felt in his dry grip on the steering wheel, and neither the kilometers swallowed nor the loud music blaring in the Impala helped him to completely evacuate the seemingly innocuous image of Sam's neck, which had brought to mind others, far more sulphurous. He would have preferred not to think about it again, to maintain the light detachment that had helped him get through the morning in a relatively good mood, but the image of his brother's naked body had made a shattering return to his memory, and what was worse for him was that he couldn't help but feel disturbed, to say the least. Every time he saw the vigor of Sam's torso and the opulence of his wet sex with its hairless bursae, Dean felt his own penis begin an awakening in the hollow of his pants, and anxious to contain its extent he tried to slightly modify his driving position, widening a little more the distance between his already spread thighs while straightening his back.
It was like the itch of a mosquito bite, coming and going, occasionally supplanted by an event on the road that allowed him to focus on something else for a moment, but the Winchester elder's discomfort never went away for long, and maximum proximity to Sam in the Impala wouldn't help. Cross a level crossing, and his younger brother's glistening skin would reappear before Dean's eyes, causing his crotch to twitch abruptly; pass a fork in the road and, immediately afterwards, his brother's nervous musculature would boomerang back, digging into his belly insistently. These incomprehensible sensations, as disturbing as they were inexplicably pleasurable, made him feel ashamed, not only because he was experiencing them for a man, but because this man, above all, was his own brother.
Sam's mind wasn't any freer and, close to Dean, he had the impression that his senses had suddenly sharpened to pick up all the signals of every kind that his elder sibling was sending out in spite of himself. Was this due to the confined space of the car's closed windows? In any case, Sam couldn't recall ever having smelled his brother's skin and jacket so clearly, nor having been so sensitive to the details of his face, whose lines he followed assiduously, his eyes shining with a gleam of indisputable interest. The line of his nose, the scar on his chin, the curve of the lob of his ears, the thickness of his lips with their fine corners, or the hairs on his cheeks he hadn't trimmed for seventy-two hours...
When Sam wasn't busy gazing at Dean's features, he let his gaze wander to the latter's crotch, and the youngest Winchester felt his temperature soar. He took his time to detail the bulge in his brother's fly, which offered an unobstructed view of that part of his body from his position behind the wheel. Sam contemplated without displeasure the bulge that swelled his jeans at the crotch and tried to deduce the shape of the bursa that filled it, without however really guessing the erectile beginnings that tormented Dean. But the spectacle, enough to revive the dizzying memory of the scene he'd witnessed last night, also reminded him of the intense pleasure he'd felt watching his brother masturbate, and his arousal had been gradually gaining strength for a long time now, as crazy ideas ran through his head. He longed for the moment when he'd catch Dean scratching his privates, just to have the pleasure of seeing him touch his sex, in a pale echo of what he'd done the day before; or imagined himself going out and feeling that lump that seemed to be getting firmer and firmer between his thighs, the saliva rising to the corner of his lips. For the first time since these strange impulses had manifested themselves, Sam could say unequivocally that he felt a real, sexually marked desire for his brother sitting next to him, and although this realization baffled him, he felt no dread of it, only the sweet torment of warm blood.
Even if this didn't take anything away from his need to understand its origin.
But for the moment, determining how and why he felt this fierce attraction was not his priority. Trying to regulate his breathing and heartbeat, he kept his eyes on Dean's crotch, and the more he stared at the bulging curves of his brother's jeans, the more he felt his erection growing. With his right hand in his pocket, Sam tried to keep his penis in the least uncomfortable and most discreet position possible, but his galloping arousal was constantly accentuating the hardness of his sex, so much so that even his testicles were beginning to ache. He found himself dreaming of the freedom of being able to open his wand and let the full ardor of his manhood express itself, without having to worry about being seen by Dean, but instead being able to show off in front of him and have him enjoy it too. His eyes devouring his brother's lower abdomen, Sam moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue and clenched his left fist, his fingertips tickling with the nagging urge to place them between Dean's open thighs.
Like a warning signal from his brain as his hand slid across the leather of the seat between him and his eldest, the youngest Winchester jerked to his feet and, with a clear throat, glanced conspicuously out the window as he asked in a husky voice:
- It's going pretty well... Where are we?
Dean shot him a quick glance and, thus brought back to reality, tried to muzzle his obsessive thoughts by replying in a scathing tone designed to give the impression:
- Of course it's moving, did you see the road? Were you asleep or something?
He lowered the volume of the radio to a mere background noise, then added:
- We're not far from Buffalo.
Sam ticked wordlessly. This represented less than a third of the trip, and he didn't know what state he'd be in if he couldn't get away from Dean quickly, or at least get rid of the overflow of excitement that made every fiber of his body tremble. He thought back to the cases they'd both solved in and around this town, not necessarily with pleasant memories, and looking out without really seeing them at the fields that lined the straight road they were following at a good pace, he replied:
- Okay, we've still got plenty to do... You've been driving since this morning, so let me know when you want me to take over. In the meantime, I'll try to take a nap.
He let his head fall gently against the glass and, as he closed his eyes, his brother nodded, silently rejoicing that Sam would probably get some sleep. Dean blew out a deep breath, quietly, hoping to be able, if not to calm his ardors as if he were thirteen again, at least to endure them without having to try at every moment to conceal their manifestations.

But despite his need to break away from his fierce attraction to Dean, Sam couldn't even doze off. The burning desire for his brother's body, so close to his own, was all too present, and he kept seeing him butt-naked, facing the wall above the motel bathroom, masturbating. Every time Sam saw his brother's semen spurting against the earthenware, his sex contracted violently and instantly tried to surpass its maximum hardness, while his green eyes couldn't turn away from the bulge Dean sported in his crotch. The younger Winchester's throat was tight and his mouth as dry as old parchment; devouring his brother's molded sex with his gaze through the slit of his eyelids, he felt his hand tingle sharply again and, with a coquettish smile creeping surreptitiously across his lips, caught himself dreaming of letting her go to experience the firmness of the well-rounded package that stretched the fabric of the jeans. The act seemed both impossible and easy... All she would have had to do was place her hand on the bench, between her left leg and Dean's right, and then gently reach out and pull herself up slowly until she reached the precise point to which all her thoughts were directed. It was so simple and so clear in his mind that he soon almost felt as if he could feel the softness of the leather under his fingers, the roughness of his brother's pants crunching against his fingernails, and he felt so intoxicated by it that his head seemed to spin.

He obviously hadn't realized that his gestures had gone beyond his thoughts, and that far from confining himself to the fantasy of carnal contact, his hand had actually moved up to brush against Dean's leg. The latter, suddenly feeling a tiny pressure a little above his knee, looked down for a fraction of a second to see his brother's hand pretending to climb it gently, and immediately darted his eyes in a shudder that made his hair stand on end, He gave Sam an alarmed glance before aiming back at the road, then made the same move again with an air twice as catastrophic, and when he realized that his younger brother, looking haggard, clearly had no intention of stopping there, he blurted out in a voice from beyond the grave :
- Sam...? What...? What are you doing?
Dean waited for an answer, a reaction from him, for two seconds that seemed to last for hours, two seconds in which he continued to feel his brother's fingers moving very slowly up his thigh, completing his full and total erection.
- Sam!” he exclaimed with a frightened expression. Hey, what the hell are you doing!
Sam gasped, opened his eyes wide and, realizing with a start how far he'd drifted in his daydreams, yanked his hand away and sat up stiff as a board. His features decomposed as, eyes distorted with stupor, Dean stared at him with an unprecedented expression, and his heart starting to race he tried to justify the unjustifiable in a semi-quiet voice, face paler than a sheet:
- I... I... Nothing, nothing at all, I...
The answer was far from satisfying Dean, who continued to give him an unequivocal stare for a moment, before suddenly deciding to stop the car. He turned the steering wheel to place himself roughly on the side of the road, crushed the brake pedal without mercy, then cut the engine before turning to Sam with eyes sharper than rifle bullets.
Perhaps never before had Sam felt so uncomfortable, and his heart was thundering so loudly in his chest that he couldn't even hear the background noise of the music playing on the radio.
- What the fuck was that?” spat Dean with a strangled gasp.
With his elbow on the bottom of the window, his hand on his forehead and his shoulder glued to the car door, a mortified Sam felt a blast of heat so powerful it set his neck on fire that he remembered the flames of Hell. He made a superhuman effort to stem the feeling of utter panic that swept over him, and could only stammer out in a barely audible voice:
- Nothing, it was nothing... Just...
- Okay,” Dean breathed without even hearing him, gently raising his hands in a sign of appeasement and rationality, his exorbitant eyes lost in the beige of the dashboard. I... I... Let's face it, something's not right here. Really wrong. Something's happened with the three bastards, it's clear, we're losing it too.
His brother's gesture had scarcely more weight than his own impulses in his conclusions, and Dean didn't even realize that he was openly including himself in the problem, confessing without saying so that he too was experiencing similar troubles. This was not lost on Sam, who despite his monumental embarrassment, couldn't resist repeating shortly:
- We... ?
- We've been riding side by side in this car for years!” Dean stormed, not even grasping the meaning of the word his brother had just uttered. Sharing the same crappy motels, spending our lives together night and day! Did you ever... did you ever...
- What?” retorted Sam, suddenly stung to the quick, determined to seize his chance to make up for it. Touched your leg? Please, Dean, don't make a big deal out of nothing... I dozed off and my hand slipped, that's all, what do you expect?
He didn't believe it himself, and the feverish look on his face as he desperately tried to show conviction, his eyes in his brother's, was only vaguely illusory.
But Dean was suddenly too afraid of having betrayed himself and of having to confess what was tormenting him to justify the virulence of his reaction. So he decided to cut to the chase and bury the incident, which he wasn't so sure, after all, was right to link to his own afflictions.
- Okay. Okay,” he said, forcing himself to regain his composure and rest his hands on the steering wheel. We're exhausted, we can't get what happened out of our heads, and personally, I've never been so frustrated at not being able to punch someone in the face. So, as soon as we get home, no shower, no food, no nap, you take half the books in the library, I'll take the other half, and damn it, Sam, we'll spend as long as it takes, but we're going to figure out how to get our hands on those three scumbags, how to get under their skin and settle this thing once and for all! Got it?!
The tone of his voice had reached a crescendo, and he'd literally ended his tirade in fury. Round-eyed and tight-lipped, Sam nodded so as not to add fuel to the fire despite his reservations, and Dean ended the exchange with a glare, just before turning the ignition back on, pushing up the volume on the radio and launching the Impala into high gear.

The trip thus resumed, and the incident had sent such a chill down the spines of both brothers that it had at least the merit of calming their ardor until their return to Lebanon.

Chapter Text

As soon as he got home, Dean set to work on his resolution. He dumped his bag at the foot of the metal staircase that led to the heart of the bunker, passed the tactical table without a glance at the diodes of the antique computers to which it was connected, and climbed the three steps to the study room, immediately fetching a stack of books from the “Divinities” section, which he dropped with a thud onto the wooden table in the middle.
It wasn't seven o'clock, the Impala's engine was still boiling in the garage, and Sam, exhausted, came up behind his brother with heavy steps, noting with a disillusioned air:
- Dean, you... We're dead, can't it wait a couple of hours, so we can recuperate?
- Go to bed, if you're tired,” he replied without a glance, pulling up a chair to settle himself in front of the books he intended to read to the last page. I'll get to it.
Sam sighed dejectedly, arms flailing, and bending to his brother's will he said:
- I'll make coffee.
The Winchesters hadn't exchanged three sentences the rest of the way home, with their music on a loop, their noses buried in their phones, makeshift naps and driving relays. Sam's almost involuntary gesture and Dean's epidermal reaction had also had a castrating effect, allowing them to put their uncontrolled impulses on hold. They were still there - they'd both given up thinking they could get rid of them with a snap of their fingers - but for the time being they remained more or less dormant, easing a little the mental burden on both men who, while they hadn't forgotten the intense emotions that had affected them, especially the night before they left Gloucester, managed to sit opposite each other without thinking only of the attraction they'd so powerfully inspired in each other.
And so they worked all morning, immersed in tedious and daunting research given the size of the document base, using and abusing coffee to stay awake. First pages, then chapters and finally volumes followed one another over the hours of eye-wear, when just before noon, Sam, who hadn't said a word for over three-quarters of an hour, absorbed in a green-bound tome, suddenly felt the need to stretch his legs. Then his brother's stomach got the better of him, and Dean seized the opportunity to get his nose out of the dusty books he'd lost himself in, and get something to eat.

He returned after just over half an hour, armed with pizza and pie, to find his youngest sitting in his chair, facing two open books, looking grave and distant.

- Hey,” he said, suspecting some news before setting the food down on the edge of the table. Anything new?
He sat back down facing Sam, whom he didn't take his eyes off, and soon nodding with obvious reluctance, the youngest Winchester had to declare, his features closed:
- New, yes. It's them all right. The Erotes. It's all there.
He looked sideways with an annoyed expression, and pushed the two books towards his brother. One old-looking, the other newer, handwritten. Dean gave them a quick glance before briefly grabbing the older of the two, and after spotting a vaguely evocative illustration amidst paragraphs of illegible typography, he aimed at Sam, inquiring, urgently:
- Are you sure? What about it? What does it say? How do we find them? How do we kill them?
Sam looked at his brother in dismay, then gave a short, dry laugh, accompanied by a sharp nasal sigh.
- No, that's... You don't get it. These aren't the monsters we usually hunt, Dean. These are gods.
- So what?” spontaneously retorted the elder, who couldn't see what the problem was. Would they be the first gods we've hunted?
- No, what I mean is...
Sam paused, sighed again, and resting both arms on the table, palms toward the ceiling, he leaned a little toward Dean, rephrasing:
- They're not considered malevolent creatures. The writings about them make them respected beings but not dangerous if you keep your distance from them. Powerful, yes, but not dangerous.
- Not “considered”?” said Dean tartly. Who cares how they're “considered”? Are we talking about the beating they gave us?
- We were right on their heels,” pleaded Sam, knowing full well he wasn't about to curry favor with his brother.
- What a good excuse! And the stiffs they left behind were just for show?
- Look, I'm... I'm not saying we're dealing with saints, far from it,” agreed Sam, trying to keep calm and as clear-headed as possible despite certain passages in the texts he was endlessly re-reading. But the Men of Letters themselves have documented a contact they had with them, and they confirm what I'm telling you.
He pointed to the second book he'd advanced towards Dean, who looked at it with disdain for only a fraction of a second, then resumed, despite himself displaying a surge of tension:
- The diary here tells us more about who they are and what they do. Among the three, there's Eros, the blond, and his brothers Himeros, the brown, and Pothos, the redhead. They seem to have been living among men for centuries, feeding off their feelings and emotions, such as passion, desire and love. They don't kill, so there's no mention of invocations to flush them out, or ways to get rid of them. There's nothing here at all. We just recommend avoiding them as much as possible and... wait for them to go away.
Dean's glare spoke volumes and sent a chill down Sam's spine. He felt his brother's anger rising, until he saw and heard it manifest itself when the eldest of the siblings spat:
- What's all this bullshit? Waiting for what? The deluge?
He picked up the newspaper, only to throw it scornfully on the table and jump to his feet:
- They don't kill? What a joke! And it was the Men of Letters who came up with this nonsense? The Men of Letters, yeah! They must have needed bottles of whisky to dare write that!
- All right, Dean, calm down, you're not going to change anything by getting angry! You wanted us to look, we looked! I understand you're disappointed we didn't come up with something more concrete, but...
- Because we're hunters and those guys who scribbled that crap were just paper-pushers! That's why it's great that we've taken over! I'll add a page to the paper myself when I've killed the three penguins, and I certainly won't say I waited for the storm to pass!
Sam shook his head heavily, admitting defeat in order to appease his brother's fury. He let him grumble for a moment, thinking for himself about what he hadn't yet said and was afraid to say, not for fear of heightening Dean's anger, but rather because of what it might mean. His heart was beating fast, torn between the need to continue his report and the need to continue denying the obvious; he hesitated, but finally dared to throw to his brother, who was still pacing back and forth:
- Listen... Sit down, will you? Why don't we try and look at this with a bit of perspective? There's nothing to be gained by losing our cool.
Although outraged by the report their predecessors seemed to have made, which he intended to read from the first word to the last, Dean, jaws and fists clenched, acceded to his brother's request and slowly returned to his seat, shaking his head in annoyance.
- You must have skipped a paragraph, it's not possible,” he said rhetorically, his tone betraying that he hadn't expected so much.
- There's nothing more, at least not about how to track them down or kill them,” confirmed Sam with an air of extreme seriousness. The Men of Letters have approached them, but without fighting them, apparently, they...
- We'll get to that rag later, if you don't mind,” Dean cut in dryly, pushing the handwritten diary further along, as if it gave off a foul odor. Nothing in folklore, legends, myths either?
- In any case, I didn't find anything useful,” Sam declared with a straight face after a moment.
Dean, excessively bitter and disappointed, took note. He let his fiery gaze wander into nothingness, then returned to the conversation, decreeing:
- Okay, let's dig deeper. We haven't finished going through all the books, have we?
Putting his money where his mouth was, he pulled out a stack of three large books and promptly opened the first one, his stomach definitely forgotten. Wordlessly, Sam watched him, his gaze intense, thoughtful, scrutinizing. Thinking back to a certain word his eldest had uttered in the car the day before, and considering what he'd discovered in the course of his research without having revealed it yet, he wondered with deep gravity about the precise nature of the troubled feelings he was experiencing, and whether he might not be the only one affected by them. Without saying a word, without making a gesture, Sam stared at his brother for a long moment, until, calmly, without moving further, he declared in a peaceful, solid voice:
- They're not Cupids, you know?
Dean looked up and placidly supported his younger brother's gaze.
- You say?
- What you said to me in Gloucester. When you wondered if Erotes were related to Cupids. Actually, they're not. Cupids inspire love. They target two people destined to unite, and bind them together by making them fall in love. Erotes, on the other hand, simply draw their strength from these feelings. They don't inspire love, desire or passion. They reveal it.
Sam didn't blink and kept his gaze firmly fixed on Dean, who seemed at first to hear without understanding. But before long, his features seemed to slowly decompose. The sharp crease that annoyance had drawn at the corner of his lips stretched first, then he frowned imperceptibly as his eyes widened just as discreetly, and his breathing froze for a second. He needed all his strength to hide from Sam the shock he'd just caused her with his words; and feigned detachment with aplomb as he replied:
- I don't understand, what are you talking about? What's the difference?
Sam gave a slight bitter chuckle and looked down for a moment. Formulating aloud the conclusions he'd drawn from his readings would embed in his mind a reality as inconceivable as it was implacable, he was fully aware of this, but refused to look away any longer.
- They talked about the “Divine Touch”, remember? That's what the one in the white suit said. The brown one. Himeros.
- Yes, I remember, but then what?” said Dean, trying to make his expression as impenetrable as possible.
- It's in the paper,” Sam revealed. I've also found traces of it in older texts, under other names, but it's there.
He placed the first book back in front of him, before continuing:
- In ancient times, the Erotes behaved like other gods, feeding mainly on the fervor with which men devoted themselves to their cult. But they sometimes granted their blessings to their followers by (he took a declamatory tone to enunciate the words inscribed on the paper) opening their eyes to the true face of the heart.
Dean didn't understand a word of it, and suffered a surge of irritation that made his eyelid twitch. All he knew was that his own heart had started beating much faster than usual, as if by instinct he'd already fully grasped what his head was still struggling to put into shape, and with ill-contained anger he snarled, glowering:
- I'm not in the mood for guessing games right now, you know? In plain English, please.
Sam looked into Dean's eyes, in a sepulchral silence that lasted several seconds. The two men did more than observe each other; they seemed to be sizing each other up, challenging each other, even, as if they were already anticipating the certain opposition that would divide them, but the younger man wanted to get to the bottom of what he was saying, because he had to, and because, whether his brother understood all the implications or not, he had a vital need to evacuate this realization that was slowly beginning to eat away at him.
- According to what it says,” he then clarified with feverish gravity, ”they have the ability to reveal the feelings buried in the hearts of those they touch. They don't drive people mad, Dean: they force people to open their eyes to what they really feel, and every now and then, the shock is so brutal that some lose their footing and reach extreme reactions.
The eldest Winchester appeared to take the shock stoically, but in reality, he received a second blow that completed the impossible reality he swallowed and spat out so dryly. His face fixed and his eyes glazed over, he turned pale, and his heart missed a beat when he was forced to face what he had vaguely seen coming, his eyes turned elsewhere. How could he fail to make the connection between what Sam had just told him, and these crazy ideas that haunted him with increasing presence? A wave of panic swept over him for a moment, forcing him to take a deep breath and shake his head in denial. He refused to admit that the attraction he felt for his younger brother could be the reflection of genuine desire, it was out of the question. It could only be a perfidious trick played by gods expert in the torment of the human soul, a means for them to neutralize their opponents while generating the lifeblood they drank from, and he forced himself to regain as much composure as he was able so as not to sink into the dizziness that was already half deafening him.
- I...
He blinked hard and weighed his words carefully before resuming:
- I've got to make sure I've got this straight, Sammy. These guys touch you... and you start feeling things you've never felt before? Things... that make you go crazy?
Sam had expected a more violent reaction from his brother. Perhaps because that was how he himself had viscerally reacted on hearing the information, before the reminiscence of the extreme well-being he'd felt in Gloucester, as irrational as it was undeniable, somewhat anesthetized his dread.
- Not always,” he replied. Sometimes, yes. In fact, from what I understand, it's quite rare. Usually, the people affected have some kind of... enlightenment, if they have an unfulfilled desire, and then live very happily ever after. Anyway... That's what our illustrious colleagues have reported.
- And what if it doesn't?” Dean asked through gritted teeth, aghast at the thought that he might be involved, a chilling thought he promptly dismissed from his mind. When it doesn't go well?
The sarcasm in his voice was perfectly audible, and Sam, to highlight the consequences they knew:
- We've seen how it goes... That's what started our investigation.
Sudden, inexplicable crimes, radical behavioral changes, suicides. It was as if both perpetrators and victims had gone mad. It came as no real surprise to the two brothers to discover that reality wasn't quite so simple.
- And apart from that, they don't kill,” joked Dean, unconsciously clutching his hand to his chest, precisely where the Brown Suit, Pothos, had touched him.
He remained silent and thoughtful for a few moments, prey to a deep inner turmoil. Then he shook his head and said:
- No. No, it can't be, you must have got it wrong somewhere. The translation's wrong, or else...
- I know what you're wondering,” said his brother with a hint of anxiety in his voice. He touched us directly, when he sent us into the scenery... Could we have been affected by something like that?
- I don't need to ask myself that question,” he immediately snapped, ”I know the answer, and it's no! Do you feel any different? I don't!
With sharp eyes, Sam probed his brother's gaze, and saw the kind of fear he didn't often detect in him. With a twinge of fear, the younger Sam mused that perhaps this was confirmation of the impression he'd had in the Impala, that he was hardly alone in feeling these new troubles that were manifesting themselves more and more distinctly, and despite his fear of admitting it, he found the courage to answer in an overwhelmed, indecisive tone:
- I don't know, Dean... Frankly, I don't know.
The elder Winchester looked at him with bewildered eyes.
- If I'm being honest, I can't deny that I've been feeling... odd since we met them,” Sam said modestly. You saw, I... There was the dizziness, and then... I have these strange ideas that cross my mind from time to time... I thought it was nothing, and maybe it's nothing at all, but... I can't be sure.
Dean hadn't expected his brother to make such a confession. Throat dry, struck by the similarity with his own feelings, he swallowed with extreme difficulty, terrified that - pure madness - Sam might feel the same confusion he did. Not forgetting what had happened in the car, he rejected this possibility, refused even to check its veracity, and sought to minimize the impact of his younger son's confidences - and by the same token, his reaction yesterday - by casually brushing aside:
- Come on, you're not going to start thinking you've got a problem because of a little dizziness and three sentences in a book? Even Google would have done a better translation than the guy who wrote it!
Dean leapt to his feet, his left hand riveted to his hip, his right rubbing the lower part of his face with visible anguish. Despite what he'd said, he was at least as worried as Sam was, and Sam wasn't fooled.
- I'm not telling you that we... that I've paid the price for sure,” he reframed, his brow wrinkled, ”but you yourself were pretty damn sure yesterday... We have to ask ourselves the question.
- Well, I'm not asking myself, okay? asserted Dean in a tone without reply, facing his brother squarely. And you're not going to tell me you stopped at what I said in the car, are you? Come on, Sammy, that's bullshit! They touch us and turn our brains inside out? We're going to start... Doing what? Drooling over impossible things? Until we go completely nuts? Like, have you fallen under my irresistible spell? Come on, other than you getting a bottle of shampoo and me getting the car, what “hidden desire” could we possibly have?
- No idea,” returned Sam with a far more serious expression than his brother would have liked, refusing to ridicule the question and openly deny how he felt. You tell me.
His intense, resolute gaze, pursed lips, sent Dean a clear message. The older Winchester had the unpleasant sensation of being judged, perhaps even suspected of some dishonest intent, and in a biting tone, stepping back towards Sam whom he glared at with hostile eyes from across the table, he growled menacingly:
- What's that supposed to mean?
Feigning total good faith without really wanting to convince, Sam rolled up his lips to his chin, shook his head briefly, and delivered, unfiltered:
- That if these guys really can reveal anyone's hidden desires, you might suddenly fancy someone you'd never even thought of before... Jody, for instance.
- Jody?!
- Or someone else,” he insisted firmly. Castiel, why not?
Sam knew he'd overstepped the mark even before he received a glare. But the way his brother wallowed in obvious denial, whatever that was, got on his nerves. Dean reached out again, grabbed the back of the chair in front of him with both hands so hard his knuckles turned white, and clenched his jaws to the point of breaking his teeth.
Sam, unexpectedly, suddenly found him incredibly sexy.
- Have you completely lost your mind?” spat Dean.
The other Winchester remained unperturbed. Since he'd started, he'd finish.
- I don't know, maybe. Maybe I have. Maybe it's a sign that I've been affected after all.
Dean didn't take kindly to the joke and, in the throes of extreme discomfort, felt himself running out of air again. He had the loathsome feeling that a trap was closing in on him, that it might even already be too late to dodge, and redoubling his efforts to display an aplomb of pure composition, he threw at his brother, glaring ostentatiously:
- Do you find all this amusing?
Sam stepped up a notch and stood up in turn, triggering a muscular tension reflex in Dean. The two men found themselves facing each other, each standing on one side of the table, and the younger of the two then threw out with authority:
- You think I'm playing? Okay, let's play fair, shall we? If there's one person who knows you by heart, it's me, Dean. And I know there's something bothering you. There's no point in trying to hide it from me.
Dean nodded, bitter and angry at the same time, without taking his eyes off his brother. With his heart pounding, he almost attacked, but stopped himself, biting his tongue to hold back the words that were burning his lips, perhaps the only ones capable of cutting short this incredibly uncomfortable conversation, or on the contrary, those that could create an irreparable schism between them. Had Sam guessed something? Could he have seen his eldest spying on him in the shower? What if his out-of-place gesture in the Impala had just been a kind of test for what he'd perhaps already discovered? Panic surged again in Dean's heart, and he felt brutally backed into a corner, and in a reflex of self-defense he finally dared to speak, in defiance of all possible consequences.
- Me?” he vomited with obvious animosity. Me, I'm disturbed? Don't confuse me with you, Sammy. I wasn't the one who almost put your hand in the cookie jar.

From the moment the words crossed his lips, he regretted them from the bottom of his heart and hated himself for damning his brother like that just to make him pay for being right. He was aware that he was being extremely unfair, especially after having first accused him and then cleared his name just two minutes ago, but said nothing to make up for it, contenting himself with staring at Sam with a belligerent, ruthless air, Sam who, however, didn't seem as affected as he might have expected. The younger man was undoubtedly hit by the attack, but he didn't deny that it had a grain of truth, and once it had passed, he quickly regained his composure to regard his brother with a look of bitterness and defiance.
Dean wondered anxiously whether he should be pleased that he hadn't really hurt him, or worried. But Sam was confirmed in his intuition, and practically sure of himself, he moved without a word, rounding the table to come and stand facing his brother, some three meters away, to stare at him with a gaze so intense that Dean was seized with a genuine hot flush. Why was he staring at him like that? The elder Winchester felt as if he'd been penetrated to the core, and found it increasingly difficult to conceal how unsettled he felt. Besides, why should Sam have chosen this very moment to appear so attractive, in his domineering, self-assured posture? For the younger man, one thing seemed obvious: if his brother thought he was so surely motivated by unnatural desires, despite how implausible the idea might seem, wasn't it possible, and even probable, that the reason was that he himself was experiencing an equally improbable feeling? The harder Dean denied it, the more Sam became convinced. He'd have lied if he'd pretended that the hypothesis didn't frighten him, but he couldn't help feeling sure of it, especially if he thought back to that primordial “we” his brother had invoked in the Impala, when he'd slid his hand up his thigh and suddenly made a totally unexpected gesture, which left Dean frozen in such a stupor that he felt the blood pounding his temples.
- Wha... What are you doing,” he blurted out, his eyes widening. Sam, what...
Without even realizing it, he took a step back, his eyes locked on his brother.

His brother who, without haste but with determination, had begun to undo his large blue-checkered flannel shirt, popping the buttons one by one without taking his eyes off him.

Because he knew Dean as if he'd done it, Sam knew that when he found himself on the defensive like this, there was nothing to be gained from him unless he was pushed to the limit. Perhaps he was committing a folly; a gesture whose consequences he didn't fully appreciate, his mind effectively clouded by an irrational impulse, just one more... There was no way he could say with absolute certainty that Dean, like himself, was in the grip of these unheard-of desires, and even less that these desires, if they existed, were directed towards him, but whether he was right or wrong, he wanted to do everything he could to at least try and get to the bottom of it. Sam didn't put up much of a fight the whole time he was undressing, but managed to give the impression that he was. And when he had finished, revealing a wide strip of skin from his throat to his belt buckle, he removed his shirt completely, abandoning it on the nearest chair and showing off his bare, muscular torso to his brother.
Dean, sclerotic, was completely unable to react. Sam said nothing, content to stand there before him, half-naked, and his eyes suddenly weighing a ton, Dean couldn't help but let them fall on the golden skin his brother had unveiled. Throat knotted like a sea rope, he aimed in spite of himself at Sam's shapely pecs, the short hairs growing there like his pointed nipples, then down his belly, whose waistband knotted just above the hip line, courtesy of the drop-waist jeans he was wearing, revealed the fullness of his abdominal musculature. Terrified, Dean felt his sex swell between his legs, but it wasn't enough to distract him from his brother's powerful arms and broad, stoic shoulders. Had he been right to tempt fate this way? Sam strongly doubted it, judging by the look of horror that froze his elder brother's features, but he said no less, feigning a nonchalance at the opposite end of the spectrum from the ferocious discomfort he felt at having laid himself bare in this way, in every sense of the word:
- I'm a bit hot, aren't you? Does it bother you if I stand like this in front of you?
Dean had the sensation of swallowing a coconut whole. Distraught by the situation, which caught him completely off guard, he didn't know what to say or how to react; anger, sarcasm, indifference... His face soon regained some of its mobility, as did his body, and as he plunged his hand into his pocket, he swivelled sideways to look away and said with a casual gesture, almost with his back turned:
- Pff, what do you want that to do to me...
His heart was pounding so hard in his chest it hurt. Dean felt more in danger than he had in front of a werewolf, less in control of the situation than if he'd been chained to all four limbs, and the fear, immense, of seeing Sam assume the insane madness he'd curtly lent her, gripped him in the gut like never before. His brain totally flooded with deafening alarm signals, he tried to work out what he would do if it turned out that his brother felt the same way as he did, an implausible hypothesis he had never seriously considered and which made him tremble with fear. Unless, by undressing, Sam simply intended to make him pay for his rebuff? Or was it something else entirely, of confounding futility, that his paralyzed mind couldn't see?
The younger Winchester left his brother to his own dismay, taking note of his reactions, which led him to certain conclusions, not necessarily the easiest to grasp. He considered that he had sufficiently damaged the atmosphere, in an already difficult context due to the very particular states of mind they both seemed to be experiencing, and chose not to insist further in his quest for a definitive answer, as much for lack of a certain courage as to avoid creating too sharp a rift between them. Sam quietly picked up his shirt and said:
- Look, I'm beat. I'm going to take a shower to freshen up a bit and... I think I'll sleep for a while.
He waited two seconds for Dean to reply, but only got a vague nod from him as he left the study room.

So Dean, once alone, took a deep breath and, with wobbly legs, leaned his full weight on the table, arms outstretched and hands flat.

Chapter Text

The two brothers stayed away from each other for the rest of the day. At least, physically. After showering, Sam didn't return to the study room. He remained in his room, pondering what had happened, at times incredulous at his own action, and at others wondering about his brother's deeper thoughts. Or his own. Dean, for his part, greatly appreciated not having to endure his younger brother's presence again; flabbergasted by what he'd seen him do, he was even more flabbergasted by his own reaction, for if, as soon as Sam had left, he'd thrown himself headlong into the books attached to the Erotes with the firm intention of finding out at all costs how to neutralize them, it was more his brother's torso that he'd seen outlined on the pages.
He'd tried to fight it, but his attraction to Sam's anatomy had become too strong. During the two hours he'd spent studying the writings at his disposal, in particular the Men of Letters journal, which had only reinforced his despair, Dean had felt his heart racing, and neither the beers nor any of the other alcohols he'd tried to drown his dismay in had been able to quell the volcanic fire that kept setting his crotch ablaze.

Shortly before 3 p.m., he gave in. He'd abandoned the old books where, rather than looking for a way to kill the triad, he'd ended up in search of some kind of cure for their powers he could no longer decently doubt, and had gone for an ice-cold shower, hoping at last to cool his blood and allow his penis to deflate. In vain. He hadn't even finished drying off before his brother's firm, sculpted body was back in his face with unprecedented force. Covered only in his bathrobe, he took refuge in his bedroom, throwing himself on his bed and hoping and praying to regain his self-control, but to no avail: he had to resign himself to the only treatment likely to soothe him a little, and after unbuckling his belt to free full access to his nakedness, he greedily seized his sex to masturbate as he'd never done before, driven by a veritable animal frenzy. His excitement was so overwhelming that it hadn't taken him more than a few dozen seconds to ejaculate, imagining himself not only seeing Sam's body, but more importantly shamelessly abusing it, and with a long, hoarse cry his sperm had shot out like a geyser, propelled more than a meter above him before falling back onto his hard belly, his athletic pecs and even his face.

For a long time afterwards, he'd just stood there, panting, sweaty, groggy, and his libido finally returning to a more normal level he'd not moved, mortified by the unmentionable ideas that had so deliciously occupied his mind. With a lost look in his eyes, he had tried to recall an episode in his life when he had felt so distraught, but had been forced to admit with dread that his condition was worsening, his symptoms gaining strength at exponential speed.

It wasn't until late in the evening, after eleven o'clock, that the Winchester brothers crossed paths again. Freshly dressed, coiffed and with a full belly, Dean seemed to have finally regained a certain calm, although this time he no longer doubted that the mechanical release of his sexual tension was solely to blame for this deceptive reassurance. Sitting down at the study table, he plunged back into his reading and did his utmost to take painstaking strides in compiling information potentially useful to his only quest now: to counter the effects of the Divine Touch he knew he'd been the victim of.
Castiel was unreachable.
Quietly, with cautious steps, Sam finally appeared. He had exchanged his blue shirt for a gray and white one, the sleeves rolled up, and walked anxiously towards the table. Dean, who saw him approaching, felt the itch awaken and looked up for a brief moment before returning his eyes to his books, without a word but his features hardened into a sombre scowl.
- Hey,” said the youngest in a strained voice, greeting his eldest. Am I bothering you?
Dean shook his head carelessly but didn't look away.
- I'm working,” he said simply, letting his brother interpret it as he saw fit.
Sam nodded briefly and, thrusting his hands into his pockets in a nervous gesture, took two steps forward, almost coming into contact with the chairs facing Dean.
- Listen,” he soon began, ”I... I wanted to tell you about earlier... I let myself go a bit, I hope I didn't shock you with my lack of manners...
At the mention of the shirt episode, Dean could have reconnected with the image of his brother's torso if he'd only been able to forget it for a moment. It remained omnipresent, but for the moment he managed to control his impulses, even though broaching the subject irritated him to no end. He gritted his teeth and, still without looking up, bit down dryly:
- Your lack of manners, yeah, that's it... That's the word. Next time you want to go all Demi Moore, you'll do it in your corner, okay?
Sam easily took the hint and accepted the rebuff. Dean, who'd heard himself speaking in a more aggressive tone than he'd intended, only got angrier, and suddenly snapping the cover of his book he raised his head to thunder:
- What are you standing there for? If you want to get back to researching, there's plenty of work to be done! And if you're hungry, there's a slice of cold pizza.
Sam nodded without raising his voice, realizing that his brother's mood was hardly conducive to discussion. He'd hoped to find him in a better mood, but his state of nerves tended to convince him even more that something was really wrong, and he was pretty sure he knew what.
- I'll let you get on with your work,” he decided, so as not to add fuel to the fire. If you like, you can leave your notes when you're tired, and I'll take over from you tomorrow. I think I'll go to bed now, good night. Sorry for the interruption.
He turned and walked away. Dean then ranted inwardly about his outburst, and his regret at having lost his temper overriding all other emotions at the moment, he called his brother back.
- Sam. Wait, wait, wait. Stay.
Sam complied and turned back to his brother. Not without some obvious difficulty, the latter swallowed his pride and resumed:
- I'm... I'm the one who's sorry. Don't pay any attention... to my temper tantrums, okay? I'm a little on edge.
Sam considered the confession superfluous but kept his remark to himself. He returned with slow steps, attentive eyes on Dean, who struggled to confess, his gaze evasive:
- I didn't tell you the whole truth earlier.
Sam took another step back to his starting position, before asking in a cautious tone:
- The truth about what?
Dean's lips parted, but he made no sound.
- About... those guys,” he managed to formulate. About what they've done to us, about the fact that I can't feel any difference. I just... You're not the only one with feelings, Sammy. I thought it would pass, but... apparently it hasn't.
At the sound of his voice, the youngest Winchester understood how much it cost his brother to open up like that. Sam was somewhat moved by this, but the violence of Dean's distress, the only possible reason why he felt the need to confide in him, caused him to feel anxious about what he suspected and dreaded discovering. He took a deep breath, silent and slow enough not to show it too obviously, and because there was probably nothing else to say, he asked:
- Do you want to talk about it?
Wanting wasn't the right word; the eldest sibling's destitute expression left no doubt about it. But on his own, Dean knew that he wouldn't be able to find the answer to his torment, not as quickly or with as much chance of success as by joining forces with Sam, and if he had to say everything, even if it meant breaking something, even if it meant exposing some secret he was as terrified of admitting as he was of hearing, he was ready to take the risk.
Because, if he didn't, it was his physical and psychological integrity that was in jeopardy in the short term.

Sam pulled up a chair and sat down opposite Dean. They found themselves in more or less the same seats as in the morning, and watched each other with gravity, the elder struggling to support his younger brother's more assertive gaze. He shook his head a little and waved his hand in confusion, then let go, overwhelmed:
- I don't even know what to say. I feel like I'm losing it, and it's speeding up. What I'm feeling... it's not me, Sammy. It doesn't feel like me but I can't control it, it's... It comes without warning, and it's messing with my head.
Sam was hardly surprised. Left elbow on the edge of the table, he let his gaze drift sideways before replying laconically to confirm what he'd already said:
- That makes two of us.
Dean looked at him with a mixture of hope and anxiety. He was afraid to ask, but anxiously inquired all the same:
- Do you have... crazy ideas in your head too? That keep coming back?
His brother raised his eyebrows reluctantly, which seemed to reassure him.
- What the... What kind of thoughts... are you having?” he said weakly.
Sam pinched the tip of his nose with a sniff and shrugged, now almost turned sideways.
- The Erotes, Dean,” he recalled fatalistically. The redhead is Pothos, the god of desire. He's the one who touched us.
The answer was clear and shattered the Winchester elder's last illusions. If they felt the same symptoms, then they were suffering from the same evil, and if they had been affected at the same time, it was undoubtedly by the hand that had touched them both. The Divine Touch was at work.
- Desire? Dean thought aloud, blushing.
Sam didn't embarrass him with his gaze. He wasn't sure who was occupying his brother's thoughts, but he had prepared himself psychologically for any eventuality. He'd spent most of the afternoon thinking about it.
- We mustn't panic,” he tried to rationalize. We just have to face the facts, and be ready to deal with... complicated emotions.
Dean looked at him uncertainly, sensing that his brother wasn't sure he could do it. He had the feeling he saw himself in his anxious eyes, and with a lump in his stomach, forced himself to ask him to finally get to the bottom of it:
- How do you feel?
Sam had both anticipated and dreaded this question. Knowing that he would have to answer it, out of need as well as duty, he let out a brief nasal sigh accompanied by a slight tense rictus, and the tendons in his neck tensing sharply, like all the muscles in his body, clearly visible on his bare forearms, he expressed in a monotone, without looking at his brother:
- It's probably been too long since we've been living this fused life, and it's starting to go to my head. That must be why...
He cleared his throat, strangled, when Dean, who wasn't immediately sure he'd understood, suddenly craned his neck, his eyes widening in fright.
- Sammy... You're saying that...
And pointing to himself, Dean saw Sam's eyes land on him with great difficulty.
- Yeah,” the latter said half-heartedly, as dryly as a spit. Yeah.

It was said, and the relief Sam felt was immeasurable. Suddenly, he felt his heart double in volume and strength in his chest, and he took a moment to regulate his breathing, without thinking about anything else, neither about what was coming next, nor about his brother. Dean, on the other hand, received such a blow to the face that he seemed to be stunned, and the rush of fright that gripped his throat felt as if he'd been grabbed by the clawed hand of a werewolf. What he had feared or sensed, but neither believed nor imagined, was now coming true, and soon his eyes popped out of his sockets as he slowly rose to his feet like a mechanized puppet, clasping both hands to his skull like a condemned man being led to the scaffold, before uttering in a dying voice:
- For fuck's sake, for fuck's sake, for fuck's sake.
Sam endured hearing him swear and sigh for another long moment, as realizing what he had just confessed, he feared he had committed the irreparable. Uncomfortable as ever, he tugged at the collar of his already wide-open shirt, revealing a little more of his chest hair, rubbed his face, pushed his hair back as he ran a hand over his skull, and as Dean continued pacing haphazardly, he tried to soothe her by relativizing:
- It's all right, it's nothing, there's no need to get all worked up...
- It's nothing,” Dean repeated, livid, his voice seeming to come from beyond the grave. Do you realize what's happening to us? What this... this... this son of a bitch has done to us?
He crushed both hands over his face, revealing only his bulging eyes, and took several steps, seeming to wander aimlessly. Sam, noting apart from himself that his brother was once again including himself in the problem, was titillated as to why he was doing so, but no longer in much doubt, given the relatively mild surprise with which Dean had greeted his confidences.
- Dean, please calm down. The main thing is to be aware of it so you can deal with it, right? We've seen others.
- Others?!” he exclaimed, a hand on his hip, turning slightly back to his brother, whom he was staring at with wild eyes. Tell me when something of this caliber has ever happened to us, because me, you see, I'm stumped!
Sam almost reminded him of his addiction to demon blood, and the irresistible need he had felt, a few years earlier, to consume this poison. He also thought of his brother's brief transformation into a vampire, who had found it hard to resist the lure of blood before his recovery. But he preferred to remain silent.
- I understand now,” said Dean, looking haggard.
His catastrophized gaze seemed to lose itself in nothingness, then he resumed, aiming at Sam in his dismay:
- I wasn't really serious when I said that earlier... but in the car, when you put your hand on my leg...
He didn't finish, leaving his younger son to guess what would happen next. Sam didn't flinch, however, and held his gaze with modesty and dignity. He tried to keep his features from breaking down, but confirmed bravely, without trying to disguise reality:
- I think... yes, it was the consequence of what I feel. I'm sure it was. It was an unconscious gesture, but I wouldn't have done it if I hadn't had... all that in my head.
Overwhelmed by the incalculable scope of what he'd just heard, Dean seemed struck by the wrath of Heaven.
- Great,” he groaned as if liquefied. We're in big trouble, damn it, they've really screwed us here.
- Damn it, Dean,” Sam said in a quavering voice. Don't worry, I'm not going to jump on you.
- I'm glad to hear it! Because when you sobered up, it looked like you were going to!
Sam accepted the sarcastic admonition and admitted, very uncomfortably:
- Okay, I acted without thinking, on the spur of the moment, but... you were so adamant that you felt perfectly normal, when I could see that wasn't the case...! I had an intuition... The impression that in reality, you were in exactly the same situation as I was, so... I wanted to check, and it was the only idea that came to me at the time.
Dean swallowed a little saliva, his throat as tight as his fists. He couldn't admit to his brother how right he'd been, or how much the sight of her torso had inflamed his senses, but it was a fact and, despite the shock of discovering that these senseless emotions were shared, he felt his sex twitch slightly at the sweet memory.
- Sorry, that was silly,” apologized Sam, who had little desire, especially at the moment, to fall out with him.
Dean, still standing a few feet away, looked at him quickly before looking away. His chest tightened, he felt hot and had trouble breathing; he was still trying to digest what his brother had told him, was just beginning to glimpse the difficulties that lay ahead, and had only one desire: to flee the conversation, to deny once again the reality of the facts, to concentrate on how to solve the problem and then pretend it had never existed.
- It's all right,” he finally stammers, ”it's... It's not your fault, it's not my fault, it's them, it's... It's those bastard gods. They thought they'd put us on the sidelines by messing with our heads, but we'll hurry up and find a cure and go kick their asses. Capice?
Dean suddenly seemed to regain some of his composure and, displaying a brittle determination, returned to sit stiffly opposite his brother, who watched in puzzlement. There was no doubt in Sam's mind that Dean was making a mistake in his analysis, but he couldn't say whether it stemmed from his imperfect understanding of events, or rather from the ease of seeing things from such an angle. Yet the elder Winchester had worked all afternoon on the question of the Erotes and their powers... This persistent refusal to consider them in their full value was just another sign to Sam of a denial motivated by a very specific, unacknowledged reason, and faced with the silence his brother seemed to want to observe on the subject, he soon called out to him despite the extreme discomfort he felt at looking at him or speaking to him from now on:
- And you... Are you going to tell me what effect this had on you?
Opening a book to a previously marked page, Dean at first gave the impression of not having heard the question. Then, without stopping the reading he'd just resumed, he answered with mock aplomb, as if the subject were unimportant:
- I've told you. I've got some weird ideas in my head, stuff I don't usually think about.
Sam hoped to see him elaborate despite his apprehension, but it was to no avail. His brother continued reading with a total detachment, far too obvious to be honest, in contrast to the abysmal dismay he had expressed a moment earlier, and vexed by his lack of candor when he had dared to share the nature of his emotions, the youngest of the siblings insisted:
- After what I told you... As embarrassing and difficult as it is for me to admit... For us... I think I deserve you to be a little more specific, don't you?
Dean's supposedly regained composure was immediately disturbed, the hunter gritting his teeth and stiffening his back. He cleared his throat, clearly considering ignoring the question, when, just as his lips finally seemed to loosen, his phone suddenly began to vibrate loudly on the hardwood of the table. He immediately grabbed it, and announced as he rose to his feet:
- It's Cass. At last.
So why did he go so far as to leave the room? Sam had no idea, except to assume that the reason had nothing to do with the call itself.

When Dean reappeared almost ten minutes later, Sam gave him only a brief glance. He was anxious to hear what Castiel had had to say, but the increasingly bitter taste in his mouth, following his brother's apparent decision to conceal from him the profound nature of his thoughts, after having seemed to contemplate the opposite, somewhat spoiled his desire to communicate with him. He looked up for a moment and then, pretending to be absorbed in reading, looked down wordlessly.
- That was Cass,” Dean said uncertainly as he hesitantly made his way back to the table.
- Hmm,” Sam responded taciturnly after a moment. What's up?
- He's in Crete,” he sighed. Maybe he's got something... I told him what we found, but he'd already pretty much figured out who we were up against... He'll look for it and get back to us.
Sam nodded limply, without a word or a glance. Dean noticed the worried creases that crossed his forehead, which didn't help him overcome the embarrassment that prevented him from deciding whether to go back to his seat or leave.
- Listen, I...
Sam reached out and rolled his eyes at his brother, who was already silent at the end of these two words. The younger Sam hoped to hear him resume their discussion, interrupted by the phone call, but was disheartened when Dean continued:
- In the end, you're right, we'd better get some sleep. It's getting late, and...
The gloomy expression Sam couldn't conceal, his nose buried between the pages of his book, discouraged Dean from continuing to justify himself. The latter considered that perhaps his brother was being so quiet and distant because he regretted what he'd confessed to him, and with embarrassment shared, he thought it best to walk away for the time being.
Especially as Dean could see Sam's muscular body coming back more and more clearly before his eyes, and he preferred to avoid being seized again by an irrepressible erection in her presence.
- Good night,” said the youngest of the siblings in a cold tone.
He didn't glance at his eldest and remained planted on his chair, reading sentences he couldn't even see. Dean would have liked to talk to him, to renew the dialogue and be as honest as he was, but he didn't have the courage and didn't know how to broach the subject of their unnatural attraction again, now that he'd managed to escape the discussion and knew that Sam did indeed feel the same way as he did.
- See you tomorrow,” he replied to his brother.

And he left the library.

Sam waited until he was alone and, after a while, once he was sure Dean couldn't hear him, he closed his book and threw it angrily towards the middle of the table. Jaws clenched so tightly that his face changed physiognomy, he shook his head in frustration and spite, inwardly railing against both his brother's secrecy and his own eagerness to have confided his moods.
Above all, he was angry with himself for having tried, on the basis of suspicion, to bring Dean onto his turf by means that he now found as clumsy as they were crude. The fact of undressing in front of him, thinking he'd become aroused by him, or the naive frankness with which he'd put himself in a more than uncomfortable position by confessing his attraction to him... Sam now felt he had been unnecessarily imprudent and counter-productive, at a time when they needed to pull together to find a solution to the situation. So, apart from the obvious embarrassment that was bound to get worse, what had he caused? If Dean, embarrassed by what he knew he was feeling, was trying above all to put distance between them, as he had just done, how was it going to be possible for them to join forces to get out of it?
Perhaps Castiel could be of some help, he suddenly mused, before remembering that, if he believed what he'd learned so far, the key to the problem was already in their possession...

He became all the more irritated by Dean's behavior, his behavior, and then got up to leave the library and go to bed, as he had almost done earlier before staying at his brother's request, which he regretted having done. He knew he wouldn't sleep, or sleep very little, but this time it wasn't so much his elder brother's manhood that was destined to trouble him, as his ruminations following what he'd confided in him. Having revealed the nature of his incongruous desires had anesthetized them, like a violent migraine muffled by a painkiller; but at the same time, it had triggered intense questioning that occupied his mind, about the evolution of their relationship if they didn't manage to turn back the clock, or about Dean's true feelings, too. Sam exited the library through the door that opened onto the corridor leading straight to his room, though he couldn't help glancing down the stretch of corridor to his right, and more particularly at the first door visible, marked with the number 11. This was the room Dean occupied, and instead of walking straight ahead to his quarters, he began to move slowly towards his brother's, without really knowing why. He had no intention of knocking on his door, nor much desire to speak to him at the moment, but a contradictory urge prompted him to move physically closer to him, as if in a symbolic attempt to forge a closer bond, one that would go beyond the unspoken. As he approached, he checked to see if he could see any light filtering through the grilled air vent piercing the lower part of the panel, but the brightness of the corridor would have obscured it anyway. Slowly, noiselessly, he moved forward as far as he could, stopping just in front of the dark wooden door where, with closed eyes, he rested his forehead. He caught himself dreaming that his brother would suddenly come out, driven by remorse, to give himself up in all sincerity without fear of being judged.
But if Dean did indeed come out, it was in a very different way, and the sound of his hoarse voice causing the wood of the door to vibrate ever so slightly against Sam's head, the latter suddenly perceived with amazement the moans of pleasure that his brother, believing himself safe from any indiscretion, was voluptuously uttering.

The youngest Winchester's sex reacted more quickly than his brain, so that by the time Sam recognized without a doubt the cavernous sound of Dean's badly muffled ecstatic moans, a phenomenal erection had already taken hold of him. Reacting to the floods of libido that instantly surged through his veins, he felt his perineum loosen, and biting his lip he hurriedly opened his fly to let out his wood-hard penis against which he was already ready to ejaculate. He grabbed his member, stuck his ear to the door to better hear his brother moan, and smiled in spite of himself at the beauty of the song that reached his eardrums. Dean's ahans seemed so clear that he felt as if he were watching him masturbate, just as he'd seen him do two days earlier, and the infernal urge to watch him in action, to finally see his sex in all its glory and not just part of it as at Gloucester, violently instructed him to find a way to do so.
For a brief moment of madness, overcome by the intoxicating memory of Dean's scent and solid body, Sam considered taking the risk of half-opening the door, but changed his mind the moment his hand brushed the handle, despite the fierce desire he had to lower it, for he knew that the ray of light he would create through the ajar would immediately betray his presence. So, his heart as swollen with elation as it was shrivelled with frustration, he resigned himself to exulting in his brother's unison through the door, and closed his eyes in both pleasure and despair, totally in the grip of the raw desire that animated him. Sighing against the wooden panel, eyelids clenched and mouth open, he masturbated with the hope that his gestures would be the exact reflection of Dean's, imagined himself close by so that he could admire him in his works while exposing himself before him, and mad with excitement at these outrageous thoughts he found himself about to expel his seed, when his brother's moans gave way to these few words that Sam heard very well:
- Oh, yeah... Fuck, yeah... Oh, come on, Sammy...

Then Sam, in a panic, reopened his eyes and jumped back. For an instant, as brief as it was searing, he thought he'd been startled again and felt his heart freeze in his chest, but he soon realized that Dean was still masturbating on his bed, oblivious to his younger son's presence on the other side of the door. As his blood began to flow through his body again, Sam, cold sweat running down his back, felt his arteries throbbing mightily and his temples drumming with a thud. His exposed penis began its return to a flaccid state without his noticing, for all his thoughts were now turned to the words he'd heard his brother say, which provided the answer to the question he'd been asking himself all day. He felt stunned, dizzy, beset by dizziness and heatstroke, eager to move away to digest the information and understand what it inspired in him, but his legs were as if unable to coordinate themselves to initiate the necessary movements. Almost unbeknownst to him, his eldest's sighs continued for a while longer, and when Dean's rales of pure pleasure gained in amplitude and duration, unequivocally betraying the fact that he was in the process of ejaculating, Sam pulled himself together enough to leave the scene.

Hastily zipping up his pants, he made his way down the corridor to his bedroom, closing the door behind him, and with his fists clenched behind his skull, eyes bulging, he tried as best he could to assimilate the fact that what he felt for Dean, however abnormal and aberrant it might seem, was obviously mutual.

Chapter Text

With his tea towel over his shoulder, resting on top of the khaki shirt he wore over a black t-shirt, Dean slid the still-crackling bacon onto his plate, sending it to join the two fried eggs he'd just fried. He looked rested, in an almost enthusiastic mood, and busied himself at the stove with application.

It wasn't eight o'clock and, before his plate, he'd filled one for Sam, whom he'd heard crossing the corridor to the bathroom. It was already late for the youngest, and he expected him to burst into the kitchen at any moment. On the laboratory-like kitchen table, Dean finished setting the two pieces of cutlery facing each other, placed a packet of cereal next to a bottle of milk, next to the pancakes, a jar of jam and the coffee pot, then wiped his hands with the tea towel before dropping it next to the fridges just as Sam, in his pyjama bottoms and steel-blue jersey, entered the room, disheveled and sleepy-looking.

It was extremely difficult for Dean not to squint at his brother's square shoulders or the bulge of his torso advantageously molded by the fabric, and even harder to ignore the very apparent prominence of his lower abdomen, but he consoled himself by noting his perfect control of his emotions, which helped to keep his spirits relatively high.
As did his ability to deny it.

- Hey, Sleeping Beauty, awake at last? Just in time, breakfast is served.
Sam, in a state of anticipation, noted at once the relative positivity and tonicity displayed by his eldest. He had long wondered what the tone of their next meeting would be, after their discussion the day before, but Dean's state of mind didn't seem to make him feel either hot or cold. He knew it was only a facade, or at best a temporary reassurance, and that it didn't solve any of their deeper problems.
- Hi,” he said in a bearded voice as he settled in front of his plate.
Dean watched him examine his meal and pick up a fork without conviction. He noticed how tired he looked, remembering Sam's confessions from yesterday, and could easily guess why he'd slept so badly, an effort of the imagination made all the more difficult by the fact that, if it hadn't been for the two masturbations he'd indulged in the night before, Dean would probably have had the same difficulty falling asleep. It was suddenly uncomfortable for the eldest of the siblings to be standing there, facing his brother, whom he knew to feel desire for him, his brother who, reciprocally, was troubling him more and more. He wondered if Sam had the same urges as he did, and if so, if he had a different way of dealing with them, but asking himself this simple question he'd already turned over a hundred times in his head was enough to threaten to stiffen his sex. Forcing himself to think that all this was only transitory, that they would soon find something to lift the spell and that the story would soon be forgotten, he turned his back on these disturbing ideas to sit down in turn and begin his meal with a fine, if somewhat feigned, appetite. Sam remained silent, absent, barely interested in his dish, and although he did so with a certain reluctance, fearing to rekindle an unpleasant conversation, Dean soon felt the need to break the heavy silence in place, by throwing out in a slightly forced casual tone:
- You look like hell. Did you pull an all-nighter or what?
Sam didn't react immediately, but took three forkfuls of the egg white he was sullenly staring at. He then brought it to his mouth, and after swallowing it, replied in a monotone voice, without looking up:
- No, I didn't go to bed very long after you did. I've got nothing new to tell you about the Erotes, sorry.
Dean didn't know exactly how to take the remark. After a brief moment, he thought it best to clarify, his tone peaceful:
- No, it's... Never mind. Cass will probably call us soon, so don't worry about it.
Sam couldn't suppress a disdainful lump in his throat and muttered:
- Yeah, right.
Dean tensed slightly in his chair, his scalded gaze on his brother. He almost asked him point-blank if he'd stood up on his left foot, but finally refrained from doing so to declare in a benevolent tone, thinking he was doing the right thing:
- Come on, don't worry. I've got a feeling... that you're not very comfortable, after what we talked about yesterday, I understand, but you'll be fine. We'll soon find a way for you to be yourself again.
Sam noisily dropped his fork and gave such a bitter grin that Dean immediately realized his mistake. In one sentence, he'd exposed everything - his blindness, his hypocrisy, his willingness to continue lying - and the condescension with which he'd done it infuriated his younger brother.
- That I become myself again?” he snarled, his green eyes locking with Dean's. ”Are you serious? Are you serious?
The elder Winchester tried to stammer something out, but it was hard to get the words out.
- It's just that... After what you told me yesterday...
- Okay,” Sam cut in dryly, ”so what? Are you sure you haven't forgotten anything? Are you sure there isn't someone else, besides me, who's going through the same thing right now?
Dean faced his brother's accusing gaze unfavorably. He looked embarrassed, wiped his mouth and tried to argue shortly afterwards in an insecure voice:
- Listen, Sammy, I'll take care of things for you...
- You manage?! he shouted. And how do you manage, Dean? How? I'm interested to know. You don't even have the courage to face reality, so why don't you tell me the name of the person who's stirring your guts, huh? Are you too ashamed to tell the truth?
Dean gritted his teeth and returned Sam's biting stare, but didn't go overboard. He didn't want to fight with him and, pointing at him, repeated:
- No need to talk about this for hours. Do you understand me? What's in our heads right now means absolutely nothing, it's not even worth paying attention to. There's only one thing that matters, and that's finding the cure for this... this thing this ginger son-of-a-bitch did to us, and then it'll be history.
- Have you listened to a single word I've said to you yesterday? You insist that we're victims of some kind of spell, but that's another matter! The books are clear: it's not coming from them! It's coming from us!
Dean recoiled in horror. His eyes widened, and in a scolding tone of icy calm, he cut in, pointing at his brother more threateningly:
- Get a fucking grip, Sam. Think about it, forget the books, how can you believe something like that? That's part of the trick, to make you believe that what you're feeling was already there, come on, realize it: if it were true, that would mean you already had... views on me, for God's sake, but... you see, that's nonsense...
Sam didn't let go of his belligerent gaze, admitting that he wasn't fundamentally wrong, because such desires had never been felt in this way before. But he wasn't as sure as Dean that, even if they'd never been aware of it, this attraction was just an illusion, and determined to get to the bottom of it he asserted without thinking about his brother's reaction:
- Which would mean you had just as much on me. Right, Dean?

Sam saw the latter choke, and his darting eyes subtly distorted, veiling themselves in a kind of violent fright. The youngest of the siblings didn't change his expression or his attitude, continuing to stare at his brother with determination, and in the face of his grave and serious air, Dean finally replied, his voice knotted and the muscles in his neck contracted to the extreme:
- What did you say?
- Come on, cut the crap,” he persisted. Not with me, okay? I'm not deaf or blind, I've noticed things too, and your refusal to answer made me realize that it's me you're feeling something towards. We're both in the same situation, so pull your head out of the sand for once and admit it!
An irrational terror took hold of Dean, who felt tiny droplets of perspiration breaking out at the base of each of his hairs. His heart raced, and despite his urge to fiercely deny his brother's allegations, he remained petrified with shame at having been caught out. Where? When had Sam realized? His fear of being confronted in detail with what he knew to be true thus held him back from challenging his younger brother to prove his point, and although he felt heavily burdened to hear from his mouth the authentic translation of the emotions he was striving to fight, he gathered his strength to remain dignified and keep a composure.
- I'm not having this discussion with you,” he spat in an imperious warning, his eyes bulging. Do you hear me? No way.
It was a form of admission, but Sam took no comfort in it. It was the moment when neither of them could pretend any longer, the moment when each of them would have to admit to the other the reality of the problem, beyond shame or questioning of any kind, and that moment had come.
- Okay,” said Sam, shaking his head in displeasure, with a sorry look on his face. Stick your head in the sand, if you like. After all, it's your thing.
Dean, at that moment, lost all the composure he'd been trying to maintain, and pushed into a corner, almost forced to confess the impossible impulses that hadn't let go of him for three days, he vituperated, explosively:
- Damn it, Sam, damn it... What do you want me to say! This is crazy stuff, I'd be stunned to even think it could have any basis in reality! All I want is for us to find a way to get these ideas out of our heads and forget they ever existed! We're brothers at last, damn it! You don't realize!
- Are you saying that because it's really what you think,” Sam asked in a tone as measured as it was provocative, ”or because it's just easier than asking yourself the real questions?
Dean's gaze flared up so much that his brother thought he was about to unhinge his jaw.
- I'm not gay, okay?! shouted the eldest Winchester as he sprang to his feet.
- Because I am? retorted Sam, who chose to control his nerves to counter Dean's loss of control. That's not what this is about. But what do you think we're going to solve if you refuse to face the truth?
Rarely had Sam seen his brother so beside himself. Dean stood in front of him, unsettled, furious, revolted, but no matter how violent these emotions were, none was strong enough to hide the fear that gripped him.
- Okay,” he vomited, his face flushed and his voice trembling with nervousness, fed up with being called a coward and a liar. Do you want the truth? You told me, so I'm going to tell you, it's true, you're right. All these crazy ideas I've had in my head since Gloucester... Crazy things I never thought I'd think of... It's all about you, I admit.
He opened his arms, then added:
- Satisfied?
The confession had been so hard to make, and suddenly seemed to make so real something that, until then, had remained as if confined to the rank of harmless delirium, that tears of rage seemed to glisten in Dean's eyes, his throat tighter than a knotted rag. Sam felt a sharp pang in his heart, and glumly, dejectedly, almost shattered by what he'd just heard, he confided in an extinguished voice:
- No, it's not. Nothing about what's happening satisfies me, Dean.
He lifted his chin briefly and looked away, trying to hide the immense spite that afflicted him. In an unbearable silence, he searched for his place, for something to say or do now that he'd given himself away, but he saw no other solution than to flee to stop exposing his mortification to his brother's eyes. And full of bitterness, for a thousand and one reasons, he soon took a shuffling step towards the door, saying simply, in a distressed voice:
- I don't know what good it did you, but I hope it did you some good to spill the beans.
The opposite was true, and Sam was left alone, as he had been the night before, torn between fear and anger, doubt and remorse, undermined by the feeling that he had irreparably broken something between him and his brother.

The heated, almost unexpected explanation they'd had left the younger Winchester notably shaken. Things had unfolded faster and more intensely than he'd imagined, as if the things left unsaid had only been waiting for an opportunity to surface, but what had he gained from getting the truth from Dean? Sam stood in the kitchen for a long moment, pondering this question over his cold meal, considering that the unspeakable embarrassment in which he had placed his brother was certainly not conducive to combining their efforts to resolve their problems. Was a constructive dialogue now possible? Was the vexation of having been the only one to admit reality without being forced to do so worth the damage?

The matter was still unresolved when Sam left the kitchen, befuddled, nauseous and determined to take a long shower to clear his head. Despite Dean's reaction, which he understood, he couldn't turn his back on the idea that acceptance of their troubles was an indispensable prerequisite to their resolution, although he didn't know how. In retrospect, his brother's behavior at Gloucester became clear and limpid; his nervousness when they were close to each other, his masturbation in the bathroom, at the memory of which Sam could still feel his arousal rising powerfully, even though his head was elsewhere... The fact that, from the very beginning, they had secretly shared the same feelings for each other was of great interest to him, because in the light of what he had discovered about the powers of Erotes, it forced them to question the profound nature of their feelings, and the very foundations of their identity.
Dean, for the moment, was incapable of such introspection. Sam understood this, and wasn't at all surprised, given his brother's propensity for knowingly denying facts over which he had no control. He himself was no more comfortable considering that their encounter with the triad could have been nothing more than a trigger, but he knew that it was a logical hypothesis if the manuscripts spoke the truth. The moral dilemma that lay ahead was a major one, and seen from this angle, understanding the extremes to which those who had triggered the beginning of this investigation had come to was less difficult.

Sam felt he needed that shower more than ever. To wake up, to perhaps clarify his thoughts, and even to reset, as it were, his ability to reflect and analyze a situation which, in addition to eluding him more and more, was undoubtedly also leading him to make unwise decisions. As he went to his room to pick up some clean linen, he continued to think about Dean, dreading the next time he would find himself face to face with him. Wondering whether he should seek to provoke the event or wait for it to happen, he went shirtless, abandoning his clothes at the foot of the bed, before realizing that he usually undressed in the bathroom instead. Realizing from his change of behavior that he was truly disturbed, Sam simply removed his belt and took only his towel, which he threw over his bare shoulder, telling himself that if he had to change his habits, he'd get a bathrobe when he got out of the shower and come back to dress quietly afterwards.
He then made his way to the bathroom and entered wearily, unable to get the clash with Dean out of his mind. Without even glancing around the vast, brightly-lit room, whose fittings they'd upgraded over the years to break away from the locker-room showers that characterized the place, he took off his shoes by the door, hanging his t-shirt and towel on the peg just to his left, next to an ivory bathrobe, popped the buttons on his fly one by one, then grabbed both edges of his jeans, at hip level, to get rid of them.

He barely had time to lower them to just below his buttocks, including his shorts, before the white curtain of the farthest shower, one of two large white tubs side by side along the west wall, suddenly opened to reveal Dean, dripping in Adam's clothes, his fingertips still grazing the taps he'd just turned off.

The surprise was total and immediate for both of them. To the astonishment of finding themselves in each other's presence, when each had thought they were alone, was added the astonishment of seeing themselves naked or nearly so, and the shock this provoked, particularly in the context that was currently theirs, made them freeze as suddenly as an animal in the headlights of a car. Too dumbfounded to speak, the reason for the prostrate silence they observed lay elsewhere, for almost instantly, their eyes locked on to each other's bodies, and neither Sam nor Dean was able to tear themselves away. Pupils dilated, the latter looked at his brother stripped down to his hips and immediately felt his blood boil at the golden color of his skin, the vigor of his square shoulders and his slightly hairy torso. As if stunned, Dean literally swooned over the strength of her outstretched arms, and fixed glassy eyes on the curve of her fleshy buttocks, which he found to be of the utmost splendor. In doing so, he forgot that he himself was exposing his full frontal nudity, but this hadn't escaped Sam who, staring and prostrate for the same reasons as his eldest, was discovering for the first time the violent beauty of the latter's body. He gazed at her firm torso, her pectoral muscles adorned with the only anti-demon tattoo, the dynamism of her flanks, her bare, glistening skin from which thin streams of water flowed, and spent an indefinite time contemplating her wet sex, which was at last completely revealed, the magnificent sex he'd only caught a glimpse of the other night. It was as if a volcanic eruption had taken place at the scale of his body, so overwhelmed was he by the fire that engulfed his entire being, and before Dean's opulent penis, crowned with dark fleece and weighted with heavy bursae, he too remained paralyzed, hermetically sealed to the fact that by leaving his posterior in the open air, he was provoking an influx of testosterone in his brother whose level rapidly began to go through the roof.
By some elementary physiological reaction, Dean's erection sprang to life before Sam's stunned eyes. He then regained just enough self-control to hastily pull up his pants and force his brother to come to his senses.

- I... I'm... I'm... I'm sorry,” stammered the youngest of the siblings, turning in a panic, ”I didn't know you were here, I thought it was free, I...
No matter how hard he tried to fasten his fly, the buttons stubbornly refused to go through their buttonholes, and his state of upset was at least as much the cause as the doubling in volume of his genitals. As he continued to struggle to buckle his jeans, which he only managed to do by getting one row wrong and missing a button, he heard his brother finally emerge from the shower, muttering three incomprehensible words, and guessed that he was going to grab a bathrobe near one of the two sinks, just opposite on the opposite wall. The moment was one of unprecedented discomfort, a source of nameless embarrassment, and it was almost back to back, separated from him by almost three meters, that Dean finally mumbled, his voice as if muffled in felt:
- It's nothing, it's... I just finished, you... I'll leave the place to you.
Without daring to move, Sam waited to see him move towards the door, but Dean took another long second to tie the belt of his bathrobe. When he finally got moving, he turned towards the shower room entrance, pivoting to the side that avoided knocking Sam directly into his field of vision, but the latter persisted in remaining prostrate near the entrance and Dean walked noiselessly with stiff steps, obviously trying to make himself as small as possible. Turning towards the wall, Sam anxiously felt him coming towards him, and pretending to be busy hanging his T-shirt on the coat hook, he waited for his brother to reach his height before pivoting in turn towards the center of the room and taking a step forward.
At that moment, they brushed against each other with their shoulders.

It was as if the finger of a superior entity, able to control their every move, had just pushed a stop button. The two men froze again, very close to each other, embraced by a shiver of pure desire that the minute contact between their bodies, which had hitherto done nothing but run away from each other while vainly searching for each other, brought to unprecedented heights. With his heart pounding in his chest, Sam was seized with the infernal urge to rip Dean's belt off and open his bathrobe; the memory of her scent returned with terrible violence, and he felt an indescribable need to access her sex, which he had only just begun to see rising before his eyes and which immediately became an obsession. Never before had he felt with such clarity the insane desire he harbored for his brother, but in this instant, everything appeared to him with total limpidity: he craved him, no more, no less, in defiance of morality or propriety, more than any of the women who had shared his bed, and this feeling was so powerful, so omnipresent in his mind, that he no longer even tried to question it.
Dean, for his part, was no better off. From the corner of his eye, he could make out every detail of his brother's bare shoulder, the grain of his skin, the splendor of his delicately tanned complexion, the vigor of his musculature, and to his nostrils rose, intoxicating, the tiny peppery tones of his scent. The strangely placed knot of his belt did its best to hide it, but the eldest sibling's sex was in phenomenal turmoil. However, Sam's shoulder was nothing compared to the rest of his body - his torso, his arms, his neck - which bombarded Dean with signals as blinding as they were deafening, and the image of his brother's barely glimpsed, magnificent buttocks overwhelmed him with a thirst for sex even greater than the need for blood that had hit him when he'd turned into a vampire. He could no longer hear himself think, the blood pounding in his arteries, and almost lost his mind and entered a second state dominated by his fiercest impulses, but he found the strength not to succumb to his baser instincts, and remained master of his actions.
And moving away from Sam, who, prostrate as prey under the threat of a predator, waited until the end to see how they would escape each other, he strode resolutely out of the bathroom.
The door closed completely, and the youngest Winchester heard himself breathe again, with a hoarse, trembling breath. The after-effects of the intense moment of bewilderment that had just taken place were rudely felt, like physical fatigue after a violent effort, and, his ideas in turmoil, Sam sought to regain his footing, while Dean's departure caused him a kind of emptiness. Pushing his hair back, he wetted his hand with all the sweat that covered his scalp, and looked around for a moment, looking lost, not knowing what to do now that his brother, to whom he had felt drawn like a magnet, was no longer there. In a way, Sam praised this absence, so much so had he perceived how the vision of Dean's naked body had turned his head, but he also felt a vivid regret for it, a disappointment with a bitterness as concentrated as acid, for he now realized, not without a palpable fright, that he would have been ready to cross the line and let things go where their mutual desire should lead them.

Imagining himself compromising himself by indulging in such an unnatural act as committing the sin of the flesh with his own brother, filled his mind with a curious mixture of repulsion and excitement. Repulsion, because he'd never have believed himself capable of contemplating breaking such a taboo; excitement, because every fibre of his body was craving it. His sex more erect than ever, he finished stripping off his clothes and went straight to the shower Dean had just occupied. He drew the curtain and turned the taps to their maximum, allowing himself to be covered by the cascade of hot water that cascaded over the top of his head before running down his entire body, every inch of skin soon wet. Had he been wrong to dismiss out of hand the possibility that madness was at the root of these implausible desires? Despite what he'd learned from the Erotes, he couldn't believe that he really and consciously wished to fornicate with his own blood. And yet... Right now, more than ever, that was what he wanted.

His wish was granted. Behind him, the curtain abruptly opened again, and Sam didn't even have time to finish turning his head before he felt his brother's hand press roughly against his trapezius, just below his neck, forcing him to press his cheek against the cold shower tiles.
- Oh yes,” groaned Sam, who, euphoric, understood immediately and unexpectedly what was going to happen. Yes, go ahead, Dean... Go for it!
His most insane dream about to become reality, the youngest of the siblings closed his eyes and smiled in bliss, glued to the pavement, without thinking about anything other than his primary needs. He anchored his legs firmly on the earthenware tub, dug into his narrow loins, stretched back his sublime, water-dripping posterior, and suddenly felt something warm and infinitely hard touch the deep parting between his buttocks.
- Oh,” he sighed, smiling in delight, his voice choppy with overexcitement. Yeah, put it on me, go ahead...
His brother's hand pressing manfully on the back of his neck gave him goose bumps despite the warmth of the water that continued to spray him. Dean suddenly let go to release his hand, but Sam remained in exactly the same position, waiting, panting, to be served up to his expectations. He then saw his eldest grab the bottle of shower gel on the soap dish, and heard him summon it in an imprecatory tone that finally subdued him completely:
- Shut up, Sammy.
He smiled wider, his eyelids closed in delight, then heard the cap pop and the liquid escape. Behind his back, Dean breathed harder and faster, and suddenly, unable to suppress a gasp of surprise, Sam felt a sticky hand reach between his buttocks to slather his anus with a cool, unctuous fluid. He contracted only for a moment, only to relax and discover a new pleasure in feeling his brother's fingers eagerly caressing him, stunned by his incredible audacity. Dean didn't shy away, spreading the cleansing cream until it lathered between his brother's buttocks, until the latter's orifice became so slippery that he could enter his first phalanges, and encouraged by the half-stifled moans of his younger brother who, with all his desires brutally fulfilled, was having a fabulous experience, the overexcited elder Winchester immediately coated his turgid sex with soap along its entire length. He then grabbed it at its base, threw his pelvis forward and promptly slammed it into Sam's anus, where it crashed down hard.

Sam, then, took the full measure of what was trying to get inside him, and even though his sphincter had been lubricated as much as possible, he felt it struggle to widen enough to open the passage to his brother's glans, as imposing as he was stubborn. With a slight, determined grunt, Dean pressed a little harder on the back of his neck, and hooking his hip with his free hand, he pushed harder and finally penetrated him, his phallus ripping through his anus like a dagger through flesh. Sam had the dizzying sensation that a white-hot steel rod had just been inserted into him, and unable to stop it plunging into his bowels despite the reflex contraction of his muscles, he stood there breathless, feeling Dean's penis slide deeper and deeper into him. Strange sensations, mingled with pleasure and pain, like two intersecting lines, forced themselves upon him as his brother's member ruthlessly took its ease, but his desires were so eminently fulfilled that he needed little more than a few moments to get used to this hitherto unknown presence. Completely open to all the signals his body was sending him, Sam, abandoning himself entirely to depravity and allowing himself to be covered by Dean, soon felt the latter's torso weighing heavily on his back, then it was his hand that he felt pass under his side to come down, wide open and hungry, on his wet-haired chest. He felt her nails digging into his pectoral muscles, her breath growing louder and louder in his ear, but most of all, he felt it moving in and out of his rectum, and the electric shocks it gave him sent the youngest of the siblings over the moon.
- O... Yes!” he mooed, taking all the pleasure he could from his virginity. Like this, yeah... Get it in there!
Putting his money where his mouth was, he reached back to grab his brother's left buttock and urge him to penetrate even further, but Dean had already pushed his sex in so deep that his pubic hair was sticking to Sam's buttocks. The elder of the two men, like a rutting animal, was quickly galvanized by the unheard-of sensation of possessing his younger brother's body so completely, and emboldened by the pleasure he saw himself giving him, he gave himself over to coitus, drunk with the ecstasy of feeling his sex move in that soft, tight sheath which, despite the shower water, made him sweat profusely. With passion and oblivion, Dean sodomized Sam as if nothing else existed, thrusting his body ever further, ever deeper, with such gusto that his egg-hard bursae ended up clashing with his brother's to the rhythm of his ahans. With his younger brother's anus and rectum now perfectly molded to his shape, Dean continued to take him voraciously and, overcome with shivers of pure pleasure, soon laid his cheek on the back of his neck to bite his shoulder, their soaked bodies tightly bound. Sam, who'd never thought he'd exult so much, just wanted this moment to never end, and while begging him to continue, he overcame Dean's resistance with cries of pleasure that made him give thanks.
- Sammy,” he uttered with a distraught moan. Sammy...!
And clutching his brother's massive torso between his arms as if suddenly afraid of seeing him slip away, Dean ejaculated inside Sam's body with a force that made his skull vibrate. His hands moved down his younger brother's hard belly as he emptied himself into him, reaching his short pubis where they pricked themselves on the short hairs that remained there, then tackled his rock-hard sex, and when Dean discovered the remarkable proportions of his brother's penis, he took hold of it with his right hand while gripping his testicles with his left. Dean's kneading fingers, combined with the unfamiliar sensation of spurts of boiling sperm deep in his guts, drove Sam to orgasm, and the half-long-haired young man didn't resist two seconds before ejaculating profusely into his hands, joining his older brother's grunts of pleasure.

They had come together, and it was together that they gradually came to their senses. As the fever that had so brutally set them ablaze subsided, as they gradually silenced their moans, their bodies slowly relaxed, as if realizing the madness that had animated them simultaneously numbed their muscles. Both brothers began to breathe heavily, short of breath, and as they tried to catch their breath they broke the harmony that had accompanied them during the senseless act they had just committed. Dean's hands soon seemed to consider that they no longer had any place on Sam's body, and were the first to break contact with his skin, before the whole body of the elder of the two men suddenly shuddered with doubt and confusion, echoing the erratic breathing that began to be heard. Already aware that grace had fled, Sam instinctively sought to benefit further from his brother's presence against him, and it was without reacting physically but mentally overwhelmed, that he suddenly perceived the dread that seized Dean when the latter hastily withdrew from him, like a hand removed from fire. At that moment, only the sound of water continued to be heard, and as the warmth of Dean's torso disappeared along with his weight on his back, Sam felt him pull away from him, without him daring to say anything or turn around, not even when he heard him hurriedly leave the scene with a frightened step.

Chapter Text

As if nothing had happened, Sam had continued showering for a long time, then dried himself off dutifully before returning to his room to put on fresh clothes. But while on the surface things might appear quite normal, the emptiness that had taken hold of him was abysmal, and coping with it seemed almost superhuman.

He'd gone from impromptu bliss to such a sense of affliction, he thought he'd returned to the time of his worst demon-blood withdrawal attacks. He couldn't believe that what had happened had actually happened, and yet he was acutely aware that it had. Paradoxically, when he thought about what he'd done, when he thought about the way he moaned and arched his loins like a cat in heat, he immediately felt as if it had been an improbable dream, or that it had happened to someone other than him, even though his body was there to remind him implacably, if need be, that he hadn't been dreaming and that he'd indeed been sodomized by his own brother. His anus, which he could feel throbbing, returned a sensation of lively heat and was as sensitive as could be; what's more, everything he'd felt when Dean's penis had penetrated him to its full length - a surreal memory - was still as fresh to his senses as if his brother were still inside him.
Ashamed as he was, Sam couldn't help wondering how he could have lost control so completely. His head began to spin and his heart to race every time he tried to imagine the consequences his actions would produce, or opened a lucid gaze on their scope. His conduct was so far removed from what he had always been that he felt he had become a stranger to himself. Cloistered in his room, he also wondered a great deal about the speed and brutality with which things had gotten out of hand, without warning, and the almost bestial way in which he and Dean had given in to their impulses left him as if stunned by the backlash. To innocently fantasize about his brother was one thing. Seeing himself invaded by uncontrolled emotions due to a divine influence and evacuating them by unorthodox means was another, given the circumstances. But having sex with each other?
Sam didn't even know where to start trying to get back on track after that. And imagining the moment when he would have to confront Dean seemed like an impossible ordeal, crushing him under the weight of despair and resignation while his heart, nevertheless, couldn't bring itself to deny the experience they'd had. He didn't try to provoke their meeting; he didn't have the courage. He stayed in his room all morning and into the early afternoon, listening to nothing to break the bunker's oppressive silence - not the sound of footsteps, voices or displaced objects - just waiting for Dean, perhaps, to show up. Sam wasn't surprised when he didn't. And when he finally decided to leave his room, more out of the dreary certainty that he wouldn't run into his brother than out of the hope of being able to explain himself to him, the youngest Winchester, after a quick tour of the premises, had to face the facts: he was alone, and a visit to the garage removed all his doubts on the matter when he realized that the Impala had also disappeared.
Disillusioned, he understood better than in any other way the state Dean was in, and ended up sending him this message by phone when he realized he couldn't contact him any other way:
“We'll talk about it when you're ready. It's not our fault. Don't worry.”

As he read these few words, Dean felt an unspeakable relief wash over him, and the terror that had gripped him all day evaporated so violently that tears nearly welled up in his eyes. It didn't change his immeasurable sense of guilt, but seeing in his brother's message that he didn't hate him for the terrible act he'd committed, lightened the immense burden weighing on his shoulders.

It was not far from five o'clock and the neon of the motel where he had taken refuge glowed intermittently through his window. Shortly after the event, he'd jumped in his car and, panic-stricken, fled, driving in who knows which direction, or to where, until he stopped at some bar where he'd churned out drink after drink before sleeping it off in the adjoining motel. He couldn't bring himself to go home, nor to call Sam, convinced that he was now cursing him. What he'd done had plunged Dean into unimaginable turmoil, but more than that, it was the visceral fear of having lost his brother that had ruthlessly gnawed away at him for hours on end, at least until he'd received that SMS he'd been reading over and over again for several minutes already.

He wanted to cling to the idea that he still existed for Sam. But although he had regained hope that the ties that bound them together would last, the colossal means he thought he would have to use to make amends for his crime were beyond his comprehension. Dean couldn't stop thinking about what he'd done to his brother; the gestures, the sounds, the sensations, all looped back in his head and it was torture. If Sam didn't curse him, he did it for two, and mortified, racked with remorse, he hated himself as much as he hated the Erotes.
How could he accept the nature of his actions, how could he live with the infinite guilt that was devouring his guts? Sitting miserably at the small round table in the motel room, eyes reddened and looking ten years older, he had one hand clenched around a half-empty whiskey bottle and the other crutching his forehead, barred with wrinkles. He felt like a monster; that he'd committed the ultimate sin, an atrocity worse than those he'd been forced to perpetrate when Hell had made him its executioner. Again and again, he saw himself stepping out of the bathroom, then feeling his veins suddenly begin to boil, to the point where he began to believe that this was what Sam wanted, and enslaved by unspeakable desires that he had nevertheless tried with all his might to reject, he saw himself returning to his younger self in the shower, dropping his bathrobe and joining him. What he'd done made him want to vomit. For the meaning of the gesture, and for the pleasure he'd taken in it, so intense he could still feel the echo. Dean had already judged and condemned himself as a desecrator of his brother's body and gravedigger of the values most important to him, as a traitor to their blood ties and the trust they'd always placed in each other, he felt like the worst vermin to walk this earth, and the more he thought about it, the more he told himself that Sam's benevolent message was perhaps making things even more unbearable.
He had freed himself from the terror of having lost his brother, but another, even worse, came to choke his heart, for if Sam had begun to hate him fiercely, at least he would have been spared having to meet his gaze.
He jumped when his phone suddenly rang, every hair on his body bristling like a cornered cat, but the call wasn't from Sam. It was Castiel.
- Yes, Cass,” he said in a hoarse voice, trying to put on a brave face after taking a while to pick up.
- Dean? Is that you?
- Yes,” he answered after a second, stifling an exasperated sigh at the pointless question. Go ahead.
- Dean, it's Castiel.
The hunter almost bit into his phone, but managed to stay calm, perhaps helped by the extreme overwhelm he was feeling. He tried to forget how his friend sometimes recaptured his original candor in spite of himself, and replied:
- Yes, I know it's you, Cass... So, what's new?
Dean was already regretting accepting the call. He'd wanted to pick up the phone, in the hope of finally gathering some useful information to help solve the case, but suddenly remembered that even if he pierced the hearts of the three deities, nothing would change what he'd done because of them. He had thought that talking to Castiel might have distracted his thoughts from the crime he had committed, but immediately realized that it only added to his distress.
- I don't have good news,” announced the angel. My lead in Crete seems to be going nowhere.
Dean took it in stride, but wasn't overly surprised. From the start, everything in this case had been going wrong, and at this point, he saw no reason for it to change.
- Really?
- Sadly, yes. I've still got a few details to check out, but it's not going the way I'd hoped.
- Okay,” said Dean after a silent sigh, his tone heavy and his voice quavering. Listen, Cass... Do the best you can and come back. Just don't take any unnecessary risks. And thanks for... What you're doing.
Castiel, intrigued, tried to gauge the psychological state of his friend, whom he sensed was feverish. He was silent for a moment, then asked in a worried tone:
- Dean, is everything all right? You seem... upset.
For a brief moment, the interested party almost opened up. But he couldn't.
- Watch your feathers, okay? See you soon.
And he hung up, dropping the phone on the table before burying his face in his hands. What was he going to do now? He had no idea, and his confusion was terrible. He didn't even care that Castiel hadn't found a way to make the Erotes pay, because his worries lay elsewhere. An abyss seemed to have opened up before him, threatening to engulf him at the slightest attempt to remedy the catastrophe he had provoked and which was plunging him into extreme despair.

So, to get back to the surface and breathe a little more air, he did what he knew how. With the help of a timely phone call, whether by chance or providence, Dean was called out two hours later by another hunter on the trail of vampires, a hundred kilometers from his position, and he didn't hesitate for more than two seconds before agreeing to lend a hand. He drove at breakneck speed, as if trying to leave his unbearable burden behind him, and once there, the destruction of the nest, despite the darkness, was clean and swift. Of the six vampires gathered in the abandoned barn, Dean decapitated four, and returned to his primal instincts, fulfilling his mission without batting an eyelid, praising this outlet for his torments. Vick, his short-lived partner, remained impressed by his strength, which he likened to demon rage, saying quite bluntly that it should be taken as a compliment, and they parted after sharing a beer on the hood of the still-warm car.
Dean was tempted for a moment to stay, though. Vick had made it clear that he wouldn't have minded associating him with some of the less advanced hunts he was more or less following, and the idea almost seduced him. It would have been an easy way to occupy his mind away from the Erotes, who had defeated him, away from the bunker, away from Sam... but did he want to get away from his brother? Despite the panic that gnawed at his stomach at the thought of seeing him again, and the lure of escape, he declined Vick's timid offer. The vampire hunt, if not assuaged his remorse, had at least convinced him that he now had bitter demons to exorcise, if he was to regain any control over his existence, and whether he could or couldn't, he owed it to himself to at least try, whatever the cost.

It was in the early hours of the morning, shortly before dawn, that he finally decided to return to the bunker. Both resigned to running into Sam and hoping to avoid a confrontation which, because of his own choice to return, was inevitable, Dean gambled that it was still too early, even for his brother, for their reunion to take place now. When he opened the armored door, which creaked on its hinges, he returned to the familiar atmosphere and smells of his home, dimly lit by the vigil lamps lining the walls, and it was with bated breath that he descended the iron staircase into the silence and gloom, expecting at any moment to see Sam appear before him. He realized that it had been almost twenty-four hours since he had deserted the premises, without a word, and that he hadn't been heard from since, despite rejected calls and unanswered messages. Was Sam anxiously awaiting his return? Or did he just not care what happened to him? Dean would have paid dearly to know the answer, but was glad that his brother, obviously absent, was probably asleep.

Since he was covered in blood and dirt, he headed straight for the bathroom without finding a soul in sight, the same bathroom where he had committed the irreparable act, and locked himself in, deciding to remain cloistered there as long as possible, in search of refuge but also to do penance.
He didn't emerge until an hour later, stripped of his clothes, and his first move was to lock himself up again, this time in his room. Walking up the corridor to his quarters, with the nagging fear of running into Sam before he reached his destination, was more exhausting than many a battle he'd fought, and when he arrived at his door, without having seen or even heard his brother, he felt so relieved and at the same time so ill that he went and sat down on the floor, against one edge of the bed, to take a long breath before getting up and lying slowly sideways on the mattress. Totally distraught, he continued to replay recent events in his mind, unable to stop thinking about what he had done, and his despair only grew, like the aggravation of an infection for which there was no cure.
At a certain point, the deafening silence and the whirlwind of his dark thoughts became so unbearable that he put on some music, simply turning on the transistor with no interest in the nature of the sound that escaped. How long did he spend here, scourging himself inwardly without managing to find even a semblance of peace? Another hour? More? Driven by this suffocating feeling that crushed his heart, a thousand times he almost got up to go and look for his brother, and a thousand times he stopped himself, so paralyzed was he by the terror of looking into his own eyes. Where could he find the insulting strength to look him in the face, what words could he say to him after what had happened? To what end?
In his appalling analysis of the situation, Dean was unable to conceive that there could be any other way of reacting to what had taken place the day before, and although Sam had reached out to him, he remained convinced that his ties with his brother were, at best, permanently damaged, and that there was no conventional way of repairing what had been broken. Obsessed by his sacrilegious actions, which he couldn't come to terms with, he was unable to put himself in Sam's shoes, so he didn't for a second anticipate the moment when he heard her knock gently on his door.
- Dean...? I heard you come in earlier... Are you all right?

At the sound of his brother's voice, partially covered by the background noise, the elder of the two men was struck by a terrible shiver that took his breath away. With every hair on his body standing on end, he slowly sat up, his heart pounding, and remained sitting soundlessly on the edge of the bed, petrified. With the naivety of his childhood fears, he imagined, or rather hoped, that if he remained silent, if he answered nothing, then Sam would decide to leave and the confrontation he so dreaded would not take place. For a brief moment, he really believed it.
- Dean,” his brother soon repeated in as soothing a tone as possible. I just... I just want to talk, you and me, I... I understand how you feel, but please don't shut yourself off. Please don't.
How could Sam understand? Overcome with remorse, Dean had the sudden urge to shout at him that it wasn't him who had abused his brother, and that consequently he could hardly understand, contrary to what he claimed. Teeth and fists clenched, he would have liked to find the strength to apologize, to beg his younger brother to forgive him his crime, but he only managed to stay there, frozen on his bed, eyes reddened and features hollowed out by pain and self-loathing, just wanting with all his might for Sam to go away, even if it was deep down the last thing he really wanted.
- We've seen it all before,” Sam tried again shortly afterwards, his voice uncertain. Not like this, it's true, but... we've been through so much, you and me, that... Dean, can you hear me?
But he couldn't overcome his prostration. To re-engage with his brother, to face his gaze despite his soothing words, was decidedly too much to ask of the elder Winchester, who, crushed by the urge to accept Sam's terrifying offer of peace without power, soon found it impossible to escape the torture inflicted on him by the sweetness of his younger brother's words except to turn up the volume on the radio. Sam, then, said nothing more, and after a few moments the young man gave up, walking away and leaving Dean alone to face his distress and his impossible desire to yell at him to come back.

Sam spent the rest of the day in a gloomy mood. Bitter and saddened by his failure to re-establish a dialogue with Dean, he followed his brother's example and retired to his room to brood, not without futilely keeping a constant eye on the screen of his telephone, naively thinking that perhaps his brother would dare to speak to him more easily by this means. Apart from the countless times Sam woke up the device to check for the highly unlikely presence of a call or message he hadn't been notified of, the brick of plastic and glass remained mute. And the younger of the two men came to doubt very seriously whether his elder would ever want to speak to him again.
He could have stayed a long time nurturing dark thoughts, but decided to force himself to move, and shortly after noon, faced with his brother's stubborn silence, which he reluctantly accepted, Sam went through the kitchen to glean some food before heading for the library. He picked up one of the books he'd used to identify the Erotes, and sank into an armchair in a corner, opening the book but wondering about his responsibility for the unnatural act he'd committed with his brother. He thought back to his reaction in the shower, to the way he'd acted when he'd let out the full expression of his desire, the moment he'd felt Dean's body against his own. It was that moment that had undoubtedly sealed everything, and he'd been wondering ever since it had happened whether he should have acted differently. If he would act differently, if he could go back. He felt that asking the question was tantamount to giving the answer, despite the moral stance and established propriety to which he had always conformed, and he felt relatively at peace with this. He was aware that the events that had transpired would never have taken place had it not been for that encounter with the triad of divine entities they'd confronted in Gloucester, but despite the distance and rupture the situation had created between Dean and himself, Sam, if he wanted to admit the cold analysis he was making of it, was not in a position to decree with certainty that it was a bad thing.

He thought about it long and hard, so much so that he didn't notice his brother right away, when the latter arrived, against all expectations, at a slow and perfectly silent pace. Dark jeans under a black jersey covered by a khaki shirt whose sleeves he'd rolled up, Dean appeared with an unconcealable feverishness, and the absolute confusion that distorted his eyes was the first thing that caught Sam's eye when he saw his elder standing a few yards away, haggard and excruciatingly overwhelmed. A sharp twist twisted the stomach of the youngest sibling, who had almost given up hope of ever seeing a face-to-face materialize, and as he slowly stiffened he remained aiming at Dean with wide, expectant, anxious eyes, not daring to say anything for fear of annihilating this timid response to the hand he had extended. Dean seemed to be in infinite distress, and his shining eyes gave Sam a blank, almost desperate look. Time seemed to stand still for an indefinite period, and silence was all that bound the two brothers together for a long time. Then Dean's lips seemed to part, leading Sam to believe that he was at last going to speak to him, but it was a sigh of pain that escaped, and unable to hold his brother's gaze any longer, the elder suddenly turned away, moaning:
- God, I can't even look you in the face anymore...
He took two steps towards the study table and leaned on it with one hand, his back turned. Sam remained silent: the resumption of contact began in a tone he had imagined less peaceful.
- How... can you bear to stay in the same room with me, after what I've done to you?” Dean soon resumed in a hoarse voice, without turning around.
Sam remained staring at his brother, looking grave but without hatred or anger towards him.
- I don't... I don't know what came over me,” Dean continued, each syllable a razor's edge across his throat. I... It wasn't me, I didn't mean to, but... I behaved... like an animal... worse than an animal, I... I have no excuse. I know I don't have the right to ask for your forgiveness, but...
He fell silent then, with a choked sob, his throat so knotted that no sound could come out. Sam listened to him breathe, noisily, irregularly, and without saying a word looked at him, his back arched, his fists clenched on the wood of the table, measuring the full extent of his suffering. Dean seemed to have gone to the ultimate end of his strength to come back to him, to assume aloud what had happened, and Sam was well aware of this.
- You don't have to ask my forgiveness,” he declared in a cold but serene tone. What's done is done. I have nothing to forgive you for.

The sound of his brother's voice, much less the nature of his words, sent a shiver through Dean's body. Had the thunder of his heartbeat prevented him from fully understanding what Sam had said? His face contorted with confusion, he turned his head heavily towards his youngest son despite the cost of the gesture, and saw him still sitting pensively in his armchair, before their eyes met when Sam turned to him with eyes filled with calm resignation.
At that precise moment, Dean felt completely naked, exposing his feelings of the moment with as much authenticity and sincerity as possible, like the seed of a fruit from which all the pods have been peeled. He looked at Sam with a distraught expression, and said, deeply shocked:
- What...? What...? What are you talking about, how can you say something like that? Hell, I can't even put into words what happened, I keep thinking about it and it just makes me want to puke! There's no name for what I did! And you're telling me... there's nothing to forgive?
With red eyes and teeth as clenched as his fists, he stared at Sam with a mixture of revolt and incomprehension, shocked beyond belief to see him so passive, so fatalistic, almost indifferent to what had happened to them. Dean refused to believe that his brother could really only have a vague absolution to offer him, and when he saw him suddenly clench his jaws, he thought he would have to face his righteous wrath. But Sam, though visibly annoyed by his elder brother's words, had not taken umbrage for reasons that seemed legitimate to the latter.
- And what would you like me to do?” replied the youngest of the siblings dryly, giving him a stern look. Smash your face in? Smash everything in sight? Wish you dead and get the hell out of here forever?
The statement of possible reactions offended Dean, but he'd imagined each of them as probable, even inevitable, and looking aghast he soon spat out:
- ...Yes! Fuck, but... it would be normal, for God's sake!
He scrutinized his brother without batting an eyelash, watching, heart pounding, for the moment when Sam would deign to let his fury explode, but the latter contented himself with supporting Dean's appalled gaze by waggling his jaws, then stood up and took a few steps to go and put the book down on a corner of the table, saying, turned three-quarters:
- It wouldn't change what we did. It happened, that's the way it is, you have to deal with it. You said you weren't yourself, and seeing the state you're in, I don't need to add another layer to your grief.
Dean remained defeated, completely stunned by his younger son's attitude. An intense chill penetrating him to the marrow of his bones, he soaked up the dreary bitterness with which Sam had expressed himself and, as immobile and fragile as a block of ice, replied with a broken voice, both devastated and terrified to have to make such a statement:
- You sure seem to be able to handle it better than I can.
Sam took the jab without blinking. He seemed to begin to boil, and Dean was certain, this time, that he was going to see him lose his temper. But once again, Sam did nothing of the sort and simply asserted, in an uncompromising tone:
- Listen. What we did... It would never have happened under normal circumstances; that's obvious. But if you'd stopped burying your head in the sand and faced the facts when we were forced to admit the effect of our encounter with the Erotes, you'd have understood that what happened in that shower could happen to us at any time.
Sam saw his brother staring at him with a look he'd never seen before. Dean, horrified, seemed no longer to recognize the man standing in front of him and, his face transfigured by fright, he delivered in a wavering voice, as if from beyond the grave:
- No. No, you can't... accept this.
- I don't accept anything, Dean!” exclaimed Sam. But I'm not refusing anything either! Because I can't afford this luxury, and neither can you!
Dean seemed to receive these words like a fist to the face, and his brother couldn't tell whether he was going to see him faint or vomit first.
- Don't you understand?” the youngest of the siblings tried to make himself heard. This... this thing eating you up, this rejection of what we've done... That's exactly what those who finally lost their heads felt! They were unwilling or unable to accept the consequences of their actions, and remorse consumed them to the point of madness!
- So what!” thundered Dean in a sudden burst of energy. What do you want me to do? Accept what's happened? How can you ask me such a thing?
- Recontextualize, Dean! There's a reason for what happened! If we did this, it's...
- Stop saying that!” he fulminated with a fury that his dejected state would never have led him to suspect. Stop talking about what we've done, as if it were something we were both responsible for! I'm the one at fault! I'm the one responsible, you hear me?!
And he beat his chest to point out that he was the only one to blame, when Sam, taking three steps in his direction, shouted twice as loud, his eyes ablaze:
- WE DID IT! YOU! AND ME! Open your eyes! Stop thinking you're the only one at fault, because you're not!
Dean continued to face his brother with a look divided between fury and pain but, shaken, he didn't retaliate. He was completely collapsed, desperately looking for a way to get some air, and frustrated at his powerlessness to help him, Sam stepped forward a little more to try to support him all the same, pleading with a softened voice and compassionate eyes:
- Please, you've got to stop torturing yourself. It's not your fault, do you understand? You weren't alone; I was there too. And if you're responsible for something, then I'm as responsible as you are, because I didn't do anything to stop you.
Dean suddenly remembered his brother's compliant body. The way he'd let her come against him, the way he'd accompanied and even encouraged her movements, his reaction during the act, right up to the climax of pleasure they'd both taken. The older man hadn't forgotten this aspect of their unnatural union, at least not completely. But, focused on Sam's condemnation of his actions, which he'd been sure he'd have to endure without it having finally taken place, he'd buried in a corner of his memory the troubling attitude of his younger brother who, in addition to offering no resistance to his impulses, had responded to them, it seemed to him confusedly, in an entirely unexpected way. Replaying these confused images in his mind, even as he felt in his flesh the echo of the pleasure he had experienced, Dean almost dared to cling to the consoling idea that if his brother had been as subjected as he was to this mad temptation that had seen them forget each other completely, then perhaps his crime was a little less serious.
But no sooner had this thought taken shape in his mind, than he violently rejected it in a fit of dread.
- Why didn't you do something to stop me, Sam?” he said in a voice as broken as the look in his eyes, yet without a hint of reproach behind his words.
Sam shrugged his shoulders, shaking his head slightly, a disillusioned pout stretching the corner of his mouth.
- Probably for the same reason you came back to the shower,” he replied.
He didn't need to be more explicit, and this confirmation of his fears overwhelmed Dean even more. He let out a long, shuddering sigh, dropped onto the nearest seat, and after a long moment of silence spent staring into the void with a gaze filled with distress and dismay, he groaned in a barely audible way:
- I don't know if I can live with this, Sammy... I feel like I'm going to get hammered just thinking about it, there's got to be... some way... A way to get it out of my head...
Without saying a word, Sam went and sat down not far from him at the study table, leaving a chair between them. He let a moment pass, weighing the words he was about to say to remain neutral and objective, and finally delivered thoughtfully, hands on thighs and legs stretched out in front of him:
- That's what I've been wondering, too... But what? Do you want us to concoct a forgetting potion or... cast an amnesia spell? Or go back in time and never look back? Or do we... sacrifice our souls so as not to care?
At least one of these hypotheses seemed valid to Dean, who timidly suggested:
- Forget it ever happened, that's a solution that would suit me...
He knew from the last word that Sam hadn't taken it well. The latter didn't react verbally, not right away, but Dean knew too well the meaning of his brother's heavy silence and lack of the slightest gesture to doubt it.
- A solution? he finally repeated bitterly. Choosing lobotomy so as not to have to face up to a reality too heavy to look at?
- What else is there to do?” chanted Dean, looking up with red eyes and banging his fist forcelessly on your table. These people, who ended up murdering or killing themselves, would have done it if they could!
- You won't shoot yourself, Sam assured you. And you won't shoot anyone either. You just have to accept what's happened, even if it seems impossible!
Dean didn't seem to be able to conceive of such a thing, but his brother leaned towards him and said firmly:
- Listen to me, I know you blame yourself. Terribly. You tell yourself that your job has always been to look after me, to protect me, and that what you've done is the worst betrayal of all. I understand that, Dean, but you're wrong. What happened probably wouldn't have happened if we hadn't crossed paths with the Erotes, all right, but they're not the only ones at fault.
He paused for a moment, taking a deep breath before continuing under his elder's anxious gaze:
- Like it or not, Pothos only lit the match. I know you don't want to hear this and that it hurts you beyond belief, but if there hadn't been an ounce of desire deep inside us, inside both of us, none of this would have happened.
Sam, having heard himself express his opinion so clearly, felt both muddied and lighter, and he needed to catch his breath, when Dean, for his part, groped for the edge of the table with a feverish arm to lean on and stiffly rise.
- Never, he hammered in an icy voice, turning to Sam with extreme slowness. I've never felt this way about you. Did you hear me?
When Dean's appalled gaze fixed on him, Sam took the time to consider his suffering with respect, because nobody understood it better than he did and he felt he was partly to blame. He nodded gravely, and without taking his eyes off him, replied to his brother across from him:
- So far, neither have I. Not consciously.
The nuance made the older Winchester sway, his face twisting in fright.
- After reading everything we've got on them... it's the only plausible explanation I've come up with,” Sam declared, though he still seemed to be trying to convince himself. All they've done is bring up something..., an ambiguity, a rant... a split-second delirium, the sign of something that was already there but that we preferred to forget or ignore, as if it didn't exist. I tell myself that, after all, with the life we've led so far, all the unimaginable things we've been through... Maybe this wasn't the worst thing that could have happened to us.
A terrible heaviness then seemed to overwhelm him in turn, and feeling him deeply moved, both resigned and melancholy, Dean found himself petrified with terror, as if eternal night had just fallen. If Sam gave up the fight, if he agreed to live with these insane ideas, then it was the end, because in this madness, Dean saw no way out.
- You said it wasn't our fault,” he said hoarsely, thinking back to the text message he'd reread a hundred times. That it would be okay...
Sam slowly raised his eyes and inhaled, taking a long look at his brother before nodding slightly.
- No, it's not our fault. Of course it isn't. With or without Erotes, nobody's responsible for what they feel, Dean.
The latter heard, but the words seemed to reach his eardrums and then fall into an unfathomable abyss. Sam let a few seconds pass, without either of them adding anything, then stood up, pulling one side of his shirt back into place.
- Listen, I... Whatever happens, I want you to know that I won't let you down,” he promised. I know we've been in easier situations to deal with, but there have been worse.
- That only involved the two of us... no,” Dean challenged distressedly. I don't think so.
Sam nodded once more, his eye on the ground, before resuming:
- Just try to forgive yourself. Okay? I don't blame you for anything, and we're both responsible for what happened. It would probably have been better if it hadn't happened, but it did, so we'll just have to deal with it.
He took two steps towards his brother and said, straight into his eyes:
- We're going to make it. I don't know how, but I'm sure we'll get through it. We're in this together, so we'll stick together, no matter what's happened. Will you give it a try?

Dean, at that moment, didn't think he could do it. In stark contrast to his despair, Sam's strange optimism puzzled him, if indeed it was optimism and not denial. He himself had often practiced denial, precisely so as not to disappear into the quicksand of despair, but this time what had happened seemed far too serious, far too heavy a burden on his identity, his respectability and his qualities as a man, to be able to ignore it. His feeling of being swept into a vortex towards the abyss retained all its implacable intensity, and if the moment did arrive when the two brothers parted, putting an end to their discussion, Dean, looking back on it later, would be unable to remember on what words they had parted.

Chapter Text

The battery was holding up well. Levels were good, and the engine as free of dirt as usual. Mechanically, Dean hadn't noticed anything alarming or new since his last inspection, apart from a burnt-out bulb which he'd quickly replaced and, dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt with a chamois over the shoulder, he'd concentrated mainly on the chrome and bodywork, just to erase from his baby's mind any traces of their journey into the territory of the vampires they'd exterminated.

It wasn't nine o'clock yet, but he was almost finished. With a little grease on his arms and dirt on his face, he once again circled the car, which seemed to be broadcasting of its own accord the Led Zeppelin anthology that resonated beautifully in the bunker's ample garage, and he looked rather pleased with the result.
Indeed, the Impala was gleaming.

The end of yesterday had been an ordeal. Between each downed glass of alcohol, Dean had shed tears of anger, and remorse mixed with helplessness had put him over the edge. Sam's compassion, his promises that everything would get better, had only worsened his malaise, because he didn't want to be consoled, let alone washed clean of his crimes. Dean wanted to suffer, to be punished for what he'd done, and the punishment he'd inflicted on himself for hours on end hadn't come close.
Then, broken with fatigue, he had collapsed and slept, forgetting on awakening much of the substance of his dark ideas of the previous day, which he retained in memory in the form of vague shadows and anxieties. He'd sunk to a new low yesterday. He'd contemplated the worst extremes, almost committed potentially irreparable acts; but he hadn't gone through with his mortifying impulses. For, as revolted and desperate as he was, he had been able to cling to the one positive note that made this ordeal a little less unbearable: the certainty that he hadn't lost his brother's love, and that their bond, though undoubtedly changed forever, would somehow endure.

And, especially at the moment, that was the most important thing.

So Dean, opening his eyes at dawn, had finally chosen the side of life. He still felt as bad as ever, but knowing he wasn't all alone, despite the bitter difficulties of being in the same room with Sam, comforted him a little in spite of everything. He wanted to fight again; to find a way, his way of living with what he'd done, and that he couldn't imagine ever forgiving himself for. He still felt the same need to get back at the Triad a hundredfold, but his revenge would come in its own time. For the time being, he almost wanted to believe in his brother's promises of better days, and with the glimmer of hope he had finally seen in their ability to communicate again, restoring the link with him, if he could, was both his priority and his best reason for getting back on his feet.

For all that, he didn't seek her company. He preferred to limit their interactions because dealing with the aftermath was not his only concern. Even though he had felt devastated by the ineffable act he had committed, and was still feeling just as bad two days later, he was forced to admit that the fever that had driven him to madness had not completely subsided, and that the sexual desire he had felt for Sam was still lurking, latent, despite the consequences it had already provoked, forcing him to be vigilant at almost every moment.

His hair bristled when he heard footsteps behind him. But he tried to remain imperturbable and continued to polish the chrome of the Impala, crouching with his back to his brother, who remained for a moment as motionless as he was silent.
- Hey,” he greeted shortly.
There was a noticeable stiffness in his voice that made Dean tense. He clenched his jaws in spite of himself, before pretending to raise his head briefly with a natural air and being too busy with his task to mark the gesture further.
- Hey,” he replied.
And he set to work on the grille, ignoring Sam who, with his shoulders a little knotted and his arms seeming to encumber him more than anything else, tried to start a discussion by saying after a moment:
- I heard the music as I passed in the corridor, and I... I thought I'd come and see how you were doing... If you don't mind. Is everything okay?
Sam thought at first that his brother wouldn't answer, then that he hadn't heard his question, but the volume of the car radio wasn't so high and Dean finally declared in a morose tone:
- It's all right. As well as can be expected...
The youngest Winchester nodded vaguely and pursed his lips, but he was glad to see Dean busy with a task he'd always enjoyed doing. Although why he'd embarked on an overhaul of the Impala was a matter of considerable debate.
- You look a little better than yesterday,” he remarked cautiously. That's good, I'm glad you're starting to get back on track.
Dean stood up but didn't look at him. With his eyes on the hood, where he was hunting for some imaginary dirt, his chest rose noiselessly and he delivered fatalistically:
- It was either that or bang my head against the walls.
He said no more, and Sam was left hungry, his anxiety only rising. He looked at his brother who, passing by on the driver's side to clean the rearview mirror, found himself facing him, and if Dean continued not to look at him, Sam stared at him for a long moment, noting, with a pang in his heart, how turned off he looked.
- Are you going back?” he said suddenly. Is that why you're polishing the car?
He waited anxiously for the answer to this question, which didn't even make Dean flinch, as if he'd only been anticipating the moment when it would be asked. He rubbed the glass of the rearview mirror, then the chrome of the door handle, and affirmed in a monotone:
- No. I'm staying right here.
An unspeakable relief loosened Sam's chest, and he felt his heart start up again and his breathing regain a shaky but regular flow.
- Okay. I thought that... I mean, I thought...
- I know what you thought,” Dean cut in, stepping along the Impala to the trunk side and, this time, practically turning his back on his brother. But I'm going to follow you, Sammy. Since we can't change what's happened, we'll find a way to deal with it. Personally, I have no idea how I'm going to do it, but I'm okay.
Sam felt his throat tighten.
- I'm sorry,” he said. If I'd reacted differently, you wouldn't...
- Stop it,” he said through clenched teeth, both hands on the trunk of the car. Let's not talk about it anymore, okay? We'll try to forget; tell ourselves it was just a bad dream. Maybe that way, I'll end up feeling less disgusted and one of these days, I'll stop thinking about it for a minute or two.
The proposal provoked in Sam a mixture of disappointment and sadness, without him really being able to say why. But he understood Dean's need to bury the indelible memory of the insane moment they'd shared, and he had no intention of making it difficult for him.
- Agreed,” he said with reserve and modesty. We won't talk about it anymore.
Sam said the words reluctantly, and even felt a hint of revolt. He had long been convinced that denying the obvious was not the answer, and that even if they tried to pretend it wasn't there, the turmoil they had become aware of would always remain. He understood that, having shown himself so vulnerable yesterday, Dean felt the vital need to believe that it was possible to regain control of their lives, but the youngest of the siblings believed that they could only do so by agreeing to a far-reaching compromise.
- It's all right with me,” he repeated shortly afterwards, overcome with emotion. What matters is that we stay together. I don't care what happened, I don't want to lose you, Dean. I need you.
It was mutual, Dean was sure Sam knew, but he regretted not daring to tell her. He let his throat unclench, then assured her, somewhat reluctantly accepting that he was the victim of the situation:
- Don't worry, I'll hold out. There are moments... when I tell myself I'll be able to digest it, and others when it's more complicated, but I'll manage. It has to.
There was silence for a moment, ignoring the music coming from the Impala's speakers. Then Sam sniffed briefly, rubbing the tip of his nose, and, voice charged but soothed, resumed softly:
- Anyway, I'm here. If I can be of any help... don't hesitate.
Dean, still with his back to him, nodded furtively and let his brother begin to walk away. But one question nagged at him so much that, despite his reluctance to broach the subject so head-on again, he decided to ask it. He turned back to Sam at last, saw the dark jeans and green sweater he was wearing, with the sleeves rolled up and the open collar revealing the first hairs on his chest, and striving to forget this detail he inquired feverishly:
- Sam... I wanted to ask you... Did I... hurt you?
The interested party, in profile, met his brother's worried gaze and aimed at him, not quite sure he understood the meaning of the question. At Dean's embarrassment, however, he quickly understood what he'd meant, and instantly began to feel Dean's hands on his body, his rock-hard sex planted between his loins, the boiling stream of his semen irrigating his insides, and unsettled by the power of this sensation, the extent of which he had no desire to display, he replied abruptly:
- You mean... physically? No. No, I don't. Quite the contrary.
A shiver of fear ran through him. His eyes widened immeasurably, he couldn't believe he'd just said those last two words and felt his cheeks flush as they had when he was a child. Even Dean, despite his overwhelm, perceived how embarrassed he felt and looked away, shaking his head.
- I'm... I'm coming up,” Sam said, mortified. If you need me, I'll...
He didn't finish his sentence and stalked off, embarrassed beyond belief. Dean, for his part, remained for a moment bent over the apple of his eye, whose lustrous paint reflected his image, and if in other circumstances he would inevitably have smiled with pride at what he'd just heard, this time he had absolutely no desire to laugh.

Two hours later, the elder Winchester reappeared. Clean as a whistle and freshly dressed, he strolled noiselessly into the library where, unsurprisingly, he found Sam, seated at the table with, all around him, the same books and notes they'd been studying for what seemed like weeks. Sam's opinion on the question of the three deities had seemed clear to his brother, who wondered what he could still be looking for so assiduously, for there was no doubt in his mind that these books did not hold the key to their new-found serenity. He almost approached the table to inquire about the answer, but Sam's sudden proximity provoked a sudden attack of anxiety that prevented him from advancing any further. Without a word, he walked over to the coffee pot to pour himself a cup, leaving his brother to watch him dubiously out of the corner of his eye.
Seeing Dean free of the traces of grease that had blackened his skin, Sam couldn't help remembering how sexy he'd found him around the Impala, discovering more precisely, with a touch of disturbance, this aspect - one among others - constitutive of the attraction he felt for his older brother. For a while, he watched, mechanically tapping the paper with the tip of his pen and making sure that Dean, who was hovering hesitantly, didn't catch anything. The merry-go-round lasted for almost three minutes, during which each gauged the other cautiously, pretending to ignore each other, until, ogling the relief at his brother's crotch as he stood a little farther away, Sam immediately recalled in his flesh the pleasure he'd taken with him.
Even more embarrassed than he already was, feeling his sex begin to swell again, he coughed as he straightened his position on the chair, and Dean thought this was some kind of call to restart the dialogue.
- Are you okay?” he asked in a tense voice, unable to think of anything else to say.
- I'm fine,” Sam replied after a couple of seconds, taking a deep breath and looking away. I was just tidying up the mess... Have you finished with the Impala yet?
The banality and futility of her words left him stunned, as Dean, uncomfortable, forced himself to turn to his brother and declare in a contrived tone:
- I've been finished for a while now, but I've been hanging around in the bath.
A bath. But no shower. Sam took note, nodding to himself, looking for something to say to continue the discussion, in vain. Dean hoped he'd bounce back, but his silence and the way he plunged his nose back into his books made him feel embarrassed and bitterly disappointed, if not surprised.
- There's... something I need to talk to you about... About what happened,” he announced after taking a sip of coffee and two tentative steps.
Sam paused and looked up at his brother with puzzled eyes, which didn't make it any easier for him.
- I thought you wanted to stop talking about it,” the youngest of the siblings reminded him without aggression.
- Yes,” Dean soon conceded nervously, his eyes feverish and his free hand fidgeting in his pocket. But... I have to tell you anyway.
Sam, who was rather pleased that Dean wanted to come back to the subject on his own, said:
- Okay. I'm all ears.
Dean was having a hard time of it. It was he who had brought up the subject again, but tackling it once more was no easier. Nevertheless, by dint of rethinking the nature of his actions, he had come to realize the full extent of them, not only the moral implications but also the physical consequences, of which his question to Sam about the possibility of having caused him some injury had been only part of the problem. He was reluctant to formalize such a down-to-earth reality, because it meant digging even deeper into the wound, making the gravity of the event even more obvious, but he decided to assume his responsibilities and expressed, voice broken:
- I... I just wanted to say that... I mean... What I did... The way... it happened...
He struggled to continue, overwhelmed and bewildered by the inevitably contradictory feelings, which Sam could well imagine, that gripped him as he recalled the incident.
- What I mean to say,” he resumed with difficulty, his throat tight and his eyes fixed, ”is that... For you, I... I have no doubt, but... if for me... you were wondering...
He paused again, fearing he'd run out of courage at the last moment to say what he needed to say. Sam, trying to guess what his brother was struggling so hard to express, tried to give him time to do so, and then Dean, after an indefinite time keeping his lips ajar, finally managed to pronounce:
- It's okay, I... I'm clean. A while ago, I needed to get tested and... everything was okay, and since then I've been pretty good, so it's... It's okay, I...
He struggled to swallow, as if trying to swallow a round egg.

- I couldn't give you anything,” he finished in pain. You just had to know.
Sam turned pale and decomposed. He realized that he hadn't thought for a moment about the risk of contamination by any sexually transmitted infection, and he felt infinitely stupid, since he was usually the one who showed the greatest sense of responsibility. Perhaps he'd thought that the fact of having been intimate with his own brother was the only component of importance, but he readily admitted that, given the total absence of protection during this relationship, Dean's clarification was not superfluous. Sam found it hard to conceal his embarrassment at his elder's prosaic statement, but he'd received Dean's semen inside him, and he was grateful that, despite his dismay, he'd found it useful to reassure him on this point.
- Okay,” the young man nodded, jaws clenched. No worries.
Then, adding a second later, with a stilted air:
- Same here.
He left it at that, seeking refuge in his notes, which he only looked at without reading a single word, and Dean wanted to imitate his restraint without going any further. But the muted rebellion that had been pounding in his head and pounding in his heart for days became too much to bear, and all his efforts to regain control seemed to collapse like a house of cards. He clamped his hand over his face to reveal only his bulging eyes, rubbed his cheeks roughly and stammered:
- I still can't fucking believe it, it's... How the hell could we do something like this, it's crazy... There are moments... when I feel like I'm going to start turning things around, and other moments when I think I'm having a nightmare and can't wake up... How do you manage to look so unaffected by all this?
Sam mused that this was probably one of the worst times to make this observation, and with a pinched sneer he replied tartly:
- Maybe losing my soul once makes things easier, I don't know...
- Come on, stop it,” Dean warned, taking a step closer, his eyes frozen in an expression mixed with anguish and obstinacy. I know you, this can't leave you cold.
Sam gritted his teeth and shook his head, almost imperceptibly. It took a moment for his eyes to catch his brother's, but when they did, he asserted firmly with a biting gaze:
- Of course I care. I'm as shaken up as you are, what do you think? That I don't feel anything after we fuck?
Dean recoiled unconsciously, his eyes widening in horror.
- Because that's what we did,” Sam insisted purposefully in cold, implacable analysis. We fucked each other, that's a fact. We can avoid talking about it if it helps you deal with it, we can pretend it never happened, I'm okay with that, no problem if that's what you want. But it did happen, Dean. And since nothing's going to change that, I have no choice but to accept it and question myself.
- Because you think it's from you?” retorted his brother, in a moribund voice, hoping to see him deny, or at least qualify, his earlier remarks. From us?
- For the most part, yes,” he said without hesitation. I've told you. I'm convinced of it.
Calmly, without a sound and looking absent-minded, Dean walked over to the table and set down his cup of coffee. There was a dead silence, as before the crash of a violent battle, but he didn't get carried away or vehemently reject his brother's assertion. It was as if his awareness of the act they had committed was too strong for any argument to stand up to him.
- I feel like I'm living someone else's life,” he confided, staring blankly into space. How do you expect me to accept the idea that... that we could feel things like that for each other?
As Dean didn't deny it, Sam guessed that, like him, his brother was becoming aware that this implausible hypothesis wasn't necessarily absurd. Or perhaps he simply didn't have the energy to express his rejection.
- Look for the reason wherever you want and if you want,” said Sam, as if jaded. All the times we've been killed and come back, the torture, the soul loss, the possession, the corruption... The trouble we've gone to, the mountains we've lifted to bring each other back each time, or the fact that we've intertwined our lives for years... Surely there's something in there that explains it all, but what difference does it make?
Dean, shifting sideways to hide his distressed face from his brother's eyes, listened to his thesis like a sentence. He still wanted to fight to overcome the ordeal, but if that meant first accepting the unacceptable, he wasn't sure he could.
- I wasn't sure until just now,” Sam continued distantly, leaning back in his chair, ”but... If you were to ask me, right now, if I've ever thought we could have more than a brotherly relationship, I think I'd say, yes. Thinking back, there must have been one or two times when I had this kind of idea; nothing specific, more like a dream without any meaning. But today I see it differently.
- You're telling me that, just like that,” Dean reacted in a transient voice, as if a strange cold had numbed his senses, as if he were now floating a little above it all.
- If we're going to try to pretend it never happened and never talk about it again, you might as well know how I feel about it, he pleaded.
Sam then stood up and, looking serious, walked away from his brother, who followed him out of the corner of his eye. The youngest of the siblings stopped in front of a shelf surmounted by a saber and, shy, worried in his turn:
- Earlier, in the garage, you asked me if you'd hurt me.
Dean breathed in, mouth ajar, and chuckled:
- You said no...
- Because I didn't. Every word I said was true.
Silence again. Dean didn't know what to say. He didn't know how to respond to this kind of confession from another reality.
- Ever since you came back, all you've done is blame yourself for what happened, sure it's your fault, and that you hurt me,” Sam summed up in a somber voice. Many times I told you you were wrong, and I still do. But never once did I think to ask if I'd hurt you.
Dean stared at him quizzically. In the face of his silence, Sam turned to face him with a resolute look.
- If you've... What are you talking about,” said Dean, ”how could you have hurt me?
- By not being able to control my impulses, for example,” he supposed with a shrug. Or by being too frank about the way I see things; the fact that we're just as responsible as the Erotes for what's happening, that I don't reject it in the same way you do, and that, in a way... I assume it, even.
Dean looked at him strangely for a moment, then looked away.
- I don't blame you for anything,” he certified, his heart crushed by a suffocating heaviness. How could I blame you for anything when what I've done is a hundred times worse...
- That's not the point. We both did what we did and you'd have every right to be angry or feel betrayed.
Shaking his head, Dean looked up briefly before resting his eyes elsewhere, where Sam was not. His breathing was rapid, his speech harsh, but no matter how much he resented the world, his brother wasn't the target of his wrath.
- No,” he finally asserted flatly, half-heartedly. No, that's not how I feel.

As he spoke these words, certain obvious facts suddenly dawned on him and, with a lump in his stomach, Dean felt himself hurtling towards the abyss once again, while paradoxically feeling that the weight on his chest had lightened. For a second, he felt able to understand his brother's philosophy, as if for a brief moment he'd acquired the knowledge of a foreign language that would enable him to grasp the meaning of an abstruse text. But what he glimpsed in that short space of time frightened him enough to order him to close the door immediately, and to pull himself together, clinging firmly to his convictions.
- Listen,” he prayed, somehow displaying an ersatz self-assurance despite his pallor, his unfocused eyes and the stiffness in his voice. I shouldn't have brought it up again, I was an idiot. We'll do as we said, forget about it and move on. Okay?
Sam nodded, sullenly.
- That's what we agreed... No problem, let's talk about something else.
But that didn't happen. Dean, far from feeling good, walked away without a word, walling himself in a ponderous silence that made Sam realize the perfect futility of wasting his breath on trivia. Whether they liked it or not, one subject occupied all their thoughts at the moment and, rather than pursue the matter further, the younger of the two brothers preferred to leave.
- Okay,” he said after noisily clearing his throat to loosen it a little. See you later.
He crossed the library, descended the three steps to the control room, and continued to the foot of the steel staircase.
- Are you going out?” Dean asked in a worried voice, although he did his best to hide it.
Sam stopped for a second, just long enough to look at his brother, who had stepped up to the steps that separated the two rooms.
- I'm just going to get some air.
They exchanged a heavy glance, then Sam began to climb the metal staircase and Dean stood watching, unable to find the words to hold him back as he had the feeling that they were leaving each other on a sour note once again.
But it was Sam who, after four steps, stopped again. And turning with a determined look to Dean, who was also beginning to walk away, he then hailed him, determined to deliver the bottom line:
- If we're not going to talk about it anymore, let me tell you one last thing.
The eldest of the siblings turned around, taken aback. Sam was staring at him with intense eyes, aware of the gravity of the moment.
- What we did,” Sam continued when he felt he had his brother's full attention, ”we'd never have done if we hadn't been pushed into it. But we're adults, and when it happened, I know it was because we both wanted to.
Dean, petrified, listened and looked at him without batting an eyelid.
- As far as I'm concerned,” Sam continued, ”this doesn't change anything between us. You're still my brother, and I love you no matter what. I don't care if it's right or wrong, I feel what I feel and I don't have to answer to anyone. So... I don't know what this says about me, if it's going to help you or on the contrary complicate things even more, but I'd rather you knew that if I want to be completely honest about how I feel and with you, I don't regret what we both did.
He waited, on principle, for a reaction he knew wouldn't come, and, appeased to have delivered what was in his heart, to have been transparent with Dean, to whom he felt he owed at least that much, Sam resumed his ascent of the iron steps until he disappeared from his brother's prostrate eyes. The latter didn't feel devastated, or even that shaken, for he had received his younger brother's confession as confirmation of an underlying certainty, vague because it had not been verbalized, and by knowing what it unequivocally was, he saw the answer to some of his innumerable questions.

Sam spent more than a quarter of an hour wandering in the woods around the bunker, under a cool greyness whose humidity weighed down his medium-length hair. He'd needed this getaway, to get away from the increasingly unbreathable atmosphere of the lair he shared with Dean, the source of more torment in recent days than in several years, but even in retrospect, he didn't regret speaking out. He couldn't have turned the page on what they'd been through and kept it to himself forever without first confiding completely about his state of mind, and even if many questions remained unanswered in his mind at home too, he felt sufficiently liberated to be able to move forward.
Only time would tell whether the ties that bound him to Dean would withstand the ordeal they were going through and enable them to rediscover the complicity, trust and serenity that had always kept them close to each other. In any case, Sam was determined to do everything in his power to achieve this.

But the sound of an engine and a dark shadow creeping behind a curtain of trees suddenly shattered his convictions: as he glimpsed the road leading to Lebanon from the path he was on, he soon saw the Impala speeding past, Dean at the wheel.

Chapter Text

Dismayed, Sam returned to the bunker only after spending an indefinite amount of time in the rain, which he had only noticed when it began to fall hard. He looked as if he'd been punched in the face and, with his guts in knots, spent a long time spinning aimlessly around the control room's central console, trying to take in what had happened, what he'd feared without really believing would happen.
When he went to take a shower to warm up, he didn't even think about what had happened there two days earlier. All he did was dwell on Dean's departure, contemplating calling him and then changing his mind: what was the point? What had been undone couldn't be undone by a phone call or a message; he'd already tried. Dejected, he wandered the corridors trying to figure out what to do, until he stumbled back to the library table where books and notes sat, blackened with information about the gods of Love. He felt a surge of rage at the sight of these piles of documents, which had only grown larger as the distance between him and his brother had widened, and suddenly sent everything flying, violently sweeping the table with both arms, sending books and papers flying across the room.

Sam pulled himself together, however, and soon realized the futility of his gesture. So, chagrined and resigned, all violence out of the way, he set about tidying up the room, hoping he hadn't irreparably damaged some ancient book.
He was just about to finish when he heard the unmistakable sound of the bunker's heavy metal door swinging on its hinges. He quickly raised his head, froze for a second, then dashed towards the control room. No one was there yet, but he could hear noise coming from the kitchen.

- Dean?” he exclaimed incredulously as he entered the room.
It was Dean, busy putting a six-pack of beer in the fridge. He turned quickly and nodded.
- You're home?” asked Sam, taking two steps forward with a bemused look on his face.
- Looks like it,” his brother couldn't help but throw in at the obvious.
- Where have you been?” continued the younger brother, who realized with immense relief that he'd made a mistake.
- I went shopping,” he explained simply, trying to put on a brave face despite his omnipresent embarrassment. Soon we'll be eating out of cardboard boxes.
Two bags of victuals lay on the table, which Dean wanted to put away in turn. But then Sam almost pounced on him and pinned him in place, hugging him tightly, both arms around his shoulders, ear to ear.
- S... Sammy,” Dean stammered, stiff as a board as he tried to free himself. Hey, take it easy, what's the matter with you?
The close contact of his younger brother's body against his own didn't make things any easier, and he felt his temperature rise a degree, along with his fear gauge. It was no different for Sam, who, clinging to him, feeling his warmth, his smell and the firmness of his body, was seized by a gentle shiver that urged him to detach himself, even though he didn't have the slightest desire to do so.
- I'm... Sorry,” he said, taking an embarrassed step back.
Dean, with an eye at once suspicious and nervous, watched him take another step with downcast eyes and replied, feigning indifference:
- No, never mind...
He walked slowly over to the table, taking the food that was still there out of the bags.
- Sorry,” repeated Sam, who felt herself blushing. I saw you rush off and...
The elder Winchester didn't seem to understand what he was talking about, then pleaded, more or less seriously, as he returned to the refrigerator:
- You've got to clean the engine... I should have warned you, I'm sorry.
The pseudo-drama provoked by this unplanned outing was as ridiculous as it was symptomatic of the context in which they were evolving, and they were well aware of it.
- I thought... maybe you needed to get away, like the day before yesterday,” Sam tried to justify, a little contrite. After what I told you, I...
- I just went shopping,” Dean cut in.
He refused to talk about what had happened, either directly or indirectly, in accordance with his resolutions, and his brother accepted this. Nevertheless, he added, as much because he hadn't explained it so far as to qualify, without being fooled by it, the reason why he had fled the bunker after the bathroom incident:
- And by the way, if I slept over two nights ago, there was a reason. I didn't tell you, but I was at the vampire fair.
The whole time he was putting away a packet of cookies in a cupboard, he felt his brother's indignant, mute eye on him.
- Did you go hunting?” Sam exclaimed in a highly disapproving tone. Alone?
- Vick called me and I went to join him,” he clarified to remove any doubt about his patently irresponsible nature. It was just the two of us, anyway.
He finished emptying one of the bags under Sam's annoyed gaze, who could only take note of the confession, regretting having thought his brother was only getting drunk when he stubbornly ignored all his messages. He promised himself he'd do everything in his power to have his back next time.
- At least I hope you got them all...
- It's cleaned up,” Dean confirmed as he continued to work, making it less obvious that he wasn't laying eyes on Sam.
Then, after a second's hesitation, he added:
- Besides, he's got other leads lined up. I said no at the time, but... what do you say we get back out there?
Sam looked at him as if he hadn't heard, or rather understood, the question. He stared at him with an eminently puzzled expression, without a word, and when Dean's eyes questioned him with a tense but composed air, he understood that the proposal was serious.
- You're talking about going hunting again?” he wondered, raising his eyebrows. You mean now?
- Why not?” replied Dean, his lips a little tight and his eyes already searching for another place to fall. It wouldn't hurt to get out of here for a bit and get back in the saddle...
Despite his air of doubt, Sam wasn't averse to admitting that coming face to face with their reality again, with all its concreteness and brutality but also its unifying force, wasn't as absurd as all that. It could be a good way to get away from here, to leave those obsessions hammering away at their skulls for a while before coming back to it with perhaps a different view, and then, if Dean was determined to go back to fighting, his brother didn't see any other option than to accompany him there.
- After all,” he agreed shortly afterwards, ”if we can be useful... It's certainly better than staying here and going round in circles, you're not wrong...
- Okay, well... I'll give Vick a call later and see what he can get us a date for,” said Dean in a slightly mechanical voice. I'm probably a dozen messages behind too, so I'll have a look and if I find anything, I'll let you know?
- Okay, I'll take a look myself,” agreed Sam, trying to sound relaxed.
Dean nodded and picked up a doughnut he'd left in his bag on the corner of the table. He gave his brother a quick glance and left the room, a little too quickly to make people forget the unease he still felt and his obvious fear of broaching again the subject that kept occupying all his thoughts.

It was less than three hours away, in the middle of the Nebraska plains, that the Winchester brothers decided on their next stop. Vick, happy to hear back from Dean so soon, had sold them the business: a farm property not far from Columbus, from which he had been receiving increasingly consistent information for several days from local contacts about suspicious events taking place there. The Winchesters hadn't necessarily planned to go back to work during the day, but in the end they had agreed quite easily to go and see what was going on. They took a moment to get ready and, shortly before noon, they were closing the trunk of the Impala, ready to hit the road.
- Here,” Dean hailed, tossing the keys to his brother. Are you driving?
Faced with Sam's surprised expression, he justified:
- I'm going to take a nap. I'm a little sleepy.
He didn't say any more, and Sam didn't try to find out any more. There was no point.

They got there on schedule, without exchanging more than a few words about directions and travel time. Had Dean really spent his time sleeping? Or feigning sleep? Sam had often wondered. They hadn't discussed the subject since he'd confessed to his eldest son that he had no regrets about what they'd done together, so he didn't know what Dean might think.
He tried, however, to push these thoughts from his mind: the car skirted the smashed fence up a muddy path, and the Petersons' farm was visible about a hundred yards away, in the middle of a bare field. Sam stopped the Impala in the shade of a stunted tree, and Dean, fixing his eyes on the building with its peeling paint and closed shutters, said:
- That's where it's at, isn't it?
His rhetorical question required no answer. They were there to find out.
- It looks pretty stuffy to me,” he judged, squinting and rolling down the window.
The drizzle stung his face and he glanced blasély at the layers of gray clouds piling up over their heads.
- It looks as quiet as a graveyard from up here,” Dean continued.
- Yes, you'd swear there's no one there,” agreed Sam, binoculars in hand. No smoke coming out of the chimney, apparently no movement, no lights... Exactly how long has this been going on?
- Vick reckons it's been going on for about a month... His cousin works at the post office and noticed that parcels were addressed here every other day.
- When did she realize these weren't normal shipments?
- I didn't ask, but they're all sent from the same hospital, apparently, and she's sure they're filled with blood bags.
- That's suspicious,” Sam said doubtfully. Why would a hospital send blood by parcel post to some godforsaken farm?
- I don't know. If they are vampires, maybe one of them got a job on the night shift when his family got tired of pig's blood...
- Peaceful vampires, then?
- No idea. But we'll take a look, it won't hurt to check it out.
They got out of the car and went to the trunk to retrieve the machetes, their eyes still on the shack, already looking for a discreet way to approach it.
- Got it?” asked Dean, checking that they were ready. You go right, I'll go left. And make sure you don't get spotted.
The warning was superfluous, but Sam accepted it without complaint. For a moment, he thought he'd found the brother he'd known, and almost forgot the physical attraction he felt for him, biting like the cold of winter.

So the two men spread out on either side of the fairly dilapidated house, which must have weathered at least one storm in the near past. Passing the half-collapsed fence beside the road, Dean crept along a sparse hedge, while Sam, on the opposite side, took advantage of a pile of wooden crates and a rust-red tractor to get as far as possible out of sight of any possible lookout. Nevertheless, it was daylight and the vampires, if there were any here, were probably sleeping. The two brothers remained on their guard, however, and approached the building cautiously, ready at any moment to face an enemy who might appear out of nowhere.
Each approaching his side of the house, they disappeared from sight of the other.

Dean, who had full confidence in his brother, concentrated on his task, banishing from his mind the liberating thrill he felt at finding himself here, on the muddy outskirts of a shack that was perhaps a hundred years old, whose closed windows he quickly inspected with his eyes, both on the first floor and upstairs. This detail prompted him to redouble his caution, and as he crept along the worm-eaten facade, already spotting the service door, he suddenly noticed, planted some thirty meters from the main building, a sort of rickety little barn, one of its doors flapping and creaking gently in the light gusts of wind that occasionally passed through the daylight of its boards. After a glance behind him, Dean decided to make sure there was no danger lurking out there, and with his back to the ground, he walked briskly to the shelter, machete in one hand, gun in the other.
Sam, for his part, his back to the south wall of the house, slowly bent his head towards the crack of a French window, one of whose shutters had been poorly sealed. It seemed to be almost pitch-black inside, preventing him from making out what was there, but behind the dusty curtain he suddenly saw a shadow pass by, causing him to jump back. He feared for a moment that he'd been spotted, but heard no sound to indicate that he'd alerted anyone, and his adrenalin subsided a little; he looked around for his brother, hampered by the walls blocking his view, and took a few seconds to alert him by message that they weren't alone.

Dean acknowledged receipt of the letter and cautiously entered the darkened hut, where he discovered a veritable shambles, piled high with a thousand items destined for the dump and never thrown away. Between rags, old linen, leftover materials, broken tools, remnants of agricultural produce and piled-up crates, the hunter saw above all the heavy tarpaulin which, in the center, clearly concealed a car. He quickly concluded that the cramped space was empty, and set about verifying what lay beneath the tarpaulin. He put away his revolver to free a hand and lifted the plastic cover, which immediately revealed a logo, that of the local post office. Dean was stunned for a second: was a post office employee involved in this regular delivery of fresh blood? He took one last look around the premises, not picking up anything of interest, then turned back to lend Sam a hand.

Dean made his way up to the service door, scanning his surroundings, and wondered if his brother was already inside. There was no evidence that anything supernatural was going on here, but he had a hunch, and usually his hunches were not contradicted. Very gently, he turned the rusty doorknob to check whether the panel was closed. It wasn't: the elder Winchester opened it slowly, first to take a peek and then to avoid any noise that might betray his presence, and was immediately assailed by clammy, rancid smells, as if the place hadn't been opened for ages and all its contents had been left to rot.
With his machete gripped tightly in his right hand, he entered a straight corridor with half-moldy wallpaper. It was dark, but he could just about make out his surroundings. There was not a sound, not a movement. A room with a closed door opened on the left, three meters ahead, and another on the right, both closed. The corridor led to a third room, opposite, whose glass door was ajar this time. Dean moved forward at a slow pace, letting his eyes adjust to the meagre light, and listening for the slightest sound he tried to assess, if there was any danger, which side he was on.
Then he thought he heard something like a groan, coming from the room on his right. It only took him two steps to put his ear to the door, and doubt became certainty. A man was moaning, without strength, and deciding to find out what was going on, Dean opened the door with a fluid gesture to come face to face with a vampire who, from behind, was bleeding his suspended prey.

His own blood rushed to his feet and, without thinking, galvanized by the flow of adrenalin, he lunged at the creature who, despite the lethargy imposed by the daytime hour, turned around swiftly, mouth bloody, as soon as she heard him move. It was a middle-aged female, with badly combed blond hair, quite slight, but the growl she let out and the energy with which she pounced on Dean were worthy of a seasoned predator. The hunter dodged, taking a step to the side, and letting the monster pass behind his back, he pivoted to face it, immediately brandishing his machete. The vampire was diminished, weakened by the day, and almost in a human gesture, he raised his arm to shield himself from the sharp blade that came down without mercy. He let out a cry of pain as his arm was slashed, then received a violent kick in the stomach that threw him against the wall, where a second blow from the machete decapitated him outright.

It took Dean a second to refocus and, with a thud in his eardrums, he braced himself for a second assault. Preferring to fight in the space of the almost empty room than risk being trapped in the corridor, he blocked the door to give himself time to rescue the bound man, and noticed as he approached that his jacket bore the same logo as the postal service van. Doubtless the letter carrier had paid for his meager delivery with his own life... Dean cut the rope supporting his fall, and set about waking him up.
- Hey,” he called repeatedly, slapping his generous cheeks. Hey, can you hear me? Come on, get up. Let's wake up, come on.
The man on the ground slowly came to his senses and immediately recoiled in terror.
- Easy,” said Dean, pointing to the vampire's corpse. I'm here to help you.
The postal worker soon calmed down, groggy, bleeding, but alive. Dean invited him to press against his neck to stop the bleeding, and then asked:
- Are there any others besides her?
The man nodded. He could hardly speak, but unfolded two fingers. Then the door seemed to explode with a thunderous bang, and as Dean jerked around, he saw it hanging by its lower hinges, smashed by the two-metre-high vampire who, fangs out, was aiming murderously at him.

Although there were still two of them, Dean wasn't unhappy to be dealing with just one monster for the time being, for this one was far more impressive than his congener, whose decapitated body sent him into an even greater rage. If it hadn't been for the fangs, Dean would have sworn he was dealing with a lumberjack, looking at his mass, and he only saw a shadow pass by when, throwing himself at him with all his might, the creature swept him aside like a piece of straw, sending him tumbling to the ground until he hit a corner of the wall. Stunned, he tried to get up immediately, looking for his machete which had jumped out of his hand, but if he did manage to get to his feet, it was the vampire who did it for him, who grabbed his throat and lifted him to his feet, his back crushed against the wall and his feet flailing in the air. The thing's breath was fetid, and its fangs, which it displayed like so many objects of intimidation, a sickly yellow; if it managed to deploy such strength in broad daylight, Dean preferred not to think about what it could do after dark, and although he could barely breathe, he kept his thoughts clear enough to grab a syringe of death's blood, which he kept in an inside pocket. The vampire saw him coming, and with his free hand twisted his arm violently, forcing him to drop the needle, which fell to the floor.

Then the creature's head popped off, severed with a sharp blow, and as it went crashing to the ground with a thud, Sam's appeared in its place, behind the now lifeless body of the collapsing vampire.

A few minutes later, with the house cleared and the victim out of harm's way, Sam had explained to his brother how, on hearing the sounds of a struggle, he'd burst in and surprised the third vampire, to whom he'd settled the score before arriving as reinforcements. Dean, flippant and captious, was quick to point out how simple and efficient the whole affair had been. They'd contacted the paramedics so that the letter carrier could be taken care of and, before setting off again, had taken charge of hiding the bodies.
Warned and on his way, Vick would do the rest.

Satisfied with the job done, Sam and Dean headed back to Lebanon. This incursion into their battered daily lives had served as a reminder of the true meaning of their existence, and to experience their synergy once again and see how well it still worked, despite the odds, was an undeniable source of comfort. As night fell a short distance from the bunker, Dean suggested to his brother that they stop off at a bar to celebrate the success of their hunt, modest though it had been. Sam agreed, and they spent a good hour enjoying a cold beer and a hamburger, which Dean couldn't resist, his younger brother accompanying him with a lighter snack, in every sense of the word. They found themselves able to laugh and joke without apparent discomfort, as if this return to their dark and depressing lives had paradoxically enabled them to see it less blackly.
It was after eight o'clock when they climbed back into the Impala, parked in the parking lot with the hood under the foliage of a tree. A shower had fallen, as the bodywork and windows were studded with raindrops. They sat side by side, Dean at the wheel, and as he turned on the ignition, Sam declared:
- What a day, huh? But we were right to go out and do something good.
- Yeah, we were right,” Dean agreed with a smile.
Sam nodded and mechanically checked to his right to make sure there were no obstacles in the way of the car, since it was about to take the exit. But it didn't move. The engine continued to run, five, ten, then fifteen seconds without Dean making the slightest move, and when his brother looked at him, he slowly turned off the ignition, his smile extinguished, his gaze vague.
- What?” inquired Sam, consciously assuming a detached air. Is something wrong?
He sensed it, but refused to mention it. Right up to the end, he hoped Dean would restart, but the latter shook his head gently, parting his lips and, after a moment, said in a small voice:
- Did you really think I got away?
Sam felt his stomach clench, along with his fists and jaws. He re-frowned, and without needing to ask what his brother wanted to talk about, catapulted several hours back in time, he answered after a moment, briefly:
- I've wondered, yes.
Eyes on the counters, Dean took it in his stride.
- You know, this morning... when you hugged me,” he continued, ”it... It felt good. And not just because I realized that... you didn't hate me.
It was Sam's turn to nod, looking away. He knew exactly what Dean meant, and replied:
- I'll never hate you, moron. I hope you already knew that.
- I don't think... I'm gonna make it, Sam... Carry on like nothing's happened, pretend I've forgotten... I just can't.
The younger brother remained stoic. Staring into the distance, he tried to make out what was happening outside through the water droplets and mist on the window. He saw two motorcycles pull up in front of the bar's neon lights, and a couple return to their car.
- Of course you will,” he promised in a deliberately detached tone. Don't talk about it anymore, and find a palliative. It'll pass.
He didn't believe a word of it, and neither did Dean.
- What do you advise me to do? That I get laid every time I get too itchy?
- For example,” replied Sam, still staring at the comings and goings in the parking lot. We won't be the first or the last to have to live with frustrations.
Dean didn't feel any better. Neither his resolutions nor the hunt had allowed him to get the better of what he was feeling, and weary of feeling stuck between a rock and a hard place, he threw out, like an arm of honor he would have addressed to the whole world:
- I don't want to spend my life being frustrated, especially if it's not being able to fuck my brother, you know?
Sam rolled his eyes at him and saw the cold anger in his eyes.
- So what do you want to do?” he asked with calm resignation. Shall we go for the oblivion spell? Okay, get started, I'm sure we've got everything we need back at the bunker.
Dean sighed, shaking his head in distress. He didn't want to amputate anything, and he didn't want to see Sam do it either. He just wanted to find a way to live serenely with these infinitely disturbing feelings, which he doubted more and more were artificial.
- Maybe... you're right,” he said. Maybe it's coming from us...
Sam was astonished to hear his brother agree with this thesis, which until now he had fiercely opposed. Perhaps it had taken him some time to introspect, but the problem remained the same.
- So, what does it change, anyway?
- It changes everything,” Dean retorted with intensity, his eye piercing. If we've been driven mad, it's not the same as becoming aware of... of...
- Of what?” relayed Sam in the face of his sudden silence. That maybe we've always felt this way, in a repressed way? That's what I think, but what's the point of knowing? Will you see things differently if you're sure it's coming from you?
It was a real question, but one that Sam didn't see as such, and one to which he didn't expect an answer as Dean asked himself more and more. Silence settled in the cabin, Sam watching the night sky through the window, when he suddenly felt his brother's hand rest on his knee.
- Come on, Sammy, I'm serious,” he swore with a look that was almost pleading, without really realizing what he was doing. I know I'm the one who said we shouldn't talk about it, but it was bullshit, and no matter how I handle it, it doesn't change this... this cramp that's eating my guts!
Sam stopped moving. He was amazed at how the mere touch of his brother's hand on his leg set him off.
- Can you... pull your hand away?” he asked in a hoarse voice.
Dean twitched, then looked down to realize he was holding Sam's knee in the palm of his hand. A shiver ruffled the hair on the back of his neck and he almost complied, but as he brought his arm back, he hesitated. Then he felt a wave of revolt gradually sweep over him, as if he needed to defy all those authorities that had been governing and rotting his existence for days, and his heart suddenly began to race as he heard himself say, as if outside his own body:
- What are you going to do if I leave her here?
He felt Sam tense up immediately, and although he was both disturbed and astonished by this, Dean felt genuine arousal. He became hot and felt drops of sweat tingling his scalp; touching his brother's leg, even through the fabric, was enough to resurrect the sensations he'd experienced when they'd been skin-to-skin, and with desire flooding his veins again, like a prisoner freed from his shackles and overflowing his guard, he slowly ran his fingers down Sam's thigh, towards his crotch.
- Is this what you'd have done, if I hadn't stopped you on the way back from Gloucester?” he inquired in a semi-absent tone, his lips hot and dry.
- 'Dean,' Sam breathed in a frigid voice, petrified as if a tarantula or snake with deadly venom was stepping on his leg. You don't... You don't want to do this, stop, you know you'll regret it.
Dean's hand went up again, and Sam straightened up, stretching his spine as far as he could, as if in a futile reflex to escape. He was sure he had to do everything he could to stop his brother from going any further, but his body refused to obey him. In response to the stimulus provoked by the touch of Dean's fingers against him, he decided instead to react of his own accord, and Sam had no way of containing the ferocious erection that seized him. A spark ignited in Dean's hazy gaze as he saw the bulge between his younger son's thighs swell and, haggard, he questioned:
- Were you serious when you said you had no regrets?
Sam's breathing quickened. He felt the imperative need to put an end to what was happening right away, while at the same time feeling the burning desire to let it go on, and short of breath he delivered without even thinking about the words that would have been most opportune:
- You know very well I was...
Was he already too flustered to understand that his answer was a carte blanche for Dean, or was it that the latter simply granted himself the right to cross a boundary? Seeing his brother's hand start to move again, Sam held his breath, and it was totally disarmed that he let him go so far as to place it on his sex, the shape of which he molded very carefully.
- Can I do that, then?” asked Dean in a voice torn between doubt and excitement.
Sam stopped breathing, as if plunged into a tub of icy water. By reflex, he tightened his thighs, but the touch of Dean's fingers was so gentle and expected that he relaxed almost immediately, letting his penis continue to harden and distend the fabric of his jeans under his brother's hand. A slight smile passing fleetingly over his lips, the elder Winchester flinched with silent pleasure as he felt his younger brother's sex throbbing, and remembered with delight what it had felt like to feel him ejaculate between his fingers in the shower. With infinite delicacy, present but no longer quite there, he began to gently stroke the lump of fabric that seemed ready to burst, and with a deep, heavy breath, Sam began to stir slowly.
- Stop,” he implored, pressing his hand against his brother's, his whole body urging him to continue. Don't make things more complicated than they already are...
Dean remained deaf to his request. Had he even heard her? Eyes fixed on their linked hands, looking subjugated, he spread his fingers a little wider to completely envelop Sam's sex and, seized by an irrational fever, the latter suddenly let go. As if his clothes were on fire, he suddenly unbuckled his belt with such haste, then unbuttoned his fly with such alacrity that he forced Dean to withdraw his hand. But less than a second later, the older man saw his brother's penis emerge in all its majesty, straight as an “I”, and taking his hand again, Sam laid it on his wood-stiff penis and breathed:
- Take it, go ahead... Oh, that's good, yes, touch it...
He let out a long, voluptuous sigh as he sank back on the bench to bring his pelvis forward, and while Dean, as if stunned by the sight and touch of a man's sex that confirmed the remarkable dimensions he'd guessed the day before, began to masturbate him gently, Sam reached out with his left arm to grasp his brother's crotch, which he found just as hard and taut as his own. They exchanged only a brief, veiled glance, full of excitement and astonishment, then Dean hastily imitated his younger sibling, unzipping his pants under Sam's sparkling eye of desire. His thundering heartbeat swelled the veins in his neck and stiffened his burning penis, and when he saw Dean's emerge to full stature like the mainmast of a sailing ship, he gasped for a moment before feverishly grabbing it, inviting his brother to warm his fingers as he returned the courtesy.

Both were silently moved by this new and eminently unsettling sensation, Sam discovering the impressive hardness of Dean's phallus and Dean reconnecting with the violent emotion that had seized him when he joined him in the shower. The eldest of the siblings hadn't quite noticed the day before how hot his youngest's sex was, and it was with unfeigned pleasure that he slid it between his fingers, delicately moving up and down the soft, smooth skin, wondering at its hardness and the harmonious lines of his glans, with its moist meatus. Each of his gestures accentuated the rhythm of Sam's breathing, which grew louder and louder, and Dean relished it, just as he immediately took a liking to the reciprocal. Sam's unrestrained panting and moaning under his brother's fascinated gaze prompted him to masturbate him with increasing ardor, and the two men's moans soon overlapped one another, the echo of their shared exultation filling the Impala's cabin as the windows misted over. They were never quite sure how long they spent exploring these new pleasures, but they wouldn't forget the way they climaxed, ejaculating almost in unison with force and demonstration. With a hoarse cry that flattered Dean's ear, Sam released first, his semen rising like the trail of a distressed fire, and the vision of his climax triggered Dean's to powerfully squirt his seed all the way to the steering wheel. As if indestructibly bound to each other, intoxicated by feeling each other throb and contract to expel their fluids, they continued to caress each other until they were fully delivered, then the frenzy slowly subsided, as they gradually regained their breath and their senses, and it was almost as if nothing had happened that, with their minds clouded, they set off again, having quickly put on their clothes and erased the most obvious traces of their moment of madness.

Chapter Text

The return to the bunker was marked by a strange silence; a diffuse unease punctuated by conventional words of total banality and irrelevance to what had happened, as if to diminish its significance, if not deny it. The Winchester brothers did not feel, however, that the other wished to bury the event, as Sam, especially, might have expected after the positions Dean had claimed, and even though the eldest sibling had partially reconsidered them before the violence of desire overcame their will once again. They returned home a little less than an hour later and wished each other a good night with a borrowed air before parting, without any hint of what had happened.

Before going to sleep, and after the hunt they'd been on, Dean needed to take a shower, whereas Sam was content, somewhat surprisingly, to wash up in front of his bedroom sink. The Winchester first-born once again relied on the spray of water to clear his head and cool his ardor a little, but he soon realized that he wouldn't achieve his goal. Returning to where it all really began, in that shower where they had crossed a definitive line, was probably not the best idea for detaching himself from the impulses he so desperately wanted to curb, and Dean soon found himself assailed by the burning memory of his brother's body that he had so deliciously possessed, in defiance of all propriety and all moral codes. No matter how he varied the water's flow or its temperature, neither the sound of its flow nor that of its fall on his skull, neither the excessive heat nor the unbearable cold, were able to distract his senses from Sam's muscles, whose image persisted before his eyes, nor from his scent, which returned to fill his nostrils, nor from the softness of his skin, which once again tingled his fingers. As if Sam were physically present, Dean's sex rose brazenly, as hard and hot as the moment he'd penetrated it, and the older brother shuddered intensely, ravaged - despite his full awareness of unforgivable misconduct - by the desire that their escapade in the Impala in the bar's parking lot had fanned even further.
This feeling that inflamed him, he would have liked to feel it for a woman, the kind he had always been attracted to, sexy, provocatively shaped, not shy, even a little domineering. But what he'd felt with Sam, the unnatural pleasure he'd taken with him, here two days ago as in the car an hour earlier, he'd felt between no other hands or breasts, no mouth, no sex or between no other buttocks. Looking down at his formidably taut and quivering penis, he saw his brother's fingers clenched around it again, and his fever climbed another notch. Despite all his increasingly weary attempts to resist it, he felt the urge to repeat their madness biting him ever harder, and thinking of the unexpected pleasure Sam had taken right here, when he'd penetrated him more passionately than he'd ever done with anyone else, Dean was finally overcome by an irrepressible desire for lust that made him ask questions that had never crossed his mind. Was he himself capable of exulting in the way his brother had? Although he had always considered this part of his body to be excluded from the path to pleasure, he looked at the bottle of shower gel on the soap dish and, thinking back with shame at the way he had used it on Sam's body, suddenly had the intense curiosity to discover whether he, like his younger brother, could even remotely access the improbable and disturbing pleasure he had given him. So he took the bottle in his left hand, lifted the cap, loaded the fingers of his right hand with a good dose of the vaguely vanilla-scented liquid, then with a certain feverishness went to spread it on the small of his back, slipping his hand between his buttocks to soon lather abundantly the whole of this usually invisible area. Fully committed to his task, he set the bottle down and, concentrating on the core of what was concealed by his toned buttocks, dripping with warm water, Dean cautiously approached the contours of her anus, which he methodically explored. With a calm finger, he gently massaged the edges of the orifice, several times, then tapped the test pattern until he felt it softened, more reactive to pressure. With a touch of perplexity, he ventured to let a phalanx slip in, unsurprised not to encounter any difficulty due to the lubrication of the soap, and as he leaned slightly forward without even realizing it, he plunged his finger deeper, until he clearly felt the contraction of his sphincter that forbade him to go any further. He pulled out, feeling his anus protest somewhat, and sat up, as if coming to his senses after a moment's rambling. He hadn't taken any particular pleasure in his gesture, but the experience probably didn't seem conclusive or novel enough to him, so he decided to repeat it. Blowing away the water dripping down his face from his soaked hair, he grabbed the shower gel again and smeared his fingers with it before bringing them back between his buttocks, which he stretched by arching his loins to facilitate access to his anus. He caressed the area, spreading the fluid while generously covering his orifice, and slowly pushed his middle finger in, this time with enough obstinacy to make his first two phalanges disappear despite the resistance he put up to himself, his insides expressing their indignation by tightening around the intruder as much as they were able.
He didn't perceive anything in particular, apart from a feeling of discomfort down his arm and that of having something between his buttocks that clearly didn't belong there. His perplexity was heightened when he thought back to Sam's provocative moans during the sodomy, and remained downright incredulous when he considered that the caliber of what he'd imposed on her then was far superior to that of the finger he'd just inserted himself. Stubborn, he didn't leave it at that and sought to push himself in a little further before slowly beginning to move in and out of her anus, which reflexively contracted even more as he sought to rid himself of the intruder. Dean felt the tingling sensation along his perineum, the supple, almost fluffy texture of his inner walls, then dejected and feeling ridiculous he abruptly ceased, hastily finishing his shower before going to sleep.
Or at least he tried to, for sleep stubbornly eluded him for a long time, his brain choosing to dwell on what had happened in the Impala rather than put itself to sleep.

The night was no better for Sam, who arrived in the kitchen after ten o'clock the next morning. Dean, up well before him in defiance of their usual rhythm, had immediately suspected that he was trying to avoid him, which he was convinced of when he saw him arrive already coiffed and dressed, and not in his pyjamas with bags under his eyes. Although he didn't look it, Sam had only slept three or four hours at the end of the night, and had been out of bed less than half an hour, long enough to take a fresh shower to try and tackle the new day in acceptable conditions. When he entered the room, which smelled of hot coffee, he saw his brother sitting at the table in front of a newspaper, and both immediately caught each other's eye. It wasn't long before the tone of their inevitable exchange had to be decided and, despite a twinge in his stomach, Sam followed the only wishes Dean had clearly expressed, avoiding the subject that occupied their thoughts.
- Hi,” he said, walking over to the coffee pot. Is the news good?
He had tried to sound as natural and relaxed as possible, but felt he had done quite the opposite. Dean didn't judge him so harshly, and followed suit, replying after a moment, looking blasé:
- What do you think? I don't even know why I read this rag...
Sam could think of at least two or three reasons why his brother might want to, but, with his back turned and busy filling a cup, he didn't mention any.
- Maybe for the sports page? he finally said anyway, turning around shortly afterwards, forcing himself to take on a serene tone but immediately hiding behind his mug. Wasn't there a Cubs game the other day?
- The... Cubs?” Dean asked with a raise of his eyebrows, giving him the same look as if the subject had actually interested him. When was that?
- I don't know,” muttered the other Winchester, dipping his lips deeper into the lightly smoking black beverage, his free hand anchored to the edge of the sideboard he was standing against. A month...?
Dean didn't really feel like laughing, but he had to restrain himself from smiling too visibly at his brother's discomfited expression, who hadn't the faintest idea what he was talking about. The older boy nodded and, as if what he'd heard made sense, replied:
- Nah. Didn't see it.
Then he returned to his newspaper. Sam inclined his head in turn, trying to add something that would make what he had to say a little more credible, since he hadn't been careful enough to avoid saying the first thing that came into his head, and to ease his embarrassment he swallowed his coffee in one gulp before setting his cup down noisily and asking:
- I... I'm going out to run an errand or two, and I'll bring back lunch. Would you... like anything in particular? Burger?
Dean straightened his chin as if reacting to a tantalizing scent.
- Yeah,” he said, sounding rather enthusiastic. Sounds good. Oh, and you can add...
- Fried onions and pie for dessert,” Sam finished. The usual.
- Voila,” satisfied Dean. You do the salad, I'll do the rest.
Right up to the end, he pretended to have nothing else on his mind than this futile exchange about lunch, and right up to the end he expected Sam not to be able to resist broaching the subject of what they'd done last night. But the youngest of the siblings didn't linger any longer, and with a brief nod he took his leave, reiterating his intention to go shopping. Then, once again alone, Dean abandoned his somewhat casual look and heaved a heavy, almost liberating sigh, a testament to his true state of mind and the turmoil that Sam's proximity continued to provoke.

Meanwhile, Castiel remained absent. Despite three calls, a voicemail and a text message, Dean hadn't managed to get in touch with the angel and, consulting his phone on the kitchen table for the umpteenth time, was beginning to wonder. It had been three days since they'd last spoken; the hunter felt only a vague concern for his friend, whom he trusted completely, but he would have preferred to hear from him that he was doing well, so as not to add to his already numerous worries and perhaps even learn from him that his investigation into the Erotes was finally progressing.
The mere thought of the Triad instantly rekindled Dean's anger. He still held them fully responsible for what had happened to him and his brother, and hadn't given up on the idea of taking revenge on them, or even wresting from them the means to counter the curse, despite all the evil Sam might think of this way of analyzing things. Dean deliberately avoided mentioning it so as not to add to the embarrassment that ruled their lives, but every second of every gesture and act he had committed against his brother was on his mind. He remembered, as if reliving it every time, how it had begun, back in Gloucester, when the fleeting vision of Sam's body in the shower had inexplicably heated his senses to the point where he'd felt such arousal that he'd had to masturbate to relieve some of the pressure. He remembered all too well the extent to which this had happened, how many times he'd stroked himself while thinking of Sam in the most shameful ways, and that moment in the bathroom when everything had definitely turned upside down. He could see himself caressing his brother's buttocks, eager to plant his hard, erect sex there, still feeling the warmth and softness of his anus at the tips of each of the fingers that had dipped into it as he copiously smeared the soap, and the memory of the unsuspected pleasure he'd taken afterwards sent him into a severe fever every time. He'd thought that this unspeakable act would have cured him, painfully, of his abnormal attraction to the flesh of his flesh, but despite the torture of the hours that had followed and the immense difficulties he'd had in overcoming the ordeal to finally allow himself to look Sam in the face again, it had happened again. Last night. He blushed with absolute shame every time he thought back to the profoundly amoral nature of his actions, felt a powerful sense of revolt about them, but it also seemed to him - more and more - to develop a kind of acceptance towards them, as if what was happening was becoming less intolerable.
Dean rose from his chair, looking weary and thoughtful. He knew that in principle he should have forcefully rejected this sort of unhealthy idea that the abnormal relationship he had with his brother was no longer as serious as it had been on the first day, but he felt as if he were numb, somehow indifferent to their significance as long as his ties with Sam continued. He imagined that his younger brother's more pragmatic approach might finally help him to cope better with this inner turmoil; after all, Sam had proved to him that he held no grudges, and was even ready to face these new feelings without trying to deny them. Nevertheless, the elder Winchester never lost sight of the fact that, although he had welcomed his advances with open arms, Sam had never been the one to initiate them, apart from those few seconds of madness in the Impala on the way back to the bunker after they'd left Gloucester.
No, as far as Dean was concerned, he was the one who had twice created the conditions to allow the laws of blood to be transgressed, and had he still feared Hell, no doubt he would have wondered more anxiously if he still belonged there.

But in the meantime, other thoughts tickled his mind, especially since he'd seen Sam again. Seeing Sam enter the room earlier had prompted an immediate desire to echo the sultry moments they'd shared the day before, and the guilty urge to repeat the experience had made a nagging comeback. Dean accepted the obvious: he was tired of fighting so violently and so vainly against the impulses that were setting his veins on fire. He didn't want to give in to them any more, but the extreme feelings that had arisen from the moments of weakness he himself had initiated tended more and more to take precedence over remorse. Deep down, he didn't regret their deviations any more than Sam did, he had to admit. Or rather, he no longer regretted them, at least not in the way he would have thought normal. As he wandered down the corridor leading to his bedroom, he felt the softness and hardness of his brother's sex return to his hand, as he again felt the warmth of his semen engulf his fingers. What they'd done last night, the mutual pleasure they'd given each other, had sealed a moment of extreme intimacy and intense complicity, different from when, in the shower, the animal side had mostly spoken, and Dean felt today that he was closer to Sam. He dipped a hand into his pocket to straighten his taut sex compressed by the fabric of his jeans, and was still reflexively surprised that he didn't feel anything but dread for what had happened in the bar parking lot. He then felt a sense of loss, being alone in the bunker, empty and silent. Even without saying anything to him, without doing anything, Dean would have liked to feel his brother's presence nearby, and it was perhaps for this reason that, without even really realizing it, he found himself pushing open the door to Sam's room.

Opening the door to Sam's room, the eldest of the siblings was not surprised to find the usual order and method, even if current circumstances had led him to expect less rigor, given the mess in his own room. Sam's bed was squared away, his toothbrush neatly tucked away on the edge of the sink, and every book, among the many the room contained, seemed to occupy an appropriate place on the few shelves hanging from the gray walls. Dean, with the excitement of a child entering a forbidden place, took a step forward with an admiring pout for the excellent upkeep of the premises, and was already thinking of what prank he could play on his brother. He aimed at the pyramid-shaped lamps arranged symmetrically on the bedside tables, on either side of the bed centered in the middle of the right-hand wall, the only one paved with brown bricks, and rolled his eyes at the fact that even the orientation of each lamp's wire was the same.
- The more it goes on, the more maniacal he gets,” he lamented aloud.
Dean stepped further into the room and glanced disdainfully at the toothbrush on his left, thinking he'd already done the trick of rubbing it in his armpit. He then approached the TV set facing the bed, under which a dozen or so films were neatly lined up, and was immediately tempted to open each box to mix up all the discs. But, as he leaned over the niche to begin his business, just to stave off boredom, a pile of forgotten laundry under the sink caught his eye; not enough to distract him from his joke, at first, but soon the clothes captured his full attention. Intrigued, Dean returned to the entrance of the room, more and more focused on the clothes left there, neatly rolled into a ball, yes, but no less at odds with the ambient discipline, and as he crouched over the laundry, already looking for what he could do with it to enrage his brother, he suddenly recognized the clothes Sam had been wearing the day before, the very ones he'd sweated in during their fight against the vampires and in which he'd cum last night.
Dean's brain seemed to freeze for a moment, and his eyes fixed on the ball of fabric without turning away. His desire for childish pranks vanished in an instant, and the intense tingling that had been nagging at his gut for days returned with a vengeance, as he gently unfolded his brother's jeans on the floor, barely daring to listen to his sudden desire to free the waistband and fly. With a certain confusion, a sort of daze, he unfolded the fabric of the pants and, when he saw the stains of dried semen on them, he remembered even more vividly Sam's imposing penis in his hand, as well as his hot semen that had suddenly begun to spurt out before engulfing his fingers. His own sex began to harden again, his throat knotting with visceral desire; Dean then noticed the black fabric stuffed inside the jeans, and already recognizing what it was, he reached feverishly to pull out the boxer shorts Sam had worn the night before. He lifted the underwear to eye level, holding it by the tips of his index and middle fingers, arm almost outstretched, and glassy-eyed he imagined what had filled it, his brother's fleshy penis, as well as his brother's shaved bursa, which he had so far been unable to palpate in the way his deranged mind would have liked. Suddenly and inexplicably, he felt a fierce attraction to the piece of cloth, a desire to get closer to Sam, to find a bit of him that wasn't there. Dean was well aware of the oddity of his gesture, but he was unable to restrain himself from bringing the boxer shorts towards him, and as he slowly came to place them under his nose he breathed in the scent, letting the perfume of the most fragrant parts of his brother's body seep through his nostrils.

From then on, his erection reached unsuspected heights. Dean felt his penis stiffen to such an extent that his egg-hard testicles began to ache, and he was soon forced to stop inhaling the scents that had permeated his brother's underwear to open his jeans and release his phallus. With his sex in the air, hard and straight as an iron bar, he immediately resumed filling his lungs with the peppery, musky scents Sam had secreted, then stood up at full speed and began rubbing his penis with his brother's boxer shorts, as if he'd decided to ejaculate in them. The most extreme excitement distorted his features, but despite his panting breath and the undeniable pleasure he took in expressing his deviant urges once again, he soon stopped, pouring over his heated crotch, and the crumpled fabric, a confused look. A new desire overcame him, that of rediscovering even more clearly that sensation of closeness with Sam which he so craved, so he took off his shoes, went and sat down at the foot of the bed where he removed his jeans, before also discarding his boxer shorts and, remaining half-naked for a moment contemplating his titanic erection with delight, he then slipped on Sam's boxer shorts, shuddering to feel them enveloping him and molding his parts as he had molded those of his brother before him. His well-being was total and, heaving a sigh of pure ecstasy, he stroked himself for a long time through the fabric, with the sensation of caressing Sam himself, as he had taken so much pleasure in doing the day before.

When Dean awoke, more than two hours had passed. He jerked his eyes open again, on his bed, pretty much dressed, even if both his belt and fly were open and he wasn't wearing shoes. Confused, he straightened his head to find that he was still wearing Sam's boxer shorts and that his own shorts were buried in a pocket. With the sensation of a vague migraine hesitating to settle beneath his skull, Dean realized that he hadn't been dreaming and that, even if he didn't actually remember it, he had abandoned Sam's room at some point to join his own. His boots were lying at the foot of his bed, and judging by the state of his socks, he must not have bothered to put his shoes on when he came back here.
He couldn't understand how he'd fallen asleep when his senses had been so furiously inflamed. He checked to see if he'd come while stroking himself, but found no trace of semen, either in the boxer shorts or elsewhere, and concluded that after lying down, he'd simply taken a nap, perhaps soothed by the exquisite sensation of having somehow united with Sam through this forced and indirect intimacy he'd provoked. He again felt a kind of euphoria as he placed his hands on his sex, covered by the same boxer shorts Sam had worn all day yesterday, but as his penis began to harden again, he suddenly realized what time it was and was immediately seized with a surge of panic at the thought of his brother's imminent return. Hardly envious of having to confess what he'd been up to in his brother's absence, Dean forced himself to pull himself together, to banish from his mind the irrational impulses that had taken up residence there, and then hastily removed the underwear that didn't belong to him to iron his own shorts. He then got fully dressed, put on his shoes and, making a ball of the black cloth that had wrapped first Sam's genitals and then his own, the eldest of the family left his room for the youngest's, intending to put the object of the crime in its place and bury what he had done with it in the back of his mind.

He stepped out into the hallway, listening for any sound that might tell him Sam was already back. Apart from the usual sounds, to which he no longer paid any attention, which occurred punctually to the rhythm of the hiccups with which the bunker's old electrical systems and plumbing were affected, Dean didn't perceive the slightest trace of presence apart from his own and hurried back down the corridor to his brother's door. He was ashamed of himself for acting this way, on the sly, trying to camouflage his fault because he'd been too weak to resist the foreign instincts that had invested him, but he still had his pride and assuming he hadn't been able to resist the urge to sniff and wear his brother's underwear was incompatible with that. He clutched the boxer shorts in his hand, took the bend in the corridor without slowing down and threw his free hand on the handle of Sam's bedroom door, which he opened gently, only to stand there like a stake, petrified by the scene he was unexpectedly confronted with.

Sam had come home and was lying on his bed, naked from the ankles down. Thighs spread, one leg bent against his torso and the other barring the mattress, his penis rose outrageously toward the ceiling, and his testicles, smooth and swollen like two juicy apricots, gleamed in their wetness. Eyes squinted, eyebrows furrowed, he groaned with both pleasure and effort, both hands between his legs, but it wasn't his sex he was manipulating. Eyes bulging and his penis hardening like stone again, Dean saw his brother busy inserting a dildo into his anus, in the form of a flesh-colored silicone phallus coated with lubricant that he was slowly moving back and forth over several centimeters, when with a steamy sigh, he heard him utter in a concupiscent grunt:
- Oh fuck, that's good... Fuck me, Dean, oh come on, I'm your whore...
His raw words, sharp as an axe, shook Dean, and he jerked involuntarily, his soles crunching on the floor, giving away his presence. Sam, alerted, immediately reopened his eyes, and when he saw his brother staring at him in amazement, he looked up and exclaimed in disbelief:
- D...Dean?! What the...
He straightened up so quickly that he expelled the sextoy like a turd, and despite the circumstances, Dean couldn't help but notice how familiar the dimensions of the object, all engulfed in translucent fluid between his younger son's bare thighs, were.
- I...” he stammered, moving one leg in one direction and the rest of his body in the other. I...
- What the... Get out!” shouted Sam, hastily folding a corner of the blanket over himself in a futile attempt to preserve some dignity. Who the hell told you to come in here? Get the fuck out!
Stunned, Dean obeyed obediently, wondering mechanically what he should do with the boxer shorts in his hand: let them go, or take them with him. As if by automatism, he chose to put it in his pocket and looked for the doorknob, spinning around, seeming to think it was possible that it had suddenly shifted on the wall. Eventually, he groped for it, and with a stunned look on his face, managed to close the door behind him, but not without first jamming his foot in the doorway.

There, alone in the corridor, shielded from the highly disturbing image of Sam thrusting a dildo the size of his sex up his anus, Dean tried to catch his breath as he felt a sharp heat rise to his forehead, then it was his heart he felt racing as he took in the full extent of the scene he'd just witnessed. Not only had he just seen his brother at his most intimate, but he'd also heard him calling out to him as he slid the sextoy into his rectum. Proof, if any were needed, that Sam had more than enjoyed the sodomy his eldest had practically forced on him, which didn't make it any easier for Dean to deal with the torrent of emotions assailing him. He was shocked, of course, but not indignant. It was mainly because he'd found the scene incredibly arousing that his head was spinning, and no matter how hard he tried to prevent the frightening truth from taking shape in his mind, it was his sex, hard and stiff behind his swollen fly, that at this moment he would have ardently wanted to plant between his brother's buttocks, instead of the plastic toy Sam had preferred.

Chapter Text

- Dean! Wait! Wait! Wait! Wait, I tell you! Dean!

The thundering voice of Sam, who hadn't taken thirty seconds to launch himself after him, forced Dean to emerge, as he stubbornly walked towards the library as if he didn't hear anything. With every step, he could feel his brother getting closer, fulminating with rage, and because he had neither the desire nor the strength to oppose him, he tried to ignore him until the last minute, until, barely past the library door, Sam's hand grabbed him roughly by the shoulder, forcing him to stop short and turn around.
Half haggard, he had no choice but to look into his brother's eyes, and it wasn't rage he saw there. It was fear.
- Hey!” thundered the youngest Winchester, his features terribly tense and his eyeballs blazing with moisture. I'm talking to you!
Clearly terrified of his potential riposte, but determined at all costs to see it through, Sam waited for his brother's response for a handful of seconds that seemed like hours. In fact, Dean had nothing to say, except that he would have liked to sweep the books off the table right then and there, make Sam lie down on them and pull down his pants so as to bend him over. This thought, as tangible as it was terrible, he had to keep secret, and while striving to dominate his torments he contented himself with declaring, in an extinguished tone in which Sam, wrongly, saw proof of repulsion towards him:
- What? What's the matter, Sam? It's okay, Sam. I didn't see or hear anything, don't worry.
He turned his back on his younger brother, who watched in horror as he took a few steps away, feeling the suffocating, intolerable weight of his contempt. Panic gripped him, and ready to do anything to redeem himself, he stammered, mortified:
- Dean, listen, I... I didn't... I didn't mean that... I didn't want you to see what... I'm sorry, I'm sorry, don't... I'm sorry, okay?
The eldest of the siblings continued to take a few steps, without a word, and went off to pour himself a glass.
- Shall I pour you one?” he asked.
Sam, taken aback, was speechless for a moment before stammering:
- W-What?
- I asked you if you wanted a drink,” he repeated, having already emptied his.
Sam was unable to answer. Tense as perhaps he'd never been before, he tried in vain to determine his brother's state of mind, who grew weary of his coy silence.
- Well, if you're thirsty, you can help yourself,” he said in a disillusioned tone.
He refilled his glass and retraced his steps, walking to an armchair where he dropped heavily with a sigh. Sam, who hadn't taken his eyes off him, continued to stare at him without a word or a gesture, his heart pounding in his chest, and soon decided to repeat in a breath, overwhelmed by the unbearable silence:
- I beg your pardon, I... I didn't mean to... You shouldn't have seen... Oh, for God's sake...
Collapsed, he collapsed on the nearest chair, in front of the table, where he rested his elbows to take his temples in his hands. Dean felt as if he'd been there before, except that he was now in Sam's place, but unlike Sam, he actually had something - the unthinkable - to make up for.
- I told you it's okay,” Dean said sullenly after taking a sip. You've got nothing to worry about, you're free to do as you please, it's none of my business... If you need this to unwind, it's none of my business.
The hypocritical condescension that had permeated his words passed with difficulty. For him, because he knew he was the last person to judge his brother's means of coping with the tension, and he was angry at himself for appearing to be a stranger to it, or for denying his actions over the last few days, and for Sam, who felt exposed.
- Do you think I'm enjoying this?” he defended himself painfully, forced to admit that his pragmatism had its limits. Do you think I like it, feeling these... these impulses that make me behave like I've never behaved in my life?
Dean remained silent, glass to lips and staring into space, but he knew exactly what his brother was feeling.
- I've never been so ashamed in my life,” Sam lamented, burying his head in his arms.
- Hey,” Dean finally said in a measured voice, draining his second glass. There's no need to brood like that. You know we're not in our right mind right now... Besides...
He paused, hesitating to be so down-to-earth, wanted to take another sip before realizing it was impossible, and added:
- You're not the only one who's done some... weird stuff in your life, you know? Besides... it's not like I haven't seen a dick in your ass before, right?
He surprised himself that he'd said things so bluntly, and even more that he'd been able to broach the subject so head-on without nearly choking, even if his words left a bitter taste. Sam was the first to be taken aback, and despite his appalling embarrassment at having been caught in such a humiliating posture, he raised his eyebrows and blurted out, slightly shocked:
- Wow... Totally.
Dean felt the red rise to his cheeks and his crotch quiver. He doubted that the effects of alcohol were already involved, and tried to make up for the more than frank way he'd just expressed himself.
- At least it's clear,” Sam continued, pale.
Unexpectedly, the younger Winchester took comfort in what he had just heard. To his surprise, his brother seemed at last to be willing to face things head-on, and he was both pleased and relieved, even if this didn't make it any easier for them to come to terms with the upheavals they were facing, from which they saw no way out. Sam felt entitled to hope, at least, that their exchanges on the matter might perhaps be calmer, more sincere, more inclined to help them overcome the crisis they were facing, and it was to this idea that he wanted to cling.
-Let it go,” Dean pleaded morosely. I didn't see anything, and you didn't hear anything, okay?
Sam gave him an affectionate, grateful look, without saying a word, while Dean grumbled at his empty glass.
- Whose idea was it to make glasses that small?
He got up with a grumpy leap and walked straight to the bottle to pour himself a generous refill, avoiding looking at his brother so as not to add to his embarrassment. Yet less than a minute later, as he stood brooding over the whisky on the sideboard, he looked at Sam with eyes that were both nervous and prudish, before saying in a firm, irritated and resolute tone:
- Look, we've really got to face the fact that this is just another ordeal that's fallen in our laps, okay? It's not the first jinx we've had, so... We'll deal with it as best we can while it lasts, and when it's over, it'll all be a bad memory.
Once again, he took a sip of alcohol, as if to convince himself of what he'd just said. Sam wanted to adhere in good faith to his positions, and asked without any desire to provoke, with humility:
- Do you have a solution?
Dean, on edge, had the impression that his brother was playing on irony by alluding to what had happened in the Impala yesterday. He misunderstood the meaning of the question, and with his amoral actions permanently obsessing him, he replied with a stern look:
- Hey, I know I screwed up, okay? Again. It's not easy for you, but maybe it's worse for me. You're not the one who jumped on me like a horny beast, and twice. Hell, and I wasn't even drunk!
He aimed his glass angrily and dropped it violently over the tray before taking a few steps away, his hands clenched on his hips.
- That's not what I meant,” Sam assured him in a soothing tone. I'm not blaming you for anything, I've already told you, not for yesterday, not for the day before. It's just that... I don't feel it's getting any better, on the contrary, and I don't know how far...
He didn't finish his sentence, whose punchline Dean could easily guess.
- It's up to us to limit the damage,” he pleaded with determination.
Then, with his back turned, he added half-heartedly, suddenly feeling the weight of the mistakes they'd made even heavier:
- Although I don't know if it makes sense anymore, after what we've already done...
Sam wasn't sure he'd heard her clearly, but didn't dare ask her to repeat herself. Somberly, he tried to define the means by which he would personally be able to manage his outbursts of desire, much less sure, now, of being able to channel them, and in despair he finally blurted out, teeth clenched:
- I know I said the opposite, that we'd make it, together, but frankly it's getting hard to bear. What you saw me do just now... I don't recognize myself, I can hardly believe I went out and bought that... That fucking thing... I refused to hear about it, but maybe you're right after all. If the way to deal with this is to put it out of our minds, then... let's do it.
Dean remained stoic, his back still turned. If the proposal had come two days earlier, he'd have already set off for the storeroom to bring back all the mystical ingredients and other materials needed to create a spell, whatever it might be. But as he greeted this suggestion with restraint, at the very least, he realized that he had definitely evolved and that he had been wrong from the start to resort to such an expedient.
- No, Sammy, you were right. Even if we force ourselves to forget what's happened since we crossed paths with the Erotes, do you think we'll be rid of the way we feel? I doubt it.
- Then all we have to do is get rid of those ideas,” said Sam, weighed down by shame and vexation.
- And what would that change?” Dean questioned, turning to consult him tiredly. The damage is done, it won't erase what happened.
- Then let's erase everything!” cried Sam, standing up on his two feet in fury. The Erotes, what it felt like, what it made us do! Everything! We're back to square one, like we were before we took care of this business, like nothing ever happened!
Dean looked at his brother with an expression of disillusioned compassion. Calmly, he said:
- And we'd let them get on with their merry-go-round? Knowing that they're out there driving I don't know how many people crazy?
- They've been doing what they've been doing since the dawn of time, Dean,” he reminded her in an implacable tone, his eyes blazing. Let's forget we ever knew they existed and let someone else do it for a change.
Dean looked at his brother incredulously, unable to believe he really meant what he said. Sam was weary, humiliated at having been caught in a highly degrading situation and perhaps even more so at having been overheard expressing aloud the nature of his baser instincts, but that was far from a good enough reason for the eldest sibling to resort to such extremities.
- If we do this, then they've won, Sam,” Dean asserted bitterly. It would be worse than burying our heads in the sand, it would be retreating with our tails between our legs, denying that we have to act, denying who we are, and you know that as well as I do.
Jaws and fists clenched to the point of breaking teeth and bones, Sam shot his brother a look of distress, to which Dean responded by regarding him with a certain fatalism. Again, it seemed to him that their roles had been reversed, and with a lucidity he'd probably lacked until then, he added:
- Whatever they've done, it's here now, and burying our heads in the sand isn't going to help. This may surprise you, but I finally understood at least that much.
Sam shook his head sourly, sniffed and rubbed his nose, then, with a hand on his hip, turned away to take two steps with his back to the wall. He remained staring at the ceiling for a moment, unable to objectively refute Dean's arguments, and reluctantly ended up asking a second time:
- Okay, so what do we do?
Dean was surprised by the distraught tone of his question. He realized, however, that the pragmatism with which his brother had tried to handle the situation so far had partly been a facade, and somehow he felt reassured.
- You said it yourself,” he reminded himself in a distressed voice tinged with muted anger. We won't be the first to be frustrated. How about a hooker bar? I've got a top address, even you won't be disappointed.
His remark had quickly turned to sarcasm and Sam rolled his eyes in disillusion.
- Thanks, I'll pass,” he muttered.
- Okay,” nodded Dean, slowly moving closer to his right flank, a falsely casual pout on his lips. Well then, we'll just have to continue polishing each other's shafts.
- You mean, each in our own corner?” Sam jibed. Or are you suggesting we do it together?
Out of the corner of his eye, he gave his brother a sharp look, and this time he got the hint. Dean froze for a brief moment, staring at Sam with rounded eyes, then swallowing his saliva, he simply replied with a hint of derision:
- You don't have to feel embarrassed about what you've done, I've screwed up quite a bit too...
He even gave a grin that was supposed to show his detachment from the subject, patted Sam on the shoulder before passing him by, but he had laughed yellow, and the younger of the two men, seeing him walk away with his cowboy gait and take the direction of the kitchen through the main hall, tried to hold him back, regretting the tone he had used in spite of himself.
- Wait, Dean, I...
- Let's eat!” he ordered, already disappearing. Did you at least wait for me?
- When I got home, you were asleep, so... yes.
- So let's eat! That'll keep us from talking garbage! Did you find the doughnuts?

Sam pecked at a few pieces of tomato and a couple of salad leaves, without much appetite. A hundred times he wanted to go back over what Dean had seen him do, and a hundred times he couldn't find the courage, red with shame at having exposed himself in this way, even if his brother had been wrong not to knock. Above all, Sam was frightened at the idea that the latter might clearly have heard his name in the lascivious prayers he'd uttered, and this fear alone locked in any temptation to bring up the subject again, while Dean honored his meal, swallowing cheeseburger and fried onions and appearing to have already moved on.

It was only a posture, and as his youngest offered to clear away, he took the opportunity to surreptitiously return the stolen object still buried in his pocket and finally get it over with. He made a detour to the bathroom, then left to rest and reflect in his room, smeared from the quantity of overly rich food he'd sent to soak in the alcoholic broth he'd imprudently lathered his stomach with just before. He felt nauseous, but this discomfort was nothing compared to the desire that gnawed at his guts as if they were burned with acid; he kept seeing his brother, lying on his bed, busy providing himself without restraint with the pleasure he needed, and despite all that this imperious instinct seemed to him to be vile and reprehensible, Dean could only think of the absolute pleasure he himself would have experienced if he'd been able to join Sam and offer him what he'd so ardently demanded.
Of course, he'd heard his youngest call out to him in a moan, dreaming of the silicone member being made of flesh and blood, his flesh and blood. But Dean had been deeply shaken by it, as much as Sam had been by being caught in the act, and it had been impossible for him to speak frankly about it after that. Nonetheless, he felt the irrational lack of his brother's body so much that it made him ache; he vibrated inwardly, subjected to the incessant biting that set his guts on edge and, with his hand plunged into the hollow of his pants, he imagined himself, between revolt and despair, reconnecting with the sensations he'd so deliciously experienced when committing the irreparable folly of protruding his own brother ; those extreme sensations, a mixture of ecstasy and dread, which he continued to describe as criminal without, however, inspiring any real disgust. He intended to keep on trying to resist with all his might, even if he doubted he could do so indefinitely, given his two previous missteps; to do so, he was prepared to drown himself in alcohol if need be, or in the eyes of some girl he'd picked up in a bar, but despite his appetite for either of these distractions, his attraction to Sam had become so powerful and absolute that neither was strong enough to turn him away.

It seemed to him then that he truly understood the scope of the Erotes' frightening power, but he couldn't say whether their ability to bring back the most terrible feelings was more frightening than discovering that he'd perhaps always harbored them deep in his heart.
In retrospect, he would have paid dearly to know what would have happened if, instead of bolting, he'd stayed to show Sam the extent of his excitement. Maybe his brother, flushed with shame, would have chased him away just as forcefully, or maybe he would have agreed to let him join him and they would have once again fully indulged their baser instincts... He'd never know, but Dean, as confused as he was overwhelmed, was unable to determine whether the bitter regret of this missed opportunity was preferable to a third transgression of their strongest bonds, and the mere fact of still asking himself this question plunged him into deeper and deeper confusion.

Dean, nervously exhausted, finally fell asleep. Waking up was synonymous with difficulty in opening his eyelids, and taking a very deep breath he rubbed his eyes, just before jumping with fright and pulling himself up onto his elbows, when he saw Sam sitting motionless at the foot of the bed.
- Sammy...?” he exclaimed in a dirty voice. What the hell are you doing here?
The younger of the two brothers offered a view of his left flank and seemed elsewhere. With his shoulders low, his back rounded and the sleeves of his checked shirt rolled up to his elbows, he took a moment to look at his elder brother, who saw in him a somber, serious and saddened look.
- Huh?” he insisted. What's the matter? Has something happened?
Sam let his gaze wander again, curled his lips and shook his head briefly.
- No,” he answered. Nothing's happened.
He fell silent and his brother, who had been watching him warily, straightened up into a sitting position, legs stretched out, and stuck his back to the shelf cluttered with weapons of all kinds that lined the wall above his headboard.
- Been here long?
- Not too long, no,” said Sam, twisting his fingers and keeping his head down.
He said no more, and Dean sensed they were in for a long wait.
- Sam, you're going to have to be a bit more talkative, if you've got something to say, I don't feel like pulling your leg right now.
Why else would he be standing there like that, if not to say what was on his mind? The young man with the half-length hair, which shone brighter than usual under the frail light of the bedside lamp and that coming from the corridor through the open door, denied nothing, and spoke again shortly afterwards, confiding stiffly:
- I've just been... thinking about what we said earlier. About how we can handle this.
- Oh, you've been thinking, finally, are you okay with hookers?” he scoffed, not thinking for a second that his brother might have opted for this idea he didn't believe in himself.
- Please,” he begged without a smile. Please be serious.
Dean wanted to be. He felt he had no choice but to be as honest as possible, backed into a corner by his brother's gaze, at once full of hope, apprehension and doubt. A veil of gravity suddenly aged his features, and no longer able to conceal his dismay, he searched for the right tone for a long time before confessing, his voice already wavering:
- I'm... I'm trying. But what else can I say that we haven't already said? Okay, I can't deny that half the time I've got this... fire in my gut, and the other half I'm wondering how I can feel all this and still look you in the eye.
This was what he was doing, plunging a wet gaze into Sam's tormented pupils, whose forehead was barred with worry lines.
- You saw how I behaved,” Dean continued, two tones lower, dejected. I... I couldn't even control myself, I just jumped on you, I...
- You've always been the more sanguine of the two of us,” Sam cut in with a slight smile to stop him moping again. I've told you ten times it doesn't matter.
- It does to me. And it should matter to you too. When I pulled away, I was completely discombobulated, and even later, after we talked about it again, I... I almost did something really stupid, Sammy. It was so close, because what I did, for me, is... impossible to explain. To feel that way about a guy... It's like I'm not me anymore, and to do this to you, it's like you're nothing... What more could I have done to you? Even now, there are moments when I tell myself I was having a nightmare, that it didn't really happen.
Acquiescing gravely, Sam asked shortly afterwards, her voice in a knot:
- Is this how you always feel? Like a nightmare?
Looking confused, Dean shook his head, his gaze blank.
- I don't know what I feel. I don't know anymore. I know it happened, I can still feel it in my gut, it's there, like it happened five minutes ago. But the way I behaved, for me it's impossible to forgive, it's too serious. And yet, ever since you told me you weren't angry with me, and I believe you, even if I don't understand how it's possible... Since then, I feel... less bad. And that makes me even crazier.
Sam bowed his head religiously, and a deathly silence fell over the room like a leaden screed. He'd sensed how much it had cost his brother to be so sincere and transparent, and although Dean probably hadn't wanted to be so expansive beforehand, the latter suddenly felt a relief as profound as it was unexpected, a real deliverance that made him feel like he was finally breathing again.
- Is it all right?” he checked with an ersatz smile, finally happy to have confided in him. Was it serious enough for you?
Sam aimed at him out of the corner of his eye and, with a short, dry laugh that came out mostly as a sharp nasal sigh, he said in a warm timbre:
- I'm glad. It means a lot to me when you tell me how you really feel.
Dean felt moved, and his throat tightened too. He rubbed his nose with a hasty pinch, then clearing his throat he resumed:
- I owe you that much... Don't think, because I've told you all this, that... I feel comfortable with what's happened... But for now, if you're okay... I'll survive. I think I will.
Sam nodded, and in the face of this modest invitation to confide in him, he assured:
- It's okay, don't worry. If you're here, I'm fine.
Their eyes met for a brief moment, before they looked away.
- Well, I'm like you,” nuanced the youngest of the siblings. I don't really know where I stand, but I'm discovering desires and... urges I never thought I'd have, but you know...
The image of her brother thrusting the dildo into her anus came back to Dean's mind. In fact, it had never really left him.
- The two times we... cracked,” Sam continued, ”I completely lost my footing. All I wanted at the time was for us to continue, I didn't care about anything else. When the tension died down, I told myself I'd lost my mind, but at the same time I couldn't ignore the fact that... I mean... that I liked it. I liked it a lot.
He'd finished his confession in a breath, and if Dean felt a little uncomfortable as a result, he made a point of answering.
- I understand... I mean, yes and no, it's downright weird and, disturbing, and... whatever. Of all the crap that's happened to us, we've never been through anything like this, but... Yeah, I liked it too, that's the terrible part. I'd like to deny it, but how the hell can I?
He looked dismayed, but it was reality. His body had proved it better than any other way, and if Sam had never doubted it, he was relieved and, in a way, happy to hear his brother finally admit the obvious, no less disturbing.
- It's hard to take all this in, isn't it? shared Sam between despondency and resignation.
Dean raised his eyebrows significantly.
- Do you really believe it?” he asked, as a final check. That it's coming from us? Were you serious when you said that... you ever thought of us that way? Or was it just to make me react?
Sam took the time to weigh his words. He wanted to be as clear, concise and sincere as possible, and declared:
- Never clearly, until now. My imagination has made me think of strange things from time to time, but I've never paid any attention to them. Maybe it really was nothing, but when I see what's been happening since Gloucester... I tell myself there's no smoke without fire, Dean, the Erotes were just the trigger. They saw it was there.
The latter swallowed his saliva, finding it hard to refute this statement in which he perceived a clear echo of his own feelings, but said nothing.
- I've never felt before what I'm feeling now,” continued Sam, who, with downcast eyes, wished he could say everything to free himself. You think I can handle it, but I can't. In fact, I can't handle much at all. I spend all my time trying to calm my ardor, I thought I could find a way to deal with it, but it doesn't work. You were right, yesterday in the car, we can't do it like that, I... I'm trying to ignore this constant urge to do what we did again, because I know it's crazy, but it's getting stronger and stronger and I don't know how to control it.
His throat was so tight he felt as if he were swallowing razor blades, as he felt he'd never confessed so clearly how sharp and vivid was the desire that was devouring his stomach and heart. He feared he might frighten Dean by being too frank, but went through with it in spite of that and, his voice icy, amended himself:
- I didn't want you to know how obsessed I am with this, because... I'm afraid it'll drive us apart, but what's the point of pretending, after what you saw earlier? If you thought I could handle the situation better than you, I can't. I'm not. Not rebelling against what's happening, trying to accept it or admit what you're feeling... I wanted to believe it was enough, but it's not.

Sam felt cold and began to tremble softly as he shut himself into silence, his wet eyes turned to the ground, waiting, hoping and dreading all at once for his brother's reaction, mute and motionless. He seemed to cower in on himself, as he had the few times as a child he'd feared their father's hand would come down on him, and a good minute passed before he dared raise his eyes to rest them slowly on Dean. The latter was staring at a point on the opposite wall. His features were frozen, but not in anger, disgust or hatred. He was past all that, he realized.
- Back to square one? he said in a neutral voice, his tone deeper. Is that it? If we can't go on like this, what do we do?
His questioning, disarmed gaze shifted to Sam, who didn't support him for more than a second. The younger of the two brothers had come to his own conclusions, and he knew what he wanted.
- Do you really have no idea?” he tried to jostle, looking up, encouraged by Dean's measured tone. Why are we doing this to ourselves? Look what we've already done, you and I; listen to us, can't you hear us talking?
The older Winchester's features suddenly sagged. His face seemed to fall, like a mask of melted wax, and then, with a stiff back, he began to move, leaving the bed on the opposite side to where Sam was standing. He took several steps away to the desk in the corner of the room, and a sudden feeling of anguish oppressed his heart, for he thought he'd understood what his brother wanted to suggest without having imagined he'd ever have the courage, he nervously requited, back turned:
- I think we'd better call it a night.
From the other side of the room, Sam felt his fists and teeth clench by themselves, animated by a wave of cold fury.
- Seriously?” he snapped. Are we going to push the dust under the carpet again?
After a moment, he leapt to his feet and turned to face his mute brother, whose back he could only see.
- That's all we do, Dean! condemned Sam with an incendiary look. Refusing to get to the bottom of the question! Where does that leave us?
- I know what you're going to say!” he protested without real strength, only glancing over his shoulder. You want... to accept this, you want... You want to...
He was unable to say more. Sam saw him nod painfully.
- Say it,” he challenged with a belligerent expression. Why did you stop? Say it, come on!
- This is crazy, Sam,” Dean defended, turning to aim a tired look at him. You want us to stop fighting, stop resisting and just give in. You don't realize what that means.
- No,” Sam rejected vehemently. No, Dean, it's you who doesn't realize. You think we're saving the day by trying to hold back, but you've seen we're incapable of doing that! You refuse to let go but it doesn't make any sense anymore, we're not going to erase the fact that we've fucked, you and me, we've already crossed the line, it's dead! It happened and it'll happen again, one way or another. Just like yesterday.
Sam suddenly had the sensation of intense fatigue. That of having thrown all his strength into a battle that was lost in advance, but necessary in his eyes. He braced himself for a riposte, but it didn't come: Dean stared at him for a moment, then turned around again.
The younger of the two men realized they were finished.
- I'll... I'll leave you to it,” he warned in an insecure voice, suddenly frightened at having frightened his elder and seeing him trying to flee again. Now you know everything.
He turned slowly on his heels and walked away quietly.
- Sam,” Dean called in a gravelly voice, biting his lips.
There was no reaction and he turned to see his brother about to leave the room.
- Sam!
With a resolute step, he rushed after her and stood in the doorway to prevent her from entering. Their eyes, shining with an intense gravity, clashed over the torment that chiselled their features and, between fear and indignation, Dean attacked.
- Where are you going?” he spat, baring his teeth. Who's that running away? Who?
He threw his hands forward like a snake and collided with Sam's torso, forcing him to take two steps back to avoid falling.
- What's the matter with you!” exclaimed the younger Winchester, taken by surprise by Dean's sudden outburst, as he locked eyes with him. Are you crazy?
- You're not getting away with this, Dean warned.
And he pushed him again, forcing him to take two more steps back.
- All right, calm down!” ordered Sam. You're the one who wanted to leave it at that! I didn't!
- So if you don't want to, what's next, eh?” he bit out, shoulders open and chest out.
As he continued to advance on Sam, with almost warlike determination, the latter backed off just as much, without taking his eyes off him. He realized too late that he'd reached the bed, and as he bumped into it, he fell heavily, sitting on it, his hands back to break his fall. Dean stopped.
- Are you sure about this?” he probed with an infinitely hard, penetrating gaze.
Sam, feverish, wasn't immediately sure what the question meant. Breathless, sweat breaking out all over his body through the pores of his skin, he hung on to his brother's eyes and lips for a moment, before nodding and saying softly:
- Yes...
Dean held his eyes on him for a few seconds longer, as if to gauge the strength of his conviction, then inhaled slowly, and delivering his sentence, he finally proclaimed:
- Okay, Sam. You asked for it.

Then, before his brother's wide eyes and without taking his eyes off him for a moment, Dean hastily undid his belt, unbuttoned his jeans and unzipped his pants. Immediately afterwards, he took a step forward and, dropping to his knees just in front of Sam, he placed both hands on Sam's crotch without hesitation, unhooking the buckle of his belt without delay. Sam was overwhelmed by a wave of excitement and anxiety that took his breath away and, paralyzed, he watched as Dean then popped the buttons of his jeans one by one, each water releasing a little more of his manhood and accentuating his panic. With the prominent bulge between his legs thus exposed, he began to hope as much as fear what would happen next, wondering if things could go any further, and suddenly a tremendous shudder ran through him as he saw his brother, as far as he could feel, plunge his hand into his boxer shorts to extract his sex, hard and straight as an oak stake. Sam's penis throbbed between Dean's fingers, and he spent several seconds staring at it with enlarged eyes to detail every aspect, and caught in a violent fit of fever, the eldest of the siblings tugged curtly at his younger brother's pants to free the stiff, burning phallus completely. He then observed Sam's member in all its splendor, from the root to the tip of the naked, moist glans, and brought his eyes down to his hairless bursa, under which he slid his free hand to delicately weigh them.
Sam let out a guttural sigh that seemed endless.
- You've got some seriously smooth balls,” Dean remarked with a purr. The hours you spend in the bathroom aren't just for washing your hair, it seems...
Sam was unable to say a word. In the grip of phenomenal arousal, he struggled to keep from fainting, or already ejaculating, as Dean began to gently caress his testicles. The latter was astonished by their warmth, weight and volume, and it was with a kind of strange fascination that he remained admiring his younger son's sex, aware of the aberration that characterized his behavior, but also fully receptive to the undeniable well-being he was deriving from it. Without ceasing to gently massage Sam's bursa, whose extreme softness he savored, Dean simultaneously began to masturbate him, slowly moving his hand up and down the length of the imposing member, thus rediscovering the delicious sensation he had discovered the day before. But as Sam began to moan plaintively, as his muscles began to tense in anticipation of his climax, and as Dean saw a translucent drop beading at the tip of the smooth, glistening glans that made his mouth water in spite of himself, he forced himself to slow down, lest he bring his brother to orgasm too soon. On the contrary, he wanted to give him prolonged pleasure, though he wasn't quite sure how to go about it:
- Is that okay with you?
Disturbed as never before, Sam gazed into his brother's green eyes, lined with long black lashes. His heart pounding, electrified by overexcitement and fear, he could see his erect sex standing right in front of Dean's face, who held it resolutely in his warm hands, and with his eyes veiled he only managed to answer with a dazed nod, unable to pronounce the “yes” he wanted to scream. Dean understood, perfectly, and sketching a fleeting smile he rested his eyes on his brother's splendid penis, which he slid into his palm, contemplating it with extreme attention.
- You've really grown into a very, very big boy, Sammy,” he purred, fixing a lustful gaze on the fleshy shaft, running its entire length.
The lustful expression in his brother's eyes nearly made Sam choke, his sex contracting reflexively between Dean's fingers as he smiled wider. He looked up at his younger brother for a moment and, realizing how desperate he was, went back to stroking his testicles, cupping their ample roundness with the hollow of his palm as he brought his face close to his phallus, whose slightly peppery scent titillated his nostrils.
- I've never done this before,” confided the eldest of the siblings, looking more and more enthralled by his brother's anatomy, ”so... If I do it wrong or it's unpleasant...
Sam, as if in a trance, was literally chattering his teeth as he burned with the desire to see him go further. He shook his head curtly and managed to spit out, his voice strangled:
- Don't worry. I want you to go on.
Dean looked up with a confused yet silent satisfaction, then, cheeks flushed, returned his gaze to Sam's penis, which he was still stroking. The more the seconds passed, the more he felt irresistibly and inexplicably drawn to the warm, quivering rod of flesh; but his brother's penis seemed more and more beautiful, more and more pleasant to touch, and soon he found himself brushing against it with his nose, without even having seen himself approaching so close. The scent of sex revealed itself fully to him, and he smiled again as he recognized the one he'd long sniffed through the stolen fabric. Sam, who felt Dean's breath caress his skin, sighed concupiscently, and drunk with the pleasure of seeing and feeling him so close, of feeling his hands all over his sex, he instinctively sought to show it off even more. It was a useless effort: Dean was under the spell, as incomprehensibly as undoubtedly, and at the cost of a marked hesitation that reflected his final doubts on the matter, he finally parted his lips, then flicked the tip of his tongue, until, with a timid gesture, he licked a few centimetres of Sam's penis, starting from the root, in the hollow of his bursa.
Both men froze, struck by the unique, even unprecedented sensations that revealed themselves to them; the elder man's taste buds crackled under the sweet bitterness that vaguely developed in his mouth, and while wondering why he had just committed such a gesture, he felt his brother's sex twitch abruptly as the latter emitted a muffled moan, a sign of the violent pleasure that surged.
- Dean...,” he gasped, as if stunned. Dean... Oh, shit, Dean!
His voice, languid and ecstatic, had suddenly changed. He'd uttered his brother's name with panic in his voice, as if he'd suddenly noticed a fire, and with catastrophic haste he pulled up his jeans, leaving his elder brother stunned, kneeling at his feet. The latter soon realized, however, that something unexpected had happened, and when he saw Sam staring in horror at the entrance to the room behind his back, he felt his bones freeze before he dared to turn around. The beige raincoat he then saw informed him without a doubt of the intruder's identity long before he met his gaze, and when he looked up into the intruder's decomposed face, it was in a stunned voice that he heard Castiel utter:
- Sam? Dean?

Chapter Text

The conch, speckled like a star-studded sky and with a spire as long as it was pointed, gleamed with opalescent brilliance. Almost the size of a rugby ball, it sat in the middle of the library table. Dean had been staring at it scrutinizingly for several minutes and stood at a safe distance from it, arms crossed near a wide shelf.
- How does it work?" he asked Castiel solemnly.
The angel, standing on the other side of the table, had not returned empty-handed. He had finally unearthed a vital element in his quest for a means to counter the Erotes, and before his friend, having caught up with him in the corridors of the bunker, could even attempt to provide him with an explanation for the compromising scene he had witnessed, he had flashed the relic and announced the success of his enterprise. Nothing else mattered, as Dean realized that he might finally have an asset that could turn the balance of power with the Triad. He immediately demanded to know everything about the strange object, and Castiel had already told him that the conch, unearthed from the bottom of a cave on the shores of the Caspian Sea, was supposed to have the power to summon Eros and his brothers.
- According to the Dodecatheist priest who taught me about it," he related, "all you have to do is blow into it. Dean looked up in dismay.
- Are you serious?
Castiel nodded uncertainly.
- I haven't verified his claims, but... the object exudes an undeniable mystical aura. Besides, even if I had summoned the Erotes, what was I supposed to do next?
Dean followed reluctantly and wordlessly. Being able to find the three deities was real progress, but they were still powerless against them without a weapon to defeat them. It was the only reason he had been able to resist throwing himself on the conch shell.
- Didn't you find out how to kill them?
- No," said the angel, shaking his head in annoyance. No, Dean, it's... I'm not sure you should see them as dangerous beings to be eliminated, Erotes aren't supposed to be malevolent entities like...
- Oh no?" cut in the hunter, raising his voice in fury. Because Sam and I haven't been ourselves since we had the misfortune to come face-to-face with them, if you haven't noticed, and frankly, I understand those people who went into a tailspin after having been subjected to their Bite-My-Node Touch!
Castiel's only response to his anger was patient silence, for he knew there was no point in insisting or asking him to calm down. It was Dean alone who finally calmed down a little, when the absolute embarrassment that had seized him when he was caught kneeling between his brother's thighs, licking his sex, returned to make its harsh bite felt. He could tell by the way Castiel looked away that the latter was uncomfortable, and in an attempt to evacuate the subject as much as possible, Dean, choked by a sharp whiff of shame, forced himself to say, in a strangled voice:
- Look, what you saw... you shouldn't have seen it. You shouldn't have seen it because it should never have happened. I mean, normally, Sam and I would never...
Suddenly overwhelmed beyond his limit of tolerance, not knowing where to put himself, he fell silent and raised his arms to clasp the back of his neck with clasped hands, helpless in the face of the proportions the situation had assumed. He let out a long, feverish sigh, his eyes on the ceiling, and Castiel, trying to support him:
- Dean, you...
- I'm sorry I didn't tell you," he interrupted. You jumped right in to help us, and you did a great job... I should have warned you that... That we didn't come out of our encounter with them intact. I mean... Nothing like a demonstration, right?
He punctuated his remark with a bitter smile, his eyes bright and bewildered. Castiel lowered his gaze, looking a little more closed, then analyzed:
- You mustn't blame yourself, Dean. The Touch of the Love Gods is sometimes treacherous, especially in these times. In the old days, it might have been morally less difficult to give in to certain inclinations, but today, within the societies you've built, that's probably less true.
- It used to be easier, really? protested Dean brightly. You, who've been dragging your feet for centuries, do you want to tell me when it was moral to fuck your own brother?
With a dejected raise of his eyebrow, Castiel implicitly admitted that he had no firm answer to give to this question, which might have been merely rhetorical, had he not realized how much it concerned his two friends head-on, and in its most literal form.
- You'd be surprised at the kind of morals your fellow creatures have sometimes adopted," relativized the angel, from the height of his cosmic, centuries-old vision of life on earth.
- I don't know and I don't care, okay?" he threw out without reply. He's my brother, there's no justification for what... What you saw, what...
He let out a growl of fury and spun around, running a hand through his hair, looking for a mouse hole to hide in.
- It's not your fault," Castiel insisted. If the Erotes have awakened something, it won't be easy to ignore.
Dean gave him a dejected look that his friend, looking thoughtful, didn't notice.
- On the other hand, I don't have as much experience of... intimate relations as you do," he continued, "but from what I could see, neither you nor Sam seemed to find it unpleasant. It's probably because... what you were doing fulfilled a deep-seated need that the Erotes have unearthed, and there's nothing you can do about it.
Dean stared at him with wide eyes, unable to decide whether Castiel's inscrutable tone was serious or flippant, or even whether he really grasped the dismay that overwhelmed him and his brother. Mortified, he didn't have the slightest inclination to delve into the matter, preferring to ignore the angel's deepest thoughts for the moment, and to retort, between muted anger and liberating sarcasm:
- Okay, thanks for the psychoanalysis, Dr. Castiel! Are you sure you have your diploma? No, because the other day, outside the motel, you told me you didn't see anything wrong with me, remember? Don't you want to make another pass, in case you missed something?
Castiel arched his eyebrows and pursed his lips slightly in annoyance.
- If your mind was under influence, or you were the victim of an enchantment, I'd know," he pleaded calmly. In your head, it's just you, Dean.
- Only me, yeah...," he grumbled.

Eros and his brothers would wait. Dean agreed to let the conch sit on the table once Castiel had promised him he wouldn't do anything rash, then asked the angel for the favor of staying alone with Sam. Thinking he understood and misunderstood at the same time, Castiel readily agreed to take his leave, and left the bunker with a touch of regret, that of having unwittingly turned up at the worst possible time to complicate a situation that clearly didn't need to be complicated. He asked Dean to apologize to Sam on his behalf, and left, saying in an awkward stammer that he still had to check on the case in hand. Dean mused that he could just as easily have used the excuse of an urgent appointment he'd forgotten or the need to buy coffee, the effect would have been the same.

So, relieved to be alone - or almost - but infinitely uneasy at the idea of confronting Sam again, Dean took a long time, his chest crushed under an enormous weight, to go and find his brother, who had retreated to his room. He found the door closed, but heard light rustling through the wooden panel, where it took a long time before he dared to knock faintly, the texture and taste of Sam's penis suddenly making the tip of his tongue crackle. He let it pass for a second, then lowered the handle to open the passage, and slowly turned the door on its hinges. Sam stood with his back turned, bent over a pile of laundry.
- Sam?" inquired Dean in a faltering voice that fear and excessive caution rendered almost inaudible. Can... Can we talk?
He saw his brother's arms, on either side of his long, athletic flanks, clearly visible in spite of the shirt he was wearing, move with dry, nervous gestures, and then heard him sniffle. Speaking in a dull, mournful voice, Sam then let all his pain, confusion and fear be heard, as he feverishly uttered:
- Cass saw the whole thing? What did he tell you?
Dean hadn't really thought about the first words he'd hear coming out of his younger brother's mouth, but he greeted them with some dismay, having failed to judge their friend's irruption as the essential element of what had happened in his room earlier.
- That's... Don't worry, Cass has seen it all, from the top of her cloud," Dean said in an embarrassed tone. It doesn't make him hot or cold...
- Oh yeah?" said Sam, still with his back turned and his eyes downcast on his bed. He didn't mind seeing you on your knees in front of me?
The allusion was so clear that it was no longer an allusion, and approaching his brother in an attempt to prevent the discussion from veering into other, equally uneasy terrain, Dean expressed:
- Hey, I'm not here to talk about Cass, okay? I just... What the hell are you doing?
The clothes that Dean saw Sam stuff into a backpack as he came up to Sam's side made for a scene that easily spoke for itself. Faced with the short, repeated gestures of the younger Winchester, who seemed to have no intention of interrupting the filling of his luggage, Dean waited two seconds before speaking up, his tone much sharper:
- Sam, did you hear what I said? What are you doing?
- My bag," spat the interested party with a sniff. Can't you tell?
Dean looked at him stunned, as if he'd taken a blow. He looked as sad as he was disappointed and nodded bitterly, a lump in his throat.
- Look... It's not your fault, okay?" assured Sam, jaws clenched and eyes only slightly lower, sensing how much he'd rattled his brother.
- No, of course not," he ironized, turning away for a moment. Nothing to do with what I did to you an hour ago...
Sam let out a nasal sigh and dropped his bag, where pants and shirts were already piled up. He glanced over his shoulder and said:
- You're not the problem, okay? The problem is me! Because... I can't handle it anymore, it's... It's becoming unbearable.
Dean turned slowly and looked at him with a disillusioned expression, shaking his head in annoyance as Sam resumed his task.
- And then what? You're backing out, aren't you?" accused the older of the two men. After blaming me for leaving, after...
- I never blamed you for leaving," Sam cut in dryly with a murderous look.
- You convinced me that we had to face this together," he retorted in the same tone. And now, what do you do? You pack up, you... You break down, you throw it all away, you walk away? Like that's going to change anything? You're going off in all directions, Sammy, pull yourself together, for God's sake!
- I've got no choice," Sam snapped. I can't stay here any longer, just... Trying to resist, to deal with it! All we do is... ignore these urges as much as we can, only to give in to them later, and regret it every time!
Dean's eyes widened briefly, as if shocked by the reality his brother had just portrayed.
- Do I give you the impression of regretting what happened just now?" he heard himself reply suddenly, deeply surprised by his own words, spoken with as much sincerity as spontaneity.
- Oh, please!" shouted Sam in revolt, focused on his feeling of being cornered, trapped in a situation that was swallowing him up more and more. You'd have flogged yourself the other day if you could!
His eyes taking on an unusual brilliance, Dean, a little over a metre away from Sam, wordlessly acknowledged the blow.
- I'm sorry," apologized the youngest of the siblings with a softened tone and a pained look. I know I'm the one who asked you to hold on, and told you that we'd get through this together, but... It's there, more and more present, I... I can't control what I feel, if I don't leave we'll...
- Don't go," asked Dean, with the cold and the steep but also with all the weight of a marble block falling on the sand.
Sam froze, and his lips began to tremble. He seemed on the verge of tears when he breathed:
- What else do you want me to do? I can't control myself, you can see that... I'm ruining your efforts to keep control, I don't know if you're right to try, but... I've got to stop dictating how you act.
- Sammy," Dean struggled to reason in a confused voice, "you're not dictating anything to me, you're...
- I don't have to try and convince you that there's no turning back, no matter how I feel about it!" he continued with a desperate expression. If you want to fight these obsessions, then who am I to tell you you're wrong? By staying here, I'm subjecting us to a temptation too strong to resist, I'm preventing you from remaining master of yourself, and where does that leave us? Is it?
Dean, stunned, didn't know what to say or think. He remained bewildered, torn between two truths, two diametrically opposed positions, as if torn apart. Should he try at all costs to fight these unnatural feelings that were continually growing in his heart, as he had strived to do from the start, whatever the cost? Or accept them in spite of himself, in spite of them, in light of the irreparable acts that had already been committed, so that he could hope to overcome them and one day see beyond them? Dean didn't dare ask if Castiel's irruption had anything to do with the change in his brother's state of mind, and faced with the heavy silence that settled in, he shook his head slowly, going over the solutions available to them one last time, having so far found none worthwhile.
- I don't have your willpower to resist all that," he declared. Nor your strength. We're at an impasse, and you can see that the more it goes on, the more violent it gets... Staying will only complicate things.
Livid, Dean shook his head. Torn between anger and dismay, he stared at the ground with fixed, absent eyes, trying to digest his brother's words, which had so rudely shaken his convictions.
- My strength," he then repeated, in a hoarse voice, looking up with wounded eyes. What strength are you talking about? All this talk of yours is... It's bullshit. Every time it's gone wrong, who's to blame? You or me?
- Whose fault is that?" asked Sam in a despondent voice.
- Not yours," Dean asserted implacably.
- I'm at least part of the problem," he defends. What I do know is that by leaving here, I'm removing temptation.

Sam then turned back to his bag and, as if nothing had happened, but with a mechanical stiffness, went back to placing the clothes still piled on the mattress. Dean watched helplessly, with a lump in his stomach and a lump in his throat; the prospect of seeing his brother go made him nauseous, and his revolt conflicted with heartbreak.
- Sam," he said in a voice as frail as a candle flame in a breeze, taking a step which he interrupted. Stay, there's no point running away. Don't make the same mistake I did. If you leave, I'll... I don't think we'll ever see each other again.
The younger Winchester had thought about it. Of course he had. And the risk of turning this separation into a final farewell crushed his insides as much as it had been obvious to him from the moment he'd made that radical decision. His fists clenched around the fabric of the backpack, which he seemed ready to rip open with the sheer force of his rage, but his impotence was such that it bordered on despair. Dean, for his part, suddenly felt his heart pounding in his chest, and a terrible fear gripping him; the fear of seeing Sam leave forever, but above all the fear of the extremities his brother might end up resorting to in order to escape the torments that were eating away at him more and more. Had he been lucky enough, in his misfortune, to have already been through the worst, the day after the irrepressible impulse that had driven him to this major act in the shower, five days earlier? He had the feeling that his distress today was less than Sam's, as if after cursing himself for what he'd done, he'd begun to find the path likely to lead him away from the whirlpool that promised to drown him, and where Sam, now, seemed trapped.
Sam, who, after a long moment of prostration that made Dean hope for a change of heart, suddenly exploded at the confluence of contradictory thoughts and feelings that were torturing him. In a gesture of rare violence, he furiously hurled his bag against the wall in a scream of rage, and would undoubtedly have ravaged the entire room if his brother hadn't immediately thrown himself on top of him to embrace him with all his might, pecs against shoulder blades.
- Easy, easy, easy," whispered the elder Winchester, sensing how fury and distress were tugging at every muscle fiber in Sam's body. Calm down, it's okay. Do you hear me? It's gonna be okay, I swear.
Dean couldn't estimate how long it would take Sam to regain his senses, but listening to his brother's pleas for calm as he stood behind his back, his two arms clasped tightly around his chest and shoulders, the younger man finally stopped struggling. For a long time, Dean felt the senseless stiffness of Sam's muscles, the frantic rhythm with which his heart was beating, but the latter let his anger leave him little by little and fell back down, without strength, his breath short and irregular, between the arms of his elder brother, whom he let envelop him with all his benevolent tenderness. Distraught, Dean didn't know what else to say or do, except urge Sam to turn around so he could embrace him all the better. So the two of them embraced vigorously, their chins resting on each other's shoulders, and they remained like this for a long time, drawing the strength they lacked from their unbreakable bonds.
- I don't know where I stand anymore," Sam soon moans, clinging to his brother with all his might, his lips buried in the collar of his shirt. I can't take it anymore, it's too hard...
Just when he'd feared he was the least equipped to face this ordeal, more disturbing than any other so far in his life, Dean became painfully aware that it was Sam who was losing his footing after all, caught up in the curse of the Erotic Divine Touch. The remorse of having committed an irrepressible, unspeakable act, the remorse Dean had felt and still felt, was perhaps not the greatest threat victims of the god of Desire had to face after all. It was in fact the devastating, exacerbated power of desire itself that posed the greatest peril, for the violence with which it overwhelmed everything made it impossible to curb, and Sam was demonstrating in spite of himself how futile it was to fight against the tide, even to the point of exhaustion.
- We'll be fine, I tell you," Dean repeated fervently, noting that little by little their roles had reversed. We haven't been through everything we've been through up to now to let ourselves be knocked down by this dross, got it?
He squeezed the back of Sam's neck a little tighter in the crook of his arm to assure him of his newfound determination, and instinctively placed a pressed peck behind his ear, a mark of his affection, solidarity and vow to stay there, close by. His nose wandered into his brother's hair, catching the scent of his long, silky hair, and he felt a twinge of sadness. Sam, for his part, hugged him even tighter, but gradually reopened his fists; slowly, he stopped crumpling Dean's shirt between his fingers, and unclenching his hands he laid them flat against Dean's back, deploying an innocuous but very present pressure, which gave the elder Winchester the unsettling sensation of being delicately enveloped. Caressed.
- You'd better go," Sam begged in a stumbling voice. Leave me alone for a while. Would you?
He asked his brother for the strength he didn't have himself, to break their embrace, and Dean tried to come to terms with it. He hadn't been able to mention it yet, but the conch shell in the library came back to occupy his thoughts, convincing him that, if they were going to go for it, now might be the time to try and summon the Erotes, not to seek to defeat or kill them, since they didn't have the power, but rather to implore them to deliver them, to give them back the ability to dominate the instinct that was irresistibly pushing them towards each other. Dean was reluctant to admit defeat, but as everything seemed to be falling apart, nothing mattered more in the circumstances than not losing his brother. A few seconds later, he felt Sam tighten his embrace, then after a few more seconds, it was her feverish breath that he felt on his neck, sending an intense shiver up his spine. He understood that each passing second made the moment more difficult for his youngest son, and more difficult for him too, and with a gesture that had never seemed so arduous he patted his shoulder before managing to detach himself from him, even though they remained facing each other without quite letting go. Sam looked up with difficulty from eyes reddened by dry tears, and Dean looked at him gravely, his throat knotted with emotion.
- Sam, he pronounced as if each sound were heavier than a lump of lead. Don't flinch; not now.
He hadn't realized that his right hand was still resting on the back of his brother's neck, rubbing it gently. The latter slowly grasped his wrist, and confided in a pained voice, at the end of his strength:
- I'd rather have to fight a hundred vampires or werewolves than go through that. To have put up with all that, for so many years, only to end up on the ground because of... Because of...
His inability to finish his sentence, muzzled by emotion and revolt, hurt Dean, who amplified the caress on the nape of the younger man's neck, vainly trying to catch his gaze with saddened eyes.
- We can still get out of this," he swore at her. You and me, just like you said, okay? If we've got each other, there's nothing that can bring us down.
To better convince his younger son, Dean placed both hands on his cheeks and plunged his eyes into his own. Sam regarded him with abysmal dismay, his eyelashes wet, his lips trembling, with an air at once so full of fragility and pain that he seemed broken.
- I wish it were true," he moans, putting his hand on his brother's cheek, their two faces growing closer together. If only there were a way...
Dean, without answering on the spot, scanned Sam's face haggardly. He detailed the limpid green of his eyes, the arrangement of the almost-shaven hairs that covered his chin, the grain of his skin, and with the lingering image of the conch always in mind, he replied, looking troubled:
- There may be a way...

The words dried up in his throat, while, unable to focus on Sam's gaze alone, Dean took turns aiming at the highlights of her face. First his wet eyes, then his nose, then his dry lips, his eyes again, his lips again... The youngest Winchester, desperately awaiting his brother's solution, didn't realize until an indefinite moment later, as Dean's full lips parted, that Dean, his eyes veiled, had begun to stare absently at his own. What could have been on Sam's mouth to keep Dean clinging to it for so long, what was going on? As these questions suddenly dawned on the youngest of the siblings, his heart began to pound wildly as he, in turn, suspended his gaze on his eldest's lips, and the warmth of the latter's hands on his cheeks seemed to act as a balm, anesthetizing his despondency like a cold cloth on a bruise. With a mysterious simultaneity, the two brothers seemed to lose their grip on reality and drift off, as silence fell and they froze, their eyes fixed on each other's mouths, which had become the only universe they agreed to recognize during these few moments of strange reverie. Imperceptibly, they continued to move closer, so much so that each could soon feel the opposite breath on his skin, and then, indefectibly attracted, like two oppositely charged magnets, contact suddenly took place. Sam's lips went to Dean's in a spontaneous rush, and he didn't push them away. Each suddenly became aware of the other's taste in an exquisite shiver that ran from head to toe, and, carried away by vertigo in an endless whirlpool, they suddenly embraced passionately, letting their mouths open, hermetically sealed together, to allow their tongues to come face to face without restraint. It was undoubtedly one of the most ardent kisses they'd ever exchanged, a torrid kiss driven by all the frustration they'd been slowly building up over the days, a kiss that electrified them to the point where they couldn't stop, even when they were running out of air, even when the wave of excitement that swept over them made them hug and clutch furiously, they refused to stop kissing, their mouths wide open against each other to better allow their tongues to tangle fiercely.
Their warrior nature, too, seemed eager to express itself, as if all their instincts, and not just their carnal urges, were stirred. In the midst of the nasal exhalations and rutting sighs that the two brothers exchanged, their head movements became drier and drier, faster and faster, and soon they were gripping each other with a brusqueness that bordered on brutality, each seeming to want to physically dominate the other in the inalienable compulsion to prolong their kiss as long as possible. They remained linked for a long time, a moment they wanted to last forever and which was already slipping away, but refusing at all costs to let go of him, Sam, invested with titanic strength and willpower, grabbed Dean violently by the collar before backing up to his bed and letting himself fall onto it with all his weight, dragging his brother down with him.

Chapter Text

Sam stretched lazily, slowly spreading his arms above his head on the pillow. Naked as a worm under the crumpled sheets that covered him up to his navel, he exhibited his sculpted torso with hard nipples and black armpits, and seemed to have little desire to open his eyes. Still euphoric from the night he had had, he was perhaps afraid of letting the fantastic images that filled his head escape through his open eyelids, and remained there for a moment, lounging in bed like a placid cat warmed by the rays of the sun. Finally, he took a slow, deep breath, puffing out his chest to its fullest extent, and smiled as if a spring bud had blossomed on his lips.
He had never felt so good in his entire life.
He had the sensation of still being enveloped by this scent that did not belong to him, but at the same time he felt something was missing, like a thickness of skin, the skin whose warmth had continually enveloped him during the night. It was already in the past, and he could have forced himself to get up now that he was awake, but the almost unreal memory of the last few hours was still fresh and, by staying in the sheets, he had the impression of prolonging a little of those moments that he would never forget. Slowly moving his legs, he seemed to be trying to find the ones that had disputed his place, but he didn't need to search the bottom of the bed to know that he was alone now.
At least, he thought he did: a smell of hot coffee suddenly filled his nostrils, and as he turned his head towards the wide-open door, he let his eyes rest on Dean, two cups in his hands, approaching noiselessly, in a simple green dressing gown tied at the waist. With damp, half-tousled hair, he had clearly just had a shower, and the cut of his bathrobe, which stopped no lower than the top of his knees, revealed the most beautiful part of his torso. He gave his younger brother a brief raised eyebrow, then looked at him, betraying his obvious interest in the size of his chest and his broad, bare arms, before saying:
“Finally awake?”
Bringing his arms close to his body, Sam watched Dean for a few seconds. His elder brother seemed relaxed but a little reserved, a hint of anxiety seeming to nuance the nonchalant tone of his voice and, behind his placid appearance, his posture gave the feeling of superfluous caution. Sam didn't dwell on it any longer, happy to see him still present and apparently in good shape, and his heart suddenly leapt in his chest, prompting him to sit up a little as he replied in a sleepy voice, preceded by a long sigh:
“Um... What time is it?”
“Almost eleven o'clock, you sleepyhead,” Dean said, getting close enough to put one of the cups on the bedside table. ”Here, coffee.”
He took two steps in the opposite direction, dipping his lips into his own cup. Sam leaned on one elbow, thus tensing his muscles in front of Dean, who caught his change of position out of the corner of his eye.
“Thanks,” said the youngest with absolute serenity, an almost dreamy look fixed on his brother. I really needed to sleep, I think.
He yawned and ran a hand through his hair to clear his face, moving his arm whose bicep swelled, revealing his deep hairy armpit. Taking a sip of coffee, Dean looked at Sam's pecs, following the chiseled lines, and comparing the short hairs that bristled on his torso with those that darkened his armpits, he realized that his brother didn't just maintain his hairiness in the crotch.
“So what?” he asked him. ”Are you okay?”
There was clearly an implication behind this question, expressed with a restraint that spoke volumes, which Sam hardly missed. He felt too light in heart and soul to even think about weighing his words, and with the utmost sincerity he replied:
“Am I okay?”
He thought about it for the space of a blink of an eye, and confided, liberated:
“Yeah, I feel... better than ever. I feel liberated from the weight that was suffocating me, that feeling of being eaten away from the inside, it's gone... It's not for nothing.
Dean saw his brother's eyes, which he had never found so clear, staring at him with a strange glow, and, embarrassed, he tried to take shelter behind his cup, taking a sip of coffee as his cheekbones turned pink, which made Sam smile discreetly. Sam was reborn, after the torments and the struggles of the previous day; with his languid pose and the glow on his face it was obvious to Dean who, between joy and embarrassment, struggled to position himself in relation to the insane night they had spent. Confusion - among other considerations - clouded his thoughts, and because he realized that he didn't know how to approach things, Sam came to his brother's aid by returning with an engaging voice:
“And you? Are you okay?”
Almost taken aback by the question, Dean, who was stamping more than pacing in front of Sam's bed, quickly turned his head to see him settle back more comfortably, sliding slowly to the end of the bed so that he could better stretch his long arms above his head. The eldest of the Winchesters saw once again the splendid torso of his younger brother spread out in all its breadth, each muscle superbly defined behind the moderate amount of hair that emphasized its thickest features, and the gaze, at once penetrating and disarmingly peaceful, that Sam stubbornly and unfailingly fixed on him, troubling him more than he would have liked.
“Tsk,” Dean began, looking cocky. ”Of course it's okay...”
But his swaggering smile didn't last any longer than a pile of sand under a wave, and his features fell back sharply as he kept rehashing the unthinkable things that had happened.
“Well... there were some things... We... maybe lost it a little... didn't we?”
He let out a sudden nasal sigh, smiling sheepishly, and scratched the corner of his ear, not knowing where to look.
“Just a little?” said Sam, not wanting to be provocative, crossing his arms indolently behind his neck and moving his legs under the sheets to bend one knee. ”You mean we completely lost them? But given everything that's happened in the last few days, it was bound to happen...
Dean looked at his brother in dismay, shook his head, then walked briskly back to the bedside table, where he dropped his cup before climbing onto the bed. He hastily settled himself close to Sam, who moved slightly to make room for him, and leaned against the headboard, legs outstretched with nervous stiffness, slippers on his feet.
“Damn it, I feel like... it wasn't us,” Dean said hoarsely, his eyes wide open, half turned towards Sam. That... That we played a... A gay porn!
“You know about it?” Sam asked mockingly. ”There's a gay part on your Asian-something site ?”
Dean this time gave him a frankly sly look and elbowed him in the pec, right at the level of the anti-possession tattoo they both had on their chests.
“Stop fucking with me, will you? I'm serious now!”
Sam shrugged.
“It was serious that night too, as I remember... So what? We let ourselves go, it happened, but... even if I never imagined something like that would happen to us, I don't regret a single minute of what we did.”
For a brief moment, Dean stared at him in amazement. Then, as lost in thought as he was lost, he let his gaze fall on the foot of the bed, before admitting in a low voice, faced with his brother's confidence, and at the same time as he did some soul-searching:
“I... I don't think I regret it either, well... Too bad if it means I get a one-way ticket to Hell but... I have to admit that... Well... That it felt good, and... Not just because I had a monumental time...
Slowly turning his eyes towards Sam, he caught the slightly mocking smile that his confidence had brought to Sam's lips and his features hardened a little. He cleared his throat, stiffening even more, obviously very uncomfortable, when Sam gently confessed to him:
“You're not the only one who enjoyed it, rest assured... I've never come as much as I did last night. I had an idea you were gifted, but now... It's like you've been doing this all your life.”
Dean tried to hide the effect the compliment had on him, but his efforts to prevent pride from lighting up his face had the opposite effect. Puffed up with pride, he then put on a casual air and ventured to reply, with difficulty:
“You... You helped me a lot, you were... very hot... I didn't think you were capable of that, you play your cards close to your chest...”
He felt extremely ridiculous after hearing himself, and also feared that he had been too frank, but Sam was not offended by the remark.
“I was surprised myself, if you want to know the truth,” he admitted. ”But I told you: I don't regret it for a second. It was getting so bad that it was becoming unbearable, I had to find a way to release the pressure... And I understand what you mean, when you say it made you feel good, because I feel like I'm coming back to life too.
He looked at his brother, who clearly shared the same feeling. But Sam could also see, in Dean's vacant gaze and the tension in his features, how hard he was finding it to take responsibility for his actions with any degree of calm, and he understood that too.
“Are you sure you're okay?” he asked in a neutral tone, keeping his right arm under his neck to pat Dean's thigh with the back of his free hand.
The person in question gave a weak nod, not finding anything wrong with this contact, except perhaps that he would have preferred his younger brother to aim for a naked part, lower down, where his thigh was not covered by the fabric of the dressing gown. A thought that he was happy to keep silent.
“It depends what you mean by that,” he qualified this time, visibly shaken. ”I had a hell of a time, it's true, how could I tell you otherwise? Like you, I feel a weight lifted, as if the fist crushing my belly had finally been loosened. Finally. It hadn't happened for days, but... It doesn't change the fact that I... fucked my brother, and even though I know it should make me sick, make me die of shame and remorse... I can't feel that. Not really.
He ended there, leaving a heavy silence as Sam took note of this confession. Despite the contradictory, even conflicting feelings that he himself might be experiencing, the youngest Winchester was pleased to see that his older brother had not completely denied what they had shared, and that the perfectly free, infinitely passionate and completely irrational way in which Dean had behaved over the last few hours was not necessarily doomed to be hidden, as he had feared.
“How could it not upset you?” Sam said absently, his eyes fixed on an invisible point halfway between the floor and the ceiling. ”Kissing another guy, my own brother... Feeling this... uncontrollable, unnatural desire... I would have called anyone who told me it would happen to me a mental patient. With or without a soul.”
“It happened,” Dean said with an equally vague look. ”And I still don't know what made us do it. If it was really us, or... them.”
Despite the ecstatic fullness in which he was bathed, Sam felt stung by a touch of annoyance at seeing the subject come up again, despite the absolute freedom with which they had given themselves to each other at length. He was more convinced than ever that the Erotes had merely revealed desires that were already very much present, something that his brother clearly still found impossible to accept.
“Is it because you don't feel what you thought you should feel that you keep asking yourself the question?” Sam asked wearily.
Dean looked at him uncertainly, without Sam deigning to return his gaze. The older of the two men was still trying to feel the rejection and self-loathing that his actions should have inspired in him, as if persisting in desiring his brother was the ultimate proof that a supernatural influence continued to dominate him, but the more time passed and the more the transgressions multiplied, the more his conviction that his urges came from elsewhere diminished. Allowing himself the possibility of clinging to the idea that he was not truly responsible for his behavior offered him the hope of being absolved of it, yet he felt that this was lying to himself. That it was deep down in his guts that this fire that he had been nurturing for his brother had taken hold, and that the hand that set the fire was not necessarily the one that lit the match.
“I ask myself that question, because... As long as I do that, I can still say that maybe I'm not at fault,” he said candidly, with genuine fragility and sincerity.
Sam turned his head and looked at him intently. Without a word, he waited for his brother's eyes to meet his, then he straightened up until he was leaning against the headboard as well, to stand at his height, while Dean looked resigned and preoccupied. Sam's expression became so vivid that he seemed angry, and placing a hand on his older brother's cheek to force him to look him squarely in the eyes, he repeated:
“For the umpteenth time, you have nothing to blame yourself for, Dean. You didn't impose anything on me, what we did, I wanted it with all my might, every time. Didn't I show you that clearly enough last night?
His pupils clinging to those of his brother, Dean could not deny it. Faced with his silence, Sam continued:
“I fucked you because I wanted to more than anything else, and I enjoyed it more than with anyone else. I know it was the same for you, and the fact that we both wanted it is all that matters, for me. I don't care if it's weird, crazy, or whatever you want, we don't have to answer to anyone, what we did is nobody's business but ours, and if we had to do it again I would do exactly the same thing.
Sam kept his gaze fixed on Dean for a moment longer and, drowned in the green of his eyes, Dean remained confused, torn between hesitation and the desire to give up. He felt the warmth of his brother's fingers as they began to move gently over his cheek, making the hairs of his stubble crackle, and his eyelids grew heavy. Almost instinctively, he placed a hand on Sam's and, overcome by the sudden desire to rekindle the incandescence of their embrace that was already warming his blood, the younger sibling returned to press his lips against those of his elder. Dean took a step back as if by reflex, but the infinitely gentle contact of Sam's mouth on his own instantly annihilated any inclination to protest, and he delightedly linked his tongue to his brother's in a long kiss that expressed all the love they had for each other.
“Sam,” he tried to stop him with his voice, as the blood began to boil in his veins and his body began to burn. I...
Sam did not let him continue. He increased the pressure of his kisses, licking and nibbling his lips before muffling him even more by feverishly entangling their tongues, and Dean surrendered. He seized his brother's face to give even more force to their kiss, let his ardour express itself in response to Sam's enthusiasm, and as they lost themselves in sonorous sighs, tasting the other with delight while punctually trying to catch their breath, the youngest of the Winchesters suddenly turned his head, depriving Dean of his mouth. Disconcerted, the eldest of the siblings first tried to catch Sam's lips by holding out his own, but only managing to graze his cheekbone, he opened his eyes again to see him drawn to a point of interest below and realized, following his gaze, that his dressing gown had not been enough to contain his excitement. Indeed, Dean's penis had hardened immensely and was emerging from under the fabric, making its way between the sides of his bathrobe. Sam's hand went to grab it delicately and the young man began to caress the turgid member with relish, his eyes fixed on his brother's generous, smoothly curved glans gleaming in the chiaroscuro of the room, a translucent drop already perched on its tip.
“You like that, huh?” he said, beaming with a fat smile as he saw the effect he was having on his older brother. ”Fuck, Dean, your dick is hard as a rock, you're so hard you could die...”
Dean, eyes clouded over, took as much pleasure in seeing as in feeling Sam's fingers on his sex and had a drunken grin, already intoxicated by these incredibly powerful sensations that were once again surging through him like a twelve-meter wave. Without fully realizing it, he activated his hips to make his penis move up and down in his brother's hand, while roughly grabbing his brother's mane to resume their kiss where they had left off.
“Come here,” he commanded in a guttural breath, pressing his wet mouth against Sam's.
Overjoyed to be able to give free rein to his guilty desires, the younger of the two men responded to this call to lust by transforming the embrace into a torrid kiss, pushing Dean to force him to lie on his back, then climbed out of the sheets to straddle him naked, astride his abdomen. Without a second thought, Dean agreed to be submissive and took the opportunity to grab his brother's firm, muscular buttocks with both hands, reconnecting with the touch of those flesh hemispheres between which he had outrageously relieved himself a little earlier. The Winchesters seemed to devour each other, their mouths so stubbornly remaining wide open, facing each other. Indefatigably linked, carried away in their formidable momentum, they once again abandoned themselves to desire and to their pleasure in satisfying it, without thinking of anything else, until Sam, for a second time, put an end to the embrace by rising, happy and panting, above Dean, to the full height of his splendid torso.
“What?” stammered Dean, completely stunned, contemplating the beauty of his brother's chest, which masterfully inflated and deflated to the rhythm of his breathing.
He removed his right hand from Sam's buttocks and pressed it against his pectorals, brushing them feverishly, shivering with delight at their hardness and size. He could not deny the attraction he felt for this man's body in his arms, different from the love he had for a woman's body but just as clear to his eyes, and he could not deny either that what pleased him above all in this virile body over which he ran his fingers was the fact that it was his brother's. This disturbing idea confused his mind for a second, but the prick of Sam's well-shaped nipples, hard and pointed in the center of their large brown areola, aroused such excitement in him when he passed over them that he felt a real electric current running up his arm. With a vicious glint in his eye, Dean mobilized both hands to simultaneously grab his brother's two nipples and, with the perfect balance of strength and gentleness, pinched them so that they rolled between his fingers, triggering a long, satisfied sigh from Sam that delighted him.
“It's more sensitive than a girl's tits,” Dean remarked with a dreamy smile, his mouth watering at the memory of the moans Sam had made every time he had sucked his nipples during the night. You know that?
He looked down and continued with gusto when, not without satisfaction, he saw how much Sam enjoyed this treatment, his incredibly hardened penis pointing towards him, the tip of the glans moist and open.
“Oh yeah?” challenged the youngest sibling, whose shortness of breath and clammy skin betrayed the bliss that washed over him. ”Is that the only comparison with your conquests that comes to mind, or have you already forgotten what you said to me?”
As his brother's eyes rounded, Sam put on a brave face and began to back away to get into the ideal position. He thus removed his presence from Dean's stomach by sliding down his legs, but he quickly bumped into an obstacle behind him, his buttocks hitting a particularly hard and warm object whose nature was beyond doubt. With a dry, brief laugh, just for the pleasure of looking at it before taking a more direct interest in it, Sam then glanced behind him and saw Dean's penis lodged vertically in the hollow of his buttocks and standing there, at bay, like a flagpole.
“Are you hungry again?” whispered Sam, lasciviously rubbing his buttocks against his brother's member, suddenly no longer really knowing how his brother preferred to use it. ”You feel like going back to get warm, don't you?”
Half-dazed, Dean let out a long silent sigh, his mouth half open and his eyelids half closed, letting his hands slowly slide down Sam's chiseled sides until they returned to rest on his buttocks. Dean gripped them so firmly, and spread them so clearly, that Sam felt a drop of fluid rise to the surface of his already strained anus, and although he would not have disdained to be visited again by his persistent guest, he finally chose to satisfy his first urge, much to Dean's chagrin, who watched him pull back and step over his phallus to descend to his shins. Both curious and frustrated, but understanding the idea that was running through his younger brother's head, Dean watched him until he saw him place his head above his lower abdomen, and the mocking smile Sam gave him confirmed that his hypothesis was correct.
The youngest Winchester hastily undid the belt of the dressing gown and abruptly opened the panels, revealing his brother's nakedness. He placed his hand firmly on his brother's chest, arm outstretched, and began to eagerly run his hand over the hairless surface, caressing it. Dean, transported to another world, let out an ecstatic, endless, and as Sam leaned over his erect penis to take it in his mouth, the elder sibling's chest rose disproportionately, his lungs filling with a rush of pure ecstasy as he felt his penis slide over his brother's tongue and sink into his warm throat. A slave to his senses, instantly reconnecting with the pleasure that had not left him all night, he unconsciously spread his thighs to make way for Sam, and placing both hands on his head, caressing his hair, he threw his own back and let out a groan:
“Oh, fuck, yes... Suck me, suck my cock, Sammy, go on...”
Sam, who didn't need any encouragement, responded immediately, eagerly following his lustful instincts, closing his lips around his brother's ardent member and starting to slide it rapidly between them, warm, soft and slippery. Out of sight but not out of Dean's mind, who began to pant, clenching Sam's silky hair in his fists, he proceeded to tease the tip of his elder's penis by vigorously titillating the end with the tip of his tongue, and as enterprising as he had been a few hours earlier, he sought unreservedly to introduce the tip into Dean's opening, who felt a shiver of extreme pleasure pass through his phallus like lightning striking a lightning rod. With hollow cheeks, Sam looked up to take in the measure of the pleasure he was giving his brother, and as he swallowed his cock even deeper into his throat, he simultaneously increased the caresses on his torso, clawing at his skin with the desire to hear him express his joy.
Dean, meanwhile, was in seventh heaven, letting himself be carried away by the jubilation of the blowjob, and like a cat under the effect of euphoriant grass, he moved his thighs placidly while his brother continued to work between them, demonstrating surprising skill in this new art. With his eyes closed and an expression of total bliss on his face, the first-born concentrated on the fabulous sensations that Sam's mouth was causing to run along his sex, revelling in the sucking noises as much as the little purrs of pleasure that he felt making his brother's Adam's apple vibrate, and when Sam's hand came to envelop his testicles he let out an excited grunt. He had said it during the night, and thought it even more so now: his brother had an undeniable talent for this caress, so much so that he practiced it much better than most of the girls who had shared his bed, and Dean, very quickly, began to tense up, caught up in a pleasure that threatened more and more to overflow.
“Wait,” he groaned, doing everything he could to make Sam continue to suck his cock with equal fervor. ”Sam, wait, not so hard, I'm going to...”
Feeling himself dangerously reaching the point of no return, Dean tried to withdraw despite the superhuman effort it cost him. He placed a hand on the side of his brother's head to encourage him to restrain his impulses, but Sam did not see it that way and pushed him away with a determined gesture.
“Come in my mouth,” he commanded, pausing just long enough to address this vaporous entreaty with a penetrating gaze. ”Give me your juice, come on, don't hold back.”
Sam engulfed Dean's penis with such vigor that his nose rubbed against his pubic hair, and Dean, stunned by the lust his younger brother was displaying, finally lost control. His eyes wide on Sam, he suddenly ejaculated down his throat, as he had been ordered, and the force of the jerks that shook him was so violent that it made his temples buzz. Every muscle in his body contracted harshly; his semen spurted furiously into his brother's mouth, and he let out a muffled cry with each volley, carried away by a wave of pure ecstasy. Sam, fulfilled, received the fruit of Dean's enjoyment as he felt jets of semen lashing his tongue, splashing his throat, saturating his taste buds and nostrils with acrid scents that made him retch, but he refused to spit out a single drop and even sucked the juice with redoubled force. He resolutely swallowed most of the hot, sticky fluid that poured abundantly into his mouth, and while kneading his brother's balls as hard as eggs to maximize the force of his ejaculation, Sam grunted unrestrainedly at his own pleasure. Delightfully pulling on Dean's penis while sucking it greedily, he counted no less than ten jets that filled his mouth to the rhythm of his older brother's languid moans all along, and when at last the latter stopped moaning, his body relaxed a little and he collapsed, he felt Sam's lips release his sex before seeing him return to kiss him. Broken, defeated, Dean let himself go completely, welcoming his brother with docility, accepting the sticky and salty contact of his mouth without flinching, and he was not the least prompt to mix his tongue with Sam's again, both of them glued with saliva and sperm.
Without interrupting the voracious kiss that they were greedily feeding on, the latter straddled his brother's stomach again, and feeling the full weight of his younger brother's manhood on his bare skin, Dean immediately seized it, firmly gripping Sam's phallus, which made him let out a hurt moan. With the floodgates of his guilty desires wide open, the eldest of the siblings felt the turgid penis and rediscovered its incredible hardness, running his hands down its entire length to recall its splendid dimensions, when, driven by urgency and at the cost of an involuntary bite, Sam tore himself away from their torrid kiss to warn in a panic:
“Stop, not like that, you... Ah!”
But the warning came too late. Suddenly, Sam's abs tightened and hardened, then a first stream of semen gushed out like a geyser, flying like a crossbow bolt to crash on Dean's heart. Both surprised and impressed by the power of the jet that came to scald his skin, the eldest of the Winchesters let out an astonished cry, which was immediately followed by a second, even more pronounced one, as Sam, pushing like a mooing of pain, fired a second shot, then a third, each time staining Dean's chest more and more. Seized by the violence of the phenomenon, Dean spread his hands as if he had been held at gunpoint, and could only watch as the bursts of semen rained down on him one after the other, until his pecs and stomach were left covered with thick white streaks that soon made him exclaim:
“Wow, fuck, Sam...! It's the Fourth of July, man! Holy shit!”
Stuck from the back of his neck to his belly button, the anti-demon tattoo crossed in half up to his nipple, Dean almost dipped a finger in the drips that striped his chest, but he didn't know where to start with the abundance of fluid that stained his body. Panting, still astride his hips, Sam then became aware of the mess he had made and, trying to catch his breath, he stammered as he realized the extent of the damage:
“S... Sorry, I... I tried to warn you, but...”
“Don't worry,” said Dean, not knowing whether to sit up straight right away or first try to clean himself up a little, still surprised that he felt no revulsion at the substance he was covered in. ”Geez, are you sure that's a cock between your legs and not a firework rocket?”
Despite the passable confusion he felt at having come so quickly and so intensely, Sam was quite proud of his effect and of the wildly exciting aspect he had unwittingly given to his brother, naked beneath him, drop-dead gorgeous and sexy, as if adorned with war paint. It didn't take him long, then, agitated by a gentle shiver, to lean over him, and Dean let him do so without saying anything, incredulous, suddenly feeling his younger brother's tongue slide methodically over his chest. A wave of heat invaded the older of the two men as he watched his brother collect one by one, with his lips, the long slimy bands that he himself had deposited; under his caressing, soft and languorous tongue, a wonderful tingling excited Dean's skin, which became covered with goose bumps, and he delicately placed his hand on Sam's neck to caress it tenderly. Sam then came to place his head above his brother's, gazing into his eyes with an unfathomable depth that Dean, looking completely disarmed, plunged body and soul, then their lips drew closer until they brushed against each other, touching, clinging, and they kissed once again with wild passion, their tongues mingling again shamelessly with the acrid and salty semen that they tasted in unison.
Like a pact sealing their willingness to give up, and their definitive acceptance of transgressing rules they had always believed to be set in stone.

Chapter Text

With one hand in his messy hair, Dean scratched his head limply and laboriously sat up on the edge of the bed, his legs tangled in the rumpled sheets. Looking half-asleep, he yawned until his jaw dropped, then seemed to chew his own tongue, embarrassed by the dryness of his mouth. He glanced at the two cups of coffee on the bedside table and grabbed one to put it back down: the beverage was quite cold now, and consulting his watch, the hunter realized he'd been asleep for over three hours, curled up against Sam.
- I don't know how you sleep in that stake,” he grumbled in his usual grumpy inflection. My kidneys are killing me.
He got up unhurriedly, stretched with a grimace, and looked for his slippers before clumsily replacing his feet in them.
- I'm in the shower,” he said mechanically in a pasty voice.
Sam, barely conscious, responded with an incomprehensible mumble and hugged his pillow tighter. Dean gave him a blasé look, shrugged his eyes and left the room for the bathroom, dressed as Adam.

But his stomach gave him the opposite order: to go through to the kitchen and bite into a doughnut.

After soaking the pastry in beer, he went to the shower. Rediscovering the vigorous flow of water and its constant temperature without displeasure, Dean tried to enjoy the moment to the full, even if he was unable not to dwell on the unthinkable and deeply shocking crime he and his brother had committed. With his face turned towards the large shower head, he was busy rubbing his face when a faint variation in light, a tiny air movement and a fleeting hiss told him that Sam had joined him. Unperturbed, he cast a quick glance behind his back as his younger son, also in his simplest clothes, stepped under the water, practically sticking to him.
- Is there room for me?” Sam asked in a soft voice.
Dean felt her warmth close to him, her build enveloping him, and a slight shiver ran through his body. He tried to conceal his confusion as best he could, adopting an air of disdain, and let out in a tone of the most imperious sarcasm:
- Hey, can't you see it's busy? Can't you go next door? Have you gone so green that you even want to share the shower water?
Sam's only reaction was a brief, amused sniff, but he didn't pay any attention to the remark. He didn't need to. He moved his arm up Dean's side, and Dean tensed as he saw the long, muscular member with its visible veins reach for the shampoo bottle, and the eldest of the siblings suddenly felt the delicious sting of Sam's nipples against his shoulder blades, before unequivocally perceiving the light pressure of a flaccid sex against his buttocks. Dean had to make a conscious effort to thwart the reflex reaction his lower abdomen wanted to express, and simply waited until, with the bottle in his possession, Sam stepped back a little to break the contact of their naked, wet skins.
- I wanted to be with you again,” Sam justified in the same sweet tone, as if in a suave whisper.
Dean felt a shiver run down his spine at the same time as the light breath his brother's nostrils drew across his neck.
- You smell good,” Sam whispered.
Dean twitched and straightened his shoulders, looking uncomfortable.
- Are you done yet?” he snarled.
As Sam seemed to back away slightly, the elder Winchester thought he'd made his point and, to mark the occasion of his protest, rubbed his chest and sides vigorously, not worrying about encroaching on the space occupied by his younger sibling. But the latter quickly returned to the charge, wrapping a single arm around Dean's shoulders and pressing it horizontally against his collarbones, before depositing a sonorous peck on his trapezius.
Dean's patience reached its limit.
- Okay,” he said. That's it, I'm done. Move over.
He emerged from the shower dripping wet, whizzing past Sam, who watched him cross to the other side of the room without even bothering to dry off. The younger of the two men found his brother's reaction so comical, that beyond the pleasure he took in seeing him move naked with his outraged alpha-male gait, he couldn't help but laugh outright before giving most of his attention to his ablutions.
- That's right, laugh,” Dean scolded in an exasperated tone, unhooking a towel with which he began to sponge himself. It's funny, isn't it?
- Why are you taking it so hard?” questioned Sam in a light tone, his back turned as he spoke loudly enough to drown out the sound of the water, which was already driving torrents of foam from his body. After all we've done together, is this what's making you uncomfortable?
- Don't you ever stop? returned Dean. Have you been eating lion or something?
Sam glanced over his shoulder, delighted at the opportunity, and with a mischievous grin, shook his head in denial:
- Lion? No, it's not lion I ate: you're Aquarius...
Dean turned to face him in dismay.
- Well, hats off to you, Sammy,” said the elder of the two men with a look of dismay. Even I wouldn't have dared to make such a lame joke.
Sam kept up his teasing grin and, only too happy to titillate Dean a little more, gave him an insistent look before casually retorting, exposing his athletic flank dripping with water:
- I can't complain. It gave me a nice view...
Stung to the quick, Dean hastily lowered his eyes to his lower abdomen, which couldn't be more visible, then looked back into his brother's eyes with a scandalized gaze. He stared unblinkingly, expressing in his icy silence the full extent of his vexation, and with the sole aim of preventing Sam from continuing to leer at his nudity, he unfolded his crumpled towel with a theatrical gesture, only to tie it immediately around his waist.
- There,” he proclaimed defiantly. No more eyewash.
His chest bulging, he firmly turned his back on his brother, showing the utmost contempt. It seemed like ages since he'd engaged in such bickering, and the rush of happiness he got from it was immense.

Dean didn't really feel a quarter of the indignation he'd outrageously displayed, without even really knowing why. Shame or regret at having fallen madly in bed with Sam, the desire to reaffirm his identity as a man after having strayed into the arms of another, anger at having been weak, once again unable to resist these amoral desires... None of these possible reasons fully explained his gruff attitude, even if, in fragments, each of them undeniably constituted a bit of its foundation. Without necessarily grasping the cause of Dean's grumpiness - beyond the latter's natural propensity to periodically and proudly state his machismo - Sam had not been mistaken and had sensed that, willy-nilly, his brother had more or less accepted, by force of circumstance, the strange and singular evolution of their relationship. That's why, happy with this implicit realization as much as with the vivid memory of their lovemaking, he had allowed himself to tease his eldest in this way, envious also of reproducing a contact and intimacy he already missed.
Thinking about it a little more, Dean felt that his irritation stemmed from the contradiction between his awareness of having done the wrong thing in terms of his values, and the fact that it only affected him on the surface, as he had confided to Sam. It was indeed the sickly fear of having hurt his brother that had hitherto dragged him into the depths of remorse, but now that he was certain that this was not the case, he felt only a guilt for his actions that was increasingly eroded by the shameless pleasure he took in them. Both hands anchored on the edge of the washbasin, facing the fogged mirror, he gazed into the depths of his eyes, seeking in his reflection to probe his soul to determine once and for all what he had to feel; to find out if he really had the right to do what he was doing, or rather, to find a compelling reason not to ask himself this question, or others, such as whether these feelings were really his own. Jaws clenched, he tired of his own digressions, of this feeling he abhorred of being a hamster stuck in his wheel, again, and just as he was about to rant at himself, he unexpectedly felt himself grabbed by the waist. Almost immediately, his towel was snatched from him and, turning sharply around, he saw his brother's beaming, gorgeous smile as he noisily slapped his buttocks with the cloth.
- What the fuck? Goddamn it, Sam, I swear you're going to end up with my fist in your face!” he exclaimed in surprise and frustration.
Sam, naked and wet, took a few steps away, keeping a cheerful gaze on Dean. Now that he had it in his hands, he began drying his hair with the towel his brother had given him, then passed it over his torso and arms before moving down to his sex, which he hovered over with slower movements, as if to better mark his action.
- I'm dreaming,” Dean shook his head, resigned to staying naked. Fuck, but...
He heaved a heavy sigh without finishing his sentence, hunched his shoulders and lowered his head. Sam, then, suddenly lost much of the cheerfulness that lit up his features and began to seriously fear he'd taken Dean's mood, whose taciturn notes were apparently turning to gloom, too lightly. As he finished drying off, he approached his brother and, in a cautious tone, asked:
- Hey... How's it going? Sorry, I was just kidding, I...
- It's not you,” cut in Dean wearily. It's you, it's me, it's both of us... naked side by side, like it's normal... after screwing like rabbits when we... Forget it, I'm not going to show you the film again. I'm tired of rambling like an old man.
Sam acknowledged the blow with relative gravity. He didn't find it as hard as his brother to accept reality, that was a fact, but he understood his torment very well, for he himself never ceased to wonder about the reasons and consequences of their actions. But perhaps he sensed a lesser dismay in Dean, for retaining a hint of humor, he tried to play it down by noting with his lips:
- That's not one of grandpa's posteriors I see there...
Dean cast a disillusioned glance at him before displaying an extinguished rictus, drained of all strength. He looked at his brother, whom he'd never found so handsome, so healthy, and this vision warmed his heart, so he laid down his arms to make amends, saying:
- Never mind, never mind, okay? I don't want you to think I'm mad at you. It's not that at all. But I still find it hard to realize; to believe that this is really happening to us. And I think maybe that's why it bothers me so little, in the end... Because I don't really realize...
Sam nodded imperceptibly. His brother's doubts sent him back to his own uncertainties, which he was perhaps only lucky enough to be able to ignore better.
- I understand,” he said soberly, empathetically. I know I seem to be taking it all in my stride, but... don't think I mind. What it does to us, where it leads... I've got these questions in my head all the time, so, really... I understand, Dean. It's just that, after days of struggling... it's nice to get a breath of fresh air.
- It's expensive, isn't it?” Dean returned out of the corner of his eye.
- Probably,” admitted Sam with a vague look after a few seconds' silence. It took going to the end of these acts... that we thought were inconceivable, to get back on my feet a bit; at least for me, anyway. You're right. And yet, I'm telling you: even though I may be wrong in saying this, I have no regrets.
- No,” asserted Dean, shaking his head and curling his lower lip. You're not wrong, you... You're facing things as they are. We fucked, and it felt good. Because that's what we needed. It's pure madness, it doesn't make any sense, but that's the way it is. And I was sincere earlier, when I said I didn't regret it either. I just... have to digest it all. I've got to reconcile the part of my brain that tells me everything's fine with the part that tells me to slam on the brakes.
Sam had a strange sensation, a confused mixture of excitement and apprehension. He had the impression that Dean hadn't clearly perceived that through his words, he implicitly envisaged their new relationship continuing. And this led the youngest of the siblings to realize that, for his part, he wanted nothing more.
- Who'd have thought something like this would happen to us, frankly?” he said, leaning against the wall next to the sink, towel over his lower abdomen and eyes on the ceiling. Erotic or not, I don't think even Chuck would have seen it coming.
Dean, still leaning over the basin, clenched his hands around the enamel and straightened his head, as if in response to an imminent threat.
- Chuck, he repeated in disgust, as if to vomit him up. This swelling... I hope he's fighting for bread crumbs in a gutter with the pigeons that crapped on him.
- It's all behind us,” Sam said, trying to get rid of those still painful memories he realized he'd needlessly revived.
- Yeah, well... Yeah, I'm glad...
Dean almost added that then, at least, they had a designated enemy against whom it was easy to try and fight, but what was the point? He refrained, and had the feeling that Sam, next to him, was uncomfortable. He scanned him again out of the corner of his eye, unable to avoid noting once more the extreme vigor of his splendid body, and forcing himself to adopt a less gloomy tone he then confided:
- Anyway... You're looking much better than before... Not just in relation to the last few days, I mean, but even before that, in relation to the whole period with... Chuck, since you mentioned it. You don't have that... exhausted look you've been carrying around for ages, and you've filled out, I can tell... You look five years younger.
A sincere smile slowly appeared on Sam's lips as he gave Dean a warm, tender look, and the embarrassment shifted. Despite himself, Dean looked pinched and stared at his reflection in the mirror, running a hand over his cheeks as if to validate the idea that it wouldn't hurt to shorten the hair there by a millimeter or two.
- Thanks for the compliment,” says Sam. You didn't do too badly yourself...
Dean couldn't hide the satisfaction he felt at the remark, despite his best efforts to keep up appearances, and Sam could even have sworn he was blushing. He suddenly felt like hugging him, kissing him, but settled for slapping his buttocks with the towel a second time, before handing it back to him, leaving it on his shoulder and striding away as Dean reared up like a devil out of a box.
- To dry you off,” Sam said with aplomb, without taking his eyes off him. You're dripping...
Dean, a compassed wrath at the corner of his lips, picked up the towel on his arm and began dabbing himself absentmindedly. He was mostly occupied watching the movements of his brother, whose proud, masculine bearing owed much to the glistening muscles that rolled beneath his skin and, lingering on his steely buttocks, Dean preferred to retie his towel around his waist as he felt his crotch start to itch again.
- Er... Where are you going?” he heard himself ask like a nervous teenager.
Sam unhooked a gray bathrobe from a peg, then slipping it on unhurriedly replied in a perfectly banal fashion:
- Nowhere, I'll just go to my room and get dressed... And pick up our clothes, while I'm at it. Where do you want me to go?
Dean phlegmatically began an answer that didn't rise to his lips, until he stammered in an indolent tone:
- I don't know, I... No, nothing. Don't worry.
And pretending to snub Sam, he went aimlessly about looking for something around the sink. His brother didn't ask what was bothering him, feeling he could think of half a dozen reasons, and preferred to leave him alone, assuming he needed some time alone.
- See you later,” Sam said simply. I'll be around.
But just as he was about to walk through the door, Dean's husky voice held him back.
- Sam...
Dean turned around. He saw his brother's back motionless in front of the mirror, both arms contracted, then Dean turned slowly towards him, displaying his now dry, firm chest and an expression of relative anxiety.
- Yes...?” said Sam, in a thoughtful but attentive tone.
Dean looked at him intently for a moment, as if to go beyond appearances and probe his heart, then inquired with the utmost seriousness:
- What happened, what we did... are you sure it's okay with you?
He wasn't asking how he felt, just whether he was all right; Sam didn't doubt for a second the meaning of the question. His brother's concern, entangled in his own state of mind, touched him, and with a peaceful air that was meant to be reassuring he replied:
- I'm fine, Dean. Really, I am. How many times do you need me to say it before you're convinced?
Dean nodded, a little sheepishly, and Sam's smile grew more tender. Hardly able to resist the urge to return to his brother, the youngest Winchester went back on his original decision to leave the room, and as he went to join him by the basin he confessed with a limpid look:
- It's not... fucking you that's the most complicated thing to deal with, you know? I don't really have a problem with that, strange as it may seem. We're adults, we're consenting, and I'm not worried about trying to understand when or how this desire between us came about. It's not the most important thing.
Dean listened, wordlessly, eyelids fixed. He wished he could boast the same foresight.
- But it's true that there are a lot of questions running through my head,” Sam continued with a little less ease. I'm discovering this whole intimate side of you... that I didn't know anything about, of course, and it's the same for you... In fact, we're rediscovering ourselves in this situation we never thought we'd be in, and in a way, it's as if we were getting to know each other again, with our share of doubts and anxieties, even though we already knew each other by heart... And I wonder where all this is taking us. Will it end up being just... a parenthesis, that we'll decide to forget and go on with our lives as if nothing had happened? Or will it ultimately come to define us in part? I have no answer, but... I think about it all the time, and I don't know what tomorrow will bring.
Looking dazed, Dean stared at him for a long time with bewildered eyes. Watching him stare with that dumbfounded, almost speechless expression, Sam had the impression that his brother hadn't understood a word he'd just said, when Dean blurted out, baffled:
- Seriously? Is that what's on your mind? God... I'm still wondering what's wrong with me that I can't get used to the idea of us having sex.
Sam nodded with a closed smile, moderating the hilarity of her brother's bewildered expression. She also reminded him how much he cared about him, with all his strength and frailty, nobility and stubbornness, and as if driven forward by the sudden rush of affection that swelled his heart, he took another step until he was so close to him that Dean could make out his own reflection in his pupils.
- What does it matter?” murmured Sam, looking at him with a transfixed expression, and at his lips in particular, as their noses were ready to brush. What matters is how we both feel, right? Who's watching, how do we show each other we love each other?
His smile stretched a little wider, and he stretched his neck willingly to grasp Dean's lower lip between his own. But the older man drew back his head to prevent contact and, drawing a threatening index finger between Sam and himself, warned in an unresponsive tone:
- No, stop. You've really got to stop now, okay?
Sam pretended not to understand.
- Stop what?
- You know what,” bit his brother in obvious annoyance. Just because... Okay, we did what we had to do to cool the boiler, but now we've got to get back down. We're not in the sack anymore, so these... nutty love affairs, you're putting on the back burner. And I don't want to get caught every two minutes by your orangutan arms either, so minimum safety distance imposed, got it? Jesus, Sam, have you gone soft in the head?
The youngest Winchester pursed his lips, hesitating between laughing and being serious. With a humble nod, he raised his hands briefly to show his credentials, then declared peacefully:
- Okay. No worries. Understood, sorry to have undermined your manhood...
Dean didn't take kindly to what seemed to him to be sarcasm, but he wasn't really sure what meaning he should give to his brother's apology and didn't retaliate, merely nodding that the subject was closed.
- Okay,” he echoed coldly. Now, if you don't mind...
Sam grasped the message inviting him to leave and, wearing a contrite expression that didn't really conceal his desire to smile, he nodded and turned on his heels. He then moved away, and once in the doorway, soberly indicated :
- If you're looking for me, you know where to find me...
Dean's furious gaze followed him until he had completely disappeared, and then, when he was alone and no longer needed to display his indignation, the elder of the two brothers exchanged his outraged expression for a more friendly expression, more in tune with what he was really feeling. For although he had insisted on drawing a clear line, above all to preserve appearances, he hadn't really disliked Sam's approach or other signs of affection, far from it, and the realization that they both seemed at least to have finally succeeded in curbing the ardor of their instincts, even if it meant giving in to them completely, was a source of undeniable and strange comfort to Dean.

Notwithstanding the senselessness of the events which, in his eyes, continued to test more harshly than ever the solidity, but also the profound nature of their brotherly ties, which he doubted, piqued with anxiety, could still be described solely as such.

Dressed in gray and blue, his hair slicked back with a dab of gel and his beard only slightly darkening his cheeks, it was with a determined step and a somewhat exaggerated self-assurance that Dean chose, twenty minutes later, to join the common areas. Deep down, he wasn't confronting Sam with a completely free heart, for in addition to the guilty embarrassment he felt - among other things - at their unbridled lovemaking, the questions his younger brother had raised had prompted him to ask them in turn, but without finding any more answers.
- If the big head doesn't know what to think,” he said aloud as he made his way up the corridor, ”I'm not the one who's going to solve the riddle...
His mind fogged by all these amalgamated ideas that were giving him the impression of a hangover, he had initially opted for a passage through the kitchen, assuming to find Sam there, even though lunchtime had long since passed.
But just as he was about to pass through the quartermaster's doors, he stopped as he heard his brother calling from across the corridor:
- Dean?

The elder Winchester turned his head as he realized that Sam was in the library. He wasn't surprised, although he thought he detected a certain tension in the tone of his younger brother's voice, like an urgency to answer. Turning back, he headed straight for the great hall, aiming for the door in the middle of the main corridor from which he could see the light leaking, and he hadn't taken three steps when Sam, redoubling his insistence, reiterated:
- Dean?
Annoyed, Dean almost bellowed that he wasn't deaf and that he'd come if given the chance. But Sam was quicker to appear, bursting into the corridor with alacrity, stopping himself from calling out to his brother a third time when he saw him walking in his direction.
- What's wrong?” said Dean, giving him an inquisitive look.
Sam stared at him in bewilderment, his arm pointing into the library.
- What's this... thing on the table? Where did it come from?
It took Dean a few seconds to realize what he was talking about, just long enough to shake his head in complete ignorance; and then he remembered Castiel who had unexpectedly surprised them, how he had caught up with him in the corridor and, above all, what the angel had then come to give them. Passing in front of his brother, who continued to aim at him with a questioning look, Dean entered the bunker's main room and, turning his gaze to the large wooden table, saw the speckled conch in the exact position he'd left it the day before. His gut knotted as he thought of the Erotes he'd almost managed to forget in the last few hours, and Sam, following in his footsteps, came to stand beside him and repeat:
- Dean, then? Do you know what it is?
The interested party nodded reluctantly.
- It's... it's... Cass brought it in. Yesterday.
- Yesterday,” Sam said stiffly, replaying the events in his mind. That's why he was there, when...
Dean gave him a furtive look that was confirmation.
- He found it in I don't know what part of the world,” he recounted. In a cave, I think. In a decathlon priest's house or something.
Sam looked at him, frowning.
- Deca... What?
- He thinks,” Dean continued, ”that... That we can use it to summon the three feathered ones.
He passively faced Sam's stunned silence, not needing to look at him to realize the stupefaction that gripped him. The youngest of the siblings remained silent for several seconds, feeling as if he were in the presence of a grenade with its pin pulled:
- De... From what? Say that again?
Dean gave him a quick glance and sighed silently.
- It's all right, don't panic,” he reassured him, taking a few steps along the table to keep a safe distance from the relic. As long as you don't blow into it, there's no risk. I'm not so crazy as to make them appear without a plan...
- I'm glad to hear it,” Sam said tersely. And when were you going to tell me we had this thing in the bunker?
- Hey, take it easy, okay?” snapped Dean bluntly. I don't know if you've heard, but since yesterday I've been a bit busy with other things, so I'm sorry I didn't think to tell you!
Sam found his brother's tone a little too biting to be explained solely by his desire to defend himself, but avoided adding fuel to the fire. He had no desire to quarrel with him now, and confined himself to displaying his annoyance with a pursing of the lips and a tightening of the jaws.
- Can you at least tell me what we're supposed to do with this... shell?” questioned Sam in a strained voice. What can I expect next, and where's Cass anyway? Picking up a three-thousand-year-old oak stake soaked in virgin blood?
Dean didn't deny that the angel was probably still looking for more information, more or less concrete, even if he didn't have the details.
- I don't know,” he mumbled, circling the table. He hasn't called yet.
- Dean,” Sam asserted implacably, advancing to brush against the edge of the table, just in front of the conch shell. I'm serious. You have to promise not to do anything without talking to me.
- Okay, relax, will you?” he begged with an air of annoyance. I told you I wouldn't do anything without a plan, or without talking to you about it, that's fine, whatever Cass comes up with. If he finds anything. How's that?
Sam agreed to go along with it. As he nodded, a little forcibly, his brother took a few more steps, turning his back to signify that the subject was closed. At the same time, and now that any unfortunate initiative seemed to have been ruled out, Sam looked down at the conch shell to take time to admire its stunning beauty. The youngest Winchester felt as if a summer sky had been imprinted on its mother-of-pearl.
- You're saying that Erotes are summoned by blowing into them, aren't you?
- According to Cass,” Dean confirmed laconically, glancing at his brother as he saw him reach for the relic.
- Strange object,” he said, letting his fingers rest on it, ”it's... Ah!
Sam withdrew his arm as if bitten by a snake.
- Damn,” he exclaimed, stepping back. That's hot!
Bewildered, he looked at his hand, then at the conch, then at his hand again, grimacing fiercely, and grabbing his wrist he let out a thunderous groan, witnessing the searing pain that seized him.
- Aaaah! What the hell... AAAAH!
He collapsed, screaming in pain, and Dean, panic-stricken, leapt to his feet, shouting his name. In a second, he reached his brother, huddled on the ground, and threw himself on his knees to try to get him up, trying to support him with his arms, asking him over and over what was happening to him. Sam struggled, as if trying to escape the bite of a wolf trap, howling endlessly as he shrivelled around his hand, and seemed to hear nothing of the prayers or other imperious injunctions Dean uttered, dead with anguish, to get him to show him that arm that was making him suffer a thousand deaths. He didn't know how, but the eldest of the siblings finally managed to get his younger sibling to stretch out his arm, whose body seemed to have become as stiff as stone, and at that moment he was struck with nameless horror by the crimson, blister-covered skin that was literally baking on Sam's bones, from fingertips to wrist.
- Damn it, Sammy!” cried Dean, distraught. Hold on, I'll... I'll...
Sam's agonizing screams made his eardrums hum, and Dean had no idea what was happening or how to stop it.
- Help!” he screamed at the top of his lungs, condemned to watch his brother's hand continue to burn. CASTIEL!

His call was heard. But not by Castiel, and the angel Dean suddenly saw appear before him wasn't one, except in paintings or sculptures that centuries and centuries of ignorant belief had slowly transformed. Rarely had Dean felt such dread, such a sense of horror, as when he saw this man resurface there, and could scarcely believe his helpless eyes, he desperately sought a way to confront the threat as the intruder advanced. First and foremost, he tried to protect his downed brother, who continued to endure his ordeal, wrapping his arms around him to become his shield and, refusing to abandon him, could only oppose the assailant with a distraught cry, made as much of fear as of rage, as he watched in terror as he descended upon them.

Chapter Text

- Sammy,” asked his brother, on one knee facing him, squeezing his arm tighter than he should. Sammy, show me!
Stiff and trembling in the armchair where he had arrived without knowing how, his hair and shirt soaked with sweat, Sam showed his arm. His muscles were contracted to the point where they seemed as hard as stone, but his fingers, miraculously, had already practically returned to their normal state. The skin had lost its ghastly black color, the blisters had disappeared, and the pain was fading away, like a memory slowly fading from memory.
- I'm fine,” he assured me in a stumbling, raspy voice. Don't mind me.
His eyes then slid down Dean's side, straight to the visitor planted over there, just in front of the corner of a sideboard, and the elder Winchester tensed all over, his body overwhelmed by a wave of adrenaline that bristled every last hair on his body. Like a predator about to go on the attack, he calculated his every move, measured out his every breath, taking the full measure of the danger and anxious to push the advantage their opponent had given them by his sudden disinterest. Dean remembered that a sawed-off shotgun was hidden under the table; his eyes rolled in its direction as he searched for the shortest route to grab it, but the idea barely had time to take shape in his mind when the visitor calmly asserted, in a voice that chilled his blood:
- If you want to take your gun, don't mind me. Go ahead, I'll pour myself a drink.
Dean felt a feeling of hatred and fury rise in his throat like a reflux of nausea. He scrambled to his feet, his blood boiling in his veins, and Sam's stare, which tried to call him to his senses, had no hold on him. Dean grabbed the rifle, yanked it from its resting place, turned to face Black Suit, and without further ado fired three shots, the deafening roar of which echoed off the walls. First in the back, then in the flank, and finally in the torso, while the shots did nothing to stop the blond-haired man pivoting towards his assailant, and when the sound of the last shot had faded, leaving only a wisp of smoke from the barrel, the Érote, not even a trace of his costume, complained in dismay:
- In ten times a thousand years, I've never been greeted with such rudeness... You just couldn't help yourself, could you? I hope you're at least relieved?
Dean remained petrified, his spine frozen. The rifle was suddenly too heavy for his arm, which shook and fell back to its vertical position. Then he noticed something he'd missed in Gloucester: the incredible azure blue of his opponent's eyes, which penetrated him to the soul, and, powerless against him, he was already about to suffer his wrath, his divine wrath, which would probably not give him a second chance to get up.
- Are we done with hostilities?” suddenly dropped Black Suit with coldness and spite. Yes ? If I were here to harm you, I'd have let your brother burn alive, but he seems to be all right, doesn't he?
Dean cast a quick glance at Sam, who, despite his shock, now seemed completely healed. What the elder Winchester had taken for a threatening gesture when the deity had appeared to advance towards them, had instead been a saving act, for by placing her hand on Sam's arm, she had immediately reversed the catastrophic burning of his flesh. Both men remained on the lookout, torn between fright and confusion, but could only admit that, for the moment, the visitor had not shown any hostility, even if, in Dean's eyes, everything that was happening was directly his fault.
- You show up when my brother's burning like a torch and you've got nothing to do with it? You and your brothers understood that we wouldn't give up and you're the one who drew the short straw and had to go to the trouble of intimidating us? Hm?
His aplomb astonished him, at least as much as it frightened Sam, who turned his attention to Black Suit, who was clearly losing patience. A grimace of disgust twisted his lips as he dipped them in alcohol, and setting down his glass with disdain he blurted out in an implacable tone:
- Let's stop this game and stop it right now, Winchesters... Understand? The relic on this table proves that you know who we are, so don't try my patience with your childish provocations.
Silence alone imposed itself on the two brothers, who felt their hearts racing. Dean feared he had gone too far, but nevertheless forced himself to defiantly face the Erote. The latter chose indifference in the face of this affront, whose modesty underlined its author's impotence, and his attention turned to the conch, resting his right hand on it before turning it over to gaze at it for a long moment.
Dean felt incredibly stupid for having hoped, for a second, to see the black suit burst into flames.
- You must have spared no effort to find it,” noted the deity, between admiration and bewilderment. It's been a long time since I've held one in the palm of my hand... These patterns... It's from Hyrcania, isn't it?
- Eros,” Sam uttered in a guttural voice, his brow sweaty and his gaze piercing, without worrying about anything else. What do you want from us?
He had called the intruder by the name he thought was his, to confirm that he and Dean knew a lot about him, but the intruder didn't seem perturbed. Slowly, he put the conch shell down again, and without misleading the younger Winchester about the identity he'd lent him, he announced in a placid tone, looking him in the eye:
- I've come to save you, huntsman. Your nature prevents you from realizing it, but my brothers and I have no interest in seeing you disappear, especially as you represent no threat to us. No offense.
Sam swallowed his bile and Dean, almost fangs out, felt himself trembling with rage.
- Obviously,” resumed the man whom everything pointed to as the true Eros of mythology, ”you haven't discovered much except our identity. Otherwise, you wouldn't have laid your hands on the spire, that relic reserved for our priests, which no mortal may touch on pain of death.
- The gods of love, eh? scoffed Dean wryly. Surely this is what we call tough love?
- If I wasn't Love, I wouldn't have shown up and your tears would be evaporating on a pile of ashes by now,” he snapped.
- No, if you and your clones hadn't shown up, nothing would have happened and our life wouldn't be such a mess,” accused Dean, taking two furious steps forward.
Eros watched him for a moment, and a slight sneer seemed to form on his lips.
- Your words say the opposite of what your heart says,” he assured him, ”but so be it. We didn't expect you to show much gratitude.
Instinctively, like a shrill noise that would have ruffled his hair, Dean tensed, nearly pouncing on the Érote, who gently raised a hand in appeasement.
- Please,” he asked. I'm not here to fight, how many times do I have to tell you? I've only come to help you.
- Help us?” repeated Sam painfully, unable to ignore the deep torment of the unprecedented situation he and his brother were facing. You know what you've done, don't you? What's happened to us since we came across you? You show up, heal me, and we should... what? Thank you?
Eros graced him with an unfathomable gaze, neither friendly nor hostile, before replying without emotion:
- Your thanks are useless, and so are our apologies. We are the Erotes, born to make love flourish, and we act according to our nature.
The two brothers didn't know whether to feel relief or despair at finally hearing their interlocutor confirm his identity. But it was above all his postulate that left Dean aghast, and as if stunned by the ineptitude of such words, it was almost without strength that he breathed out:
- ...love thrives, but what... What is this bullshit, is it serious?
Then, his anger returning at triple gallop, his eyes blazed and he rose:
- These are corpses we've been tracking down to you, damn it!
- I deplore it, but you're the main culprits,” Eros proclaimed, moving a few steps. You, as a species. Unable to accept yourselves as you are, so convinced that you're better than everyone else, you've enacted rules that imprison you, rules we don't care about, and neither do you, in your heart of hearts. The deaths you speak of are an illustration of what happens when your heart pushes you against your denial. When you stubbornly refuse to admit your true desires.
- Our desires, or yours?” Sam suddenly shouted belligerently. Nothing would have happened if you hadn't interfered; for these people, for us... nothing would have changed!
Stunned, Dean couldn't help but look away from Eros to focus on his brother for a moment. He hadn't expected to hear Sam, who had always defended the idea that these instincts emanated from themselves, call Erote to account, and the latter respond without blinking:
- Change... Some can't accept it, that's just the way it is. Many, on the other hand, embrace it with all their might, unable to understand how they could have lived differently before it. Which category do you fall into?
This time, his question seemed to demand an answer, but neither brother was able to provide one. Between confusion and unease, fear and revolt, they seemed to shield themselves internally against this unacceptable intrusion into their most secret thoughts, which they were only just beginning to unravel, and Dean spat out furiously:
- That's not what he asked you, you buffoon! What's happening to us is your fault! You got us into this mess, so now get us out of it!
- Agreed,” Eros said placidly, but his piercing gaze already hinted at the malice of what he was about to say. Tell me how to stop the cat from tormenting the mouse, tell me how to stop the sunflower from facing the sun, and I'll grant your wish.
Dean squinted his eyes and twisted his mouth in incomprehension, unable to grasp the meaning of the metaphor that his brother perceived so clearly. If any doubt remained, it was removed, but Sam didn't know whether to rejoice or despair.
- It's your nature,” explained the deity, patiently breaking down each word so that it would become permanently imprinted on Dean's mind. The true nature of your hearts, revealed and nothing more. You're both made this way, whether you like it or not, and we don't have the power to extirpate this reality from your beings any more than you do. Your eyes are open now, do you really want to close them?
Dean wanted to shout a thunderous “yes”, but no sound came out of his mouth. Nor did Sam's. No matter how indignantly they aimed at their interlocutor, answering him was beyond their strength. Eros, however, seemed to value their silence more than any words, and laying his hands one on top of the other over his lower abdomen in a soothing gesture, he declared:
- Look, you won't mind, but I can understand why we've put you in an awkward situation. When Pothos, my brother, touched you, he acted with his characteristic zeal, and because of your mistrust he probably didn't have only good intentions towards you.
He paused for another rebuff from the Winchester clan, but it never came. He then moved on, walking slowly over to an old manuscript on the front of a shelf, before continuing, observing the work:
- But I assure you once again that we mean you no harm. Despite your mortal condition, you have accomplished feats that many gods would have struggled to achieve, and whether or not our pride as so-called “superior” beings allows us to admit it, your worth is real.
Now Sam reacts. Before his brother, and with such vehemence that it almost surprised Eros.
- What's the point of buttering us up? You don't want to hurt us, do you? Did you come to help me? Okay, that's done. You can't undo what your brother did, so what the hell are you still doing here?
Black Suit seemed to be searching for words. With a scrutinizing glance, he aimed at Sam, then with an almost imperceptible smile, he replied:
- It's ironic, isn't it? If you hadn't been so intent on harming us, you wouldn't have found the spire that nearly reduced you to ashes. And if Pothos hadn't touched you, I wouldn't have sensed the danger or been able to fly to your rescue.
He swept his gaze over imaginary wings, from shoulder to shoulder, and concluded:
- No pun intended.
- Okay, angel,” said Dean. Cut the bullshit. Take your shell, pack your three-piece suit and get the hell out of here.
Eros nodded, taking the summons in stride.
- When we crossed paths with your predecessors, they weren't thrilled to meet us either. However, we didn't have the chance to visit their headquarters at the time.
He gazed ostentatiously at the walls, the relics on display, the rows of books and the ceiling heights, giving the Winchesters time to realize that the Erotes undoubtedly knew all about their background and past. Eros then inhaled, folded his hands behind his back and suddenly turned around, as if to leave.
- It's a fine legacy you've inherited from your peers,” he affirmed with his back turned. Despite the natural hostility between gods and modern man, they understood the need for us to coexist. I hope you'll come to the same conclusion.
He raised a hand in an almost familiar salute. Disconcerted, Dean inquired:
- Wait, you... Now what?
Eros took his time to face the two brothers again. Perplexed, he gauged the confused and ambiguous expression that tensed the same parts of their faces, a clear sign of their kinship, and returned this question:
- What do you mean?
Dean knew exactly what he wanted to say. He clenched his jaws as tightly as his fists and, overcome by an inner fire, swore:
- We're not done with you yet. You understand? Gods or no gods, we're not going to let you take us for puppets, that's for sure.
Eros nodded imperceptibly with an air of equanimity, taking the time to meet the hunter's gaze before replying:
- Perhaps we'll meet again. Given your stubbornness, it's highly likely. Then you'll do what you feel you must. As will we.
The message was clear, on both sides. A strange tension built up, apt to ignite new hostilities as easily as the wind picking up a fire, but the belligerent air and the wetness of the Winchesters' skin, ready to pounce, left the god of Love cold.
- Think about what you've done,” Eros advised. You've defied the Creator himself, restored this world... and not just him, but all the worlds, those countless realities He took pleasure in wiping out one after another before the Nephilim deposed Him... Here, you're alive and well, able to enjoy this newfound peace or fight worthwhile battles... In other realities, you're not so lucky. Fighting you would be unpleasant for us, and certainly disastrous in your case. There's plenty of room down here, and both your role and ours are necessary for the balance of this world. I'm sure we can find a way to live together.
In more ways than one, his speech baffled the Winchester brothers. His intentions, like his motivations, remained obscure, and Sam ended up wondering if Eros wasn't as interested in them as the guinea pig's owner is in seeing him run in his wheel.
- It's funny,” Sam said scathingly. You'd almost think you were interested in our fate...
- Let's just say that, as the god of Love, I much prefer it to war,” Eros justified with a smile. I've made no secret of the fact that I find you worthy of interest, and...
- Because we beat the crap out of Chuck,” cut in Dean, baring his teeth, ”yeah, we get it. And, speaking of which, you'd better watch your feathers. Because if we beat God himself, just imagine what we could do to you.
Sam feared that this unnecessary provocation would aggravate an already shaky situation, but he was nonetheless pleased with the affront to the visitor, who took it in stride, looking as blasé as he was indifferent. He raised his eyebrows briefly for a weary breath, then returned his gaze:
- Yes, well, that remains to be seen. But don't get too carried away with this coup d'état, Dean Winchester, it doesn't make you invincible. There's a reality where you're already gone, burned at the stake after being skewered by a mere vampire. If such a creature could kill you, imagine what we could do to you.
Dean heard himself swallow. This was the second time Eros had mentioned the multiverse, and Sam, less out of relative curiosity than to divert their visitor from a potential sanction, asked in a quavering voice:
- Are you interested in us as far as the alternate realities Chuck erased?
- It's more the Moires who are interested in you. Especially one of them. Atropos, ever since she crossed your path, has had a strange obsession with your... shall we say, destinies?
The memory of the deity of Fate, whom they had confronted a few years earlier, came flooding back to the Winchester brothers. They recalled that they had already incurred her wrath for having influenced the course of events, and could easily imagine the level of hostility that this former agent of Heaven, though a mythological goddess, might now have for them.
- Does she intend to put us in our place, too?” exclaimed Sam, feeling a shiver ruffle his wet back.
- Not that I'm aware of,” asserted Eros in a light tone. But the Moires are our distant cousins, so news travels fast... You know how it is, within the same family.
If there was any hint in what he was saying, Sam and Dean didn't detect it. Anxious and uneasy, they continued to stare at the god of love, who then proclaimed:
- If you're interested, just ask your guardian angel friend. He undoubtedly retains more ties with the Moires than we do ourselves.
Then, consulting the watch on his wrist a little theatrically, he adds:
- He and my brothers should have finished their talk by now.
Sam's neurons seemed to clatter, and Dean missed a heartbeat.
- W-What? What do you mean, what did you do to him?
- Nothing at all,” assured Eros. He came to us and we talked. I'll tell him you're desperate to hear from him, if he's still around. For the moment, I'll take back what's mine and leave you. Perhaps I'll see you soon, Winchesters.
The Winchesters wanted to hold him back, to force him to clarify his words to make sure Castiel was safe, or to make him confess if this was another veiled threat, but the Erote suddenly vanished, as quickly and silently as he had appeared, and the conch disappeared with him. Alone again, the two brothers stood stunned for a moment, their hearts pounding, and after exchanging an anguished glance, Dean leapt for his phone.
Castiel didn't answer immediately. Because he had no other way of reaching his friend, who might be in the hands of the Erotes, including Pothos, Dean multiplied his calls and messages, to no avail. He relived Castiel's last departure, when, after depositing the relic, Castiel had slipped away, declaring that he still had some things to check about the Erotes; Dean, mortified at having been caught between his brother's knees, and having begged his friend to leave him alone, had convinced himself that Castiel had used the first pretext that came along as a farewell, but the elder Winchester wasn't so sure any more. For more than twenty minutes, he struggled to establish communication with the angel, under Sam's worried gaze, who remained frozen, watching all the while for the moment when he would hear him pick up, but nothing. It was only just as Dean was about to give up and throw the device against the wall that the phone began to ring, and taking the call in a rush, he exclaimed:
- Cass?! Cass, is that you?
- Yes, Dean, it's me.
But the voice wasn't coming from the phone. Castiel had just appeared at the other end of the room, the device still to his ear and, without even trying to understand the reason for this new fantasy, both brothers felt relieved of a terrible weight and able to breathe again.
- You're a nutcase, you hear me? Crazy! What the hell did you go and throw yourself into the lion's den without telling us!
It had been less than five minutes since Castiel had shown up. And Dean had already scolded him three times, after the angel had confirmed Eros's words. With a sigh, he repeated:
- I told you, it was safe for me. I had the idea of asking people I knew to find them, and it worked. It was better for me to talk to them.
Castiel, sitting in an armchair in the library opposite Sam, who hadn't said a word, looked at the latter with a look of both concern and reassurance. Sam, with clasped hands, nodded awkwardly, then heard his friend ask:
- Are you all right? While I was talking to the Erotes, they sensed something and Eros disappeared. When he came back, he explained what had happened. I'm sorry, where I was I couldn't hear what was going on outside.
- It's all right now, yes,” assured the younger Winchester with a grateful smile. Don't worry, Sam.
- Sam, I'm... I'm sorry. I had no idea the conch was so dangerous to humans. If I'd known, I... Sorry, I... It could have happened to you at any time, through no fault of my own.
- But thanks to your new pals, everything's fine!” spat Dean, who was nervously pacing around the armchairs with his arms crossed. You can thank them at your next poker game!
- Dean,” begged Sam with a weary look that Castiel noticed avoided settling on him for long. We asked for her help, so can you let Cass tell us what happened?
As Dean agreed to remain silent, but without ceasing to grumble, the angel slowly shook his head, placidly reporting:
- I went to check on their intentions and make sure they hadn't decided to occupy a place that doesn't belong to them. With the disappearance of... Chuck, and the new order that has been established, some might be tempted to strengthen their hold, thinking they can take advantage of a weakness. The new generation of angels is young, inexperienced... Heaven wanted to assess the risk, but... there aren't any. Not Erotes, anyway. They haven't changed their ways and don't intend to. They swear it's not them you have to fear. We'll keep an eye on the situation, but...
- Well,” Dean cut in sharply, ”we're just going to take their word for it, aren't we? So we just let them run? Is that it? Thanks for your help, but we'll manage on our own, no problem! We're used to it!
His anger was such that it took on accents of pure ingratitude, and Sam was genuinely annoyed. He almost stood up to firmly reframe his brother, but Castiel beat him to it by calmly expressing:
- I understand you're angry, Dean. But I told you, Erotes are not a threat, at least not of the same kind as vampires or spectres. They're not evil and Heaven deems their presence necessary, the angels won't fight them, and if you go alone, you'll be putting your lives at risk. If the situation is really too difficult for you, I can try to close your mind to certain feelings, and...
The dark, incendiary, murderous look Dean shot Castiel immediately silenced him. Sam felt as if he could physically feel his brother's fury and thought he saw him explode, literally, but the elder Winchester was so offended, so humiliated at having given the impression of being ready to accept such a pathetic solution, that he turned on his heel and walked away without saying a word, displaying all the contempt and revolt that this proposal inspired in him.
- I... I didn't mean to hurt his feelings,” Castiel soon stammered, confused.
- No, don't worry,” said Sam gloomily. I'll talk to him. It's nothing against you, it's just that he's had such a hard time with... well, with what's been going on since we ran into them... you know. Besides, I... I wanted to apologize for... what you saw the other time, that... That thing you saw Dean and me do... It's...
Red with shame, he couldn't continue, and it took Castiel a while before he realized it was his turn to resume.
- You... Sam, don't be embarrassed. I told Dean, the human heart is no match for the Touch of the Erotes. Don't think you're the only ones who feel this way, history has often proved otherwise. It's just that you're one of the few to have realized it.
With difficulty, Sam looked up. He didn't know if Castiel's words were a source of comfort, but he was pretty sure that what he'd witnessed hadn't shaken the angel more than that. Unless he'd acquired a new talent for concealing his feelings, since his return, which Sam highly doubted.
- Yeah,” he said with a borrowed laugh. Well, I don't know if what we're feeling reflects the state of our brains or if we've just been hit really hard, but I don't think Erotes have often triggered this kind of reaction.
Castiel raised his eyebrows, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. Sam felt a twinge of sadness.
- Said Castiel, clearing his throat, trying to pull himself together and get this delicate subject out of the way. You were talking about common acquaintances who gave you information about them... It wouldn't be the Moires, would it?
- Yes,” confirmed Castiel. Did Eros tell you? They weren't very cooperative, but... by showing them that it was in their interest to continue collaborating with Heaven, they ended up telling me where I could find the Erotes.
- I see. No, Eros... didn't tell us clearly, but he did mention them. He made an allusion that I understand better now.
Castiel didn't, and looked puzzled.
- And where are they?” asked Sam half-heartedly, his eyes as shy as they were attentive.
- Sam,” said the angel, widening his eyes. Don't tell me you want to follow Dean's example... To provoke them would be madness, even if they have no desire to destroy men, they're still gods, you know what you're risking.
- No, I... I don't intend to go and challenge them, I don't think trying to kill them will solve anything. But we've been wondering so much about where to find them, that now that you have...
Castiel nodded and, albeit a little reluctantly, revealed:
- Yes... They have a temple in the Aegean... That's where I found them.
The angel seemed to think he'd provided valuable information, while Sam almost laughed at the realization that he couldn't do anything with it. He nodded with a smile, then inquired, his brow furrowed with worry lines:
- What exactly did you say to each other?
- Actually, not much... I mentioned your meeting, telling them that the angels would be careful that their saviors weren't threatened... They assured us that they had no interest, that their attention was elsewhere, but that they wouldn't tolerate anyone interfering with their mission, especially after they'd agreed to leave the region... That's about it.
- Their mission,” Sam repeated with a taste of bile. I hope, for a guy like us, they get a thousand bang for their buck, because if they don't...
As he said this, he felt as if he were denying his own words, every time he'd tried to convince Dean that this was the way it was, and that without coming to terms with this reality exhumed from their hearts, they wouldn't get through this ordeal. And he felt his meager convictions being shaken, even though he was still convinced he'd done the right thing by accepting as his own the unnatural desires that had taken hold of him.
- Nobody chooses the deep desires that drive them,” Castiel delivered fatalistically, as if he'd picked up on the hunter's thoughts. The Erotes aren't cherubim, they don't intervene directly to influence hearts... All we can do is blame them for revealing what might otherwise have been ignored.
Sam felt an intense chill. If the Erotes' mischief came down to having confronted him and his brother with their innermost nature, as he had always more or less believed, whose fault was greater? He remained thoughtful for a long moment, then asked with a bewildered look:
- So, that's it? We just leave it at that, forget we ever crossed their path and try to make do with what it's done to us?
- Your brother won't like it, but I sincerely believe it's the wisest thing to do. Seeking revenge on them won't change the situation.
- No,” Sam murmured in a dying voice. No, he won't like it.
Quietly, betrayed only by the rustle of his raincoat, Castiel stood up.
- I can try to... do something... to help you,” he barely dared to offer after Dean's violent reaction. I can't guarantee that...
- Thanks,” Sam interrupted with a heavy smile. But I don't think I want my head screwed on again, I think I've had enough of that.
Castiel understood and left it at that, all embarrassed at having resubmitted the idea. He searched for a moment to add, and finding nothing more to say to relieve his friend's affliction, he simply reiterated:
- I have to leave now, but I'm always here if you need anything. Don't hesitate to call me if there's anything I can do, okay?
Sam nodded painfully. And when he managed to look up to thank the angel again for her help, his words echoed in an already empty room.

Chapter Text

When Sam went to find Dean, he expected a less than pleasant welcome. He knocked on his brother's door, entered the room, and found him gathering his belongings - jacket, wallet, phone - clearly ready to leave the bunker.
- Where are you going?” asked Sam in a disillusioned tone.
- There's no way I'm letting them get away with this,” ranted Dean, continuing to fidget.
- Where are you going?” repeated his brother.
- I don't know!” he shouted, glaring at him in outrage. I'm taking the car and I'm getting out of here, I need a change of scene!
He passed so close to Sam, and with such irritation, that he caught his shoulder. Sam took no offense, and let Dean leave the room without saying a word. Dean, however, stopped shortly after crossing the threshold, turned to his brother, whose back he could only see, and said after a moment:
- Are you coming, or what the hell are you doing?

The Impala picked up the Road 181 and sped south across the fields. With rock music pounding in his eardrums, Sam spent nearly fifteen minutes watching the green grass roll by, hoping that every hectometer he swallowed would relieve Dean of the anger that was making his blood boil. He didn't hear her say a word for fifteen minutes, and decided to try and break the ice.
- I didn't think you'd be too keen on my company...
Dean, jaws clenched, didn't answer immediately. He seemed astonished by this reflection as he was by the sound of his younger son's voice, and waited for him to continue. But in the face of Sam's silence, as he gazed placidly out the window at the fading sun, he replied in a hoarse voice:
- Why do you say that?
- The coming of Eros... What Cass said... It put us right back in the thick of it. It reminds us that without the Erotes, we wouldn't be where we are today. And my presence isn't going to help you forget that.
Dean clenched the steering wheel as hard as his teeth, so hard that his knuckles turned white. It took him a while to speak again, and when he did, it was to spew out all his indignation and frustration.
- It's not your fault, Sam, it's... I don't blame you.
The eldest was quite happy and relieved to hear this. As he was to have been able to restore the dialogue.
- I can't believe they can get away with this,” continued the elder. After a lifetime of being Chuck's pawns, how much longer are we going to be at the mercy of these shoddy pseudo-gods? It makes me sick to think there's nothing we can do but let them run... There's got to be a way to stop them, to stop them from doing what they're doing, Cass doesn't want to help us but...
- Castiel has helped us as much as he can,” Sam restates without delay or shrug. You know he did. You were unfair to him earlier.
Dean tried to swallow his anger, fueled in part by his own attitude, which deep down he disapproved of. He knew he was making his family pay for his rage, and he blamed himself.
- You're right,” he admitted shortly afterwards, his voice softer. My... My words went over my head, I know I was a bum, I didn't really mean it... But, Sam... When he offered to chop our brains out, I flipped out; so this is all we've got left? We keep our mouths shut, let them win, and we're on our own? Would you rather get laid before the hunt, or after, to celebrate? Is this what we've become? A bunch of wimps?
- I don't know,” says Sam, sighing wearily. I don't know what to say. What I do know is that there's no point in rushing headlong into things, as I've already told you. You saw what almost happened with the shell. Besides, even if we could find a way to kill them, what then, eh? Will it make any difference to us what happened? After getting rid of Chuck, would you risk declaring war on other gods?
Dean saw him shake his head in resignation.
- I don't know,” Sam repeated, his gaze vague. Maybe Cass is right, maybe the best thing is to move on. What other solution do we have? We all know that every time we set out on a hunt, there's a good chance we won't come out unscathed. So there you go.
- What, the risks of the job, is that it? spat Dean, looking appalled. For fuck's sake, Sam, we're not talking about a ghoul bite or a crippled leg, we're talking about you and me! Fucking each other like horny beasts, pumping each other's dicks and pounding each other's asses!
- I'm in as good a position as you to know what we're talking about, thank you,” said the younger Winchester in a blasé tone, refusing to bid higher in decibels. But even if all this is completely insane, are we dead yet? Has the Earth stopped turning? What's the hardest part for you? Putting up with the fact that they had such an effect on you, on us, or putting up with the fact that we screwed up?
The question shook Dean to the core. Disconcerted, he remained silent for a moment, trying in the meantime to gauge the state of mind of Sam, who, with his eyes turned away, clearly refused to meet his gaze.
- Hey,” he said, trying to eliminate any virulence from his tone of voice, ”I never meant for this to happen, but I assume it, okay? What I did with you, I did because I wanted to, I've already told you that and I mean it, okay? Even though... I could never in my life have imagined something like that.
- It's not much easier for me, I'm not particularly proud of getting off on sleeping with my brother, you know? Still, I'm not sorry it happened, I wanted it and I loved it, I don't care about anything else.
Dean wished he could have answered with the same conviction, and he had no doubt that his brother was once again giving him the opportunity to do so. Although he'd taken great pleasure in giving in to his guilty impulses, too, he was nonetheless unable to proclaim in all conscience that he was ready to embrace the new nature of their relationship without reservation, even though his hatred of Erotes occupied an infinitely greater space than shame or remorse, which were now mere dross.
- Did you mean it, when you asked him to fix what they'd done?” asked Sam after a moment, when the music had stopped and only the sound of the engine still rattled the sheet metal. When you told him to get us out of the mess they'd gotten us into?
- Pfff... I wasn't kidding myself, you know?” retorted Dean to avoid having to answer the real question. I said that to force him to think about what it did to us, to show him we weren't willing to let it happen...
- You wanted to play the rebel, didn't you?” mocked Sam, unable to stop smiling. Did you think he'd give a damn?
- Would you have preferred me to thank him?
- He probably wouldn't have found it so odd, that's the worst of it...
Dean had no doubt. His rage went up a notch, but evoking his fight with Eros, coupled with the terrible memory of his brother burning, also brought to the surface the sharp surprise he'd felt a little later, and in turn he wanted to know:
- What about you? Were you serious when you asked him if it wasn't their wishes rather than ours? I thought you were convinced it was just us...
- I still think so... It was just a contradiction in terms...
Dean felt a strange pang in his stomach, unable to say whether he would have preferred to hear his brother change his mind or take comfort in his certainties. In any case, he was glad to have her by his side, even if he had absolutely no idea what lay ahead, and had probably never had such a vague idea of their future.

They drove on for a while, and when they came across a tourist sign for Waconda Lake, Dean decided to take a look. Once there, in the setting sun, he parked on a strip of land facing the immense expanse of water they had skirted from west to east and, despite the cool evening air, the two brothers took the time to admire the panorama, Sam leaning against the wing of the Impala, Dean two meters ahead, both turned towards the sun, which they gradually watched disappear.
- You're right,” said the elder of the two men, in a voice that had nothing in common with the vindictive tone of earlier. It sickens me to admit it, and I don't know if I'll ever really be able to swallow it... but we'll gain nothing by continuing to want to do them in.
Sam nodded silently, apart from himself, glad to see him realize this.
- Was it the lake air that made you realize?” he quipped affectionately.
- No,” he said, turning back to his brother. You did. I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you because of my desire for revenge. We came so close to disaster earlier, I wouldn't risk it again.
Sam felt his throat knot. He looked at Dean, now beside him, with unfathomably deep eyes, and saw him stare at the horizon with a half-muted expression of resignation to fighting the Erotes, death without a soul. Sam feared he would soon change his mind, unable to stick to it, and decide to go off on his own, but he preferred not to think too much about it for the moment. He wanted to thank his brother, to express his gratitude and affection, but he couldn't find the words. They were useless anyway. So he kept quiet.
- Can I... ask you a question, about Cass?” he said nonetheless, after a moment.
Without dwelling on the emotion he sensed in her voice, which only strengthened his resolve, Dean turned his head to his brother.
- Go on, Dean.
- I found your reaction... very violent, when he came back to the bunker and you knew he was okay with them. Were you... afraid he'd be Touché, too, and feel... desire for you again?
Dean was almost shocked that Sam had dared to ask such a sharp, intimate question, and he couldn't free himself from a sort of nervous, very brief laugh, spat out like a horse's breath. Since his return to Earth, following Jack's restoration of the world to God, Castiel had regained his wings but lost something else, a tiny part of his humanity, as if his status as a once-again fulfilled angel had stifled the expression of his most intense emotions. He seemed to have forgotten nothing of the events leading up to his disappearance, but Dean had never dared speak to him again about the declaration of love he'd made to her before being swallowed by the Void.
- What are you talking about, are you crazy?” he shouted. Cass and I... we're friends, that's all, and that's the way it's going to stay.
Sam waited a few seconds, then continued cautiously:
- Maybe, but... From what you've told me, he seemed to be hoping for a bit more...
- Of course not,” he persisted, taking a step forward, clearly uncomfortable. He was going to disappear, he thought we'd never see each other again, so he told me everything, but that doesn't mean he's in love with me or anything.
Sam wasn't so sure, but he stuck to his brother's version. It was the only one that mattered to him.
- Okay,” he answered neutrally. I'm sorry I asked, it's between you two anyway, it's none of my business.
Dean looked over his shoulder suspiciously. He then returned to him and, planting himself opposite Sam, questioned in a deliberately provocative tone:
- What's the matter, Sammy? You jealous?
Sam had seen him coming a mile away.
- Nah,” he assured with a knowing smile, ”I'm not jealous. I'm not your boyfriend. Just because I gave you my ass a couple of times doesn't mean I stopped being your brother...
Sam understood that bluntly describing their unnatural acts was the best way to turn his brother off, and the effect was no different this time.
- Tsss,” Dean grumbled as he leaned against the car on his brother's side, trying to save face. You're not my boyfriend and I'm not yours, no, you're not! What's wrong with you? Besides, you had a girlfriend and you're an idiot for letting her go! Did you call Eileen?
- No,” sighed Sam, ”I didn't call her. And don't start that again, will you? This is my business, so let me handle it my way, okay?

Dean gave a grunt of forced approval. It suddenly made no sense to him to bring up his brother's love life as if nothing had happened, as if the intimate relationship they'd had with each other couldn't have any bearing on the rest of their lives. Was this a hope, or a conviction? Unless, on the contrary, the realization of just how preposterous his words were in the circumstances was a revelation that they could never really go back? Endlessly repeating the same questions was no more useful than his hatred of the Erotes, he realized, but like an insect trapped in a jar, he continued despite himself to bang against the walls in search of a hypothetical way out.

While the Winchester brothers remained immersed in their thoughts, full of all the doubts and contradictions that made their hearts beat faster, the sun completed its plunge into the waters of the lake and, the breeze suddenly freshening, Sam pulled up the collar of his jacket.
- Well, what are we going to do?” he asked in a tone he wanted to be carefree. Do you want to go home?
- No, not just yet,” he replied as he thought about it.
- We passed a bowling alley on the way in. Would you like to go?
His brother's friendly expression didn't stop Dean from pouting.
- A bowling alley?” he repeated scornfully.
- Okay,” understood Sam, who gave a closed smile. A pool hall, then? There's got to be a bar nearby.
- You know, whenever you want?” Dean said, raising his eyebrows.

The pool table proved suitable, and so did the hamburgers. Back to his old tricks, Dean even managed to convince two local fishermen to bet with him on the outcome of the game, and walked away with a hundred-dollar bill that paid royally for the meal and drink. Sam, who watched from afar as he conned the two unaware men, took pleasure in seeing him enjoy himself, even if he wasn't fooled by the torments that still plagued him. He had the same, and yet, after the incredibly intense moments they'd shared since the day before, he'd almost naively believed that a page had been turned. Watching his brother wield the pool cue, grin superiorly and play the kingpin, he couldn't help but feel a very clear desire for him. Dean spoke of raw, wild sex, but Sam considered, more and more as the still vivid sensations that had inflamed his body for hours diluted in time, that they had made love, carried by the indefectible fraternal attachment that bound them without reserve. Looking at Dean, so beautiful, so relaxed and in control of the game, Sam felt the urge to taste the salt of his skin again, to reconnect with his cheeky tongue, to run his hands over the whole of his body once more, in short, to overturn him and take him there, on the pool table, without worrying about anyone or anything other than satisfying his quest for passion and this devouring need to abandon himself to all turpitudes in his arms. It was a dream, a sweet dream, the realization of which would undoubtedly bring him absolute well-being, but a dream he still didn't know whether to embrace or fight.
If he should listen to his heart, or his head.

They left the bar late, Dean's fat, alcohol-soaked laughter echoing across the parking lot in the already chilly night. The hunter was loudly surprised that, after three lost games, the fishermen still wanted revenge. Supported by his brother's discreet but vigilant arm, he made his way back to his car, although he didn't really realize that he was getting in on the passenger side. It was only when he saw the steering wheel in Sam's hands that he had the first inkling of a reaction, but he soon displayed a relative lack of interest in the event, content to chuckle again as he nosed over.

Sam rolled towards the bunker, undisturbed by his brother's snoring, which competed for his eardrums with the background music emanating from the Impala's speakers. The younger Winchester's eyelids were heavy, and a thickening haze blocked his view despite the vehicle's powerful headlights. He slowed his pace, suddenly reliving the events he and Dean had experienced the last time they'd sat side by side in the cabin at night. Far from helping to cool the desire that persisted in exciting his senses, these reminiscences only fanned its flames, and as he glanced at Dean, slumped against the window with his shoulders in his hands, he was seized by a brutal erection as he turned on the heater.

No matter how much Sam claimed that he was in tune with what they'd done, that he regretted nothing and that the violence of the pleasure he'd taken there was enough to quell all his remorse, it was only half true. The pleasure he'd experienced had never been like it, and he'd had to wait until he'd slept with Dean to discover its awesome power. With Dean. His own brother. This state of affairs left him with a bitter taste, one of indelible guilt, but he deliberately minimized its importance because he was concerned above all to lighten Dean's burden. However, by acting in this way, by doing everything to convince his brother that he had nothing to blame himself for, Sam couldn't help thinking that he was perhaps holding him back in spite of himself in this insane relationship, at once intoxicating and toxic, which prevented him from freeing himself from a situation in which he seemed to be suffocating. Sam had consented to welcome into his heart these new impulses that defied all taboos, without regret, because he was convinced that it was the best choice for him, if not the easiest, and never mind that little voice that kept whispering to him that it was wrong.
But he was far less certain that the reverse was true when it came to Dean.
- Sam... Sam!
Brusquely jolted back to reality, Sam turned his head and saw Dean leaning over the car door.
- Stop it! Stop the car!
Sam couldn't make much sense of it, but his brother seemed to have a problem. He glanced at the road, which was almost pitch-black, squeezed his right to the grassy verge beside a field, and stopped the car at an angle. Dean scrambled out of the car and almost fell to the ground as he bent over to vomit.
Sam looked at him from the car for a second, then turned off the ignition and went to join him. Seeing and hearing him, he felt as if Dean was spitting his guts out, and tried but failed to recall the last time he'd seen him in such a state. This surprised him all the more, as his brother had repeatedly swallowed far more food and alcohol without more than a burp, but this time it was different. He vomited four times, emptying his stomach to the bile, and standing worriedly two meters away, Sam cautiously inquired when he felt the crisis had passed:
- Dean, are you all right? How are you feeling, any better?
Panting, bent at right angles with his hands on his knees, the elder Winchester finally nodded and sniffed.
- I... I think... Damn it...
He slowly straightened up, took a deep breath and, with tears in his eyes, turned back to Sam and the Impala to see with disgust that he hadn't been able to avoid soiling both his poorly fastened jacket and the shirt underneath.
- Rah, fuck!” he cried with revulsion. Look at that, it's... Ah!
- Come on, it's nothing,” Sam reassured him as best he could. Maybe you've had a bit too much to drink... Is it over?
Dean, on edge, gave an affirmative grunt. Sam soon came to suspect that the meal they'd had at the bar had little to do with his condition, and that it was rather the current situation, in the light of recent events, that had finally made him ill. Helplessly, Sam sighed in frustration as a car honked past them, and as he looked up he saw the neon light of a motel glowing in the distance, diluted in the fog.

It was in fact a steakhouse, but Sam soon found a hotel just a few yards away, at the entrance to Cawker City. Suddenly overwhelmed with fatigue, he decided to take a room there while his nauseated brother stayed behind, trying to regain his strength with a few bowls of fresh air, and they settled in for the night. While Dean went into the bathroom to freshen up, Sam plopped down on one of the two beds, near the entrance wall, in front of the TV, which was showing some kind of reality show he hadn't the slightest interest in. Behind his vague gaze, quite different images filled his mind; images that were soon echoed by his brother as he stomped out of the bathroom, wearing jeans and socks, a towel over his shoulders and, on his back, nothing but his T-shirt.
- You're looking better,” said the younger man with sleepy eyes.
He didn't mean a word of it. Dean looked dark and off, less nauseous perhaps, but more overwhelmed than ever.
- Oh yeah?” he grumbled with a harassed nod. Am I less green?
As if wracked with aches and pains, he made his way to the second bed and sat down in the middle, on the edge, on the side that allowed him to face Sam. The latter found it hard not to stare at his brother's crotch, particularly well molded in his jeans between his spread thighs, and he immediately resented feeling his nipples harden, at least as much as his sex, because the moment didn't lend itself to it.
- Yeah,” Sam let out with a stilted chuckle, discreetly moving his leg to hide his erection. You could say that.
- At least I got rid of that puke smell,” Dean pouted, aiming a dark look at the stained areas of his torso. As soon as I get home, I'll throw the clothes in the wash. Besides... I don't understand why you wanted to stop here. We'd be at the bunker by now.
- The bunker'll still be there in the morning, don't worry about that. Between the fog and everything else, we can take a few hours to recuperate before going back, can't we?
Looking at his youngest son, Dean tried to quantify the “rest” he was talking about. His sudden nausea, first of all, no doubt, but not only. Dean could tell from Sam's dejected expression that he was suffering from the after-effects of his traumatic experience when he touched the spire, although he shuddered at the thought that his possession by Lucifer had probably subjected him to far worse tortures. And then, beyond all that, there was of course the situation of the two of them, confused, ambiguous in more ways than one, and as difficult to bear physically as psychologically.
- In the meantime, we're going to have to put up with this musty room,” he complained, casting a disdainful glance at the small, slightly faded room. The beds are tiny. It looks like a closet.
Sam took it upon himself to ignore his brother's futile recriminations, signs of a much deeper, particularly palpable malaise, but he couldn't for long ignore the embarrassment he perceived in him, again, as an unpleasant throwback.
- Listen,” he told her in a weary voice without even straightening up, still lying on his bed. I understand if you feel uncomfortable... Maybe I'd better ask for a second room, it'll be easier.
Dean seemed taken aback. His brother's proposal surprised him, but didn't really offend him. Because he didn't necessarily see it in a bad light, and because he felt a little responsible for having provoked her with his distant air.
- What are you talking about,” he said unconvincingly, his gaze shifting.
- I can see you're not well,” Sam delivered as he meant it. As if being near me was uncomfortable.
Dean raised his head curtly and wanted to set the record straight:
- Hey, if you keep this up, I'm really going to end up not being able to stand you, okay? I've already told you that it's not you I've got a problem with. What part of that don't you understand?
Sam was tired of it all. And, without feeling the knot in his throat, he heard himself suddenly blurt out:
- Dean, I'm... I'm tired of the same movie over and over. When you're not moping about us, you're foaming with rage at the Erotes, and it's been going on for days.
Dean stiffens, ostentatiously. Letting his brother know, only by gesture and without a sound, that he wasn't ready to hear it all. But Sam didn't care.
- You can look at me sideways,” he confronted, ”but it won't change a thing. Torn one way and then the other, one moment going up the slope, the next falling back to the bottom. How much longer is it going to go on like this? Hm?
Dean leapt to his feet and headed for the bathroom door, hands in pockets, shoulders tensed and back turned. He wanted to nail his brother vehemently, but he couldn't find the energy or the justification. Sam was right.
- Earlier, at the lake,” Sam said in a softer tone, sitting down slowly on the edge of his bed. At the bar, you even had fun, and now you're undermining yourself again... No point in denying it, I can feel it.
- I know,” Dean growled through gritted teeth. I know, okay?
Without turning around, he sighed heavily, and it was pain that Sam heard in his voice when he admitted:
- I'm trying, Sam. I'm really trying to come to my senses, but... You know what I said to myself earlier? That it's better that Mom's not here.
His last words sounded like he was choking on a sob and, with a heavy heart, Sam hurried to his brother's back to put an arm around his shoulders.
- It's all right,” Dean snapped, pulling away roughly. It's okay, let go!
He took two steps forward, still refusing to face Sam, who remained distraught, and imposing a more temperate tone on himself, the elder of the two men tried to explain:
- I don't need a hug, just let me breathe, will you? Fuck, Sam, it would take less than that for me to fuck up again, so keep your distance, it's better.
Sam felt his insides twist to their full length and shut himself up in dead silence. Eyes fixed, he watched his brother return to his worst moments of remorse, and truly believed at that moment that they'd never get away with it.
- Every time... we slip, every time we cross the line,” Dean soon continued, his breath short and his voice heavy, ”I see those guys again... I remember it all started with them, and I want to... To...
Sam saw his brother's fists clench into bone-shattering fists, and suddenly decided it was his duty to help him through this, no matter what it cost him personally. He refused to let Dean continue flogging himself every time they made a mistake. The latter, suddenly realizing that he'd let his emotions get too out of hand, finally seemed to gradually begin to regain his composure, and with a loud sniff he cleared his throat before starting to move again, hands on hips.
- I don't know,” he said, his eyes on the ceiling, ”I... Maybe I'd have been able to deal with it eventually, if that son of a bitch hadn't shown up... Seeing him again is... like having a wound reopened. I've been trying all day to wrap my head around it, but there's just no way.
He stopped near a window, his gaze lost in the knife-edge fog.
- I can see him leaning over you burning up, Sammy... It's all his fault, but if he hadn't been there, you wouldn't be either.
Sam, his eyes on the ground, slowly raised his head and took two steps in his direction, without getting too close. The youngest of the siblings was well aware that Eros's appearance had saved his life, but it had also awakened Dean's revolt against everything they were going through, and Sam's despair was cruelly felt.
- Hating them was enough, he said, echoing his own thoughts. We could have done without owing them one.
- He got there,” Dean vomited with frightening rage. Like a great lord, playing the good Samaritan, lecturing us! Nothing gets through to him, not what we say, not the lead we throw at him, and the one object we managed to dig out to do him in turned on us!
Sam refused to have this conversation again. This realization of impotence, of the futility of their determination to have the last word on the Erotes, was a heavy enough weight to bear without having to mope about it all the time, and looking exhausted he returned to sit at the foot of his bed.
He had more urgent things to deal with, more important positions to take, but after the night they'd both had, it was heartbreaking.
- There's nothing we can do about it, so there's no point in continuing to torture ourselves,” he pleaded fatalistically. On the other hand, there's one thing we can decide to do.
Sam's throat tightened in a way it probably hadn't before today. He was about to act in total contradiction to what every fiber of his body desired, and he begged Jack to stop Dean from reacting.
- What do you want to talk about?” he questioned after a moment, turning to his brother.
Sam bit his lip silently, a taste of acid in his mouth. He'd felt the tiny spark of hope he'd rekindled in Dean's heart, and couldn't back down.
- About us,” he replied, his gaze vague. I'm talking about us. We can't change what's happened, but we can decide what we do next. We can decide to stop everything.

Dean spent an indefinite amount of time staring at Sam, exactly as if he'd just spoken Russian. The hunter's bewildered gaze reflected all the confusion and incomprehension that gripped him at that moment, and with a frightened expression he advanced towards Sam to blurt out with a grimace:
- Stop? Stop it? Stop what, Sam? Acting like horses in a rut? Is that what you're saying? Hey, I don't know if you noticed, Sam...! We can't do it!
- Up until now, that's been true,” agreed Sam, as transfixed as he was impassive. But since last night, the situation has changed.
Dean's head jerked up, his eyebrows furrowed and his brow furrowed. He didn't understand.
- Changed? Changed into what? What are you talking about?
- We've gone to the end of our desires, Dean,” Sam demonstrated with a wistful look. And that changes everything. Because what's been eating away at us and the people the Erotes have touched is that we've tried to resist to the end the desires they've brought up. But that's all over now. At least for us.
Disoriented, faced with a vision of the facts that seemed to fall from the sky, Dean almost stammered something, but his lips refused to let the slightest sound pass. Sam's speech seemed as implausible as it was inexplicably appealing, and it took him a long time, confronting his younger self with an abyss of loneliness, before he murmured:
- No, I... You mean... we'd be... free of these urges by now?
Were they still urges? Sam saw them as conscious, consensual desires. But his brother's term encouraged him to continue.
- Yes,” he finally said in a blank voice, with all the cost to himself. I'm not saying it's all gone, far from it, or that it'll necessarily be easy... But I do think that after what we've both done, freely and without restraint... We have the means to regain control again, if that's what we decide.
Dean was at a loss for words. Completely bewildered, he looked at Sam in dismay, suddenly realizing that he'd stopped believing it was possible to escape their fate. When had this happened? Had the extreme intimacy they'd shared right up to their communal shower, before Eros' reappearance, sounded the death knell of his revolt? Was Sam right in thinking that by giving themselves to each other without restraint, they had somehow freed themselves from the domination of their senses? Dean dared to delve deep into his heart, searching for his will to straighten his head, and he wanted to believe that what his brother was advancing wasn't just fantasy. He was afraid to answer, afraid to express aloud both his doubts and his confused hopes, but the bright, intense gaze he turned on Sam proved to him that he wanted to hold on to this chance to pull his head above water.
What would be left of them after this, what would become of their relationship and how they would decide to live with what had happened to them, became irrelevant for the moment. Dean probed his heart and soul, searching for an answer to the only question that mattered, determined to define whether or not he had the ability to regain control of his own existence, and turned towards this sole objective he suddenly felt the need to leave the cramped room where they had taken refuge.
He mumbled a few incomprehensible words, and stepped out into the cold night air.

Chapter Text

Two hunts, a few bars and five days later, the Winchesters seemed, against all odds, to have managed to return to a semblance of normal life. At least, by their usual standards.

Their first day back from Waconda Lake had been a little strange. Questioned and bewildered by Sam's statements, the two brothers had both sought each other out and avoided each other, without knowing how to approach each other. They had gravitated towards each other from a safe distance, exchanging banalities from time to time, as if to give the other a chance to open up a discussion that neither of them really had the courage to initiate. In retrospect, Sam's idea had seemed so paradoxically risky that neither of them had felt confident enough to bring it up again. Dean doubted he had the strength to regain control of himself, while Sam secretly hoped there might be something left of the experience they'd shared. Nevertheless, twenty-four hours later, and despite the temptations and nagging thoughts that had occupied them, they were forced to admit that they had remained masters of their instincts, even if it had cost them a sleepless night.

The next day, his spirits lifted by this small victory, Dean was more active and less gloomy than in previous days. After the torrid hours he'd spent in bed in his brother's arms the day before, he hadn't expected to be able to curb the desire that was devouring him, accustomed as he'd been until now to always going further astray. He'd begun to believe that what Sam was theorizing might be possible, and his mood had taken a turn for the worse. He'd gotten up early, felt relieved of a weight he'd been carrying around for days like a ball and chain, and had immediately felt the urge to start cooking. Sam, who hadn't had much rest, had left his room much later, and was surprised to find his breakfast on a thoroughly scrubbed kitchen table. He had then joined Dean in the library, where his brother had welcomed him with interest, immediately broaching the subject he had been waiting to share with him: that of a suspicious case found on the net, evoking a possible poltergeist affair.

Poltergeists had never been among the Winchesters' easiest prey. But with fatigue and the desire to get out of the bunker, Sam had finally given in to his brother's arguments. They replenished the stock of useful weapons in the Impala's trunk, then set off for their destination: deepest Missouri, which they reached nine hours later, after dark. The neglected house where the poltergeist was supposed to be had immediately triggered the EMI wave detector. The light from the flashlights, having pierced the darkness of the premises, offered a first glimpse of the spirit's mischief, which was then fully revealed when the light bulbs were switched on. At least the ones that hadn't yet exploded. Their glass, like that of half the windows, littered the floor, all that remained of the wallpaper on the walls were shreds, and the furniture was overturned as if after an earthquake.
If there was a poltergeist, it was either particularly facetious or clearly belligerent, and action had to be taken quickly. The two brothers knew what they had to do, and luckily, the house was only one storey high.
Sam to the north, Dean to the south, each had drilled a hole in the wall and immediately slipped in the sachet which, together with the other three, would purify the premises. But as soon as they had turned their attention to the east and west walls, they were met with their first attack. A blade from the floor came flying at Dean like a crossbow bolt, and he had to rely on his reflexes to dodge the projectile in extremis. By the time he had alerted Sam, already in the next room, the latter had come within a hair's breadth of having his skull cracked by a falling chandelier, but had nevertheless been able to complete his task and place the third bag inside the fireplace. Struggling to find a weak point in the west wall of the kitchen, Dean had fired on all cylinders when his brother returned to lend him a hand, and well had he done, for knives, jars, glass and wood shards had rained down on them with a crash. Even turning the table upside down to make a shield for them, Sam couldn't avoid cuts and bruises, but he did give his brother time to locate and drill a crawl space where electrical conduits ran, in order to insert the last bag.

The mystical chemistry had then done its work, and the evil spirit had been instantly pushed out of the building, in a great flash of light like a bolt of lightning.

The Winchesters had benefited from a small dose of luck, which had taken nothing away from their merit. And if Dean had been the most elated by their success, Sam had also found it an undeniable comfort. They went for a drink, then rested until dawn in the first motel they could find. A surprisingly quiet night. When they woke up, a message on Dean's cell had urged them to go to Oklahoma, a seven-hour drive away. There, they had met up with two hunters for a Djinn hunt, in a chase that had lasted nearly twenty-four hours before finally coming to fruition. They then enjoyed their new victory long into the night, before setting off again for Lebanon mid-morning.

The weather was milder, but it was raining. The Impala followed the straight roads through the fields, and the Winchesters, a few miles from Wichita, would be home in three hours, if all went well. It was almost two o'clock, and the two brothers were in good spirits from their journey. With the music playing in the background, they'd often chatted, even joked, and the trip home had been shortened.
- Damn,” Dean despaired, leaning forward for a moment to get a better view of the overcast sky through the windshield, which was constantly swept by the windshield wiper. Bloody awful weather...
Sam, busy checking the net on his phone, looked up briefly to observe the landscape through his window. The field they were skirting - another one - looked soggy, glistening with the occasional puddle.
- Yeah,” he admitted with a sullen raise of his eyebrow. Jack must have opened the floodgates up there. Maybe it's laundry day in Heaven.
- Or maybe the angels are all in the small corner and the plumbing's leaking,” Dean quipped.
He paused for a moment, just long enough for Sam to give him a casual look, before adding, as if suddenly aware of the importance of the subject:
- Speaking of which... Do you think an angel really pees?
The youngest sibling's face seemed to sag several centimeters in dismay. He laughed a dry, disdainful laugh before saying, indifferently:
- What do I know... Probably, yeah. Just ask Cass when you see him.
Dean grimaced strangely.
- Yeah,” he responded half-heartedly. He's already been half out of it since he came back, so I'm not going to risk it.
- It's his angelic side that comes out more now that he's got all his attributes back. It's still new, give it time.
- Anyway, I don't know if it's cleaning day up there, but Jack could have done a bit of cleaning down here, when he took Grandpa's chair, because it's still crawling with vermin!
- Oh, stop it,” Sam returned knowingly. You loved it.
Dean was tempted to deny it, but the satisfaction he'd felt during their three-day hunt had been very real. With a touch of haughtiness, he replied:
- That's no reason... Still, it's a good thing we were there, otherwise who'd have cleared the poltergeist? As for the Djinn's nest, if you hadn't found the entrance, Dina and Larry would probably still be there. But hey... We did the right thing, that's what counts. And at least we'll have had something else to think about for a few days.
- Yeah,” Sam grinned, his distracted gaze drowning in the drops of water running down the window. More than three days away from the bunker, not far from half that in the car... and not once did I have a wandering hand. Some progress, huh?
Dean thought back to days gone by, standing next to Sam in that same spot on his way back from Gloucester, and fell silent. His younger brother immediately regretted the words he'd just spoken, especially when he sensed, by the way his brother's hands suddenly tightened on the steering wheel, just how much Dean was closing up. Realizing the irrelevance of the remark he'd uttered without a moment's thought, the younger Winchester felt a wave of warmth wash over him, and as he slowly straightened up on the bench, looking defeated, he soon stammered in a listless voice:
- I... I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that, it's...
He painfully cleared his throat, without finishing, and hid in his corner, looking as if he wanted to disappear. But at his side, Dean overcame the surprise that his brother's reply had provoked, and in a tone that he wanted to be as free as possible, he declared, while forcing himself to adopt a more relaxed posture:
- No, it's... It's nothing, don't worry. You're allowed to talk about it...
- Forget it,” Sam muttered, wishing he could turn back the clock by at least a few seconds.
Dean almost listened. But, glancing in the rearview mirror, he then turned his eyes straight ahead on the road, rolling his shoulders, before saying with a resolute pout and a more assertive voice:
- Hey, if I'm the reason you're feeling embarrassed, forget it, okay? What are you afraid of? That I'll lose my nerve again because we're bringing the subject up again?
That was about it, and the wary look Sam directed at his brother confirmed it.
- It happened anyway, Sam. Not talking about it isn't going to change anything, is it?
Welcoming Dean's rather positive reaction, Sam nodded approvingly and relaxed a little. Hunting, by allowing them to fix their minds elsewhere, was no doubt no stranger to the elder sibling's less revolted positions, and the younger boy wasn't unhappy that bringing up events, after days of silence, didn't immediately provoke the heated exchanges to which he'd almost grown accustomed.
- Yes, it's true,” he readily agreed.
He confined himself to these three words, and Dean, who had hoped to see his brother respond in a more loquacious way to the opportunity he had offered him, was left wanting more. Looking dejected, he turned his attention back to the road, wondering what Sam was really thinking, and a few moments later resumed in a tone of sarcasm:
- Wow, thanks for the speech, man... It was about time it ended, really.
Sam turned his eyes towards him, and with a closed smile he replied peacefully:
- About what? Yeah, you're right, just because we don't talk about what happened doesn't mean it didn't happen, that's true... What else do you want me to say?
- I don't know... Are you sure you don't have anything to say? I don't know, like... How are you?
He questioned Sam with a hard look, and the younger of the two men answered in a puzzled tone:
- I'm fine... I'm fine, thanks.
Dean nodded, lips closed, and inwardly annoyed that his brother seemed to be pretending not to understand what he was getting at, he soon blurted out with a hint of impatience:
- You're fine, you're fine... Yeah, physically, okay...
- Emotionally too,” Sam clarified, a crease between his eyebrows.
- Okay, that's great,” assured Dean with affable skepticism. So, you're... you're not feeling too much... stuff?
Sam held an inscrutable gaze on his brother for several seconds, then looked away at the bleak landscape. The rain was easing off. He was surprised himself that he felt no embarrassment in answering the direct question he'd been asked, and even savored the peace of mind with which he delivered his sentiment.
- It's still there, but in a different way,” he declared in a white voice, factual and unashamed. It doesn't gnaw at me anymore, it's like a wound that eventually hurts less, and that you manage to forget from time to time.
Dean took in the analogy with a meditative air and tried to judge whether it corresponded to his own feelings. Thoughtful, he was caught a little off guard when Sam inquired:
- What about you? How are you doing?
- Me?” said Dean, less at ease answering the question. Nowhere, I've... Nah, you were right: having gone... so far, it's changed things.
He said no more, but Sam understood perfectly and nodded. He was sure they both felt the same, and was both pleased and resigned.
- Sammy,” said the elder Winchester after a moment of painful indecision. If... if now things calm down a bit, I... I wanted to tell you...
- Don't bother,” cut in Sam, anxious to spare his brother any act of contrition. I know you...
- Sam, let me finish!” interrupted Dean, dryly. Please let me.
The younger Winchester fell silent. His eldest took a long, quiet breath and, with his hands clasped around the steering wheel, said in a hoarse voice:
- I want you to know that what I did to you... What happened between you and me, will always be the most... senseless and hardest thing to accept in my life. Today, I think I can say that I'm thinking a little more clearly, and that's obvious to me.
His gaze rolled towards Sam, whom he saw listening with a neutral expression, his eye riveted straight ahead. Before he lost his nerve, he continued.
- We're getting through this... however we can. There are times when I find it hard to recognize myself, to recognize us... Almost all the time, in fact. These sensations, these... desires, that came out of nowhere... You said the other day that it forced us to rediscover ourselves and that's exactly right. It's raised so many questions about who we are, who we've always thought we were...
He sensed he was drifting into more personal questioning and paused. To allow Sam to react, too. But in the face of his brother's stoic silence, he continued.
- What I want to say is... that despite all this, the most important thing for me is you. I mean... us. The two of us. I'm glad we can still be here, together, and it's all thanks to you. Thank you, Sam, for keeping me going. For making me stay. If I'd gone, I'd have regretted it for the rest of my life, and I intend to do everything I can to keep us together, so... just thank you.
This time he remained silent, sniffling and clearing his throat to stem the emotion he couldn't have shown any better. Sam let a little time pass, his heart bathed in a delicious warmth, and with a smile so tenuous it remained invisible, he replied softly:
- You don't have to thank me. You certainly don't. And you've probably helped me as much as I've helped you, so... all's well. You're my brother. More than ever. And I love you too.
Dean looked as if he hadn't heard a thing. Until his right arm reached out and clapped affectionately on Sam's shoulder, and Sam briefly laid his hand on his brother's shoulder.

The return to the bunker took place at dusk, after a stop at the pizzeria for dinner. The two brothers put down their bags, showered, changed clothes and filled the washing machine, purging the clothes they'd worn of all the grime they'd accumulated on their journey. Sam gave his brother priority access to the bathroom so that he could linger there at his leisure, even though there was plenty of room for two, and spent a very long time under the water, carefully washing his hair and scrubbing every inch of his skin with soap. His shower took on a meditative aspect, as he reviewed all the events that had brought them to this moment when, at last, after a long journey of anguish, revolt and passion, they seemed to see the end of the tunnel.
He didn't reappear until after eight o'clock, his damp hair tucked behind his ears, dressed in simple navy tracksuit bottoms and a gray short-sleeved T-shirt. After looking for Dean in the kitchen, he found him at the library table, bent over a large open book above which he held a slice of pizza that threatened to drip its grease at any moment.
- This book must be at least four hundred years old,” Sam recalled, watching the scene with pain. Could you just...
The circular motion he made with his finger signaled to Dean the need to ward off peril. The first-born Winchester straightened in his seat and slowly pushed the book aside before plucking a large piece of his pizza from the dangling tip, his gaze nonchalantly scanning Sam from toe to toe.
- Already in your pajamas?” he teased mischievously. Sorry, I didn't wait for you, I figured you must have fallen asleep in the tub.
Sam grinned indulgently and took a seat opposite Dean, who was wearing a khaki shirt over a black T-shirt. The pizza box was open in the middle of the table, next to a still-fresh six-pack, and Sam took a slice. Dean then took two beers, reserving one for himself while sliding the second bottle up to his younger son's hand.
- What are you reading?” asked the latter, who thought he recognized a magic grimoire.
- A recipe,” said Dean ironically. A dish I should have served from the start.
Sam, perplexed, realized that his brother had taken it into his head to concoct some potion or even cast a spell. Because they hadn't discussed the subject, the younger of the two men expressed surprise, especially as Dean wasn't the more knowledgeable of the two.
- Would you mind being clearer?
- I've been thinking about a protection spell. To secure the bunker and leave uninvited revelers at the door. A few odds and ends to pick up in the storeroom, some lamb's blood to smear on a rune or two, and if the three-piece suits ever try to come back they'll break their noses badly.
He seemed as satisfied as he was determined, but Sam looked at him doubtfully.
- Okay... But... Why do you want to get into this? What's the point?
- To keep them out of the bunker, what do you think? Do you want them to come back and walk around our walls?
- Uh... No, not at all,” Sam continued. But... there's no reason for them to come back.
- And what do you know about that?
- What I know is that if the protection worked and we'd put it in place earlier, you'd be having this conversation with a lump of coal.
Dean, whistling, gave his brother such an outraged look that Sam couldn't help but laugh, despite the serious look he was trying to maintain and the shiver of horror that ruffled every hair on his body as he thought of the pain that had put him through the torture. He let Dean swallow his bile, and in a calm voice he prayed:
- Don't you want to try and forget them, just a little? We managed to do that for a few days, and we didn't do any worse... Why, as soon as you get back, do you start thinking only about them?
Although it cost him to admit it, Dean was forced to agree with his brother. If being away from home had been beneficial, returning to it had rekindled the rage he felt for the three gods, but he knew now that it was a dead end and refused to let himself be trapped again in the trap that had already cost him so much. Jaws clenched, he shook his head, neck stiff, and snapped the grimoire shut, pushing it far enough onto the table that he could no longer reach it.
- You're right,” he grumbled with a heavy sigh, raising one hand. You're right, it's stupid and pointless. Anyway, if they wanted us dead, we wouldn't be here to talk about it now, would we? As for what else they could do to us... They've already spoiled us.
He sighed again, suddenly seemed to realize he was still holding his pizza, and with a furious gesture threw it on the lid of the cardboard box. Sam remained clam, and felt rather serene: he no longer perceived the same rage consuming his brother's veins, and was genuinely persuaded that they had moved on.
- I don't think I'll ever have the last word,” lamented Dean, already calmer, as he uncorked his beer. But being sure I'd never have to see their ugly faces and ten-plate suits again would have helped me try to get back to living as normal a life as possible.
A discreet smile took shape on Sam's lips as he looked at his brother with pride. Dean was looking to the future, independently of the fight he'd sworn to wage against the Erotes to the bitter end, and this assertive willingness to turn the page, in a way, lifted a weight from Sam's heart like nothing else had done before.
- We've already started a little, I think,” he remarked.
- Fair enough,” agreed Dean after a second, tilting the neck without displeasure. The hunt gave us a chance to let off steam and clear our heads. That's the first step.
- I'm glad you realize that,” Sam congratulated himself with a delighted nod. I really am.
Dean raised the bottle to his lips and took three gulps, before bringing it back to table height and exhaling loudly in contentment. But he suddenly looked pensive. Almost worried. As if he'd suddenly made a difficult decision.
- Yeah,” he replied half-heartedly. But that doesn't solve everything. Far from it.
Sam's relative cheerfulness melted like snow in the sun. Or rather, it was overshadowed by a veil of gravity, like a summer afternoon obscured by incoming clouds. He had seen Dean's features change; imperceptibly, but enough for him to detect it, and from the tone of his voice he knew immediately where they were heading. The submergence of their emotions seemed at last to be less devastating, and in fact he understood what question was nagging at his brother.
- One step at a time, he argued without much conviction, his voice sullen, already anticipating what was to come with apprehension.
- Pfff,” Dean spat, looking down at the pizza. But which way?
He picked up his slice, bit into it and began to chew ostentatiously, without setting eyes on Sam who was staring at him, he knew.
- Dean...,” breathed the younger man, his tone heavy.
He could feel the vice closing in, any option of evading the question less and less within their grasp, and to be obviously the most reluctant to tackle it head-on seemed to him a curious irony. So, without pressure, without anger, in as peaceful a tone as possible, Dean declared, wiping his lips:
- We can't dodge this. We've got to talk about it. Hey, you should know better than me, you're the brains, aren't you?
Sam twitched. His face closed, and stiffly he stood up, letting Dean wince in regret as his brother turned his back and took three steps away.
- Sorry, Dean. Silly remark.
- No,” assured Sam, shaking his head vigorously. No, it's not that, but...
He turned to give his elder an intense look, and continued:
- I feel like we've finally managed to find some peace. Why don't we try to enjoy it just a little, without asking ourselves all these questions?
Supporting the older man's gaze with strength and determination, Dean stood up in turn and walked around the table to get closer to him. He came to a halt three meters away and, as sure of himself as Sam had ever seen him since all this began, he retorted with conviction:
- Because if we don't fix this, we can't move forward, Sam. You brought this up yourself, remember? And you were right... we both need to know where we're going. Up to now, I've felt we were prisoners of what's happening to us, but if we've really turned a corner and regained control... We've got things to sort out.
Looking grave, Sam nodded, lowering his eyes. A bitter taste filled his mouth, as he realized that he could no longer postpone the moment when they would take a stand that would fatally condemn all possible paths except the one they were about to choose.
If choice really existed.
- You already know what I think. You asked me about it earlier, on the way here, and I made it clear.
Dean seemed to nod in turn, but the movement was so slight, and his gaze so complacent, that Sam realized, a knot in his stomach, that he wasn't fooled.
- Sammy, he said softly, moving close enough to him to put a hand on his shoulder. You told me how you felt, and... I'm grateful.
He paused for a moment, seeming to search for the best way to continue, and gently rubbing his brother's shoulder, who was the only one to realize and be troubled by this, he continued gently, his gaze filled with an unusual tenderness:
- But what we need to talk about isn't how we feel. It's what we decide to do.
Sam had known in advance what Dean was going to say, but he hadn't anticipated the violence of the feeling of revolt that erupted inside him like a volcanic eruption. He felt on the verge of losing all restraint, of ferociously rejecting the proposal, for instinctively, every fiber of his being refused it. But at the same time, he found himself as if stunned by this brutal realization of what he really wanted, anesthetized by the force of the defense reflex that had been triggered, and with his throat dry, his heart pounding, he uttered in a voice full of earth, his gaze icy:
- If I understand you correctly, you've already made up your mind... So what's the point?
Dean sensed how distressed his brother was, and placing his other hand on his other shoulder, he replied with a distressed air:
- What do you mean, what's the point? There's two of us in this mess...
- A galley? Is that all you remember about what happened, is that all it inspires in you?
The elder Winchester frowned, trying not to pass judgment on his brother's reaction, but he found it hard to conceal his incomprehension, just as he found it hard to conceal the irritation that hoarsened his voice when he said with false patience:
- Come on, Sammy, what did you think? That we'd go on fucking as if nothing had happened, as if it were normal?
Sam felt hurt. And Dean, aware of it, tried in vain to catch the words he'd just spoken, castigating himself for his involuntary and useless rudeness. With his eyes fixed on Dean, Sam gave him a defiant look, until he perceived a moment's hesitation and doubt, which he took advantage of by spitting out:
- I didn't believe anything, Dean. The other day, I told you I didn't know where all this was leading and that's still true, as far as I'm concerned. But since you seem to have found the answer, and since we're in the same boat, I'll just have to go along with it, won't I?
The bitterness in his voice and eyes left Dean disconcerted. He understood that his brother was feeling backed into a corner, that he felt a choice was being imposed on him that wasn't his own, but that wasn't the message the older man wanted to convey. He put on a sorry face that Sam interpreted as a sign of firm determination to accept his decision, and tried to explain himself by stammering:
- Sam. Sam, wait, don't take it like that, that's not what...
- Forget it,” he said, trying to put on a brave face. Don't bother, there's no point in going on about it for hours, I've got the message.
- What,” retorted Dean, feeling his blood heat up, ”what message? You won't even let me talk!
- You've already said it all, what more do you want to say? You're telling me it's time to turn the page, so okay, let's turn it...
- But I'm not the only one in the story!” Dean raged, his eyes blazing as he pointed his hands at himself. Why the hell are you fighting? We can talk about it, can't we?
Sam grinned bitterly, noting to himself that his brother had not denied wanting to close the strange parenthesis that had seen them get closer than was reasonable. He shook his head, and with a disillusioned look in his eyes, he asserted in an icy tone:
- I don't see the point. Anyway, one of us had to take the lead at some point, and you did, so... let's just leave it at that, it's better. Let's forget about it and move on.
Dean cringed at Sam's acrimony, and the mixture of regret and dull anger that made his temples buzz prevented him from imposing his will, his need to put things down beyond an implied rag on the slate of the new bond they'd unwittingly forged. Sam, his gaze fixed but wavering, seemed to wait and hope that his brother would persist in contradicting him, but the latter couldn't find the strength, and Sam saw this as the end of their exchange.
- I'm going to bed,” he said somberly, already turning away. I'm beat.
He started to walk away, and the image of his square back woke Dean, who took a step towards him.
- Sam, please wait, I...
The younger Winchester didn't hear, or didn't wish to hear, and as he headed for the door, his elder resigned himself to letting him go. Until he was left alone.
- Damn it,” he growled.

Chapter Text

Back in his room, Sam felt anger sweep over him from the very first moment. But not at his brother. At himself.
The more he replayed the brief, unpleasant conservation he'd just had, the more severely he judged his reaction. It seemed absurd, childish and unfair, and even though he knew it was rooted in the destabilization Dean had provoked in him by making him suddenly aware that he wasn't ready to bury the special bond that now united them, he almost regretted every word he'd said.
Pacing back and forth in the small room, he raged inwardly at not having been able to put on a more amenable, more rational face, while at the same time feeling a sharp surge of panic, his heart racing as he imagined that the intimacy shared with Dean was definitely a thing of the past. There was revolt in him as he rejected this idea, and remorse, too, for having rebuffed his brother in this way, who had nonetheless had the courage to address the question of their future, whereas Sam reproached him enough for running away from or denying problems instead of facing them. The more the minutes passed, the more the younger Winchester felt tempted to go and find him to make up for it, but how could he approach him now, after having refused to express himself? The apprehension of a new confrontation temporarily put the brakes on his desire to burst the abscess, but since losing face or not exposing himself to conflict was ultimately less important to him than preventing his ties with Dean from deteriorating further, he suddenly decided to go and join the latter, regardless of the reception he would receive. He crossed the room in three strides to the door, opened it in the nick of time, and immediately came to a halt as he came face to face with his brother, who was about to knock.
- Hey,” said Dean with a tense smile after an indefinite time spent staring at each other. Don't you want to finish that beer?
He raised his right hand and brandished the two bottles, necks jammed between his fingers. Sam, torn between two feelings, nonetheless took comfort in seeing him face to face and, probably a little too moved to express his feelings clearly, nodded imperceptibly as he stepped aside to invite Dean in.
The elder of the two brothers entered the room, while the younger closed the door. An avalanche of unsettling memories washed over Dean the instant he laid eyes on the squared-off bed, and the suave, indefinite scent wafting through the air, different from the room's usual perfume, pleasantly tickled his nostrils as, with hushed steps, he went beyond the bed, past the desk in the corner of the room. The sound of the bolt in the strike plate caught the hunter's ear, and he turned slowly, unable to help but find Sam's gesture strange. The latter, stoic by the door, faced his brother with a look of obvious embarrassment, and Dean, placing the beers on the cabinet, thought he wasn't going to have an easy time of it.
- Look, Sam, I... I just wanted to apologize,” he began, jumping right in. I didn't mean to upset you, I just...
- No, don't,” Sam immediately stopped, arms folded and one hand raised in an unmistakable gesture.
Dean felt his muscles tense in anticipation of the quarrel, but Sam's gaze became disfigured and, in an amenable, almost repentant tone, he pleaded in a soft voice:
- You don't have to apologize, it's me who's asking for your forgiveness. I was a jerk and I'm sorry.
Wordlessly, Dean looked at his brother with astonished eyes. Then, quickly, his features reflected his contentment at seeing Sam brought back to a better frame of mind and he nodded, preparing to bounce back. But his younger brother beat him to it, confiding in a heavy tone:
- I... I wasn't ready to have this discussion, that's the truth. Let's forget it, I realize that's not what I want.
Sam felt relieved to have dared to express his feelings so sincerely and fully, and the pained, anguished look he gave his brother as he waited for his answer betrayed how much he anticipated his violence. Yet, as the seconds ticked by, Dean took it in his stride with no overt reaction other than a slight nod and a belated raise of his eyebrows. He pivoted to his right, reached for his beer, swallowed a sip, put the bottle down and, with both hands in his pockets and shoulders high, slowly took a few steps towards Sam, who scrutinized his every move.
- I understood you correctly,” said the eldest of the siblings in a neutral tone once he reached the foot of the bed.
With a vague look in his eyes, he seemed to be probing his thoughts. Gently integrating his brother's statement. But he did so with placid resignation, or rather peace, as if Sam's words had echoed back to him. The latter felt an extreme sense of relief at this, and stepping forward feverishly he continued in a faint voice:
- The way I reacted earlier, that's where it came from. But your request was legitimate, you've got nothing to reproach yourself for. Just give me a little time to get used to the idea, and I'll be fine.
Sam had given himself up as honestly as possible, and he was as happy as he was exhausted. With a heavy step, he walked to the edge of his bed and sat down stiffly, indifferent to the actions of his brother, who soon approached. Without a word, Dean sat down on his right, close by. He may have been half a head shorter than Dean, but he towered over Sam, whose hunched shoulders made him seem smaller than his eldest, who, with his back straight, then asked in an ill-defined tone, somewhere between jest and seriousness, casualness and gravity:
- Sammy, you... You haven't got a crush on me, have you?
The question seemed so preposterous in itself, yet at the same time so unusual to Sam, that he coughed up a dry laugh and bluntly delivered:
- For that, I'd have to like you as a brother, I suppose...
Dean inclined his head in agreement, assuming the remark was right.
- But still, the way I feel about you now,” Sam admitted, ”it's even stronger than it was before all this happened.
Dean's lips formed a tight crease and he nodded. His gaze tried to find its way to the opposite side of Sam's, but he couldn't, so he looked at his brother, who was staring at the floor, and said modestly:
- I understand exactly how you feel, Sam. It's the same for me.
Sam didn't seem to react, but the slight smile that stretched his lips and the light that lit up his eyes resonated with the rush of heat that filled his heart. As he kept his eyes lowered, he prevented Dean from seeing his face clearly, but the older man perceived the emotion that seized him and was pleased himself. In a burst of affection, he suddenly wrapped his arm around Sam's neck to bring his head close to his lips and placed a long kiss in his hair. He rediscovered the familiar scent he'd come to know so well over the past few days, and after a moment released his younger son, who sniffed and cleared his throat.
- Come on,” Dean urged, leaping to his feet. Let's finish these beers!
He picked up the two bottles, returned to hand Sam his, then sat back down beside him.
- Here's to you, moron,” he said as affectionately as possible.
- Cheers, moron,” Sam replied with a generous smile.
They toasted each other and raised the bottle to their lips. Two sips later, Dean pouted as he lowered his arm.
- Is yours lukewarm too?
- Yeah,” confirmed Sam.
And he stretched out his arm to place his bottle on the bedside table, leaving his dejected brother to stare in disappointment at his now uninteresting drink.
- It really is a crazy story,” Sam soon sighed, rubbing his face.
Dean looked at him out of the corner of his eye, unsure if Sam had actually heard himself say the words. He sensed the older boy was overwhelmed, and tried to bring him back to the point by saying:
- But remember, we're always side by side, together. The two of us could have exploded, and yet look: here we are. That's the most important thing.
- Yeah, you're right,” Sam agreed, nodding gravely. What's really important is that we stay together, present for each other, like we used to be. That's why... forget about my reaction earlier and consider that we're on the same wavelength. No problem.
Dean nodded sluggishly, and his brother's somber face was probably only part of the reason for his restraint. He let his gaze wander to the shimmering bottle he was twirling between his knees, then asked in a calm voice:
- Are you sure? Even if you have to do it reluctantly?
It cost Sam to answer serenely, for his real wishes lay elsewhere, and he couldn't help feeling saddened to see his brother clearly better equipped than he was to leave all this behind.
- I'll have to start thinking with my head again at some point,” he said with a blunt smile. That's my strong point, remember?
- Yeah,” Dean sighed quietly, raising his eyebrows in resignation. Putting his brain back in place, considering how long he'd been stuck in the zipper, probably wouldn't hurt.
Sam took note, unable to contradict the point, even though his stomach knotted at the thought of abandoning to the past the extreme closeness that had bound them together. Pleasure was one thing, and it had been so violent that renouncing it seemed a harsh challenge, even if he felt capable of it now that his rational thoughts had somewhat regained their rightful place. But to turn his back on that feeling of absolute unity that had made him shiver, to deprive himself of that indescribable well-being that had brought him back to life when his body had mingled so passionately with Dean's, that was the real heartbreak, the origin of the incipient despair he felt crushing his heart and which he refused to show.
- I'm glad you got out of there,” he said soon, trying to warm his voice. I know how bad you were, especially at the beginning.
With a thoughtful clearing of his throat, Dean confirmed this. But he said nothing more, so Sam continued after a moment, striving to be dignified:
- I don't want there to be any more tension or awkwardness between us, it's all over. Believe me when I tell you it's okay with me and... don't worry about me, just be patient for a day or two while I close the parenthesis.
Dean's jaws seemed to tighten and he pressed his lips together, flattening them against each other. He nodded briefly and took a long breath, checking then in a cautious voice:
- Ok... So, for you, it's... It's good?
- Yes,” Sam promised, his tone as convincing as possible.
He tried to hold his brother's gaze bravely, but his answer didn't really seem to satisfy Dean, who suddenly stood up and took two steps towards the door before turning to him, without really looking at him.
- What did I say?” inquired the younger man anxiously.
- You... It's just that the discussion ends before it begins,” Dean lamented with a frustrated, irritated look. Can't we really talk about it? Tell each other... everything we've got to say?
His eyes were now staring at Sam, full of expectation. The latter watched his elder for a long time, and then, inclining his head for a moment, agreed in a neutral tone:
- If it's that important to you, fine, but once things have been decided, I don't really know what else to tell you...
Dean sensed his brother's reluctance to drag out this obviously painful conversation any longer. But he felt the need to push things on, to allow them both to express themselves with an open heart, and in a voice that suggested his concern not to torment Sam unnecessarily, he gently explained:
- You've told me what you don't want, Sam. But what I want you to tell me is what you do want.
At that moment, Dean could have sworn he heard his brother gritting his teeth. Sitting on the edge of the bed, tense from toe to hairline, every muscle powerfully contracted, the younger Winchester had his eyes so intensely riveted on a spot on the floor at Dean's feet that he seemed intent on inflaming him with his gaze.
- I told you I wasn't ready to move on yet,” he repeated, not doubting that this was what Dean was talking about. That for that, I needed a little time. I think that's clear enough...
- Sammy,” Dean begged with a sigh that was both distressed and worried. How do you expect to move on if you can't even say it?
Sam, his stomach heaving with revolt, put on an evil face and almost shouted at his brother with all the rage he was trying to contain. He couldn't bear to be the one who had to face up to his responsibilities, to be forced to face up to what he didn't want to see, and that Dean, adept at this kind of evasion, should be the one to force him to admit this failing he had so often reproached him for, was the worst.
- You know very well what I'd like,” he finally replied in a lugubrious voice, rising mechanically to evade his elder's gaze. If I listen to my gut, I'd want this to go on. I'd like to keep on being with you.
Almost with his back turned, a little at an angle to the foot of the bed, he sighed painfully with a shaky breath as he ran a hand over his face, while standing back, stoic, Dean watched him for a few moments in silence. He empathized with the full extent of his dismay, and marveled at the fact that his mind chose this precise moment to pay attention to details that had always seemed insignificant to him, such as the width of his brother's shoulders under his gray jersey, the thickness of his forearms, the arch of his back or the brown highlights of his straight hair.
- Is that what you call it?” he continued without violence or complacency, knowingly calling her out on the candor of a term he'd already used himself. Are we twelve?
- For God's sake, why are you stirring the pot!” shouted Sam, turning furiously on his brother, his gaze incandescent. I want to keep fucking, is that what you want me to say? Are you happy?!
Furious at Dean, furious at himself, Sam growled his anger and alternated his stance between his two legs, hands on hips, as if unable to decide which way he wanted to run. Dean let him ruminate, without intervening, until he expressed in a smooth voice, without moving any part of his body except his lips:
- I just want you to tell me how you feel, Sam. That's all.
To his astonishment, Dean saw his brother calm down almost as quickly as he had lost his temper. Had his older brother's even tone made Sam realize that his attempts at resistance were futile? Or had verbalizing the source of the torment that kept digging into his gut relieved him of a pressure too difficult to bear? Whatever the case, the youngest of the siblings mumbled something that Dean didn't understand, and then, with an interminable sigh, he returned to sit on the edge of his bed, as if drained of his strength, or rather resigned to submitting to this examination of conscience, this game of transparency that his brother was demanding. Thoughtful, arms flailing and hands crossed between his spread knees, Sam let the seconds tick by. They became minutes. He said nothing more, nor did he move. Like Dean, who waited, oblivious but nonetheless there. At Sam's side. And when he had regained his composure, when he had regained the strength to speak, he chose to give himself up, for him, for them, because deep down, everything had to be said, because deep down, he knew Dean was right.
- Fear, Dean. It's fear I feel.
He looked up at his brother, who held his gaze with measure and respect for as long as Sam needed.
- Nothing's really changed, you know? We dominate each other, but the attraction I have for you is still there. It's even clearer now that I'm free of these uncontrollable urges. You'll think this is crazy, but after what's happened between us, after everything we did here in the sack the other day... I can't imagine us going back to the way we were before.
Dean's expression, pleased that his brother was opening up to him, changed imperceptibly. He implicitly invited Sam to continue and, reassured by his elder brother's apparent calm, he spoke again. Serenely.
- Damn, that's the first time it's been so obvious to me. I've got this kind of... fire going through my body, you know? It's like a permanent dopamine shot, I... I feel like I've connected to you, that I've forged a bond with you that's impossible to completely undo, where I can draw unlimited strength and comfort, and... telling myself I have to draw a line under it makes me sick. I still love you as my brother, but there's something else now, something more that amplifies everything...
- What?” asked Dean, as if no answer could surprise him any more, and at the same time he was hoping for them all. What one thing?
- Something I don't want to lose,” said Sam with a resolute look. I'm giving it up because I have to, but what I feel for you today won't go away.
The silence fell heavily as his intensely brilliant eyes locked onto those of the firstborn, who nodded gravely.
- I don't think I can be more sincere than that,” Sam smiled mirthlessly, his hands clasped anxiously.
Dean, with a smile to match, agreed unequivocally.
- Anything else you wanted to know?
The elder Winchester locked a piercing gaze on his brother that took the place of an answer. Sam tried to anticipate the question that was about to come, but it shot through him like an icy specter.
- Is that all right with you?” asked Dean in a slightly stiff voice. Can you see yourself living with that for another guy? For your brother?
Sam's throat tightened as hard as his heart, and he felt the veins in his neck start to boil. He looked down with a petrified smile, Dean's words causing him a shock more violent than a punch, and it was with extreme bitterness that he replied:
- Wow... It's a good thing you understand exactly how I feel... Not so much, it seems.
Dean felt once again how much he'd hurt him, but only half regretted it. They couldn't avoid putting everything on the table, either of them, no matter how hard reality might be to hear and admit. Even if it had taken him a long time to understand.
- Sam...
- In fact,” he cut in sharply, rising abruptly to prevent him from saying any more, ”by asking this question, you're also giving the answer as far as you're concerned: you can't imagine living this way, that's clear. What we had together, what's left of it... is more precious to me than it is to you.
Sam's eyes were hard, but there was no anger in them. Confronted with an obvious fact that he had hoped, at first unconsciously, to ignore for as long as possible, he felt sadness, a cruel resignation, but he didn't blame Dean in the least. He'd spoken his mind, raw and factual... or so he thought. But then his brother suddenly crossed the room, planted himself in front of him and thrust in his face, teeth clenched, a finger pointed between his pectorals:
- Hey, don't push your luck, okay? You've never heard me say what I want, or what I don't want. You've heard me ask you a question and then deduced my decision, without even giving me a chance to explain.
Sam remained dumbfounded, staring at him with round eyes. The vigor of Dean's reaction, who had remained placid until now, surprised him, and he didn't immediately understand the meaning of his words. But he thought back to the way he'd reacted in the library, when Dean had broached the subject of the direction they were going to take, and his refusal to debate it, his almost immediate flight, came back to him clearly.
- Hey yeah, man,” Dean countered with a straight face. That's what you did, if you didn't realize it.
- You... You asked me if I thought we were going to keep fucking,” Sam recalled with a pinched, half-voiced look.
- And then you went straight to the conclusion that I didn't want to hear about it anymore. True or not?
Sam hesitated to answer. Now that Dean was calling him to account, he wondered if he'd really cut the conversation short because his brother had given him all the evidence of his position, or if he'd done it to avoid having to hear something unpleasant.
- From the tone of your voice,” he defended, ”it's hard to think otherwise...
- Because I've got questions,” Dean spat out matter-of-factly. And lots of them! Things haven't changed for me either, just because I can keep myself from jumping on you! And that's far from solving everything, no matter what decision I make!
Sam no longer understood. He looked at his brother with a serious, scrutinizing expression as Dean turned his back and took a few steps away, then asked:
- What do you mean, I'm not following you anymore? You haven't decided to draw a line under what happened? Is that what you want me to understand?
- Hey, surprise,” he said with a sarcastic smile. Maybe if you'd let me do the talking earlier instead of running off, you'd have realized it's not quite that simple.
With a taste of bile rising in the back of his throat, a single word suddenly came to Sam's mind: moron. The perfect adjective for him, so obsessed had he been with his own desires and fears that he'd forgotten the ones that inevitably nested in Dean's heart too. A rush of emotion briefly crushed his chest, and he felt disgust for himself and deep empathy for his brother, whom he suddenly saw in a different light. For a long time, he kept a humble and compassionate gaze on him, through which he conveyed repentance, encouragement, tenderness and comfort. He didn't know how to apologize for having been so stupid as to think that he was the only one still suffering from the situation and, dazed by what this new deal reopened as confused perspectives, with its share of hope but also anguish, he finally lowered his eyes, jaws clenched.
- So what?” resumed Dean, splitting the armor with an air of insecure defiance. Aren't you going to ask me how I feel? Are you afraid to know?
Sam looked up with disillusioned eyes, and shaking his head ever so gently, he replied with extreme, apologetic seriousness, the answer obvious:
- Dean... Why all this? Why cook me like this, if it's all the same to you?
Dean had the impression that Sam was resisting the urge to kiss him with all his might, but rejected any temptation to give in to an embrace whose scope he wasn't sure he had mastered. He swallowed his pride and returned without fail:
- I certainly needed to hear you say it...
Sam shook his head again, more clearly, and with a wistful chuckle, his eyebrows furrowed:
- Didn't you realize I'd taken my side in all this? Didn't I set you straight in the bathroom the other day?
- You were on cloud nine,” Dean nuanced after two seconds, his gaze a little dreamy. We'd just... got to the end of the line, we weren't thinking very clearly... I wasn't sure if, now, cold, you'd still be in the same frame of mind.
- I am,” affirmed Sam in a benevolent tone. Without a doubt, it's very clear to me now.
Dean gave a vaguely embarrassed nod and, scratching the corner of his ear, he said softly, without really knowing where to put his gaze:
- Yeah... I think I just had to hear you say it so bluntly... so I could stop wondering once and for all... so I could tell myself that maybe I'm not the only one who's lost it, who thinks that, too... and so I could tell you.
He looked up with disarmed eyes, ready to submit to his younger son's judgment. He'd asked him to be perfectly sincere, so he had to be too. He'd been ready for some time now. He'd just been waiting for the time to come.
- I hope you're finally going to stop torturing yourself over this,” Sam formulated. You've spent your whole life protecting me, so I understand it's more complicated for you, but... Erotic or not, do you really think we're the only brothers in the world to have crossed that line? We didn't kill anyone, Dean... Today, deep down, I don't want it to end. I can't help it. But I'll do what's best for both of us, have no doubt about that.
Dean was grateful for her determination to make things easier for him, but he himself didn't yet know which path he would decide to take. All he knew was that, just as with Sam, the attraction he felt had neither disappeared nor weakened, and he had desperately needed the truths to be told. He was relieved, and at the same time distressed, because Sam's unreasonable hopes were undoubtedly drawing him in the opposite direction to the one that was obvious to him. But the question was no longer what was reasonable or unreasonable; Dean could see that this stage had long since passed.
- Fuck, it was almost easier when you couldn't hold back,” he sighed wearily.
Sam couldn't help smiling slightly, even though he wasn't in the mood for laughter. With a slow step, he moved a little closer to his brother, sensing that he too had a visceral urge to prolong their madness, and was filled with a sad hope as much as fear as to the future consequences of Dean's indecision, should he ultimately choose to go down a path that would appear wrong to him.
- That was different,” Sam replied laconically.
- I don't know... what I'm going to decide, Sam,” he said thoughtfully. I don't even know if I'm going to decide anything, I...
He shook his head and raised his eyebrows in confusion. But the simple fact of admitting out loud, in front of his brother, that he was considering an alternative, seemed to mean a lot to Sam.
- So you thought I'd made up my mind,” Dean noted in a disillusioned voice, placing his beer on the small table by the door, ”but in fact, you made up your mind long before I did.
Sam waited for his brother's gaze to return to him before saying, in a friendly, soothing tone:
- We didn't go through all this to be hypocrites now... Thanks for forcing me to question myself; it gave me a chance to talk to you with an open heart. But Dean...
He took three steps in his direction, without modulating his expression, and when he was less than a metre away from him, he continued:
- Whatever you decide to do, and however long it takes you to do it, I'll be with you. Okay? Don't be afraid for us if you want to move on, what's going on is so crazy that... I understand it, I really do. The most important thing is the ties that bind us. Not the way they're expressed.
Dean froze for a few seconds, then swallowed hard as he lowered his eyes. Finally, he nodded, then said hoarsely:
- Noted, Sammy. Thanks, Sammy.
He seemed to be searching for something more to say, the phrase that would have proved to his brother that he wasn't taking any of this lightly, that he had sincerely cherished the senseless moments that had so intimately united them, but no other words on the subject could get through the knot in his throat. So he turned towards the door, mechanically picked up the bottle he'd just put down, and concluded, trying to channel his emotion:
- I won't bug you any longer, I'll let you rest. See you tomorrow?
- See you tomorrow, yeah,” agreed Sam with brotherly fervor. Good night, Dean.
- Good night,” returned Dean, opening the door. I'm glad we talked.
Then he left. And Sam, once again alone, took a moment to meditate on the dilemma tormenting his brother, while mortifying himself for having mistakenly believed that he was the only one still suffering from the situation.
Dean's arrival had soothed his anger, his departure had rekindled it. And, deprived as he was of the desire to eat, drink or sleep, the youngest Winchester felt the need to convert his annoyance into energy, energy he used to let off physical steam. Push-ups. Sit-ups. Dips. Lunges. For almost thirty minutes, he performed series after series on the floor, as if hoping to vent his irritation and frustrations by exuding them, and little by little the gray fabric of his T-shirt became soaked with sweat, darkening his neck, back and armpits.
After their victory over Chuck, Sam had returned to a more intensive routine that had brought him back to optimum fitness. He'd put on four or five kilos of muscle and knew that was essentially why his brother had remarked that he looked younger. But after the conversation he'd just had with him, it wasn't just to toughen up his body that Sam was torturing his muscles. Movement after movement, drop of sweat after drop of sweat, he was also, and perhaps above all, striving to strengthen his resolve, focused on one point and one point only: dealing with the end, foreseeable and probable in his eyes, of his intimate relationship with Dean. He had no desire to do so, but was willing to accept it, in order to preserve his relationship with him and, despite his reluctance to close the book, he knew he now had the ability to do so.

Then he heard a faint knock on the door.

Because he'd been sure he'd only be facing himself at least until the next day, Sam got to his feet, glancing skeptically at the wooden panel. It could only be Dean, but why was he coming back? Sam frowned and lifted his shirt briefly to mop his face, not even sure, after all, that he hadn't imagined the three knocks at his door.
Then he heard another knock, this time without a doubt.

Perplexed, almost worried, he went to open the door and found himself face to face with Dean, who seemed paradoxically caught off guard, as if, despite his insistence, he had expected to find the door closed. He was just as Sam had left him earlier, wearing the same clothes, looking the same, right down to the bottle of beer in his hand, but fresh this time. Dean, looking both resolute and hesitant, stared wordlessly at his brother.
- Hey,” Sam said in response to his silence. Is everything okay?
Dean's lips parted and he took a breath, obviously ready to answer. But, his round eyes fixed on his younger son, his complexion pale, he froze.
- Dean?” Sam asked. What's the matter? Are you all right?
The young man raised his eyebrows, proving that he had heard and understood the question. For the rest, he didn't change a bit, hanging his strange gaze, as haggard as it was flamboyant, on Sam's eyes. The latter began to ask himself as many questions as his mind could think of in an attempt to understand what was bringing them together again so soon after their separation, but not for a second did he think he'd hear the deep timbre of Dean's voice suddenly inquiring:
- You... You want to fuck ?

Chapter Text

Sam's eyes widened and he paled, his heart missing a beat.
- W-What?” he hiccupped.
Forced to repeat himself, Dean lifted his chin, trying to keep his composure and, taking a step forward, he blurted out, looking deep into his brother's eyes:
- I just asked you... if you wanted to fuck. With me.
Sam was panic-stricken. His heart raced, sweat broke out at the roots of every hair, and his face changed.
- I... I... Wait, you... Not twenty minutes ago, you said... You said that...
- I know what I said,” Dean asserted with mock serenity, staring straight into Sam's eyes. I guess... it took me less time than I thought to decide what I wanted.
Dean seemed so sure of himself that Sam blushed. He felt torrents of excitement rush through his veins as all the warning signals his body could send him began to sound, and the phenomenal erection that took hold of him, particularly difficult to conceal under the loose fabric of his sweatpants, was impossible to ignore. Faced with Sam's muteness, and almost paralysis, Dean moved forward a little more, lowering his gaze for a moment this time, and so close to his brother that he could hear and feel his quick breath passing over his face, he made their eyes meet again to calmly affirm in mid-voice:
- I don't need any more time, Sam... I've already thought about it too much. I know what I want, and it's the same as yours.
A tense sneer seemed to stretch the corners of Sam's mouth. Dizzy, he seemed to nod and shake his head at the same time, as if he were suddenly no longer able to rationally order his thoughts in the face of Dean's unexpected declaration and the colossal commotion it aroused. He'd wanted to give his unreserved consent without delay, but he'd come to believe that his desires were as impossible as they were unreasonable in his brother's eyes, and to see him come back to embrace them on his own left him groggy.
- Dean, you... We're exhausted,” he stammered, unable to cover the multiple signs of his feverishness, desperately trying not to pay attention to the smell of his elder brother wafting up his nostrils. You should get some rest... You'll think more clearly tomorrow...
Dean moved closer. Closer. The tips of his shoes could almost have touched Sam's feet, had they been in line, and less than a foot separated the brothers' faces.
- If that's what you want...,” he said, taking a long look at Sam's torso, whose volume and physiognomy were clearly visible beneath the damp cloth. I'll leave you to it, if you're not really asking because you're afraid of how I'll react later.
Sam bit his lip, subjected to an unbearable temptation. Here was his brother, offering himself to him of his own free will, and the urge to dive in was so strong it nauseated him. His breathing panicked, his erection climaxed, and he shuddered violently for a fraction of a second when, consciously or not, looking haggard, Dean placed the cool neck of the bottle in his hand over his heart.
- I want to be close to you too, Sam,” he said modestly in a faraway voice, fascinated by the slow course of the neck, which he began to slide down his brother's left pectoral. But, if you really want me to go...
Then the top of the bottle bumped against Sam's protruding nipple, hard as wood under the cloth, and the petrified younger sibling struggled to stifle a groan as he issued this warning in a trembling voice:
- I don't want to, but... if you stay, I might ask you to go very far.
Somewhere between overexcitement and an attempt at resistance, Sam gave Dean a bravado look, to which the latter responded with a rictus of pleasure, barely visible on his lips like a crack on enamel. He dipped his eyes into those of his younger son and, his throat tightening with the interest that the latter's threat aroused, he pretended not to let it bother him by retorting in an assured tone:
- Oh yeah? It'll be hard to do worse than what we've already done, Sam...
A tense smile stretched the lips of the eldest, who, feverish and tense as ever, retorted with aplomb:
- Want to bet?
Dean seemed destabilized for the blink of an eye, and that was the signal for Sam to seize him by the collar. With astonishing strength, the younger Winchester dragged his elder beyond the doorway, almost lifting him off the ground, and Dean owed it to the wall of the corridor opposite, where he found himself unceremoniously tackled, not to fall backwards under the weight of his brother's body. Sam then planted a hard kiss on his lips, immediately sending his tongue in search of Dean's, and as they united with mouths wide open, devouring each other in a burst of extraordinary passion, the first-born dropped his beer and rolled onto the pavement. His arms contracted as tightly as possible, and he clasped his hands behind Sam's back to hold him close with all his might, feeling himself violently gripped by his younger sibling who almost bit him, and through an endless kiss of volcanic ardor they tasted the supreme pleasure of quenching their thirst for flesh.
- Sammy,” Dean soon gasped, breaking off their embrace long enough to take his brother's face between his two hands and give him an ardent look.
With moist lips, Sam smiled at him as if he'd just injected himself with some drug, and set off again. They licked each other's mouths copiously and sucked each other's tongues more intensely than they kissed, opening wide the floodgates of their libido, and then Dean, as if suddenly on fire, grabbed his brother's T-shirt and demanded:
- Take it off, take it off!
Caught up in the frenzied need to bare Sam's torso, Dean pulled in all directions on the fabric, which the younger of the two men removed himself, hurriedly and enthusiastically undoing in one swift movement to immediately show off his gleaming chest and the veins striating the muscles of his arms. Wide-eyed, Dean placed both hands on the sweaty, fragrant skin of his brother's powerful shoulders, already aiming for his bulging pecs that he was itching to feel, but Sam's lips were too quick to come down on his face again, crunching his chin and cheek with a snarl, to give him the leisure to roam his younger brother's body.
- Go easy,” Dean tempered with a confused smile, eyelids closed, scratching Sam's back while offering himself with delight to his voracious appetites. Easy, brother, I've known vampires less greedy...
- I want you!” Sam seemed to apologize in a wail, unable to stop nagging his brother's lips.
Dean shivered from head to toe, exhilarated by the inexplicable effervescence that overwhelmed his senses with Sam more than with any other woman in his life, and with his hand cupping the left side of his brother's head, he regained some of the ascendancy, forcing him to respond with a less anarchic but very deep kiss that helped Sam curb his ardor.
- Your shirt, Dean,” he said suddenly, feverishly pulling aside its flaps.
Dean helped him get rid of it without wasting a second, but didn't stop there. As soon as he'd thrown his shirt to the ground, he followed Sam's gesture of lifting the black shirt he was wearing, and took it off as quickly as he could, stripping down to his shirt. Although he couldn't boast a muscular physique as well-defined as his brother's, his athleticism was nothing to be ashamed of. Sam, who was hardly mistaken, smiled with pleasure at his semi-nudity and, sticking his sweaty, hairy chest to Dean's hairless pecs, they came together again in a torrid kiss, punctuated by sighs and mouth noises.

Without breaking away from his brother, Dean pushed forward and the two of them returned to Sam's room, racing straight for the bed where they threw their full weight. There, entwined, they continued to kiss fiercely, drawing intense well-being from their burning embrace, caressing each other as they passionately slid their hands and arms all over each other's naked torsos. The fact that they were of the same blood was no longer even a consideration in their minds. All they had in mind was their joint desire to satisfy each other's lust, and they seemed definitively resolved to abandon themselves unreservedly to the task.
- It's good,” Sam moaned between languorous kisses, his right hand resting on the nape of Dean's neck.
- Do you like it?” Dean asked rhetorically, leaning slightly over his brother, kissing his lips twice more before bringing the tips of their tongues together.
Preventing Sam from answering, he inserted his tongue into his mouth and kissed him zealously, eager to bond with him as closely as possible. At the same time, he used his left hand to press against Sam's right pectoral, gauging its firmness, and couldn't resist gently pinching her nipple, which he'd discovered was a sensitive area for his brother. At the heart of their kiss, Sam moaned as he tensed abruptly, and Dean let his hand run down his endless torso, down Sam's belly until he plunged his fingers inside his pants. There, the older of the two men grabbed the real prison bar he'd unearthed there and cut short the kiss they were exchanging to straighten up and pour incredulous eyes over his brother's lower abdomen: he couldn't remember his brother's penis ever before being so stiff, so hard and so hot.
- You've got one hell of a boner, Sammy,” he noted with a glint of lust in his eye. That's a tent for ten you've got up there...
The bulge caused by Sam's erection had more the air of a pyramid than a simple bulge, that was undeniable. The elasticity of the fabric helped to keep it from hindering the full expression of his arousal, that was a fact, but it didn't explain everything and, with feverish interest, giddy to feel his brother's hand around his sex, Sam watched him expose his manhood, which he drew out delicately.

Freed from the cloth, which Dean pulled down Sam's thighs, his penis was revealed in all its splendor. Straight as an “I”, it pointed towards the ceiling, the glans perfectly clear, and it jerked its full length to the rapid rhythm of Sam's heartbeat, with a wet drop glistening in the lamplight at its half-open apex. As if he'd just unearthed a treasure too fragile to touch, Dean paused for a moment before resting his hand on his brother's phallus with infinite care. First just the tips of his fingers, at its base, between the short-haired pubis and the bare bursa, and this simple touch was enough to make Sam flinch violently, who already feared he wouldn't be able to stop himself from ejaculating, so gigantic was his excitement.
- It's okay,” he assured Dean, who froze in fear of having been clumsy.
- Are you sure?” asked the other with a touch of nervousness.
- Don't worry,” he affirmed, wrapping his arm around his brother's neck. Carry on.
Sam relaxed and, lying flat on his back, drew Dean's face to him to kiss him full on the lips. Reassured, the eldest of the siblings responded to the fervor of the kiss by abandoning himself to it with delight, and tightened his embrace around his younger brother's burning sex, which he began to slowly slide between his fingers. Sam's hands, as if animated by a will of their own, immediately began to run voluptuously up and down Dean's naked back and powerful arms. The touch of his smooth, warm skin sent the younger man's fever soaring down his back, plunging down his spine into his pants to grab his ass unceremoniously, and Sam soon let out a long sigh of ecstasy when, coming out of their intense kiss, Dean began to devour his neck.
- Oh, fuck, yes!” he mooed, clawing furiously at Dean's buttocks, which he was grinding between his fingers. Fuck me, yes, go ahead!
In response to his brother's injunction, Dean amplified the force of his assaults, sucking harder on Sam's neck, fucking his throat, biting his chin. The eldest Winchester burned with a blazing fire; every passing second seemed to reinforce the irrational desire that set his veins ablaze, and Sam, who perceived it perfectly, was living a waking dream. As he sucked on the lobe of his younger son's ear, Dean continued to caress his sex, taking care not to make him reach the point of no return, and smelling the acidic odor of his sweat as his own skin became more and more impregnated made him shiver like a virgin on her wedding night. Drawn into the vertigo of the senses, Dean wanted to make Sam's body his own, seeking to explore its every nook and cranny, to discover its most minute asperities, pushing the audacity further and further each time that the sound of a simple sigh or moan invited him to do so and, his libido bursting through the ceiling, Sam, who couldn't stand it any longer, begged after a few moments in a defeated voice:
- Get undressed, Dean! Get naked and give me your cock, I want to suck you!
The first-born consented with an exalted moan, straightening up just long enough to undo his belt, and Sam eagerly helped him to do so, at the same time as flapping his legs to get rid of his tracksuit bottoms himself. In no time at all, the two brothers were completely naked, and when Dean's penis was within reach, Sam took the time to contemplate its beauty and panache, the way it pointed at him bordering on arrogance. Dean's phallus was similar in size to Sam's. Their bursae, too, had the same rotundity. Their bursae also had the same roundness, a very similar volume, and only the wilder aspect of the elder's natural hairiness really distinguished the two men. Dean's glans was as smooth, as free and as well-defined as Sam's, the same shade between pink and purple, and the younger man took hold of it as soon as his brother pretended to lie on his side again, with the firm intention of filling his mouth with it.
- Wait,” Dean said from a semi-seated position with one arm on a crutch, while Sam was already bending over his crotch. I'll return the courtesy.
Heart leaping in his chest, Sam let him do as he pleased and Dean lay on his side, his brother imitating him without delay. Head to toe, they found themselves each with the other's tumescent sex at mouth level, and his nose immediately saturated by the peppery scent of his elder's parts, Sam was seized by a voracious hunger. Pupils dilated, he took Dean's penis in his hand, and without anything, at that moment, being able to stop him, he spread his tongue over it copiously, working it up from base to tip with a gasp of pure delight. The first-born, stunned by the brutal sensation, moaned for a long time as he watched his brother at work, then, placing a hand on his head to encourage him not to stop, he in turn took hold of Sam's phallus and greedily thrust into it.

The two brothers thus unashamedly gave themselves over to the pleasure of mutual fellatio, which they practiced with a new ardor, free and in tune with their most intimate and deepest desires. Sam, totally enamored of the musky taste of Dean's penis, licked it obstinately, plowing his testicles, running the length of the shaft, soaking the glans with his saliva. The youngest Winchester, who felt like he was licking an oak stake because his brother's phallus was so hard and sharp, forced himself to calm his ardor whenever he felt his brother getting too close to orgasm and, guided by Dean's moans as much as by the tensing of his muscles, He then exchanged his lascivious oral caresses for gentler kisses that would gently bring the pressure down, even if controlling his impulses while he was himself undergoing extreme pleasure was far from an easy task.
Dean may have grunted his pleasure without restraint, and may have been quantitatively less amenable to the exercise than Sam during their last lovemaking session, but he wasn't pulling any punches when it came to returning his younger son's pleasure. He didn't care that he was committing the ultimate sin with the blood of his blood, and since they had to break the rules, he chose to break them completely, responding to the obsessive, frantic and imperious urge to suck in the most unbridled way possible, that long, hard sex that filled his mouth. Carrying out his assaults with astonishing skill, alternating with lesser precision, he doggedly sucked Sam's penis to slide it deep between his fleshy, moist lips, multiplying the back-and-forth strokes as he moaned his arousal. Consistently and diligently, he harried his brother's prickly glans with the tip of his tongue each time he thrust down his throat, sometimes gagging when he came to rest against his uvula, but Dean's mastery of these intense caresses, which he'd never have thought to offer, was growing by the minute, and the perverse pleasure he took in them was no stranger to him. Had the Erotes thought they were harming them by awakening these unsuspected desires? They'd failed. And had Chuck, having ruled their lives forever, ever considered seeing them indulge in lust together? By sucking his brother's cock, by being sucked by him, the eldest Winchester almost felt like he was giving Heaven the middle finger, and the dirtier he acted, the more satisfaction he felt.
- Fucking good,” he grunted, spitting out Sam's sex with a corkscrew noise. It's amazing how good you are...
With one hand, he took a firm grip on the younger man's penis, wiggling it, and with the other he pressed down on his head to encourage him to suck deeper. Sam complied without hesitation, thrusting Dean's glans between his tonsils with a violent hiccup, then the latter, with a moan of ecstasy, brought his hand back to suck ferociously on his two longest fingers. He soaked them in saliva while contemplating his youngest sucking his sex like a starving man, and without warning, he went to press them against Sam's anus, who stiffened violently with a muffled cry.
- Dean...! he cried out, taking his brother's sex out of his mouth.
Deaf to his protest, if it was one, the first-born of the siblings resumed his fellatio in earnest and, from the way he did it, Sam knew at once that he wanted to make him ejaculate. Dean began to suck him off with extreme intensity, forcing his glans, which he wasn't always sure what to do with, to slide over his tongue all the way to his uvula, as if on a treadmill, and a finger suddenly inserting itself into his anus, Sam let out another cry, which was a pure cry of pleasure. Transi of a cold that made him sweat from every pore of his skin, the youngest Winchester was then no longer able to resume his work, and throwing his head back he began to moan and pant, as the pressure on his sex became more and more intolerable. He tried to resist as best he could, but the suction was far too exquisite, not to mention the sensations that inflamed his rectum as Dean's index finger dug stubbornly into it, so that when his brother's middle finger penetrated him in turn, he lost control completely.
- Ah! Ah, I'm fucking coming!
And then the explosion. The force with which Sam's anus contracted made Dean feel as if his fingers were being crushed, and immediately afterwards he felt his brother's sex jerk violently in his mouth. A spurt of semen splashed down his throat, leaving him dazed by the force of the jet, but he didn't even have time to realize the power of the salty, acidic effluvia that flooded his tongue before a second spurt followed the first, at the same time as Sam let out the cry of a wounded beast. Determined not to fall short of what his brother had done to him in such circumstances, and because he foolishly believed that Sam would have been disappointed had he acted differently, Dean tightened his grip around his younger brother's penis and concentrated on the discharges of semen that built up in his mouth. Its ferocious taste became so omnipresent that he felt nothing else, but he refused to spit out even a drop and, faced with the influx of semen that never seemed to dry up, he could no longer delay swallowing it. This was the first time Dean had really gone this far in his fellatio practice, and he couldn't completely suppress a little apprehension as he swallowed the first mouthful. Yet he performed without the slightest difficulty, paving the way for a complete ingestion of the sticky fluid that engulfed his white teeth, and before he even realized that Sam had finished ejaculating, he caught himself searching with his tongue, on the tip of his sex, for one more drop to collect.

As if emerging from a semi-awake dream, Dean then released Sam's wet penis and slowly flexed to smooth his lips, as salty as sunflower seeds. Simultaneously, he became aware of his brother lying there on his back, panting, and in response to the long, sonorous exhalations that caused Sam's torso to deflate every time he filled his lungs, Dean came to rest against him, soon leaning lightly over his face to ask:
- Sam...? Sam, are you all right?
The anxiety in his brother's voice made the youngest of the siblings smile, a smile made all the more ecstatic by the orgasm he'd just had. He turned his eyes to Dean, who placed a delicate hand on his wet chest and, stroking his cheek, replied:
- Oh yes, I'm fine... God, that was... What a kick...
Feeling flattered, Dean allowed himself a shy smile to express his satisfaction, but also his pleasant astonishment. He placed his hand on top of Sam's, touched her with a kiss whose tenderness surprised his brother, then inquired:
- I'm glad you liked it... Do you still come this much, or... is it because it's me?
He had a strange sensation when he heard himself ask this question. It was as if he were speaking through someone else's mouth, but it didn't bother him too much.
- I loved the way you sucked, if that's what you're asking,” Sam assured him. But you don't have to make a big deal of it, you don't have to prove anything to me, you know?
He stretched out his neck to kiss Dean, who complied obediently, and moved his hand down Dean's torso to take hold of his sex again, which seemed unalterably hard. The eldest's excitement surged again.
- Put it in me,” he whispered in his brother's ear between two kisses on his temple and cheek. Stick your big cock in my ass, I want it...
Dean felt his heart leap in his chest and had a hot flash that made his head spin a little. The embrace Sam was demanding made his insides tingle, and it was with his eyes briefly veiled in red that he saw him get down on all fours in the middle of the bed, his loins arched to the breaking point like a pussy in heat, and his gorgeous buttocks stretched as far as possible in a position as enticing as it was provocative.
The scene made his head spin.
- Fuck me,” commanded Sam with a brief glance back, shamelessly staring at her smooth, muscular posterior. Come and stick your dick in me, Dean, come on, do your job...
Concupiscence emanated from the slightest word, oozed from the smallest note, and Dean, faced with his brother's posterior exposed in all its indecent splendor, almost reflexively placed himself right in front of it. Upright on his knees, back straight, his rock-hard phallus pointed proudly at Sam's anus protruding between his round, fleshy buttocks, the same orifice he'd just enlarged by viciously plunging two fingers into it, and his heart began to race as his pupils dilated almost to the circumference of the iris.
- Sammy..., he murmured in a subjugated voice, his eyes wide.
Sam dug his loins a little deeper and his buttocks tensed even more, making his anus blossom like an open eye. Immediately, Dean inexplicably felt the water rush to his mouth and, seized by an irrepressible impulse, he furiously grabbed both of Sam's buttocks. The latter gasped, as surprised as he was tremendously aroused, but the real shock came just afterwards, when Dean threw his head against his brother's posterior and, instead of sodomizing him, began licking his anus in a frenzy that bordered on rage.
- Ah!” cried Sam, raising his head, the blanket crumpled in his clenched fists. Oh, hell, yes! YES! Eat my ass, Dean, oh fuck, that's good! Yes, go ahead, stick your tongue in, yes!
Despite the phenomenal arousal that inflamed his blood, Sam was ashamed to give himself over to such depravity but, he couldn't help it. He could feel his brother's hot tongue swirling mercilessly around his saliva-smeared orifice, feel his hands roughly spreading his buttocks and all the rest of his face pressed against them, and shame, in this moment of pure lechery, did seem to be the least of Dean's concerns. Breathing like an ox against his youngest's glorious buttocks, which he struggled to open as much as he could, he applied himself to plowing his anus, punctuating his inspirations with voracious moans, collecting with his full mouth the unseen scents and flavors he exhumed with each pass. After the taste of her semen, it was the taste of Sam's supreme intimacy that he soaked up without restraint, and he took intense pleasure in striving to introduce his tongue into the soon-to-be-soaked slit, which contracted and wriggled like a fish out of water. Sam's ceaseless cries and moans encouraged him to become ever more ardent, ever more irreverent, and Dean found it hard to stop himself as his brother's lascivious complaints were such a formidable stimulant. But the moment came when the desire to free himself between Sam's loins was too strong; then he straightened up at full speed and came to place his tumescent sex in front of the hole now ready to welcome him. He hesitated for a moment as to whether he needed to use lubricant, as he had done on previous occasions, but the thick saliva his sex was covered with, combined with that which he had deposited abundantly between his younger son's buttocks, seemed sufficient. He placed his tumescent glans against Sam's burning anus, growling in a guttural voice that he was about to enter, and the younger man, not holding out any longer, cried out, distraught:
- Yes, Dean, come on! Fuck me, come on! Come on!
Then, guiding his penis and holding it at its base, Dean pushed forward, and penetration began. Sam, immediately feeling his brother's glans enlarge the edges of his anus, smiled blissfully and shuddered as he heard Dean's interminable sigh behind his back, infinitely concentrated on his task and the vertiginous sensations it gave him, watching his sex sink centimeter by centimeter, gradually disappearing into a dizzyingly narrow abyss of softness and warmth, as if diluted in it. The moment seemed fleeting, yet at the same time lasted for hours; The bond they created, the physical union they embodied, took on a spiritual dimension when their heartbeats seemed to synchronize, when the pulsations deep in Sam's rectum followed the cadence of the twitching sex that filled him, and Dean contemplated, hallucinating, his body in that of his brother, whose loins, already dizzyingly arched in normal circumstances, seemed unreal, so much so that he dug his back to stretch his buttocks. Cautiously at first, Dean rested his hands on the two formidable lobs of flesh, rediscovering the extreme softness of their naked skin, then tightened his grip and, slowly, pushed forward one last time until he covered Sam's buttocks with his fleece. The latter let out a long, high-pitched sigh, like a delicious lament, and as he withdrew a few centimeters while holding his breath, Dean exhaled ecstatically again as he plunged back, more dryly, into the depths of his younger son's bowels, who cried out.
The back-and-forth thus launched, the real copulation began, and only increased in intensity over the few minutes it lasted. Complying willingly with the white-hot fire that had invaded him, Sam surrendered himself to total pleasure, doing everything in his power, by gesture and word, to galvanize his brother, and his initially slow and moderate jerks soon turned into virile assaults to the rhythm of increasingly audible ahans. Sam, exhilarated to be so possessed, soon stopped keeping count of the number of blows he received, preferring instead to listen to Dean's moans gain in vigor with each passing second, and feeling him progressively overwhelmed by desire and excitement was for him a first pleasure. He felt the increasing roughness with which Dean took him, perceived unequivocally the loss of control that gradually gained, and when the elder Winchester was close to the point of no return, his sex going in and out deeply and enthusiastically between his brother's buttocks, he laid his torso on his back. At the height of bliss, Sam felt Dean's warm, moist skin against him, listened to him breathe in his scent as far as he could push his breath, his nose in the hollow of his neck, and with his eldest's right arm baring his pecs from beneath, he was swept away by such a feeling of fullness that he wasn't sure where he was anymore.
- I love you, Dean! I love you so much!
As he fornicated further, his libido at extreme levels, Dean licked his brother's ear before biting it, grunting the insane pleasure he was taking from their embrace, and despite his best efforts to delay this moment he tried to put off with all his might, he could hold out no longer. His breathing suddenly became chaotic, his temples suddenly began to vibrate, his stomach knotted, and Sam, feeling the body contract against him, knew with infinite regret that the moment had arrived. He tried to banish these thoughts from his mind to retain only the absolute joy of feeling his brother plow his loins for just one more moment, of hearing him moan, of capturing his pleasure as it drowned him, and then he felt the extreme contraction of the sex planted inside him, at the same time as Dean's cry resounded in his ears and a burning jet, followed by many others, unleashed in every cell of his body a veritable firework display.

Chapter Text

The Winchesters stood close together, stretched out on their backs, naked as the day they were born. Sam kept smiling, eyelids closed, and his right arm over his forehead showed off his black, dripping armpit. His sweat-soaked torso was just beginning to swell and deflate to a more normal rhythm, now that he was slowly catching his breath, and since he'd cum - oh so much - he'd said nothing, preferring to let his brother come down to Earth first. Dean, to his left, hadn't uttered a word either, and with eyes wide open, one hand on his chest, he stared at the ceiling in a haggard manner. Their shoulders brushed against each other, and it was nearly five minutes since they'd stood like that, motionless, perhaps trapped in a moment of grace or desperate, on the contrary, to find a way not to let him get away.
- Did you notice the crack in the ceiling back there?
Dean's voice startled Sam inwardly, but was also like music to his ears. He didn't respond immediately, instead trying to gauge his brother's state of mind by analyzing each of his intonations, and thought he detected serenity mixed with a kind of stupefaction. He turned his gaze to the spot on the ceiling where the crack was located, and announced in a soft tone muted by fatigue and bliss:
- It was there before we moved into the bunker. She hasn't moved in all these years.
Silence again. Sam let a few moments pass, then slowly turned his head towards Dean until he brushed his shoulder with the tip of his chin. Eyes closed, he silently inhaled his scent. Dean, his eyes still wide open and fixed on the crack above them, gently moved his right arm, resting on his chest, to lay it tenderly on his brother's chest. Sam took his hand, intertwining their fingers, and time seemed to stand still again.
- You've got goose bumps,” Dean noted in a calm voice. Are you cold?
- No, I'm fine.
A few more moments passed, and then Dean's eyes came to life. Gliding over to Sam, who seemed to be dozing, so close to his neck that Dean could feel the caress of his breath on his skin.
- Are you going to stay there? Just like that?
Sam detected something like astonishment in his voice, one of those cautious, measured intonations you use to ask one question in order to get the answer to another. A hint of concern, too, almost imperceptible. Except for Sam.
- I'll shower later,” he declared, thinking he'd understood his elder's thoughts perfectly. There's no hurry.
Dean raised his eyebrows without thinking about it, vaguely expressing an ill-defined feeling made up of a little relief, a dose of elation and a touch of emotion. On their first real night in this very spot, a few days earlier, Sam had already shown a total lack of eagerness to erase the stigmata of their lovemaking, but that seemed to matter even less tonight. Dean wanted to see it as further proof of the genuine, desired pleasure he'd given her, which kept him from thinking about whether or not to blame himself.
- What are you thinking?” her brother asked, brushing her thigh with the back of his free hand. Are you saying we've gone crazy again?
Dean sketched a smile, conceding that the question was meant for him.
- Do you want to know?” he said with a touch of mischief. I was wondering if you were really sure you'd never done it before with a guy? Because, Sam... damn, you're good at this.
He waited for Sam to open his eyes and meet his gaze, and the youngest of the siblings stood watching him in silence for a moment, a slight smile on his lips. Without saying anything, he noticed that Dean's stance this time seemed quite far removed from the consummate seriousness that had so far followed their deviations, and happy with this realization he lent himself without reluctance to the game of truth.
- Exploring my gay side was never part of my preoccupations, before you. I'm not joking.
Dean, who seemed crumpled, stiffened his neck and pulled his head back a little, moving away from his younger son's face. He even let go of his hand and folded his arm over his abdomen.
- Pfff, who's gay here? I'm not talking about that, it's got nothing to do with it.
- Sam liked to confront him peacefully with his contradictions. You just asked me if I'd ever fucked a guy, what do you call that?
Dean pouted, seeming to reluctantly admit the reality of the situation. But then again, his reaction was less epidermal than usual, even though he was considering the question exclusively in terms of his own experience.
- Call me stupid, but I don't feel gay fucking you,” he protested assertively. There's not a guy out there who could make me want to fuck him, and you're the only one.

Sam remained stoic for a moment, then nodded soberly, holding back a smile. Dean, who had the unpleasant impression of having said something ridiculous, suddenly felt uncomfortable.
- I'll take that as a compliment,” said his brother, meaning it sincerely.
As he saw him tighten his lips, his gaze evasive, Sam ran the back of his finger over Dean's cheek and, when Dean looked at him again, confided tenderly:
- Hey, it's exactly the same for me. Only with you can I consider this, and if I seemed up to it, it's because what I feel for you, I feel for no one else.
Dean was glad to hear it, and while trying to keep his cheeks from turning too pink he felt less foolish, his heart swelling.
- Yeah,” he said, smiling sheepishly, ‘I heard what you said while we were...’.
He didn't finish his sentence, leaving his brother to guess the punch line. Sam, who'd no doubt been hoping for another answer, frowned in puzzlement as Dean continued to stare at him, and to confirm his hunch, the older boy asked bluntly:
- What, you mean the fact that I told you I love you?
Dean, his eyes shining, nodded, biting his lower lip briefly. But his brother remained impassive and his malice faded as he realized that he wouldn't be followed in the lightness with which he evoked the event.
- It's the way you said it,” he continued, trying to hide his growing embarrassment.
Sam's face darkened. The change in his gaze, in the accentuation of the crease between his eyes, in the more pronounced hollow at the corner of his lips, was very subtle, but if he was capable of measuring the slightest change in Dean's mood, the reciprocal was true and the eldest of the siblings measured it at once.
- I said it the way I felt it at the time,” Sam justified in a cooler voice, shifting his gaze to where Dean's couldn't hold it. I'm sorry if it sounded weird.
The older man, bewildered, could only notice that a blatant distance had suddenly settled between them, even though a few minutes earlier they'd still been bonded as tightly as possible, and just a few seconds ago they'd been expressing their affection with very different looks and postures. Dean even felt Sam's shoulder pull away from his by a few centimeters, which plunged him into confusion.
- Hey, hey, Sam,” he said hastily, grabbing her forearm and lifting her head from the pillow. That's not what I meant, why are you being so snippy?
- I'm not,” he laconically refuted.
The tone of his voice and his eyes, which were careful not to turn towards those of his elder brother, confirmed the opposite. The latter, dismayed, straightened up more frankly, propping himself up on his elbow and, leaning over Sam, insisted:
- Hey, not me, steuplait, I can see I've offended you. I just thought your declaration was a little passionate, that's all, and it surprised me, seeing as... it's all just for fun... But don't get hung up on what I said; I love you too, Sam.
Distressed, the younger Winchester tried to remember the last time his brother had been so clumsy and indelicate towards him. He didn't hold it against him, despite a lump in his stomach, because he knew Dean meant no harm, but the bond was now completely broken.
- I know,” Sam said heavily. Don't pay any attention to what I say, you either, it's nothing, it'll pass. Put it down to post-coital blues.
Dean, who wasn't sure he'd understood, didn't dare ask him to repeat himself. And while he was still trying to translate the term his brother had used, he saw him sit upright on the edge of the bed and stand up.
For a moment, the elder of the two men took in his younger brother's sculpted back and buttocks, noting their extreme beauty and the wet trace that wetted their furrows.
- I'm going to take a shower,” informed Sam, picking up his nearby sweatpants and slipping them on.
He skirted the bed and headed for the exit, eyes downcast and glum. Dean hoped for a glance, a sign of interest, anything, but his brother kept moving toward the door and he could only try to hold him back by praying:
- Sam. Sam, wait, stay a little longer...
But Sam crossed the threshold without looking back, and Dean, with a bitter taste in his mouth, let himself fall back with arms folded in a heavy sigh, his eyes once again fixed on the crack in the ceiling.

The bunker had its inconveniences, but free hot water was not one of them. With the taps fully open, Sam had been letting it rain down on him in a torrential downpour for over ten minutes, and the two mirrors hanging over the washbasins, opposite the showers, were completely opaque with mist.
The hunter was still replaying his brother's words, without quite managing to evacuate the affliction they had unwittingly provoked. No doubt Sam would have liked Dean to have been less flippant about the tender words he'd spoken to him during their lovemaking, or at least not to have picked up on this heartfelt cry of abandon. But it was all Dean, he thought: more carnal, less sentimental, true to the alpha male status he cultivated, which didn't make what they felt for each other any less strong, he knew.
He wouldn't have cared so much about this lack of tact if the words that had followed hadn't also been such as to offend his sensibilities. But to have closed himself off because Dean had described their intimate relationship exclusively as entertainment now seemed excessive to him, for he was perfectly aware that the nature of their blood ties, while they could obviously be strengthened by it, was not bound to change. Nevertheless, his brother's last four words stuck in his throat a little; for the way Dean had assured him of his love, Sam had had the sensation of a mechanical confession, worthless, insincere, like a box ticked off a list of prerequisites.
And because he knew how much his brother actually loved him, his indolence, just after the moment of extreme intensity they'd shared, had hurt all the more.

Was it being lost in thought that had prevented him from noticing that he was no longer alone? Or had the lively murmur of water crashing over the top of his head to soak his whole body simply covered the sound of his elder's footsteps? Suddenly sensing her presence behind him, Sam twitched, but his hand, resting flat on the paving of the wall opposite, made it imperceptible. He turned his head just a few degrees, just enough to warn his brother that he'd noticed his arrival, and suddenly felt his fingers graze his shoulder, for an unnaturally long time. Sam's heart quickened with anxiety, and in the face of Dean's strange indecision he almost took the initiative, when he heard him suddenly say in a hesitant voice:
- Sam, I'm sorry for what I said. I'm sorry, the last thing I wanted to do was upset you.
Sam was stunned to hear his brother make amends. Firstly, because he felt he had no real reason to be angry with him, and secondly, because he felt he was genuinely overwhelmed. He turned off the tap a little, halving the flow of water, then replied in a heavy voice, without turning around:
- No need to apologize. You said what you meant, I've got nothing to say about that.
A short moment later, he felt Dean's hand finally rest firmly on his shoulder. He was glad.
- No, it's not what I think,” he replied regretfully. Not completely, far from it. You know me, I... I can't always find the words, and sometimes it's hard for me to open up, but... what happens between us doesn't count for nothing... It's just that whatever we do, whether it lasts a month or a year, we'll always be brothers. In the end, that's what defines us, and that's what we'll always be.
He'd been scared. Sam suddenly realized, struck by the obvious, that his passionate proclamation of his love for him had frightened Dean. He was deeply disturbed by this, but soon felt the urgent need to calm him down by declaring peacefully:
- Dean... I never thought that because we fucked together, we'd become a couple, or anything like that... I have no intention of driving to Vegas to propose marriage. Once was enough.
He heard Dean, behind his back, heave a brief sigh, somewhere between laughter and respite. And as Sam felt his brother's other hand come to rest on his free shoulder, he simultaneously welcomed, with a shudder, Dean's forehead against his neck.
- But,” he then confided, concentrating on the touch of Dean's skin on his own, ”there's that little something extra in what I feel for you, and... there are times when I need to express it, I think. But whatever happens, you're still my brother, and it's as a brother that I love you.
- I understand that. I understand perfectly, I swear,” Dean tells him, slowly caressing the curve of his shoulders. I'm sorry I said what I did, Sam, I was a real jerk, but it's not true that it's just sex between us. It wouldn't be so fantastic if we didn't love each other so much...
Sam was overcome by a shiver that made him want to turn and hug him as hard as he could, but he preferred to bite his lips to prevent it. Then it was Dean who, letting his arms pass slowly beneath Sam's, as if he wanted to give him time to deny him this embrace, encircled his chest and, when he'd barred his younger son's powerful pecs with his forearms, laid a cheek on the latter's developed trapezoids, at the base of his neck, before confessing with all the uncertainty that nagged at him:
- But I'm scared, Sam. I think if I've been more reticent than you about all this, it's of course because you're my little brother, but not only that. It's also because I'm scared that what we're doing together is preventing you from acting in your best interests, because of me. Please think of yourself.
Sam didn't understand why he suddenly felt cold in his brother's arms, despite the warm water running over their bodies, despite Dean's torso pressing against his back, his sex pressing against his buttocks. Sam grabbed both his arms with one hand before running feverishly over them, and with a slight tremor in his voice, a wave of intense heat suddenly flowing back as if fed by Dean's body, he asked:
- What do you mean?
Then he felt his eldest's arms squeeze him tighter and his mouth linger on the small of his back for a long, affectionate kiss. Dean was showing an unusual, almost unheard-of tenderness that Sam didn't understand. And it was his turn to be frightened.
- You're... at an important moment in your life,” the firstborn whispered, resting his cheek on Sam's back. We're done with Chuck, and you've found a great chick, with whom you can consider building something... I know you don't want me to tell you, but don't make the mistake of letting her slip away, and especially not because of... Of me. Us. Don't let it go.
Sam smiled a broken smile, and this time, unable to take it, he turned to hug his brother furiously. Cheek to cheek, he held him close for a long moment, and as Dean placed a hand on the back of his neck to stroke his wet hair, he answered without the slightest anger, with all the attachment he had for him:
- Holy cow... The bed's still warm and that's what you're thinking about?
Dean grinned sonorously, and rubbing the back of Sam's neck, he moved his head back, just enough to look his brother in the eye but without untying their pressed-together torsos. Exchanging a deep look with him, full of love and complicity, the eldest put both hands on his younger brother's cheeks and replied unabashedly:
- It's not the best time, okay... Or on the contrary, there's no better time, I don't know. But at least you know what's on my mind. I'll always worry about you. That's what I do.
With wet eyes, Sam put one hand on Dean's cheek and, with the other, went to cover Dean's, who was warming his face.
- Dean... Eileen has nothing to do with us... If you don't see me calling her, if I don't talk about it... it's because she's so independent that she'd be quick to dismiss me if I meddled in her affairs, and you know how she hates that... No matter how our relationship evolves, it'll have nothing to do with what's happening between you and me. Do you hear me? I know everything's a blur right now, but trust me, let's not complicate things unnecessarily and think about us for once.
- Think of us, you mean...
- I mean please us,” Sam clarified with a warmer look, stroking his brother's cheek with his thumb. It probably won't last forever, so let's make the most of it.
In turn, Dean covered Sam's face with his hand and tilted his chin to place a long, tender peck on his palm. Partially convinced, he nevertheless agreed to follow his younger brother, to whom he said with a slightly wistful look:
- Okay... At this point, what else do we have to do, anyway? But you're the one who'll be asking Rowena for a room with a view, when we book our place in hell.
Sam gave a short, dry laugh before nodding.
- Okay, if you like. And... if next time, in an intimate moment, I feel like expressing how I feel about you, I'll try to tell you how much more I can see you in paint. Maybe it'll upset you less.
It was Dean's turn to express his disdain with a noise from his mouth, and then to say with a falsely superior air:
- Right, yeah... Come on, I'll let you finish showering, I think the water's starting to soak your brain.
He stepped back slowly, letting the extremely deep gaze he exchanged with Sam linger as long as possible, making Sam feel light as air.
- I'm in my room,” Dean informed him, putting on a bathrobe to dry off. If you feel like joining me later... you're welcome.
Sam, turned three-quarter-face, nodded knowingly as he pushed his hair back with both hands, mobilizing the muscles in his arms and torso. Dean, already stunned by his chiseled body and the luscious arch of his loins, wasn't sure his brother was even aware of the fire he'd awakened in him with this simple gesture.
- Hey, Dean,” Sam smirked as he turned to leave.
- Hmm?” he said, resting his eyes on his younger brother and trying hard not to show his fascination for the body that was making his head spin.
- I really can't fuck you anymore, you know?
- Tsss,” he spat with a nod. And me... You have no idea.

With vaguely cheerful thoughts in his head, Dean made his way back to his room, deliberately leaving the door ajar in the hope that Sam would soon come and join him. So as not to give too much of an impression that he was waiting for her, he got into bed in his black boxer shorts and T-shirt, under the covers, and turned on his side, closing his eyes to catch the sound of a door slamming, a cough or a movement along the corridors. Sam was right, they had plenty of time to worry; and until then, Dean decided to enjoy the moment, trusting his brother not to let himself be dominated by the madness that presided over their senseless actions.
He opened his eyes again some time later, surprised by a light rubbing on his sides, and a gentle pressure on his back. He wasn't immediately sure what was happening, or whether he was dreaming, but he recognized Sam's scent when her hair fell over his face and her strong arms finished wrapping around his torso.
- Hey,” he said in a sleepy voice as he felt Sam's lips on his neck and her legs slowly sliding over his. What time is it? I think I dozed off.
- Nearly midnight,” Sam murmured, kissing him gently and repeatedly on the neck, cheek and ear.
The room was in semi-darkness, lit only by a bedside lamp and the light coming from the corridor, the door having been left half-open. Dean let himself in, exhilarated at being cajoled in this way, and with an adventurous hand he discovered that Sam, pressed against his back under the sheets, was naked.
- Why did you get dressed?” asked the eldest. Did you think I wasn't going to join you?
Sam slipped an arm under his brother's shirt to caress his torso languorously, and plunged the other hand into his boxers to immediately arouse his sex, which unfurled between his fingers. Dean sighed in exultation, and placed a hand on his younger brother's face in approval of the tender kisses with which he continued to be covered, from shoulder to eye.
- Just like that,” he said, running his fingers along Sam's dizzy side. I didn't know if... Oh, Jesus, Sam...! You're going to kill someone with your club... You've got a fucking hard-on...!
Sam's phallus was pressing hard against Dean's buttocks, and he could feel his brother's excitement building as his kisses became more and more insistent. The older man slid his hand behind him to take hold of the virile member, which only confirmed its phenomenal hardness, and Sam, shifting a little, tugged unceremoniously at Dean's shirt so that it lay on his back. He then hastily lifted the fabric and, pouncing on his hairless torso, began to plow his pecs with his lips and tongue, as if seized by an unquenchable hunger.
Dean, mouth half-open and head overturned, was ecstatic. - Damn it, Sam, don't you ever stop?
Already panting from the pleasure of his brother's kisses all over his chest, Dean watched him work with bewildered eyes as he stroked his hair, Sam's head running in all directions. He could feel her tongue leaving long, wet trails over his skin, her lips nipping at him as much as they kissed him, and Dean suddenly let out a dry cry followed by an astonished laugh as his youngest's fiery mouth mercilessly seized a nipple.
- That's so good,” Sam growled between breaths. You're driving me crazy...
Dean was not far from losing his mind again, too, and seized by the irrepressible need for more, he hurriedly got rid of his T-shirt to make things as easy as possible for Sam. The latter made him moan by biting his shoulders and chin, then went back down to prod his nipples with the tip of his tongue, one after the other, and didn't release him until he'd elicited a sufficiently powerful moan. Galvanized, the youngest descended even lower, kissing his brother's belly, licking his abs, digging into the hollow of his navel to make him moan again, and violently pushing back the sheets he finally lowered his shorts with a jerk to free his penis, which rose like the arm of a catapult and which he gobbled up roundly, sucking the hardened member with exaltation.
- Sammy!” he cried, sounding like he was moaning in pain. Oh... yes...!
Sam sucked his brother's sex, passionately, forcing him to get rid of his boxers, which he pulled down his legs. Then he took hold of his bursa with a firm hand, palpating it without quivering as he sucked greedily on his phallus, and continued, attentive to the subtlest reactions of Dean's body. The eldest Winchester sighed endlessly, his whole body undulating against the sheets as if rocked by the waves, intense pleasure rippling through his senses, and then Sam descended once more, spitting out his brother's penis to subject his testicles, this time, to equally fervent treatment. He ostentatiously licked the two full, round gonads like two hard-boiled eggs, took them in his mouth one after the other and sucked ardently, even both at the same time, until his cheeks were filled with them, without ceasing to masturbate Dean but taking care not to bring him to orgasm. The unfortunate man was sweating profusely, whimpering, writhing as if in pain, but it was pleasure alone, an unheard-of pleasure in the face of Sam's extraordinary skill, which subjected him to such torment.
Sam then spread his eldest's thighs, opening them wide without the slightest question, and out of breath he commanded him in a guttural voice:
- Lift your legs a little... Go on, bend your knees. Like this.
Bringing his knees up to his chest, Dean mechanically raised his perineal area, which was exactly what Sam wanted. His sex practically lying on his belly, thighs spread wide, he was seized with a sudden doubt that was quickly lifted, when he saw his cadet's face plunge back onto his crotch. He felt Sam's nose and mouth pressing against the underside of his scrotum, and then his tongue sweeping across a part of his body that Dean had never really offered, not even to him.
- Sam,” he said, a little unsettled by this caress, which was unusual for him, if not unpleasant. What are you doing?
- Don't you like it?” inquired Sam, raising his head just long enough to look into her hesitant eyes. You took your time doing the same thing to me, remember? It's only natural that I should return the courtesy...
And without waiting for permission, he returned to his task, bringing his tongue up to Dean's testicles, who gasped.
- Okay, but... it was mostly when... I licked your puck,” Dean recalled breathlessly. Before... I put it on you...
- I know,” urged Sam with a rasp that made his voice hoarser, as he punctuated his words with another lick all over Dean's violently stiffening perineum. You liked licking my ass, didn't you? Didn't you, Dean? You think I wouldn't like that, too?
A further lick made the eldest of the siblings writhe even more, as he became aware that each assault weakened his resistance to the pleasure he was deriving from it a little more. But with the excitement suddenly came a little fear, because he'd just understood Sam's ambition. And because the latter had practically formulated it, he raised his head to plunge into his brother's gaze and ask in a whisper:
- Let me lick you... Let me do to you what you've done to me, I want to taste you.
Dean found it hard to recognize him. His assurance, the way he took the initiative, seemed to make Sam a different man, sexier than ever, and the dismay that assailed the first-born was mingled with a kind of overexcitement that made him shiver. He was clearly taking the measure of a hitherto misperceived facet of his brother, an aspect of his personality that could make him the dominant one where hitherto he'd revelled in submitting to fraternal ardor, and Dean, despite a rather distinct apprehension, was devilishly tempted to explore the extent of it.
- Okay,” he said softly, sounding a little stunned, his cheeks flushed and his eyes locked in Sam's. ”Don't be afraid.
- Don't be afraid,” he begged with a smile that was meant to be reassuring, despite a certain nervousness in his voice and posture. This is a first for me too...
Mouth ajar, Dean nodded stiffly, just once, and with his gaze fixed on his brother, he watched him smile until his face disappeared behind his sex. Then the elder Winchester rested his head on the pillow, held his breath as he riveted his eyes to the ceiling while Sam supported the underside of his thighs and, suddenly, he felt a warm, moist touch on his strictest intimacy, a touch that made his heart leap and the sheets crumple in his clenched fists.

The embarrassment of the situation lasted only a moment, for the pleasure that melted over him didn't take a minute to scald his blood. Between sighs and muffled cries, between brief and astonished laughter, he gasped, trembled, tensed up, and his anus went through every state as Sam's tongue pampered it mercilessly. Forcefully contracting, opening and closing like an oyster, wriggling in a way Dean wouldn't have believed possible, his orifice seemed to hold its own against his assailant, who never ceased to excite him further. Dean, overwhelmed by sensations as unusual as they were unbelievable, discovered a new way of exulting, his cheeks on fire, and, his skin glistening with sweat, his breath short and panting, he finally couldn't see straight when the intense pleasure that was ravaging him made his eyes roll back, leaving him to beg his brother over and over, in a barely audible whisper, not to stop.
Sam reached out to grab the pillow and wedge it under his brother's loins, and then, with his buttocks open like an overripe melon, he gave Dean a long, guttural moan. At that moment, the hunter didn't care about anything anymore, nothing mattered but the vertigo of the senses, and faced with the redoubled perversity of his younger sibling, whom he could feel reveling in what he was doing to him, he pressed both hands on his head to prevent him from withdrawing. Dean didn't hold back any longer: intoxicated by the feeling of Sam's tongue pushing ever further, ever harder, he proclaimed his pleasure, with the unsettling feeling of finding himself in the position of his one-night lovers whom he'd subjected a thousand times to similar treatment, and with his head turned upside down he ordered Sam to come back against him to taste his own flavor in his mouth.

The kiss they gave each other, curled against each other, lasted a long time and was accomplished with the slowness of a caress on a sleeping forehead. In consenting to offer himself to his brother in this way, Dean hadn't anticipated the emotional power of such an exchange, and in that moment he felt so close to Sam that he thought he was one with him. How much love did one have to have to find only beauty and happiness in these acts that nature and morality solemnly condemned? Dean didn't know, and neither did Sam, but neither of them cared. The feelings that bound them now transcended everything, the bonds of blood, the bonds of the heart, and in those magical moments that belonged only to them they belonged to each other, exclusively. Body and soul.
- How I love you,” Dean gasped, his hand on Sam's cheek, their noses brushing. I'm willing to spend another forty years in hell for every night with you.
As much because he wanted to with all his might as to stifle his emotion, Sam kissed him languidly, lovingly, before teasing with a tender smile:
- Can we tell each other now? I hope you don't mind.
- Shut up, moron.
And they kissed some more, no longer with the sensation of damning themselves, but this time of feeding a powerful fire from which they would draw new strength. The more they kissed, the more they caressed each other, the more they put doubts and remorse, fears and anger in the closet, and as they embraced with unbridled passion they rubbed against each other without restraint, as if their ultimate goal was to cover every square inch of the other's body with their own skin. Lips no longer loosened, torsos glued together by sweat and hair, arms and legs inextricably entangled, and with their burning hands they roamed each other, totally, caressing every muscle, every curve, every nook, every protruding spot, every scar, rolling endlessly in the sheets. The sexes challenged, too, erect and pressed against each other, competing as if in a sword fight, and sensing how colossal Sam's arousal was, Dean, breathless, suspended yet another kiss to beg:
- Don't come again, Sammy... I don't want it to stop, not yet...
With a hungry moan, Sam nipped his brother's lower lip between his teeth, projecting his hot breath into his mouth. Both his hands grabbed Dean's buttocks, and he moaned:
- I want you... so much I'm dying...
He harassed him with breathless kisses, put all his weight on him, and soon Dean was on his other side, Sam's torso pressed firmly against his back.
- I want to fuck you, too, he whispered in his ear, burning with fever, stroking him all over. I've never felt so fucking horny...
Dean felt his brother's penis pressing against his groove, seeking to squeeze between his buttocks, but he reflexively contracted them, tempering Sam's ardor.
- You've got an ass of steel,” the latter laughed, licking his ear with an obscenity that didn't leave Dean unmoved. I brought the lube, don't you want to give it a try?
The eldest Winchester felt dizzy, his brother's kisses as dizzying as his phallus, whose size and extreme hardness made him feel as if a white-hot truncheon were caressing his posterior. His mind totally fogged, he felt like accepting, refusing, reversing the roles and taking over, just to feel secure, the one that had been his until now, but he was unable to answer. Seeking to convince him without imposing anything, Sam continued to caress him sensuously, kissing him wherever his lips could land without ending their embrace, and it became obvious to Dean that he couldn't trust him more; that his well-being with him was absolute. He nodded timidly. Which Sam, busy devouring his neck and shoulder muscles, seemed not to notice. Dean then turned his head a little, triggering a similar gesture in his younger brother, and as their veiled eyes met in the half-light, Dean's hand went to caress the flesh stake at his entrance, he whispered an inaudible word, but the tone of which was worth all the whites of the world to Sam.

The younger of the two brothers reached for the bottle of lubricant, and Dean closed his eyes, letting it activate behind his back. He guessed from the rustling in his ears that Sam was brushing his penis, and then, with a start, he felt the cold of the gel creep between his buttocks as the younger brother's fingers meticulously coated it. Before going any further, Sam kissed the corner of her lips again and, after gathering her tacit agreement, allowed his sex to slide between her buttocks. Sam's glans found its way between them, soon delicately caressing Dean's anus before gently widening its edges as he pressed down, and the hunter felt the tumescent member begin to gently intrude inside him. At first there was the sensation of discomfort, then the tugging that settled in as it intensified, until the impression of tearing became omnipresent and he clenched his fist on the mattress as much as he clenched his teeth. As Dean wondered whether Sam might have felt the same way when he'd first sodomized him in the shower, the younger man perceived the sudden tension that stiffened his elder. He saw the hard muscles in his back twitch, and tenderly kissed his shoulder, whispering that he loved him, and that all he had to do was say the word to make it stop. Dean refused, shaking his head. He wanted to go through with this moment of extreme intimacy, to let Sam come inside him as Sam himself had let him take him, at the beginning of all this, an eternity earlier, so his brother entered him for good. As gently as he was able, with every second, every millimeter introduced, the determination not to hurt him. It wasn't easy, despite the lubrication, because Dean was tense, almost knotted, and his tightness didn't help Sam who, jaws clenched, struggled for a long time to break through the sphincter barrier for good.
But when he finally succeeded, by dint of slow, cautious attempts, incessant caresses and kisses that gradually led Dean to relax, intromission into Dean's rectum took place and sensations of an entirely different nature began to spread through him. At once stiff and supple, enthusiastic and measured, Sam's penis entered his body, paused for a moment, partially withdrew, then sank deeper into the sheath, which seemed to his visitor tighter, softer and wetter than any female crotch. He would have liked to hold on; to make his brother forget the pain of his first-born by spreading the pleasure he deserved in his loins, but, not very docile, the first-born's entrails demanded to be tamed and the contractures of his deep muscles made life hard for the intruder. Dean, however, felt that his youngest son was gentler and more considerate than he thought he could ever be himself, and he submitted to him without reserve. Coitus lasted only a minute, or a little longer, and then Sam, a victim of his own overexcitement, ejaculated with a scream, flooding his brother's belly with sperm and giving him the sensation of being filled with liquid lead. The moment was brief but intense, as memorable as it was exhausting, and lost, both breathless, stunned by the passion that had preluded the orgasm, they fell back into each other's arms to caress each other tenderly and slowly regain their breath.
They whispered sweet nothings to each other without shame, further forging the new bonds they had finally chosen to accept without constraint, and before they could even think of continuing their lovemaking they drifted off to sleep, lulled by each other's breath. A few hours later, Sam would wake up reproaching himself for his selfishness in having been the only one to reach orgasm during this ultimate joust, but for no reason: for Dean, if he hadn't dared to admit it, hadn't been able to stop himself from ejaculating at the same time as him, a fact witnessed only on the sheets, at least until the following day.

Chapter Text

In the early hours of the morning, Dean struggled to emerge from the deep sleep into which he had been plunged for the past few hours. Before he woke up, he vaguely seemed to hear a few words whispered in his ear at the same time as he felt a warm, gentle touch on his cheek, but when he half-opened his eyelids he saw himself alone, almost in darkness and silence.
And he immediately fell back asleep.

He didn't really wake up until an hour later, foggy but well aware. He checked the time, saw that Sam hadn't been in for a long time, and got up, having to spare his back. He put on a robe, brushed his teeth, made a long detour to the bathroom before taking an invigorating shower, got dressed, then went to eat copiously. He then returned to his room, changed the sheets, which were in dire need of washing, and headed for the laundry room to do his laundry.
It was only when he got there that he saw Sam again, and spotting him from the end of the corridor through the doorway, standing in front of the antique washing machine, made him smile.

- Ah, is that where you're hiding?” he said by way of greeting.
Sam, busy sorting his laundry for an extra load, looked up and gave him a frank smile.
- Yep... I've just started the machine to wash my sheets, sorry, it's going to run out of room for yours.
Dean sensed his serenity, his happiness, and he himself took great pleasure in it.
- No, that's okay,” he nodded indifferently. I'll do that later. How long have you been up?
- A good two hours, give or take,” clarified the youngest with a quick glance, seeming quite preoccupied by the separation of black and white. You were sleeping like a log, so I don't think you heard me.
- I don't think I did either,” Dean confirmed, looking him square in the face and waiting for their eyes to meet. I was exhausted. You... You knocked me out, I didn't expect you to go off like that...
He saw Sam flash a long, closed smile, and their eyes locked for a brief second.
- I warned you this could go far,” Sam reminded him in a warm voice. I could feel it coming.
Dean, amused, let out a sharp nasal exhale, and with a raise of his eyebrows declared in a light tone:
- I think we can now officially say that I've tried everything in the bunk...
- I think there's still a way of finding one or two things, if you look hard enough,” nuanced his brother, without losing his affable smile.
His expression seemed to waver for a moment, and as he modestly averted his eyes, he asked in an almost worried whisper:
- Did you at least enjoy it?
Dean had anticipated the question because he'd been afraid to answer it frankly, but now that he had to, he didn't feel the dreaded embarrassment. He lowered his head for a moment, just long enough to take a step towards his brother, and less than a metre away from him, he dropped his dirty laundry on the shelf near the door before confiding with a cordial look, his voice soft:
- I've got... a bit of a sore lower back, which doesn't surprise me... But yeah, I liked it. For a first, it wasn't bad.
Sam nodded as he looked down, a warm smile stretching his closed lips prettily. Dean smiled back with a knowing if slightly awkward air, before hearing his brother say with a sorry expression:
- I'm sorry if I got carried away at the end... I... it was so violent that... I kind of lost control at the end, so we fell asleep and left you wanting more...
Dean shook his head slowly and nonchalantly, and if he was ashamed to admit it at the time, he had no hesitation in revealing bonhomie:
- Don't you worry about that, bro. You didn't notice it, but you're not the only one who emptied the magazine.
- Ah... Really?” snapped Sam with a look of bewilderment. When did you...?
- About the same time you did...
Sam showed his surprise, then looked down again, confused and happy. In penetrating his brother for the very first time, his aim had been to avoid hurting him, but he hadn't imagined that such a brief, poorly controlled coupling, hesitant at times and hitherto unheard of, would trigger Dean's orgasm. He was shaken, but positively, and felt his heart swell with elation.
- So... you really liked it?” he asked with a shy look.
- I loved the night we had, Sam,” Dean said with a serious expression. I was so good, in that bed against you that... I wanted to share it with you, and... I came without even feeling it coming, you made me discover something I hadn't even imagined. Of course I liked it.
As he spoke, he had moved further forward, and the two men were now very close to each other. They exchanged a long, deep and intense look, filled with a silent but obvious love, and Dean looked on playfully as his brother moved even closer. Smiling softly, he gazed longingly into the latter's lips, plunging back into his clear eyes as if to drown in them, but the younger Winchester stopped short of going any further, making a visible effort to do so that left his elder disappointed.
- I loved it too,” he said tenderly, gazing at his neck, shoulders and arms. Every second, everything we've done, everything you've said... It's been great, even more so than last time.
Dean nodded, trying not to show how much his ego had been flattered, and bouncing back with his customary casualness, he replied in a falsely stern tone:
- But don't think you're going to catch me every night, got it?
Sam laughed outright, and his face at that moment, the sound of his voice, was for Dean, who looked at him with eyes full of light, the most beautiful of gifts. He aimed for Sam's lips again, tried to approach, but his brother turned away slightly with an embarrassed air, hindering his approach.
- Okay,” said Dean with an annoyed smile. Is there a problem, or have you just decided to be a goody-goody?
- No,” he said apologetically, shaking his head. Everything's fine, but... I know you're not necessarily thrilled that once we're done, we... get too sentimental with each other, that's all.
His reaction to his brother's declaration of love at the height of the act last night was the first thing on Dean's mind. But what he had decreed in the bathroom a few days earlier, scolding his overly demonstrative younger brother in a peremptory tone, also suddenly came back to mind.
- Hey,” he said in a low voice, wearing a slightly forced smile. Since when do you dwell on every stupid thing I say?
Sam broke into a dazzling smile that revealed his impeccably set white teeth.
- Oh, so you're going back on what you said, I'm allowed to show you a little affection even outside the sack?
Dean cleared his throat awkwardly and moved as close as he could, his gaze humbled, until it almost brushed against his brother's nose.
- We're all alone here, so... there's nothing stopping us...
With his eye between Sam's shapely pecs, contained and clearly visible behind the white jersey he wore, Dean bent a finger and placed it on his heart, as if he wanted to knock on his door. Then he slowly raised his head and stretched out his lips, until they overlapped those of his brother. His brother remained passive.
- Okay,” said the latter with a touch of mischief, looking as if he didn't understand. I'll make a note of it next time, then. No problem.
Dean stepped back in dismay and looked at him with dismayed eyes.
- I'm going for a run,” Sam warned, going from one thing to another in no time at all. I'll be back in an hour, okay?
He passed his brother, who remained silent in the laundry room, and walked away without a glance up the corridor.
- You're such a jerk sometimes!” Dean shouted when Sam was six meters away.
- I love you too!” said Sam, turning at the end of the corridor.
Seeing him disappear, Dean couldn't help but soften his indignation with an affectionate smile. And, as he walked away, he swore:
- Pfff, that's it, yeah, keep talking...

Since his brother had snubbed him, Dean went to console himself with his baby. He'd only done a quick inventory of the maintenance to be carried out when they'd returned yesterday, and this time he set about meticulously reviewing the Impala, even if it hadn't failed him on the way home. He spent a good half-hour inspecting the vehicle for any problems that had slipped under the radar, but the mechanics held up well. Satisfied, Dean postponed the inventory of the weapons in the trunk, planning to give the car a thorough polishing later in the afternoon, but for now he felt like relaxing and went to his cellar, where the jukebox, foosball table, bar and big flat-screen TV sat, to sink into his armchair and laze in front of the TV.

Sam returned after an hour's jogging, as planned, without finding a trace of his brother. At the bottom of the metal stairs leading to the outer lock, he called out to him without getting a reply, then went through to the kitchen to hydrate himself. On the way to the bathroom, he knocked on Dean's door and opened it, but there was no sign of him. Sam didn't let this bother him too much, imagining the dozen other places throughout the bunker where his eldest could be at this hour, and went to take a shower.
Fifteen minutes later, freshly dressed, he went briefly to his bedroom, then to the laundry room to check on the progress of the washing, and retraced his steps. There was still no sign of Dean, despite another call that got lost in the corridors, and Sam thought there was a good chance he'd find him in the garage if he stayed invisible that long. After the way he'd laughed at him, the youngest of the siblings wanted to make sure his eldest didn't hold it against him, and set off for the garage, hoping this time to find him.
On the way, however, he had the sudden idea of checking the nearby recreation room, so as not to overlook any possibilities. He turned into the curving stretch of corridor at the end of which was the door to the room, and as he came to it he opened it.
Dean jumped up in his chair, hastily fluttered the remote control between his hands to turn off the TV at full speed, but the sound and image that reached Sam during the three seconds it took his brother to cut them off, were unmistakable.
- Hey, you're home,” Dean said with a semi-catastrophic look and a defeated smile. Good run?
Sam, brow furrowed and more motionless than a statue, regarded his brother without a word, staring at him in total consternation. Dean, in his armchair, continued to watch him, smiling stupidly, trying with pathetic futility to keep a straight face. Then, pursing his lips in an attempt to conceal a sneer, Sam slowly entered the room, arms crossed, passing silently behind his brother who, looking worried, didn't lose sight of him for a moment.
- What were you looking at?” questioned Sam suspiciously as he positioned himself to Dean's right, beyond the second armchair that adjoined his own.
- Huh?” he asked, his eyes round as he feigned innocence.
He persisted in aiming a blissful smile at his younger son, as if he hadn't really understood the question, and nodding, twisting his mouth to show he wasn't fooled, Sam repeated:
- The TV was on a second ago, and you turned it off as soon as the door opened. What were you watching?
Dean opened his mouth as if to speak, pointed a finger at the black screen and replied with borrowed nonchalance, shaking his head:
- What's that? Nothing at all... An... An old soap, you know, the... the thing with Doctor Sexy...
He cleared his throat, pale, trying his luck at trading an already admitted weakness for a dishonor of another sort. Sam nodded, grinning mischievously, his brother trying to make himself look small, but he couldn't resist the urge to spill the beans and went to sit next to him in the other chair, dropping mercilessly:
- Really? He didn't look very well dressed, your Doctor Sexy... Can you turn the lights back on so I can see that?
Dean's face decomposed. With a discomfited look, he seemed to be looking for an argument not to comply, but Sam's insistent and knowing glance finally made him give up. He shut up, turned to the TV and, mortified, pressed the remote control.

The blond beau's ecstatic face instantly reappeared in the foreground of the screen, with the ebony-haired hunk behind him, squealing with pleasure as he pounded away.

Sam craned his neck and stood for a moment, raising his eyebrows in amusement. As he placidly watched the screen, Dean, who didn't know where to stand, felt sweat dripping from his armpits and despaired that his brother would tire of following the simulated lovemaking of the two apollos. He said nothing, didn't move, enduring the outrageous moans of the two actors without flinching, and then Sam chuckled, calling out to him in disbelief without taking his eyes off the TV:
- Can you tell me why you're watching this thing? You? Gay porn?
Dean nodded, annoyed, and caught without being able to deny the obvious he spat out:
- I was curious, okay? With what's been going on between us... I figured it wouldn't hurt to... document it.
His features decomposed, he stared at the screen without really seeming to see it, just waiting to be judged by Sam. The latter, who could hardly believe his ears, slowly turned his head towards his elder and exclaimed in amazement:
- You're doing porn to... to what? Perfect your technique? Did you think this was an instruction manual? Jesus, and you told me I was twelve?
Sam laughed briefly and shook his head, amazed at the wild ideas running through his brother's mind.
- Okay, that's it,” Dean vexed, turning off the screen with a nervous flick of the remote. I'm glad I gave you enough money to keep me going until next year; no, really, you're welcome.
- I don't mean to make fun of you,” Sam said with an amused smile. Hey, don't sulk, not about that, frankly it'd be a shame... I never thought I'd find you looking at this kind of stuff, but I think it's almost adorable.
- Adorable?” Dean belched, giving the eldest a twisted look. Be careful what you say, though, okay? Don't push it.
- I think it is,” Sam persisted in a perky tone. You thought you'd pick up a trick or two to make things even better between us, and frankly, in the way you did it, it's hilarious, but in the intention, it's touching. Of course it is. But you're getting all worked up over nothing; whether you sleep with a guy or a girl, the difference isn't so great that you have to question yourself...
Sam's voice had gradually taken on warmer accents, where all his affection for his brother rose to the surface, and Dean gave him a brief, more affable glance, his humiliation already mitigated.
- I'm not used to seeing you doubting yourself on this subject,” Sam continued with great tenderness, both in his tone and in his eyes. And there's no reason, I mean, you've been more than up to the task. Right from the start. I thought I'd shown that enough.
Dean had this funny look on his face that gave the impression he was trying to resist the urge to stop sulking, like a child.
- And even if he hadn't, what would it matter?” finished the younger man, reaching over the small table between the two armchairs to bang his fist on Dean's shoulder. I want you, not a technical whiz.
- If it's both at the same time... it can't hurt,” he muttered shortly, watching his thumbs twirl around each other.
Sam chuckled discreetly, lowering his eyes to her thighs. Touched, he weighed his words before uttering them and then, in a suave voice, shared his sentiment:
- It's not the most important thing to me. What matters most to me is to see that you're finally looking better. And... I don't want you to think I've forgotten you're my brother, that's unlikely, but... that you seem to have finally accepted to enjoy the moment, without asking yourself any more questions... that makes me happy. I think we've got plenty of time to take stock afterwards.
Tight-lipped, Dean agreed, nodding solemnly.
- Strange as it may sound,” he confessed in a deep throaty voice, ”it's because you convinced me that we wouldn't screw up our relationship that I finally made up my mind. I don't know if you have any idea... how good it feels to be so close to you. I don't think there are words to... describe how I feel at times like this.
Sam, who felt his throat suddenly knot and his heart vibrate so hard it hurt, looked up at his brother, who barely dared to glance at him out of the corner of his eye.
- I think I've got a pretty good idea, Dean,” Sam assured him fervently and tenderly.
His eyes moistened, he sniffed and rubbed his nose, suddenly overwhelmed by all the emotional charge that had been weighing on them for days and had driven them to commit unthinkable acts whose enjoyment and happiness did not detract from their immorality. A fact that neither brother would ever hide. Dean, seeing his younger brother turn his head away, suddenly took a deep breath and, judging that he had vented enough as it was, resolutely tapped both armrests before saying with his customary casualness:
- Anyway, you can laugh at me, but your waltzes are as smooth as theirs.
Sam's laughter was as spontaneous as it was tremendous. Dean looked at him half-surprised, then smiled. He looked happy to see him so cheerful. Or right there, next to him.
- Okay, shall we move on? I'd like to go and lift a bit of cast iron at once. Can I use you as a spotter?

Sam readily consented to assist him, and the two of them made their way to the small gym set up in an unusual part of the bunker. Lying on the bench in his black tank top, Dean worked on his bench press under Sam's supervision, who suspected he was trying to pump up his torso for reasons not far removed from their recent nocturnal activities. Standing over his brother, whom he watched with interest grimace and push against the pull-up bar he was securing, Sam encouraged him with one last effort.
- Come on, you're almost there! Come on, push... push some more... Okay, that's it!
With a grunt of rage, his forehead and armpits watering, Dean let the bar lodge in the rack and blew like an ox.
- Holy cow, how much did you put on this?! Are you sure it's only sixty kilos?
- Sixty,” confirmed Sam with an innocent smile. See for yourself.
- The kilos used to be lighter,” he incriminated, straightening up. Damn, I need a drink.
He went to pick up a bottle of sparkling water from the small table not far from the punching bag and emptied half of it in one gulp.
- You've done one set too many, you should've stopped before,” said Sam.
- It's not that,” refuted his brother, noisily catching his breath, ”it's your fault.
- My fault?” he exclaimed stiltedly.
- And your package,” accused Dean, pointing to Sam's crotch with the neck of his bottle. You kept it under my nose the whole time, how was I supposed to concentrate?
Sam laughed, flabbergasted.
- Are you serious? And how was I supposed to...?
The thunderous, interminable, chilling howl that suddenly rang out, shaking to the marrow of their bones, interrupted him abruptly and they jumped in fright before freezing in dead silence, their hearts beating wildly. With their eyes trained on the door, they tried to make sense of what had just happened, all their senses on the alert.
- What the hell was that?” said Dean, tense as a bow.
- No idea,” shuddered Sam, every hair on his body bristling with goose bumps.
A second, then two, then five passed without a sound, only to terrify both men when they heard the roar:
- Winchester!
They looked at each other in horror. Someone, something had entered the bunker, and they were going to have to face it.
- The weapons room,” ordered Dean. Go, get what you can! Hurry!
Sam rushed down the corridor, taking a right at the first fork, while his brother positioned himself at the intersection just beyond, ready to use his body to cover him. Eyes bulging, he stared unblinkingly down the straight stretch of corridor that led to the center of the building, and again he heard screaming. His hair standing on end, he was able to pinpoint the intruder's location by ear, and wondered with anguish what could have penetrated the bunker's defenses without triggering the alarm.
- The library,” he pointed out to his brother when he returned to hand him a sawed-off shotgun and a dagger.

Sam nodded lividly. He clutched his revolver in one hand, his machete in the other, and side by side the two hunters advanced toward the threat, adrenalin coursing through their veins. With a chilling resonance, they heard their names being shouted once more, and hurried across the corridor at a snail's pace, until they were within sight of the library entrance. From their position, the angle of vision was far too restricted to allow them to make out anything more than a portion of shelf with the books it supported, but they could clearly hear moaning and chanting, and agitated footsteps echoing on the floor.
They were going to have to enter the room to understand the nature of the danger, and with a curt but perfectly clear gesture, Dean instructed his brother to pass back through the control room.

Sam, with the stealth of a cat, darted straight for his objective, while Dean, dagger in belt, pointed his cocked rifle in front of him, striding with total control to the half-open door of the vast room. Heart pounding, modulating his breathing, he leaned against the wall on the hinge side and heard confused, disturbed noises continue to escape from the premises, as if someone or something were looking for a way out. Or prey. Quickly and silently, he moved to the other side of the door, giving the wooden panel a gentle push with the tip of his foot, allowing it to open fully, and positioned himself on the side of the doorway. With his field of vision clear, he swept his gaze across the west side of the room, to the archway communicating with the control room, where he soon saw his brother's silhouette. With this side, which appeared deserted, now covered by his younger brother, the eldest Winchester immediately went to press his back against one of the wide pillars supporting the vaulted ceiling. All his attention focused on the east side of the room, towards the telescope, where a hoarse murmur, covered by what sounded like wailing, rose to his ears like the sound of torn cloth. Dean glanced at Sam, but even though he had a direct view of the whole library from his vantage point, he shook his head, the furniture partially blocking his view.
Still, he could make out something at the far end of the room, to the right of the telescope: an ill-defined form stirring and whimpering, and the direction his gaze took sufficiently informed his brother of the point they should be aiming for.

Without a word, in total silence, using their perfect knowledge of each other to coordinate millimetrically, they brandished their weapons without taking their eyes off each other, counting down in their heads with total synchronicity to the moment when they simultaneously went on the attack.

And they leapt to corner the beast, ready to face any danger, whatever it might be, aiming their weapons at the pale form they found bent over an armchair, and which, as it suddenly straightened up to face them, literally petrified them with fright.
- Help him!” cried the White Suit. Save my brother!

Chapter Text

It was like an inner explosion. First, a bursting of every cell in his heart, then the painful saturation of every synapse in his brain as every image, every sound, every emotion, every pain violently resurfaced from that night in the harbor a fortnight earlier. And with insane fury competing with total repulsion, Dean stared at the god with a disfigured expression.
He'd believed his brother when he told him they weren't coming back. He'd deigned to follow him down the path of acceptance, of resignation, burying his rage deep inside, and for what? The Erotes, again, right here, and he saw the conch again, and he saw Eros again, and he saw Sam again, screaming his pain, his arm charred. The immeasurable anger that seized Dean seemed to crush his lungs, to strain every muscle in his body to the point where he winced in pain, and despite the urge he felt to empty his magazine on his enemy, to leap at his throat and bleed him dry, he refrained.
Because he knew it was useless, and also because Sam's hand, which he didn't know how long it had been firmly gripping his arm, kept him from moving.
- You again,” vomited the elder in a strangled voice, his eyes bloodshot.
- Wait,” his brother urged in an almost choked breath, sweat beading on his forehead and his gaze trained with fright on the visitor. Dean...

White Suit hadn't come alone, and that's what Sam tried to make him realize. There was something behind him, something shriveled up in the armchair and obviously trying to shield it from his own body, arms spread wide, legs slightly bent, a far cry from the haughty, phlegmatic posture they'd known him for in the Gloucester shed. Dean, despite the fury boiling through his veins, noticed the difference. And it wasn't the only one: the god's black hair, styled to perfection on their first meeting, now hung in heavy, loose strands in front of one of his eyes, while his face, so clean-skinned, was crusted with dried blood from his right ear to his chin.
The image deeply unsettled both brothers, for it was proof that it was possible to injure or even kill Erotes. They just had to know how. Dean felt his hands tingle with a kind of exaltation at seeing the intruder in such bad shape, and his pent-up thirst to make him and his brothers go for the throat immediately returned.

But, beyond the appearance of White Suit, whose stained clothes only reinforced the image of vulnerability he was projecting, beyond what his condition said or didn't say, it was the brown cloth behind him in the armchair that soon captured Dean's full attention and which Sam had already been aiming at for a few seconds with an almost horrified air. A metre behind the leg of the least ill-tempered of the gods of Love, the elder Winchester recognized a varnished shoe that was too wide, then, in its prolongation, a pair of brown pants whose rigidity seemed to be held together only by two broomsticks, and then, a little higher up, a hand, hooked, wrinkled, stunted, with skin so thin and dry that the shape of each phalanx could be guessed. For a moment, Dean thought the black-haired deity had laid down a corpse. But when his gaze reached the right height, the hunter realized the truth, and with a shudder he met the eyes of the Brown Suit, who looked down at him with a dead expression.

What could have happened to the Érote to end up in such a state? The Winchesters knew it was Pothos, the man who had touched them and plunged them into what had begun as a nightmare, but he no longer resembled the dashing, bewitchingly handsome young man they'd met in Massachusetts. He was skin and bones. Literally. He was swimming in his three-times-tall suit, had lost three-quarters of his flamboyant red hair, part of his teeth, and his eyeballs, which gleamed an icy blue as they held Sam and Dean's aghast gaze, seemed liable at any moment to roll out of their sockets. His horribly emaciated, gaunt face was nothing but bone threatening to pierce his gray, parchment-like skin, and he looked so weak that the simple act of lifting his skeletal chest to inhale clearly required extreme effort on his part.

He looked half-mummified.

- What... happened to him,” hissed Sam, mechanically enunciating his thought, flabbergasted by this frightening appearance.
Dean said nothing, but his dumbfounded expression spoke for itself. He still had his rifle pointed at White Suit, but the barrel was struggling to maintain a constant height. The latter looked at his brother, turning his head briefly towards him, and, returning to the Winchesters with a panicked expression, repeated:
- Save him! We've got to act fast, you've got to help him!
Sam's and Dean's eyes locked on him, as if he'd spoken in a language they didn't understand. The shock of the Erotes' reappearance had already been compounded by the extent of their strange injuries, and the summons to the two hunters left them petrified for a moment.
- Somebody help him!” said Dean, the first, in a whisper, his eyes wide.
His disproportionate anger regained full control and his face came alive with a murderous impulse. Then he screamed, his eyes wild:
- Somebody help him! You bastard, are you kidding us?!
He straightened his gun and aimed it between White Suit's eyes, glaring at him with all the hatred and disgust he and his kind inspired. Dean's hands were so tightly gripped that his fingers turned white, but he didn't fire. The god of love's desperate eyes were riveted on him.
- Your gesture was useless, Himeros,” breathed a dying voice that seemed to come straight from the bowels of the earth. It was obvious they would refuse, you should have stayed with our brother...
White Suit turned sharply towards his twin, who, even more dead than alive, was staring at the Winchesters with a look full of morgue. Himéros, as his brother had named him - which formally confirmed the identity of the last member of the trinity - promptly placed a knee at his bedside to tell him with a brotherly gentleness that was no stranger to the Winchesters:
- Don't speak. Preserve what little strength you have left.
Sam felt affected by the scene unfolding before his eyes. He hadn't the slightest desire to sympathize with the fate of the man who had plunged him and his brother into the torments they had known, but how many times had he himself harbored such torments for Dean? He watched Himeros' hands, warm and powerful, rest trembling on Pothos' withered fingers, and driven by a slightly confused feeling of fury and revolt, turned toward the Erotes but also toward himself and his sensibility, he suddenly spat with hostility:
- What happened? How did he end up like that?
Dean gave him a stern look, deeming his question irrelevant. It was already giving too much importance to the fate of their enemy, and that was out of the question.
- It doesn't matter,” Himéros defended himself anxiously, ”what matters is that you can help him! Fix him, that's all I ask! Heal him and we'll be on our way.
The dying look in Pothos's eyes challenged the Winchesters to make any kind of decision. Dean dreamed of seeing him dead, of delivering the coup de grâce himself, but the deity was now so weak, so miserable, that he felt he would be showing him too much interest. Perhaps the best thing to do was to let it die out, under the vain entreaties of one who would then see a part of himself disappear, and who, for some unknown reason, clearly didn't have the power to save him.
- How can we help him if you can't do anything?” Sam suddenly blurted out.
Dean gave his brother a deeply shocked look, unable to believe that his question was more than rhetorical. Himeros' hope was quite different, and he got to his feet to walk briskly towards the younger of the two men.
- Don't move!” ordered Dean, futilely threatening him with his gun. Stay where you are!
The Érote gave him a brief glance as he agreed to comply with the injunction and, coming to a halt, replied, anxiously looking into Sam's eyes:
- From the moment my brother laid a hand on you, a bond was created between us. The awakening of emotions deep within your heart is now a living force for us, powerful enough to heal it. All you have to do is touch him and he'll be saved, with no pain or consequences for you. You only have to take one step.
Hanging on the two brothers' lips, Himeros seemed to have lost all divine essence, and was now subject only to the terror and despair of ordinary mortals. Sam remained stoic, his gaze hard, and realized with astonishment that he hadn't realized it before, that the Divine Touch had given him and his brother a special value. They already knew that the Erotes drew their sustenance from feelings such as love or desire, but by so powerfully bringing out repressed emotions, it was a veritable feast, which the gods of Love must have made then. Dean, suddenly seeing things in a different light too, had a revolted sneer, and while lowering his rifle, which he let hang down his leg, he threw out with gigantic bitterness and aversion:
- It's all clear now... That's why you're sticking with us, because you need us... We're your first-aid kit, aren't we? Picnic basket? Listen to me, you son of a bitch. If you can read minds, then read these: we won't help you, you understand? We won't. We're just gonna stand here and watch your brother die!
Sam twitched and turned his head in her direction, silently objecting in part to this thoughtless promise. No one took note, however, as Dean spewed his hatred with murderous eyes at Himeros, who, enraged by this death sentence, advanced with a threatening step and growled:
- Others than me would have already bled you to death! You can't let him die, you've got to intervene!
- Oh yeah?” Dean challenged with a condescending air, cold and acid, smothered by a rage that now only expressed itself in the supreme satisfaction of seeing his enemies suffer. And why should we help him?
Himéros' blue eyes became two molten suns. His chest swelled with fury, while his fists seemed to become two clubs ready to fall. And with heavenly anger, he shouted, indignant beyond words:
- My brother saved your brother!

That was a fact. Whatever his reasons, Eros, through his intervention, had saved Sam from death right here, a few yards away. And even Dean's immeasurable ire couldn't prevent him from seeing his younger brother burning in his arms. Sam, fists and lips clenched, didn't need reminding to recall the touch of the Erote's hand on his charred arm; and as Himeros, panting, aimed at both of them in the mad hope of having bent their position, Pothos's voice, even weaker than before, was heard.
- Stop begging... You're wasting precious time. Leave me here and go find our brother, while there's still time...
White Suit turned back to him and gave him a look of outrage, terror and love. He gritted his teeth, as if in the grip of an inner struggle, and if his faith seemed to waver for a moment, it only grew stronger as he proclaimed:
- No. No, I refuse. I won't leave you to die, do you hear me?
The eyes of Pothos, who didn't have the strength to answer, remained fixed on him, but they were now so white they could no longer see. Himeros swallowed his tears of anger and sadness, and faced the Winchesters again. Ready to do anything not to see his twin die.
- Please, Winchester,” he pleaded. I can't force you, your gesture must be consensual. I'm asking you... an act of compassion, an act of love... Who, more than you, knows what it means to lose a brother? Save him. Save my brother and I'll do whatever you want.

The Erote's words hit home. At least for a second, even if Sam and Dean tried with varying degrees of conviction to close themselves off from them. The younger turned wavering eyes to the elder, but Dean refused to heed his hesitation. His implacable gaze never wavered from Himéros, whose distress, he decided, was perhaps the perfect opportunity to take advantage of the situation and finally exact his revenge.
- Dean..., Sam whispered in an attempt to make him reconsider.
The torpid look the first-born gave his brother shut him up. For a long moment, Dean remained shadowy, taciturn, abusing the psychological torture he was inflicting on a god, he, the mere mortal who for days hadn't stopped trying to find a way to get his revenge. He didn't know to whom or to what he owed this blow of fate, this windfall, but this turn of events had the taste of mead and he finally chose to play his card.
- Anything we say, eh?
- I give you my word,” swore Himeros, holding his breath. Has a god ever made you such an offer?
Dean's only answer was a sharp look.
- Where's the third one?” he asked.
- It doesn't matter,” replied Himeros, trying to soften the anguish in his voice that precious seconds were still slipping away. Neither he nor we are a threat to you. Just know that it's thanks to Eros that we're standing in front of you right now, and that I don't intend to waste the opportunity he's given us. We're running out of time. Do we have a deal?
Sam looked worriedly at Dean. Unable to say precisely which of the two had taken the other's bait, but sure that his brother was about to play a dangerous game. The elder Winchester let the suspense linger a moment longer, and then, pushing what he saw as a likely advantage, he hardened his tone.
- If you want our help, you're going to have to stretch out the change, angel. Give me the means to handcuff you and maybe we can talk.
- Dean,” Sam warned fearfully.
- You stay out of this, Sam,” he snapped, ”I'll do the negotiating.
The youngest of the siblings swallowed his bile, but not without casting an alarmed glance at his brother, who ostensibly decided to ignore it. Dean's eyes went back to Himéros, who seemed ulcerated, and he said curtly:
- Well?
- You leave me no choice,” gave in the Erote.
Pothos, growing weaker and no longer able to speak, could only utter a languid complaint, the meaning of which was clearly understood by his double. But he in turn ignored the brotherly warning.
- Draw a circle of myrrh and rock salt and sprinkle it with our blood,” he revealed, despite the cost. That way we won't be able to cross its boundaries. Your dagger.
He held out his hand to Dean, but the latter didn't move. In a stony silence, he gauged Himeros for a long moment, without the deity lowering either his eyes or his arm, then consulted Sam out of the corner of his eye, seeming now to demand his opinion, which he gave only by bowing his head gravely in a sign of imperious caution. Then Dean made up his mind.
- Not here,” he imposed. If you want us to try, you'll come with us.
- We don't have time for your fantasies!” raged White Suit.
- You'll do as I say, or you'll forget all about our help! Pick up your brother, but don't try any tricks, or I won't hesitate to put him out of his misery, and in his condition I don't think it'll take much effort.
He glared murderously at his opponent for another second, then turned around and headed for the other side of the library, leaving Sam helplessly standing between them. The latter had no choice but to comply with his brother's plan, at least to try and prevent his obsession with revenge from derailing a situation whose dangerousness he felt he was the only one to realize, and as he met Himeros' gaze, he had the sensation of being watched by a wild beast on a leash.
- Follow us,” said Sam, staring at him briefly and seriously. The compounds you mentioned aren't here.

Sam could hardly believe his eyes as he watched Himeros walk away, his brother in his arms. The Winchesters let him walk ahead, and as Pothos passed them they realized the true seriousness of his condition. He was no more than the undead, a bone doll held together by wires, and the contrast with his once perfect copy, full of vigor, health and strength, was striking. Dark and worried, the two hunters wondered what could have caused such havoc.
It was to the dungeon that Dean pushed their forced guests. The dark room that served as his cell, armored with all kinds of protection and concealed behind heavy archival cabinets, had been used as a gaol by many an enemy - including himself, once upon a time. Did the eldest Winchester hope to increase his chances of hindering the gods of Love, or did the fact that this room housed a large number of magical ingredients explain his choice? Walking a meter behind Himéros, never taking his eyes off her haughty back, his heart was pounding, aware that he was trying to tame a force that could sweep him away, but the die was cast now.
- Dean,” Sam whispered to him in a most anxious voice as they made their way up the corridor towards their destination. What exactly is on your mind? Please don't do anything. They're on the run, we're walking on eggshells.
- Don't worry,” scolded Dean, who was pointing his rifle at Pothos's withered skull above his brother's elbow. We'll soon see if they're trying to do it backwards.
Then, moments later, as they reached the entrance to the dungeon, he called out loudly:
- Stop, don't move. This is the end of the line.
With a nod, he ordered his brother to clear the way and, once the doors were open, he entered the cell's antechamber to unlock the cupboards still blocking access. With a metallic clang, Himéros saw the brick-and-stone-walled prison gradually revealed, and the image of the seat bolted to the middle of the pentagram on the floor, beneath the funnel-shaped sconces that illuminated it with a cold light, repulsed him. He gave Sam a look both wary and resigned that disturbed him.
- Move on,” ordered Dean.
With no other choice within his grasp, White Suit entered and, under the diaphanous light falling from the ceiling, laid Pothos on the seat, striving to preserve as much dignity as possible. Dean was already busy in front of the shelves looking for myrrh and salt, and persisting in staring at Sam, who had remained near the cell's threshold, Himéros held out his hand again.
- Your blade,” he said.
Sam had such a sensation of playing with fire that he could smell the acrid odor of his own sweat. They'd forced the two gods to give in to their demands, but now what? If the trap worked, if the Erotes honored their word, what would they do next?
The younger Winchester unbuckled his machete from his belt and, pointing it at the god of Love, held it out to him.

- A circle, eh? Dean repeated as he entered the room with two jars under his arm.
He entrusted his rifle to Sam, who had no choice but to point it at Himeros, and under the latter's stoic eyes began to pour the contents of the two jars all around the seat and the two prisoners. Without waiting for an order, White Suit brandished his machete, Sam pointing his rifle at Pothos as a warning, and the deity slashed his hand deeply, letting his blood soak the powders on the floor.
A strange crackling sound was heard, followed by a vivid coloring of the substances that seemed for a moment to take on the glow of molten lava, and to prove that he hadn't lied, Himeros held the machete out in front of him until his hand, once above the line drawn on the ground, came up against a previously invisible opaque barrier that began to smoke his fingertips as the weapon fell heavily to the ground.
- I've kept my word,” he proclaimed, looking sharply into the brothers' eyes. Now it's your turn to save him.
The trap, to their astonishment, seemed to work, the ball was in their court, but the Winchesters took no satisfaction in it. While Sam had no idea what Dean really intended to do, while he didn't know what he was going to do himself, the moment to decide had come. At that moment, they had two choices: touch Pothos and help him regenerate, as Himeros had prophesied, thus strengthening the power of the gods of Love. Or let the one who had played with them die by playing with him in turn, thus eliminating part of the threat against which they had so far found no defence, and taking advantage of Himeros' apparent neutralization to escape his wrath. Even if they didn't know how much the barrier of salt and blood could protect them from his fury if they didn't reach out. Even if Eros was free. Frightened by his own thought, Sam almost took a step forward to respond to the request, then thought better of it, lest he make a fatal mistake. Yet he couldn't completely convince himself that the Erotes were such a danger that he had to exterminate them at all costs, and the resentment he harbored towards them didn't erase the debt, which he would have liked to find absurd, that was his following his rescue by Eros. He hesitated. For a blink of an eye that seemed to last a lifetime.
And then he was startled when White Suit's voice rang out fiercely:
- What are you waiting for, Winchester? My brother's about to die, we had a deal!
Sam feverishly glanced at Dean, who didn't flinch. And he understood what the Érote, despite his clairvoyance, hadn't known or wanted to see: his brother wouldn't lift a finger. A cold chill ran down Dean's spine, for Dean's thirst for vengeance was about to make him commit a suicidal act. He approached him, wordlessly, staring at him with an intense gaze designed to make him realize his folly, but he was ignored. Dean continued to stoically gaze at Himeros, indifferent to the panic and indignation that agitated him, and dared to go even further by suddenly demanding :
- There's no hurry, we've only just started talking. You've told us how to put the chain on your leg, that's fine. That's a start, if you're not trying to trick us. Now I want to know how to cut your head off.
Sam's heart missed a beat, his hair stood up on end and, with the air trapped in his lungs for a moment, he was convinced that his brother had gone mad. Opposite him, Himeros' anger was no longer controllable. His features turned to pure promise of death, his fists came down in vain on the barrier to bake there for a long moment - all the time, in fact, that he belched out with fury:
- How dare you defy me like this, we had a deal! You'll be sorry, is that the honor of the Winchesters?
He seemed equal to the threat. Dean didn't move, and Sam, terrified, tried to bring his brother to his senses.
- Dean. Dean, please think about this. This is going to backfire if you keep this up, you're going way too far.
- I said if I had a way of neutralizing them, we could talk,” he reminded his brother, aiming at Sam out of the corner of his eye.
And, once again turning his implacable gaze on Himéros, he finished:
- So, let's talk.

The Erote was foaming with terrible rage. He had stooped to place his fate and that of his brother in the hands of mortals, had shown his weakness and given in to their demands, had gone so far as to clip his own wings in the pathetic hope of securing their support, and had reaped nothing but humiliation. This was too much. Dean would prevent him from saving his brother, for he hated them deeply, it was now obvious, and even at the cost of Pothos's salvation, his twin swore he wouldn't submit any more.
- You'll get nothing more out of me, Winchester. I was foolish to think you could forget your grudge, but I'll make you regret it. Love God or not, if my brother dies I'll make you pay dearly for your perfidy.
The threat seemed to wash over Dean like rainwater on glass. He didn't seem to care about anything that might come of his foolish choices as long as he retained the upper hand over his enemies, and Sam was horrified.
- That's enough, Dean!” he shouted, his eyes bulging. Have you gone completely mad? Have you forgotten who you're dealing with?
- Are you losing your nerve, Sammy? he retorted with a phlegm that seemed genuine, without taking his eyes off Himeros. He's desperate, he can't afford to refuse.
White Suit choked with anger, but more importantly, he blushed with terror as he realized that Pothos was lost. He let out a cry of despair that sent a chill down Sam's spine.
- I'm not buying it,” Sam spat. You're not thinking straight, and I'm not going to let you go to your doom and mine too.
Dean looked at him sharply, and saw him already taking a step towards the circle of blood.
- Sam?” growled his brother. What the hell are you doing?
- Saving us from your delirium,” he growled, clenching his fists with all his might. You leave us no other option.
He advanced towards the Erotes, and Dean, who could hardly believe his eyes, ordered him to stay where he was.
- Don't you dare take another step, Sam! We don't budge until we get an answer, you dig?!
The younger Winchester glanced over his shoulder at his elder brother. Dean knew then that Sam wouldn't obey him, and saw him off again to the gods.
- I told you not to move!” he shouted, rushing towards him.
He caught up with him in two strides and grabbed him violently by the collar, forcing him back against the wall, which he bumped roughly against.
- The only answer you're going to get is us, six feet under!” retorted Sam, yanking himself from his restraint. Have you gone completely insane or blind?!
- I won't tell you again,” threatened Dean, stepping back half a step to point an evil finger at him. Stay where you are!
Sam refused. With an unyielding expression, he defied the injunction and tried to advance towards Pothos. Dean stepped in, grabbing his brother's shoulder with astonishing strength and forcing him to turn around, before delivering a ferocious punch. Struck on the jaw, Sam was sent crashing to the mat, and Dean made the mistake of moving closer in anticipation of another attack. But it didn't come from him, it came from Sam: before Dean could grab hold of him again, and taking advantage of his greater reach, the youngest, still on the ground, delivered a powerful kick to his brother's stomach, sending him flying two meters backwards. He slammed his back hard against the ground, and when he stood up it was to see, horrified, Sam crossing the boundary of the magic circle. He shrieked in horror, fearing more than anything that Himeros would come after him, but the god only stepped back, leaving Sam all the room in front of his twin, who already looked dead.
Sam, then, acted on instinct, as his intuition commanded, and without hesitation, without even thinking of the consequences of his actions, for himself or for the unfolding of future events, he laid his hand on the gaunt skull of Pothos.

Chapter Text

Dean, who had retreated to the cell entrance, watched his brother slowly make his way back towards him. Sam looked haggard and, with a heavy step, had just left the circle, leaving the Erotes, now both motionless and silent. The paralyzed Winchester first-born was literally suffocating in terror at the deleterious effects his younger brother's gesture had had on him, and when he was within reach he grabbed him by the collar, dragged him out of the dungeon and slammed him against the corridor wall.
- What's the matter with you, throwing yourself into the lion's den, are you crazy?!
Dean glared at him, but it was the fear Sam had instilled in him that made his pupils sparkle. He quickly began to scrutinize his brother's eyes and face, going so far as to feel his cheek and shoulder, as if to ensure his physical integrity, but Sam seemed fine, apart from the bruise on his chin. Furious, the latter braved his brother with a hard look and, violently forcing him to let go, retorted fiercely:
- You dare ask me that? After what you almost did?
Dean's gaze flared up again, and more or less reassured about Sam's condition he spat:
- And what did I almost cause, eh? We had them, it was now or never to make them spill the beans! And instead, you couldn't help obeying their orders like a docile lapdog!
- You're a moron, Dean! That's all you are! What was your plan? Force him to tell you how to kill him and then... what? Run a test on him to see if he was telling the truth?
- He was stuck, Sam,” Dean growled through clenched teeth. He was willing to do anything to save his brother. If you'd let me push him a little more, we'd have had what we wanted, damn it!
- What you wanted! From the start, your only obsession has been to make them pay for what they did to us, blinding you to the point where you don't even realize the risks you're taking, damn it! Eros is out there, what do you think would have happened if I'd let you go through with your delusion, that he'd found one of his brothers locked up and the other one dead!
- Because you've done better, genius?” exclaimed Dean. If that son of a bitch reloads and his brother shows up, we'll have three on our hands instead of one! You think you did us a favor?!
- You couldn't count on me to let you run off and commit suicide! defended Sam without wavering. I made the right decision, and if you can't see it, you're out of your mind!
- The best decision, yeah,” he denigrated with bitterness and anger. To side with them rather than help me make them pay the bill? But it's true that from the start, you've had a lot less trouble swallowing the pill than I have!
- And you should be happy about that,” said Sam, choosing to ignore the hurt caused by his elder's unfair and gratuitous attack. At least I didn't act like the last of the morons. It'll do us good to be avenged once we're dead!
With bitterness and contempt, he turned away from Dean, leaving him to brood behind his back. Sam remembered all too well the resolution his brother had taken, a few days earlier on the shores of Waconda Lake, and he felt as sad as he was depressed to see that it had now been completely forgotten. Everything had changed in a fraction of a second; a heavy, suffocating silence fell over them like a leaden screed, without the slightest sound escaping from the dungeon, and Dean, who began to think that the Erotes were perhaps not the only ones to find themselves trapped, finally said in a less virulent tone:
- Look... There's no point in arguing. I did what I did, you did what you did, now let's get on with it. Any ideas?
Sam sensed a hint of remorse in his brother's voice, but he didn't feel the need to dwell on their feelings. They had subjugated two gods, fettered them and tried to extract the secret of their vulnerability, and the youngest of the siblings considered that they were on the ropes. All he could do now was hope that having entered the circle of his own free will to try and heal Pothos, the fury of their prisoners would be mitigated.
- I don't know,” he said icily. I just know we're in trouble, that's all. Too often you've tended to punch first, but this time you've outdone yourself. You keep treating them like they want to slit our throats when they could have done it the first second and saved my ass.... It doesn't make sense.
- They saved your ass so you'd keep feeding them!” said Dean in outrage. That's what we are to them: cattle!
- In spite of that, I'm still alive because they wanted me to be! pleaded Sam vehemently, turning back to him. We played with fire with the artifact, literally. Do you think I'm so useful that they can't survive without me?
Dean, his eyes slanted, didn't answer immediately. He was forced to admit, without actually saying it, that whatever interest the Erotes might have had, rescuing Sam must certainly not have been a matter of life and death for them. And the fact that he still blamed himself for having almost caused his brother's loss at the time prompted him to be more measured.
- So what,” he retorted, ”what difference does it make? What did you think, Sam? That I'd stop thinking of them as fucking monsters to be killed?
- You were ready to!” insisted Sam, who was pained to see his brother deny that moment when, for their greater good, he had agreed to start turning the page. You said... that persisting in wanting revenge was pointless!
- Nah, nah,” countered Dean, wagging an angry finger in front of his brother's nose, ”don't mix it up, okay? Resigning myself to giving up the hunt when I thought they'd slipped through our fingers and we no longer had the slightest card in our hand has nothing to do with what I think of them! If you really thought I'd change my mind about them, you don't know me at all!
Sam could see he was completely blinded by anger. More than anger, it was the eternal grudge he held against the Triad, the irrational hatred he felt towards them, but perhaps also fear. Fear that he'd gone so far that he couldn't see himself going back, and that consequently, the only choice left to him was to flee forward.
And that alone made his brother's blood run cold.
- Can you hear yourself?” he said desperately, stepping back towards him. You're still raving, don't you get it? You've got to stop!
- I'll stop when they tell me what I want to know,” growled Dean with burning eyes. It's not when the fish is hooked that you put the rod down.
Sam, frothing with inner exasperation and terror, almost threw his fist in his brother's face in the hope of setting him straight. Instead, he shot him a murderous look distorted by fury and vomited:
- You're not going back in there. Do you understand me? I'm not kidding, Dean, I won't let you go near them. If you really want to die, take the car and smash yourself against a wall!
- Since when did you become such a fucking pussy? he retorted, aiming at him with contempt. Look at you, you're shitting your pants! If you're right and they don't intend to kill us, what do you care if I go back and pick their brains, eh? At this point, what have we got to lose?
Sam wanted to scream. To hurl insults at him, to bang his head against the wall until he realized the aberration of his reasoning, which in his eyes was no reason at all. Sam couldn't believe that, even if he had declared war on the Erotes by locking them up and refusing them his help, Dean was resolutely ready to fight gods to the bitter end, and getting close enough to blow his rage in his face, Sam inveighed:
- When did you become such a jerk? Some days I can't believe you're my brother!
- Oh, I'm sorry I can't keep up with you, Einstein,” he retorted. Go study, or say your prayers, if that's all you've got the guts to do! I'm going to finish what I've started!
-No!” shouted Sam.
He violently grabbed Dean's shoulder as he threatened to go back into the dungeon, but Dean reacted immediately by pulling away before pushing his younger brother back fiercely.
- Watch out, Sammy,” he threatened with flames in his eyes. I won't hesitate to leave you in the lurch if you don't let go, so watch out!
- And I'm telling you again, you're not going anywhere!” thundered the eldest, adamant. You stay away from them, you shun them like the plague! I swear on Mom's life that if I have to break both your legs to do it, I'll do it!
Without any outward sign, Dean wavered, unsettled by his brother's fierce determination, which he sensed at that moment would not waver. It didn't last more than a second or two, but he had the unsettling sensation of coming face to face with John again, and this sudden memory of their father made him doubt enough to question then:
- And what's your plan, wise guy? Lock the door and forget about them?
- My plan is to try and avoid a catastrophe, if it's not too late already,” Sam persisted belligerently. I'm the one who's going back. And watch out if I see you show up.
Dean didn't object. He stared at his brother for a long time, but didn't oppose his decision, despite all the bad things he thought about it. Sam's intention was to try and smooth things over in order to preserve the status quo, Dean understood this perfectly, and although he didn't lose sight of his own objective, he agreed to let go, Sam's proposal serving his immediate purposes while he suddenly decided to change his tune.
- Okay, if you want me out of the way so badly, I'll leave you two alone. For the time being. As long as you keep your distance. But don't think I'm done with them, it's just a setback, Sam.
The younger of the two brothers was favored with a final murderous glance, and then the elder planted him there, walking away up the corridor towards the control room. For giving in so suddenly and leaving him in charge of the Erotes, Sam knew at once that Dean had something up his sleeve.
- May I ask where you're going?” he asked, his voice already resigned.
- What's it to you?” bit his brother dryly, already far away. I'm out of here, that's all you care about, isn't it?
Sam felt a taste of bile rising in his mouth. He hoped with all his heart that Dean would come to his senses, but did everything he could to ignore for the moment the anxiety that seized him by the throat.

He had more urgent things to do.

Sam returned to the dungeon. He entered the antechamber at a snail's pace, his gaze directly eight meters ahead, straight to the armchair in the center of the bunker's most secure room, and he saw at once that Pothos was no longer there. The brown suit was on the floor, in the arms of Himéros, sitting on the ground, leaning against one leg of the chair. Unmoving. The tip of a shoe at the very edge of the mystical circle that always seemed to confine them. His heartbeat racing, Sam advanced to the threshold of the cell, and taking care not to go any further, he took a long, hard look at the two brothers.
All he could see was Pothos' back, his bare skull resting on Himeros' shoulder, which, in profile, showed his bloody ear.
- How's he doing?” asked Sam in a voice so deep it was unrecognizable. Did it work?
Her question seemed to elicit no reaction. Himeros continued to hold his twin like a sick child, and Pothos was clearly not even conscious. Sam feared that his gesture, coming too late because of Dean, had been for nothing; that White Suit had slumped to the ground in despair, supporting nothing more than a corpse. Then, the youngest Winchester saw the hand of the god of Love move slowly down the back of his red-haired clone, which was now a mere remnant of his former splendor, before, turning his gaze slightly in his direction, he uttered in a voice that was now soothed, almost gentle:
- Yes. It worked. He's safe now. Thanks to you, Sam Winchester.
Sam felt a strange sensation, an unwelcome mixture of relief and emotion that gave him back a foolish hope as much as it increased his uncertainty. Looking glum, he nodded vaguely, without even trying to determine the meaning of Himeros' statement: unexpected recognition or simple factual observation. He couldn't get it out of his head that Pothos was out of danger, on the road to recovery, and Dean's words echoed in his head as he suddenly began to doubt whether he'd done the right thing.
- What's going to happen now? he asked gravely, determined to face all the consequences of his and Dean's actions.
He could swear he saw the corner of Himeros' lips stretch into a thin sneer.
- That's a very strange question,” he remarked tartly. I've locked myself behind this line, and it's going to be very difficult for me to get out on my own. Right now, it's up to you and your brother to tell me where we're going...
Sam said nothing. Himeros, with no anger in his voice, finally asserted:
- I have no intention of harming him, and even less of harming you, if that's what you're worried about. We have more important things to do. When my brother is well again, we'll leave. We're not here for anything else.
Looking grave and solemn, brow furrowed with deep worry lines, Sam wanted to believe the Érote was telling the truth. He saw no factual reason to lend her any other intentions, and settled for her word despite his deep reservations.
- Is there anything I can... do?” he offered taciturnly. Help you with your wounds, or... bring you some water?
Sam had the feeling that his proposal was so incongruous that he blushed, all the more so as Himéros' gaze, which rested on him for a moment, denoted frank surprise.
- It's no use,” the latter soon replied, turning his attention back to Pothos, still inert in his arms. What I need is a bath, but I don't see any bathtubs here, so...
The hunter took note without saying a word. He remained like that for a moment, neither speaking nor moving, then turned and left, the deity's puzzled gaze upon him. White Suit found himself alone with his brother, but their condition didn't seem to worry him. With a watchful eye, he monitored every sign of Pothos's recovery and felt his life slowly returning to normal. The Brown Suit's skin was slowly thickening as it took on a warmer hue, a down of hair as fine as a newborn's was gradually filling out his plucked head, and Himéros was looking forward to seeing his brother once again filling out his clothes, which were still far too large.
In his attentions, he didn't notice Sam's return until the young man entered the cell. He crossed the threshold with no apparent intention of keeping a reasonable distance this time, and with a puzzled look Himeros saw him approaching the mystical circle with an oblong object tucked under his arm. Without speaking or glancing at the prisoners, Sam, staying outside the line, positioned himself on the side of the seat opposite the one against which the Erote was leaning and, placing a knee on the ground, set up an old cloth mattress inside the prison, leaving Himéros speechless.
- Put him on that,” said Sam dully. I'm sure he'll be more comfortable than on the seat or on the floor.
He turned his back and took two steps away, observing the gods out of the corner of his eye. Himeros, who followed him over his shoulder in disbelief, carefully let go of his brother and stood up after a few seconds:
- I'm amazed at your concern... To what do we owe this mark of attention? Are you trying to soften us up, lest we make you pay for the conditions you've imposed on us in exchange for your assistance?
Sam couldn't help but let out a bitter chuckle as Himeros' condescension resurfaced. Leaning back against the brick wall to face him, the chair sealed in the middle of the room between them, he delivered without concession:
- Absolutely not. I believe you when you say it's not your intention. But what would be the point of letting your brother sleep on the hard, like a dog, apart from fostering animosity and mistrust between us? Take this as a gesture of goodwill, neither you nor we have any interest in going to war.
Himeros raised his eyebrows fractionally, as if in assent. With slow movements, he bent over Pothos' starved body and took him in his arms, laying him on the bed:
- That doesn't seem to be your brother's opinion...
He carefully placed his brother's legs and arms, making sure he rested as comfortably as possible, while Sam bitterly retorted:
- He didn't really appreciate the... gift you gave us before you slipped away.
- Neither did you,” the Érote estimated, straightening up to give him a straight face. Although... you've changed your mind a bit since then, haven't you?
Sam stiffened and hardened his gaze, refusing to answer. But Himéros, perhaps in gratitude for his good intentions, didn't push him any further.
- I understand,” he confessed, almost humbly. It wasn't out of the goodness of his heart that Pothos touched you that night, I won't pretend otherwise. It was in response to your insistence on pursuing us that he did so. Because he knew you'd have other things to worry about than tracking us down, and because, at least for a while, you'd suffer as a result.
Sam bit his lip, trying to contain his anger at this admission, and snarled with a fierce look:
- A reaction worthy of a god of Love, eh? All you had to do was leave, why did you do this to us?
- Love has more than one face, Sam Winchester,” Himeros explained, looking at his brother, so weak and vulnerable, lying at his feet. Pothos is Desire, unreasoning Passion, Instinct. I doubt it's any consolation to you, but Eros and I would have preferred it if he'd abstained. As you said, a war between us would serve no one, and that's not what we're looking for. But it's done, now your hearts are open. And there's nothing we can do about it.
- I don't care about your apology, if that's what it is,” spat Sam, lifting his back from the wall to come within two meters. If we came after you, it's for a good reason, because say what you like, but for gods of Love, you've done a hell of a lot of damage.
Himéros held Sam's accusing gaze without blinking, and the two stared at each other coldly for a long moment. White Suit then crossed his hands over his lower abdomen, and said:
- I regret it. We sometimes lacked discernment in choosing which of your kind we touched, but the urgency of the situation demanded it.
Sam frowned.
- The urgency of the situation? What situation?
Himeros clearly closed up. He turned away and, taking a step around the seat bolted to the middle of the pentagram, retorted:
- That's of no concern to you. I came here to rescue my brother, nothing else. Again, I thank you, because to be honest, I didn't think you'd agree to help him, especially after what Eros told us about your interview.
- I only paid my debt to your brother,” Sam defended himself. I haven't forgotten that he saved my life, even if it all started with you.
- That's a point of view,” he returned, obviously muzzling his innermost thought.
- No, it's a fact,” Sam countered. If you hadn't gone after all those people who lost their minds, if you'd saved us all the trouble, you and your brother wouldn't be trapped in this room right now.
The intense look Himeros gave him once again gave Sam the impression that he was deliberately holding back. The deity didn't take kindly to being challenged, and with a pointed eye warned:
- We are shackled, it's true... But it would be imprudent to believe that we'll remain locked up here indefinitely. Your brother demanded that we be chained, and I kept my end of the bargain.
- And I kept ours.
- That's right, you did. So, I ask you again: where are we going? You're no fool, Sam Winchester, I know you don't seriously think I have no way of freeing myself, if I really want to.
- Well, go ahead and try,” challenged Sam. Use the mattress or the chair to open the circle, break the floor, do whatever you want, I can't stop you.
Himeros regarded him with interest, without saying a word. He seemed to like Sam.
- But something tells me you're not in such a hurry to leave,” continued the latter with a sharp look. You knew how you'd be received, and yet it's us you've come to for help; why?
- I've already answered that question,” said the Erote evenly.
- You said we've been linked ever since he did that... that thing to us. Okay. But so what? We're not the only ones you've touched, why did you come to us, why did you go to the only people who know who you are and who promised to block your way?
Himéros clenched his jaws, the infinite blue of his eyes penetrating Sam to the very soul. He parted his lips, then suddenly paused, his gaze sliding surreptitiously towards the entrance to the dungeon.
- A bond has been created between us,” he confirmed shortly afterwards, ”indeed. It was thanks to him that we sensed your distress and that my brother Eros was able to save you. But it was Pothos who touched you, so it's with him that the bond is closest.
Sam tried to grasp the precise meaning of the White Suit's words, and to be sure he asked him:
- You mean... he's the one... all those emotions he brought up have the most effect on?
- In more ways than one. Because your contact with him is so recent, it's still very powerful, especially if you're physically close to him. Usually, the mere existence of this link is enough to sustain us, but here... His condition was so serious that your direct assistance was indispensable.
- Why us?” repeated Sam with tight lips. You can't expect me to believe that your brother didn't touch anyone else after us.
- Since you want to know everything, I could tell you that I was guided by the residual force of the spire, that relic you so carelessly laid your hand on, and which still so permeates these walls that they shine across distances as brightly as a full moon. Or I could mention the ancestral protections that line your lair and of which you obviously know almost nothing; it hasn't escaped your notice that we've suffered a serious setback, has it?
Sam, frowning, rephrased with amazement:
- If I understand correctly, you're here... to hide?
Himeros gave a silent sigh and a bitter look.
- Apart from the fact that, thanks to the power of the relic that passed through here, reaching this place was the easiest in the hurry, it's also one of the safest for us, at the moment. True enough. But that's not the main reason we're here. It lies in the strength of the feelings that animate your heart and that of your brother, feelings of such intensity that they far surpass those of the other mortals whose paths we have crossed.
Sam felt the hairs on his arms bristle. The Érote's gaze plunged into his like two arrows into a target, and he began to sweat.
- I don't understand,” he said.
- I think you understand perfectly, on the contrary. We've rarely known what you feel for each other. Your bonds go far beyond the ties of blood or any other form of attachment, perhaps you're not fully aware of it yourselves, but they're astonishingly powerful, and the more you accept their nature, the more they constitute a precious resource for us, whose radiance we capture even at considerable distances.
He cast a protective glance at Pothos and concluded:
- In the state my brother was in... you were certainly the only ones with enough power to save him. That's why I brought him to you in the first place.

Sam hadn't expected this analysis, this appreciation of the feelings he shared with Dean, and it upset him. Upset, because the fact that their deepest intimacy obviously held no secrets for the Erotes, who had perhaps even gone so far as to penetrate all its mysteries before themselves, gave him the impression of having been laid bare against his will, almost psychologically violated by these beings, of whom they were indeed the last to whom he conceded a right of scrutiny over his existence. But at the same time, Himeros' words warmed his heart, for if the flame burning within him for Dean was perceptible, it was real, tangible, and he was right to believe in it so strongly. The god of Love had spoken of reciprocity... To hear from those who knew him best that his brother harbored the same feelings, even if he no longer really doubted it, was for Sam a keen delight, and invigorated by this conviction he chose to keep silent he soon asked, for the third time:
- Are you ever going to tell me what happened to him? What were you fighting? Another god?
Himeros' desire to conceal the truth seemed less strong. Still giving his brother a vague look, he hesitated for a moment, before announcing:
- No. Not a god.
Sam didn't know whether to be pleased or worried. A war between gods was likely to cause its share of collateral damage, but there was no guarantee that the threat was not even more serious.
- There are other forces,” continued White Suit, as if he'd caught her drift. And you know it. Primordial forces, older and more dangerous than us. Forces that lie dormant for infinite periods of time and then suddenly, through the right circumstances, wake up. Hungry.
A shiver ran down Sam's spine, bringing back bad memories.
- What kind of forces?” he asked nervously after a moment. Like the Void? The Darkness? Is that a threat to us?
Himéros responded with a surreptitious glance. A serious look.
- It's the gods he's after,” he revealed with a dark look. Their essence. That's what he's after, to feed off them and increase his power.
Sam, with a lump in his stomach, was beginning to understand what he was talking about, but there were far more questions than answers in the Erote's terse words. At least the hunter understood how Pothos had become so hollowed out. Literally. And it sent a chill down his spine.
- What's this “it”?” he asked feverishly.
- It's a hostile entity that will never stop hunting us and our kind,” asserted the god of Love in a gloomy voice. He makes us his prey, and as you saw, it was only a matter of time before he devoured us. If Eros hadn't managed to intervene...
He paused, realizing that he had just verbalized a thought he would have liked to keep quiet. Sam could feel his anguish growing towards this mysterious entity, but Himéros seemed reluctant to give him all the details, which he was already looking for the best way to obtain.
- Your brother, Eros... Is he...
- No, he isn't. If he'd perished, I'd know. He escaped, that's for sure. Fortunately, we still have a few safe places to take refuge.
- Is he going to come here too?” asked Sam with a touch of mistrust and apprehension.
Himéros took his time with his answer. He turned his gaze to the entrance of the dungeon, which he stared at for a long moment, then only then did he deliver, laying cold eyes on Sam with his back straight:
- You mean Eros? I don't know. It's possible... I sense you're worried, what's going on? Are you afraid of his reaction when he sees how we've been received, despite what he's done for you?
Sam felt like biting, but the sense of insecurity he felt at the situation made him limit himself to an unfriendly grimace.
- I've already told you we're not afraid of you. Stop acting so tough, will you? You're not credible, especially now.
Then, with a stern look, he clarified:
- What you've started to tell me worries me a lot more than you do.
White Suit watched him for a second, then lowered his eyes, abandoning the haughty air he'd displayed a few seconds earlier.
- You're doing the right thing,” he said in a more peaceful tone. Even if this thing isn't interested in men, who can predict what would happen to the face of the world if we all disappeared?
He looked up, obviously catching a fleeting but clear thought that made him smile sadly.
- You're convinced you'd be better off, I know... Things aren't that simple, our interdependence is deeper than you think. The gods aren't always benevolent, that's a fact, but... just like you. And just like you, we do what we have to do to survive.

Sam stared at Himeros for a long time, his gaze hard and opaque. Aware that the Trinity's actions, though brutal and destructive, had never been fundamentally hostile towards them, the hunter felt more like an ant manipulated by fingers too big to realize the wounds they were causing. He had no confidence in the Erotes, but still felt that trying to calm the situation was the least bad thing he could do, especially if a threat was looming on the horizon whose outlines he could not yet clearly perceive. For the time being, ensuring his own and his brother's safety, on all fronts, and understanding the nature of the peril facing the Erotes and their kind, was his most pressing concern.
But one thing at least was suddenly clear to him.
- This is the lack of discernment you were talking about earlier,” he breathed, his eyes crinkling.
With a pointed glance at Himéros, he sketched a bitter rictus and elaborated:
- Yes, I understand now... This epidemic of crazy cases, the fact that all of a sudden you're leaving so many traces behind, that you're suddenly coming out into the open when you always seemed to stay under the radar... You've moved up a gear, haven't you? Threatened by this... this force that feeds on you, you sought to increase your power to face it... And so you... How do you say? Opened the hearts of everyone you could. To feed yourselves on the feelings you unearthed there. That's the end of the story, isn't it?
Having been found out, without necessarily having wanted not to be, Himeros stared at Sam for a moment. Then he looked away, lips pursed, moving two steps back to the front of the seat.
- Considering what we are, we take no pride in having rushed your kind,” he confessed. But we did it. On purpose. Thinking it would ensure our survival. Which, in the end... was for nothing.
He fell silent. And slowly, as if crushed by fatigue, he let himself fall back into the armchair, sitting down heavily with a long sigh, his brother stretched out behind him. Sam looked at him for a long moment, torn between anger and pity, but all he perceived in him was dismay and helplessness, the fear of disappearing and losing those he loved. Such human feelings he had experienced so often himself. He was angry at himself for empathizing with White Suit, but whether he wanted to or not, the love that, godlike as they were, the three brothers had for each other touched him. Sam clenched his fists, clenched his jaws, and with a nervous step walked to the edge of the circle to erase a whole piece of it with the tip of his foot.
- The door we passed earlier,” Sam explained in response to the divinity's questioning gaze. That's the infirmary. If you want to take your brother there until he's healed, go ahead. Then get the hell out.
Himeros took a long, cautious look at him. Without rising, he replied:
- Are you quite sure of yourself? Your brother hasn't...
- I'll take care of my brother,” cut in the younger Winchester curtly. You take care of yours.

Sam then turned on his heels, leaving the Erotes free to move about and make whatever decision they wished. He left the dungeon, walking straight out of the room, already thinking only of the Dean he would have to face... without realizing that, hidden in the shadows of the heavy articulated shelves that barricaded the cell, his elder, with his murderous gaze, was there, as silent as invisible, and that he had followed everything.
Just as Sam thought he'd set off in search of Dean, it was Dean who caught up with him, right in the middle of the control room. The younger Sam heard the sound of hurried footsteps behind him and, fearing for a moment the appearance of Himeros, he turned around to see his brother striding in, his eyes dark and his fists clenched, clearly ready for a fight.
- Are you looking for me?” spat Dean, coming dangerously close. You wanted to take care of me, didn't you tell your new buddy? Okay, go ahead, I'm here.
He stopped less than two meters from his younger brother, who was taken aback and took a moment to catch on.
- Did... Did you hear me?” he stammered.
- I was there,” growled the other with an incendiary look. Except you were probably too busy making friends to see him! What the hell are you thinking, for God's sake... You set him free?!
Sam stammered for a second, then pulled himself together.
- He would have freed himself, or his brother would have, that's not the most important thing! he retorted with conviction. If you'd been there, you'd have heard what he said about this force that...
- I don't give a damn!” Dean shouted, startling him. Do you get it?! Let them eat each other, and good riddance! First you help these bastards, then you free them, and then what? You're going to prepare a room for them?!
- Dean, tried to calm Sam, who had rarely seen him so out of sorts. Are you...
- I don't want to see them here anymore!” the eldest of the siblings continued. Do you understand that? I don't want anything to do with those sons of bitches, I even want to forget they ever crossed my path, and if you had any sense you wouldn't even think of offering them asylum!
- They'll leave,” swore Sam, who didn't know what to do or say to appease his brother's fury. As soon as he's recovered, they'll...
- Yeah, that's what they're selling you! Give me just one example of a prey that leaves its refuge without being dragged out! Hmm?
Sam was at a loss for an answer. Tearful, he had to admit in spite of himself that if the bunker was a safe haven for the Erotes, they had no logical reason to leave it. On the contrary, if Himeros had been telling the truth, the last of the three gods had no choice but to seek out his brothers, perhaps at the risk of attracting the entity that was chasing them.
- You've done a good job,” said Dean, ”you can be proud of yourself. But there's no way I'm keeping them here a second longer than it takes me to figure out how to get them out, do you understand me? Start the stopwatch, Sam, because I swear I won't stop until they've cleared the floor.

Sam tried to reason with his brother, but all his efforts were in vain. He held out his hand in a gesture of appeasement, trying to make him realize that he didn't want to quarrel with him, that they should stand together despite their differences, but Dean refused to de-escalate. At his youngest's arm, which stretched out in his direction, he violently raised his own to push him away, and to Sam's astonishment, who remained silent, bewildered by this blind anger, he gave him a terrible look, overflowing with resentment and disgust, before planting him there with contempt and returning to the dungeon.
- Where are you going?” frightened Sam. Wait... Dean!

Chapter Text

Sam couldn't stop recalling the scene, yet it stubbornly eluded him. He remembered trying to restrain his brother, but couldn't recall the exact moment when he'd twisted his wrist; he saw Dean stumbling in front of the Erotes again, but couldn't recall the exact moment when they'd hurled a barrage of insults at each other; and he remembered the terrible silence in which his elder brother had left him after storming off to avoid hitting him. The two men, in the greatest confusion, had agreed to leave their guests in the infirmary on condition that they didn't come out, even though Dean had proclaimed that he didn't trust them in the slightest and warned his younger brother that he alone would have to bear the consequences of their cunning.
Himeros, on the other hand, had let them argue before obediently complying with the verdict, and Sam could only hope that things wouldn't escalate any further. Sitting on his bed, miserable as rocks, he massaged his wrist as he felt the burn of the bruise on his jaw bake him harder, but this discomfort was nothing compared to the pain of having so violently opposed his brother, whose extreme closeness they had begun to share now seemed a thousand light years away.

From his bedroom, the younger Winchester spent the rest of the day anxiously watching Dean's comings and goings. At one point, he heard him raving on the phone, sounding as if he were talking to Castiel, who was astonished that the angel hadn't joined them, and at another, he felt as if an army of movers was turning the library upside down. To avoid complicating an already explosive situation, Sam was careful not to confront his brother directly, but the physical distance only heightened his concern, as he feared at every turn that Dean would return to challenge the Erotes without his knowledge. This did not happen. As the hours passed, it seemed to Sam that both sides were respecting the terms of the forced agreement they'd made, and at the end of the day, exhausted and with an empty stomach, the hunter finally allowed himself to relax very, very slightly.
He munched on two pieces of fruit placed in a bowl on the table in the corner of his room and then washed up in front of his washbasin, suddenly anxious to get rid of his clothes soaked in a pungent, foul-smelling sweat, which he threw in a ball into a wastepaper basket converted into a dirty laundry basket. Spartan though they were, he took the time for his ablutions, washing every part of his body, regretting the comfort of the shower but reluctant to go all the way to the bathroom where he'd have more trouble maintaining his vigil. Dried off, he slipped on a pair of boxer shorts and, resting for a moment on the edge of his bed to get dressed, a sudden shiver ran through him. Stunned, he looked at his pillow, then slipped under the covers, intending to stay there only long enough to warm up and loosen his tense muscles.

He fell asleep almost immediately, and didn't open his eyes again until the following morning.

His awakening was slow and gradual. As his consciousness began to return, he had the vague perception of a soft glow, a delicate perfume, and the almost muffled murmur of a peaceful breath. Covered no higher than his stomach, his bare torso and arms exposed to the warmth of the room, he took a long breath, lying on his side, feeling a sensation of warmth and well-being that made him smile, even though he was still drowsy. For a few moments, he was able to keep the harsh events of the previous day far from his mind, as if they had never happened, and with his eyelids closed he took the time to gently regain contact with his external environment.
As his nostrils tingled with the pleasant, unusual scent that seemed to waft through the air, Sam shifted his shoulders slightly in response to the pleasant warmth that warmed his back. It was no longer just an impression, the softness that enveloped him was very real, and as he slowly moved his head against the pillow with a lazy gesture he mechanically placed his hand on the member that encircled his torso. At the touch of the soft skin beneath his fingers, he smiled a little wider, caressing the fine muscles of this arm that didn't belong to him pressed against his chest and, still a little misty, he purred with pleasure, more than happy with this unexpected presence at his side :
- Hey... When did you join me? I wasn't expecting to find you in my bed, so thanks for the surprise... Is this your way of telling me you want to bury the hatchet?
Dean didn't answer, but Sam felt his lips kiss his shoulder. In response, he stroked her forearm languorously, letting his fingers slide from wrist to elbow, and his smile, slowly, inexorably, dulled until it withered completely.
Sam then opened his eyes abruptly and froze, as if trapped in a gangue of ice. Seized with mute dread, he felt his throat tighten, his muscles stiffen, and his heart begin to beat so hard it was as if he could hear it banging against his ribs. The arm that hugged his chest, the arm on which he kept trembling fingers for fear of moving, this arm was not his brother's. He had intuited it. He'd had a hunch as he'd run his fingers over it without recognizing the shape of Dean's muscles or his slight hairline, and now that he was looking at it, terrified, the terrifying reality was exploding in his face with unprecedented violence. For a second, he didn't know what to think or do, torn between the absolute necessity of getting out of there and the instinct of self-preservation that commanded him not to make any sudden moves, but the conflict of thoughts that subjected him to extreme tension didn't last more than a heartbeat. Bending every muscle like a bow, adrenalin ready to burst his veins, Sam suddenly leapt out of bed with the lightning speed of a wild beast on the prowl and threw himself back against the wall at the other end of the room. Flattened almost naked against the wall, the fibers of all his muscles congested with nervous tension and his eyes darting towards the bed, he saw him then, waking up peacefully with an almost astonished air, slowly lifting his head from the pillow while half-opening his eyes.
- Relax, hunter,” Pothos soon told him in a sleepy voice. I'm the one.
A mixture of irrational fury and terror seized Sam, so violently that he felt his brain was suddenly being screwed. He couldn't say how long it took him to fully realize the presence of the Erote, lying on his side, but when stupor and terror loosened their grip a little he recognized him, just as he had seen him the first time. Fully recovered.

His flamboyant red hair had grown back to its customary length. The haggard complexion of his parchment-like skin was but a memory, and everywhere it had regained its smooth, velvety texture, barely tanned with a light tan. It wasn't hard to see, for Pothos had shed his brown suit before crawling into Sam's bed, and it was his entire hairless torso that was on display, with only his lower body concealed beneath the sheets. The perfection of his plasticity was already apparent beneath the suit, but now that it was out in the open, the conclusion was implacable. Pothos showed Sam's mortal eyes the gentle athletic power of his perfectly proportioned chest and arms, whose well-defined but not excessively dry muscles showed not an ounce of excess fat, and as he realized that he had allowed him to regain all his superbness, the younger Winchester was seized by a shiver of panic that he tried to repress.
- Wha... What the hell are you doing here!” he finally vomited through clenched fists and teeth, his forehead streaked with beads of sweat that smacked of rage and fear.
Sam now felt dirty and repulsed by his own skin, which had been rubbing against Pothos', perhaps for hours. Clad only in his boxer shorts, he boiled with indignation and wanted to flee both the god and the room, to escape this horribly unpleasant situation, but the door was on the other side of the room and his extreme distrust of the most hostile of Erotes prevented him from moving. His question firmly blamed the deity, not only for his revolting intrusion into his own bed, but also for breaking his pact with Himeros. Sam knew, however, that he had no way of imposing his will on Pothos, especially not now that the latter had regained his full strength, and like a trapped rat he remained frozen, awaiting the goodwill of his host whom he suddenly regretted having saved. The god of love, on the other hand, took a deep breath while pivoting on his back, and stretching both arms sideways until they rested horizontally across the bed, he opened his eyes wide.
Exposing even more clearly the almost unreal splendor of his chest.
- You obviously didn't expect to find me beside you,” he said with a touch of flippancy and a quiet air. Surely you've mistaken me for your brother?
Furious to hear him mention Dean, whose reaction he didn't dare imagine when he realized that at least one of the brothers had set foot outside the room they'd agreed not to leave, Sam contorted his features into an evil expression before repeating:
- What the hell are you doing here! You were supposed to stay in the infirmary, that was the agreement!
- I don't remember making any agreement with you,” he objected peacefully.
- Your brother did,” Sam growled through clenched teeth.
- And he scrupulously kept his word,” asserted Pothos. If you want to go and check that he's still where you left us, be my guest.
Sam, fulminating with rage at their hosts' apparent delight in playing them for fools, swallowed hard and got only an incendiary look in reply.
- I can understand your surprise, just as I can understand how unpleasant it might be for you,” the deity continued peacefully. But I haven't tainted your virtue, if that's what you're afraid of. I just needed close contact with you to complete my healing. We're intimate enough for that now, aren't we?
If the god of love's voice was calm and composed, his gaze was full of assurance, mingled with insolence, almost condescending. He was bursting with health as well as extreme beauty, he knew, and the way he flaunted his sublime bare torso spoke volumes about the high esteem in which he held his person. Sam, despite his fury at the affront he had suffered and despite the fact that all his senses were on the alert, found it hard not to let his eyes linger for a moment on the regained splendor of the man lounging beneath his sheets, but disturbed by this fleeting attraction, he immediately rejected it. He replaced it with indignation at having obviously been used as a tool, unbeknownst to him, and curled his lips into a mimic of hatred before vociferating, his voice trembling with anger:
- You son of a bitch... What right have you to dispose of me like this? Who do you think I am? Your thing?!
Sam felt his blood boiling in his veins, and the instinctive remorse of having given back his strength to this arrogant being weighed at least as much as the fear of seeing him do harm again. Pothos, for his part, persisted in aiming at him placidly, until he sighed a few moments later:
- There's really no reason for you to lose your temper, Sam Winchester, it's just that...
- Don't tell me how to react!” he thundered, taking a step closer. What we've been through since we met you is because of you, it's your fault!
Pothos lowered his gaze and slowly rose to a sitting position in the middle of the bed, covered to the waist. He seemed willing to let Sam air his grievances.
- You had no reason to do what you did to us,” he continued with terrible bitterness. When you laid your hand on us, you knew what it would do to us, and you did it out of pure malice, because that's what drives you and your kind!
The god's blue eyes met Sam's, but Sam didn't care and stood his ground. All the anger, revolt and resentment that this cataclysm in his life had inspired rose up in one fell swoop, and taking another step, he said:
- I could have let you die, you bastard. You hear me? I could have watched you dry up like a rat in the sun, but I saved you. Even if I had to face my brother for you. I saved you, but you keep doing whatever you want, using us as you please, because we don't count! You don't care what you do to us as long as you get what you want!
Sam, then, fell silent, his heart crushed under the weight of the appalling indignation he felt. But Pothos' intrusion wasn't the real reason for his anger. He realized that he was most angry at Pothos for having uncovered those unconscious desires that had taken refuge in the recesses of his soul, and for having forced him to confront them, with all the suffering and anguish that entailed, and even if he and Dean had eventually found a way to deal with them, the experience they had lived through would forever remain an ordeal that condemned them to the violent and perpetual resurgence of many memories, the best and the worst. For a moment, the Érote watched him, gauging his fury with stoicism. Then, coldly, he said:
- What's done is done, what do you want from me? An apology?
- What I want from you is to get the hell out!” fiercely attacked Sam, who wasn't hearing these words for the first time. You've recovered, so go away! You and your brother, get the hell out of here and leave us alone!
- I've recovered, indeed,” he said after a moment. And I owe it all to you.
So, without any haste, Pothos set off, pivoting towards the edge of the bed, putting one foot on the floor, then the second. With his back to Sam, who was nervous about seeing him get up, as if the danger he represented would be greater if he stood up. This was exactly the position he chose to adopt and, rising to his full stature, the god of Love revealed himself in all his nakedness, the sheets falling back onto the mattress. As he became aware of the span of his back, the arch of his loins, the curve of his buttocks, Sam suddenly felt hot. And when Pothos, rounding the foot of the bed, took two steps to face him, the moment when Sam was struck by the unreal sight of his body in absolute perfection, the hunter couldn't help but blush as he felt himself deformed before such plasticity.
- Honestly, I didn't think any of you would agree to come to my aid,” confessed the Érote, whose phlegm was not devoid of a certain respect. I have less difficulty understanding your brother's reaction than yours, so... may I ask why you agreed to save me?
He was naked from head to toe, but such was his presence that his nakedness was worth all the royal finery. The lines of his unbound and infinitely harmonious muscles were his ermine coat, the chiseled beauty of his manly parts his scepter of power, and in his confident, noble and proud gaze, seemed to sparkle the brilliance of a crown jewel. Sam, intimidated, but also deeply disturbed by the effect the sight of Pothos' naked body was having on him, tried desperately to remain in control of his emotions, and unconsciously taking one step back when the other took one forward, he bit out in a raspy voice:
- Probably because I'm less of an idiot than you...
Taking another step, Pothos raised his eyebrows slightly, but also gave a strange, indefinable ersatz grin that lasted only an instant.
- I've been brutal,” he admitted. I let my emotions dictate my conduct, that's right. Your presence was too much of an irritant and I overreacted, I won't deny it. However... Admit that you haven't been a model of diplomacy either.
Without breaking eye contact, the god took another step towards Sam, who began to sweat profusely again. The younger Winchester stepped back, but his back quickly came up against the wall and he changed tack, hoping to encourage Pothos to keep his distance.
- We'd have let you die, and then what? So that your brothers can pay us back for what we've done? Whether I like it or not, I haven't forgotten what I owe to Eros, and all I've done is set the record straight. We can't change what's happened, but we've got nothing to gain by fighting. Not you, not us. From what I understand, you've got bigger problems.
His opponent smiled bitterly and stood still. Sam's heart, which had been racing for a moment, slowly began to return to a more normal rhythm.
- To say the least,” confirmed Pothos. But thanks to you, I'm back in full control. The next battle won't have the same outcome, trust me.
Although Sam had no reason to take the threat personally, he didn't feel safe. Uneasy and distrustful, he took aim at the god of love who, with a sharp eye, began to detail him from head to toe, a closed smile painted on his lips.
- I sense you're deeply troubled,” he noted. What's the matter? Are you still afraid I might hurt you? Or is it just the sight of me in my simplest clothes that has this effect on you?
Ostentatiously displaying his glorious nudity, he began walking towards Sam, who, white as a sheet and with a forehead beaded with sweat, struggled with all his might not to lower his eyes below those of Pothos, who was clearly enjoying the moment. Sam felt vulnerable, unable to remain totally impervious to the divinity's magnetism that seeped into him like the winter chill through a layer of clothing too thin, and with a lump in his throat he tried to urge:
- Stay where you are, don't come any closer!
- It would be a pity if you persisted in thinking that the way I acted on the evening of our first meeting summed me up,” Pothos advanced, completely ignoring the warning, ”but I understand that you don't trust me. You should know, however, that you and your brother weren't the only ones affected when I touched you; the gesture wasn't without consequences for us either.
- What are you trying to say?” exclaimed Sam, who would have dug himself into the wall had he been able to, so close was the god to him now.
- I'm trying to explain that, beyond awakening your consciences to the true desires you feel for each other, a bond was created between us the moment I laid my hand on you. I had anticipated it, it was inevitable. It's this bond that allowed us to feel your distress, it's this bond that allowed you to give me back my strength, it's...
- That's how you do it,” Sam cut in abruptly, ”isn't it? You force the poor people who cross your path to face their darkest desires, and you feed off their torments until they croak?
- Anger leads you astray,” he said with an indolence that surprised Sam. You attribute the worst intentions to us, but you know deep down that your accusations are groundless.
- How can you say that,” Sam snapped.
- Do you think it's your suffering that feeds us? It's the harmony of heart and flesh that makes us strong. Feelings of love, passion and desire. Whether a heart withers or sinks into madness is of no interest to us.
- Then why did you do it?” thundered Sam, outraged. These people you've touched who have committed the irreparable, they represent nothing!
- You've spoken with Himeros,” replied Pothos, unmoved, ”and you know what we had to do in the hope of being able to compete with the thing that's after us. However, it's true that we made a mistake by losing our consideration for your fellow creatures. It was a mistake because we harmed some of them without improving our situation, but keep in mind that we didn't instigate or pervert anything. The seed we planted germinated because the soil was favorable. We can only be blamed for sowing the wrong field.
The Erote's cynicism and disdain made Sam want to vomit, and his mouth twisted so much that his gums seemed to bubble under his lips. His aversion to the race of gods had probably never been so pronounced, and as Pothos persisted in probing his green eyes, he strove to defy his velvet gaze. But soon, the fiery-haired god began to smile slightly again. He then quietly took the last few steps between himself and Sam, and in a honeyed voice, said:
- Erotes bear love, not violence. Circumstances have almost made me forget it. Those who have suffered irreparably from our actions are only a handful, but I understand that this is unbearable for you. We won't do it again, because even denying ourselves can't help us in the face of the peril we face.
Sam wanted to shout at him that all their victims, without exception, had suffered. But Pothos had come so close to him that he was unable to loosen his jaws. The god, slightly shorter than him, plunged his magnificent blue prunes into his eyes and, stretching his neck until he seemed to threaten to touch Sam's lips, he murmured:
- You're the one who reminded me of this, you know that? Your gesture amplified the bond that already united us to you, and now you and I are linked on a whole new level; on a more personal level. Intimate. Tell me, Sam Winchester: do you feel this attraction for me that you inspire in spite of yourself?
Panic and nervousness overcame the young man, who felt every fiber of his body unravel one by one, like the strands of a rope bridge giving way one after the other. Why was he so permeable to this inexplicable attraction that Pothos exerted on him, despite the aversion he continued to have for his person? Why was his heart racing again? Was this another manifestation of the treacherous bond between them, as Brown Suit claimed?
- Back off, don't come near me!” thundered Sam in a voice trembling with fever, his arms as if paralyzed, desperately refusing to push away Pothos, whose face was only a few centimeters from his own.
- Don't panic, I have no intention of abusing you... In these matters, I have little need to use coercion, whoever my partner may be.
He moved a little closer, enough for Sam's scent to penetrate his nostrils. Sam trembled and craned her neck to get away from him.
- I must admit, for a mortal, you're not unworthy of interest,” whispered the god of desire. Why don't you come back and lie down beside me? As far as I'm concerned, I can't think of a better way to enjoy close contact. As for you... I can promise you won't regret it.
His hand moved slowly up to Sam's face, and with a cautious finger he traced the line of his jaw, caressing the short hairs that lined his chin. Sam endured the contact with a fierce determination to evade it, but the pleasurable thrill of it seemed to anesthetize part of his will, and he could only clench his teeth and fists a little tighter.
- What you're feeling is perfectly normal,” Pothos whispered in his ear, not unperturbed by his proximity to Sam. Why don't you stop struggling and come back to bed with me? You've no idea how much pleasure an Erote can give you.
Sam's hair stood on end and she wanted to scream in fury. If they could, his eyes would have flashed and he would have defended his dignity with all the strength he could muster, but he remained as if paralyzed by the snake's spell, struggling in vain to impose his will on his body, which had its own desires. He soon felt, with mingled terror and exultation, the opposite effects of Pothos' hand sliding over his throbbing neck. He felt the warm, gentle breath of the god of love on his skin, caressing him like a spring breeze. Sam felt that part of him wanted him far away, wanted him dead, but that another part was ready to accommodate his divine whims and, faced with the Erote's smooth lips that seemed to want to brush against his own, the repulsion he felt tended to diminish with every heartbeat. It was at this moment that the fear of giving in was most intense.

It was at this moment that, for a split second, Sam had the impression of hearing Dean's voice.
- Sam!

His blood raced, his heart swelled in his chest as if it were threatening to burst, and Sam's eyes widened at the closed door as he realized that he hadn't been dreaming and that it was his brother's voice that had just roused him from his torpor, making his eardrums ring. For an indefinite time, his confusion, his conflicting feelings, the presence of Pothos, all seemed to hang on the hope as much as the terror of Dean's appearance, and when he saw the door handle turn a few seconds later, he felt as if he were drowning. The deity turned his head toward the wooden panel, which flew open, and Dean, in a panic, blurted out:
- Sam, get up! He's...
His sentence died there, at the same time as his defeated gaze crystallized and he froze as he took in the unimaginable scene his brother and Pothos were composing. Confronted with the naked body of the god of Love pressed up against Sam's almost naked body, in a proximity as incomprehensible as it was impossible to admit, the eldest Winchester received far worse than a sledgehammer blow, and the unfathomable confusion that invaded him made him pale like a corpse, at the same time as it exorbitated his eyes. For Dean, it was as if the ground suddenly shifted beneath his feet. Unable to integrate the information that had tripped his synapses, knocked unconscious by this implausible treachery, he seemed to exhale the same mumbling nonsense endlessly, like a film that had looped over the same image. Sam, horrified, thought for a moment that his brother was going to start screaming; then, at another, he felt him ready to falter. But, if during this indefinite time of stupefaction, when his distorted gaze didn't deviate from the other two, Dean looked capable of implementing the range of all possible responses, he ended up simply turning on his heels and leaving, without saying a word, groggy and empty-eyed.
- D... Dean!
His youngest's attempt to hold him back had no effect, and Sam could only watch him disappear. Then he drew the energy from his rebellion to finally push Pothos away and, with a sharp blow to the shoulders, he unceremoniously pushed aside the deity, who stepped back gracefully.
- Well, well, well! You seem to have regained your strength! But that's a good thing: a dose of brutality doesn't necessarily displease me, with the right partner...
Sam, sticky with sweat, flipped back his damp hair and took aim at Pothos, literally baring his teeth. His opponent's status had become completely irrelevant to him, and as if addressing his equal man-to-man, he barked in his face:
- Shut up, goddammit, I've had enough of your nonsense! Get out of here, you hear me?! Go away and leave us alone, we'll never see you again!
With gestures and looks, Sam continued to vent his fury and hateful impulses on Pothos for a moment, thinking he'd trigger a hostile reaction he didn't care about, but the god of Love remained as placid as a Buddhist monk. Although his anger outweighed all other feelings, Sam couldn't help feeling surprised at the unexpected temperance of the most sanguine of Erotes, but because he had more urgent things to think about, he soon chose to leave him standing there, afflicting him with all his disdain and contempt. Pothos saw him turn away, pick up a pair of dark jeans and a green sweater, and while watching him dress hastily at the foot of the bed he said to Sam with a slight raise of the eyebrows, making this observation in a neutral tone:
- I've offended you. I didn't mean to.
Finishing putting on his sweater, Sam replied, lapidary, without a glance:
- I don't care what your intentions are, you don't interest me. Get off the floor, leave us alone. That's all I ask.
Without further ado, Sam put on his shoes, his back turned, his mouth shut. His anger slowly subsided, as did the emotion he'd felt on contact with Pothos, and his thoughts turned exclusively to Dean. He walked to the door of his room, completely ignoring Brown Suit, who seemed to no longer exist.
- Sam Winchester,” he said in a solemn voice.
The latter stepped into the doorway. Over his shoulder, he cast an oblique glance at the Érote, who declared without changing his tone, eyes straight:
- Despite our differences, I'll remember what you did. I don't know how much longer I'll be allowed to walk this earth, but know that you won't be dealing with an ingrate.
Sam, frowning, greeted the proclamation with perplexity. Although he didn't show it, Pothos' words disturbed him more than he would have liked, as did the way he had spoken them, and he spent some time trying to understand their true meaning. He didn't know whether to interpret them as an attempt by the god of love to make amends or, on the contrary, to promise new mischief, but his determination seemed to falter in the face of his interlocutor's almost humility.
So he said:
- Get dressed and get out.

Chapter Text

Dean, slumped over in a kitchen chair, clutched his skull in his hands. His elbows planted on the edge of the table, his head bowed, and motionless as a dead body he kept seeing Sam and Pothos naked against each other, completely stunned by the unspeakable scene he'd witnessed.

He had spent the night on guard. Lurking near the infirmary, ready at any moment to see his enemies attempt to regain the upper hand, Dean had counted the seconds, minutes and then hours, until he dozed off for a few moments, when he wasn't pestering Castiel on the phone, the angel clearly refusing to move despite the criticality of the moment. Already the day before, he had claimed to be unable to come and help, which had not failed to incensed Dean. With his back against the wall, Dean had tried again and again to convince his friend of the urgency of the situation, but had only succeeded in getting a few futile recommendations. Until his anger - and fear - got the better of Castiel's reserve, and he finally agreed to give him some answers that would give him a clearer picture of the situation.
So it was that Dean, faced with the worrying silence of the pseudo-prisoners, and in the light of Castiel's revelations which had echoed certain statements made by Himéros, had decided to return to the infirmary to make sure that the divinities were behaving themselves. To get some information out of them, too. He was shocked to discover that Pothos had simply disappeared, and that White Suit, lying on one of the bunks, had not been very forthcoming. Distraught, Dean had rushed to Sam's room to raise the alarm, and it was there that he had seen him, standing against the wall, the god of Love once again in full form curled up naked against him.

His brother had lost his mind. Either he was suffering another perverse effect of the contact he'd triggered with Pothos, Dean could only see it. For until recently, and despite the thousand jibes he'd always taken pleasure in hurling at him about his silky hair, he'd never have believed anyone who told him his youngest could one day share his bed with another man, let alone a god. Things had changed now, oh so much, and he knew why, but despite the crazy turn their lives had taken, which had been nothing but a succession of events defying the imagination, that Sam could mix with the enemy after what he'd done to them, that he couldn't possibly swallow.
So when the sound of muffled footsteps by the kitchen door caused him to raise his head abruptly, and he saw his brother enter with an air of cautious determination, he felt every hair on his body rise to the surface of his skin and leap to his feet, turning away from Sam with an outstretched finger and threatening:
- Don't. Don't you dare open your mouth, I don't want to hear a word.
- Dean, let me...
- Tell me I'm fucking hallucinating, that it was a nightmare! What I saw was... How the hell could you!
If for a brief moment he'd hoped to keep a certain distance from the events so as not to be overwhelmed by his emotions, he'd missed it. Seeing his youngest standing in front of him rekindled his wound like a salt-sprinkled sore, and the sideways glance he cast at him, infinitely hard and full of bitter disappointment, was worth all the guilty judgments in the world.
- Tell me when you've finished,” Sam sighed, jaw clenching. Then I'll explain, if you'll let me talk.
- Explain what!” he shouted, his carotid artery showing. It's your ass, do what you want with it, Sam, but holy shit... with them?!
Sam shook his head in disgust. Faced with his revolted brother, he tried to remain calm, although Dean's hasty and implacable conclusions were hard to take, but appearances being against him, the youngest of the siblings didn't really hold it against him.
- Dean... Do you honestly believe that I... fucked him? Are you serious?
With closed lips and hard eyes, Dean seemed to waver, clinging to the hope of a misunderstanding. For long seconds, he glared at Sam, then, opening his arms briefly, he finally spat out:
- Isn't it? Then why did I find you two naked and sticking together like a couple of fags in a backroom?!
The crude, inaccurate and ill-advised analogy stuck in Sam's throat, and he almost shot off his own arrows. However, he felt he'd had enough of a confrontation with Dean, when the timing couldn't have been worse, and in a firm tone he preferred to deliver his explanation rather than yet another battle.
- He snuck into my room, it's true, but not for what you think. He came just because I was useful to him; because by being physically close to me, he could heal faster.
Dean blinked as his chin jerked back.
- What?” he threw out as if he'd just been fed the worst bullshit. What are you talking about, what's this bullshit?
- You saw him, didn't you?” pointed Sam reluctantly. What state was he in, and what state is he in now? He needed direct... and prolonged... contact. That's why he's as good as new.
- P... Prolonged?” stammered a confused Dean. What do you mean, prolonged? How long has it been sticking to you?!
The older of the two men took a step back to lean against the sideboard, and with wide eyes fixed on his brother, he heard him confess:
- I don't know. Probably hours...
- Hours?! exclaimed a startled Dean, unable to believe his ears. Nah, Sam, fuck, you couldn't take that, standing there saying nothing, doing nothing, fuck but...
- It wasn't voluntary,” he asserted with a sharp look, breaking down every word. Do you think I'd have let it go otherwise? He slipped into my bed while I was asleep and I didn't realize anything. Not a thing. It was only this morning when I woke up that...
He shook his head, biting his lips, furious at Pothos, but also furious at himself for not having reacted before. Dismayed, Dean began to put the pieces of the puzzle back together, understanding better why he had found them in the simplest of garb, but so stunned by the description of events that he didn't know what to think. It wasn't long, however, before the seething fury and hatred inspired by these so-called superior beings returned to the forefront of his mind; with his hands pressed to his lower cheeks and his wide eyes raised to the ceiling, he once again felt the supreme indignation and terrible humiliation provoked by this manipulation of the Erotes taking better and better shape in his mind, and his desire to destroy them became as gigantic as his powerlessness to do so.
- We've got to kill those bastards,” he uttered like a call to Heaven. I swear, I don't know how, but...
He went no further. Perhaps because he knew deep down that the death of the Erotes was not the best option, perhaps because he was too aware of not having the means to achieve his ambitions, or perhaps because his laborious exchanges with Castiel had taught him that achieving this result, even indirectly, was probably only a matter of time... He saw his brother again, pinned to the wall of his room, Pothos completely naked against him, and he suddenly wondered how Sam could be feeling at this very moment, having been subjected to what he didn't hesitate to describe as an assault, now that he had a better grasp of the incredible circumstances of the hallucinatory scene he had witnessed. Forcing himself to take the time to worry about his youngest son, he saw the latter leaning against the doorframe, with a faded look on his face, arms feverishly crossed, and with a pang in his heart he suddenly asked him from the tip of his lips:
- Sam, did he...
- No,” he defended energetically, prepared for the question he'd asked himself but now certain of the answer. No, he didn't do anything to me, he just... He just slept next to me, nothing more.
He'd said it as if it didn't matter, but neither he nor his brother meant it.
- Nothing more than sucking you dry!” he revolted.
- Not even,” Sam admitted with a touch of perplexity. Physically, I'm... I'm all right. In fact, I think it's been a while since I've... felt like this.
At least reassured on that point, even if he wasn't sure he should be, Dean took a deep breath. Then, with a look of dismay, he said:
- What the fuck was he doing pressed up against the wall with his dick hanging out?
Sam, eyes sullen and downcast, preferred to avoid providing an exhaustive answer.
- I told him to get lost, now that he's on his feet. To leave us alone.
His brother, who had been waiting to hear the rest, was in for a surprise. There was a moment's hesitation, then Dean collected himself and tensed, stepping forward to inquire:
- Where did you leave it? In your room?
With a shrug, Sam said he assumed that was the case.
- I don't know if it's still there. And I don't care. I just want him and his brother out. We're suffocating here.
Dean sensed that his brother's blood was about to boil, and after his brother's deliberate act, and the fright he'd caused his elder brother by making him fear that he'd given in to the charms of the god of Love, the older of the two men felt that this was a good thing. The time for explanations and settling scores could wait; the main thing was to get rid of the Erotes, Dean had no doubts about that, and trying to rally Sam to his cause he promised firmly:
- They'll get away, trust me.
Looking fiercely determined, Dean walked towards the second exit from the kitchen, to his left, the one at the top of a step that led to the portion of corridor directly connected to the infirmary, and again immediately concerned about his intentions, his brother blurted out:
- What... Wait, what are you going to do?
Dean crossed the threshold with a determined step, and without even slowing down, he disappeared into the corridor, announcing: “Close the curtain, Sammy:
- Close the curtain, Sammy... The circus is over!

Dean's first order of business was to find out whether Himeros had decided to follow in his brother's footsteps and break the rules. Caught between a rock and a hard place, Sam didn't know whether to risk opposing his elder once again, even if it meant accentuating their differences but protecting them both from the consequences of an unfortunate action, or to let him do as he pleased, maintaining a passive stance and showing the deities a united front. Adopting an in-between policy, he followed Dean without seeking to stop him directly, but insisting that he confide in him, which the first-born of the siblings did only minimally, simply assuring him that he hadn't been idle during the night and that he'd been able to put to good use the little information hard-won from Castiel.
Sam was not at all reassured by this, but his burning need to know more about these elements, brought to his attention by chance despite their a priori essential nature, could not be satisfied. They reached the infirmary all too quickly and, grabbing the door handle on the fly, Dean jerked it open, immediately turning his attention to the bunk where he had left the god of Love.
He was no longer there, but there he was, standing a little further into the room, and he wasn't alone: Pothos, who had just finished buttoning his jacket, had joined him.

As Dean moved forward with cautious steps, Sam stepped in just behind him and instinctively shifted to the side, in case he had to physically intervene between his brother and their hosts. The latter, facing each other in front of the central bunk of the three in the infirmary, and separated from each other by little more than a meter, aimed at the Winchesters with the same look, the same gesture, with a disturbing simultaneity, and echoing the question Dean had shouted at him before going to warn his brother of Brown Suit's disappearance, Himeros, who seemed infinitely more appeased now that his brother was out of danger, soon said to him in a placid tone:
- You see? He wasn't far away after all.
Neither of the two Erotes looked particularly conciliatory, and White Suit even felt a certain satisfaction at having destabilized the one who had pushed so hard to thwart his double's recovery. But Dean could not deny that their customary arrogance had nevertheless taken a turn for the worse. His hostile gaze met Pothos's for a few seconds, and the god of Love - or rather, Desire, as Himeros himself had once called him - met Sam's stern gaze, which he intended to hold for as long as it took to make him understand the contempt his attitude had inspired.
To his astonishment, it was Pothos who looked away, while Himeros sat unhurriedly on the edge of the bunk.

Dean, then, stopped slowly in the middle of the room. The tension was palpable but contained, and he took his time to detail the two brothers. The clothes they wore were those in which they had entered the bunker, they were still dirty, torn, sometimes bloody, and Dean, without knowing why such a futile thought suddenly occurred to him, saw himself firing on Eros, a few days earlier in the library, without his impeccable black suit retaining even a trace of dust. He had so much to tell them, so many things for which they deserved to be blamed, so much cynicism, violence and selfishness in their wake, that the hunter couldn't even find the words. He realized that he had gone beyond recriminations, accusations and reproaches. That his words as a man would never be loud enough to shake them to the core of the misdeeds for which he held them fully responsible. That he had sufficiently expressed his hatred and disgust for them. That he had given every proof of his courage, recklessness or madness, whatever name this supernatural spawn wanted to give to the way he had tried to twist their arms. The time for words was over. The damage had been done. There was no turning back. He knew what he needed to know, he knew what he wanted to achieve, and if they finally refused to submit to his demands, if they again decided to dictate the rules of the game to suit themselves, he'd made sure he could stop them.
- Mister Universe has put his clothes back on,” he growled hoarsely, fixing an evil eye on Pothos.
The latter responded to Dean's animosity with the strictest indifference. He looked back at him proudly, serenely and confidently, then pivoted slightly to face him perfectly and said, slipping his hands into his trouser pockets with a phlegmatic gesture:
- Is that me? You'll forgive me for flaunting myself in front of you in these frusques, but it seemed to me that you'd prefer me to be covered up.
While Dean reacted to the hint with a bitter sneer, Sam fixed Pothos with an icy stare.
- You're the king of show, that's for sure,” said the elder. Are you happy with your new look? Now get the hell out of here. Right now.
Dean glared at them, which was clearly not to Brown Suit's liking, as evidenced by the pursing of his lips. He regarded the intruder condescendingly, only to provoke him dryly:
- And if I don't respond quickly enough to your request, what will you do? Grab my collar and throw me out?
Literally baring his teeth, Dean lunged forward menacingly, only to be restrained by Sam's firm grip on his shoulder.
Exactly at the moment when Himeros raised his voice.
- No, Pothos. No more.
The Winchesters weren't the most surprised by the way White Suit had just berated his brother. The latter gave him a twisted look of displeasure, and coldly replied:
- Please don't interfere, I'm...
- I'll intervene if it suits me,” Himéros sternly lectured, rising to his feet angrily, ”and I'll tell you again: that's enough! I didn't come to beg their help, nor did I accept their demands, just to see you swagger! An agreement was made and honored, and now I expect us to keep our word without a hitch!
A stony silence fell over the room, and everything seemed to freeze for a moment. Sam and Dean watched in amazement, while the Erotes stared at each other like two predators coveting the same prey.
- I had no intention of clashing with anyone, brother,” said Pothos with a vile smile. The reciprocal doesn't seem so obvious to me.
Aimed, Dean stretched his lips into a shapeless rictus as the Brown Suit's gaze rested on him, and the blood pounding his temples he growled:
- Don't try my patience, you bastard... You've no idea how hard it is for me not to jump down your throat, even if it's no more effective than a mosquito bite.
- Oh, less effect, actually,” he taunted with a superior air, ”but...
He paused just long enough to raise his hand to his brother behind, whom he heard growling inwardly.
- ... on the contrary, I have an excellent idea of how you feel about us, and about me in particular,” he continued, his voice suddenly less bravado. I can understand that, because after all, you're only human, and nobody can blame you for that.
- Shut up!” screamed Dean with unbelievable rage, driven mad by this type of delirious discourse he could no longer bear. I don't want to hear another word out of your stupid fucking mouth, you're going to get the fuck out and get out now, get your filthy face away from this place and never set foot in it again!
- By the gods,” sighed Pothos. Aren't you exhausted from hurling all those insults all the time? What effect do you think you're having, apart from showing your impotence? Do you think it affects us? You think you're showing courage, but in reality you're just flaunting your stupidity. You're lucky we're not belligerent.
- Not belligerent, my ass, yes!” he shouted even louder, hardening his gaze even more. You were less belligerent when you were a decrepit pile of bones! If you don't want to go through that again, you'd better get the hell out of here, and that's the last time I'm telling you! Because I swear, if you and your brother are still here in two minutes, I'm inviting Chaos over to blow his brains out!

If Dean had just used a new metaphor, Sam wasn't sure what it meant. On reflection, he had no idea what the term Chaos could refer to in his brother's threats, but everything suddenly became clear when he noticed the Erotes' reaction. All at once, they stiffened. Eyes wide, features frozen. Dean had hit the nail on the head, and Sam, seized with dread, immediately made the connection with the only element likely to upset the gods to such an extent.
- What did you say?” persisted Pothos, vainly trying to hide his emotion.
- What's the matter?” braved Dean undaunted. Am I having an effect on you now? You know exactly what I mean.
Himéros slowly approached his brother without making a sound, his eyes fixed on Dean, who was not only excited by the concern he could read on their identical faces. Seeing Brown Suit swallow his saliva incredulously, the eldest Winchester brother understood, if the fire-haired god's condition hadn't proved it enough, that Castiel's warnings were not without foundation, and it was without being able to prevent a shiver from bristling up his spine that he then listened to Himeros launch at him, as calm and prudent as his lips were inert:
- Did the angel speak? What did he tell you about Chaos?
- Everything he knows, down to the last detail,” Dean swore, trying to keep a straight face.
- A lie,” retorted White Suit, sure of his facts.
- I know everything there is to know,” Dean maintained firmly. I know what's after you and that you have no way of stopping it.
- We'll see about that,” leapt Pothos, his eyes suddenly alight.
His fury was palpable, but it was directed less at Dean than at the entity that had all but annihilated him. Sam, standing back, realized that his brother obviously knew a lot more than he did, and was as frightened as he was disappointed. He couldn't understand why Dean had kept him at arm's length, why he hadn't immediately come to inform him of his progress, when he himself had only managed to gather meagre information from Himeros. He caught himself thinking that if Dean had come knocking on his door earlier, he might have surprised Pothos long before, or perhaps even prevented the incident from occurring, and a bitter taste once again rose in his mouth, as the voice of the black-haired god, with its fiery gaze, suddenly began to gently vibrate the walls, like the roar of a wild beast reverberating off the walls of a too fragile cage:
- I warn you, Dean Winchester... Whatever you have in mind to take advantage of the situation, renounce it at once.
- Threats, eh? returned Dean with an offensive sneer. You mean well, but as soon as someone gets in your way, you show your true colours?
- I'm not threatening you, you idiot! inveighed the Erote in a tone and with a look never seen before. If you think you're safe from Chaos because he only hunts gods, then you're making a monumental mistake that will prove fatal!
- Let him say it, brother,” Pothos raised his voice loudly and defiantly. This isn't our friend's first rodomontade... Even if this madman really wanted to get involved with Chaos, I wonder how he'd go about it.
- Push me a little more and you'll see,” braved Dean, unwavering.
His aplomb left the gods bewildered, but Sam remained literally prostrate, overwhelmed by his brother's unyielding determination to throw fuel on the fire. The younger Winchester couldn't understand why his elder brother couldn't help provoking the Erotes to such an extent, but he did understand the degree of the senseless threats he made without fail. Did he really have the means to carry them out? Or was he playing the most dangerous poker game of his life, even if his opponent had so far proved conciliatory? In either case, Sam trembled in anticipation of the potentially catastrophic consequences of such obstinacy. But before he could even think of intervening, it was Himeros who, placing a hand on his twin's forearm, took a step to the side, seeming to place himself between the latter and Dean, to prophesy with a cautious look in a monotone:
- We're not going to see anything, Winchester, because you're not going to do anything. We'll leave, as we agreed, and that'll be the end of this unpleasant interview.
The hunter's expression didn't change one iota, but this time he refrained from adding anything. By the stiffness of his shoulders, the rigidity of his back, the clenching of his fists and the spreading of his feet, Sam could see that Dean was ready to pounce like a wildcat, and he prayed he wouldn't, wondering desperately if he was the only one who could see that such actions could lead nowhere. For a while, the situation seemed to stabilize. The two sides continued to glare at each other, but without further invective, and then Himeros' features seemed to soften. Pothos' didn't. His gaze suddenly became murderous, his jaws seemed to set, and despite his best efforts not to stoop to the level of his most unyielding opponent, he refused to leave without telling him how much he liked him.
- Look at you, you impudent man,” he distilled in a cold, venomous tone. So quick to judge, so quick to condemn. Of course our actions have an impact on your world, you naïve fool; otherwise, we wouldn't be gods.
He took a step forward, his eyes as menacing as on the fateful evening of their first meeting, and asserted without concession:
- You're unworthy of the wrong you feel you've suffered, you stand there cursing endlessly the moment our paths crossed, but whose fault is it? Who really bears the responsibility for the acts we've committed, which you delight in vilifying? If that's all you've got left, it won't change the fact that the events that brought us all to this point were instigated by you, Winchester.
The god took another step forward, his eyes fixed and straight as two crossbow bolts ready to split the air, and his voice rumbling with cold indignation he continued:
- You have opposed the Creator, so pay the price. As we are obliged to do because of you. And above all, stop your insufferable whining and be grateful that I was content to lay a hand on you instead of reducing you to nothing.
If Pothos had ever really wished to retire peacefully, that was now over, and it was painfully obvious to Sam. He understood that they had reached the brink of the abyss, that all that was missing was a tiny spark for the divine wrath to fall, and his eyes trembled with fear as they rested on Dean's shoulder, anticipating the violence of his reaction to this sudden indictment.
Yet Dean did nothing. Nothing but stare at Pothos, who seemed to be daring him to retaliate, and wait. Waiting, under Sam's feverish yet incredulous gaze, for the situation to find a way out.

Himéros, who suddenly disappeared as if by a snap of his fingers, showed the way.

As he evaporated, he had the effect of a needle on a soap bubble on the two brothers, and they barely had time to realize that only Pothos remained, when the latter disappeared in his turn, reserving his very last second of presence for Sam, whose gaze he met one last time. Then, silence. Deafening. The Winchesters found themselves alone, as they had always wished to be since the intrusion of the gods of Love, but now that their wish had been granted they remained prostrate, looking bewildered, not knowing if they could really allow themselves the right to breathe at last.
They couldn't have said how long they spent like that, suspended between two timelines, one foot in the powder keg of their confrontation with the Erotes, the other in the emptiness of the bunker that had been restored to them. As Dean suddenly filled his lungs with the air he had seemed to be missing, Sam's limbs slowly untied in pain, just as he regained awareness of the violence of his heartbeat. In the total silence that persisted, he saw his brother start to move slowly again, as if in fear of awakening the sleeping beast, but Dean never made them meet.
This only rekindled Sam's bitterness and anger, and he felt he was entitled to a minimum of explanation.
Then, in a voice that seemed to crash like a hammer on an anvil in this aural atmosphere, he suddenly let loose, implacably:
- What was that all about? What were you playing at?
Dean's eyes rolled slowly over to Sam without really landing on him. The eldest of the siblings opposed him with a taciturn profile, muttering:
- What are you talking about?
- You know perfectly well,” he cried, eyes blazing, ”don't fuck with me any more than you already have!
He swallowed his bile, the veins in his neck more prominent than the cracks in scorched soil, and with a hoarse voice he uttered:
- You threatened to hand them over to that which hunts them... To that... Chaos, no matter where you got it from! What were you thinking, you've got such a death wish?!
This time, Dean turned his head enough to look into his brother's eyes with a look as fatalistic as it was disillusioned, before simply replying, scathingly:
- I did what I had to do to get them out of here, that's all. One of us had to do it...
The jab, whose bitter injustice Sam once again felt, went straight into his heart like a bull's-eye arrow, but that was as far as it went. His features hardened as much as they closed, and he chose to let Dean take the blame for his bitter words. He looked away, teeth clenched, then contented himself with uttering in an almost disgusted tone:
- I need a shower. And change the sheets.

And without lingering, he turned on his heels, striding steadily back to the infirmary door, which he passed silently. Dean, who was suddenly madly tempted to hold him back, gestured in his direction, his lips parting to hail him at the same time as he wanted to join him, but his will withered before he could move or utter a sound. He wasn't ready to get past what had just happened, what had divided them so violently, even though he knew he had to.
But Sam's decisions still twisted his stomach too much... unless that dull rage gnawing at his insides was more the result of the way he'd responded to them.

Chapter Text

Dean unbuttoned his pants, pulled down his fly, and three seconds later the beer-colored jet of water bubbled to the bottom of the bowl. When he'd finished, he dropped the last drop, fastened his belt and went to rinse his fingers.
Noon had struck on his watch, but the terrible nausea never left him. He couldn't stop thinking about everything that had happened, everything, and the after-effects of the ordeal, now that it was over - or so it seemed - struck him down at least as hard as the day after a binge. The images and sounds, the feelings and thoughts of every kind that had subjected him to the intense stress of the last few hours flitted endlessly through his mind, despite himself, and he looked back on what he had done, what he had said, governed by hatred, fury and nothing else, only served to distress him even more, as he realized that he hadn't even begun to lift the corner of the page he needed to turn to get past the consequences of his encounter with the Erotes.
The gods of Love were one thing, Sam was another. Because it was actually his brother to whom his concerns and remorse were almost exclusively turned, Dean thought of him constantly and, aghast, could scarcely believe how far the situation had degenerated. He could still feel, with disgust, the shock of the blows they'd exchanged. His stomach churned at the memory of the insults and reproaches they had hurled at each other. His ears ringing with pain, under the echo of their screams and shouts. How could it have come to this? How could he have allowed himself to be dominated by such appalling rage? And how, now, could he reconnect with the one who mattered most in the world to him?
Sam's eyes never ceased to haunt him. Eyelids closed or wide open, Dean, now brought back to a better frame of mind, saw like a fixed image the dejected, sad and disappointed look in his younger brother's eyes just before he turned his back to desert the infirmary. And the elder Winchester knew he couldn't leave it at that. A day earlier, they had awoken from a fabulous night whose fire had forged bonds with Sam that had seemed indestructible. He'd finally glimpsed the possibility of making peace with the once inconceivable nature of their new relationship, and twenty-four hours later, what remained of it but a vague tugging at the back of his mind? Sam, he mused, had at least part of the answer. The Erotes had caused a new cataclysm, that was obvious to him, but he was also convinced that he and Sam were the only ones who held the key to overcoming what they'd just been through. It was between them, just between them, but every time Dean felt the temptation to go and find his brother, an immense terror immediately paralyzed his legs.

Fate, perhaps, finally took pity on him at around two o'clock, when, coming out of the kitchen with a beer in hand despite the knots in his stomach, he unexpectedly met Sam's gaze. Sam was crossing the corridor to the library, where he'd already spent the morning, and Dean froze on seeing him. Sam's reaction was passive, simply showing that he had seen him. And, without hostility or sympathy, he entered the vast room, silent and indifferent. As he left, Dean felt a twinge of relief and, summoning up all his courage, chose to seize the opportunity to re-establish contact.

Quietly, with his beer in his right hand, he entered the library. Sam, seated in the middle of the study table they used most frequently, was bent over an open book among more than a dozen stacked or spread around it. He'd swapped his dark jeans for a lighter one, his green sweater for a gray plaid shirt whose sleeves he'd rolled up, and with his hair tucked neatly behind his ears he looked focused. Walking in his direction, Dean searched for a clue as to how he would be greeted, but in vain. Sam had obviously sensed his presence but opted not to let on, and even when Dean moved to stand directly opposite him on the other side of the table, he didn't blink. The elder waited a moment, but nothing changed. Sam was dutifully reading the parchment pages of a black leather book with forged metal corners, and it took Dean more than a minute to finally dare to break the leaden silence that was suffocating him, by calling out to his brother in a knotted, awkward voice:
- What... What are you reading?
He saw Sam's jaws twitch under his skin, which was pockmarked with short hairs like iron filings. As if anticipating an unpleasant moment. And Dean had confirmation that her presence didn't cause him intense happiness.
- I'm researching Chaos,” he replied, cold and direct. Since you haven't seen fit to tell me what you've learned about it, I'll do my own research.
Sam hadn't for a moment deigned to look up as he delivered the spike that harshly echoed the last words they'd exchanged, and Dean painfully swallowed his saliva as he acknowledged his bitterness.
- I...
He fell silent as soon as the first word was spoken and lowered his eyes, his free hand closing on the top of the chair behind which he stood. Then he resumed, determined to make amends:
- I didn't tell you, it's true. I could have, I... I should have. I spent an awful lot of time getting Castiel to talk, I...
He paused again, feeling his voice quiver with anger, and took the time for a long, silent exhale. Then he continued:
- I was... too beside myself to want to associate you with... To this, I... I didn't understand you... You didn't follow me, why we fought like that... I just...
- What did Castiel tell you?” Sam snapped dryly.
Dean looked up to see his brother's hard, implacable gaze staring back at him. Sam was clearly in no mood to go back over their violent clash, and Dean, who didn't want to aggravate an already distressing situation, didn't insist. Imperceptibly, he tilted his head to one side, and with a sombre look on his face, he soon confessed with his lips:
- The little I managed to get out of him...
It was the younger Winchester's turn to take the brunt of the blow, at least in appearance. He continued to stare at his brother with a grave expression, and with a pronounced crease between his eyes, he then formulated, thinking back on each of the words that had made up Dean's threats to the two entities:
- So, you were bluffing?
Looking closed-mouthed, Dean didn't deny it. An unusual, unnatural warmth seemed to spread through every nook and cranny of Sam's body, and he was deeply irritated by this admission.
- At least you admit it,” he finally said with an annoyed pout, his tone partially muffled. And... now that they're gone, would you be able to explain to me what's got into you? Or is it just that you've completely lost your mind?
Sam still couldn't get over the fact that Dean had dared to defy the Erotes without having the slightest trump card up his sleeve, and although a part of him somehow felt reassured that it was never in their power to threaten them seriously, he didn't show it because he wasn't sorry. Dean, without complaint, wiped away the rebuff, just as he submitted to his brother's stony gaze. He could feel the latter's fury making his voice quiver like water at boiling point, and on the grounds of providing a justification for his temerity he tried to explain:
- It wasn't... as crazy as you think...
- Oh no?” cut in Sam immediately. Did you think about the fact that they could read your thoughts when you decided to take them for a ride?
The second during which Dean remained dumbfounded provided the answer. Then, trying to minimize the risk, he continued:
- They didn't give me the impression... of being able to capture everything in minute detail... and then, Cass told me they had a deal. That Paradise was ready to give them a hand against Chaos as long as they didn't come after us.
- And so you thought it was open bar!” shouted Sam so suddenly that Dean couldn't help but jump. If I put a gun to your head and tell you it shoots nothing but marshmallows, will you tell me to pull the trigger?!
The younger Winchester hadn't really been surprised by the existence of this supposed deal. The day he'd begun burning alive on contact with the spire, Castiel had already mentioned to him the warning to the Erotes, and obviously the contact between the two factions had been prolonged. But that was of secondary importance; his brother's kamikaze attitude was definitely not on. All the same, Dean continued to try to defend himself and, uncomfortably, threw out with half reassurance, without raising his voice:
- What did you want to do? Stand there and wait for them to go somewhere else?
- They were going to leave, Sam spat almost automatically, tensing in his chair. They'd gotten what they wanted!
- But no,” moaned Dean, massaging his temple with the bottom of his palm, ”no... They didn't give a damn about us, you still don't get it? They were safe, why would they leave?
- Oh, please!” snapped the youngest of the siblings, his shoulders stiffening. Don't tell me you think the bunker could have hidden them indefinitely? The protection didn't stop them from getting in here, and even if we admit that it can filter through large meshes to let only small fry through, how long do you think it would have taken an entity like Chaos to find a way in?
- And why do you think I did everything I could to get them out of here! claimed Dean, his eyes darting.
- Because the very idea of breathing the same air as them makes you sick! The fact that they could lure that thing in here was the least of your worries, so don't fuck with me!
The two brothers stood there for a moment, glaring at each other, but almost together they decided to lay down their weapons. Sam suddenly forced himself to remain silent, closing his lips like an oyster, and as he took a long breath he realized the futility of continuing to oppose their points of view, so obvious was the irritation the subject invariably caused Dean. They would remain deeply divided on this point, that was a fact, and sharing this realization, Dean seemed to give up defending his opinion. He sighed quietly, placed his beer on the table, then pulled the chair in front of him to sit opposite his brother. In response, Sam briefly looked up with less hard eyes, and signifying his willingness to move past their dispute, he tried to steer the exchange in a direction he hoped would be less sterile by soon declaring, his tone bleak:
- Forget it, there's no point. There's no point in going over the same ground again and again. They're gone now, so... Why don't you tell me exactly what Castiel told you?
With a fleeting glance, Dean seemed to agree. For a few moments, he seemed to be obediently searching for his words, then after a shrug he repeated:
- I told you: not much... An hour of calling him every which way for two minutes on the other end. He didn't even bother to get his ass back here, even after telling her we... we had them cornered.
He sighed, his gaze suddenly nervous, only to lament right after:
- He tried to convince me not to do something stupid. As I told you, he explained that... the angels had a pact with them against their enemy, this... Chaos. That they'd decided to help them get rid of it on condition that they stop the breakage, and with us first. He told me... to let them recover and wait for them to leave.
Dean looked reluctantly at his brother for a brief second. Already enraged by Paradise's compromise, which he saw as a form of betrayal, he wasn't envious of Sam's satisfaction at finding the celestial position an echo of his own vision of things. But Sam didn't even think about it. His thoughts were elsewhere, and with his lips tightly pressed together, he delivered an affirmation:
- The mess they made didn't weigh much in the decision, it's not that... If Paradise has chosen to join forces, it's because the situation is serious: this thing is after the gods, they fear for Jack...
- He didn't mention it. But that must be it...
Dean, dark and closed, tried to stop thinking about this alliance that revolted him. Across from him, Sam watched him for a moment, wondering if he would continue to keep his brother in the dark, as his brother had done with him, but he saw no point in prolonging the masquerade, other than to seize the opportunity to foster unnecessary resentment.
- That's what it's all about, there's no doubt about it,” he asserted. It would be obvious even if Castiel hadn't confirmed it.
Dean tinkled, as Sam had expected. The elder gave his younger brother a puzzled look, then, once he'd understood what he was saying, called him out:
- What? What do you mean, you... Did you get it?
- No, I didn't get it. I didn't get it. I saw it. He was there earlier.
Incredulous, Dean stared at his brother in shock. His gaze intensified as he integrated what he'd just heard, and facing an unperturbed Sam, he threw out:
- Castiel was there? Are you serious? When?
- An hour or two ago,” Sam replied firmly. I called him and he showed up. That's got to be killing you. Anyway, he filled me in, thanks just the same.
Despite his determination to put their quarrel behind him, Sam was not without a touch of satisfaction and a taste of revenge at the discomfited look on his brother's face. The latter found it so hard to digest the information that he remained stoic, paler for a while, before nodding stiffly.
- I see,” he said at last, without loosening his jaws. And you figured you didn't need to warn me, did you?
- A dot all over the place,” said Sam at once, his words traveling faster than his thoughts.
And he immediately reproached himself for this gratuitous act of resentment. Dean, more ostentatiously shaking his head in bitterness, didn't give him the chance to make up for it, however, for looking away he conceded outright:
- Okay, touché...
Looking up, he perceived in his brother's eyes the regret he felt at having stirred the pot, but didn't hold it against him. Dean was well aware that it would take time to resolve their differences, and didn't blame Sam, whose pride prevented him from taking a step towards him at that very moment. He cleared his throat as if trying to evacuate his discomfort, tried to fix his gaze on a logical point without really succeeding and, trying to make believe that the situation didn't affect him more than that, he threw to his younger son in an off-key voice:
- Okay... So, you know more about the subject than I do, do you?
Sam shrugged. His reaction was counterproductive, and his impression that his brother's dismissal of him was the only matter of concern worth mentioning, significantly worsened his already gloomy mood. He didn't reply. He just stared, dark-eyed, at his hands clasped and clenched on the table, his jaws hard at work. Dean made an effort to remain calm, even displaying a patience that, in the circumstances, cost him, and only after a long moment of waiting in vain for his reaction, he called out to his brother, without brutality, his tone neutral but tense:
- Are you going to put me in, Sam? What did he say?
Sam seemed to turn a deaf ear, even though he'd heard perfectly well. But he was no longer in the mood for discussion, furious for reasons he couldn't quite define, and leaving Dean baffled he suddenly closed his book before rising curtly to throw out:
- You know what? Ask him directly, it'll be easier.
And almost without a glance, he left, his book under his arm, leaving his brother behind again, who watched him walk away with a blank stare.
- Sam...” he tried to hold back, aware that his voice wouldn't carry.
The younger man persisted, snubbing Dean, who, higher up, thundered as he put more and more distance between them:
- Sam! Come on, we've got to...
But Sam was already gone. He had left the library, and the elder of the two brothers was left alone, once again, with only the acrid taste of bile in his mouth. And the feeling that this way of leaving each other was becoming their new way of doing things.

Disgusted by all this, by this war he couldn't bring to an end even though he didn't really know who his real enemy was - the Erotes, Sam, or himself - Dean didn't even try to appeal to Castiel. What was the point? He soon came to the conclusion that no matter what the angel might tell him, it wouldn't change his mortifying obsession with the gods of Love, nor the hurt he'd been doing to himself since their meeting, let alone Sam. He had no idea where he stood anymore. Where they stood. He'd tried to patch things up with him, but felt he'd only made things worse. The weight of their differences seemed to him to have dug a gulf between them that had never seemed so wide, and more than ever he was faced with this violent, nagging question: what were they to each other now?
They could have hated each other. Right after the first signs of their irresistible, amoral attraction, they could have blamed each other. Resenting each other, denying each other to the point of erasing each other from their lives. It had been quite the opposite, and their determination to stick together despite the devastation their feelings had caused, was undoubtedly what had kept them together and the greatest proof of their mutual love. Did it still matter? What was left of the bricks they had laid after the earthquake that had swept them away, now that they had just weathered another storm? The longing, the doubts, the shared remorse, then the euphoria, all seemed like a distant, vague memory. Like an interlude in their lives that didn't really belong to them. A brutal, shattering return to earth, where the rupture seemed so serious that, if thinking of them as lovers made even less sense today than it had yesterday, Dean, sick with impotence, doubted they were even still brothers.
He suddenly felt the need to get out of the bunker, where the atmosphere was becoming more and more unbreathable, and with open graves he hit the road, seeking comfort with the last member of his family: the Impala. He drove for five minutes or five hours, impervious to any notion of time, the car radio blasting heavy metal non-stop, until the faint light of day finally made him aware of how much time had passed.
Suddenly escaping from his thoughts, Dean realized that it was late, but that he hadn't gone far. A quick glance at the first sign he saw informed him of his location: he was leaving the outskirts of the town of Phillipsburg, just a few dozen kilometers from Lebanon. Pushing on a little further, more or less trying to figure out which way to turn if he felt like going back, he soon came across another sign, this one advertising the services of the nearby Sundowner Bar.
Finding a bistro with such a name at this hour seemed prophetic, and smiling at the irony, he decided without hesitation to stop there.
Her name was Amanda. She had turned thirty-six last month and was working for a real estate agent in Phillipsburg. She was on her way home to Logan, but needed a drink. It wasn't her habit. A tough day. A demanding boss, a missed deal, and the stress of telling him the bad news had driven her here.
Why was she entrusting him with this? That's what she'd asked Dean with a smile, tucking back a lock of her silky auburn hair, while to his right, at the counter, he'd listened patiently as she recounted her worries. She'd heard him chuckle, and Dean had opened a text message from Jody containing a special gift: a photo of Miracle, entrusted some time ago to the care of their sheriff friend, in which the dog looked as happy as a cock surrounded by his four mistresses. The hunter's tender expression had caught the eye of the young woman who, not insensible to his charm either, had dared to strike up a conversation.
They had one drink, then a second. The longer the conversation went on, the more Amanda put her best foot forward, in a subtle exercise in seduction that didn't leave Dean indifferent. Smiles gradually gave way to laughter, and when it was his turn to talk about himself, he used the customary vagueness with which he knew how to wrap his details, revealing himself without actually doing so, with just enough detail to excite the young woman's imagination. The mystery that had emanated from him, particularly at that moment, had pleased Amanda, who had taken to observing him as if probing the depths of his soul. He had felt her at ease, relaxed and confident, ready, he had no doubt, to yield to his charm. He himself hadn't remained indifferent to her beauty and wise manners, nor had he disliked feeling that natural attraction again, which had tickled the pit of his stomach and widened his eyes.
Then, to the chime of the news flash on the bar TV, Amanda had suddenly realized how quickly time had flown and said she had to leave, but not without giving Dean the chance to react. He'd almost done it. Almost offered her an alternative, sure that beneath her smooth exterior, the seductive young woman was longing for an adventure that would break her routine and spice up at least one evening of her life. And I'm sure he wanted one himself, despite the unspeakable upheaval caused by the barely imaginable events of the last few days.

Without identifying all the reasons, Dean had nevertheless contented himself with telling her that he'd been delighted with the time they'd spent together, and that if need be he'd think of her if he was looking to move. She hadn't really taken him seriously on this last allegation, but had returned the compliment about their meeting and left him her card, while insisting that he could contact her even if he had no real estate plans. He had returned the courtesy by leaving her his number. With a knowing smile, she'd left him, accepting Dean's invitation to settle the bill, and he'd left shortly afterwards, once his last glass had been emptied and two bills deposited on the counter. Happy to still be able to feel attraction for a representative of the opposite sex.
Back outside, the hunter noticed that the night was now dark and cool. Just where his heart was, however, he felt a gentle warmth radiating from beneath his jacket, for this interlude with the beautiful Amanda, which had allowed him to restore a little normality to his life for a while - even though it was atypical by definition - had been like a breath of fresh air, the effects of which, unusually, he had enjoyed far more strongly than after the hunting trip he and Sam had been leading for almost five days.
A feeling of normalcy which, all too quickly, only served to highlight, by contrast, the hard-to-qualify acts he'd committed with his brother, the unnaturalness of which suddenly struck him all the more violently.

Walking back to his car, parked in front of the bar, and thinking that he'd soon be reunited with Sam, Dean suffered the stinging shock of the return of the images of their forfeit and the guilty sensations that had so ruthlessly embraced him. And, finally daring to think about tomorrow, or rather driven to do so after the way he and his brother had confronted each other, he wondered whether, now that they had reached the heart of the maze of their unconscious feelings, the time had not come to think about getting out of it. A thought which, as soon as it materialized in his mind, gripped him with dread, for it had never before occurred to him so clearly. He realized that if it were to materialize - an outcome which, at this moment of cold clairvoyance, seemed inescapable - it would effectively put an end to the madness in which they had begun to indulge. And the consequences of a return to normalcy, assuming the hypothesis was credible, seemed as uncertain as they were distressing.
In any case, one thing was clear: the Erotes' smashing burst into the bunker and the deep division that had affected him and Sam had undoubtedly been the pair of slaps in the face that had suspended this improbable dream that bordered on delirium. The question was whether it had also brought about its end, and that, as far as he was concerned, Dean, entangled in a torrent of contradictions, didn't have the answer. He was obviously all the more ignorant of what Sam himself might now think, and the explanation they were going to have to have, the explanation he sensed was coming like a storm heralded by the sudden rising of the wind, would not be confined to coldly settling their accounts as to their differences of opinion.
That was what worried him more than anything else.
When he reached the Impala, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys. He placed the ignition key between his fingers, and as he lifted his head to cover the last few yards to the jet-coated car, he stopped dead in his tracks. He stood there for a few seconds, staring coyly at the unmistakable figure at the front of the vehicle, then with a silent sigh, he finally asked a question rather than a reproach:
- What are you doing here?
With a nod, Castiel greeted him before saying in his husky voice:
- Good to see you, Dean.
Although the latter didn't really show it, the feeling was mutual. Dean drew a salutary comfort from the unexpected presence of his friend, whom he stared at for a moment, and then, lifting his chin briefly, enjoined:
- Get your ass in the car, don't just stand there. It's freezing out here.
The angel, without reacting immediately, fixed his gaze on a distant point and waited to hear the driver's door open before slowly moving to the passenger's door. He climbed in too, but didn't speak immediately. Neither did Dean. The two of them simply stood next to each other for a long moment, in total silence, until Dean confided in a weary, cautious tone:
- I'd almost given up on ever seeing you again... Are you all right?
Castiel took the time to answer, his lips giving a faint smile. Dean even heard him sigh, which surprised him.
- I'm fine,” the angel said laconically.
He paused, staring ahead through the windshield. Then he said:
- It was important for me to talk to you. I came to the bunker earlier, but...
- Sam told me,” cut in Dean, taciturn.
- Talking to him,” Castiel continued after turning his eyes briefly to his friend, ”I realized that certain things had happened, and that maybe this wasn't the best time to explain. But... I had to tell you why I didn't come when you called, that I...
- Cass, Cass, stop,” Dean pleaded in a heavy voice.
The angel fell silent and turned her head towards him, who was staring at the meters on the dashboard without seeing them. His downcast, resigned air contrasted with the fury that had animated his last exchanges with Castiel, who soon listened to him resume:
- Listen, you... You don't have to explain. I've been thinking about the way I spoke to you on the phone, and... I didn't have to tell you all that, you're not here to answer the door as soon as I ring. I've wanted to tell you for a long time, but since all this started, I've realized that I've been unbearable. So... try not to be too angry with me, okay? You're already doing way more than you should with us, so I'm sorry if I messed up.
Dean's repentant eyes met his for a moment, and without a word, with a little surprise, he accepted the hunter's apology unreservedly, sensitive to this mark of friendship and respect. He let a few moments pass, perceiving without pointing them the distress and doubts of the elder Winchester, but without feeling absolved of his moral obligations despite the fact that Dean had made amends.
- You're my closest friend, Dean. It's my duty to be at your side, and I want to apologize for not being there when you seemed to need it most.
The memory of the dismay he had felt when, confronted with the reappearance of the Erotes, joining Castiel had been a challenge, only to be rebuffed in the end, was not Dean's most pleasant moment of the day. He had finally digested it, however, and tried to prove it by joking a little too forcefully:
- Calling you and finally getting you on the phone... Come to think of it, it's a bit comical. I don't understand why you keep using this thing. What good is it to you, now that you've got your wings back?
- Force of habit, no doubt,” he replied, nodding limply. It was impossible for me to reach you when you called, but I knew you weren't in any vital danger. I called you as soon as I could to let you know.
“To try to calm me down and dissuade me from screwing up even more,” Dean almost said. But he kept it to himself. He didn't blame Castiel for giving him a bone to chew on, or even for being reluctant to answer the thousand questions he'd asked, and ironizing in a bittersweet tone, he threw out with a half-smile:
- Do you have a network in Paradise?
- I was on Earth at the time,” clarified the angel, who reacted appropriately to the joke.
Dean nodded. Putting the pieces back together, he realized why.
- You were... finishing the deal with Eros? Were you?
Castiel looked at him in astonishment, even if he only raised an eyebrow. Seeing that he had been right, and that his insight had not failed to surprise him, Dean added, looking at his comrade:
- You told me yourself. Even though I had to insist on it. Why else would you have been prevented from bringing yourself back at the precise moment they showed up, if it wasn't because you were busy with the last of the gang?
Castiel marked the blow with the beginnings of a bemused pout. Dean didn't know whether to be proud or offended, a question he forgot as soon as the angel retorted:
- You're half right. I did join Eros, but the deal was already closed. I spoke to Sam about it, didn't he tell you?
- No,” he admitted ruefully, his eyes dark. Sam and I... we didn't talk much.
His friend's apologetic expression, which sadly echoed the bitterness he'd sensed in Sam earlier at the bunker, sincerely distressed Castiel.
- I'm sorry to hear that,” he said. I think I've noticed that recent events have left their mark.
- It's not your fault,” mumbled Dean, thinking only of his own wrongdoings.
Castiel didn't know what to say to ease his distress. He remained silent for a moment, then, with only his explanations to go on, he resumed.
- I... I realized they weren't telling the whole story, as soon as I confronted them after the incident with... Sam, and the conch shell. Then several signs went up to Paradise and I went back to question them. They couldn't deny that they were being hunted by Chaos, and we had to quickly assess the seriousness of the situation.
- You mean... in relation to Jack?” asked Dean, who already knew the answer.
- Chaos is... a bestial entity, closed to all reason, whose sole purpose is to grow,” Castiel explained with a worried look. Escaped from a forgotten time, alien to the rules of this world. For the moment, it's too weak to be a threat to Jack. But, if she accumulates enough power... That's why she hunts down Erotes, because they're among the least powerful of their kind and therefore easy prey. She feels it instinctively, and they're just the beginning.
Dean tinkled silently. He was delighted to learn that the gods of Love were at the bottom of the table, but it wasn't exactly the impression he'd had.
- That's another reason why Paradise decided to join forces with the Erotes,” continued the angel. To eliminate the danger while there's still time, before it becomes too great. That's what's kept me so busy so far.
- And what were you doing with the blond boy, if the deal was already done?” asked Dean, who guessed that bitter debates must have agitated the celestial spheres. Were you popping champagne?
- I offered him asylum,” replied Castiel without batting an eyelid. Chaos had found them, and Pothos almost perished. I'm not telling you anything. He had no choice but to accept.
Dean, shocked, turned round-eyed on his friend.
- You mean... you've decided to shelter these bastards in Paradise?
- The less the thing feeds on, the more time we'll have to deal with the situation before it becomes critical,” Castiel tried to justify to his visibly irritated friend. Heaven remains a safe haven, for now, it was the wisest decision. Dean... this subject doesn't concern you.
- Really?” he glared directly, almost defiantly.
Castiel, who wasn't sure what Dean was referring to, simply noted:
- You and Sam have given enough. That's why I'm trying not to involve you. You've done for me, for Jack and for Paradise far more than anyone else, you deserve to have peace. Let us deal with the consequences.
The consequences of what he and Sam had done? Dean didn't look up, seeing this as confirmation of what he'd sensed earlier, without Castiel seeming to realize what he'd revealed to him last night, during their hectic exchange on the phone. He swallowed his annoyance, accepting the blow without flinching, and although he disagreed with the angels' decision, he understood it, in a way. Perhaps he even understood Sam's motivations better now. He didn't feel like fighting anymore. To spew his fury. Unquestionably, he was suffering the after-effects of the last two days and, as if anesthetized, deprived of the strength to argue, he soon blurted out:
- Why doesn't Jack throw a lightning bolt at this thing? That would settle it...
“If he had, maybe we'd never have crossed paths with the Erotes,” he mused immediately, before realizing that he couldn't blame Heaven every time the events that punctuated his life, this life he'd accepted, took an unfavorable turn.
- You have a saying about the ways of the Lord, I believe,” Castiel replied simply.
Dean gave a short, dry laugh in response to the angel's witticism. His old friend, as he'd known him in another life, probably wasn't as far gone as he thought, after all.
- The situation's manageable,” said Castiel more prosaically. Don't worry.
Dean was far from reassured, but chose to trust. Not to pester Castiel to unravel the mysteries of Heaven, betting that it was beyond his comprehension anyway. He preferred to stand back a little from it all. At least for a while.
- I'm... exhausted, Cass. Worn out. Worn out. I need... a vacation. A month in Tahiti, on the beach, with the vahines.
Castiel looked at him sympathetically, a slight smile on his lips.
- I've got my wings back... If you like, I'll give you a lift...
His joke was good for Dean, who smiled heartily. Perhaps, in other circumstances, he wouldn't have said no. But he had something more important to do.
- Do you have another five minutes?” he asked, putting the key in the ignition without turning it just yet. Or do you have to leave?
From the tone of his voice, Castiel knew Dean needed him.
- I've got all the time you want,” he assured him.
Dean nodded in recognition, and started the engine. The Impala's characteristic roar was heard, just before the vibrations resonated throughout the body.
- Great,” he said, sounding relieved. I'll keep you a little ahead of me on the way back, then. Just long enough for me to ask you a couple more questions.

Chapter Text

The return to the bunker sounded like the end of a too-short break. A healthy breath of oxygen too quickly consumed. Left alone by Castiel, who had humbly advised him to talk to Sam, Dean, relieved to have at least been able to set things straight with his friend, finished descending the steel steps that plunged into the middle of the control room.
He sighed, a weight on his chest, and not just because he'd never thought it possible to experience such affliction simply by setting foot in his home again. The time had come to do what he'd been planning to do anyway, to try to re-establish a dialogue with his brother, but he doubted he could, and despaired of himself for feeling this way, so unhappy at being cut off from Sam without knowing how to get back to him. Aware that what he had to say would probably not help him in any way.

The first of the two brothers didn't need to look for the other. The lights on in the library, where Sam had returned to work, were the first sign of his presence there, soon confirmed by his image, when Dean spotted him, from the corridor, bent over the table on some book unearthed from who knew where. But he didn't enter. As he approached his youngest son, Dean felt his courage slip away and, no doubt still too scarred by the virulence with which they had clashed, he quietly turned back to his room. After all, Sam hadn't tried to contact him since he'd left with the Impala, and the younger Dean seemed so absorbed in his research that his brother thought he might not even have noticed his absence.

Weary and sad, Dean undid his jacket. Washed his face and rinsed his mouth. Took off his shoes. Clean his weapon, which he still hadn't taken the time to take care of? Lie down on his bed, headphones on? Tidy up the shelves he'd turned upside down looking for myrrh and salt the day before? No. None of these palliatives for avoiding Sam won his favor, and his latest idea less so than the others.
He wanted to forget the Erotes, not return to the place where he and Sam had fought because of them.
But hiding here was not an option. He allowed himself the luxury of a few more minutes' reflection, rehearsing in his head what he was going to try and tell his brother. To get rid of an unpleasant feeling of wetness under his arms, he set about putting on a clean shirt and swimsuit, and made up his mind: as soon as he'd finished, he'd go and see Sam. He didn't need to. For when he turned towards the open door, ready at last to leave his room, he froze in front of the image of the younger man standing noiselessly in the doorway.
Standing tall, looking tense and determined.
- I saw you were here, you know?” he said after a few seconds, faced with his eldest's apathy. In front of the library...
Dean, taken by surprise, took a moment to react and then, with a faraway look in his eyes, stammered as he mechanically tried to figure out what to do with his hands:
- Ah, yes, I... You seemed to be concentrating, I...
He suddenly fell silent as he realized he'd just taken a step backwards. Sam then took a step forward, immediately catching his brother's gaze.
- You've been gone a long time... Need some fresh air?
- Yeah,” the older brother confirmed succinctly after a second, scratching his shoulder. Well, I had to.
Sam didn't dwell on the question and simply nodded. Concentrating on his prime intention, not really any more at ease than Dean, he put his hands in his pockets, thumbs out, and with his shoulders noticeably tucked in he announced in a heavy voice:
- I've got something to tell you.
Dean placed his hands on his hips and watched him approach for a while longer, taking care himself to remain firmly in place. Given the rather cool way they'd parted earlier and Sam's body language, he anxiously expected a relatively unpleasant exchange, as he'd feared, but the moment had come. Backing out was no longer an option.
- Well, I... I wanted to apologize for my reaction earlier,” said the younger of the two men. I'm sorry I screwed you up and left once again, closing the discussion... It's becoming a habit I'm going to have to break. So... if you agree to resume the conversation...
As he went on, Sam's face softened from its harsh initial expression to one of contrition, and it was now with some trepidation that he awaited Dean's reply. But it took Dean a moment to formulate it. As if stunned by Sam's outstretched hand, from which he'd feared anything else, the elder Winchester remained frozen for a long time, a bemused look on his brother's face that he wasn't sure to interpret correctly. Then he moved. Seeming to emerge from his torpor, Dean first blinked, then moved his lips, before mobilizing one foot to advance towards Sam, slowly at first, then faster and faster. When he got close to his youngest son, his heart filled with emotion and relief, he almost threw himself on top of him and embraced him without warning, pressing both arms against his back with uncommon strength, clinging so tightly to him that it would have been hard for anyone to make him let go.
And he let out everything that had been gnawing at him since they'd clashed.
- I'm sorry, Sam,” he moaned in a muffled voice, his chin planted in the hollow of her shoulder. It's all my fault, I've done everything wrong. I'm sorry, Sammy, I'm sorry...
He brought one hand up to grip the back of his brother's neck, burying his mouth in his collar to stifle the beginnings of a sob. Struck to the heart, Sam, at first taken aback by his outburst of affection, felt nothing but love and empathy for his elder brother, for he understood only too well the remorse that could overwhelm him. At that very moment, nothing mattered more to Dean than the unspeakable relief he felt at rediscovering this unexpected connection with Sam, who in turn hugged him tightly to show his solidarity, his immense attachment and his desire to seal the peace.
They remained embraced for long seconds, enjoying these almost improvised reconciliations with no hurry to conclude them. Dean sensed with happiness that the emotion that overwhelmed him was shared by Sam, and Sam, for his part, had the confirmation that they had lived through the situation just as badly as each other. They took their time to comfort each other. With slow, loving gestures; then, gradually curbing the emotion the moment had aroused, they loosened their embrace little by little, and finally broke away with a sniff, their eyes moist. Dean stepped back, turned away to run his hands over his cheeks, while Sam wiped his nose.
- I've... I've been thinking all day about what I was going to tell you,” Dean soon confided in a heavy voice with his back turned. And how I was going to tell you. When I think back on... what I've done... Everything I've thrown at you...
Sam felt the weight of regret in his brother's voice and paused for a long moment, nodding gravely at the painful memory of those trying hours. He hadn't necessarily anticipated Dean's need to return to the subject in this way, but he was open to it. In a somber, almost funereal tone, he then delivered:
- You scared the hell out of me, you know? I don't remember ever seeing you boil over with such rage, I... I didn't know what to do to bring you back.
Dean was struck by the choice of that last word, which echoed the feeling of estrangement, and even brokenness, that had set in when their opposing visions had collided. Looking unhappy, eyes shining, he faced Sam again after a second and lamented:
- I couldn't help it, Sam... Seeing them come back, hearing them... daring to ask us for help, after all we've been through because of them... They drove me crazy, I saw red.
The folds of bitterness at the corners of Sam's lips gave them a drooping appearance that only accentuated his gloomy air. He lowered his eyes for a moment, considering the events with all the gravity but also the necessary hindsight, and with the rocky timbre his voice imbued in solemn moments he declared:
- You're not the only one to have acted with your gut and made dangerous decisions... I didn't agree with you, but... up to a certain point, I can understand why you slipped up. I wasn't necessarily very clear-sighted either, it could have turned out quite differently.
- It's not your fault,” his brother cleared him, ”I'm the one who screwed up... I probably should have listened to you, but at the time it was too much to ask. All I could see was that I had a way of reaching them and I wanted to hurt them as much as possible. Make them pay.
There was still anger in Dean's bruised eyes, but Sam, who laid serious eyes on him, had already understood that it would never go away.
- I didn't think you still hated them that much,” the younger hunter admitted with an almost frightened frown. Does that mean that... despite what you've said, you haven't really accepted what's happened to us? Is that why you got so angry with me?
- Q... What?” Dean soon exclaimed in astonishment. Of course not, I... Sam, no, it's nothing to do with that!
The younger boy looked a little confused, although he was relieved to hear that he had nothing to do with it. But that his brother should even think so chilled the elder, who tried to explain:
- Against them... I wanted you with me, that's all... I needed your support. But you didn't follow me, and... if I treated you so badly, it's because I think that, when you agreed to help them - and what a scare you gave me at the time - I felt betrayed... I lost it, I'm sorry, I... I never wanted to fight you.
- Neither did I, Sam proclaimed forcefully as he took a step forward, his gaze intense. And I wasn't against you, I'd never betray you, I just wanted to... protect us, you understand?
- Of course I do... And even if I wanted to see them dead, that's what I tried to do too, in my own way...
Sam didn't doubt it, although Dean's method continued to seem the worst solution. He shook his head with a bitter chuckle as he thought back over what had happened and, without any desire to judge, with the sole desire to deliver what was in his heart, he replied:
- It drove me crazy, Dean, that you threw yourself in like that, headlong, without thinking about the consequences...
Dean took a step towards him, his gaze humble, almost submissive. He didn't want to rekindle the conflict and just tried to confide in him, with a certain tenderness.
- Maybe you didn't either, when you decided to touch him...
Sam, with a more serious nod, admitted it.
- I made the decision that seemed the least dangerous for us,” he explained, still with the slightest doubt in his voice and eyes that he might have been wrong. I only thought of protecting you... Did you ever wonder what I'd do if I lost you?
Dean tried to conceal the emotion that this question aroused, and his already moist eyes helped him do so quite well.
- I wasn't in mortal danger,” he tried to persuade gently. The risk was calculated.
- Not then,” Sam challenged. When you threatened to hand them over to Chaos, maybe; Castiel told you about the deal. But not when it came to deciding whether or not to help Pothos. You didn't know then.
The elder Winchester had nothing to object to this factual description and lowered his eyes. A few seconds later, he raised his eyebrows and, wearing a mirthless smile, surmised with a falsely light air:
- If I'd died... you'd probably have brought me back... As usual.
Sam, who had little taste for irony, preferred a short, dry, yellow laugh to a more snarling response.
- You bet... Maybe it was true in Chuck's day,” he judged with a disillusioned expression. When watching our little lives still amused him and he made it easy for us to put a quarter back in the machine... I'm not sure we can cheat death that easily anymore.
They were both silent for a while, content to remain simply in each other's presence. At peace. After a while, Dean sat down on the edge of his bed, looking exhausted, and declared:
- I don't think you'll mind... I think I'll wait a while before risking our necks again.
He forced himself to laugh at his quip, without wanting to and for no more than half a second, keeping his eyes downcast for the time it took Sam to join him. The latter sat down beside his brother, comforted by his proximity, and quietly confided:
- I'm glad you've come to see things a bit differently. It feels good.
- Yeah?” said Dean, peering out of the corner of his eye. Tired of taking my fist in your face already?
- And kicking you in the stomach,” he replied in the same sarcastic tone.
Dean gave a grunt of assent and fell silent again, remaining silent for a moment. The two brothers used this time to ponder their actions and make it clear to each other that they didn't want to go through the same quarrel again, until Dean, raising his head more ostentatiously, placed his fingertips on Sam's face and asked in a sheepish voice:
- How's your jaw?
- Don't worry,” downplayed Sam, whose purplish bruise was softened by the short hairs that lined his chin. I've had worse... How about you? Your ribs?
- Oh... they're okay too,” said Dean, adopting a casual tone. I've got some new chocolate bars in the shape of shoe soles, for a change...
Sam flashed a closed smile and inhaled deeply before exhaling noisily through his nose. He now felt much lighter, a sensation he'd almost forgotten. Even if it didn't last.
- I hope I've made the right choice,” he said uneasily, his doubts returning to the forefront of his mind now that his dispute with Dean was fading away. I can't help thinking that... if I'd let it die, it would be one less opportunity for that thing out there to feed and grow.
The Erotes may have been his number-one problem, his obsession, but Dean now knew they weren't the only ones he and Sam would have to worry about. Castiel had been at pains to tell him that the appearance of Chaos, that entity from the most ancient ages, didn't concern them; the hunter knew they couldn't ignore its presence, if only because even if they hadn't wanted it, they had a share of the responsibility.
- If you've changed your mind, we can always raid their hotel and try to make their day, now that we've got the address...
Dean slowly let himself fall backwards to lie across the bed, his feet still anchored to the floor. He had obviously spoken without seriousness, his joke of dubious taste having only served to illustrate his spite, but it immediately appealed to Sam, who understood that his brother had apparently not wasted his time, during his stroll.
- Did you talk to Cass?” he asked with a sharp look, his head turned towards Dean.
- Yep,” confirmed the interested party, his eyes on the ceiling. He was with me on the way back.
Sam took note of this in fleeting astonishment, but just as he'd prepared to confide in Dean everything he'd learned himself from Castiel and hadn't had the heart to tell him earlier, he realized he could now spare himself the trouble.
- Has he explained everything?” he checked with a touch of concern.
- Apparently... He told me they were taking control of operations up there, in relation to Jack... That the angels were going to do whatever it took to solve the problem, and in the meantime it was full board in the clouds for the three yahoos.
- It makes sense,” dared Sam after a moment, brow furrowed. They're obviously finding it harder and harder to escape Chaos, and it's only a matter of time before they're all eaten for good...
- Then we'd better hope the gates of Paradise are sufficiently armored,” Dean said, bending his wrist over his forehead. Or that the elevator's out of order.
With a cautious eye, Sam gauged how his brother felt about this new threat. Dean looked thoughtful. Preoccupied.
We'd have been less concerned.
- They didn't say anything about this deal, did you notice?” he raised. Not a word.
- Are you talking about the Erotes?
The confirmation was implicit. The two brothers had asked themselves the same question after learning of the existence of this arrangement prior to the reappearance of Himéros and Pothos, and each had had his own idea on the subject. Then Castiel shed some light on the matter.
- They couldn't really impose their conditions,” Sam continued, thinking about what their friend had laconically confided to him during their tête-à-tête. At least, that's what Cass told me... All they could get out of the deal was that it was a secret, so no wonder they didn't say anything, especially to us...
- Yeah,” said Dean, who had received similar information in the meantime. Riri, Fifi and Loulou were so ashamed...
- Could you see them admitting their helplessness in front of us and confessing that they were forced to accept the angels' helping hand?” continued Sam echoingly. In failure against Chaos, forced to bend to the angels' demands, to come all the way here for us to save their lives when we were their preserve... And you wanted them to add more?
- I don't know,” sighed her brother, slowly shaking his head under his arm. If they'd swallowed their fucking pride and talked about it, maybe things would have been different. After dragging themselves here, they weren't even close.
Sam was surprised to hear Dean express himself in this way. For a moment, he had the feeling that there was more to his brother's regrets than their brawl, but he didn't dare question him further. Then Dean, suddenly aware of the irony of his words, chuckled bitterly.
- You can't catch flies with vinegar,” Sam merely pointed out fatalistically. Maybe if we'd taken a different approach, on our side as well as theirs, things would have turned out differently. Or maybe not.
He preferred not to talk about the content of the thoughts that came to him, made up of disturbing memories and persistent recollections. Could the harrowing experience he and his brother had gone through really have been avoided? Or had they done the best they could and still managed to prevent a much worse outcome? They'd never know, and such sterile conjecture horrified Dean, who dismissed it with a curt retort:
- Anyway, we're finally rid of them, and that's all I care about. Now it's up to the angels to deal with them. When they go for round two, it'll be without us, since we've been thanked. We'll remain on the bench.
The absent role that, by necessity, they both had to play, didn't suit Dean, as far as Sam was concerned. The latter watched his eldest stare at the ceiling for a few moments, then, weighing his words, advanced:
- It's probably better this way... The angels are better suited to this kind of threat than we are, so what can we do?
- I don't know,” retorted Dean, turning his eye towards him. It wouldn't be the first time we've come up against this kind of crap. We don't know anything about it. Did you find anything in the books? What's it made of? How do you kill it?
- Far from it,” he sighed, puffing out his cheeks. Chaos is an almost universal concept described in most cultures as an obscure primordial force that bears certain resemblances to Darkness or Nothingness. For the Greeks, it's the very first thing to have existed, a formless broth from which everything comes. The Egyptians, on the other hand, described it as a menacing force cast to the far reaches of the world, always seeking to eclipse its light and devour it.
- It reminded me of something... That cursed room in Babylon...
- Linked to Tiamat, mistress of chaos, yes,” Sam recalled. Except we were dealing with a curse. Now we're talking about a... semi-divine creature, of which all we know is myth, so there's nothing to learn from it. We don't know exactly what it's after, what form it takes, if it has any weaknesses, and we don't know where it came from or why it's resurfacing now. All we know is that he wants to bleed the Erotes dry. Surely they're in the best position to answer these questions, and surely that's what the angels are hoping for too.
Sam's mouth twisted in annoyance, for like Dean, he feared without saying it that the appearance of the entity would represent a mortal peril for their species, which seemed to have inscribed in its genes a propensity to be at the top of the list of collateral damage. But the questions he had just raised seemed to indicate that he was unaware of an element that the elder of the two men, for his part, had well in mind, hitherto lurking in a corner of his head, and returning to a seated position without taking his eyes off his younger son, he called out to him:
- Don't you have any idea why? Why is he coming out of his lair now?
The question puzzled Sam, as he realized that he hadn't really asked himself until now.
- No,” he admitted meditatively, thinking back to what Himeros had told him. Something woke him up... or freed him.
- Yes, but what?” insisted Dean, seemingly unperturbed.
Sam sensed that he was trying to make him realize something very specific and, eyebrows furrowed, he looked into his brother's eyes as if to read the solution.
A few seconds later, when his brain had done its work, it clicked.
- Chuck...?
Dean raised his eyebrows and pressed his lips together.
- Bingo. We took it out of the game and the bug resurfaced. Chaos is here because of us, Sammy.

It took Sam a long moment to integrate this idea. And yet, a whole host of details quickly came back to him with astonishing ease, as if he'd already unconsciously guessed the final rendering of a picture in pieces. A remark by Himeros, about the relative guilt of his siblings; Pothos' direct accusation, pointing to him and Dean as the ones and only ones responsible for the tumult; the consequences of their opposition to Chuck, which he had mentioned. It all made sense. Sam suddenly realized with a shiver of dread that by dethroning the Almighty, even to substitute a better God for Him, they had activated levers he and his brother hadn't even suspected existed, and he paled as if he'd lost half his blood.
- How many... How many of these things have we released?” he asked, frozen.
- Don't ask me, I don't know,” replied Dean, who had not failed to grasp the potentially dizzying dimension of this revelation either.
The elder Winchester put his hands on his thighs and stood up, taking a few steps as he did so:
- All I can tell you is that, for the moment, Chaos is in the crosshairs.
- Did you know that?” asked Sam again, his mind racing as he recalled a particular moment. You didn't say anything when Pothos laid the blame on us. At the time, I didn't understand why he accused us so directly, but now... Did you know about this?
- Cass had hinted at it before, when I spoke to him on the phone, but... I wasn't sure yet.
- And you're sure now, aren't you? his younger brother guessed easily, his throat closing. Did Cass confirm it?
Dean's gaze reluctantly expressed a hundred “yeses”.
- He did it not an hour ago, when I asked him straight out, just before arriving. He didn't want to tell me, to avoid us feeling guilty, wanting to work things out; crap like that...
- You bet. He knows us well... Can you believe it? Do you realize that those people who died, it wasn't the Erotes who killed them? But us?
Dean froze in place, giving him a stony look and warning him:
- Ola, take it easy, Sam, okay?
- It's the truth,” the latter argued, his eyes filled with disgust and remorse. If Chuck was still around, Chaos wouldn't have surfaced, and if he hadn't started chasing the gods, they themselves wouldn't have done all this damage, targeting people indiscriminately to strengthen themselves!
- We had nothing to do with it, okay?! thundered Dean angrily, refusing to let his brother bear such a burden. How could we have known? They didn't have to do what they did, so why didn't they just stay out of sight? Why? I'll tell you, they thought they were smarter than that thing and refused to lie down. The result: it's the humans who have to pay the price, just because they didn't give a damn about the consequences of their little war of egos! Come on, Sam, get a grip! If we hadn't stopped Chuck, there'd be nothing left! No more Chaos, no more universe, no more gods, no more humans! There'd be nothing!
Even if his brother was right about that, Sam shook his head, eyes downcast, once again disagreeing with him. He knew things weren't quite so binary, but he also knew it was pointless trying to rally Dean to his point of view.
- Now I understand why they touched us that night,” realized the youngest of the brothers in a bitter voice. When they had no reason to. They could have... left, or... let us chase after them. It could have gone on indefinitely. But the fact that we were the ones chasing them, when Chaos was already after them because of us... That set Pothos off.
He meditated for a moment on the circumstances of their encounter with the Erotes, under Dean's intrigued eye, who had a strange sensation, as if Sam had put himself in their adversary's shoes. He felt uncomfortable and, determined to get his brother out of this negative spiral that had sucked him in, he threw out:
- What's the point of going over this again? We're not going to rehash history, so why don't you concentrate on what's in front of us?
- And what's that for you? challenged Sam with an unyielding stare. Are we just going to sit back and let it happen, and risk ending up paying the price? Or are we going to do something about it?
- Hey, you're the one who said it made more sense to leave it to the angels.
- Before you knew it was because of us!” he hammered forcefully, standing on his own two feet. Just because we had no choice against Chuck doesn't mean we should ignore what's going on, Dean, you can't seriously think that!
- I never said that,” the interested party firmly defended himself by moving closer to his brother, ”and it's not what I think. But right now we're out of the game, Sam. Paradise has taken the lead, and you said it yourself, we don't know anything about this monster.
With a vibrant look in his eyes, Dean placed his hand wide open on Sam's cheek to assure him of his support and understanding. A gesture that the youngest, looking distressed, didn't reject. Dean then placed his second hand on his other cheek, caressing the bruise he'd made with his thumb without realizing it, and eye-to-eye he submitted:
- Here's what I propose. We let them lead the chase, or whatever their plan is. The sooner we get rid of this thing, the better. But we're still going to investigate on our own, okay? Just in case.

Sam maintained a revolted expression for a long time, but accepted his brother's course. After realizing that he had helped unleash Chaos on the world, he felt the imperative need to act, refusing to lose interest in the threat, even if it was destined - which he doubted - to remain confined to the gods alone. He would have liked to talk to Dean some more, to broach other subjects that had seemed important to him, but his mind now remained fixed on that thing out there, and what he could do to help neutralize it. He already had an idea.

Chapter Text

Stock in one hand, cleaning swab in the other, Dean was not roused from his torpor until he heard his phone vibrate. With a start, he set the clutter on the cloth in front of him and reached for the device to check the message he'd just received. It was from Cally, a hunter operating in Indiana. Informed of the Winchesters' request by one of the many contacts Dean had solicited since dawn, she said she'd heard of someone who might be able to tell them something about ancestral divinities, and offered to dig. After rereading the message twice, Dean pouted doubtfully. None of their peers had been able to help him and Sam about the Erotes, and his hope that there was anyone down here with information about Chaos, where the well of knowledge they lived in seemed bound to remain mute, was slim. Besides, who had ever said Chaos was a deity? Dean re-evaluated his decision to have given few details about the case. He had certainly avoided sounding the alarm against an ill-defined danger, but seeing how the question had deviated by word of mouth was not to give him confidence.
Without an answer, promising himself he'd do it later, he put the phone down and went back to cleaning his Colt 1911, even though he knew he wouldn't harm Chaos with gunpowder. But the thoughts that had led him astray came back to occupy his mind enough to distract him.

For although he and Sam had explained themselves the day before, sealing the peace again as well as they could, he still didn't feel liberated. Other subjects, subjectively just as important to him as the question of Chaos or the gods of Love, had not been discussed, and he felt an undeniable frustration about this.
They had parted the evening before, shortly after agreeing to try to bring some weight to bear on this simmering crisis. Not to make themselves feel important, but to contribute, if they could, to averting the danger before it overtook them, and because both of them, in a more or less assumed way, admitted their share of responsibility in the emergence of this new threat. They hadn't seen each other since. For Dean, who had spent half the night trying to get to sleep, it had been a rude awakening, and he'd only come out of his room to find Sam gone, no doubt long gone for his daily jog. A shower, two half-ironed doughnuts and a cup of coffee later, Dean had started beating the drum, then set about cleaning his revolver, and while the whole time he'd been at it, nothing about his brother's absence had seemed out of the ordinary, it wasn't until he'd finished reassembling the gun that he realized Sam had been gone for at least three hours. Even with his new routine, in which physical exercise was back in full swing, Dean felt the delay was becoming suspicious, and all sorts of increasingly strange ideas began to run through his head. He paced back and forth for a while, checked his phone, even hailed his brother from the main corridor, but just when he decided to get serious about his disappearance, his brother suddenly reappeared.
Unannounced, he slowly burst into the library from the control room stairs, and Dean could see at once that he wasn't in running clothes.

- Hey,” he said measuredly, taking a step in his direction, relieved to see him. You finally show up?
- Hi,” returned Sam with a laconic sigh.
He finished climbing the flight of stone steps with a heavy, almost shuffling step that made Dean's stomach lurch with anxiety. Dean noticed that Sam, looking pale and worried, was wearing the jeans and shirt he'd worn the day before, and was convinced that the younger man hadn't returned from his usual jog. If he had, Sam would have been dressed differently, and that was also true if he'd already made a detour to the shower. Still, Dean asked, disbelievingly, his tone too dull for illusion:
- I was beginning to wonder, where have you been cavorting this time? You've been gone for hours, you've decided to go up the whole two hundred and eighty-one?
Dean hoped, in spite of common sense, to get an affirmative answer, but Sam didn't give him one. Not yet, anyway. Looking down, a little lost in thought, he stopped near the first table, waited a moment before pulling out the chair in front of him and then, as he sat down, sighed again.
- I didn't go running,” he declared.
The superfluous confirmation only increased his brother's anxiety, as he sensed that something had happened that he should have been aware of. An insidious knot gently tightening his throat, he watched Sam who looked turned off, not quite there, and when the latter's sleeve slid a little down his left arm as he rubbed his face, Dean noticed the bandage around the top of his wrist.
Turning pale, the older of the two men advanced towards his brother, skirting the tables from the side where the latter was seated, but at such a slow pace that in addition to being perfectly silent, he was finally still quite a distance from Sam when he questioned cautiously and warily, his voice hoarse, as if every sound scratched his vocal cords:
- And where have you been...?
Sam's gaze fell on him. With the expression of already knowing that what he was about to say wouldn't please.
- In Hell,” he announced simply.

Time seemed to stand still, as Dean froze three meters away from his brother. Not for a moment did he think that Sam was telling him anything other than the truth, but strangely enough he realized that he'd almost expected worse. That didn't detract from the shock he received when he discovered where his stoic younger son had come from, and between anger and disappointment he soon spat out in a persifluous voice, eyes wide:
- What did you say?
- Dean, please don't make a mountain out of a molehill!” implored Sam, suddenly leaping to his feet. I had to try something.
He let out a deep sigh of dismay and frustration and, leaving his eldest still trying to digest, headed for a low shelf, placed against the wall next to a leather armchair in a nook between two pillars, the upper part of which acted as a bar, holding a few bottles. Dean's features tightened in dismay, and in a thunderous voice he exclaimed:
- In Hell?!
Sam, astonishingly, poured himself a whisky, filling a glass more than full with no regard for the splashes of alcohol he splashed onto the wood of the tray. He gulped down half the liquid in one gulp, sensing Dean's furious footsteps at his back as he sped back towards him, and as he saw him appear on his right flank he heard his voice thunder in his ear:
- What the hell are you doing back there, for God's sake, what's wrong with you?! Why didn't you tell me, what were you thinking!
- There's no need to shout,” said Sam in a much more reasonable voice. There's no danger with Rowena, you know she wouldn't hurt us.
- That goes for the vermin over there too, doesn't it? Do you think she's got them all on a leash, or have you fried a brain or something?! Fuck, I'm the suicidal one!
- Calm down, okay?” retorted Sam with a hard look. I didn't go in there without a gun! Besides, what did you think? That I was going to sit on my ass and wait for the flood?
- And what was the point of going back there? Apart from risking getting killed!
With a brutal gesture, he tore the bandage from his brother's arm to reveal a clean cut crusted with half-dried blood. Sam didn't take kindly to being pushed around and withdrew his arm violently.
- It's all right, Dean, I've got nothing, just relax, will you?!
They stared at each other for a moment, each sticking to his position but not outbidding the other. Dean seemed to mark time, even if the fire in his eyes was still alive, and Sam, who had apparently set the limits, explained in a calmer voice:
- I did this to myself. To cast the spell that brought me there.
The firstborn, after a moment of staring at him, jaws clenched, barked:
- All alone! With no one on the other side to maintain it and keep the door open!
The way Sam lowered his eyes slightly attested to this.
- I asked for a ride home,” he justified himself with apparent casualness, taking advantage of the fact that his brother seemed to be ruminating on his full disapproval to turn away and put a distance of a few steps between them.
- That's it, get smart!” he returned, frightened at the thought of what might have happened. What the hell were you thinking? Where did you get this idea? Since when do we go to Hell for information?
- It's far from the first time, you know that perfectly well,” replied the eldest firmly, giving him a brief glance. Who were you referring to? Cass?
- Couldn't you get the network to work?” reproached Dean evilly. Hey, boss, you're the one who put them together in the first place. Why didn't you call your troops? I've been at it all morning and I've already heard back...
- Stop it,” Sam cut in with a disillusioned look. Seriously, what do you think our people are going to find? We're talking about something older than anything else, wiped out of this world maybe thousands of years before the first man stood on his feet, who's going to find anything about it, eh?
- You don't know, and neither do I,” assented the elder Winchester. I even rang Donatello, be patient!
- And did he teach you anything? Apparently not, am I right?
- Okay, Dean had to admit, not yet, but in any case, for that bastard to have his own legends, we've got to have come across him at some point, even if it was at the bottom of a cave in the Stone Age!
- You have no way of knowing whether the Chaos of mythology is the same, Dean!” hammered Sam, spreading his arms wide, hands open. And even if it is, how much time do you want to spend poring over every book on Earth and following false leads? Or would you rather beg the angels to get us in on this?
- Castiel... doesn't have bad intentions,” Dean tried to defend himself, without further argument, in the face of his brother's boiling revolt.
- I know why he's acting this way, and I can understand,” Sam abbreviated, pushing his hair back with a wide-open hand. But if he doesn't tell us anything more, and unless you want to invite our three buddies back for a coffee chat... Hell is full of ancient demons with more bottle than anyone else.
Not just anyone. There was one creature, omnipotent, omniscient, or at least had been. The memory chilled Dean's blood, and he did everything in his power to banish it from his mind, and without saying a word, he kept his eyes on Sam for a long time, who stared back at him in equal silence. In an instant, surging like the waves, even more disturbing reminiscences manifested themselves to him, and the smell of blood, thirst, fear, made every part of his being quiver. Briefly. For, to survive the trauma of his sojourn in Hell, which for him had lasted decades, Dean had had to learn to armor himself against the ghosts of that other life. Where he'd rubbed shoulders, mostly for the worse, with some of those immemorial demons Sam had just conjured up in his memory like so many bloated corpses. He felt shaken. Disoriented by the echo these nightmare memories provoked as they smashed against the mountains of questions that were monopolizing his thoughts today. Eyelids creased with uncertainty, Dean couldn't deny the relative relevance of his brother's premise. That there might be a demon with the knowledge to understand the situation better. He was reluctant to admit it, to let these abominable creatures take shape again, but Sam's unwavering gaze forced him to try and find out for himself.
- Stay away from that garbage,” he warned with a shudder. I'm not kidding, Sam, these demons you're talking about... they're a different breed from the minions we've been spreading around. The less we rub up against them, the better off we'll all be.
- I know you know what you're talking about,” Sam conceded gravely, with infinite respect for what his brother had endured. But I remind you that there are two of us who have tasted the pleasures of Hell.
Dean knew this all too well. And the extremely deep gaze he plunged at that moment into Sam's soothed eyes, that humble, dignified gaze that touched his brother to the core, reflected emotions that helped to soothe him himself. He remained thus, without speaking or moving, for a long moment, and then, inclining his head twice in resignation, first to the right and then to the left, he breathed:
- I need a drink.

In his turn, he went to pour himself a whisky, without skimping on the load. Pale-faced, he swallowed in one gulp, then noisily caught his breath as he put the glass back down. Thoughtful, he then seemed to want to wall himself off in an ominous silence, leaning over the bottles. Sam, stepping closer, said softly:
- Forgive me for doing this behind your back. I'd been thinking about it all night, I had to move, I had to get to the bottom of it. I didn't want to risk... you talking me out of it.
Leaning with his arms stretched out on both edges of the shelf and his back round, Dean repeated in a cavernous voice:
- You should have told me. Going out there alone was bullshit. Especially if you're convinced we no longer have the baraka.
- You mean with our deceiver label?” said Sam, leaning against the stone pillar to his brother's right.
- Hey, those are your words,” the latter recalled with a look.
- Everything went fine,” Sam confided modestly, with an air of quietude. Dean, I'm fine. Ever since Rowena took over downstairs, we've been a bit... VIP. So to speak.
Dean straightened up, looking appalled. If such a status existed, he hardly wanted it.
- I just mean she's protecting us,” Sam clarified. You have to play it smart, I know, but if you don't ask her for help in situations like this, when do you?
“Never” was the first word that came to the eldest Winchester's mind, despite the often ambiguous ties they'd shared with the fearsome witch-turned-Queen of the Underworld during her lifetime, and despite Sam's particular closeness to her. Nevertheless, Dean kept in mind that the memory of ancestral demons was potentially a valuable asset, and although it cost him to agree to defer to their science, he finally questioned his brother wearily:
- I disapprove, but I'm in no position to lecture you, especially now, so... Now that you have, did you at least learn something useful?
He hoped for an answer as much as he dreaded it. Sam didn't spare the suspense. He took a deep breath, crossed his arms over his thickening pecs and shook his head. Dean almost laughed.
- Okay,” he grunted. A success all round.
With a step more frustrated than disappointed, he returned to the table where he'd cleaned his weapon, still lying on the rag. Behind him, Sam nuanced cautiously:
- For now, maybe. But Rowena will mobilize her flock. Whether on Earth or in Hell, they're going to keep an eye out and get the skeletons out of the closet, so that whatever there is to know about Chaos... we'll know it too.
Sam had punctuated the end of his sentence with a palpable reserve, and although Dean didn't say anything about it, he knew why. Involving the demon world in this hunt for information, or any hunt at all, meant providing their eternal opponents with an opportunity to weigh in more than they should, or even to take advantage of it, which could only be bad news for the humans. Even if Rowena remained benevolent towards them, the Winchester brothers couldn't rule out the possibility of a conflict of interest that would end up doing their species a disservice; assuming the demons discovered how to neutralize the threat, how sure were the hunters that they'd be taken into their confidence? There was a risk of them being double-crossed, that was certain, but they implicitly chose not to cry fire for the time being, at least until they had seen the first flames. Without realizing it, they had exactly the same thought at the same moment, Sam and Dean praying that they wouldn't have to fall from Charybdis into Scylla and, above all, that they hadn't taught their oldest enemies anything they didn't already know.
- Pfff,” spat Dean in disgust. I don't like this, Sam. I don't like it at all.
His youngest came slowly back to him and stood beside him, thumbs hooked on his belt. With a timbre that the low notes of his voice made vibrate, he said:
- I have faith in her, Dean. I know she won't betray us. In any case, there's little chance that they don't already know over there what's going on here. We don't have much to lose.
- I hope you're right,” he replied with far less optimism. I especially hope that your confidence in her is justified and that she really does have an iron fist when it comes to managing her whole world, because frankly we really don't need anyone doing it to us all over again.
Sam nodded, tight-lipped.
- We'll stay vigilant,” he promised. Move carefully... but we've got to move. To send Chaos on his way and move on quickly.
- To celebrate the fall of the Godfather, you mean? ironized Dean bitterly.
- If there are others, Hell doesn't know about it, Sam soon learned in a heavy voice. Maybe that's a good sign.
- Is that what Rowena told you?” verified Dean, aiming a piercing gaze at Sam.
The youngest Winchester only raised his eyebrows briefly to say that he knew little more than what he had been told. Without being able to say, without a shadow of a doubt, that Rowena had told him everything... or that her demons had told her everything.

- Well,” Dean concluded, tapping nervously on the chair beside which he stood, teeth clenched and eyes fixed on something only he could see. We'll just have to wait, if I understand correctly...
Sam, looking worried, shrugged his shoulders and shook his head.
- Unless we dig up the good info ourselves, he thought. I couldn't think of a better idea, sorry. But... you were talking about a hunter earlier... What the...
- A Cally, Indiana. Sound familiar?
- Not really,” Sam admitted. What does she say?
- She's talking about an expert in ancient divinities who might have some information,” Dean revealed in a disillusioned voice. She's keeping us in the loop.
Sam answered nothing, content to stand by his brother, who took note.
- Nothing very substantial, eh? he continued, echoing what his younger brother was obviously thinking.
He pivoted on himself and wedged his loins against the back of the chair, not needing to meet Sam's gaze to gather his opinion.
- Demons as snitches, Dean finally grumbled. This just gets better and better.
- If you remember,” his brother shyly reminded him after a few seconds, ”that's how this whole thing got started...
Dean inhaled slowly, then exhaled through his nose, the sound of his breath lingering for a moment at the memory of the demon who had comforted them to follow the trail to Gloucester.
- How could I forget,” he growled. When I think back on it... it seems like only last year.
Sam didn't want to say it, but Dean could have sworn that his brother had on the tip of his lips the exact number of days that had passed since that encounter in Gloucester harbor that had turned their lives upside down. Then he looked at him demurely, letting up the host of feelings he had for him, a mixture of complexity and obviousness, hindrance and absoluteness, constancy and ebullience, until he asked him in a composed voice, when Sam's clear eyes met his:
- What exactly did you and Rowena say to each other?
Looking down, Sam took a second to replay the scene in his head, then delivered factually:
- I told her that we'd discovered that an ancient force had surfaced and that it was after the gods... That it was known as Chaos, and that we were looking for information to find out what we were dealing with and prepare for the worst... She doesn't know any more than we do at the moment, but she made the connection with certain rumors she'd heard, without telling me which ones. She'll look into it... If she finds out anything, she'll tell us.
Dean nodded, agreeing with a statement he already knew.
- Did you only talk to her about Chaos? Not Erotes?
Sam paused, taking his time to answer cautiously:
- I said we'd dealt with them, if... That the meeting didn't go well.
Dean nodded again, his neck stiffer, then in a suddenly more tenuous voice, he chuckled, seeming to hold his breath:
- Did you talk to him about what happened afterwards? Did you tell her about us?
- No,” he affirmed without loosening his teeth, with a dry sound like the ricochet of a pebble on water. There's no reason for her or anyone else to know. It's nobody's business but ours.

Despite the assurance in his answer, Sam's face darkened noticeably. The mention of their forbidden relationship suddenly seemed like a shameful exposure, and he was all the more offended because, although he felt no other guilt for the fault they had committed, he knew that the secret between him and his brother would always remain one. The weight of their folly suddenly seemed to weigh more heavily, and to see Dean then walk several yards away with his back to him was an image that particularly displeased Sam. He'd never thought of proclaiming the new nature of their relationship out loud, but the fact that the question seemed to be of significant importance to his brother left a bitter taste in his mouth.
It was as if, once again, the eldest sibling felt nothing but remorse and rejection.
- Dean,” he said, in a tone at once profoundly serious and extremely benevolent, breaking the suffocating silence. With all that, we haven't talked about it at all, but... where do you and I stand?
Sam surprised himself by not feeling so frightened at the prospect of hearing Dean's answer. Dean had seen the question coming and, finally relieved that it had been asked, had no intention of pretending not to have understood it or of evading it. He'd been thinking about it since the day before, without knowing how to bring it up, without even knowing what words he'd say then, and if Sam couldn't see the vagueness in his gaze, he did see him shrug his shoulders briefly and shake his head in dismay. Seconds passed, without Dean ever facing his brother again, but then came these words, which he uttered in a distant, tired voice, at the same time as he stretched his spine to echo the deep breath he took to give himself courage:
- That we should ask ourselves this question... even before, it made me feel like we were in another world, but to hear you ask that after everything that's just happened... It's like we're in a bad movie.
The sentence was harsh, and Sam didn't escape unscathed. But fundamentally, and despite his deepest desires, he knew that his brother wasn't fundamentally wrong. That the current nature of their relationship so defied the established rules that it bordered on delirium. Even assumed.
Dean turned back to him, and as he met the disarmed look in his bright eyes, Sam clenched his fists and realized that he was ready to pour out his heart without a filter.

- It's... like I've been slapped in the face,” Dean tried to explain as best he could. Like... fighting them... fighting you... brought me out of a dream and back to reality.
Visibly affected, looking vulnerable and unhappy, he took a step towards Sam, who stared at him unflinchingly, but went no further. Suddenly, he lowered his gaze and lost it in a blur, the time for a thought.
- That woke me up, Sam,” he continued, his eyes distraught. To have them in front of us, finally in a position of weakness, at our mercy... I couldn't believe it, but it happened. I felt like gutting them to an extent I can't even describe to you, I relived everything that happened because of them and... what I felt at that moment was like a stab in the bag I had on my head. Do you understand?
Sam looked dejected and nodded painfully, his eyes veiled in dry tears as he listened to Dean take stock of an interlude whose conclusion he could see.
- Until then, we'd been in our own bubble, so focused on trying to get our heads above water that we'd only seen a small part of the picture,” justified the elder Winchester, thinking of the moments they'd shared that had belonged to them alone. It hadn't been that clear to me before, and maybe it took this particular moment for me to realize it. Maybe... I had to come this close to losing control with them, for the shock to be strong enough for me to see just how far our lives had spun out of control.
Sam, in pain, finally understood that he'd been wrong. He had believed that his brother had come to fully accept the amoral intimacy that now bound them together, that he had forgiven himself for his behavior, but things were clearly not that simple. Contrary to what he might have believed or wanted to believe, Sam was shocked to discover that Dean had probably not yet fully appreciated the upheaval affecting their relationship, and he didn't know what to say, tucking his head into his shoulders and trying to put on a brave face.
- We were only thinking of ourselves,” Dean judged with a rather nostalgic air. All this time, we've only been thinking about our impulses of the moment, and when we decided to give in, thinking the story was settled, we didn't even seriously ask ourselves where it would lead us. But our lives can't end there... We can't spend our time locked up in here, living in the moment and ignoring what's going on out there, Sam.
The latter found it hard to take any more. As much for the pain of knowing that it was all over, the only way out he could see, as for the intense overwhelm he felt on his brother's shoulders. He didn't want this. He didn't want this foolish abandonment, this fleeting escapade, this improbable departure from the road that had brought him infinitely more than it had cost him, to end in unhappiness, so he intervened to relieve his eldest of his guilt.
- Dean, stop it,” he begged, giving him a poignant look. You don't need to justify yourself or feel at fault. It's true that we haven't done each other any favors, and if what we've just been through has led you to... To see things differently... If at the end of the day, you want us to be just brothers again... that's okay with me.
Dean remained silent for a moment, a bewildered gaze riveted on his younger brother. A flash of fright made his eyes pale as he realized what Sam meant by his words, and soon he responded, his voice faltering:
- Sammy... It's not because we had a fight that I'm telling you this... I don't...
- I don't care why!” cut in Sam abruptly, advancing a good three feet, fire in his eyes. I told you the other day: if we have to stop, we stop. I meant it and I mean it!
His lips quivered, he paused and, his voice wavering too, he said softly:
- All I want is for us to be together. Close to each other, like we've always been. That's the most important thing. I don't want all this to make you unhappy. I don't want it to... tear us apart.
Faced with Sam, who seemed upset, Dean remained motionless and mute, as if groggy. The words he'd just heard, coming straight from the depths of his brother's heart, gripped him, and the shiver that ran through him was so pronounced he felt his hair stand up on end.
- Sam...” he uttered in a frightened whisper.
Moved by a new strength, his eyes widened and he rushed to his youngest son, taking his head in his hands and planting a look of determination in his wet pupils.
- I have no intention of setting sail,” he swore fervently. You hear me? That's not what I meant, I... It's only now that I really realize what all this means to us... How far we've come, how much it's changed us... But what I also realize is that I don't really give a damn.
Sam, helpless, hung on his lips. Eyes feverish, he suddenly didn't know which way to turn and, voice hoarse, ventured to ask:
- J... I don't understand... What do you mean?
Dean's gaze seemed to cloud over with melancholy and, with his thumb bone, he began to gently rub Sam's cheekbone, saying tenderly:
- It just doesn't matter... I meant it, too, when I told you I'd made up my mind the other night... I may be more aware than ever of the consequences of our actions, but the truth is... I still don't want it to end.
Sam felt his heart vibrate so hard in his chest that he felt a brief pain. Pressing his lips together to stem the emotion that overwhelmed him, he closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to Dean's without a word. He was dying to hug him with all his might, to tell him he loved him, to kiss him, but he refrained from all that. He refused to add to the mental load Dean was carrying, an emotional load he hardly needed at the moment. He merely weighed down his eldest's shoulders with the weight of his hands, whispering bluntly:
- What do you want from me, Dean? Is there anything I can do to help?
Sam felt his brother's head move slowly from left to right against his forehead.
- Nothing,” said the latter in a faint voice. I just need a little time to... get my head together.
Sam, after a moment, nodded, not without fear of what this meant. Perhaps Dean sensed it. He straightened his head to place a peck on his younger son's forehead and, after affectionately rubbing the back of his neck, separated from him to walk away again, taking a deep breath.
- I just need a little time,” he repeated, his voice already louder once he'd reached a chair whose back he pretended to want to bend. To see how we can reconcile the two. Us, and... our life. I realize that up until now, it's been two separate worlds. On the one hand, the moments when we let loose, and on the other, the usual routine. The hunt.
Sam nodded thoughtfully again. He thought back to the poltergeist and the Djinn they'd confronted a few days earlier, and even to the vampire nest before that. Moments when their carnal desires had been put into stasis, obviously due to the circumstances of the moment, but not only. With hindsight, it was easy enough to admit that, in order to make the best of their misbehavior, the two brothers had always, more or less consciously, tended to try and reduce them to moments of exception, the liberating expression of an overflow of emotion confined to a dreamlike parenthesis which, once closed, would have no more impact on their daily lives than the echo of a dream. A mixed success, then, for Sam had the feeling that, on the contrary, their torments had since done nothing but rule their lives without giving them a minute's respite.

And suddenly, right here, in this moment when his brother was giving him his deepest thoughts, Sam understood that this feeling of being permanently governed by their guilty desires stemmed not from any failure to keep them under control, but from the fact that they had never really succeeded in just trying to do so.

- Thanks, bro,” Dean's deep voice fell.
Sam was jolted out of his reverie and curtly straightened his head to meet Dean's serious gaze:
- Thanks for asking where we stand. I needed to talk about it, because it's time to ask ourselves what we're doing now. At least, it's time for me. But, after the way I treated you... I didn't know what to do.
- It's in the past, okay?” tried Sam. We don't have to talk about it again, it doesn't matter.
- It matters to me,” Dean protested in a tone that didn't reply.
The eldest didn't object, disregarding his disagreement out of respect for his brother's remorse. Then Dean, gently, continued:
- We... survived these crazy cravings... We endured them, and then we accepted them, despite the pain in the ass it gave us, despite all the rules and principles we sat on. And yet...
He had a bitter chuckle and shook his head, blowing through his nose, looking incredulous at his own conclusions.
- And yet I don't want to draw a line under it,” he confirmed with all the lucidity and seriousness of which he was capable, repeating it as if to give himself another chance to realize that he was on the wrong track. Even though what we've just been through with those two bastards has shown me just how light-years away we are from a normal life, even by our standards, I... I've never felt so alive. And I just... I want to keep it that way.

Dean felt his legs wobble, even though he'd never imagined he'd have so much trouble saying those words after hearing himself say them. Without really knowing why, since Sam's feelings had always seemed less uncertain than his own, he suddenly felt a nagging fear of hearing his brother's reaction:
- I want this as much as you do...
He walked towards Dean without having ordered his legs to do so, only to realize that he had already taken three steps when he stopped. Facing him, Dean's lips trembled and his gaze was bruised.
- I've never wanted anything else,” hammered Sam, despite the emotion that was gripping him. Nothing but to preserve our relationship. I don't give a damn about these unresolvable moral dilemmas, and I won't apologize for the way I feel. But, Dean... I beg you, don't torture yourself for what happened. I understand the way you reacted to them, and if I pretended otherwise, it's only because I was too afraid you'd pay the price.
The elder Winchester nodded heavily. His brother was convinced he'd heard the message, but doubted he'd be able to hear it so easily. With a slow step, Dean crossed the distance that still separated him from Sam, a loving and grateful gaze upon him, then placed both hands on his shoulders.
- I'll be fine,” he swore solicitously. Don't worry about me, okay? In a little while, when I've digested all this.
And, forcing a smile, he added:
- We've got better things to do, anyway. We've got our work cut out for us, don't we, Sammy?
Trying to answer with an even smile devoid of any joy, Sam didn't contradict him. Chaos was still lurking out there, and the threat he posed was all the more disturbing for its uncertainty.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Hey everyone! Any comments? Any thoughts? Any questions?
Please let me know what you think of this story!

Happy reading and take care!

Chapter Text

“That'll be... Thirty-eight dollars and sixty-five cents, please.”
The young woman with long brown hair, cheerful and friendly, gave Sam a big smile, which he readily returned as he opened his wallet and pulled out two twenty-dollar bills.
“Here you go,” he said kindly.
The owner of Ladow's Market thanked him warmly, and as she pocketed the two Andrew Jacksons, Sam stopped her just as she was handing him his change.
“No, that's okay, Emily. Keep it.”
Pausing, she looked at him with a hint of surprise, then replied,
“Oh, no, there's no reason for that, Sam. It's more than a dollar! That's not nothing these days!”
“Really, I insist,” he confirmed with a friendly air. “And I'm just paying my debts: last time, you gave me credit.”
“Oh, just a few cents!” she dismissed with a dismissive gesture as she recalled the moment in question. “But... if you insist... Wait.”
She moved to the side of the counter, near a modest display case, and without saying a word, picked up a small cardboard box. Unsurprised by her generosity, Sam watched as she slipped the largest blueberry scone from her display into the box, then placed it on top of one of Sam's two grocery bags, which she then pushed within his reach.
“That really wasn't necessary,” he said gratefully.
“It's my pleasure!” she exclaimed radiantly. “And if you don't want it, I'm sure it will make someone else happy!”
They were obviously both thinking of the same person, and Sam let out a laugh that was as brief as it was clear.
“That's for sure,” he agreed, wrapping his right arm around the two bags. “See you soon, Emily, take care of yourself.”
“You too, Sam,” she replied with all the kindness in the world. Say hello to your brother!
With his free hand, he picked up a six-pack near the entrance, left the store and returned to the Impala parked out front, deposited his purchases in the back seat and drove home, headlights on to counter the darkening night.

Back at the bunker a few miles later, Sam went straight to the kitchen to put away the groceries. As he set the bags down on the metal worktop, he couldn't help but think gloomily about the fact that Rowena still hadn't sent him a signal. It had only been a few hours since he'd contacted her, but time seemed interminable, and his patience was already being sorely tested. He heard his brother before he saw him, soon picking up the sound of shuffling footsteps in the corridor, and Dean appeared just after. In a bathrobe and slippers, his hair a little disheveled and badly blow-dried. Sam thought he looked dreadful, and realized without having to ask that nothing had progressed in his absence on the subject of Chaos.
- Hey,” said the eldest flatly as he entered the kitchen. Did you fill up yet?
Sam watched him approach to poke his nose into the top of the bags and, while watching him pout over the peppers, said to avoid pointing out how tired he looked:
- There's bacon and bread at the back. The beers are there. And the scone there is a present for you from Emily.
Sketching a small smile, Dean took the box, opened it to admire the pastry, and closed it almost immediately. Sam watched without saying a word.
- That's nice of him,” said the eldest of the siblings. Did you charm her into letting go?
- I left her a dollar,” said the younger of the two men with a sneer from the corner of his mouth. And I remind you that it's you she's got a soft spot for.
- You're starting to pay them now?” ironized Dean, ignoring the last sentence.
- Very funny,” replied his brother with a jaded chuckle. Why don't you eat it instead? In the meantime, you'll be talking less crap.
The hint of good humor that had almost lit up Dean's face evaporated in the blink of an eye. And he confessed cheerlessly:
- Maybe later. I'm not very hungry.
And, leaving the wrapper on the counter, he set about emptying one of the two paper bags with ponderous gestures.
- Leave it,” Sam soon unloaded in a faint voice. I'll tidy up, you go and get dressed.
Dean turned to him with eyes that were both astonished and suspicious. And in spite of himself, he wondered if it wasn't his current outfit, the simple bathrobe that suggested his nudity while leaving a low-cut opening at the top of his torso, that had given Sam the idea of inviting him over for something more formal.
- Are you afraid I'll catch a cold in front of the fridge?” he said as an apology for her question.
Reconnecting with a feeling he'd thought he'd forgotten - or had once again relegated to the ranks of the forbidden - the elder Winchester dreaded as much as he hoped his brother would show more candor than he himself had, if Sam was indeed feeling what Dean suspected he was feeling. If that was the case, the youngest of the siblings hid it well, and imperturbably he ended up justifying:
- No, but... You look tired. Why don't you go and have a rest?
If he had hoped to make himself look better with a good shower, Dean, in fact, mourned it. He was at the end of his rope, he could feel it in every part of his body. Since confiding in Castiel about his state of psychic decay, he'd seen no improvement, and even though making peace with Sam had lifted an unbearable weight off his shoulders, he didn't know how to get back on track.
- I'll rest later,” he replied, lowering his eyes. We've got a job to do.
He wasn't talking about tidying up the groceries, part of which he took and put back in its place. Sam let him do this, following him with his eyes, then said when he saw him return to the center of the room:
- I can manage without you for a few hours. Leave me your phone and I'll let you know if one of us calls. Right now, there's not much we can do but wait.
Dean saw how this helplessness was eating away at his brother. Stationing himself by his side, he remained silent for a moment, though this didn't prevent him from letting his brother know how much he shared his feelings, while the idea of trying to get some sleep and leaving Sam on watch suddenly seemed very tempting.
- Nothing from Rowena either? he asked rhetorically.
Sam shook his head grimly.
- Not yet,” he admitted, his eyes low.
Dean nodded modestly, then laid a hand on his younger brother's shoulder in a gesture of support. A gesture for which the younger man was grateful.
- Don't worry, I'll be fine,” Dean promised with a heavy smile. I'm confident we'll have a lead soon. Get some sleep, and I'll wake you up tomorrow and tell you we've got something.
The eldest would have liked to have believed more, but he didn't want to show his pessimism. He pretended to share Sam's equally false hope and preferred to enjoy the strange comfort he suddenly felt, simply by standing next to him.
- I think I'll take your advice,” he conceded, mainly out of a desire to please her. I'll probably be more useful after a couple of hours' sleep... You'll let me know if anything happens, won't you?
- Of course,” promised Sam with a slight smile that was nonetheless warm. Sleep tight, I know where to find you.
Subtly, his emotional gaze became loving, and all the affection Sam had for his brother wanted to escape from him and fly to Dean. He kept it under control, however, mainly because he wasn't sure how his elder brother would react if he suddenly gave in to a burst of tenderness, and the Winchester boy's unwilling caution confused the first-born, who preferred to keep his very real desire to get physically close to Sam to himself. He contented himself with looking at Sam with soft, peaceful, almost caressing eyes, and the beginning of a smile he sketched out without realizing it, a smile both tender and melancholy, was a prelude to the few words he then pronounced with delicacy and benevolence:
- You should go to bed too. The ringing woke us up if anyone called.
- Yeah, I might not last long either,” he agreed, feeling the weight of fatigue. Time to check one or two things first, then I'll go to sleep.
Dean nodded as he continued to stare at his brother, saying nothing. He had an air at once humble and attentive, vulnerable and considerate, as if, all protections lowered, he had chosen in this moment to forget himself and to be interested only in Sam's well-being and safety. The way Dean had begun to look at him suddenly seemed so far removed from the pitiless expression that had frozen his features the whole time the Erotes had been there, that the younger of the two men almost felt he was in the presence of a different person. He didn't mind seeing the gentleness and sensitivity he knew Dean to be capable of, but the insistence of her gaze ended up bothering him somewhat. And the images of Dean that suddenly flashed before his eyes, which he preferred to lower, as if he could thus hide the pink in his cheeks, were not at all those of their confrontation.
- Well, I'm off,” Dean finally said, blinking after a slightly embarrassed clearing of his throat. Good night, Sam.
He patted him on the shoulder again with a stiff gesture and began to walk away, Sam following him for a brief moment with his eyes.
- Good night,” he returned laconically.
And pretending to devote himself once again to putting the groceries away, the young man didn't look towards the door Dean had just passed until he was sure he was alone again.

He then took all the time he needed to curb the overflow of emotion that had unexpectedly returned to his mind. The smell of his brother, the sound of his voice, the shape of his lips or the grain of his skin, which had once again appeared to him with a very particular color, made him think back with a bittersweet smile to a certain moment of bewilderment, in the laundry of the Sea Lion Motel; but even though he no longer had to endure the uncontrollable effects of the carnal urges the Erotes had aroused, he felt no less troubled by the fact that he was once again experiencing that nagging attraction to Dean that was far from unpleasant. The fact that the events of the last three days had completely eclipsed the unparalleled emotions that governed them both did not take away either their existence or their persistence, Sam had proof. It was something other than the mutual determination they had shown each other not to wish to give up their forbidden relationship, even if they weren't quite sure how to go about it; it was the return of desire, controllable but ardent, the lure of the flesh through the resurgence of passion that rekindled his senses, and Sam drew a kind of relief from it, for without really being able to explain it to himself, he had the absolute conviction that if he felt things so keenly, Dean felt them too.

After emptying the last bag, he nibbled on a morsel, then, as he'd said he would, went back to the library to look up a passage which, during his shopping spree in Lebanon, had come back to his mind, leading him to think that it might conceal information useful in their quest for a way to neutralize Chaos. In the end, rereading the book didn't bring up anything new, but Sam wasn't frustrated or disappointed.
Or rather, he let it pass him by, for his thoughts were focused on the fact that the unnatural bond between him and his brother had survived their bitter quarrel with the Erotes, which was enough to put a smile on his face.
So, shortly before eleven o'clock, exhausted as he was, he turned off the lights, washed up, put on his pyjamas and climbed into bed, determined to get a good night's sleep if his mind would spare him the stream of dreams between dream and nightmare that had regularly plagued him of late. It took him longer than he would have liked to find a comfortable position on the pillow, his thoughts paralysed by frustration, anger or guilt inspired by the succession of trying events of the last few days, and in the darkness and silence he began to think again about everything that had happened since that night of hunting in Gloucester. What he had done. Who he was.

Without praising or denying it, and without knowing why it was now that this thought imposed itself so strongly, he thought long and hard about his ability to desire a representative of his sex. He'd never really suspected it, and yet, thinking back to the way he'd reacted when his brother had no longer been able to restrain himself, thinking back to the intense and immediate pleasure his first time with him had given him, he wondered if, before that, he'd really known himself. Did Dean feel the same way? Did he, who was in a similar situation, wonder the same about his identity? Was this also why he seemed so affected at the moment? As far as Sam was concerned, the underlying attraction they felt for each other, revealed by the Erotes, had long been established. But he still hadn't decided on another question which, while never having taken center stage, was nonetheless omnipresent, silent, and which questioned the possibility that this new desire wasn't limited to Dean. Perhaps it reflected a deeper inclination destined to assert itself over time; Sam had already denied this, arguing that no man other than his brother could arouse a similar feeling in him, and yet. Inwardly, he wasn't so sure, and even less so since his unpleasant experience with Pothos.

When he'd realized that the god had crept into his bed without his knowledge, he'd felt such violent fury and indignation towards him that he still boiled every time he thought back to that moment, when he'd first thought he was with Dean. But while he found it hard to forget the humiliation he'd felt, and still couldn't accept the right Pothos had given himself to dispose of his person, especially after saving him from death, there was another feeling Sam hadn't really let go of. It was that trouble, as vivid as it was ephemeral, that had seized him there, against the far wall, at the moment when the Erote had directly offered to follow him to bed for torrid lovemaking and he had remained paralyzed before him.
Even as he drifted off to sleep, the hunter had the impression of still feeling the grain of Pothos's skin on his own. The warmth of her breath on his neck. To hear the charming sound of her voice trying to seduce him. He felt all the discomfort of it, and at the same time the characteristic tingling that searched his gut, and which he would have preferred to ignore. He didn't know how. He didn't even know if it was possible. If his vulnerability to Pothos was to be as indissoluble as his attraction to Dean, Sam could only pray he'd never cross his path again. He drifted off to sleep. And the thoughts he'd been dwelling on found an ideal extension in his dreams, which replayed them, mixing them up in every direction. On one occasion, he quarreled with Pothos, who was wearing the black Himeros costume; on another, he saw Dean tied to the seat at the heart of the pentagram, his arm as black as ash; on yet another, Pothos was standing over him in the shower. This last vision was undoubtedly the most violent, the most disturbing, and although he was asleep, he began to stir. Torn between the desire to flee him and the sensation of pleasure, directly derived from his first experience with Dean, that he had transposed into this dream, Sam again felt the body of the god of Love against his own, his breath on his neck, his arms around his torso. The experience became so intense that his penis violently awoke long before he did. He felt as if he was ready to open his eyes, but the physical stimuli resumed as the weight of Pothos's face became clearer on his shoulder, and his arms encircled him more tightly. Soon clearly aware that he was living in a dream he could almost describe as a nightmare, Sam fought hard to escape, but when he was certain he had finally succeeded, he felt the embrace continue unyieldingly. Worse, he could now make out Pothos' arms around him in the half-light, just as if his eyes were wide open, and he felt like struggling like a man possessed.

It took him a moment to realize that it wasn't his inability to wake up that prevented him from doing so. For suddenly struck with unimaginable violence, seized by an abominable terror that ruffled the hair on his head, contracted every muscle to the breaking point and crushed his belly as if his insides had just strangled themselves, he realized he was already awake. Those arms embracing him, that steady breath on his neck, were not a dream. Absolute panic seized him as he realized that his nightmare was real, and he unbearably let out a hoarse scream of pure horror as he tore himself from his sheets as if they were on fire. Seemingly driven mad, he threw himself out of bed with such haste that he rolled to the floor, a second scream exploding from his throat, then scrambling to his feet he returned to take refuge against the far wall, exactly as he had done last time, already knowing that he'd be no better off escaping the Erote. He was there, all right. Despite the darkness, Sam could make out his silhouette, lying on the other half of the bed, and then saw him straighten up suddenly, anticipating what was to come with dread.
Just then, the bedside lamp lit up. And dread suddenly turned to amazement.
- Sam...?” Dean gasped, his eyes squinting from the light and his voice drowsy. What, what's... What's wrong, what's happening?

When he recognized his brother's features, the younger Winchester seemed to float for a moment. Again, he wasn't sure whether he was asleep or awake, and it took a while for his thoughts to settle back into place. It was Dean, facing him, lying in bed, a black shirt on his back. Dean, scanning the four corners of the room with his half-glued eyes, looking for whatever had made his brother scream. It was Dean, not Pothos.
When he finally realized it fully, Sam felt his legs wobble, then stiffen almost immediately, and out of breath, the air barely starting to get a foothold in his lungs again, he spat, livid:
- D...Dean...?! Wha... Is that you?!
The eldest of the siblings, leaning on his elbows and covered waist-deep by the blanket, stared at him in bewilderment. He saw him glued to the wall, looking distraught, and without understanding why, he said:
- Of course it's me, who else could it be? What's the matter with you, did you scream like that? Did you dream about a clown?
Sam felt ready to scream some more. Mad with rage at Dean for having caused him such a fright, he looked at him rubbing his eyes as if that was the first of his worries and, getting out of his depth, shouted without restraint:
- Me... Don't you ever fucking do that to me again! What were you thinking?! I... I thought it was him again!
Dean was stunned by Sam's virulence and suddenly leaned forward with a deep sigh, hands on knees, arms outstretched. His brother remained wordless and motionless, bewildered, until he understood.
- Oh... I'm... Sorry,” he stammered, ”I...
He saw the two of them again, Pothos and Sam, pressed almost naked against the same wall from which the young man never strayed. And, realizing that his approach had had exactly the opposite effect to the one he'd hoped for, he stood up slowly.
- Sam... I'm sorry,” he repeated. I didn't mean to... I couldn't fall asleep, and... I didn't want to be alone, so... You were asleep when I arrived, and... I'm sorry, it was stupid of me, I shouldn't have come. I wasn't thinking.
Climbing out of bed, wearing just a pair of black boxer shorts and his T-shirt, he took a few sheepish steps towards the bathrobe he'd left on the chair near the entrance. He picked it up and began to put it on, while Sam looked up. While each passing second brought Dean closer to the moment when he would leave the premises, it also gradually soothed Sam who, his fear fading like a drop of blood diluted in water, gradually regained control of his emotions. Soon enough, he blamed himself for having reacted so violently, and although he was still bristling from the fright his brother had caused him with his clothes back on, he realized that his outburst had been unnecessary.
- Wait,” he said in a hoarse, raspy voice, catching his breath. You don't have to go, I... You just scared the hell out of me; it's all right.
He sighed loudly, then inhaled deeply, and looking haggard he walked back to his bed to sit on the edge, his back to Dean who watched him do it without blinking. Twenty seconds passed without either of them moving, and as he watched his younger brother, whose arms were knotted and whose shirt was damp, the older of the two men had the impression of seeing him trembling.
- Sammy... are you okay?” he asked worriedly, not daring to move. I didn't mean to scare you; if I'd known...
Barely turning his head towards him for a moment, Sam immediately cleared his head.
- It's all right, don't worry. I'm the one who jumped up and down for nothing, I... I just didn't expect to find you there, that's all...
It was far from “everything”, on the contrary, and Dean even thought that his fleeting presence was just a detail. Realizing what his brother had obviously felt when Pothos had invited himself into his bed, and which he had undeniably neglected, he saw him slowly go back to sleep and then remain lying on his back, one hand clenched on the covers he'd pulled up to his stomach, and the other on his forehead to push his hair back.
- I'll let you sleep, if you can,” Dean lamented, castigating his own behavior. Sorry again, I...
Arms flailing, ashamed of his inconsistency, he didn't know how to finish his sentence and merely turned towards the door, ready to walk through it. Sam held him back.
- You can stay if you like. I know it's you now, there's no problem...
Dean stood still, questioned him with his eyes and then, a few seconds later, asked:
- Are you sure? I've already ruined your night, I feel...
- That's just it, you can't do any worse,” he grinned.
Dean smiled back shyly and nodded slightly, his hands in the pockets of his untied bathrobe. Sam soon yawned limply as he seemed to gradually regain a semblance of serenity, and as he slid a little further into bed he called out to his brother:
- What are you doing? Are you coming to bed?
Caught off guard by the calm, banal tone of this unusual invitation, which seemed to come out of nowhere, Dean looked hesitant and puzzled. He stood there, seemingly searching for words, but Sam, who had offered him the perch, quickly chose to abandon him to his reflections. His vertiginous adrenalin rush now in clear inflection, the younger Winchester placed himself on his right flank, again turning his back to Dean who, seeing him visibly ready to try to go back to sleep, blurted out:
- In your bed?
Sam, his cheek on his bent arm, lifted his head and turned it towards him, until he said with an air of obviousness:
- This is where you were not five minutes ago, isn't it?
Dean could hardly pretend otherwise, but even so, he seemed to hesitate and find the proposal almost indecent. Nonetheless, and although he kept it to himself, he had felt so good, curled up against his brother before his rude awakening, that he found it hard to refuse.
All the more so as the latter's voice and attitude, clearly on the path to appeasement, strongly urged him to do so.
Sam didn't turn around until he saw Dean had finally chosen to come back to him. He rested his head on the pillow, giving the impression of no longer caring what his elder brother was doing, although in reality he was watching his every move with his ear, more than happy to see confirmation of his intuition that his own desire to rediscover that singular complicity with his brother seemed to be echoing in the latter. Soon, he felt the mattress sag on the side opposite to his own as Dean sat on the edge of the bed, then almost immediately return to its horizontal position as the elder Winchester stood up again. Seeing him place his robe at the foot of the bed, Sam, who at first thought he'd changed his mind, realized that he'd only risen to get rid of his robe before joining him, and indeed Dean then slipped under the sheets, stretching out next to his youngest but cautiously, without touching him. The latter, with his back turned in expectation, wondered when Dean would dare to embrace him again as he had done earlier, before he woke up, but didn't dare verbalize his question. Dean simply lay on his side, behind Sam, in the same position as him, staring anxiously at the back of his skull and the roundness of his shoulder, and his immobility obviously conveyed doubt as to what to do next.
- Sam...
Dean's voice was like a purr, and Sam caught the tiny breath in the hair on his neck. A sensation that had petrified him a few moments earlier, now warmed him wonderfully.
- Hmm?” he replied.
The younger of the two men had taken care to use a gentle, open tone, so as not to discourage his brother from expressing his feelings, whether he preferred to do so by word or gesture. Sam wanted to rekindle the fusional bond between them, to draw a definitive line under their quarrel, and if he had invited Dean back to his bed it was as much to make amends for this painful experience as to be pleasant to him, so peaceful had his sleep by his side, right here, seemed.
Dean, then, asked shyly:
- Did he really spend the night in your bunk?
Sam, who had started to back away from Dean to get physically closer to his brother, tensed for a moment. He hadn't anticipated the question, and bringing up this most disturbing moment with Pothos was the last thing he wanted to do.
- I thought it was you,” he said in a heavy voice. The moment I woke up, I thought... That you'd come to make peace.
It was Dean's turn to freeze. Even without seeing him, Sam sensed his astonishment and, unable to hold on any longer, reached behind his back for his eldest's arm, pulling him back over his side and uniting their hands over his heart. Closing his eyes, he made Dean's warmth and the texture of his skin his own, this time recognizing his brother, and no one else, in the man beside him. In response, the first-born crinkled the sheets slightly as his torso came to embrace the back of the second-born, who shivered with ease. And, eager to show his brother how pleasurable this new-found closeness was for him, Sam gently stretched his shoulders with the sole aim of maximizing the contact between their two bodies.
- You must have made quite a face,” Dean said with a touch of irony, for want of a better word.
His vaguely comical tone betrayed everything he could have hidden from the eyes of someone other than Sam, who knew perfectly well how to read between the lines. And, shivering again as Dean's nose tenderly caressed the base of his neck, he felt all the cold anger Dean continued to harbor towards the Erotes, but also his empathy. Furious at Pothos, but above all at himself for not having been able to protect Sam - and in his opinion, above all because of his decision to stand up to him - Dean gently wrapped his arms around his brother's chest to embrace him lovingly. With the tip of his nose against Sam's skin, he slowly inhaled his scent, like a balsamic perfume, then, with his lips hemmed on the nape of his neck, he placed a tender, loving kiss, voluntary and assumed, destined to prove that he was there again, body and soul.
- The look on my face... you saw it two minutes ago,” Sam argued, trying not to let himself be overwhelmed by the turmoil Dean's new-found gentleness aroused in him. Yours wasn't bad either, by the way, when you turned up...
He quickly regretted his remark, firstly because he didn't feel like evoking the incident beyond what was necessary, especially in a joking tone, and secondly for fear of reviving unpleasant memories. But he was undoubtedly well advised to do so, as Dean seemed more inclined to pursue the path of de-dramatization than recrimination.
- Pfff,” he grumbled, resting his cheek on Sam's thick trapeze. When I saw you two naked on top of each other, I thought I was going to have a stroke.
- I wasn't naked,” he corrected, reassured by his elder's restrained tone.
- It wasn't far off,” said the latter without getting carried away. Two more minutes and he'd have taken off your pants, just as he'd left them.
That had been Sam's fear at one point. But the worst part had been feeling devoid of the strength, or even the desire, to stop him.
- He took me by surprise,” he said in an overwhelmed tone, still trying to rationalize his apathy. Apparently, it wasn't enough that I saved his ass, he needed more... I was so far from imagining that I'd find him lying next to me, that when I realized what was happening I was knocked out on my feet... I didn't know how to react.
- Hey, it's not your fault,” said his brother sympathetically.
Dean rubbed his chin gently against the back of his neck and hugged him a little tighter, then added:
- It's him, not you. We're nothing to these things, just tools they use and throw away. They don't care about the consequences of what they do, they've made that clear...
Sam remained silent, preferring to enjoy the sensation on his neck of the raspy touch of Dean's short jaw hairs. The truth was, after rubbing shoulders with Pothos, in every sense of the word, the youngest Winchester was no longer sure he had such a clear-cut judgment of him. He wished he could continue to blame him unreservedly for all the harm he and his brothers had caused him, beyond the spite he had inflicted on him. But the way he looked at Brown Suit had changed, whether he wanted it to or not. And Sam didn't even think he could blame it all on the closer bond between himself and the Erote that the latter had told him existed.
- It wouldn't be long before he found out who he was dealing with anyway,” Dean went on, comforting his younger son, whom he regretted having plunged back into this memory. You weren't going to let that happen.
- Are you really sure?” reacted Sam in an almost sententious tone. You seriously thought I'd fucked him, and I know that's why you did everything you could to chase them away...
The silence passed to the other side of the bed and, even if he was for a moment unsettled by his brother's frankness, Dean tried to explain his reaction at the time by qualifying:
- It's not... No, I wouldn't say I thought it seriously, but... you have to admit that appearances didn't work in your favor.
- Were you jealous?” asked Sam in a matter-of-fact tone.
Dean was taken aback, as Sam could tell from the stiffness that tightened his arms around him for a moment. He didn't really know himself why he'd suddenly felt the need to ask such a question, but his brother agreed to answer it, as best he could, believing he was demonstrating his sincere wish to move on from the whole thing.
- I don't know,” Dean soon said in a confused voice. You do what you want with your ass, I told you, but... I have to admit it felt weird, thinking that maybe...
Dean didn't finish his sentence and Sam didn't ask. He hardly needed to. What's more, since the notion of jealousy was for him indissociable from the feeling of love, the youngest of the siblings ruled out that the subject could have any basis, since that wasn't how he characterized their relationship. He remained silent, but tightened his grip on Dean's fingers.
- I don't know why I thought that,” Dean said apologetically. I'm sorry I walked away and left you alone with him, and... for not getting here sooner. I should have kept a closer eye on them. Even though I know you were capable of getting out of that mess on your own.
He stretched his lips to Sam's chin and placed a kiss on its corner. Then he placed his cheek in the hollow of his neck and hugged him tightly. Sam felt his brother's free hand slip under his shirt and rest on his belly, and felt as if he were hovering, with the sharp sensation of a sudden stiffness between his thighs.
- They're gone, we're safe,” Dean whispered to her, as if trying to convince himself. Don't give it another thought.

That this recommendation came from him, who'd harbored an obsession with Erotes since day one, almost made Sam smile. But the way he felt his brother relax against him made him think - and hope - that maybe this wasn't just wishful thinking. He wished he could stop thinking about it. He wished he could forget what he'd hated feeling in front of Pothos, and for a long moment, matching his breathing to Dean's even breathing, he tried to do just that. Dean, who showed no more enthusiasm for him. The elder Winchester was content with the kisses he had showered on his younger brother and the embrace he was making last, but didn't seem to want - or dare - to go any further. The youngest would have liked that too. The extreme closeness of his brother at the moment was doing Sam as much good as it was spurring him on, titillating his senses cruelly, and the hope that Dean's hand on his bare belly would have the audacity to go down just a little, kept him on tenterhooks for a long moment. Things didn't turn out that way, and in the face of Dean's virtuous reserve, which he might have believed to be asleep, Sam finally wondered if he hadn't overestimated the reciprocity of the impulses that had returned to warm his blood.
- Dean..., he murmured anxiously.
The sound the firstborn made in response proved he was still awake. Sam gave himself a second to decide whether he wanted to confide what was pricking his tongue.
- Don't think... that what you've done doesn't count,” he said, feeling his heart quicken its pace. I'm not sure I'd have got off so easily, if you hadn't arrived when you did.
It cost him to admit it, but he wanted to be completely honest with Dean. To the point of transparency. The latter's longer exhale warmed the back of Sam's neck, and he summoned up all his courage to confess with his lips:
- I do believe... that I could have done something irreparable. I could have done something I'd regret for the rest of my life. I think that... I think getting that close to me really helped him heal faster, but... It wasn't just that. He says... that the bond we've had with them, since he touched us, grew stronger between him and me when I helped him, and... that it's the cause of this kind of attraction... Nothing to do with ours, but... I keep thinking that if you hadn't come along, maybe I wouldn't have had the strength to push him away.
His thoughts had collided faster than he could verbalize them, and he doubted Dean could have clearly grasped what he'd been trying to express. Yet he waited for an answer. A reaction. But his brother remained both motionless against him and mute on his shoulder, and Sam finally hailed softly as he turned his head slightly :
- Dean...?
Only the slow, steady sound of his breathing answered.

And, caught between relief and disappointment, Sam, realizing that Dean, asleep, had hardly been able to hear him, closed his eyes in turn, clutching his hand, his throat constricted.

Chapter Text

The orange juice was freshly squeezed. The coffee had just finished dripping into the carafe. Toast filled the kitchen, and Dean cracked one last egg, which immediately began to blanch in the hot pan. He'd woken up in his brother's bed after him, and sure that Sam had already left to walk the paths around the bunker, preparing a good breakfast had seemed an excellent way of showing his gratitude for the surprisingly restorative night he'd spent by his side.

The two brothers were soon reunited when, attracted by the smell of toast, Sam made his entrance, still in his sportswear. Dean smiled reflexively as he heard him cross the threshold and, without relaxing his gaze on his pan-fried scrambled eggs, he gave him a quick glance over his shoulder:
- You're back, aren't you? How many kilometers have you swallowed this time?
Sam smiled briefly in return and moved towards the middle of the kitchen, his slightly astonished gaze darting from one element of his brother's feast to the next. He immediately felt invigorated and replied succinctly:
- Five or six, I don't know... What's all this?
- I hope you're hungry!” bounced the eldest, with a slightly overplayed but genuine cheerfulness.
Sam almost agreed. The fact was, his stomach wouldn't have said no to a hearty meal, but the moment his eyes fell on Dean to answer, his appetite vanished. At least, the one that involved food. His gaze clouded over at his brother's shoulders, well framed by the folds of his thick gray shirt, and his bare forearms, like the arch of his loins, suddenly aroused his interest far more than the fresh fruit on the table, as he recalled the deep well-being and thrill he'd felt at his touch until dawn.
- Did you sleep well?” asked the youngest in a voice with warmer tones.
As he walked slowly towards him, without making a sound, Dean was pleased to tell him, while moderating the expression of his enthusiasm:
- I've had far worse... Seriously, it felt good. You get used to your mattress, you know? How about yourself? How did you sleep?
Dean had been stirring his eggs to keep them from sticking, and only became aware of his brother's proximity when he felt his brother's hand suddenly rest on his shoulder. He spontaneously turned three-quarters of the way around, to see at once Sam's enticing gaze and the characteristic expression that was his at that moment.
- With you around, it couldn't have been better,” Sam confided, affecting a charming air, his eyes both soft and piercing. Except maybe... if I'd slept less.
Dean felt his youngest son's two hands on his hips and faced him, looking taken aback. Sam's grip was vigorous, the thin smile on his lips assertive, and his boldness as palpable as it was unexpected. He exuded the scent of the outdoors and effort. The two men looked deep into each other's eyes, the elder's not withholding interest from Dean's full lips, who, in an attempt to level out, straightened his chin to give himself more presence and conceal some of the turmoil his brother's maneuver had provoked. The elder Winchester remained expectant, however, as incredulous as he was uncertain of Sam's intentions, which he quickly clarified by planting a fiery kiss on his mouth without warning, a kiss that Dean didn't reject.

Rediscovering this guilty intimacy with Sam and feeling once again the emotional turmoil it brought him, that thrill of pure exhilaration even though he hadn't seen it coming, made Dean's head spin for a few seconds. With pink in his cheeks, he let his lips greet those of his brother, and when Sam nibbled greedily to suck them better, he instinctively sought out his younger brother's with the tip of his tongue, without reaching it. He felt infinitely good. Suddenly revived. It was as if the electric current activating his cells had become stronger, or as if he could see the end of a long tunnel whose existence he had forgotten, only to emerge into the open air. Without stopping the first kiss in what seemed like an eternity, Dean felt Sam's hands slide over his buttocks, causing their resolutely swollen lower abdomens to press more firmly against each other, and when they finally loosened up to catch their breaths, they shared the same dizziness, their faces searching each other with the desire to mingle again.
- Can I ask... what's got into you?” inquired the first-born with totally mock detachment, his troubled eyes transfixed by the brilliance of his brother's and craving to see him do it again.
- I just... I just felt like it,” he justified with a barely embarrassed smile, lowering his gaze for a moment to look back at Dean. Having you against me last night reminded me how good it felt, when we fucked. And how much I miss you.
Dean took unabashed pleasure in this gesture of affection and felt his heart swell with joy. Flattered, shaken like a teenager by the emotion their embrace had aroused and overjoyed as a king at Sam's gesture, which sealed their entire reconciliation for good, he did his best to hide his embarrassment behind a mask of casualness, his cheeks pricked by a burning fire. Sam, who relished seeing him so troubled, so receptive to his advances, pushed the advantage by placing her right hand on his cheek to tenderly caress his face.
- I thought for a moment you were going to take the plunge last night,” he said in an almost syrupy voice. But you stayed in your corner after all.
Dean raised his eyebrows in surprise, which he promptly exchanged for a mischievous, fleeting smile.
- In my corner? I was pretty close to you, though.
- Not close enough,” replied Sam.
Without removing his left hand from his brother's loins, he let the other descend to his brother's torso and pressed it against his pectoral muscles. Desire itself seemed to crackle at Sam's fingertips, and Dean, who shivered at the contact on his heart, grew slightly bolder.
- Would you have liked it if I'd tried something?” he objected, moving his lips towards his younger brother without even realizing it.
- There'd have been no risk of it failing,” the other assured him, letting their noses brush tenderly.
Then, whispering to him as Dean felt himself capsize, catching a hint of the scent of his sweat:
- You told me you wanted it to go on, between us... Remember? Have you changed your mind?
The elder Winchester nodded briskly, demonstrating his certainty.
- No,” he refuted, lowering his eyes to Sam's vast chest where he placed both hands, searching for the relief of her nipples through the fabric. But... after what happened, I wasn't sure I still had the right... or your permission to... I mean, you know... I wasn't sure how to go about it...
Sam flashed a frank, confident and domineering smile. He screwed his gaze on his brother's lips and replied, bravely:
- Then I'll show you...
And wrapping both hands around Dean's face, Sam kissed him again. Their mouths caressed, then opened simultaneously in response to desire, like a flower blooming in the sun, and their tongues found each other, each dancing around the other in a passionate choreography in which the first-born seemed to lose himself.
It was Sam who ended the kiss, unhurriedly, after an indefinite time, and while reveling in sensing how much Dean, looking bewitched, had hardened against him, he mocked him good-naturedly:
- You see? It's not so complicated after all...
A radiant smile, light as air, lit up the features of the eldest of the siblings. And grabbing Sam's damp collar, he summoned him before drawing him to him:
- Bring it on, moron.

Embracing each other tightly, they took all the time they needed to celebrate their reunion, savouring without restraint the unmitigated joy of their embrace. As they kissed greedily, they both realized how important these new bonds had become in their lives, how much comfort they drew from them despite the heresy, and above all enjoyed the immense joy of realizing that they still existed. The feeling of fullness, closeness and even fusion that filled their hearts as they clung to each other was unparalleled. It rekindled a dying fire within them, infusing them with new energy, sweeping away their dark thoughts, and regardless of where their footsteps took them as, in the ardor of their embrace, they soon whirled across the room, they made the kiss last with the firm resolve not to see its end.

Until the moment when a persistent, unmistakable odor suddenly invaded the air, abruptly interrupting this moment of grace.

- Shit!” exclaimed Dean. It's burning!
The eggs had turned charcoal black and the smoke billowing from them was so thick it could have been mistaken for demonic fumes. The hunter leapt up, grabbed the burning pan and threw it into the sink. Sam, with loving, starry eyes, watched him drown the object of disaster under a jet of cold water, amused by the swearing he heard him utter, and displaying his white teeth in a dazzling smile he announced, heart alert:
- I'm going to shower; I'll leave you to clean up, okay?
Dean grumbled indistinctly, unsure whether to grab the sponge or throw everything in the garbage can, and Sam laughed a laugh that had perhaps never been so joyous. He left the room, unaware of his brother's disapproving movement, and strangely felt that, at this very moment, it was possible that he was the luckiest man in the world.
From that moment on, Sam felt as if he could move mountains again, and was truly reborn. As he vigorously scrubbed his hair in the steamy shower, he convinced himself that he and Dean had lived through and overcome their final crisis, that Hell would soon give them the information they needed to stand up to Chaos, and even that they might finally stop thinking about the Erotes. Exalted by the peace finally sealed with his brother - and in the best possible way in his eyes - Sam was aware that he was gargling with optimism, but who cared? He was determined to make the most of the moment, even if it was only a brief interlude, and circumstances seemed to prove him right when, realizing his greatest hope of the moment, he was half-surprised to feel Dean's bare arms gently encircling him.
- Am I disturbing you?” the latter inquired cautiously.
He laid his right hand on Sam's abs, which contracted reflexively, opened his left hand wide on his very firm pectoral muscles, and placed his mouth on his vigorous trapezius. At the same time, he pressed his torso against the broad back of his youngest son, who, at the pinnacle of well-being, purred as he tilted his head towards him:
- On the contrary... I'm glad you're here. I was hoping you'd come.
The welcome he received encouraged Dean to occupy the space, while Sam reduced the flow of the shower. And, allowing himself to express his feelings without fear of judgment, the elder Dean then kissed his brother's neck with a treasure trove of tenderness and voluptuousness. The desire that coursed through his fingertips and crackled on the surface of Dean's lips, seized Sam with an intense shudder. But although the emotion that returned to visit them both was pervasive, they were no longer slaves to it, and surrendering to it was a delight all the greater.
- Does this mean I'm forgiven?” Dean worried, resting his cheek on Sam's shoulder to feel its softness, vigor and firmness under the clear water. You're not mad at me anymore?
- I've never been mad at you,” the other defended himself in a voice imbued with empathy.
He turned to face his brother and looked into his eyes. The water that had partially flattened and smoothed his short hair over his skull was running down his face, but between the drops, Dean's eyes, planted in those of his younger brother, quivered with hope, repentance and fear. They stared at each other, silently probing each other for a moment, with only the sound of the fine rain overhead as music. Then Sam wrapped his arms around his elder's waist, pressing his body against hers, before pleading gently:
- And I hope you don't either. What I did, you know why I did it. I'm not going to lose you. I'll do anything to protect you, now more than ever.
Shaken by the strength of his oath, Dean drowned in her gaze and projected himself unreservedly against her lips. Baring his back with one eager arm and grasping one buttock with the other, he kissed his youngest as never before, kissing him breathless as he moaned his fever, while Sam forced their hips to clash as he took both of his older brother's buttocks with full hands. For a long time, they seemed to devour each other as their kiss was so torrid, their tongues mingling frantically in an amorous dance, and their excitement was such that they were simultaneously seized by a phenomenal erection, their penises harder than ever seeking their place between their bellies. The two brothers tried to create the necessary space for their imposing virility to blossom, but they did so under the express constraint of not untying themselves, and the mission proved more arduous than expected. Soon, the discomfort and the awkward contortions to avoid it distracted them from their embrace, except that far from feeling frustrated by it, they chose to joke about it, laughing together.
So they moved apart a little, but only at the trunk level, without loosening their pelvises, which they kept in close contact. They did, however, give their phalluses a little more room to spread, and when they had done so, they looked at them proudly drawn up against each other, criss-crossed like two dueling swords, replete with the satisfaction of showing their ferocious attraction to each other so conspicuously and equally. Their gleaming, smooth, fleshy tassels reached navel height, and it was obvious that the droplets beading at their tops were more than just splashes of water, against which Sam's back was a bulwark.
- Mine's on top,” he said in a lilting voice.
- You're seven feet seven inches tall!” Dean protested with a smile that was half beatific, half bawdy, as he watched the tip of his sex bump against his brother's brake. If you start higher, it's easy!
Sam burst out laughing and planted an enthusiastic, insanely light kiss on his eldest's cheek, before imprinting the same gesture on his lips. And Dean, who shared his happiness unreservedly, wrapped both arms around his neck to embrace and kiss him with all the ardor that stirred his insides, his lips as hot as his sex.
- You've got a hard-on like a donkey,” Sam marveled when he caught his breath, dazed, titillated as he could be by the sensations and the image of Dean's monolithic sex pressing against his. I can feel your cock rubbing against mine... Fuck, this cock... Go on, rub it some more...
Dean asked no better than to fulfill Sam's desire, and while rhythmically contracting his posterior, which his brother wasn't letting go of, he leaned over his neck to kiss it again, before quickly seeking to pamper his pecs, for which he felt a stronger attraction than for any pair of breasts to have passed beneath his lips. The elder of the two men did not restrain his appetites and placed his hands roughly on the sublime breasts offered up to all his desires. He kissed the chiseled muscles and water-blackened hairs that lined them, drawing a sigh from his brother whose hair he suddenly grabbed, and pulling his head back slightly he plunged onto her nipples, placing a fiery kiss on each of them, hard and pointed, before tantalizing the left one with the tip of his tongue and sucking voraciously.
Sam felt himself swept away in a whirlwind of pleasure, his heart pounding as it rarely had before. Trembling with love, he pressed his cheek against his brother's head and embraced him with all his might, as if afraid of seeing him slip away. Dean's lips were baking his skin, but he wouldn't have wanted him to stop for the world. Every lick, every suck on his part gave him the sensation of having an electric shock run through him, and his twitching made the first-born grey, who had no intention of stopping there. Pampering his youngest, showing him the strength of his desire, demonstrating his need for him and to bond with him as intimately as possible, soon led him to abandon Sam's torso, along which he descended in a cascade of kisses, leaving one hand to linger on his heart until he found himself kneeling before his sex. There, he took a moment to admire the ardent member stretched out towards him. Opulent and bursting with life, beating to the rhythm of his heart, dripping with water that rolled over the full, round bursa, calling to him, irresistibly, in defiance of all reason. With his fingertips, Dean caressed the carpet of short hairs that barbered his brother's pubis, and bringing back the hand he'd kept on his pecs he then delicately grasped his phallus, parting his lips. Sam held his breath. He placed a hand on Dean's hair and stroked it. And Dean, with unheard-of tenderness and extraordinary sensuality, began to kiss him, covering his penis with a thousand tiny kisses as fragile as soap bubbles, and preluding the supreme caress when, without even coaxing it with his tongue, the elder Winchester sucked it into his mouth with a long, ecstatic sigh.
At what point had Dean had time to learn how to do what he was doing to her? The last time they'd made love, just before the Erotes' thunderous reappearance, he'd already sucked her sex exquisitely, but this was now on a whole new level. Dean, who seemed far more confident, far more enterprising, didn't hesitate to let the rod of flesh penetrate him right up to the throat and, once he had it firmly in his mouth and felt able to suck it without hiccupping, he held it only by the lips and tongue, allowing his hands to return feverishly to exploring his brother's body. He brought one of them down on his brother's lumpy abs, enjoying their firmness with relish, before reaching out to torture his nipples again. He closed the other on one of her hard, round buttocks, which he ploughed with the tips of his fingernails. While regularly hollowing his cheeks to swallow him better, Dean subjected him to a violent treatment, and Sam sensed at once that he couldn't hold out much longer. The grimace he made as he tilted his head back didn't help, nor did his attempts to appease his brother's ardor. Wide-eyed, he saw Dean swallow him whole. Then, languidly spitting out his sex without releasing it completely, lips firmly clamped around his glans, to engulf him further and with the tip of his nose, sear his pubic bone. And then again. Sam, impressed by his eldest's ability to take all of him without appearing inconvenienced, gazed at him in action, finding infinite beauty in his face, splashed by the still-flowing water, and moaned, ravaged by intense pleasure, vainly trying to control the uncontrollable, even clutching at his hair in a desperate attempt to contain himself.
- Dean...! I can't take it anymore, you're... You're going too hard, it's... It's too good, I'm coming!
Then, just as he was about to give in, came salvation, and it came from Dean himself, who had no intention of allowing his brother to spill out so quickly. He drew back his head and, with a suffocated sigh, let Sam's entire penis stick out, glistening with saliva, hard and stiff as wood. Dean, not a little proud, raised his eyes to lock them in his younger son's troubled ones, and gave him a roguish grin as he delicately grasped his burning sex and carefully slid it into his hand. Since there was still no question of Sam's panting ejaculation and his brother wasn't finished yet, he set his sights on another part of his body and didn't even have to change position, for it was his testicles that he seized.
- Relax, Sammy,” he said mathematically, feeling him shiver as he filled his palm with his heavy bursa. Are you ticklish?
Sam contented himself with a brief chuckle in reply and inhaled deeply, his arousal hard to suppress. He spread his thighs a little so as not to interfere with Dean's hand, which delicately closed its grip on the two gonads, which he weighed before gently pulling on them, as he would have done with an udder.
- Is there anything about you that isn't XXL, bro?” said Dean in a titillated tone, enjoying flattering him.
Sam didn't answer, especially as his brother could easily stand the comparison. Only his gaze, full of expectation and fever, told Dean what he hoped would come, and Dean didn't let him languish any longer. With his free hand, he lifted his youngest son's heavy penis a little and brought his mouth up to his testicles to lick them clean, flattening his tongue on their surface to cover them as much as possible.
Sam let out an ecstatic moan that rose like a growl.
- If you think... that's what's going to stop me coming, you'll be disappointed,” he moaned, shivering despite the warmth of the water.
From the shape of Dean's lips against his skin, he knew he was smiling. His eldest lingered a little longer to suck his bursa one after the other, making him fear he'd be unable to hold back any longer, then Sam saw him raise his head and look at him delightedly.
- You're prickly,” he remarked, pressing gently on his brother's testicles with his fingertips, as he would have gauged the ripeness of a juicy fruit. Your hair is starting to grow back again, so you might want to give it another shave.
The youngest of the siblings raised his eyebrows and gave a dry smile of surprise between two sighs.
- Are you serious?” he said, putting his hands on his shoulders to encourage him to stand up. I remember a conversation, not so long ago, where you didn't say that...
Returning to his brother's level, whose lips he kissed briefly, Dean clearly relived the moment Sam was talking about. He saw himself in the Impala, in Gloucester, inventing that story about indiscreet tourists talking about shaving their genitals, because at the time he'd found nothing better to evacuate the turmoil that the stolen image of his younger brother's naked purses had provoked in him, but he didn't dare admit the truth.
- Anyone can make a mistake,” he argued mischievously, his eyes flirtatious, his lips threatening to cover Sam's. ”I prefer smooth candy. I prefer smooth candy, it melts better in the mouth...
With a provocative smile, he gave the older boy a look that was no less provocative, then kissed him frankly, plunging his tongue into his mouth to lead the dance for a long moment in unison with the lively caresses they exchanged as they rubbed against each other.
- If you want, I'll sort it out right away,” challenged Sam shortly afterwards. Go and look in my drawer over there.
His brother appraised him with his eyes for a second, then turned his attention to the cabinet he'd designated, in the corner near the entrance. There, they put away their toiletries, with varying degrees of organization.
- Okay..., agreed the elder, who found the idea rather amusing. What am I looking for? An electric razor?
He stepped out of the shower, dripping onto the tiled floor, without Sam answering him, the latter placing himself right under the shower jet to warm his skin... or cool it, he wasn't quite sure. Out of the corner of his eye, not bothering to take advantage of the view from behind of his naked body, he kept an eye on Dean, who was busy rummaging around, until Dean raised the alarm:
- There's no razor in there, what are you doing that with? Tweezers?
- Behind the gloves. There's a tube.
Without worrying about the mess, Dean turned over the drawer, gloves and towels, right down to the neatly arranged socks, only to unearth an oblong cardboard box that reminded him more of toothpaste.
- This?” he confirmed, turning back to Sam and opening the packaging.
He pulled out a tube of cream and a small sponge. His brother turned off the water so he'd be more or less dry, and welcomed him back.
- How do you use this thing?” Dean asked a little quickly, considering the two objects with perplexity.
- Are you serious? Is this the first time you've seen depilatory cream, or what?
Sam took the tube and sponge from his hands, placed the latter on the soap dish, then removed the cap from the container, putting his money where his mouth was:
- All you have to do is take a little cream, like this, spread it on the area to be shaved, wait five minutes and remove it all with the sponge. It's that simple.
Dean, torn between curiosity and circumspection, watched his brother smear the cream on his parts, which began to be covered with a very white foam. The scene seemed enticing enough to make him want to get in on the act.
- I'll do it,” he demanded with childish enthusiasm, spontaneously placing his hand under Sam's bursa. I'll spread it like this, okay?
The circular movements he made on his sensitive parts did not displease the hunter, who even saw his erection regain its full vigor. He remained for a moment contemplating the caress which Dean, far from finding unpleasant, gratified him with, then, spreading his thighs a little, he indolently pointed out to his elder:
- Just on the balls. Don't go overboard. I'll shear the rest.
- For now, no need,” Dean appreciated, ruffling his pubic hair with his free hand while continuing to coat his scrotum with the other. You're perfect like that.
Sam savored the compliment, delighted to see his brother so sensitive to his finery.
- That's good,” he warned. Here, rinse your hand.
Sam unhooked the showerhead, turned on the water and took the opportunity to rinse off his own fingers.
- Five minutes?” Dean repeated.
- Yes, that's all it takes. Say, while we're at it... how'd you like to get this stuff out of the way, too?
Dean looked at him quizzically. Then responded with a knowing smile:
- Would you like me to peel off my jolly ones? Would you like that?
- As you said, smooth candies melt better in the mouth,” he continued in a velvety voice.
Dean's smile took on an air of vanity, and, already reluctant to play small, he was quick to accept the challenge.
- Why not,” he nodded after a moment, with an air of bravado. Hand me that thing.
Sam tightened his grip on the tube as Dean held out his hand.
- I'm returning the courtesy,” declared the younger man. I'll take care of it. Don't move.
Dean's heart missed a beat with excitement. And by the time Sam's fingers smeared his bursa, his erection was at full strength.
- It's cold,” he wondered, watching his brother carefully spread the product.
Sam took his time, but not too much. The pleasure he derived from pampering his brother's intimacy in this way, their two phalluses stretched close together, didn't make him forget that it was better not to exceed the recommended exposure time.
- There, perfect,” he congratulated himself, rinsing his hand once he'd finished. It's going to look great on you.
- Well, now what?” asked Dean, struggling to remove his eyes from their white parts. Do you have any plans for the next five minutes?
He lifted his head when his younger brother took his chin, and Sam's smile said it all. They drew closer and, without a word, united again in an intense kiss.

The five minutes they'd given each other passed in the blink of an eye, and more than any stopwatch, it was the warming sensation that began to grow between their legs that told them the time had expired. Sam ran the water again, and while the eldest was busy scraping the surface of their sensitive parts with a sponge, the youngest carefully rinsed them off, their gestures punctuated by more kisses.
Once the foam and residue had been removed, Dean was impressed by their totally bare skin, as virginal as the day they were born, and took his time to appreciate its softness with his eyes and touch. The caresses he lavished on their crotches, Sam's first and foremost, raised the latter's temperature, so pleasurable was the sensation and the spectacle, and leaving his brother to play with their testicles pinkened by the depilatory effect, the younger man chose to mobilize his hands to seize both their penises and rub them against each other, lasciviously.
And he took a vicious pleasure in seeing their blood-gorged tassels mutually grasping the sticky, viscous pre-seminal fluid that oozed abundantly from them.
- I want you,” he proclaimed in an almost pained voice, his desire soaring to new heights. Give me your big cock, come on...
Breathing short and loud, Sam accelerated the rubbing of both sexes and Dean felt his head start to spin. His younger brother's increasingly daring tone and gestures, forgetting himself in the direction of the obscene, became difficult for him to bear without a response to match, and he too, in the throes of rampant arousal, found it hard to contain his concupiscent sighs as he watched his penis pressed against his brother's, who was masturbating wildly. In an attempt to make Sam understand that he had to slow down or risk an accident, Dean rested his forehead on Sam's without ceasing to admire the lustful saraband that was panicking their limbs, and in a heavy exhalation he pronounced, breathless:
- You've already got it, my cock, can't you feel it? Because, fuck... I feel it, yours, and not just a little.
- Not like that!” moaned Sam, who seemed to have crossed a threshold. I want it in my ass... Fuck me, Dean, come on, put it in me.
The eldest hurriedly pulled away from his brother and turned to lean against the wall, the better to hold out his posterior, which Dean stared at hallucinatingly. Sam then placed his cheek against the paving of the wall to free his hands, which he placed on his buttocks, before immediately spreading them to reveal his anus, which the stunned elder saw palpitating.
It didn't take him two seconds to make up his mind.
- Pass me the shower gel,” he demanded in a quivering voice.

Sam, ecstatic, spread his legs, took a firm hold, and sighed as much as he laughed with bliss when he felt Dean's fingers unceremoniously brush his orifice. His heart pounded with the interminable anticipation of coitus, and when at last he felt Dean's penis pressing against his slit, the roughness with which it presented itself wrung from him a cry of surprise, but above all of elation. The young man wanted to be taken unceremoniously, and his brother seemed determined to give him satisfaction; he pushed dryly on more than one occasion, even helping himself with his hand to keep his phallus in the ideal axis to pierce Sam's defenses, but despite the latter's extreme desire, they held out for long seconds. Until they fell. And when they did, they did so in one fell swoop, Dean's sex piercing him like a sword. Stunned by the suddenness of the penetration, whose extreme depth imposed itself violently, both men screamed in unison. For a few seconds, they stood there, groggy, finding their bearings in the tumultuous flow of stimuli that turned their senses inside out, but as soon as he regained his footing, Dean began to pound his youngest, who couldn't have asked for anything better. The assaults became bolder and bolder, faster and faster, and soon ravaged by the pleasure that set his loins on fire, Sam screamed:
- Ah! Again, like that, yes! Harder! Deeper! Yes !
Dean, crazed with desire and pleasure, let go of his brother's hips to cling to his shoulders and shifted into high gear. It didn't matter how long it took him to cum, satisfying Sam's will was his main objective and, exhilarated by the unbridled sodomy they were abandoning themselves to, he growled like a wild beast:
- You like it, don't you? You like it, don't you, you bastard?
Sam couldn't answer. He didn't even really hear what Dean had just said. And while they loved each other in the heat of passion, devoted to each other, Dean's phone rang, and rang, and rang again in a vacuum, in his jeans on the floor, until the vibrations made it slide out of the pocket where it was lodged and the name of the last contact he'd registered flashed on the screen: Cally, IN.

Chapter Text

The breakfast, which had had time to cool down, was ultimately less tasty than expected, but the Winchester brothers had emerged from the bathroom so full that even burnt eggs would have done.

They would treasure their embrace, albeit brief, with extraordinary fondness, and indeed with the conviction that it wouldn't have been so intense had it not been for the schism between them when it came to taking a stand on Pothos's fate.

They had cum ferociously in unison, then slowly caught their breath as they told each other the intensity of their orgasm. They then took their time getting out of the shower, perhaps because it felt too good, first rinsing each other thoroughly and taking every opportunity to caress each other, before finally drying off and getting dressed, each gesture punctuated by a kiss. As if on cloud nine, the two brothers then slowly made their way to the kitchen to eat, Sam well aware that leaving the scene of their lovemaking would prompt his eldest sibling to suspend these tokens of affection, in accordance with his doctrine. No matter. He knew what Dean's deepest feelings were, and that was what mattered. They had quickly moved into the library to escape the lingering smell of burning, and had enjoyed their meal. Almost as if nothing had happened. Almost. While they ate, they had gone over what had happened, made sure their excesses hadn't been received badly, evoked - much more modestly - the violence of the emotions that had seized them, the power of the desire and pleasure that had followed, confided in each other how close and happy they had felt against each other. They had laughed. Joked. And the feeling that they were now more connected than ever warmed their hearts as if a spring sun had chosen to take up residence there.
It was a breath of fresh air. A salutary glow, a source of strength and hope, in the uncertain and difficult circumstances that lay ahead.
Dean had cooked, Sam washed the dishes. And as he dried the last plate, he reflected that, in the end, it was probably better that his brother hadn't heard about his confession to the god of Desire last night. Sam might have doubted it for a second, in a moment of weakness, but after what they'd just experienced in the shower, he was absolutely certain that Dean was the only one in the world capable of arousing such a fire in him. Thinking back to their orgasm, the vivid echoes of which still radiated from his loins, the younger Winchester was glad it had taken place in this very place, in this very way, for it was in this very shower that it had all really begun, two weeks earlier. The story had come full circle, but this time they had brought their lovemaking to a very different conclusion.

He was about to set about trying to neutralize the smell of burnt eggs when his brother, who had left him ten minutes earlier, called out to him. Dean reappeared in the kitchen doorway and, hooking a hand on the doorframe, he hailed:
- Hey, have you seen my phone? I couldn't get my hands on it again.
- No,” Sam replied simply after a second, giving him a look of frank innocence. I haven't seen... Did you check your room?
- It's the first place I looked,” he replied, a little annoyed. I don't know where I left it.
- You'll find it, there's no reason to. It can't be far, you had it yesterday and didn't go out.
- Can you page me? I'll find it faster by ear.
Sam nodded and pulled his phone out of his pocket. Two thumb gestures later, he dialed the number. Not a single ring, however distant, pierced the silence.
- Did you call?” Dean inquired after a moment, with a hint of annoyance.
Sam held up the handset to show him the call window, which was indeed trying to connect with him. Dean listened intently, but heard nothing at all and pouted angrily.
- As soon as I find him, I'm going to glue him to me,” he grumbled. Well, I'm going back.
He stormed off, but not without a knowing glance at his younger brother before disappearing.
- I'll come and help you in a minute,” said the latter, speaking louder so as to be heard in the corridor. Check your pockets!
Sam chuckled happily, knowing without needing to see that his brother was plunging his hands into his jeans.
- Keep ringing!” growled Dean.
Switching to voicemail, Sam hung up and repeated the call, tempted for a second to nag him a little more by suggesting he might be on silent mode.

He repeated the exercise three times, without Dean picking up. Rejoining the corridor, the younger Winchester apostrophized his brother but got no further response. Sam reasoned that Dean was too far away to hear him and might even have reached the garage. So he made another phone call, stopping there to drown a few spoonfuls of baking soda in lemon water. Only then did he finally go to the aid of his eldest, who remained deaf to all his appeals, both physical and technological.
He made his way up to Dean's empty room, reached the intersection of the corridor leading to his own room, but before turning right and heading for it, he poked his head into the library and verbally called out to his absent brother. Sam then took the corridor he'd walked morning and evening, when he suddenly saw Dean appear at the other end, his step slow, his head bent over both hands. The dark contours of the object he held between his fingers, from which rose a distinctive glow, left little doubt as to its nature, and Sam blurted out as he went to join him:
- Have you found him yet?
Dean looked up distractedly and then back at the screen two seconds later.
- Didn't you? Yes, yes,” he said, his voice perplexed and clearly tense. It was... under the bathroom sink, it must have slipped when I picked up my clothes...
Sam came up beside him and eyed him suspiciously. His brow furrowed in concern as he became aware that something had obviously happened, and a pang in the pit of his stomach he asked.
- What's up? An important call?
He didn't dare mention aloud what he imagined and waited for his brother to give him the details. The latter then looked up, troubled, to rectify:
- Yes, well... I don't know. I missed the call, but she sent a message. Cally.
- Cally?” repeated Sam, who needed a second to put it back. The hunter you told me about?
- Yeah, in Indiana,” Dean called back, staring at his phone again. I don't know, I... It's probably nothing to do with, I mean...
He looked dazedly at Sam and showed him the screen, which displayed the message from their sister-in-arms.
- Take a look.
"Contact confirmed. Prof. Gérald Hansen, UI Bloomington. Expert in mythology and ancient cultures. Says he has evidence that we've entered a “period of great change that will reshuffle the cards and that without a reaction, chaos will sweep across the world.” Basically. What chaos he's talking about, I don't know. That's more your department. For all we know, he's another climate change maniac. But Prax, whom I'm sure you know, says it's more than reliable. If you think it'll help... Give me a call. Or I'll call you back when I can. Watch out, Winchesters. The vermin are still prowling."
Dean had seen Sam blanch as he read the message, and the younger of the two men, picking up the device, clutched it so tightly that his knuckles turned white, too. One word, just one, had been enough. The same one that had half-stunned Dean the first time he'd read the text message. His eyes probed his brother's as they came to question him.
- Coincidence? questioned the firstborn in a tone that suggested he'd already decided not to overlook the lead.
Sam shook his head, reread the message once more, and more, and then caught between the hope of moving forward and the fear of asking too much, he measured, cautiously:
- Even if Bill knows this guy... we can't conclude anything... Maybe she's right, this chaos could be anything. What are the chances of it being this thing, and more importantly, how would this guy know about it?
Dean held his brother's skeptical gaze without blinking. And, retorting with aplomb with a dash of irony:
- Nothing could be simpler than asking him... Don't you feel like going back to school, bro?
The idea hadn't been debated for long. Of course, following up such a lead on the basis of a simple, banal word that could have a thousand meanings, was a challenge the Winchester brothers had found a little hard to ignore. But the calls they'd been making since yesterday, above and below ground, remained hopelessly deaf. Even if they had a slim chance of making a good pick, and since they couldn't turn to Heaven, which thought it was working for their good by keeping them out of the battle, were they prepared to let their chance slip away? They had tried to call Cally back: without success. They had then sought information on the man the hunter had mentioned, only to discover that he seemed to have quite a pedigree. In the past, they'd clung to slimmer hopes than this. And they had definitely not wished to neglect this path.

So, although divided and moderately convinced, Sam first and foremost, they had hastily prepared their departure and launched the Impala due east, relying on their good fortune.

- Still nothing?” inquired Dean, making good speed under cloudy skies.
- Messenger,” reported Sam. I hope she's all right...
He tossed the device onto the dashboard and sighed in stress. Bill Prax, whom Sam knew from his days as head of the hunter coalition, had been easier to reach and had confirmed Professor Hansen's surprisingly extensive knowledge of the supernatural world. He had also indicated that Cally, who had approached Hansen on his advice, was to join her sister on a hunt upstate. The Winchester brothers could only hope that things hadn't gone awry.
- You know how it is,” Dean balanced. It's hard to pick up the phone with a machete in your hand... It's okay, we'll get it later.
He looked at his brother stealthily and, in order to distract him from his thoughts, asked:
- Did you find out anything else about the teacher? How do you play it?
Sam glanced at him, took a breath, then answered after rectifying his position on the bench:
- According to Bill, although he knows a thing or two about behind-the-scenes, his knowledge is theoretical. Surprisingly accurate, but theoretical. Well, let's see, but... let's pretend.
- Okay, so we approach him undercover. How about a report for the local paper?
- It's credible,” Sam judged half-heartedly. He's published a few books, which gives us a reason to have heard of him.
- Say, wouldn't it be easier to talk to him straight? Since he seems so knowledgeable, what's the risk of asking him straight out if he knows anything about Chaos?
- I don't know, he might... What if he thinks we're nuts and doesn't say a word? We'd better stick to the usual trick.
Dean didn't argue any further. He wasn't feeling his brother's enthusiasm, and didn't want to add to his meager motivation.
- Have you spotted any other useful things to know about him?
- A few things, but not necessarily useful,” said Sam, picking up his phone and consulting it again. Apparently, he's an archaeologist in his spare time.
- Is he? Like Indiana Jones? Do you think he'd give us the Ark of the Covenant to nuke Chaos?
- We'll add that to the list of questions we'll be asking him,” quipped the youngest, continuing in a tone of derision. According to certain messages on the forum where his students exchange ideas, he also seems to be in the crosshairs of the university president.
- For what reason?
- It would seem that his speeches are not very academic. Over the past few months, he seems to have lost the ability to conduct all his lectures with the same detachment.
Dean tilted his ear, waiting for his brother's slow delivery.
- Cosmogony, particularly ancient Greek cosmogony, seems to be taking up a lot of space. And some complain that he seems to give particular credence to this version of the universe's creation.
- The version where Chaos puts on a show, right?
- That's the one.
Sam, who turned his gaze outward, said no more, keeping to himself the contradictory thoughts these elements inspired in him. Dean was no more prolix, and the fact that his brother didn't consider this detail to be of any potential use told him a lot about his reservations about this lead. The elder Winchester, who was not far from thinking the same, then felt the bench bounce when Sam straightened up sharply again. Sam sighed, irritated:
- What we're doing... is laughable.
Dean, disillusioned, let him come. But, faced with the silence that fell just as sharply, he asked again:
- What are you talking about?
- We're on a thousand-mile trip to cook for a university professor who's had the good sense to talk about “chaos”, hoping it'll help us to... What, by the way? Understand what's going on with this thing? What it really is? How to flush it out and destroy it?
Keeping his eyes on the road, Dean didn't really react. Sam shook his head at this tacit validation of his reservations, and added in frustration:
- I don't know if this is a good idea, maybe we'd better turn back. We've probably got a much better chance of getting something by going back to Rowena.
Dean gave a silent sigh.
- Listen,” he began, striving to remain calm and factual. If Rowena knows something, she'll let us know. There's no point in continuing to look this way. Our time would be better spent finding out if this Hansen has anything to teach us. Hmm?
- Yeah,” agreed Sam a little reluctantly. We'll see, I prefer not to anticipate too much.
Out of the corner of his eye, his brother watched him for a moment, hoping for a little optimism, but feeling a heavy dose of gloom. He patted his knee affectionately and tried to motivate him with these words:
- Cheer up, Sam. For want of anything better to do, we'll do what we can to stay in the game in case we can make a difference, but the important thing is that Chaos is sidelined. And don't forget that Castiel is in charge on his side. If that's the case, it'll all be over before we get to Indianapolis.
The frail rictus that loosened Sam's features at least had the merit of demonstrating his willingness to try and make do with what little they had, without prejudging the chances that the angels' otherwise unknown plan had of succeeding. Again, he modified his position somewhat, and replied:
- Perhaps, yes. Let's hope so. After all, you're right, let's try to concentrate on what's at hand.
He opened the glove compartment and Dean saw him rummaging through the impressive array of fake cards of all kinds that they abused to conceal their true identities when investigating.
- No need to do this now, he preached. We'll be too late to see the teacher today, so we'll have time to work out the details tonight.
Sam embraced his vision and abandoned the panoply. He closed the trapdoor, then stretched his back. Finally, he lowered his gaze, looking thoughtful. Dean hesitated for almost a minute, punctuated only by the sound of the engine propelling them along the deserted road, before inquiring:
- Are you all right?
The question drew Sam from his thoughts, and the young man turned his head lightly towards his brother.
- Hm? I'm fine. How are you?
Dean's question was not without ulterior motive. He felt a little embarrassed to make it clear, but continued:
- Yeah, yeah... It's all right. In fact, I'm only asking because... I've seen you fidgeting in your seat since a moment ago; are you comfortable? Do you need a piss?
Raising his eyebrows, Sam replied with a slight, polite smile:
- No, thanks. I'm fine, and so is my bladder.
- Okay, okay,” returned the elder with an air apparently so relaxed that his hands tightened on the steering wheel. But if you want us to stop and stretch your legs, no worries, eh? You end up with a sore ass just sitting there.
Sam's eyebrows furrowed over his forehead. Dean then donned a mask of impassivity worthy of a theatrical performance as he stretched his neck and stared straight ahead, looking stilted, but the red in his ears screamed just the opposite and his younger self, who breathed out a sneer, couldn't help but be amused.
- Is it my bottom you're worried about?” he titillated with a stinging grin.
Dean, feigning indifference, didn't give him so much as a glance. His compassed expression only strengthened Sam's smile, as he eyed him with a wry smile, never letting go.
- It's just that... I feel I may have come on a little too strong at times this morning,” said the older man in a hoarse voice. But, if you tell me it's okay... okay. Perfect.
He cleared his throat as if trying to evacuate what embarrassment he could while scratching his forehead. Sam waited a few seconds before answering serenely:
- If I'd been unhappy or unpleasant, I'd have been able to tell you, okay? Stop worrying afterwards every time we fuck, I'm not made of sugar. You acted exactly the way I wanted you to act, so don't worry. And if I'm feeling anything right now, it certainly isn't pain.
The palpable sense of deep satisfaction that had warmed Sam's voice had a positive effect on Dean, who felt both reassured and reassured of his worth. He found it ridiculous to feel childishly proud of his performance, especially in view of the unlikely partner with whom he'd made his mark, but that didn't stop him from shifting his position on the seat, stretching his back and rolling his shoulders in an assertive posture that dismayed his brother as much as it delighted him.
- Sam,” he dared to say after a moment, looking like a mutt. I'm thinking... given that we've got until tomorrow, maybe we could get a nice hotel for the night, when we get there?
The mischievous, knowing look he gave his brother led him to consider his proposal with circumspect interest.
- And say no to our cheap motels? ironized Sam. In what honor?
Dean fumbled for words, trying to put on a brave face even if he had hoped for a little more enthusiasm from his younger brother.
- Well... I was thinking... if you wanted to pass the time, of course, then... maybe we could have...
The dry, nervous head movements with which the eldest sibling chose to convey the message made the youngest chuckle.
- I'm pulling your leg,” said the latter. I get it, I don't need a drawing.
Dean thought it was probably a yes, but kept his uncertainty to himself. It was lifted by Sam, whom he heard muttering:
- Looks like we've got our work cut out for us tonight...

The Winchesters arrived in Bloomington after twenty-three in the clear night. On the way, they had been able to contact the university and get confirmation of Gerald Hansen's presence on campus the next day, even if they hadn't managed to get an appointment. They would try again. They had also contacted the hotels and, after being assured of room availability, had chosen to stay at the Graduate Bloomington, a five-story hotel with a long red brick and glass façade, located a few hundred meters from the university. As soon as he stepped through the revolving doors, Dean took aim at the imposing engraving in the center of the wall behind the reception desk, featuring the Hoosiers basketball team of the early 1950s. Stomping his feet on the black-and-white paving and sweeping a wide gaze across the vast space that the ceiling sconces illuminated with warm light, the hunter walked up to the reception area, Sam having stayed behind to try once more to reach Cally. Dean placed his hand on the varnished wood of the reception desk, and was greeted by a petite young woman with an impeccable chignon.
- Welcome to The Graduate, sir. How may I help you?
- Good evening, miss,” he said, with an air that even the events of the moment couldn't completely strip away his seductive reflexes. I called earlier about a room. Was it you I had the pleasure of speaking to?
- Yes, absolutely,” she confirmed amiably. You wanted a room for the night, right? For two people?
- You have an excellent memory,” he winked.
- You called thirty minutes ago, so the memory's still fresh,” she reframed with a clean smile. Is this for you and... the big man on the way?
As her gaze drifted over Dean's shoulder, he glanced behind his back and saw his brother walking through the doors, his bag slung over his shoulder.
- That's right,” he confirmed. I hope you have king-size.
- Don't worry, sir,” she promised with a chuckle. Your feet won't be sticking out.
The receptionist leaned over her computer and made the usual checks.
- We have a room that should suit you,” she continued. With two large beds and a very comfortable bathroom. Or, if you prefer, two separate rooms. The rate isn't much higher.
Dean was about to answer when, suddenly, similar memories came flooding back. How many times had we thought they were a couple? How many times, over the years spent criss-crossing the roads, had they been offered the chance to share a room, or even a bed? As many times as they'd had to go back to their hosts to disabuse them of this notion, no doubt succeeding to a greater or lesser extent in convincing those who had perhaps seen the obvious long before them. The irony of the situation inspired a slight smile in the elder Winchester, who had never had the opposite interpretation of their duo corrected. For a moment, he considered letting it go. Ready to accept the twin-bedded room, having even considered separate bedrooms, although this configuration went against their various needs at the time.
And then, for the very first time, with a quiet smile painted on his lips, he finally decided to ask:
- Thanks, but one room will do. And with only one bed, if that's possible.
It took the young woman half a second to appreciate the situation from this new perspective, and she looked a little embarrassed.
- I beg your pardon, sir. I didn't understand, I... Of course, one room, one bed. It couldn't be simpler.
- King-size bed,” Dean reminded her with a satisfied, light-hearted expression.
She blushed.
Formalities out of the way, the two brothers followed their hostess to the room and, as they crossed the threshold, didn't regret their almost two hundred dollars. From the anthracite parquet floor to the light-colored ceiling, from the walls with their sober, retro wallpaper to the large windows draped with curtains in contrasting, geometric patterns, the decor and the impression of cleanliness made a strong impression, even if Dean would have gladly done without the flower-printed bedside lamps. An easy chair in a corner, near the bay window that opened onto a small furnished balcony, a TV set on a console facing the honey-colored wooden headboard that rose to the ceiling, incorporating drawers and cupboards... And this bed! As high as a table. Huge and thick. Equipped with two pairs of huge pillows, bolsters and a light-toned quilt that simply made you want to snuggle up under it.
The first thing Dean did once they were alone was to throw himself into it.
- Aaaah..., he exhaled in ecstasy, arms folded. I think... I'm going to sleep like a baby.
Sam, standing by the door, moved slowly into the room, observing the vast bed with curious interest.
- Only one bed?” he wondered, not without taste.
He suspected his brother had something to do with it but, not wanting to complain, was content to hear him say, his head almost buried in the hollow of the pillows:
- Did you see that? For once, they've got the compass in their eye...
As much as Dean had tried to be casual, Sam sensed that he was distressed, no doubt overtaken by a whole host of heavy thoughts that he didn't even try to list. Instead, the younger Winchester tried to make things easier for him, and as he approached the bed, he went along with him, trying to joke despite his tiredness and worry:
- Where's the stool to climb on?
- If you get enough momentum, you'll make it,” Dean replied with a grin. In any case, the room looks nice, a change from the crappy motels. And even the bunker.
A healthy change, Sam mused. And he wondered to what extent this escape to Bloomington was dictated solely by the hope of arming himself somehow against Chaos.
He stretched out in turn, discovering the welcoming comfort of the mattress and, lying to his brother's left without the latter needing to push himself to make room for him as the space was so generous, he ruled:
- Oh yeah... That's some mattress. By the way... still no news from Cally.
- I gathered from your face,” Dean said after a second, his voice deeper.
They remained side by side for a few moments, motionless and silent, immersed in their thoughts and reveries, enjoying each other's gentle presence without saying a word. Sam kept his eyes fixed on the six arms of the wooden chandelier, imagining the claws of a trap closing in on Chaos, crystallizing his hope of eradicating this threat before it became too great, if it wasn't already too late. He prayed that Professor Gérald Hansen would help them clear away the fog, although he hardly saw how he would have the means to do so. But he chose to remain positive. And suddenly became aware that Dean, with his head turned towards hers, was staring at him. With extreme gentleness. Infinite tenderness. Eyes caressing and shining.
- What?” he questioned with a surprised smile, aiming back at him. Why are you looking at me like that?
Dean let a shy smile bloom on his lips and shrugged slightly.
- Nothing,” he assured in a suave voice. I'm happy to be here with you. Just the two of us, together.
Sam replied with an expression to match. He lifted his hand to drop it slowly on his brother's cheek and replied with a caress:
- We could have wished for better circumstances, don't you think?
- I don't care,” Dean protested, kissing his younger brother's hand. The main thing is that we're together. If we stick together, we'll get through this like everything else. You'll see.
His optimism warmed Sam's heart, which had known him to be much darker in days gone by.
- I'm sure of it,” he swore. I never doubted it.
Dean then gently stretched out his neck, parted his lips and, very slowly, brushed against his brother's, who welcomed him in full agreement. Their mouths delicately caressed, their noses tickled, and it was by taking their time that they bonded in a deep, close kiss whose end they kept putting off.
- Don't stop,” Sam demanded when Dean broke the embrace. Kiss me again...
He immediately set off again to conquer his brother's lips, who accepted a short kiss before retorting, Sam's cheek in the palm of his hand:
- Didn't we say we had work to do tomorrow?
- Tomorrow's tomorrow,” firmly objected the youngest of the brothers, for whom uniting with his eldest was the only priority. Come on.

Sam pivoted on his side and moved closer to Dean, who willingly surrendered to his brother's desire. With bliss, he offered himself to him body and soul, letting him cover his skin with more and more fiery kisses, more and more daring caresses, and soon naked they furiously linked their bodies to love each other without reserve, indifferent, at least for the space of a few hours, to anything that didn't concern solely and exclusively their unquenchable hunger for each other.