Word Count: 2.3K
Rating: Hard R
Warnings: Infidelity, sibling incest
Summary: Dean’s got Michael trapped inside his mind. Sam needs his brother but won’t do anything to jeopardize Dean’s hold on the archangel, so he uses his magic closet to travel to an alternate universe to visit an alternate Dean, just to let off a little steam. They both need it, so where’s the harm? Set loosely between 14.10 and 14.14.
Sam opens the closet door quietly and steps into the bedroom.
His doppelgänger, the Sam from this universe, is passed out on the bed, probably drunk. Sam leaves the closet door open a crack and pads across the floor to the door on stocking feet.
The corridor is dark and silent. In this universe, there’s nobody living here except Sam and Dean. No other hunters, no friendly angels or half-angels, no alternate versions of old friends and family from other realities.
In fact, as Sam’s learned from the other times that he’s been here, there don’t seem to be many people left alive in this world at all. Michael took it all down, apparently. When he first discovered this world, Sam thought he’d time-traveled into the future. He and Dean were still dealing with Michael in their world, and Sam’s closet had only worked for time-traveling in the past, not for slipping between universes.
Apparently that changed when the Winchesters opened the rift between worlds. Now, all the alternate timelines converged randomly, so that Sam could use the closet to pass easily into this world and back into his whenever he wanted.
Whenever he felt the need.
Sam hears the water running as he pulls the door to other-Sam’s bedroom almost closed, leaving a crack just like he does in his own world. The brothers need to hear each other if one of them wakes up screaming. It’s almost as good as sleeping in the same room, while keeping the privacy they both desperately crave.
Sam’s not craving privacy right now. He’s got something else on his mind.
Outside the large communal shower room Sam takes a deep breath, then pushes the door open and steps inside.
The room is filled with steam. Dean likes to take long, hot showers in every universe. He’s got his back to Sam, head buried under the strong, steady water falling from the shower head. He doesn’t yet realize Sam’s in the room, and Sam takes a moment to appreciate his brother’s strong back and powerful legs, his narrow waist and perfect ass. Then Sam quickly and quietly takes off his clothes and slips into the shower.
Dean only jumps a little as he feels Sam press up behind him. Sam slides his arms around Dean’s waist, running one hand over the slippery, smooth skin of Dean’s chest, cupping Dean’s balls with the other.
“Need to fuck you,” Sam murmurs as he sinks his teeth into the lobe of Dean’s ear.
Dean shivers. “Yeah, okay,” he breathes, shaky. His dick hardens in Sam’s hand, and Sam strokes it. “Sure, Sammy.”
Sam takes his time opening Dean up, using the lotion he left on the shower rack the last time he was here. Shower sex might be awkward, but they both enjoy the luxury and practicality of it. There’s plenty of room for two big men, and cleaning up afterwards is a breeze.
Sam strokes down Dean’s back as he works his hole open, bending him forward for a better angle. Dean pushes his ass out and spreads his legs, bracing himself against the wet tile wall of the shower, wiggling back against Sam’s probing fingers. When Sam pulls his fingers out and lines up his dick, he bends his knees to get the right angle, holding Dean steady with a hand on his hip.
Dean nods and Sam pushes inside, punching a gasp out of Dean that makes him grab his own dick. Sam waits, letting Dean adjust for a moment, his chest heaving with the effort to control the urge to thrust. Dean’s channel is so tight, so hot, as always, and Sam’s afraid he didn’t lube up enough, but it’s too late now. He couldn’t stop himself if he wanted to.
“Here we go.”
As he pushes deeper inside, Sam grabs hold of the perfect globes of Dean’s ass, spreading them wide with his thumbs as he slides deeper. When Sam’s finally fully sheathed in Dean’s body, he stops again, feeling Dean tremble and gasp as he adjusts.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Dean pants, and that’s all the permission Sam needs. He holds Dean’s ass in his wide-spread hands as he pulls out halfway, then shoves back inside with a grunt of white-hot pleasure, pulls out and does it again and again until his thrusts become rhythmic, relentless.
Dean grunts and strips himself frantically, cries out when Sam hits his prostate, pushes back when Sam retreats. It’s a dance and a collision course all at once, the push-pull of their relationship reduced to this one physical act. Sam loses himself to it, almost whites out to the pleasure of Dean’s body under his hands, around his dick. When he leans forward, blanketing Dean’s back, wrapping one arm around his torso while grabbing his dick with his other hand, it only takes a couple of quick strokes before Dean stiffens and spills, warm and wet, all over Sam’s hand.
The feel of Dean’s body giving up and giving way is all it takes for Sam to growl out his own orgasm, low and dark against Dean’s shoulder, pumping long and deep inside Dean’s body. Sam sinks his teeth into Dean’s skin as he works him through the aftershocks, riding the pulses of his own dick as it softens. He shifts back just enough to slip free, and they both groan at the friction on their oversensitive skin.
Sam pushes Dean under the shower, washing them both on wobbly, post-coital legs, fighting the urge to collapse on the floor of the shower and sleep. He manages to turn off the shower, dry himself off and toss a clean towel to Dean before bending to retrieve his clothes.
Dean steps up behind him and puts a hand on his outstretched arm.
His voice sounds broken, tired, and Sam wants to pull away, wants to look away so he doesn’t have to face Dean’s need. His pleading green eyes and flushed cheeks.
But it’s only fair. Dean has needs, too. He’s just met Sam’s. It’s only fair.
Sam frowns, clenches his jaw, and nods shortly. He follows Dean down the corridor, past Sam’s room, to Dean’s. Dean shuts the door after them, doesn’t look at Sam as he drops the towel and dresses, quick and efficient, like a million times before, and Sam does the same. Being naked in front of each other has been a part of their lives since they were children. There’s never been any real privacy between them, at least not until they moved into this bunker and got their own bedrooms. And even then, they both sleep with their doors ajar, listening for any signs of distress, always attentive to the other one, even in sleep.
There’s no reason for Dean to close his door now. There’s no one here but the two of them. Plus sleeping beauty two doors down, as Dean would probably put it, if he admitted to himself that he didn’t want his little brother overhearing.
“You didn’t tell him?”
Sam sinks into the desk chair as Dean pours whiskey into a glass and hands it to him.
Dean shakes his head, takes a sip of the whiskey straight from the bottle as he sits down on the bed. “Didn’t see the need.” He shrugs, doesn’t meet Sam’s gaze.
“Nice.” Sam frowns and throws back his drink in one gulp. “So we’re lying to both of them.”
Dean shrugs. “It’s not lying if we never talk about it.”
Sam rolls his eyes. “Do you really believe that?”
“No.” Dean shakes his head, gives Sam a tiny flicker of his old cocky grin, and motions with the bottle to refill Sam’s glass. “But I’m pretty sure he knows anyway.”
Sam’s eyes widen. “He said something to you?”
“Not in so many words,” Dean admits. “It’s just the looks he gives me. You know. That look you give when you’ve figured something out but we don’t talk about it.”
“You mean, you don’t talk about it,” Sam clarifies.
Dean shrugs. “Like I said, no need.” He takes another swig of the whiskey.
Sam doesn’t drink. He looks down into his glass, shaking his head. “It’s cheating, Dean. Any way you look at it.”
“Not if he knows,” Dean reminds him. “Not if he’s okay with it.”
Sam sucks in a deep breath, nods. Point taken. “How’s he doing?”
Dean shifts, squints at the wall. “He’ll pull through,” he says. “He’s been through worse. He’s strong.”
Sam flinches. “He feels like it’s all his fault, for letting Michael into this world in the first place.”
Dean shakes his head. “He couldn’t have stopped what happened,” he says.
“In my world, Michael’s still trapped in Dean’s head,” Sam says, voice soft.
It’s a relief to tell, to talk about it, especially with his big brother. This is partly why Sam comes here. He needs to talk to Dean, but he can’t talk to his Dean. Not while he’s possessed. Dean needs all his strength to keep Michael caged up. He doesn’t need any distractions, especially the kind Sam provides.
Dean clenches his jaw. “I must have been so fucked up to say yes to that arch-dick,” he growls.
“You were trying to save me,” Sam breathes. “Jack and me.”
“Jack.” Dean takes another swig from the bottle. “You mentioned him before. He’s our kid in your world?”
Sam nods, sadness welling up in his chest at the notion of Jack not existing here at all. But of course it makes sense. Jack’s existence is extremely rare, necessarily. The multiverse couldn’t survive if there were too many of him running around. He’s too powerful.
“Yeah,” Sam says quietly. “He is.”
Dean smirks. “So who does he look like?” he asks. “Did he get your goofy hair? Or did he get lucky and take after his old man?”
Sam smiles despite himself. “He looks a little like Castiel, actually,” he says.
“Oh. Right. Cas is his dad, too.”
They’re quiet for a moment as Sam sips and Dean stares at the wall, thoughtful.
“He thinks he let me down,” Dean says, and they both know he doesn’t mean Castiel. His voice is rough, but not just from the whiskey.
“I know.” Sam nods.
“He doesn’t listen when I tell him to let it go.”
Sam sucks in a breath. “Give him time,” he murmurs. “He’ll come around. He knows you need him.”
Dean huffs out a half-chuckle. “Sometimes I wish I didn’t,” he admits. “Truth is, he’s all I have, besides the car. This place.” He looks around the room, meets Sam’s eyes briefly. “You.”
It’s more than Sam can bear, this vulnerable, hurt brother who wears his heart on his sleeve and needs Sam like air. Who feels abandoned and expects to be left by everyone and everything he cares about, Sam included.
Sam sets his glass down on the desk and stands up. “I should go.”
A look of sheer terror crosses Dean’s handsome face before he can hide it, before he can shove it back behind the familiar veneer of bravado and cocky self-assurance.
“Sure,” he says, trying to laugh it off. “Love ‘em and leave ‘em, just like I taught you.”
“You didn’t teach me, Dean,” Sam reminds him, tilting his head toward the wall, in the direction of the other Sam’s bedroom. “He’s the one you need to talk to. Trust me. He’s a stubborn asshole who won’t admit he needs his big brother, but he does. He’s just waiting to see if you’ll break first.”
Dean nods shortly, swiping a hand over his face like he’s putting on a mask. “I can’t make up for all he’s been through.”
“No,” Sam agrees. “But you can be there for him now. Let him know you don’t blame him for whatever happened here. Remind him that you’ll always have his back, no matter what. You know what he needs to hear.”
Dean rises to his feet, puts a hand out like he means to thank Sam, and Sam shakes his head.
“Come here, you jerk,” he mutters, grabbing Dean’s shoulders and pulling him in for a hug.
Dean doesn’t mutter “bitch”. Sam’s not his brother. They’re both substituting for their better halves here, and they both know it.
Sam won’t tell his brother what happened here because his Dean doesn’t need to know. This isn’t something that would help Dean understand Sam better, or improve their situation in any way. Let Dean think he’s going out to a bar and fucking some stranger. Let him think he’s doing it because he can’t fuck Dean while he’s possessed by Michael and they both know it. That’s half true, anyway. The other half, the part about Sam only needing Dean and being unable to fuck anybody else anyway, Dean doesn’t need to know.
Sam ends the hug because Dean won’t. He clings even as Sam pulls back, and Sam kisses his temple before he pulls away. He won’t kiss his mouth because that’s sacred. That’s just between him and his Dean, and this one gets that.
“Will I see you again?”
It’s pathetic, how needy Dean can be. It makes Sam’s eyes smart. Makes his dick twitch.
“I don’t know,” he answers truthfully. “Maybe.”
He turns away then, so he doesn’t have to see the lost look in Dean’s eyes, the haunted gaze of perpetual abandonment.
They don’t say goodbye. Sam might be back, so there’s that. But even if he never returns, brothers don’t say that. Ever. Not even not-brothers whose timelines have diverged.
The other Sam is still sleeping as Sam pads quietly past him to the closet door, and he glances back as he slips inside. Dean hovers in the doorway, watching but not meeting his eyes. Just before he closes the door behind him, he thinks he sees movement on the bed, thinks maybe Sam saw him.
It occurs to him that he might not be the only Sam who can use this magic closet to travel between universes.
Maybe he’s not even the first.