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Dean thought he was over the guilt. Really. Like over over it. Somewhere between giving in to Sam two days after his 18th birthday and surviving the end of the world (multiple fucking times), he just sort of let go of the guilt. But then fake Amara turns up in a hairdresser witch’s secret basement (seriously, what are their lives becoming?) and she says she can see into his heart. Which, sure. A bit creepy, but nothing out of the realm of possibility, as far as Dean’s concerned. Nothing weirder than what he’s used to. And well, his heart is what it is. He can’t exactly control that shit.
And there’s Amara. Mesmerizing, eerie, dark and desirable. Even when she’s fake. A hottie, if nothing else. But as much as she is the exact image of what’s shoved hastily into the bottom crook of Dean’s heart, keep trying to escape and take over, it is not what his heart is filled with. Which, apparently, is shame. And lots of it.
‘I can see inside your heart,’ the Qareen says. ‘Feel the love you feel. Except… it’s cloaked in shame.’
And well. It’s not like Dean is the out and proud type of guy, not about his sexuality, or his lifestyle, his sexual preferences, not really gonna shout it from the rooftops that he’s in love with his baby brother, how he fucks him silly whenever he gets the chance. But. He really fucking thought he was over the guilt.
It was tough for a while, sure; guilt plagued his late teens, he remembers that so vividly, the pain and uncertainty, the questions he couldn’t ask, the feelings he didn’t dare give names to. But then it got better. As their lives got more and more fucked up, the guilt stopped being as important, was less of a crippling kind of thing, more of a “if I sleep with all these other people, my incestuous relationship with my brother can’t be considered something as monumental and horrible as I fear it is”, which was better, even combined with the other kind of guilt, the “I let my brother form attachments to random women and their dogs to give him a chance of getting away from me, even if possessiveness and jealousy are burning me up from the inside, just to make our relationship less real” kind. Okay, huh. So maybe the guilt didn’t exactly go away, it just changed. So maybe he is ashamed. Good to know. Crap.
Not that he was expecting anything healthy out of this encounter with creepy, heartless (literally), people-killing, curse monsters. Fucking witches, honestly.
It’s just that he’s… well, he’s surprised, really. Because out of the two of them, he was never The Guilty One. It’s Sam who still can’t help but make a face just hearing the word incest, but kiss him silly in the back of the Impala straight after. Sam was the one who made them stop, declared it wrong and sick , then begged Dean to touch him not even a week later, barely 18 and not taking no for an answer. Sam was the one who told Dean, he had to go, that going to Stanford was about getting out, but also about getting out , because it was wrong, Dean, wrong wrong wrong, and we shouldn’t .
So if Sam was the guilty one, Dean was the one who was trying to make the best of a fucked up, hopeless thing. Because he wasn’t hiding from it, it just wasn’t his style. His denial only lasted a single summer, but even then, the sheer pornographic value of Sam at 15, shirtless (because of the heat apparently, not because he's a fucking tease), almost taller than him now, gaining muscle rapidly, sitting on the hood of the Impala, pressing a cold bottle of beer against his neck, the condensation dripping off his tanned skin, well… It didn’t exactly leave much room for any kind of denial anyway. No, Dean accepted this thing between them a long time ago, decided it was inevitable and the only option was to be reasonable about it.
Dean didn’t have time or patience for the kind of suffering Sam was doing, he just shoved down the guilt. He was the one who was calm and collected, set up boundaries, made damn sure Sam wanted this too. Truly wanted it. And sure, he felt crap about it all the while - for years and decades maybe - but their life was fucked up anyway. And then there came a point when it was just stupid, and frankly, impractical, to be hung up on something as trivial as being related.
And anyway, as far as Dean was concerned, being related was the whole point really. Two brothers against the whole world. The late night kisses seeped in alcohol, learning each other’s bodies in the dark, trying to keep quiet, it was all just the natural extension of their already existing relationship. Just the two of them together. Always and never letting go. Codependent from the start.
Sure, it was a lot fucked up, but it’s not like they were hurting anyone, but themselves. And especially recently, Sam seemed to have just stopped giving a shit. He asked for and took what he wanted, came clean about things, he would have kept a secret before. Gone was the shy 22-year-old, smelling of grief and fear, clinging to the idea of normalcy. It reminded Dean a little bit of how Sam was at 16, before he decided it was wrong , and there was just lust , Sam so pissed at the world and so horny and volatile, sure of what he wanted and how to get it, certain Dean wouldn’t ever say no. Their first real kiss. A kiss with intent.
Dean is actually expecting the Qareen to show up as Sam at first. Deepest, darkest desire? Yep, that’s his little brother. Seems to check all the boxes, anyway. But the moment he’s left alone and has time to think it through, he knows it’s not going to be Sam. Sure, he desires Sam, but Sam… Well, Sam is his already. Sam has given himself to Dean, all of himself , so fully and completely, in heart and soul and body, that it’s not really a secret craving anymore. They’ve come a long way over the years. Their relationship developed into something secure and normal-feeling. Also pretty suicidal and unhealthily codependent, but still. He has Sam. It isn't a secret anymore, isn’t even very deep in his heart, it's in every single fiber of his body, radiating freely from all his pores. He loves Sam the way others breathe: it's something he can’t live without, but isn't necessarily always acutely aware of.
So Amara showing up is not really a surprise. The guilt thing is though. Dean is not sure the Qareen is shit at reading hearts or is just simply taunting him, but all that guilt and shame in his heart has to do with Sam. As far as deep and dark desires go - sure, Amara all the way. And that’s pretty fucked up all on its own, Dean’s not gonna argue with that. He feels pretty crap about it. Yep, and guilty as fuck. A bit disgusted too. But Sammy. His little brother. Dean should have known better. He never should have kissed him back, never said yes. He should have let him go, stay gone when he got out. Left him in Palo Alto, never looked back. Because maybe if he doesn't kiss back, doesn’t let Sam take him to bed that very first time, maybe if he acts disgusted, if he doesn’t get him to find Dad, maybe, just maybe , Sam could have had a normal life. A long and happy one. Without Dean dragging him down, damning him for all the rest of eternity. He is older, supposed to be more responsible, right? He was tasked with taking care of him. Not… whatever this is.
So yeah. Guilt. Quite a lot of it.
But he’s just too selfish when it comes to Sam. He’s always been. And maybe that’s just instinct, the inherent, unstoppable kind of fatal flow, because, god, Dean needs Sam to survive. Without Sam he’d be long dead, no question about it. Not just because the kid has saved his bacon more times than he could count, but because he’s had enough of a taste of a life without Sam, and there is no way he wouldn’t have drunk himself to death already. Or something equally depressing. He’s not really that much of the suicidal type - that’s Sam’s thing, really - so maybe getting into a fight in a dingy bar with the wrong people on purpose, that’s how he’d go if he didn’t have Sam. Or sacrificing himself for civilians - that sounds like Dean, doesn’t it, he wouldn’t even mind that too much.
He pushes down the urge to laugh, because what a team Sam and him make, really, Sam with his self-loathing and demon blood-abuse problems, trying to off himself every chance he gets, Dean with a streak of martyrdom that would put Jesus fucking Christ himself to shame. Unhealthy does not even begin to cover it. And yet.
It works. The two of them. They found comfort in each other and despite Dean’s guilt, despite all the wrong , it’s always felt sort of right. Meant to be. Like two stars on a collision course. No way to stop it. Dean's downfall didn't take after all.
So he doesn’t think he has it in him anymore, to feel so much guilt about loving Sam, but recently, he’s been feeling more protective over him than ever. Protective more like little brother and less like lover (although, is there really a difference anymore?) So maybe it’s that. Maybe it has to do with standing above his crying brother, holding that damn scythe, Death telling him this was the only way, and then Dean deciding to fuck it. Fatal flaw sounds about right. Maybe it had to do with what Sam said to him in that hospital, surrounded by zombies, that it had to be the two of them from now on, collective responsibility, collective everything. Maybe that meant collective guilt too. Like their lives have become inseparable. Two lives making a life, just singular. (He’s sure there’s a Spice Girls song on the topic, something sexual, one that plays on the radio constantly over Christmas in every Gas-N-Sip he ever walks into, driving him insane, but he can’t remember the title. Sam would probably know, the weirdo that he is.)
Actually, maybe it’s always been like that. The two of them - separate souls and bodies, but one life. Shared Heaven and all.
Nevertheless, Dean feels more protective over him, especially when Sam is so honest with him now, and says shit like Baby is their Home (capital H and all) and it’s not like Dean’s default setting is not being disturbingly protective over his brother anyway. So. Incest guilt. That’s the word of the day. Unwanted thoughts about fucking Sam up, corrupting him somehow, putting the idea into his head, manipulating him into wanting this, like a sort of Stockholm Syndrome, but worse.
The moment the Qareen says it, the intensity of his shame tears into his heart, and he doesn’t understand how he hasn’t noticed it before. (Oh, yeah, saving the world. Again. From himself this time. Been busy with all that.) It only quietens a little when they finally get home, the ferocity of it, all the guilt that he’s somehow managed to ignore over the last few years. The anxious tightness around his heart only starts softening once they fall into bed - the same one for once, not separated by walls, need for closeness tonight - and Sam nestles in against him, fingers dipping into Dean’s hip a little on the painful side, but exactly right. And they sleep. Not sticky from sex and sweat, only from a long drive, the dust of the road clinging to Dean’s skin in a familiar embrace. Too tired to even bother with showering, just needing each other’s heat. Fingers knotted into long hair, legs tangled possessively. Dean doesn’t remember the last time they slept together without having sex first, and fake Amara’s voice rings in his head.
‘The real question is who are you?’
And Dean might not exactly know the answer to that, but as long as his brother is right there next to him - guilt and shame and fatal flaws be damned all to Hell - it doesn’t really matter.