A/N: Hey guys!

So this is the first chapter of a possibly very long fic. Thanks to my co-author purpleushi, we've written more than 9 chapters so far, so don't you worry about this fic being abandoned. You will definitely get a nice ending if you decide to follow us.

Before you read, this fic will contain very graphic images of wincest, weecest, and self-harm. It might be triggering for some of you, so please close this window if you don't want to see any of these.

Setting: It starts before Sam goes to Stanford, and continues during the Stanford era too. And possibly after that as well. This is not an AU fic, it's just non-canon. Our boys are still hunters.

Warnings: Self-harm, underage sex, language, graphic scenes, and incest (Basically everything I enjoy in a fic)

I will be posting the chapters in order, just haven't decided how many days should they be apart. We'll figure it out soon.

Remember, reviews are a writer's best friend!

Chapter 1: Lost

Sam sat at Dean's bedside, staring at his brother's unconscious figure with bloodshot, tear-filled eyes. It was his fault. It was his fault Dean got his leg smashed by the poltergeist. It was all his fault because he was the one who convinced Dean to ask Dad to let them take this case alone. He'd wanted to prove he was ready. That he was just as good as Dean. He was sixteen, and he was tired of his father treating him like a little kid.

And now he just proved his father right. He fucked up. And now Dean was unconscious, and his father was passed out drunk, and he was on the verge of tears. Angry tears filled with self-hatred and guilt. He wanted to reach out and touch Dean, squeeze his hand, and have Dean wake up and tell him everything was going to be okay. But it wasn't going to work like that.

He pushed back his chair from Dean's bedside and fled into the bathroom, locking the door behind him as the sobs broke free. He slid down the wall, curling up in a ball. He looked down at his hands, hands that should have protected Dean. Should have fired the gun sooner. Should have stopped the wardrobe from slamming Dean into the wall. He stared at his hands, perfect uninjured hands, and let out a raw, choked scream.

Then he reached into his back pocket for his Swiss Army knife, and started hacking.

By the time he emerged from the bathroom, there were dozens of red jagged lines crisscrossing his forearms. He'd wiped the tears from his eyes, pulled his sleeves down over his hands, and put on a brave face for the world. He returned to his seat by Dean's bed, and eventually fell asleep to his brother's soft, slow breathing.

Dean woke up the next morning, with a massive headache and that constant oozing pain in his leg. That wardrobe messed him up pretty bad. But it was okay, because he got hurt and Sam was unharmed, that was all he was worried about when Dad let them go on a hunt by themselves, and he proved that he could protect Sammy with his life. He felt pretty damn good about himself.

He felt that soothing relief when he noticed Sam still sleeping by his side. His face was expressionless, and peaceful, unlike that night. He was so scared… And if Dean wasn't dealing with the poltergeist, he would've stopped, held Sam and told him everything was okay. He shook the memories away, and reached out with his hand to touch Sam. He didn't want to wake him, but he was also desperate to see those brown innocent eyes looking at him like he was some sort of god. He needed that, to get better. To be sure…To ease the pain… He gently brushed his palm against Sam's hand and suddenly he was happy. It wasn't a dream. Sam really was unharmed, and safe, by his side. It was more than he could ask for.

He turned his eyes to the rest of the room, scanning for his father. He wasn't expecting Dad to be here, he'd probably gone out for coffee and donuts like he always did, but Dean still looked. He let his head fall back on the pillow with a grunt and that movement sent a shooting pain down his leg. He couldn't keep a small gasp inside.

Both curious and worried at the condition of his leg, he yanked the sheets off of them and saw that 2 of the stitches popped open, and blood dripping from his leg to the sheets. Dad's stitches didn't pop open that easily, but these were the ones where the flesh was mostly in shreds, little skin left to be stitched closed.

"Shit…" Dean whispered, and tried to reach for the washcloth on the nightstand. Before he could grab it, he felt a slight brush against his arm.

There it was… Sam's big brown eyes. Looking at him as if he'd seen a ghost. Worriedly moving back and forth from his eyes to his leg. He looked awful.

"It's nothing Sam, I just.. moved too fast. If I could just reach for the…" and he tried for the washcloth again. Sam stopped him, jumping out of his seat.

"D-Dean," Sam croaked, still a little groggy with sleep. Then he blinked and became aware of the situation, leaping up from his chair. "Shit Dean are you okay? I'm sorry. Can I get you something?" He hovered tentatively over Dean, desperate to touch him but scared of hurting him even more. "Dean." And the tears were back. He swallowed and pulled his sleeves further down over his hands.

Dean must be so disappointed in him. Sure he would never say it, but Sam knew. Sam knew that he'd let his brother down. He turned away from Dean as the tears started streaming down his face.

"Yeah... If you could just hand me the— Sam? What's going on? Sam? Sammy?" Then it hit him. Of course Sam wouldn't want to look at him. He may have protected Sam from the physical pain, but the shock and pain of what he saw was right there. He failed to protect his brother. His pain was his brother's pain. "What's wrong? Please... just talk to me. I can't get up, man. I need you to come over here, please just sit down for a moment. Sam…" He made a big leap towards the nightstand and finally caught the washcloth, and pressed it on the wound. "Sam, can you come over here please? I need new stitches and Dad is not around. I need you to keep it together and patch me up."

Sam swallowed and nodded. "Yeah, okay, stitches." He reached for the med kit, and then tentatively sat down on the bed. He kept his eyes trained on Dean's leg and silently treated it with alcohol and then stitched it up again, working hard to keep his hands steady. When he finished he quickly pulled back from Dean, still sitting on the bed, but keeping a distance between them.

"Dean I'm sorry," he whispered, staring at the ground.

It felt amazing to have Sam taking care of him. His touches were light, not like his father's, and warm. He would've sworn he couldn't feel any pain when Sam touched his skin. But then Sam backed away, and it was painful again. He winced at the missing warmth of Sam. "You did great, Sam. It looks like it's going to hold… Just… C'mere." He waved his hands at him, asking him to come closer.

Sam was acting weird. But… what did he expect? It was his first hunt; of course he would be scared. Dean beat himself up over how he could've protected Sam better. He needed to tell him that. Hold him, and make it better.

Sam didn't look up at his brother. He just gripped his sleeves tighter and concentrated on keeping his voice from trembling. "I messed up, Dean. I panicked, and you got hurt. It's my fault."

He stared at the bloody washcloth on the bed in front of him. Dean's blood. He shut his eyes as bile burned the back of his throat.

It took a few seconds for the words to sink in. He didn't have the composure to form a meaningful answer. He'd been assuming the wrong thing all along. Stupid Winchester. He thought. You've been big enough of a jerk to overlook this."Sammy…" He pressured the bridge of his nose to hold himself back. He could jump out of bed right this instant, grab Sam and push his head to his chest. But the fucking pain made it impossible. "Sam it's not your fault. It-it was me. I should've been more careful. I should've been better… It's okay, Sam. It has nothing to do with you…"

Sam glanced up with wet eyes. "What are you talking about?" Sam frowned, still refusing to move any closer to Dean. "You're the one who's hurt. I should have protected you." He swallowed the lump in his throat. "Dad was right. I'm not ready."

Dean kept silent for a moment, and then lashed out with anger. "Dad knows nothing about you, Sam! Okay? You are not what you think you are. You're not a coward, not incompetent. You ganked that poltergeist while I was whining about my leg like a little girl and passing out like a sissy, right? That makes you brave! Now, fuck, Sam, get your fucking ass over here!" He hit his hand down on the bed hard.

Sam was speechless. It was the first time he'd heard Dean say anything bad about their father. He was always defending the man. Telling Sam that Dad just wanted the best for them, that he was trying, and sure he might not be the most loving or affectionate man, but he really did care. Dean had always been on Sam's side, comforting him and telling him everything would be okay after his fights with Dad, but he'd never confronted their father himself, and never admitted that he could be wrong.

So Sam slowly scooted closer to Dean, finally meeting his eyes. "You really… you really think that?"

Dean slowly sat up in bed, trying not to move his leg too much, and turned his deep green eyes to Sam. "Yes, Sammy. I really think that. Is that so hard to believe?" His voice was gentler, and more content. The heat had returned and there was no feeling better for Dean. Before Sam could say anything Dean hugged Sam, pulling closer, pressing his body against Sam's as if his feelings could pass on to Sam just by touching. He wanted Sam to feel the way he felt about Sam. He wanted him to have the confidence, sure, but more than that, he wanted Sam to love him…look at him like he was all Sam needed forever.

After a few minutes that felt like an eternity, Sam was leaning against the headboard, in Dean's arms. It was silent. Perfect for what Dean was about to do. What he imagined doing for hours and hours at night. He held his hand up, and cupped Sam's cheek, feeling the heat pouring out of Sam. This had got to be a sign, a sign that Sam felt the same. Then his fingers went down his chin and lifted Sam's head up, gently. They breathed the same air for seconds before Dean leaned forward, to place the softest kiss on Sam's lips. He was tense, watching out for every move Sam made that could indicate that he didn't feel this way. Then Dean backed away, looking into Sam's eyes for a response.

Sam's whole body tensed. He'd lost himself in Dean's warmth, in the feel of Dean's arms around him. It felt so safe and so right.

And then Dean's lips were on his.

And just as suddenly they were gone and Sam was left staring at his brother.

"Dean," he breathed. And then he crushed his lips against his brother's, fisting his hands in Dean's tee-shirt and pulling himself closer. He put every emotion he'd been keeping locked inside for the last three years into the kiss, and let the tears stream freely down his already damp cheeks.

Dean was waiting for a flinch, for a "what the fuck are you doing", for some disgusted impression on Sam's face. He knew he'd screwed up this time. But no… There was that look on Sam's face, nothing like the other looks. It was pure love, need, and ache.

Dean responded with passion when Sam crushed back onto his lips. Dean held Sam tighter as the kiss deepened. He asked for entrance. And Sam opened up. The warmth, the feeling of Sam's tongue exploring his mouth, him exploring Sam's. He needed more. He was in the middle of the feeling, still, he needed more. He turned his body, and grabbed Sam's waist and pulled him closer, letting Sam slide his thigh onto his. Sam was careful, he didn't want Dean hurt, and that made Dean smile into the kiss. Sam loved him, and that was the only kick he needed to heal fast and get the fuck on his feet.

But his train of thought was severed with the sound of Dad's truck pulling into the lot.

Sam leaped away from Dean as soon as he heard the engine.

"Shit," he mumbled, sitting back down in the chair. He scrubbed his face with his palm and tried to slow his breathing. He was so concerned about his father finding them out that he almost forgot how pissed the man probably was at him. That thought hit him in the gut like a sack of bricks. He managed to convey some of his distress to Dean before the door of the motel room swung open violently.

Dean got the chance to squeeze Sam's hand once tight for support before his father came in. He adjusted the sheets and tried to lower his voice to a non-caring tone, like nothing ever happened. "Mornin' Dad." He could still see the fear in Sam's eyes. He looked up to his father, hell, worshipped him, but that look made him want to slug the man, hard.

It was as Dean guessed. Dad was out for coffee and donuts. He dropped them onto the table with a loud thump that made Sam flinch. "Mornin' boys. Dean, how are you feeling?" he growled out. Dean's stomach tensed with his tone. But he was determined not to let him yell at Sam this time. "I'm fine, sir. A couple of stitches popped open when I tried to move but Sam patched me up again." He smiled at Sam reassuringly.

John walked up to the bed, moved the sheets aside and took a look at Dean's leg. "Good." He glared at Sam for a moment, his face softened, but still angry. "There's an easy hunt just out of town. I'm gonna go check it out. I want you both to stay here. I'll be back in a couple of days, and I called Bobby to let him know, if you need anything, or something goes wrong, call me or him." He looked outside the window before grabbing his duffel. He was not used to saying it this way, it felt weird, but he still said it: "Sam… Take care of Dean." And he slammed the door shut. Just like that, in less than 10 minutes, Dad was gone again, like always.

Dean let out a restless sigh, and looked at his brother.

Sam couldn't meet Dean's gaze. What their father said… it just brought back all the things he'd been feeling since last night. He hadn't taken care of Dean. He'd promised Dean he could handle the hunt, that nothing would go wrong, but he'd failed. And Dean was hurt. And Dad was disappointed.

He could talk himself down from caring what their father thought, convince himself that the man had unreasonable expectations of his teenage sons, but he couldn't bear knowing that Dean was hurt because of him.

The tears were back, and that made Sam feel even worse. He was supposed to be proving that he was a man, and here he was bawling like a little girl. He didn't deserve Dean's unfaltering trust. He didn't deserve the love Dean was offering to him.

It had always been Dean taking care of Sammy. And then when Sam finally had the chance to repay his brother, he'd failed. He'd already taken so much from his brother, he didn't deserve anything more.

He finally turned to look at his brother and said in a hollow voice, "You don't have to do this."

Dean's face bittered at Sam's words… He didn't understand. Sam was always hard to crack, but this was beyond Dean's skills. "Do what, Sammy?" He was afraid of the answer he was going to get. Sam's voice made sure of that.

Dean waited for an answer… But Sam's mouth was sealed shut. "What, Sammy? You're freaking me out here…" He wanted to ask him to come close again, waved his hand. He wanted Sam close right now, because he was the only one who could make it better.

"You know what I'm talking about," Sam said to the floor, but he sat down on the bed next to Dean nonetheless. "Protecting me. Always putting me before yourself. Dammit Dean, I'm the reason you're hurt. You can't argue with that."

He hesitantly moved closer to Dean so they were touching again. He took a deep breath, and then looked up at Dean with wary eyes. "Why?" he asked. Then at Dean's confusion he clarified. "Why do you… why did you kiss me?"

"Damn it Sam… I actually can argue with that. You're not the one who unleashed the poltergeist on our asses! It's a part of the job, you might get hurt sometimes. I know you're new at the whole fieldwork thing but that's how it goes, and if you're gonna blame yourself every time one of us gets hurt, I'm gonna lock your ass in the motel room and hunt by myself, okay?" Dean couldn't believe Sam was still stuck at that. Dad was pushing him too hard. His voice softened and tried to come up with something not cheesy for the second question. He knew he would fail miserably and go touchy-feely on him, but it was worth a shot.

"And for the kiss…" Oh, it was already getting girly. Dean let out a small chuckle. "Look, I've been... I've been trying to keep this to myself… But it's been getting out of control. I mean… I… Man, it's hard to say it…" He was sweating like a pig, and stuttering like a scared 5 year old. Well, way to fuck up Winchester! He thought, and then he stopped talking.

The lump in Sam's throat was finally starting to dissolve as Dean talked. The pain and guilt fighting in his stomach were slowly being edged out by the warm, safe, Dean feeling. He turned his head to bury his face in Dean's neck.

"Yeah, me too," he said softly with a smile, cutting Dean off. He'd been scared that Dean had only done it because he thought Sam wanted it, that he was just putting Sam's needs before his own like always. But Dean's mumbled explanation was sincere.

He snaked his hand into Dean's and gave a reassuring squeeze. "We'll be okay, right?"

Dean was ecstatic… He would jump out of bed, and give Sam a full-body hug and squeeze as tight as he could if it weren't for his busted leg. So he pulled closer, never letting Sam's hand out of his. Sam's breath on his neck tickled his senses. His sweet breath washing out every worry Dean had, he tilted Sam's head up for one more kiss. They were free to do it, finally. They could touch each other without the doubts and worries. They could feel together.

And he dove into the warmth that was Sam; more passionate, demanding this time. His hands felt Sam's neck. His pulse was racing. And so was his. Dean felt a fire flaring up deep in his stomach and moaned into the kiss; letting his hand trace down Sam's neck and rub his shoulder, moving onto his waist. It was bliss…

He broke away from Sam… Looking at his swollen red lips and demanding eyes. "Umm… Have you ever..?"

Sam's eyes went wide at the question. "Have I ever what?" he asked quickly, feigning innocence, but his cheeks flushing with embarrassment gave him away. He shook his head, bracing himself for Dean's inevitable teasing.

Dean had never seen anything more beautiful. Sam's face was as red as it got. He tried to hold in a wide smile, but it burst out of his lips, finding its comfortable place on his face. "You know… practiced? With a girl or… a boy? Or maybe your hand?" He laughed as hard as he can shaping his hand like a set of lips and waving it towards Sam, mimicking sloppy kisses with his lips.

"Shut up!" said Sam, but then he started laughing too. They settled down a minute later, slightly panting.

Dean was surprised when Sam went for another passionate kiss. It was short, and like an adrenaline shot, but Sam pulled away.

Sam was still leaning into Dean's embrace, but his gaze was focused on a spot on the wall. He chewed his lip. This was finally sinking in. After what seemed like an eternity of yearning, Dean was finally his.

And he realized he wasn't really sure what that entailed.

"Hey," Dean said, bringing Sam back to earth.

Sam looked up at Dean with wide chocolate brown eyes. And then their lips were pressed together in a much slower, gentler, sweeter kiss. Sam kept his eyes open this time, staring into Dean's clear green pools while lightly sucking at Dean's lower lip. Their noses bumped briefly and Dean smiled into the kiss. His hands migrated to Sam's lower back, resting just above the waistband of his jeans. As Dean's fingers lightly grazed the exposed skin between his pants and his tee-shirt, Sam felt a familiar tightening in his pants.

Sam gently shifted so he was straddling Dean, careful not to touch his injured leg. He cupped Dean's cheek with his hand and deepened the kiss as he shyly pressed himself into Dean.

Dean tensed at Sam's sudden weight on his hips; not because of the pain, but he was surprised. He didn't think Sam was so into this. But it felt like home, it felt like Sam belonged to him, he had to be this close at all times. He feared what it would be like if Sam was gone, but then pushed those thoughts away and responded to the kiss, grasping at Sam's lower back, clawing at his shirt.

The sting on his leg grew, but he didn't care, he never wanted this to end. He moaned into Sam's neck, sucking a hickey, and his hands went for Sam's shirt… But he stopped himself. It was too early. And he wouldn't be able to do anything with this leg anyways. So he grabbed Sam by the shoulders, and looked into his eyes. Then smiled…

"Let's have some breakfast, huh? I'm starving!" he said glancing at the coffee and donuts. "And when I'm healed… I promise Sammy, it will be so much better." He placed a gentle small kiss on Sam's lips, licking at his lower lip, and slid his hand down to get a good grab to make Sam blush before he got up and walked towards the table.

Sam sat stunned on the bed, watching his brother limp away. His cock was throbbing painfully in his too tight jeans and he was already missing the warmth of Dean's body.

Sam sat stunned on the bed, watching his brother limp away. His cock was throbbing painfully in his too tight jeans and he was already missing the warmth of Dean's body.

He willed his erection to go away as he stood up to follow Dean.

The coffee was lukewarm by the time they drank it, so Sam just took a donut and sat down at the table.

"How does your leg feel?" he asked when he noticed Dean wincing a bit.

Dean would've given an honest answer, if it weren't for that hurt puppy look on Sam's face. It broke his heart how much he'd beaten himself up over it.

"It's getting better… At least I can walk right?" he chuckled trying to lighten up the mood. Then he turned his gaze to the donuts remembering his empty stomach, and had a huge bite on the one with the cream filling. "Mmm… I'm telling you, Sammy, these are awesome." And chewed while watching Sam eat his breakfast.

He was supposed to be in bed, at least till the stitches were removed, and Dean would've protested if didn't hurt, but damn they stung like a bitch.

So he got up, limped away to the bathroom, cleaned himself up, and limped back to bed. He was already worn out.

"Shit… The remote's all the way across the room." He looked at Sam with his innocent eyes. "Sammy? Please?" He pointed at the TV and placed his hands on his stomach expectantly, still smiling.

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother and tossed him the remote, but his stomach was knotting with unease. Dean looked like he was in a lot of pain. But from what Sam could see his leg looked like it was healing pretty well. The stitches were holding, and the bruises were lighter than they'd been the day before.

But the way Dean was gritting his teeth told a different story. Sam sat down next to Dean on the bed. He leaned his head onto Dean's shoulder, and was pleased when Dean's arm snaked around him.

Dean flipped the channel to reruns of some 90s show but Sam wasn't really paying attention to anything other than the gently circles Dean was rubbing into his arm. He zoned out in a comfortable trance, and pretty soon he was asleep, curled up into his brother's side.

Dean felt Sam go limp under his arm, and felt content, truly relaxed for the first time in a long time.

It's getting damn cold in here.. he thought, grimacing, and pulled the comforter on the both of them. He looked at the TV blankly, still feeling cold before he dozed off into sleep.