Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/721447.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Character:
      Dean_Winchester, Sam_Winchester, Castiel, Mary_Winchester, John
      Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      Weecest, Wincest_-_Freeform, Alternate_Universe_-_High_School,
      jealous!Sam, Jealousy, Schmoop
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-03-15 Words: 5489
****** Bitchface No.5 ******
by orphan_account
Summary
     There's a new kid in school and Sam is being a bitch, but Dean
     doesn't see how the two things are related.
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
 
There’s a new kid at Livingston High and his name is Castiel. Dean only notices
him because Alistair was giving him shit in the hallway, and instead of backing
down and letting the creep rip him a new one like anyone else would, Castiel
got back in his face and punched him in the nose. Honest to god, punched
fucking Alistair, scariest guy at school – exempting Dean himself – in the
nose.
Everyone in the hallway froze, didn’t quite know how to process. The only other
kid to even attempt putting Alistair in his place was, once again, yours truly,
and well, that’s a whole mess of another story. Point is, no one saw it coming,
certainly not from this nerdy looking kid with bed hair and a trenchcoat five
sizes too big.
So yeah, Dean noticed the kid. Maybe even talked to him a little since he
showed up in Dean’s chem class and they wound up partners since he didn’t know
better than to sit next to Dean. The guy was pretty alright, spunky in a way
not a lot of kids at this school were.
Still, Dean doesn’t think any of this warrants Sam’s bitchface when they meet
at his car after school–it’s no.5 which roughly translates as you’ve done
something wrong and you know what it is and I’m gonna ride you about it, not in
the fun way. As soon as he recognizes it he approaches his brother with
caution, unlocking the Impala and tossing his bag in the back. “Heya Sam,” he
says lightly.
“Dean,” Sam responds tightly. He yanks open his door and throws himself inside
before Dean can even get his open. He blinks.
“Oookay, thank you Alex I’ll take My PMS-ing Brother for $300,” he mutters to
himself. He gets in the car and turns over the engine, easing out of the
parking lot in silence in an attempt to let Sam cool down. “So, how was your
day honey?” he asks with a smirk as they pull onto the main road.
If Dean was hoping things would just fall into place like they normally do,
he’d be wrong. “Fine,” is all Sam says.
“Yeah?” he prompts. “How’d that debate in your history class go? You’ve been
prepping for like a month.” Sam doesn’t answer. “It was today, right?” Sam
nods. Dean waits. “Alright, well. Good talk.”
The rest of the drive home is silent.
*
Sam is still giving him the silent treatment when they get home, doesn’t say a
word to Dean when they set foot in the house, just stomps up to his bedroom and
slams the door like it personally offended him. Mom and Dad are cooking dinner
– to be exact Mom is cooking and Dad is hovering around trying to eat
everything before it’s ready – and they both look at each other, then at Dean
with identical expectant expressions.
“I got no clue,” he says with his hands held up. “Wasn’t me.” Except he has a
feeling it was him, he just doesn’t quite know how yet.
He goes upstairs in lieu of anything else to do, keeping his door open in case
someone, ahem, wants to stop in and drop a clue, but no one comes. He can hear
Sam blasting his emo music from two doors down, Good Charlotte, which is how
Dean knows they have a category 5 situation, because seriously Good fucking
Charlotte? Sam is not a twelve year old girl, even if he sure does act like
one.
Half an hour passes while he listens to AC/DC on his turntable, and he tries to
pace not-too-obviously across his room. He starts to smell lasagna cooking so
he knows dinner is pretty much ready, so he knocks on Sam’s door to tell him to
come downstairs.
Sam opens the door about an inch, which is just stupid because Dean
practically lives in that room too, so it’s obvious Sam isn’t trying to hide
anything as much as he’s just trying to be a bitch. “Dinner’s almost ready,
come help set the table?” he says in what he hopes is a friendly tone.
What he gets is an eyeroll. “Yeah sure, I’ll be right down.” Sam stands there,
clearly waiting for Dean to leave. But hey, two can play that game.
“It’s fine, I’ll wait for you.” Dean smiles.
He knows Sam wants to gripe and bitch about it, can see the frown on his face
and the unhappy crease of his forehead. What he doesn’t know is why. “Seriously
Sam, bad day? What’s up, man?”
But his concern gets him nowhere, just a sigh and a sad head-shake like Sam is
far beyond his years. Which, he’s so not.
God, you see what Dean has to deal with here?
“Fine, okay, whatever,” Dean grumbles. “Just be down in five, Sam.” He turns to
leave but doesn’t hear the door shut behind him until he’s halfway down the
stairs, like maybe Sam was watching him as he left.
*
Dinner is, in a word, fucking awkward.
Okay, so that was two.
But honestly, Dean wishes he even had some idea of what the hell the problem
here is. Sam is terse, silent, only nodding when asked yes or no questions and
passing food with more hostility than Dean thought was capable in such a
gesture. He doesn’t know what to do, so he tries to fill in the weird quiet
with stuff from his day. He mentions that it was sloppy-Joe day at lunch, which
makes his Mom grin wryly and his Dad chuckle, asks if it’s alright for Jo to
come around this weekend with Ellen for dinner which his parents receive with
enthusiasm, hell, he even mentions the new kid Castiel just to have something
to say.
“Castiel, huh? What an interesting name,” his mom says as she sips her drink.
“Does he live in the neighborhood?”
Dean shrugs. They didn’t get that far in the conversation. “Dunno. Any Novaks
move in around here? Think that’s his last name,” he says in answer to his
dad’s questioning eyebrow.
“Oh yeah,” John says. “I think I met his father this morning, down on Parks
Street during my morning walk. He and his boys were unloading a moving van, I
asked if I could help.”
“His brother, actually,” Dean corrects as he idly scrapes some lasagna off his
plate. “He moved here with his brothers, didn’t mention any parents.” He
shovels the food in his mouth and shrugs again.
Sam is growing increasingly irritated in the seat across from him. The motion
of his knee bouncing has become erratic, Dean can tell because the table is
subtly shaking and the silverware is starting to clank and it’s all so fucking
random, he just stares at Sam in confusion. He isn’t used to being this thrown
when it comes to his brother. They read each other better than anyone else, but
Dean is coming up blank here.
He’s shaken from his daze when his mom resumes the conversation. “Well, it’s
nice that you talked to the new boy, Dean,” she says in that motherly ways of
hers, and Dean holds back a snort. He neglected to mention how Cas punched
Alistair in the face, but given Dean’s personal history with the dick that’s
not really dinner-table conversation. “You should have him over for dinner
sometime.”
Dean nods because, why not? He doesn’t have that many friends at Livingston,
just Jo and Sam, most people are too afraid to talk to him and he likes it that
way, but Cas seems like he could keep up with Dean and then some. And he and
Sammy would get along like a house on fire, would nerd-bond over differentials
and covalent bonds and all that shit.
A loud scrape echoes through the kitchen and everyone turns to see Sam totally
red-faced, half standing out of his chair with his plate in his hands. “I’m
sorry, could I be excused?” he grits out, and the smiles drop from everyone’s
faces. Mary nods blankly, and they all three watch in mute surprise as Sam
clears off his plate, puts it in the sink, and sweeps out of the kitchen in ten
seconds flat – a personal Winchester record.
The table is quiet for a few moments after that, until they’ve heard Sam’s door
close upstairs. The tension still hangs in the air though, and Dean is
wondering when this day went so wrong. His parents look at him but he waves
them off before they can say anything. “Yeah yeah, I know,” he says. “I’ll talk
to him. Can I also be excused?” They both assent and Dean sighs, pushing his
chair in and then slowly cleaning off his plate.
He thinks he’s starting to get an idea why Sam’s bitching today, and he doesn’t
like it.
Upstairs the whiny emo music is back tenfold, but he doesn’t bother knocking
this time. He barges right in, takes one quick look around the room and sees
Sam lying on his back on the bed, brooding and staring at the ceiling.
“Sam, my room,” he barks in his most authoritative big-brother voice.
Sam sits up at the intrusion and opens his mouth as if he’s about to argue.
“My room,” he orders. “Now.”  The tone brooks for no argument, and Sam seems to
get that by the way he leans over to turn off his music and actually shclumps
off the bed. He follows Dean a few paces behind him, and when they get to
Dean’s room he hangs out a little outside the doorway. “Inside,” Dean commands.
“Close the door.”
Sam obeys.
Dean sits down on his bed, lets Sam stay on the other side of the room for now.
“Now Sam,” he starts, “I’m really hoping this isn’t what I think it is, but are
you…are you throwing a bitch-fit because you’re jealous?”
Sam turns pink from the tips of his ears to the base of his throat, and Dean
gets a little distracted staring at the collarbones peeking just above the cut
of his shirt. He snaps his eyes back to his brother’s face and reads the truth
in the way he can’t meet Dean’s eyes and the tension in every line of his body.
“Wow,” Dean says slowly. “Seriously? Seriously. That’s what this is about?”
Now the pink is turning to red, and Dean recognizes the embarrassment mingling
with humiliated anger in his face, and Dean may be many things but cruel isn’t
one of them. He tones it down a notch. “Sammy,” he says more gently. “Is this
about Cas?”
Sam snaps up to look at him, glaring harshly. “Cas?” he snarls. “Oh, so
it’s Cas now? Thought it was Castiel down at the dinner table, or are you two
getting so close so soon?”
And woah there, enough is enough.
Dean stands up. “Okay, this ends now, Sam. Cas, Castiel, it doesn’t matter. Do
you really—I mean you really think I’d do that? You think I’d—” he cuts himself
off, because now he just sounds hurt and yeah he is, but he doesn’t want Sam to
see how much this is affecting him. How much this total lack of faith makes
Dean feel like someone stomped on his puppy or broke all the windows of the
Impala.
Sam’s face softens. “That isn’t what I meant,” he urges. “I just, I don’t know.
I saw you two talking between classes and I’ve never seen you take to someone
so quickly.” His voice is quieter now, a sad smile pulling at his lips. He’s
not looking at Dean anymore, just staring at the carpet and scuffing his feet
around. “I know nothing happened, I know you’re not like that, but I always
knew one day someone would come along who could…whatever, I guess I saw that
with you and Castiel today.”
He looks back up at Dean hesitantly, who’s thrown so off by everything that
he’s still ten steps behind the words coming out of Sam's mouth. And he’s
pretty sure his jaw is unhinged, gaping like a fish.
But Sam’s not finished yet. “I’m sorry I took it out on you like this,” he’s
mumbling, looking at the carpet again. “It’s not your fault, and I-I’m happy
you found someone like that for you. Even if nothing has happened yet,” he
hurries to add, “I know it could, and just. I wouldn’t wanna get in the way.
He'd be better for you. Yeah. That’s all.”
It’s quiet for a few minutes. Dean is taking the time to recooperate,
assimilating in his head everything Sam has said and trying to make it fit. But
trying to get it to make sense is like trying to shove together a jigsaw puzzle
with all the wrong pieces. So Dean says the only thing he can.
“What. The. Fuck.” He can feel himself building up to a truly terrible shout,
starting deep in his bones. “What the fuck, Sam? No, seriously! What the actual
fuck?”  His baby brother’s eyes are wide with shock now, bordering on fear, and
good, fucking good, the little shit deserves to be scared right now because
Dean hasn’t been this pissed off in a damn long time.
He feels thunder gathering in his veins and he lets it out. “You, you think
Castiel and I have a future? You think we’re gonna bounce off into the sunset
on a silver moonbeam and pop babies out our ass and start singing about true
love’s kiss? You think I’m gonna chase after the new guy because he’s fresh
tail and got a backbone? You think I’m just gonna walk away from this,
from you, from everything we are together because I’m just waiting for
something better to come along? Well fuck you, Sam. You can go screw yourself
and listen to emo pop music all you want because I can’t even fucking look at
you right now!”
He’s panting, red-faced and pissed off and he’s about to take a swing at
something if he doesn’t cool down quick. The wall would probably break a few
fingers, so he settles for kicking the nightstand and watching in satisfaction
as everything clatters and falls over. He pretends his foot isn’t throbbing in
pain, just clenches his fists together and stares at his brother. Sam is
ghostly pale, silent, mouth open in a quiet expression of shock, and he looks
so regretful and horrible in that moment Dean is tempted to gather him into his
arms and hug away the hurt, but he can’t let go of this anger, not yet.
“Dean—” Sam starts to say, but Dean cuts him off.
“No Sam, you listen. I am not interested in Castiel Novak. Aside from the fact
that I met him today, that you even thought I could be makes me feel," oh fuck,
feelings, you're turning into such a girl, Winchester, "—well it makes me feel
like shit, Sam. Like you don’t trust me, like you don’t trust us, like I’m just
your slut of a brother who’s gonna whore himself out to any pretty face. I’m
not that guy anymore Sam, you know that, and you know why.” Sam bites his lip
because he does know, of course he fucking does, and his pretty blue-green eyes
are starting to well up. Dean still doesn’t stop. “Because of you.
Because you gave me a reason to change, you gave me someone to care about, made
me feel like something better than shit, and then it turns out you—you don’t
have any fucking faith in me.” He takes a deep breath, meets Sam’s eyes, lays
it all out on the line. “I’m not fucking Cas, I’m never gonna fuck Cas, because
I don’t want to fuck anyone else, Sam. Just you. Only you.”
Sam seems to break down at these words, and he rushes at Dean. He buries his
head in his big brother’s shirt, wraps his arms around Dean’s waist. Dean
pretends he doesn’t feel tears leaking into the shoulder of his t-shirt, just
folds his arms around Sam and cards his fingers through his hair. “C’mon
Sammy,” he’s whispering. “You didn’t think I’d actually forget about you, did
you?” Sam is shaking his head into Dean’s shoulder, hair tickling his neck.
“Not you, not you,” Sam's muttering violently. “It’s not that I don’t trust you
Dean, it’s just that I n-never thought I’d be enough,” and Dean can hear the
hitches in his speech and breathing where Sam is probably crying, but Sam’s
trying so hard to control himself and the kid has had a bad enough day as it
is, so Dean just shushes him and holds him a little tighter. “Never thought I’d
be good enough for you, D,” Sammy whispers, “So afraid you’ll realize I’m not.
I'm sorry, so sorry.”
Dean pulls him back abruptly to look him in the eye. “Hey,” he says sternly.
“Enough of that. I don’t wanna hear those words out of your mouth ever again,
do you understand me?” He’s using his big-brother voice again, and yeah while
that might send some mixed signals using his brother-voice to talk about their
non-platonic relationship, but they’ve already got enough wires crossed between
the two of them that it hardly matters. Friend, brother, lover, it’s all the
same to Dean and Sam.
 “You’re my baby boy, Sammy. No one else like you,” Dean says softly, looking
into Sam’s eyes all the while so he can feel the truth of the words. He strokes
his brother’s cheek, thumb rubbing at the dip and sweep of his cheekbone and
slowly drawing him closer.  Once they’re breathing each other’s air and Sam’s
breathing has turned erratic for reasons other than crying, Dean brings their
mouths together in a kiss, sweet and soft. He lightly pulls on Sammy’s lips,
nips them and licks over the tiny sores until Sam is keening into his mouth. He
suckles at Sam’s bottom lip, drawing it into his mouth and scraping his teeth
over it before releasing it with a wet pop. He wraps his arms around his little
brother, supporting him, and maneuvering them where he wants them.
The back of Sam’s knees press against the bed, and they both know where this is
going. “Got time for a quickie?” Dean asks into Sam’s mouth.
“Y-yeah,” Sam stutters, still arching into his big brother and pulsing his hips
against Dean’s. Dean pushes him back onto the bed and climbs over him.
“Sure you don’t need to get back to that brooding you were doing earlier?” he
says as he nips and teases his tongue along the column of Sam’s throat. Sam
fidgets and makes a grumbling embarrassed noise. Dean chuckles. “Alright,
alright, no more teasing. Let’s get this show on the road. Wanna bet I can make
you come in six minutes or less?”
Sam is completely pliant underneath him, and they both know who’s gonna win
this but still, his kid brother can’t resist a challenge. “You’re on.”
Dean grins wide. He was hoping he’d say that.
He reaches over to put a record back on, create a little background music so
it’s slightly less likely their parents will hear them fucking from downstairs.
He makes note of the time.
“Then let’s go, baby boy. C’mon, clothes off,” he says as he pulls off Sam’s
shirt and his brother makes short work of his pants. “Aw, you’re wearing your
spiderman boxers? My favorite,” Dean winks, and Sam blushes all the way down to
his underwear line. “Seriously, take ‘em off, I’m hard enough to pound nails,
you little bitch. You’re kinda hot when you’re moody.”
The tease has its desired effect and Sam’s hips stutter, the pink head of his
cock peeking out as he slides his boxers down. His full length is revealed,
shiny with precum, red and fat and long and fuck but Dean’s baby brother
is hung. He moans at it on sight and feels saliva gathering in his mouth - it’s
a Pavlovian response because he loves sucking on that dick like a popsicle,
loves feeling it pump in and out of his ass, but tonight he’s gonna show Sammy
just how much Dean needs him by fucking him raw, and one of the upsides to
fucking your brother is that you can have sex almost any time you want since
you’re both always horny and always just two doors away. He’ll get that cock
later, maybe tomorrow morning. Morning sex with Sam is always the best way to
start the day.
“Think mom and dad will be distracted cleaning up?” Dean asks, just to tease.
Fucking around without getting caught by their parents has become something of
a game for them, and sometimes they deliberately push the limits of how far
they can take it when John or Mary is only a few feet away. It’s gotten pretty
bad. There have been hand jobs at the kitchen table, and once a blow job,
though Dean had kept himself from actually blowing his load until he excused
himself to the bathroom five excruciating minutes later.
Sam whines, both at the words and Dean’s hand which has just firmly grasped his
dick. “They usually are,” he pants. “Dean,” he says, pulling at Dean’s
clothing, so Dean gets the message and gets naked. “C’mon you big jerk, are you
gonna fuck me or not?”
He pulls off his clothes in a hurry, comes back to the bed and growls, pinning
Sam’s arms above his head and hovering over him. “Shut up, bitch. You’re mine,
and I will fuck you on my time, got it?”
It’s another game they play. Sam has always excelled at pushing people’s
buttons, and he’s bossy which makes him a good top and a toppy bottom. When
Dean tops, Sam likes to see how far he can push his big brother, how long it’ll
take til he’s slammed against a wall and fucked so hard he can’t speak, let
alone breathe.
Make no mistake, Sam Winchester is a kinky bastard.
So Dean gives him what he wants, and pushes him over onto his stomach. “I’m
gonna take you like the little bitch you are, baby boy,” he grunts as he pushes
a slicked up finger into his brother’s hole. Lube is never far in his room.
“Just you, Sammy, my boy, my little brother.” Sam whimpers, squeezing his ass
against Dean’s finger and thrusting up for more. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard
you won’t even have words left to beg, and everyone down stairs,” two fingers
now, and Sam is moaning steadily, “mom, dad, hell even Bones, will know what we
did.” They’re never actually loud enough to be heard and they don’t want to be,
but it’s possible they might both have a kink for almost getting caught by
their family. Maybe.
Sam is shaking and mewling underneath him, begging for Dean to fuck him and
Dean knows he can take it – god knows they fuck enough that they’re both
usually pretty loose – so he slicks up and slams right in. “Ahhh, fuck, so good
Sammy,” he sighs as he slowly starts sliding in and out. “Don’t even think
about touching yourself,” he says, even though Sam knows better by now than to
try.  “Just get off on my dick, baby boy, your big brother’s dick pumping into
your sweet little ass.” They’re both getting off on the words, Dean doesn’t
even care if he’s a sicko pervert who watches too much porn and fucks his
little brother, it’s fucking hot and Sammy is tight as all fuck and so warm and
soft and his skin is smooth under Dean’s fingers, and there is nothing else in
the world like fucking Sam, nothing that even comes close. There could never be
anyone else for Dean, how could Sam even think there is?
He speeds up and says Sam’s name, “Sammy, Sammy, Sammy” like a mantra and a
prayer, over and over; it’s what Dean has called him since he could talk, a
childhood nickname he refuses to give up despite how adult Sam pretends to be
these days, and it makes everything all the more dirty as hell that he calls
him Sammy when they fuck. Sometimes when Dean uses it in normal conversation
Sam will even blush, like he’s remembering fucking Dean raw in his bed that
morning until his big brother nearly broke his headboard and stifled out a cry
of ”Sammy!”, and Dean will smirk because mission accomplished.
Sam is writhing and weeping beneath him, nonsensical cries spilling from his
mouth and Dean has mercy on him and moves a hand to his brother’s stomach to
swirl a finger through the sticky precum gathered there. He barely brushes the
drooling head of Sammy’s cock before his brother is stiffening, crying out
Dean’s name and coming all over his stomach and Dean’s hand. Dean fists his
cock a little, wringing it out of him. Sam’s ass clenches around his dick as he
orgasms and fuck it’s so good, it’s so fucking good, and Dean keeps slamming
into his sweet spot, punching it with every stroke so Sam will feel it for
weeks. “That’s it baby boy,” he growls, “That’s a good little bitch, mmmm,
you’re so wet, so needy, god I love you like this, such a good little bottom."
He's still jacking Sam’s softening cock as the noises of the boy beneath him
are growing increasingly anguished.
“D-dean,” he pleads, and Dean knows he’s almost had enough.
“Shhh,” Dean coos into his ear, “it’s okay lil’ bro,” and Sam goes completely
boneless underneath him. He gives Sam’s dick one last strong, slow tug and Sam
sobs, then Dean lets himself go and fucks into Sam desperately, gripping his
hips with both hands and pounding into him. There will be bruises where his
fingers are, marks on Sam’s skin that say mine mine mine, and it’s good, it’s
fucking amazing, the slick wet channel of his brother’s hole sucking at Dean
when he slides in and clinging when he slides out, and he just watches the
place where his cock thrusts in and out of his baby brother until he feels his
orgasm building and it explodes out of him like a freight train. “Oh fuck so
good Sammy, so good so good, fuck, Sammy,” he’s mumbling mindlessly, groaning
as his hips rut out his orgasm.  Sam whimpers under him, hips canting up like
he wants more of Dean’s seed, and Dean’s cock gives an extra twitch at the
thought and he pulses out another shot of cum.
It’s quiet in the aftermath, Dean basking in his afterglow and Sam recovering
underneath him. “Fuuuuck,” Dean hisses as he carefully slides out of his
brother. He watches his cum leak out of Sam’s ass with satisfaction for a
minute before rolling onto his side and scooping Sam into his arms. “You good,
Sammy?” he asks, pushing sweaty hair out of his brother’s face. Sam’s eyes are
watery still, but his face is warm and satisfied.
“Yeah,” Sam says. “I’m good. God I’m good. You good?” He squirms closer to
Dean.
Dean chuckles. “I’m great, Sammy.” He kisses his brother’s forehead and noses
into his sweat-damp hair. “Don’t ever doubt me again, ‘kay? It’s you, Sammy.
Always has been, always will be.” They don’t usually say sappy things like
this, haven’t actually said the words “I love you” to each other since they
were a lot younger (and not fucking), but they know. At least, Dean thought
they did. Sam’s fit of jealousy makes him think maybe he could give the kid a
little more reassurance aside from the, you know, mind-blowing sex. Which is
why he says what he does now, love you whispered into Sam’s hair so quietly
he’s almost sure it was just in his head.
But Dean knows he said it out loud because Sam immediately jerks his head up to
stare at Dean, and his eyes are suspiciously glossy once more. He doesn’t say
anything, just kisses Dean fiercely on the mouth and then pulls away to snuggle
closer to Dean and slip his arms around his torso, breathing something a lot
like “me too” into Dean’s neck.
Sam is warm, heart beating against Dean’s chest where he can feel it, and he
hears his mom clanking pots and pans around in the kitchen. He rests their
foreheads together and sighs as they melt against each other. Sam will need to
get cleaned up, but Dean has little packets of moist towelettes stashed all
over his room for cases such as this. Five more minutes, he thinks, and relaxes
in Sammy’s arms. He glances at the clock and grins.
“Did it in four, bitch.”
 *
The morning starts out with Sam's mouth on his dick, and Dean blinks away the
cobwebs of sleep with a grin. "Fuck yes," he grumbles. "Do we have time for me
to ride you?"
They make time.
If they're a few minutes late coming downstairs for breakfast their parents
either don't notice or are too happy Sam is actually smiling today to care.
They actually look somewhat startled because the kid is practically beaming as
he eats his eggs, and Dean is both flattered and amused by it all. He smirks
into his pancakes and nudges his foot against Sam's under the table.
Dean is chipper for the rest of the day, because seriously, Sam's dick is
magical and morning sex is the best.When he sees Castiel in chem, they work
together on a lab and he invites him to lunch. “Seriously, you should meet my
brother,” he says, “He’s a couple years younger than us but he’s smarter than
half the guys in our grade.”
Castiel nods and accepts his invitation gratefully. “Thank you. I was not
looking forward to the prospect of eating with my brother Gabriel for the
second day in a row. He persisted in stealing my pudding cup and does not
understand the concept of personal space.”
“Yeah he’s not the only one, buddy,” Dean remarks, eyeing the close space
between his face and Castiel’s, but the guy doesn’t seem to get the message and
just nods sagely like Dean has said something especially profound. Dean shakes
his head and fights back a chuckle. As long as he doesn’t get any closer Dean
figures there’s no harm done.
He has English between chemistry and lunch, so by the time he gets his food – a
few beef quesadillas piled on top of each other because the cafeteria ladies
love him – and gets to the shady patch of grass outside he and his friends have
claimed for years, Castiel is already sitting there under their tree. He seems
to be listening intently to Sam talk very animatedly about something while
waving his arms around like a giant dork. Jo, Pam, and Ash complete the circle,
chatting to each other and occasionally turning to listen to Sam.
Dean bites his lip to hold back a stupid grin and walks over. “Hey guys,” he
greets as he plops down in his usual spot next to Sammy. “I see you all met
Cas.” Everyone makes some acknowledgment. Jo smiles and says they’re in AP
History together, partnering for a project. Pam winks at Castiel and calls him
a cutie, which makes the poor kid blush and look like startled prey, and Ash
just slurps his Capri Sun and throws up the devil's horns.
Sam is the most enthusiastic, and he turns to Dean with a wide smile. “Yeah, I
was just telling Cas about the speech and debate team!” Sam is the captain,
even ordered the team jackets. They’re almost as bad as the Mathletes ones, of
which Sam is also a proud member.
“Well Cas here has no problems standing up for himself,” Dean says wryly as he
thinks of the blood pouring from Alistair’s broken nose. Castiel ducks his head
bashfully before gravely intoning that he “would greatly enjoy learning verbal
defense in lieu of the physical”.
Sam laughs and pats Castiel’s shoulder and Dean just sits back and watches as
they gab like two girlfriends who’ve known each other for years. He discreetly
slips his hand over Sam’s where it rests on the grass and thumbs over his
knuckles. His brother turns to him with a warm smile, flips his hand over and
squeezes. They slide a little closer together, link their fingers and hide them
between their bodies, and Dean bumps his shoulder against Sam's with a quiet
"bitch" and receives a nudge and a "jerk" in reply. Dean lets that stupid smile
break out on his face now as he grips his brother's hand tighter and faces his
friends, all his happiness in this one perfect moment shining through.
Yeah. Life is good.
 
End Notes
     not beta-ed, contains underage sex (unspecified age) SO YE BE WARNED.
     Sorry if there are typos, just let me know if you find one and I'll
     correct it. :)
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