Disclaimer: Supernatural and its characters are owned and copyrighted by Warner Bros. Television Production Inc.
Warning: Slash, incest, minor spoilers but not really for Bugs.
Although the idea was appealing, Dean knew it would never happen. He'd never let Sam become what he'd become. Sam was pure, but every job tainted him just a little bit more. This would destroy him. And though he knew Sam was beautiful and could probably have these horny old men lined up for days, it would take something away from him in the end.
It wasn't hard for Dean to do it; kneel in a filthy ally, or bathroom stall and service men you'd never give the time of day to if you had a choice. It wasn't hard at all because it was always Sam. Fat, thin, young or old; it was always Sammy standing in front of him grunting, moaning, grasping his short locks and pulling him closer. But this was as far as he took the fantasy. To give more of himself to these strangers would leave nothing left for his Sam...in case he ever got the chance...
Sam felt everything too deeply. He wouldn't be able to pretend it made no difference; that money is money and none of the rules applied when you spent your life chasing monsters. None did apply. Everything Dean ever learned when his mom was alive went out the window after her death. That's why this was easy. That's why pretending it was Sam wasn't wrong. That's why hoping one day it would be wasn't wrong.
Dean knew it would never happen. Sam was normal. He had a girlfriend. Even if he had a boyfriend it would never happen. The fantasy was everything. It kept him going and now that Sam was back it made it that much more easier to believe in. He'd almost forgotten his brother's face, that's why he came back. He wasn't sure Sam would stay with him, but it was enough; would have to be enough to see his face, catch his scent for just a few days. So Dean studied Sam the way Sam studied for one of his college exams. He memorized the fall of his bangs, the set of his jaw, the thin pink lips, his long lean torso, everything. He studied so he could call to memory later when the real test began. The test of smelly men in piss filled alleys ramming down his throat. Sam made it doable, bearable.
There were times after a particularly long car ride trapped next to him, Dean couldn't wait to hit town and the next bar. It was even more exciting if Sam was waiting right outside. The closer the better. Sometimes he'd bring him inside and disappear into the bathroom, other times he'd just let him sit in the car and wait. At these times it was easier to conjure up the image of his baby brother.
Dean knew the right places when he saw them. They were pretty much the same everywhere he'd been. The bar names and the towns changed but they couldn't hide themselves from a man of Dean's experience; and he was experienced. He'd been doing this since he was a teen. He wasn't sure if his father knew where he'd gotten the spending cash; it never came up in conversation. They might have talked about it metaphorically but in the end, they both knew they needed the cash so his dad would disappear while Dean worked his magic.
It was late and Sam was sleeping again when they pulled into yet another cheap motel. When Dean returned with a key to a room, Sam was gone.
"Sammy," he called out terrified that his baby brother had finally made his escape.
"Over here," Sam called out.
Dean followed the voice to structure that resembled a renovated garage. A shabby sign that read `Game Room' was painted in faded letters across the door. Dean peeked in to find his brother running his hand across a worn pool table. He looked up through the thick bangs that nearly covered his eyes.
"A pool table," he smiled.
"Yeah, I can see that."
"Maybe, " Sam began, stroking the table, "you can teach me."
"Teach you what," Dean asked flatly.
"How to hustle...," Sam hesitated, "pool."