Chapter Text
It was another Friday evening like the others. Bobby had asked the boys to take care of a case because he was too far away from the place. It was a witch and everybody knew that Dean had always hated witches. He did not consider them valid fighters nor important enough to exist, but that did not stop the Winchester brothers from handling the case and solving it. The only mistake they made was not to prepare a plan before entering the woman's house and they soon found themselves thrown against the wall. Needless to say, the blow would soon be felt and therefore they would have to end everything before the disappearance of their adrenaline. They killed the witch just in time and soon found themselves against the hood of the impala, full of bruises and blood (apparently the witch didn't live without a bodyguard 24/7). They soon found themselves sipping the beers that they had kept for a long time in the trunk: their tiredness did not make them very talkative and neither of them commented on how degassed or hot the drink was. Dean was the first one to say something, but in reality his intent was simply to ruin the quiet moment they were in. Not that it was extremely annoying or embarrassing but it was known that Dean preferred a stupid joke to a death silence.
"You know Sammy, you and that witch had similar hair, you sure you weren't relatives?" said Dean with his usual derisory tone "You could have asked her what conditioner she used before we shot her".
What he received was a long, falsely shocked look that left little to imagination. "Dean if you're jealous of my hair just say it and I'll teach you some tricks, you don't have to hide behind these jokes."
The older brother was shocked only for a few milliseconds before regaining that famous grin that distinguished him so much from the others "Oh Sammy the only one who could teach tricks here" he replied "is me" and with this last sentence he got up and got behind the wheel of the Impala before Sam could answer him.
A quarter of an hour and four rock songs later they found themselves at the door of the motel room they had rented. Only then they realized how tired and exhausted they really were and, without even changing or taking a shower, they slipped under the covers of their beds and fell into a deep sleep.
***
They woke up the next day at almost two in the afternoon, hungry and not completely perfumed. They took a shower, went to the nearest restaurant and took the usual burgers and salad without caring about the money they were spending. Dean found himself asking for a double portion using the excuse of 'sorry I'm incredibly tired' and then they went back to the motel. Only there they noticed that something was wrong, or at least Sam noticed that Dean was moving in a strange way.
"Nothing important" replied Dean to the question about why he wasn't moving his shoulders and it was only after half an hour and twenty forced supplications that the little brother finally extrapolated the words from his mouth: apparently our dear Dean, upon landing from that famous flight that the witch had made the boys do, he had fallen with all his weight on his left shoulder and could no longer move it freely. To be honest, it couldn't even be touched for the pain he felt, but Sam didn't have to know it precisely. "Let me help you," said the younger and Dean couldn't resist those eyes that begged him to help him, those stupid puppy eyes that his brother had always used to get everything he wanted. He made him take off his shirt to inspect the wound but there was no scratch that needed to be disinfected or sewn. It was simply a really good bruise that would settle over time. Too bad that the bumb did not go away even within a week and the elder of the two Winchesters was forcibly dragged by the other to the hospital.
Apparently it was nothing that without a massage couldn't be put back in place but with the lack of money that had always distinguished the two brothers, they returned home with a few extra worries. "If you want, I can try it," Sam proposed once they got back to the hotel and it wasn't until Thursday of the week after the hunt that Dean agreed. In the end it would be nothing serious, one brother helping the other when needing it, nothing strange or excessively effeminate, Dean had thought.
***
Still in their room Sam told Dean to lie on his bed, take off his shirt and forced him not to move. He got up to take some oil from his bag and came back sitting down next to his brother on the edge of the bed. He didn't want the other to feel too uncomfortable and because of that he tried to leave him all the space he needed.
"When I was in Stanford I took lessons with Jess on how to do massages, nothing exceptional or complicated, but I think that with some effort I might be able to do a good job," he said smiling -even if Dean couldn't see him- as he dropped a few drops of oil on his brother's back. Dean was lying next to him with his face turned away and listened as the words Sam was saying fell from his lips soft and kind. Sam began to spread the oil on his brother's back and wherever his hands passed Dean felt the heat expand as soon as he touched him. Although he would never have admitted, the boy knew what he was doing and began to relax immediately, abandoning himself to those hands that with so much dexterity made the pain in the shoulder just a distant memory.
Sam's hands moved along his entire back, passing through his shoulder blades, going to the muscles of his neck, then descending downwards to press on the muscles at the bottom of his back. He then repeated the process by changing the pressure he put in the passages. His fingertips ran gently across his back and the boy really knew how to find the most painful places in his body. As the session continued, Dean realized that the pain was decreasing and, on the other hand, the pleasure was increasing, until he realized -with regret- that a new problem was born. He tried to avoid it and said nothing but the desire to relieve the pain in his pants was becoming unbearable. He tried to make it go away in every way possible, even thinking about disgusting and lethal brain-eaters or whatever, but those hands on his back made his dilemma something he couldn't deal with, transforming even those thoughts into beautiful dreams.
At a certain point Sam opened his mouth and asked him how he thought his shoulder was, just wanting to kill the silence that was in the room, but all he received were small and almost non-existent moans. He tried several times with different questions but Dean wasn't even daring to open his mouth and respond to his requests. Eventually he gave up and continued the massage, understanding that he wouldn't have got anything from Dean.
Sam simply thought that he was doing a good job, even if the person concerned didn't reply.
If on one hand Sam was sad because he didn't get a single answer, on the other hand Dean was sorry because he couldn't answer his brother: he would have liked to have a conversation, to congratulate Sammy because he was doing a beautiful job, but if he were to open his mouth, what could come out from it would have made everything extremely awkward. It is not an everyday thing to be turned on by your little brother and certainly Dean didn't want to see what would have happened if Sam had noticed. Thanks but no. For this reason, he limited himself to answers with his mouth closed, which did not allow his wild thoughts to come out of his mouth and make his brother be part of his most wrong moment of excitement in the last twenty-five years.
After an hour they came to the silent conclusion that the massage was enough and had come to an end. That is the reason why Sam got up and went to wash his hands, while Dean laid on his stomach waiting for the moment when his erection was just a far thought. It was only after ten minutes from the end of the nightmare that he thanked his brother and complimented him, got up (with a problem solved between his legs) and stretched, offering to go and buy dinner, since it was now seven in the evening.
After dinner they opted to go to bed and decided that the next evening they would go to have a drink together at the nearest bar. One wanted to get drunk to forget about the accident and the other simply wanted to spend a nice evening with his brother. They turned off the lights and both fell asleep with a smile on their lips.