(no subject)

[longsufferingly]

Title: Under Your Wheels, The Hope of Spring
Author: poor_choices
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam Winchester/Dean Winchester
Rating: Hard R
Warnings: Incest. Spoilers for all aired episodes. Amnesia-related dub con (no sex under the influence).
Word Count: 4100.
Summary: It was an accident--Dean didn't meant to get rid of all Sam's memories.
Notes: For deirdre_c for help_nz--she wanted amnesia fic, which I have never really done. So now I am trying to. I hope you enjoy it! Title from The New Pornographers.
Disclaimer: Lies and untruths.


"So," says Bobby. "Let me get this straight."

Dean groans, rubbing his face. "How about we don't have this conversation without a couple shots?"

Bobby obligingly pours him one and waits while he takes it, and then two more. Sam is downstairs, exploring, taking in everything he's never seen before.

It's bad.

"You ready yet?" Bobby asks. "Or are you planning to be unconscious for this discussion?"

"I was trying to protect him."

"Yeah, you're always trying that. Doesn't exactly go great for you two, does it?"

"It was an accident! He was fucking comatose, Bobby. I was just trying to put the wall back up, and now he's--" He swallows.

"He's a clean slate?" Bobby asks.

"No," says Dean, quickly. "No, not like that. He's still Sam. Same personality. Same guy. It's not like before."

"But he doesn't remember anything."

"No," Dean admits.

"And you thought it was a good idea to get help from a witch?"

"Hey, it worked!"

Bobby gives him a withering look, and Dean doesn't try to argue the point.

"Dean?" Sam calls, from somewhere downstairs.

"Does he know what you do?" Bobby asks. "Know what that witch did to him?"

"No."

"Well, what have you told him?"

"Not much."

"Dean!" says Sam, sounding more lost. Dean told him to look around and give him some time; he's not surprised Sam got bored.

"Shit," Dean mutters. "Yeah, we're in the office, Sam!"

Sam find his way in, and it's weird how differently he moves. Lighter, easier. Unburdened. Like he isn't quite Sam anymore.

"Hey," he says, with a big grin for Bobby. "Dean said you were Bobby, nice to meet you. Again, I mean. I met your dog? Or a dog outside. Great dog."

Bobby gives Dean a look, and Dean shrugs helplessly. "Yeah, that's my dog," says Bobby. "Hi, Sam. Dean says you can't remember anything."

"Yeah," says Sam. He shrugs. "I mean, I guess I remember some stuff. I know that Zeppelin rules. Or at least someone told me that."

Dean grins. "Damn straight."

"So, what exactly are you doing here?" Bobby asks. Sam starts inching closer to Dean, which he's been doing pretty much continually, every time they stand still, since he lost his memory. Dean doesn't exactly mind--at least he's there--but Bobby raises his eyebrows.

"Dean thought seeing familiar stuff might job my memory," says Sam. "So far, no luck."

"Why don't you go check out the kitchen," says Dean, hopeful. "Maybe that'll help."

"Okay, fine," says Sam, knocking his shoulder lightly against Dean's. "Good to see you again, Bobby," he adds, with a smile, and leaves.

"You don't want him to remember," Bobby says, once he's gone.

"He's happier!" says Dean.

"When are you gonna learn, kid? You can't just keep trying to make yourself miserable to make your brother happy. And he does the same stupid thing. So why don't you just tell him the truth and let him decide what he wants? It's so crazy, it might just work."

"Yeah, and what about all that bad shit in his soul? I'm just supposed to let that take him back? Drive him crazy?"

"The answer isn't sending him off to be some amnesia patient somewhere you aren't, idjit. I don't know what you're gonna do, but your first step is leveling with your brother."

"Fine," says Dean. "Fine."

But he doesn't say when.

*

"So, we don't have a house?" asks Sam, sounding a little bemused. "I thought we lived with Bobby."

"We live on the road," says Dean, shrugging.

"Huh," says Sam. "Doesn't that cost a lot? I must have an awesome job."

"How do you know I don't have an awesome job?" Dean asks, a little miffed.

"I haven't seen you do any work," Sam says. "I have an excuse. I have amnesia."

"Look, we do okay," says Dean.

"I know you're not telling me everything," says Sam, after a minute. "You don't have to pretend like you are."

Dean rubs the back of his neck. "I don't want to overload you, Sammy. No reason to rush into everything." He smiles, a little too tightly. "Just get some sleep, okay? I'll let you take over driving when I get tired."

Sam huffs, but complies, and Dean watches him curl up.

He thinks it should be exciting, to have Sam actually listen to him.

Mostly, he just feels taught and tight, like he's waiting for something that might never come.

It's not exactly a new feeling.

*

Halfway to Connecticut and the haunting he was planning to investigate, Dean realizes going to Connecticut makes no sense unless he tells Sam the truth first. It's not like he's just going to be able to just go off and do a job by himself without Sam asking a lot of questions. And just because he's been giving Dean space now doesn't mean that's going to last.

It's still his Sam in there, after all.

He stops at a motel in Virginia, a little swankier than their usual dives. He knows he has to tell Sam the truth eventually, knows that he can't keep this up, but he wants to give his brother this.

Just for now.

"Rise and shine," Dean says. "We're here."

Sam blinks and looks over at the motel. "Here being?" he asks, squinting like he's trying to figure out if he should recognize this place.

"The place we're spending the night."

"Oh," says Sam. "Okay. And we're going to--Connecticut, right?"

"Yeah," says Dean.

He grabs a credit card and saunters up to the clerk, giving him a friendly smile, like he's not about to bullshit him. And like he's not trying to hide the name he's using from his amnesiac little brother.

"One king or two queens?" asks the clerk.

"Two queens," says Dean, easily, and then Sam says, "One king."

Dean looks behind him, completely confused, and Sam just smiles, easy and a little--gentle. Like he's being nice to Dean.

"Which one?" asks the clerk.

"One king," says Sam, firmly. "Thanks."

"You don't have to pretend," says Sam, as they walk to their room.

"Pretend about what?" Dean asks, totally lost.

Sam swipes the keycard and opens up the door, pushing Dean inside and pulling the door closed behind them, and then just leaning down and kissing Dean.

Dean flails for a minute, unsure what the hell to do, before he finally pushes Sam away.

"Dude!" he says.

"Dean," says Sam, infinitely tender. "Look, I don't know--what I was like," he says. "Before we got together. But I'm not like that anymore. I'm not homophobic, or in denial. I knew the second I looked at you that we weren't really brothers. You don't have to lie to me."

Dean blinks. "What?"

"I know it's gotta be weird for you, when I don't remember, but I still feel the same way I always did about you."

"Uh, no," says Dean. "No, you don't. Sam--that's not--" he rubs his face. "Jesus, I don't even know where to start."

"Dean--" says Sam.

"You're my brother, okay? Brother. Totally my brother. In conclusion, brother. There is no gay love here," he says. "Not you too," he mutters. Seriously, some days it feels like the entire universe is conspiring to make him and Sam gay for each other.

"So then what weren't you telling me?" asks Sam, defiant. "If I'm really your brother, what's the big secret you wouldn't tell me about?"

Dean bites his lip. There's a minute where he thinks he could--he could tell Sam this is it. That Sam is his boyfriend or whatever, and that's all. There's nothing more.

It's so tempting, to keep Sam from finding out about anything. All he'd have to do was start fucking him, and he could keep him away from everything.

But he thinks of Sam, in that fucked up other world. Thinks of how much it mattered to him that they were brothers.

"We're demon hunters," says Dean. He pauses. "Not just demons. Ghosts, vampires, werewolves, ghouls, whatever tries to hunt us first. We drive around the country, hunting the undead." He smiles, shrugs a little. "And we're not gay. Well, maybe you are."

Sam sits down heavily, bed dipping under his weight.

"Seriously?" he asks.

"That's how you lost your memory," Dean says. "There was a spell." He licks his lips. "It's probably not coming back."

"I don't believe you," Sam says, softly, like a punch to the gut.

"What, you want me to find a demon? I've got an angel who might come, if I beg. What do you--"

"I believe that," says Sam. "But I don't believe there's nothing between us."

Dean's mouth goes dry.

"I don't know what it is," Sam goes on, "if it's my memories, or something else, like we had a fight, but--I know what I'm feeling, and I know how much I want you when I look at you."

"So," says Dean, when he recovers, because Sam is using his sex voice, and, damn, if that's what the kid sounds like when he's trying to be seductive, he should get laid a lot more than he does. "I tell you we hunt boogey men, and that's fine, but siblings, no way!"

Sam licks his lips as he stands, crossing the room to loom over Dean, like he doesn't do that often. Sam's fucking huge, and Dean knows it, but not like this.

"I don't remember anything about my family," Sam says, low and hot, "but I know I'm not supposed to want to push my brother up against the wall and fuck him 'til he can't stand."

"Jesus," Dean breathes. It's not appealing, exactly, except his dick is perking up and he's feeling hot all over. Sam's voice should be fucking illegal. "That's not how it is, Sammy."

Sam's eyes flick all over Dean, and he smirks, slow and--shit--sexy. "Whatever you say, big brother," he says, and Dean kind of wants to die.

Well, not really.

Sam moves away, strips off his shirt and jeans without preamble, down to just boxers, and stretches out on the bed, all lean and tan and looking at Dean like he's waiting for Dean to lose it and jump him.

"I'll sleep on the chair," says Dean, with a cough. "Night, Sammy."

"Night," says Sam, and Dean tries not to shudder.

*

The next day isn't any better. Sam wanders around in a towel, eyefucks the shit out of Dean, and then flirts with absolutely everyone they meet, like he's trying to make Dean jealous enough to say they're not brothers.

"You're a little shit, you know that?" Dean asks, as Sam gets in the car.

"Look, if you don't want to fuck me because I'm not the guy you're into, that's fine," says Sam. "Just say the word, Dean."

Dean sighs, rubs his forehead. "You're right. I'm totally hot for you, but, uh. You are not the brother I love, so I can't--have freaky gay love with you. Until your memories come back. Then we'll, you know. Make with the sex. It'll be, uh. Awesome."

Sam gives him a dubious look.

Dean sighs. He knows that could not have been convincing. "Sorry," he says. "Just--man, you have no idea how weird this is for me." He runs his hand through his hair, because this much is true. "You look like Sam, but you're not him, and, yeah, I can't really deal with that. But I don't know if I can ever get the real--I mean, get my Sam back."

"The Sam you're in love with," Sam supplies.

"Yeah," says Dean, and it doesn't feel as much like lying as it should. "The Sam I'm in love with."

Sam smiles, a little strained. "He loves you too," he says, like he's worried Dean doesn't know. "I mean, I can't remember anything, and I look at you and it's--crazy. How I feel about you."

"Yeah," says Dean, not sure what he's supposed to say to that. "Well. Awesome."

"We'll figure it out," says Sam, clapping Dean on the shoulder. "There must be a way to get my memories back, right?"

If they come back, Sam might go crazy. Sam might be gone forever.

"Yeah," says Dean. "Maybe."

*

"I could help," says Sam, stubborn as ever.

"No, you couldn't," says Dean. "Not without practice first. I have no idea how much of your training stayed, and there's no way I'm letting you come on a job without checking what's up with you."

"So I'm supposed to just let you go alone? What if something happens to you?"

"Nothing's gonna happen," says Dean. "It's a ghost, it's nothing big."

"But I was going to be here to have your back, right?"

"You were, and now you're not. It's happened before. It's fine." He gives Sam a reassuring smile, because--this is new for this Sam. "I'll be fine, Sammy. I promise."

Sam makes a bitch face, all worried and annoyed and fucking--stupid, so Dean leans up and kisses him, because he figures it'll shut him up. He tries not to dwell on how this ever got to feeling like a good solution.

It was supposed to be fast, but Sam gets into it, pulling Dean in and giving him one hell of a kiss, all tongue and heat and, Jesus, he's got moves.

"You better come back," says Sam, and it's weird. Sam always worries, but he doesn't say it like this.

Doesn't shove his tongue down Dean's throat and look like he'll be lost if Dean doesn't come back.

It seems way more honest than it should.

"I come back," says Dean. "You don't remember this, but I always come back."

*

The ghost really is small fry, simple salt and burn Dean can pretty much do in his sleep. He wouldn't have bothered, but after the last job they worked, he wanted something simple.

And it would be, except for the gay amnesiac brother.

Once he's got the bones gone, he texts Sam job's done, got to check in with a contact and starts praying.

Cas actually shows up, looking pissy as he ever does when he sees them now.

"What," he says, flatly.

"I don't even know how to explain this," says Dean.

"There is a war in heaven. There is civil unrest. I am constantly in danger. Is. This. Important," says Cas.

"I know," says Dean, rubbing his face. "I know. Look--one question. Let's say Sam doesn't remember anything. If I bring his memories back, is he okay? Is he--"

"Your brother has no memories now?" asks Cas.

"Pretty much," says Dean. "It was an accident."

Cas sighs. "At some point you have to accept that he is damaged, and he is going to die," he says. "Stealing his memories will only delay that, it will not stop it."

"You're not giving his soul a lot of credit."

"The fact that he is alive is an incredible tribute to the strength of his soul," says Cas. "It is unprecedented. It is miraculous. I don't know what to tell you, because by all logic, he should not still be standing."

"Thanks," says Dean. "Good talk."

"Goodbye, Dean."

"Great," says Dean, to the empty graveyard.

*

The witch picks up on the first ring.

"Hello?"

"He doesn't remember anything."

"Dean?"

"Yes, it's Dean!"

She sighs. He tries to remember her name--Hannah? Haley? "I thought you didn't want him to remember anything."

"No, I just didn't want him to remember--some things."

"I don't really have that kind of precision control," says the witch. "Do you want me to undo it?"

"You can do that?" Dean asks, shocked.

"I'd be a pretty shitty witch if I couldn't clean up my own messes," she says.

Dean swallows. "Let me get back to you," he says.

He's got a text from Sam ordered pizza, glad you're okay.

He almost calls Bobby, but he knows what he'd say. He can't just keep on making Sam's decisions for him. Even if he thinks he knows best.

He gets the dirt back on the grave and takes off.

*

"Hey!" says Sam, standing up, all smiles. "Wow, you're dirty."

"I had to dig up a body. Alone. There's a lot of dirt. What'd you get on the pizza?"

"Uh. One everything, one cheese. I figured you could just mix and match."

He looks so proud of his solution that Dean kind of wants to pat him on the head. He's trying so hard, it's pathetic.

Dean runs his hand through his hair. "Yeah, that's great. I'm gonna shower, I'll be back in a minute."

He doesn't jerk off--hasn't, since Sam lost his memory, it's seriously too weird--just gets himself clean and dries off, goes back into the room in his towel without thinking about it. Sam looks up and Dean can't ignore the way his gaze rakes over Dean's bare skin, takes in his body hungrily. Dean does his best not to shiver.

He pulls his boxers on under the towel, gets his shirt on before he takes the towel off. It's more modest than he's been in years.

"I'm not going to molest you," says Sam. "You kissed me earlier."

Dean is trying not to think about that. "Yeah, well, you were worried." He looks up at Sam. "Do you want your memories back?"

Sam blinks. "Yeah, of course."

"What if they're bad?"

"How bad?"

Dean thinks about the wall, about the apocalypse, about Sam's whole fucking life, and licks his lips. "Really bad. Epically, legendarily, biblically bad."

Sam looks at him, like he's trying to figure out if Dean's lying. And Dean isn't in the same universe as lying.

"If I don't get my memories back, I don't get you, right?" asks Sam, like this is important.

"You don't get rid of me, Sammy," says Dean. "No matter what."

"But I don't--" Sam starts, frustrated. "I can't do this. Do you have any idea how I feel when I look at you?"

It's terrifying to realize he doesn't.

"I need my memories back, Dean. I need to--I need you."

Dean licks his lips. "Yeah, Sammy," he says. "I'll figure it out."

*

He calls the witch at ten the next morning, while Sam is in the shower.

"Does the spell ever create memories? Or--feelings? Christ, I don't know."

"Do you ever say hello?"

"I've got a lot of my mind."

The witch sighs. "Feelings?"

"Like--lust," says Dean.

"Not that I've heard of," says the witch, sounding dubious. "It just takes memories away."

Dean licks his lips. "Undo it," he says. "He wants his memory back."

"He looked pretty bad before," she points out.

"Yeah," says Dean. "But it's not my call."

*

She says it'll take a few hours, and Dean doesn't know what to do with himself. He doesn't want to be driving when Sam comes back.

He doesn't know what he's going to do when Sam comes back.

"So, what are you guys really?" asks Sam, finally, putting his laptop away. Dean wonders what he does on there when there's nothing to research.

"Huh?" asks Dean.

"The real story."

"The real story is, you're my little brother." He licks his lips. "I had a girlfriend for a while," he says. "She said we weren't exactly--normal. But we've never done anything."

Sam looks shocked. "Never?"

"Not until you kissed me."

Sam rubs his jaw. "Seriously?"

"Yeah."

"But I--"

"Don't say it," says Dean. "You still feel like that when you get your memories back, and we'll deal with it."

Or they'll never talk about it. Or he'll be in a coma.

"You aren't normal either? About me?"

Dean smiles a little. "Nah," he says. "Me neither."

Sam nods.

"You might--this might be it," Dean admits, softly.

"It?"

"You've got a lot of bad memories, Sam. Like--enough you might not be able to handle them."

"Oh," says Sam. "So--"

"So I think you can."

"What happened to me?" Sam asks.

Dean doesn't even know where to start. "Pretty much everything."

Sam moves to sit next to him on the bed. "Are you--what would you do if I didn't come back?" he asks.

It's disconcerting to Dean, talking to Sam like this. Having a Sam here who's clearly right, who's still his brother, and more like Sam than the soulless guy was, without even trying.

"I'd get by," says Dean, and Sam looks dubious. Dean sighs. "Yeah, okay. I don't know what I'd do, Sammy."

Sam cups his cheek and leans in to kiss him, and Dean lets it happen. Tries to tell himself he doesn't want it to happen, but it's not long before he's leaning back, pulling Sam on top of him, and kissing Sam back just as enthusiastically. It's fucked up, but what else is new? And if the whole Lisa disaster taught him nothing else, it's that chicks don't dig his creepy obsession with his brother.

Sam slides his under Dean's shirt, pushes it up and off, and Dean takes the chance to catch his breath, to try to push Sam off, but Sam's too big to really dislodge. He frowns at Dean, looking perturbed.

"What?" he asks.

"I can't," he says, "I told you."

"But you would?" asks Sam, moving his mouth down Dean's jaw, running his giant hands over Dean's chest.

"Yeah," Dean admits. He swallows hard, trying not to whimper. It feels like a huge thing, saying that to Sam. He wonders if this is the most honest they've ever been with each other. "Yeah, I would. If you still wanted."

Sam pulls back, gives him this searching, intense look, and then smiles, slow and easy, and Dean doesn't know what to think as Sam leans back down to kiss him again.

"Hey," he murmurs against Dean's lips. "Remember that time we were in Reno and you lost the eating contest?"

Dean stares, and then really does shove Sam off, mostly in protest. "That's the memory you chose? Seriously?"

Sam laughs, not looking particularly repentant. "It was a good one," he says, sitting back on the bed and watching Dean with an expression he's never really seen before. "You were hilarious."

"Your good memories seriously blow," says Dean, sitting up and going for his shirt, but Sam raises his eyebrows like Dean's being an idiot, so he lets it go. "You remember everything?"

"Still not that year," says Sam. "But everything else, yeah."

"Oh," says Dean. He rubs the back of his neck. "So. When'd you--remember it?"

"Right before I took your shirt off," says Sam.

"Oh," says Dean.

"Did you mean it?" Sam asks. "Because I--"

"Shut up," says Dean, and climbs back on top of Sam, kisses him again, and it's harder, and deeper, and it's really Sam, and that makes it okay.

Makes it awesome, actually.

"You were telling the truth, right?" Sam murmurs against his skin, unzipping Dean's fly and working his hand into his boxers, wrapping his fingers around Dean's dick.

"Yeah," Dean chokes out. He's done this a couple times with guys, when no one else was around, and he was curious, but it's never been--well, it's never been Sam. "Yeah, I--"

Sam mercifully cuts him off from any other words, kissing him messily, jerking him with firm, hard strokes, and Dean's having sex with his little brother. And he shouldn't be surprised that he likes it. His whole life is fucked.

"Come on, Dean," Sam murmurs. "Gotta get off. Gotta be relaxed for me to fuck you."

"Jesus," Dean groans. "Not even gonna buy me dinner?"

"Bought you pizza," says Sam. "Yesterday." He pulls back, all earnest, guilty, worried Sam. "I can stop. I should--"

"Oh fuck you," says Dean, and drags him back down, pushes his hips into Sam's hand until it's working again, kisses Sam dirty and hot until he's coming in his boxers, jeans still on, like he's in high school again.

Sam smiles, almost as carefree as he was when he didn't remember anything, and Dean wished he'd known it would be this easy to make the kid happy.

"You better not go comatose while you're doing me," Dean grumbles, as Sam starts stripping. It's nothing Dean hasn't seen before, but he's never really let himself look. Never even let himself want to. "That would be awkward."

Sam laughs, shakes his head. "I've got better things to do than try to remember last year right now, Dean."

Dean smirks. "Like me," he says. It's surprisingly easy to get his bravado back, now that he knows Sam's himself.

Sam rolls his eyes, like he always does when Dean gets like that, but he's smiling too. "Yeah, Dean," he says. "Like you."