Work Text:
Castiel beamed into Dean's timeline further ahead, twenty-four days past Dean's orgasm at his brother's hands.
Dean had been gruffer than usual, sharper with Sam, sticking to orders rather than requests. Sam understood that this was his brother's method of dealing with emotions and didn't press, letting himself be bossed around. It didn't bother him--every time Dean's overprotectiveness became too much Sam would just think about the way Dean's teeth had bit down on his lip while he came inside of the Impala, surrounded by Sam's hand, bowed legs open and tense and inviting, balls pulled up close to his body...
"Earth to Sammy," Dean snapped his fingers by his brother's nose, bringing Sammy back to the present, and plopped the sawed-off shotgun onto the table in front of him. "Here, this needs cleaning."
Sam picks up the gun oil and quirks a look at Dean, who flushes red and throws himself into the opposite chair, working on salt rounds.
Their father comes in, haggard and strained as usual but he doesn't smell like alcohol this time--his eyes are cold and clear as he throws a newspaper down on the table and jabs a finger at an article. "We've got another case. Three people went missing in a week, two states over. Come on."
They're packed up and on the road within the hour.
John lets Dean drive, doesn't say anything--just tosses the keys and gets in the shotgun seat. The ride is silent save for the rock music blaring through the speakers. Sammy crashes a few hours in, stretching out in the back seat as much as he can.
Dean starts falling asleep at the wheel around midnight, so John takes over. Ten minutes of Metallica and Dean's out like a light, head lolling against the window, tucked into his leather jacket--John's leather jacket--just like he used to do when he was a kid.
A tight, high moan escapes Dean. John almost doesn't hear it at first over the music, but another follows, accompanied by Dean shifting in his seat.
Dean sqiurms again, hips giving a half-hearted thrust, and John understands. He checks on Sam--the kid's conked out cold, snoring softly--and devotes the bulk of his attention to his eldest, thankful the road's damn near empty.
"Dean," John says quietly. Dean moans again, inhaling sharply, and rubs a palm against his crotch, fisting the fabric of his jeans--John can see the bulge already tenting against the zipper. "Open your pants, son," he tells him.
Dean whines and fumbles at the button, another pathetic hip-twitch, and John takes pity and reaches across the seat, flicking open the button and tugging down the zipper.
His son sighs at the release of pressure and pushes his cock against John's hand, eyes squinting open. John freezes.
Dean squints in John's direction, bleary, still asleep. "Dad?"
John hooks two fingers in Dean's collar and tugs him down, head on John's thigh. "Go to sleep, son, get it while you can."
Dean tips over like an axed tree, closing his eyes once more. Things are quiet for a couple of minutes, then Dean huffs and rolls onto his back, one leg bent against the seat back and the other on the floor. He slings an arm over his face and bites his lip, wriggling.
"Easy, easy," John says, patting his chest, and Dean arches into the touch. His heart pounds against John's palm--John rubs a little circle against his breastbone and Dean hmms, reaching down towards his crotch.
John darts his eyes back to the road, but in his peripheral he sees Dean's hand dip into his boxers, palming himself. He wouldn't...would he?
He does.
A loud, keening moan pierces the inside of the Impala, unreserved and, John is ashamed to admit it, amazingly erotic.
"Wh-wha--" Sam says from the back seat.
"Go back to sleep, Sam--"
But it's too late. Sam sits up, scrubbing a hand through his hair, and frowns when he sees just the top of Dean's knee poking over the seat. "Dean?"
Sam leans over just as Dean moans again at the sound of his brother's voice, stretching his neck back across John's thigh. Sam, stunned, turns to John, who grunts and keeps his eyes fixed on the road. Nevermind that the top of his son's head just brushed against what is obviously becoming a hefty erection. Nevermind his youngest is looking more interested than appalled.
"Is he...asleep?" Sam asks.
John nods curtly. "Yeah."
Sam watches his brother touch himself--Dean's hand moves lazily, not really stroking, just rubbing, slow and soft. Dean's bent leg shudders when he hits something--the head of his cock, maybe--and it occurs to Sam that his brother is teasing himself, even in his sleep.
"So...you're just letting this happen?"
"Boy's backed up, that's all."
Sam snorts. "If that's what you gotta tell yourself." Sam runs a hand over Dean's knee, a smile at the corners of his mouth when Dean sighs and gives himself a forceful rub.
John's mouth goes tight, but he doesn't argue the point.
Sam reaches over and runs a thumb against the sensitive skin under his navel--Dean gives a soft cry at the sensation and presses the side of his face hard into John's hip, and that's enough incentive for Sam to grab his jeans and boxers and tug them down.
Dean wakes with a sharp hiss.
"S-Sammy?" Dean knuckles his eyes, frowning up at his father, then looks down at himself--his cock standing up straight, foreskin gathered below the glistening head--and yelps, making to sit up, but John pats Dean's chest and gruffs, "You're okay, son. Take it easy."
"Easy--what? Dad--Sammy what the fuck--"
Sam grabs Dean's wrist when his brother tries to go for his jeans, watching him steadily. Dean looks away first, bright red, and Sam moves Dean's hand to his cock. "Do it," Sam says.
Dean sucks his lip between his teeth. "This is so fucked up."
Sam shrugs in that way of his. "It's what you need."
And Dean can't argue with that. Even under the humiliation of being caught yet again by both his father and brother, his skin is still hot, his cock still pulses, his balls still hand heavy and full between his legs.
Sam shoves his jeans down further, past his ass, and tucks the boxers beneath his balls, putting his cock on display. Dean can't help the way his hips thrust up, but his insides quail and his erection flags, the foreskin coming up as if to hide himself.
"Uh...this--this," Dean tries to get up again but John keeps his palm flat to Dean's chest and his son's good-soldier instincts kick in, laying back down, head on his father's thigh.
"Listen to your brother," John tells him. He brings his hand off Dean's chest and up to his face--Dean flinches, but John only lays it over Dean's eyes, and it works. His son relaxes with a shaky exhale, swallowing.
Sam reaches down and drags the pad of his finger over the head of Dean's cock, working it inside of the foreskin to touch the glans--Dean jolts at the sensation, pressing his face against the blindfold of John's hand. Sam grins and takes the foreskin between thumb and middle finger, pulling it back gently. The sound Dean makes is high and embarrassing but Sam loves it, circling his index finger over the twitching, shining cockhead.
It's not enough though, and Dean rocks his hips up, arching, asking. Sam rustles around in the backseat and comes back up bearing the bottle of gun oil--he grabs Dean's wrist and spurts a generous amount into his palm, then guides his hand to his cock, wrapping his fingers around it for him like he's a doll.
Dean groans and jerks into motion, pumping himself, slicking his cock, precome drooling and mixing with the oil.
"So that's where it's going," John muses--Dean opens his mouth to speak, maybe apologize, but John moves his hand down from his son's eyes to his mouth, shushing him. Dean's eyes flutter open and he accidentally meets John's gaze, hand pausing. He squirms under the attention, nervous again, and John's struck by how beautiful that makes him.
"Dad," Sam snaps. "Keep him covered."
Normally John would tell Sam to watch his mouth, but not today, not right now, not with his eldest in such a tenuous, intimate position between them, so John just quirks a smile to himself and shields Dean's eyes again, feeling his son's lashes against his callused palm. It takes a long moment, but Dean does relax, helped by the way Sammy strokes his stomach, his chest, and soon Dean's stripping his cock eagerly, biting his lip, little moans rising up out of him.
Keeping his eyes mostly covered, John shifts his pinky down over the bow of Dean's upper lip. Dean gasps and opens his mouth, pink tongue darting out for a taste before he knows what he's doing, and John pushes it further in, sliding the pad of his finger against the edge of Dean's teeth.
Soft lips close around John's finger. Sam reaches over and slides a slick hand up Dean's throat, tracing his carotid--he circles his big hand around Dean's neck, no pressure, just holding, forcing his jaw up.
Dean keens at being handled, sucking harder on the finger in his mouth, hand around his cock stuttering in its rhythm. His whole body is hot and prickly, every nerve blazing. The way Sammy holds him in place...it melts him.
He fists his cock harder, faster, precome gushing out of his slit, and then he digs a nail into it, just like Sam had done to him that night in the motel parking lot. Sam thrills at the sight of him doing something he'd learned from his younger brother, evidence that he'd enjoyed what Sam had done.
"Keep going, Dean," Sam urges, keeping his voice soft. Even now in the throes of it, he gets the feeling that Dean will bolt if they push too hard.
John moves another finger into Dean's mouth, angling it back towards his throat--Dean tilts his head back and takes them in to the knuckle but hesitates, at least until Sam snorts and shields his eyes. He really can't deal with them without that security blanket.
Sam stretches his free arm down his brother's body, ghosting his hand along Dean's balls briefly on his way further down. He nudges Dean's boxers aside and slips his fingers in, beneath his brother's balls, down to that sensitive, small patch of skin just behind them.
"N-n--" Dean tries to speak around John's fingers but he doesn't let them out of his mouth.
"Settle," Sam coaxes. "I've got you."
John watches out of the corner of his eye as his youngest son shushes his eldest, and more, Dean actually listens. He stops fussing and rocks his hips as Sam works him under his boxers, where John can't see. He doesn't know what Sam's doing but he hits something and Dean sucks on his father's fingers hard, wrapping his tongue around them like they're something else.
Sam watches his brother piston desperately, conflicted between thrusting into his hand or rocking down against the fingers Sam's got lodged against his perenium. He doesn't go inside of Dean, doesn't even touch him there, he knows his brother won't go for that.
At least, not yet.
Dean's cock swells, glans an angry red. His balls pull tight into his body exactly the way Sam remembers, back arching up. John strokes the pads of his fingers over the back of Dean's throat, and his son hums for him, a tuneless note that gets John's erection so painfully hard he has trouble focusing on the road.
"Come for us," Sam says, pressing into that bundle of nerves.
Dean comes with a high-pitched whine, jaw going slack around John's fingers, eyes wide open and desperately grateful Sammy doesn't take his hand away, grateful he doesn't have to see what he's doing. Come blurts from his cockhead in thin sticky ropes, hitting his jeans, the Impala's dash, the back of John's hand.
He shakes with the aftershocks as Sam continues to touch him through his orgasm, gentler now but still overwhelming, until finally pulling his brother pulls his hand away. John pulls his fingers out of Dean's mouth.
And just like that, Dean's thrown back down to Earth. Fuck, what did he just do? Not just with Sammy this time but with his father--
"Shh," Sammy's voice cuts through Dean's panic, and he keeps his hand over Dean's eyes, hiking his underwear and jeans over his now-limp cock, back in place. He smooths that same hand up Dean's bent leg, holding his knee.
John moves his palm back over his son's heart, massaging his chest like he used to when Dean was sick and needed that Vapo-rub stuff.
Dean gradually calms down, the post-orgasmic haze combining with the safety of being held and touched and sheltered by the two people he gave a damn about in the world and turning his muscles slowly into jelly.
"Go to sleep, son. You're okay."
And like a good soldier, Dean obeys.
Castiel draws back at the scene. This was the turning point for Dean. This is where it really began.
***