johndean post

Dean picks at one of the scabs on the bite mark adorning his neck. It doesn’t hurt much, neither do the bruises on his wrists, hips and thighs, but they make him sick all the same.

He tries to remember what it was like to be anything other than this, tries to think back to when he was more than John’s. Normally, in his dad’s presence, the memories were faint, distorted by his heavy touch. Now they scratch desperately at the back of his mind, begging to be let in.

They scream one name over and over. They worship the only other man he’s ever belonged to.

Sam.

He needs Sam.

Dean didn’t think after that. He concealed his dad’s crimes under layers of clothing and jewelry until he resembled at least something close to the brother Sam left last year. He swiped his keys off the bedside table, ignoring the soiled sheets next to it, and made a beeline to the impala.

Dean’s gaze refocuses to find Sam absent from the entrance of the building. Fuck.

He’s gone. Dean lost him again.

The bite marks itch.

Dean reaches a hand up to rub his neck and freezes when a larger one grabs him before he can.

“Dean?”

He whirls around so fast he nearly trips.

Sam. He’s here. He’s touching Dean.

“What’re you doing here?”

Dean’s lips part to respond but no sound comes out, all his focus stolen by the warm hand wrapped around his wrist.

Dean drags his gaze from the hand to his brother’s face. He looks confused and annoyed but Dean can see the hint of relief in Sam’s eyes. At least until they squint suspiciously at.. his neck?

Sam’s grip on his wrist shifts and he tugs at the bracelets covering his bruises. Sam’s eyes darken.

“Dean,” Sam starts.

“Ah don’t worry about that. Just evidence of a good time with some co-eds last night. I’m sure you know how it is Sammy,” he grins and winks obnoxiously.

Sam’s grip only tightens further.

“Yeah, I do. I know those marks all too well,” he growls.

Dean has a feeling he’s not referring to co-eds.

“Oh c’mon, Sam—”

“Don’t. Don’t make excuses.”

Dean doesn’t know if he means for Dad or himself. He supposes it’s one in the same. He stays quiet.

Sam clenches his jaw and searches Dean’s face for.. something. Dean doesn’t know anymore.

He seems to have found it though, and nods to himself before turning and walking away, dragging Dean with him by the wrist.

Dean still doesn’t say anything as Sam leads them to the side of the building he exited earlier.

Sam shoves him against the brick wall, pressing his body into Dean’s and effectively pinning him there.

They lock gazes and it’s like Sam can see right through him again, as if nothing had changed. He leans in, lips brushing Dean’s ear, and whispers intently.

“You don’t belong to him, Dean.”

Sam kisses the sensitive spot behind his ear, and trails wet kisses down the expanse of his neck until he reaches Dad’s bite. He sucks a bruise right next to it, then without any hesitation sinks his teeth into the bruised flesh. Breaks his father’s scars open, carves his own.

You belong to me is unsaid, but they both know it, and they both need it. It’s the only calm their tumultuous hearts have ever known.

Pain lances from his new injury as Sam untenses his jaw and starts licking up the blood. It’s perfect, and Dean needs it like an addict. Needs Sam like he’d die without him. Needs to belong to him, feel him, see him. He’s starving for it.

Sam grabs Dean’s hip, fingers covering the marks from their father’s that are hidden under layers of fabric, like he knows they’re there. He probably does. Dean sighs contentedly.