Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3712990.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage, Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean/Sam, Castiel/Sam_Winchester, Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Character:
      Dean_Winchester, Sam_Winchester, Castiel, Adam, Other(s)
  Additional Tags:
      Parent/Child_Incest, Alpha/Beta/Omega_Dynamics, Alpha_Dean, Omega_Sam,
      Alpha_Castiel, Infidelity, Age_Difference, Manipulation, Guilty_Sam,
      Married_Couple, AU, Feminization, Mpreg, Male_Lactation, Crossdressing,
      Wife_Sam, Husband_Cas, Dubious_Consent, Angst, Breastfeeding,
      Somnophilia, Voyeurism, Underage_Kissing, Bottom_Sam, Top_Castiel, Rough
      Sex, Crying_Sam, Self-Lubrication, Non-Hunter_Winchesters, Lactation
      Kink, Teen_Angst, Insecure_Sam, Drama, Rhonda_Hurley_-_Freeform,
      References_to_Dean/Other(s), Other_Additional_Tags_to_Be_Added, Jealous
      Dean, Angst_and_Porn, Porn_with_Feelings, Porn_With_Plot, Wincest_-
      Freeform, Panty_Kink, Anal_Fingering, Rimming, Post_Mpreg, Sam_In
      Panties, Dom/sub_Undertones, Ass_Play, Slow_Burn, Drama_&_Romance, NSFW
      Art, Alternate_Universe-_No_Supernatural, Male_Slash, Additional_Warnings
      Apply, Read_at_Own_Risk, Not_all_warnings_listed
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-04-09 Updated: 2018-02-05 Chapters: 25/? Words: 102465
****** Family Secrets ******
by Joanna_Lee
Summary
     Alpha Cas and Omega Sam marry young and bear two children. When their
     oldest son Dean presents as an Alpha, however, he starts perving on
     Sam, the 'mother' who bore him, developing incestuous feelings for
     him and becoming territorial and possessive.
     When Cas, the dad and prime Alpha, is not around, Dean seduces Sam,
     manipulating him into slowly giving in to him and Sam can barely
     resist his son. When he turns 16, Dean finally fucks his mommy.
     Genre: Drama, romance, porn with (lots of) feelings.
Notes
     PLEASE READ - important additional warnings (7-9) included:
     1) This is a WIP. Also my first SPN Kink Meme fill :)
     2) OP is much longer, more detailed. I use an edited version.
     3) Dean is 12 when this begins. Sam is 31, and Cas is 34. The story
     progresses until Dean is an adult.
     4) Age of consent here is 16.
     5) This AU has its own set of morality and ethics.
     6) Besides plenty of smut and porn, expect lots of angst, hurt and
     drama. This is NOT a fluffy read.
     7) To avoid spoilers and because this is a super long WIP (I don't
     plan everything far in advance), tags will continue to be updated as
     the story progresses. Please read the tags carefully, and review them
     before diving into new chapters.
     8) Most importantly, not all warnings are listed. When push comes to
     shove, I might not tag some major things to avoid spoilers. So only
     read at your own risk!
     9) Sensitive subjects are addressed in this story, so if you're
     easily triggered, please turn back now.
***** Pushing the envelope *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Dean first becomes aware of his mom's influence on him a few months before he
pops his knot at 12—ridiculously young by alpha standards, where some present
as old as 19 but more generally around 14. Leading up to his rut, Dean's senses
have become stronger and in turn, scents around him more potent. His 'little
Dean' became easily excitable. 
He’s an early bloomer and it made his father proud. Not that Dean could take
credit for it; it wasn’t like he could control his sexual gender or will his
knot into existence, but he couldn't help feeling elated at being the pride of
his father, Castiel.
Sure, Castiel is anything but a knot-head, or an old-fashioned "pack leader"
(which is an outdated 'wolf-country' term traditionally given to family
providers, or the head alphas of a house). But who isn’t at least a little glad
when their son presents as a dominant? It's primal nature.
Dean's dad isn't exactly traditional but he's an alpha alright: strong, driven,
opinionated, territorial, a little jealous, overprotective, somewhat
overbearing, "the husband" in this house, but also a solid presence for his
family. So yeah, in true alpha fashion, Castiel couldn't help being happy when
his first son turned out to be like him, and Dean innately knows it.
Castiel does believe in discipline, being the head of his household, and he
respects Alpha-Omega roles, but he is usually neither strict about them nor
half as brutal enforcing them as the typical alpha. He never denies his or his
wife Sam's nature, but he doesn't define either himself or Sam by it. For
instance, he never barks orders at Sam, or patronises Sam, or attempts to
humiliate him to show him who's boss, or asks too much of him that he couldn't
give, but he does put his foot down when it’s called for.
As far as Dean knows, Cas never forces his mommy into sex if Sam doesn't feel
like it, and, for that matter, he never pushes him to bear many children as per
alpha tradition.
After Dean was born, a little more than a year into their marriage, Sam wanted
to give his body a long break and Castiel indulged him, without
argument—another thing that separates Castiel from regular, traditional alphas,
who more often than not force their wives to pop babies, health concerns
notwithstanding.
Castiel didn't even flinch when a relative suggested that, as far as alphas go,
Castiel is too pliant toward his omega. The comment would enrage a prototypical
alpha. Castiel just chuckled and didn't even deny it.
Part of it, Dean thinks, might be because his father and mother are actually in
love. Hopelessly so, from the looks of it. Childhood sweethearts and all that.
They got married in their late teens and never separated since. In this
society, that's not how alphas and omegas typically get together; they usually
get betrothed or engaged through business-like deals and, the marriage is
either arranged by the families, or happens in response to a purely physical,
earthly attraction (someone's heat aligns with another's rut and that's that).
More often than not, alphas and omegas get well acquainted after marriage, not
before. Not Sam and Castiel.
Their love was nurtured over the years, and well before moving in together each
had already known what made the other tick. Dean could swear they talked with
their eyes sometimes, and that's why, for instance, Castiel rarely uses his
alpha voice inside the house, except with his children. Say, when Dean is
misbehaving or pulling tantrums, or later on when Dean's little brother Adam
grew up into a small beta menace and became hard to control. Only then he'd use
his deep alpha voice, usually in warning, a scare tactic. Otherwise, Cas never
needs to force his way.
In short, Cas is a reasonable, loving husband and a doting father. In many
ways, he’s just perfect.
But that doesn't stop Dean from feeling some resentment for him when he himself
starts getting interested in mommy thatway.
It doesn't stop Dean from trying to dethrone his dad, either, later on, when
his Alpha nature rears its ugly head. But that doesn't happen until much later
— perhaps a few years from now, when things get - uhm- complicated.
Now, even Dean doesn't realize how far this thing - these feelings - will one
day take him, how aggressively it will consume him and scar his relationship
with his parents for good. Now, he's just mesmerized by his tall, built, tanned
and beautiful mommy. Obsessed with how his scent makes his stomach tingle and
makes him feel funny between his legs. Right now, Sam is slowly becoming his
world. Castiel's claiming rights be damned, Dean thinks.
It was Sam's scent that caught Dean's attention first and drew him closer. It
started to permeate strongly right after Sam gave birth to his brother Adam.
Dean would sit beside his mom as Adam nursed from him, and bask in the
delicately warm smell of his beautiful Sammy. Whiffs of cinnamon, milk, this
thing that's pure omega; his mommy smelled like summer and freshly baked pie,
and sex! Dean couldn't help but lean into the smell every time it tickled his
senses. He'd put his head on mommy's right arm and watch Adam suckle on one of
his round full breasts - now lactating and engorged thanks to his baby brother.
These days, he gets drunk on the proximity.
Right now, for instance, they're sprawled on the living room's sofa. Sam is
feeding Adam and Dean is glued to his side. It's a hot summer afternoon. His
mommy's sweaty. His long hair - perspired and damp - is sticking to his
forehead and the back of his neck. His t-shirt is bunched up on one side, and
one pair of boobs is leaking out of his sports bra, one dark perky nipple
engulfed by his baby brother's small mouth. Sam's soft belly, still marred by
stretch marks, is bare, and Dean can see the beginning of the dark treasure
trail that runs from Sam's navel down to his groin, hidden under the thin
fabric of his sleep pants. The threadbare pants sit low on his hips and reveal
a glimpse of Sam's plain white briefs. Dean's eyes keep flickering hungrily
from one part to another. He wishes he could just lean forward and kiss the
bare skin, but he doesn't have the courage, not yet. He settles for laying one
hand on Sam's thigh, the one currently brushing his. Just a small casual move.
First his hand lies nearer to Sam's knees, then he slowly moves it up. Sam's
eyes are closed; he's visibly tired, he's had a long day and Cas is at work, so
he's taking care of a newborn and Dean on his own during the day. Better for
me, Dean thinks, more alone time with mommy.
He shifts his hand up a little more and now Dean's hand is comfortably lying on
top of Sam's thigh, next to his groin. Dean’s very aware of this. His heart
starts drumming a little faster, like he's scheming or something. And on some
level, he is.
Only a few months back, Dean used to shrug mommy's constant affections, often
wriggled away when Sam kissed his cheeks or tried to hug him. After he turned
nine, Dean had become self-conscious about receiving any affection that made
him feel like he was being babied - more so in front of his school friends and
his best friend Benny. He remembers being horrified when his mother would swoop
down on him and give him a kiss on the forehead or on the cheek when he'd drop
him off to school. A few months back, that was out of the question. He'd huff
and puff and turn his head away to escape said kisses. Then lecture mom about
it after school, tell him he embarrasses him (his mom would sometimes be
amused, other times a little pained he and his boy seem to be growing apart.
Dean is the apple of his eye, he'd want to keep him close to himself, in his
arms, forever ... if he could) - well, Dean would only lecture when Castiel
wasn’t in earshot. He had to be always careful with this. Sam was the soft
parent. Cas doesn't tolerate attitude, more so when it's directed at his Sammy.
When he turned 11, it was worse. Instead of spending time with mommy and his
dad, he'd run to his room after school and only come out to use the restroom or
eat. Or he would go out with his friends. He wanted his space, he told Sam. He
spent less and less time with him and his other parent. At the beginning, Sam
would try to coax him out, drag him to the living room to force them to spend
some more time together, or offer to take him to the movies (Dean was adamant
not to be seen going out and about with his mom. Made it a point. He's grown
up, now. What if any of my friends see him? What kind of a loser goes to see a
movie with his mom?). In desperation, Sam would demand that Dean helped with
meal preparations or in cleaning up the house sometimes just to get Dean to
leave his cocoon and spend time with him. It used to make Dean furious
sometimes, and make Sam feel guilty for being too clingy himself.
Now? Now, any physical contact with his mommy leaves Dean breathing hard, and
makes him warm inside. He's now always aware of where his mom's body is
touching his when they're sitting side by side, or when his head is cradled in
his lap when they're all sitting together watching TV, or when Sam pats a
cheek, or runs his fingers through his hair - which happens rarely since he’d
complained about it in the past. "Stop it, I'm not a kid," he had once mumbled
in annoyance and brushed Sam's hand off. It was one of those times that Sam had
ruffled his hair lovingly. At the time, Dean was playing a video game,
engrossed in it, and hadn’t welcomed the distraction - or the touching. Again,
that was only a month earlier. Oh, how things changed. Dean sighs and decides
to concentrate on the present moment.
"Are you hurting, mommy?" Dean looks up at Sammy, and asks through half-lidded
eyes, noticing now that his mom is still laying his head against the back of
the couch, eyes shut.
"No, sweetheart, just tired," Sammy responds. He lifts his head up and looks
down at his son, smiling. His dimples show.
"Mommy, I love your smile," Dean says, romancing.
He sometimes gets caught up in how beautiful his Sammy looks, like now. He
kneads Sam's thigh, curling his hand around, shifting it more to the inside of
Sam's thigh. Now the tips of his fingers can barely touch Sam's flaccid length.
He can feel it, a shiver runs through him at the thought. "It's like sunshine,"
he elaborates.
Sam is a little surprised yet amused, not used to his son being so openly
affectionate. "Is that so?"
"Yeah," he says, staring right into Sam's tired hazel-green eyes. His mind is
where his hand is, right now. He strokes his thumb back and forth, lightly;
he's sure this is Sam's cock he's brushing against, but his touch is so light
it's almost non-existent. "Mommy, do you need me to help you with anything? You
know, dad's not here, and you look drained."
Sam chuckles. "Ok, now I'm a little freaked. Who are you and what have you done
with my son?" Then he winces, "oww!" it seems Adam bit his nipple a little.
Sammy sits up abruptly, and puts a finger in Adam's mouth to force him to
release the abused nipple. Dean looks at the puffy red and wet bud, and feels a
rush of jealousy that Adam gets a taste of the delicious-looking tit and he
doesn't. He understands Adam needs this but he can't help the surge of
jealousy,Goddammit! Sammy tucks this side in, hiding it away, and takes the
other boob out.
When he was dislodged from the source of nourishment, Adam gave an ear-piercing
squeal that didn't die out until mommy rearranged him and he latched back on,
humming contentedly around the breast. Sam finally sits back and Dean lays his
head against his shoulder again, now getting more space on Sam's chest when
this side is baby-free.
Without thinking, Dean reaches out and touches around where Adam's lips are
stretched around Sam's areola. His touch lingers. He wishes he could put a
finger in Adam's mouth and touch his mom's nipple, feel the ducts from where
the milk is sucked out. But he holds back. "Does it always hurt badly, when he
nurses?" Dean asks. He's aware he sounds like a six-year-old. But that's the
thing: his new feelings for his mommy made him regress in some ways but feel
older, more entitled, in others.
"It’s only painful when he bites, but I'm sure you know it's not on purpose,
sweetheart. He's just trying to force out more milk," Sam responds. Dean feels
like moaning; he wishes he was the one suckling on the teet, biting lightly,
drinking up Sam's sweet juice, feeding from one side, and petting the other,
but he holds it in. A pause. Then Sam asks, "Are you okay, Dean?"
"Yeah," he shrugs. "Just feel a little sorry for you." Sam momentarily pushes
away Dean when he moves his right arm, only to curl it around his son and pull
him snuggly against him.
"Hey, where is this coming from, De?" Sam says, brows cinched yet his silky
voice drips with mommy-warmth.
"It's just that ... just, you know. A baby is a lot of work is all. And other
moms ... I mean, you're—you always look worn out these days. It makes me, it
just—" he huffs, not knowing what to say.
Sam gives him a squeeze, then, "Dean, buddy, look at me." He does. "You're
right, it's a lot of work. But I love every bit of it. You and Adam, you're
everything, and I'm so happy to have been blessed with you. I may be tired, and
sure a child takes its toll on the body. Every man or woman is different and
it's somewhat harder on me. I happen to struggle a little after giving birth.
But I chose this. And I'm the happiest person on Earth right now. Besides, your
dad helps a lot, and just knowing you feel for mommy helps too, you know." Sam
smiles then kisses Dean's forehead tenderly, and this time Dean doesn't push
him away. Instead, he leans in and places a soft peck on the side of mommy's
mouth.
Chapter End Notes
     Cover art: © Joanna Lee
     It's original, created by yours truly. Kindly don’t repost the art or
     re-use it.
     Thank you! <3
***** DressGate *****
Chapter Summary
     The long and short of it? Dean buys mommy a dress.
     In this part, Dean is now 13 years old.
     For those who missed the first installment, this is the story so far:
     Pre-teen Alpha Dean is developing a physical attraction towards his
     mommy, Omega Sam. And he's slowly acting on it; getting more
     affectionate, attentive and physically intimate with Sam. Both Sam
     and his husband Cas - Dean's father - are oblivious to Dean's
     incestuous tendencies.
     But Sam, every bit the over-attached mother to Dean and his little
     brother Adam, welcomes his son's increasing displays of love, never
     doubting the motives.
     (Better read chapter 1)
Chapter Notes
     Read OP for context.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
It's Mother's Day and Dean Winchester is nervous as hell about his gift for his
mommy. Usually, he and his dad go out and shop for presents together. Dean is
normally nonchalant about the whole thing, going for easy options: the
"magical" combo of flowers and cards, a foreign movie on DVD and a card, or the
easiest Mother's Day gift-giving hack of all: cooking books. On principle, he
refuses to buy music for his mommy, no way in hell he'd encourage Sam's highly
questionable tastes there. But he can grit his teeth and indulge his book-smart
mom in other areas. And thankfully, Sam is always easy to please. Dean is sure
that if he ends up getting his mommy deodorant and shaving cream on Mother's
Day, the man would still smile big, coo at him, take him in his arms, and cover
his face with kisses - not that he's complaining, especially not about the
kissing. Not anymore, at least.
I mean, those lips, Dean muses.
Last year, Dean bought Sam a series of hardcover books on WWI. His mother is a
bit of a nerd and loves history books. It also served as a pastime on those
long nights when Sam was up helping a very upset baby Adam return to sleep.
They work during the day, too. More than once Dean would hear Sam read parts of
those books out loud to Adam, who seems to have inherited the geek genes,
perking up to the sound. Adam even reacts to the words - well, the tone of the
words—knitting his brows in concentration or frowning in this hilariously cute
way, or cooing. Sam thinks it's adorable. Dean thinks it's just plain sad, I'll
definitely be outnumbered when Adam grows up and starts making potato batteries
... for fun! Sigh.
But this year ... this year is different.
Ever since thisthing between his mom and him started growing, things like
birthdays and Mother’s Day celebrations have taken on a certain significance
for Dean. So far the sexual tension has been one-sided. Dean isn’t stupid; he's
not disillusioned about how his mom feels about him. Sure, Sam doesn't just
care about him, he friggin' worships the ground Dean walks on! He loves him,
alright. But not in this way. Not yet, Dean tells himself.
He's still the little Alpha of the family (despite the fact that he's becoming
stronger, taller, and erm, bigger, everywhere). Castiel, his dad, is still
boss, and until now, he's the only one that puts that shine in mommy's eyes.
He's the one that makes him melt and swoon. He can lock lips with Sam anywhere
and people wouldn't think twice of it. He can lick Sam's lips, plunder his
mouth, get Sam off—he can watch Sam strip, he can take showers with Sam, he can
sit him between his legs and touch him all over. He can touch Sam in places
Dean can only dream about. He's the one who takes Sam to bed every night,
sometimes locks the door, locks the rest of the world out (including Dean) and
takes Sam apart slowly, or mounts him and pounds into him if he chooses. He can
take Sam on all fours, on his back, on his side, put him on his lap, or blanket
him chest to back and fuck him into the mattress. Sometimes the muffled moans
filter through the doors. Dean would hide under the pillow, because even those
soft reminders of how Sam and Castiel are to each other (that you Dean is not,
may never be) sucked.
No matter how much Sam loves Dean, Dean is barred from seeing or feeling his
mommy this way.
Dean feels a darkness spread inside his chest at the thought, gripping his
lungs and squeezing the air out. He hates it. He fuckin' hates that someone
else gets to do this to his mommy. Gets to whisper love words in his ears, gets
to talk dirty to him, gets to wake up every morning next to him, touch him,
make love to him ... when he's his. Dean's. His heart is his. His hair is his.
His eyes, his lips ... his tits, cock and asshole are his. Every bit of him
from head to toe is Dean's. One day Dean may be able to make him understand
that Dean was born out of his own womb, into this world, to claim him. That,
without realising, Sam gave birth to his true mate. It's what it is.
For now, Dean will settle for the stolen touches.
And this. The dress.
Dean has saved up from his own pocket money and picked it out of hundreds.
Sure, by the end of every shopping trip, he felt he was ready to grow lady
parts; it was both frustrating (strolling through the women sections in malls
or department stores) and exciting (the excitement comes just from the thought
that his mom might humour him, and actually wear it. Might enjoy wearing it.
For him. Because Dean is the one got it, for Sammy).
His mom never wears dresses. He sticks to t-shirts, button-ups, sweaters,
hoodies, jeans, and the occasional dress pants. When he's lactating and his
boobs have grown to a considerable size, somewhere between a B- and a C-cup, he
wears sports bras or those plain-looking white or beige halter tops, with
supporting bras, tailor-made for male omegas. Ugly things, if you ask Dean.
Dean’s also seen Sam's collection of underwear when he helped him fold laundry
a few times. It was clear not much thought was put into the purchases: all
whites, greys and blacks and mostly boxer briefs and shorts with some
threadbare pouch briefs, which Dean will admit made his breath hitch and his
heart race a little when he imagined how the "pouch" would probably cradle
Sam's length, how his mother's soft genitals would sit snugly in it, and jiggle
some when he moves, how his prick will tent and stretch the thin material when
he's aroused.
But apart from those briefs, or more likely the obscene thoughts they illicit
in Dean, nothing in his mother's wardrobe is skimpy or remotely feminine, which
is unfair considering how delicious his mommy is. He’s never seen his mommy
buck naked but he's seen him in swimming trunks, and the man is all long legs.
He has solidly muscled arms and back, wide shoulders, and a killer pair of
rippling pecs that bounce around when Sam is braless and lactating (He flaunts
them only when they're on a private beach. Cas refuses to let Sam go shirtless
in public and Dean backs him up on this). And the package is all the more
gorgeous when his mommy's skin is sun-kissed and glowing.
To be clear, there's nothing soft about his mother's body, except perhaps his
belly and breasts post child-bearing. But unlike Dean, who's already packing
solid muscles, and some bulk and hard edges thanks to his self-inflicted brutal
workout regimen and boxing training, Sam's body is strong but exudes a certain
vulnerability, like it can be bent to someone's will, like it needs to be
treated with care or it breaks, something that tickles the protective instinct
of an alpha.
This body needs to be treated right, Dean believes. It needs to be wrapped up
in silk, and lace, and sexy lingerie - the masculine accentuated by a feminine
touch.
Hence the dress, which Dean hopes will be the first of many Sam ends up owning.
Dean chose a white number, a backless cotton summer dress, long. Hugs the torso
and then flares out, and it's held up by a pair of criss-cross thin straps. It
boasts a long slit in the front, which is most of the reason why Dean picked
this one. The material is soft and it looks comfy. For a first-time
crossdresser, Dean thinks it isn't very revealing, if you discount the open
back. Dean hopes Sam will discount it.
Part of him feels Castiel might actually encourage it, but he doesn't know how
he feels about this. Sure, it'll give Sam a better motive to wear it if Castiel
likes it, he reasons, still, Dean wants Sam to wear it for him, not for his
father.
He bought it a day earlier but goes out on Mother's Day to wrap it up nicely.
He even includes a card and all, with a message that begins with, "To my
beautiful," and ends with "Love, Dean." Dean rarely uses words like love. He
doesn't know how, despite growing up in a very loving environment, and with an
openly affectionate mother. Somehow he's just not built to wear his heart on
his sleeve-
... but for his mommy, he could learn to. Anything for him, his Sammy.
When he gets home, he doesn't waste time. He finds mommy at the kitchen table
and practically throws the wrapped gift in front of him from how nervous he is
(mumbling a barely audible "h-happy Mother's Day"). Way to go Dean, he thinks,
nothing says confident, fearless Alpha like stuttering through your greeting
and sweating bullets as you do.He's only 13 and has girls - omegas and betas,
strangers and friends alike - eating out of his hands at school. Older girls,
younger girls, even teachers. But at home, with the man he loves and lusts
after, with the man who friggin' raised him, he's a pitiful mess of nerves.
His mom's face brightens up when the gift falls with a light thud into his lap.
And Castiel chooses this moment to walk into the room.
With Dad around, Dean generally holds back his affections, tenses a little. No
romancing the mommy, touching, tickling, staring longingly in his eyes a few
seconds too long, laying his mommy's head in his lap and swirling his fingers
through his soft locks as he tells him about his day, or slipping an arm around
his waist as he washes the dishes, standing on tiptoe and whispering to Sam
softly, right in his ears, nuzzling his neck or kissing his cheek. And Dean
would do it all, but not around daddy. He might notice and wonder.
So Dean consciously edits himself. He now squares his shoulders, slips his
hands into his pockets, leans back against the kitchen counter and tries to
chill a little. Latches that smug smile to his face, ready for wise-cracking if
the situation calls for it.
"Hey buddy."
He gets a pat on the shoulder. "Hi, dad," he responds.
"You're in time to see what Dean got me for Mother's Day," Sam says, all smiles
already, happy energy oozing off of him. "I was just about to unwrap it."
"Let's see. Not more books, huh Dean?" Castiel asks.
"What? And listen to mom read them out loud for the whole house? No way,
learned my lesson, dude."
"Hey, they're educational!" Sam protests as Cas begins, "don't dude me, kiddo!"
They both continue speaking over each other, tumbling through their words like
they often do. It reminds Dean of when he was younger. "You'll thank me when
you're in high school, acing history exams," Sam says. "I'm your dad. If you
were born a decade earlier, you'd be calling me sir," Cas adds, half-serious of
course. Yeah, right. Sir. Castiel is not that kind of dad, period, not now or
three centuries earlier. He's a cool dad, Dean admits in his head.
"Woah!" Dean chuckles at how they're speaking over each other. "Whatever, just
open it, mom."
Sam does. The surprise on his parents faces is fleeting; Sam’s is immediately
replaced with confusion. Castiel looks cautiously entertained. Looks like the
subject of dresses has been broached before, Dean theorises in his head, and
been shot down if mommy's very manly wardrobe is any indication.
Sam unfolds the dress and holds it away to take a good look at it. He clears
his throat. "It's an interesting choice, Dean." He doesn't comment on it
further, and Dean while senses Sam might now be flustered, his mommy is mostly
unreadable.
"Well, good luck getting him to wear that," Castiel says with a shadow of a
smirk. Sam glares at him, outright glares at him. Not good. This totally throws
Dean off.
In truth, he expected Sam to laugh out loud, then, after some face-saving
banter and some struggling, agree to wear it, because it's Dean's gift and he
loves Dean.
He was even prepared for a little rebellion, after which he was ready to
playfully challenge Sammy to wear it, "To prove you're confident in your
masculinity, mom!" Sam always rises up to challenges; it's how his mommy's
built.
At least Dean was praying for either of these scenarios. He was practically
dying to see his mommy all dolled up in this dress.
But the situation, though initially cheerful, is gaining this strange
intensity, fast.
"You don't like it?" Dean asks, now pouting a little.
He doesn't get an answer immediately, so he adds: "I can return it and get you
something else." There’s a too-sullen edge to his words. Be cool, Dean, a voice
in his head says.
But this is going sideways on Dean, very quickly. He's not amused.
The pout yields the desired effect, since Sam sighs and backtracks to his
happy-self, mostly. "Sweetheart, I didn't say I don't like it. I-I do."
"Of course you do," Dean says, still sullen and prickly around the edges. It’s
clear that Sam doesn’t like the gift.
Sam sighs again.
"It's just, it's not me, Dean. You know your mom. I never wear dresses. I'm not
going to start now."
"Why not?" Dean shoots back.
"It's not who I am."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm not fond of them," Sam says, choosing his words carefully.
"What's wrong with dresses?"
Castiel, who has so far been on the sidelines, interjects. "There's nothing
wrong with them, De. It's just that your mom isn’t comfortable wearing them.
And believe me, Sam and I have discussed it before."
"Mom's an omega," Dean says with a hint of a growl, like Sam's challenging him
by arguing his choice of gift, like Dean's being rejected, not the dress. Like
Sam rejects both him, and his own omega status. Why can't he just own up to it
and act like a regular omega? Now that he thinks of it, his mommy—thanks to
Castiel's lax discipline—is very beta.The realisation hits Dean and it annoys
him something bad.
Also, if Sam once discussed dresses openly with his dad, he can discuss it with
Dean. He's not a child. He can have a proper conversation about this like the
adult that he is. But for this conversation to happen, Sam has to be open about
it, not clam up like he's doing now ... like Dean's a stranger. It's insulting,
Dean thinks.
"A lot of omega men wear dresses!" he adds, for emphasis.
Now this comment seems to irk Sam. "Well, Dean, I'm not like a lot of Omega
men," Sam responds sharply, his voice getting louder, a vein in his neck
throbbing and the tone makes Dean flinch.
Silence.
Sam shakes his head, like he's quickly reprimanding himself for the small near-
outburst. He takes a deep breath again, and a small smile quirks his lips.
"Hey, Dean sweetie, you didn't know I hat'em. And it's a lovely gift, if it
weren't for me." Shit, Sam thinks, I'm making it worse. Pull yourself together
Sam. He quickly adds, "We're not returning it. Even if I know I'm not gonna
wear it, I'm keeping it if it means so much to you."
Who said anything about it meaning so much to me, Dean thinks stubbornly. Deep
inside, he knows he's just furious he got figured out. He's fuming now, burning
hot inside, but as per Dean, manages to project a different veneer and turn
cold on the outside. "Keep it or don't. I don't care," he says.
"For a child-bearing omega," He might as well. In for a penny ... "who
breastfeeds, whose kids call mommy," who gets dripping wet between his legs in
heat, who gets fucked on his back, who moans pretty like a girl ...He thinks it
but doesn't say it, if only for Castiel's benefit. "You sure as hell are picky
about what to wear."
If Sam's in denial of his own nature, Dean's not. He knows well what his mom
is. Dean pushes away from the counter he was leaning on and starts walking
away.
"Dean," Castiel calls firmly. His voice takes on a much darker shade now, all
earlier amusement gone. Dean stops and turns, slowly, staring back steadily at
his dad, and barely masking his displeasure.
"Behave, or I'll make you.” He steps forwards, seeming to loom over Dean, “Why
are you taking this so close to heart? This is your mother’s choice. You should
respect it. I do, and I'm the husband between us. The alpha here."
"Yeah," Dean says, looking away. You are. He just wants them both out of his
sight right now.
More silence. Castiel shifts back on his feet a little, as if remembering
Dean’s only thirteen and still a kid.
"Come on, De," Castiel huffs.
"Don't call me that," he hisses back.
"You're being childish," Castiel says, recognising all the signs that his son
is erecting walls around himself, clamming up.
Dean gaze turns colder, if possible, and he just stands there, waiting to be
dismissed.
"Okay," Castiel says, a moment later, scrubbing a hand across his face. When
Dean’s like this, it’s a lost cause. "You're not off the hook. We'll discuss
your behaviour later. I have some work to finish."
At thirteen, his kid is too old for spanking, and Cas doesn't enjoy giving it
but if he has to, he'll do it; but not now, maybe tonight. He'll talk to Sam
first. He normally knows better than to consult Sam on corporal punishment for
discipline, but, knowing his wife, Sam might be more hurt that he's letting on
at the moment, and so might green light it afterall.
Sam will have the final word on this, Cas decides, only this time.
This alpha-omega talk has made Sam's head spin. It’s always been his least
favorite subject, and he won't lie, it hurts to be referred by his son as an
omega with such disdain. Like he's a thing. Like his choices and likes and
whims should be dictated by his biology, not who he is beyond that. Sam has
lived most of his life fighting the notion that he's a label, a shell, and
that's why he chose Castiel as his mate, besides love, of course. Cas respects
his choices.
But Dean? His son is way too young to understand the complexities of it all –
the emotional baggage that comes with being an Omega. He was just making a
gesture, and according to Castiel, Dean has refused to pick a gift together
this year, or to take extra money for one, which means this was special for
Dean. Cas spilled the beans on Dean's gift hunt only this morning, out of
pride; he wanted Sam to know Dean is making an effort. Of course, Castiel
didn't know what Dean was particularly looking for. He just knew the boy wanted
to make his own pick, that he's putting some extra thought into it. And judging
from how much he's offended, Sam is sure Dean put a lot of thought into this
one.
"Dean, I'm sorry. I'm reacting badly. I shouldn't," Sam finally says, moving
towards his son, extending an arm to pull him into a hug. "You meant well, and
that's all that matters," he says as he holds Dean. "Thanks sweetie."
Dean doesn't hug back, just stands there passively. "You're not gonna hug mommy
back?" Sammy asks sweetly. Sam's gotten used to the growing intimacy between
them.
Dean, however, tenses his shoulder, doesn't move.
"Are you done?" Dean asks coolly a moment later from where he’s bundled up in
Sam's arms. It's Sam's turn to flinch. He pulls back and whispers, "Yeah,"
letting his son go. He watches with sad eyes as Dean climb the stairs of their
two-story house, probably to hole up in his room.
His son has shut down.
Dean avoids looking back as he withdraws from what he's sure are a pair of
misty eyes. He leaves his parents behind. Even he doesn't know how it all went
wrong so quickly, but the curling in his gut tells him he's glad to have them
out of his sight for now.
Chapter End Notes
     Still WIP. Shaping up to be longer than I thought. Story is roughly
     outlined in my head now, so stay with me :)
     The next chapter is DressGate's aftermath.
***** Withdrawal effects *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
It's been a week since DressGate - yup, that's what Dean calls it in his head
now, ever since his fantasies of seeing mommy in that dress came crashing down
around his ears. Well, a part of him knows he was being a bit of a drama queen
about it, but man, he's still pissed.
A couple of hours after that kitchen talk that sealed the fate of the white
dress, Cas came into Dean's room to talk. Dean's responses to his dad's
reprimand ranged from grunts to nods to "yes, sir"s that were laced with a hint
of sarcasm,and finally a reluctant ‘acknowledgment’ that, "sure, I was rude"
and "yeah, why not? I'll apologize."
His father knew better, of course. Dean was as hardheaded as his mom and as
shrewd as his dad. He wasn't ready to be forced into a change of heart about
what happened. No, he wasn't budging, that much was crystal clear to Cas, but
Dean wasn't too stupid to admit this either and risk getting grounded, or
worse, spanked like a child. It was a situation where they mutually agreed to
fake it and call it obedience.
So Dean was simply humoring his father, bending with the storm, occasionally
giving Castiel what he needed to hear, and Cas was going through the motions
too. Earlier, Sam wouldn't hear anything about "a spanking" or enforcing some
discipline, being consumed with guilt and convinced he should've just thanked
Dean and fake-promised to wear the damn dress so not to hurt his son's feelings
like this. Dean would've eventually forgotten the dress existed. He's a teen,
Sam reasoned, and teens have the attention spans of goldfish.
In short, Cas knew that he wasn't going to punish his boy per se, but he needed
to act the part of the angry dad and chastise his son for his attitude towards
his mom to avoid an encore.
But Sam wasn’t the only reason Cas was going a little easy on Dean.
If you pointed a gun to his head and forced him to talk, Cas would’ve
reluctantly admitted that he had his own reason: He understood.
A big part of Cas - though mad at the way Dean snapped at his mommy, on
Mother's Day of all days - knew where Dean is coming from.
See, not all Alphas are the same; Cas himself is a case in point.
Born and raised in a conservative house, where Alpha-Omega traditions were
strictly upheld and his father's word was law, Castiel still grew up to be a
liberal, of sorts. He broke ranks with the Winchester's stringent beliefs about
what Alpha-Beta-Omega gender roles entitled, and there was nothing his family
could do to change his mind. Knowing Sam has helped Cas solidify these liberal
tendencies, with Sam being outspoken, especially on Omega rights and their
freedom of choice and expression. Both of them frown upon archaic laws that
sometimes reduce Omegas to glorified breeding holes and whittle Alphas down to
talking knot-obsessed animals. They both reject this picture and their
lifestyle is a living proof.
Unlike other Alphas in his family, Cas is content with having only two
children, and would have been with just the one, knowing how much Sam's body
suffered during pregnancy and after. Alphas in Cas' family run tight ships,
each having at least a half dozen children whether their Omegas like it (or can
handle it) or not, some taking on beta mistresses besides their wives and
impregnating those too. "Spreading the seed, brother," his second cousin
Zachariah - father of nine - would say smugly.
His sex life with Sam is pretty vanilla, also atypical of Alpha-Omega
relationships where the Alpha usually assert their dominance through things
like sadomasochism, public claiming, painful bondage, prolonged orgasm denial
and forcing themselves on their mates. Some Alphas even dare to collar their
mates, like dogs. Castiel mentally cringes at the thought. He wouldn't dream of
doing any of that to his precious Sammy. His six-foot-four beautiful,
sensitive, delicate flower.
And although Castiel was beaming when his son presented as Alpha (his joy was a
guttural, knee-jerk reaction that couldn't be helped), he would've loved him
just the same if he had turned out to be Omega or Beta. He would've treated him
no differently.
But here he is - a considerate, loyal husband, an Alpha advocating equal gender
roles, and a father who set rules, but makes exceptions and often indulges his
family (Cas' cousin Gabe jokingly calls Castiel a "soccer dad," and again
Castiel isn't insulted by the sneer) - but his own son is apparently yearning
for the same Alpha-Omega dynamics he and Sam have once rejected.
What do you know, Cas thinks with a smile. My own father would have a field day
with this if he knows.Cas will try to make sure he doesn't ever.
If Castiel is reading this right, Dean is worming his way into becoming a
standard Alpha, and Cas simply can't get himself to punish his son for that.
Castiel is well aware that the aggressive, possessive, dark sexual tendencies
of Alphas are hardwired; people are not just their biology, sure, but innate
nature cannot be discounted. Being an Alpha himself, he knows it takes a lot to
reign in those tendencies, and if it weren't for Sam, Castiel himself might
have devolved.
In other countries of the world, things are different. In some places, omegas
aren’t even allowed to step a foot outside the house. Being seen with a mated
omega can land you a fine, even a flogging, depending on the nature of the
encounter; while in others, like Europe, for instance, alphas are generally
progressionists and the majority of omegas live like betas. Heck, in Paris, the
heart of the sexual revolution, Cas hears that omegas can take multiple
partners, "open relationships" and "free love" and all that. Even he can't
stomach this notion. Thinking about Sam being touched by someone else, just the
fleeting thought of it, makes his blood boil.
But in this society, traditional is the norm; him and Sam are the fringe
movement. Castiel's unconditional love for Sam, and his respect for their bond,
tamed him.
But as liberal as he is, by this society's standards at least, Castiel is also
open to the idea that perhaps his father's and his father's father's ways work
for some people; that relating to one's nature on this primal level may also be
a choice that he should respect.
So yes, he understands his son might not turn out to be like him, and as scary
as this idea is, if it turns out to be true, he'll have to accept it and only
step in if his son goes too far.
Dean didn't know all that, of course, but he sensed his father was surprisingly
level-headed about his rude outburst on that day. (Not that he regrets his
outburst.)
Dean, as agreed with Cas, murmured his apology, which of course his mommy
immediately accepted, even apologized back.  Dean still gave Sam the silent
treatment for almost a week. Serves Sam right.
He'd speak only when talked to, kept his words clipped, sometimes responds with
a mere shrug of the shoulders.
He stopped following his mom around the house and quit spending the afternoons
in his arms, lazing on the sofa, reading together or watching TV or looking on
as Sam breastfed his baby brother. Ever since his feelings had started last
year, right after Adam was born, Dean and his mom had developed an intimate
routine; not a day passed without them spending some time together, especially
since his dad usually worked late into the evening so it was mostly just them.
Sometimes, they even unfolded the living room's sofa bed, and took a nap
together. Sam would lie down with Adam's tiny body sprawled on his chest and
Dean glued to one hip, drooling on his shoulder, their legs tangled together.
Not this week, Dean thinks. This week, he spends all his free time letting off
steam in boxing training, or playing video games, surfing the internet for
movies or porn, just lying on his bed and bobbing his head to AC/DC or staring
at the ceiling, or sometimes, he'd jerk off and think of his mom.
He misses the intimacy, but he's holding his ground.
Part of him feels like teaching his mom a lesson. His omega. But the bigger
part is just plain hurt Sam rejected him like this.
His mom of course is miserable. Only a day ago, when he'd strolled into the
kitchen catching Sam off guard, he saw that his mom's eyes were red-rimmed and
teary, and he knew it was because of him; his mom was sensitive like that,
probably just as overly attached to Dean as Dean is to him. Not unlike him,
throughout the past year, his mommy's heart was thoroughly warmed by their
newfound closeness.
Sam actively encouraged and heavily reciprocated the displays of affections, in
all innocence, of course.
When his mom noticed him come in, he quickly rubbed his eyes, cleared his
throat, and asked him if he'd like something to eat. He did. They always had
lunch alone. Dean had always thought of this time as his lunch dates with his
mommy - with his dad out of the picture. They'd chat about random things,
discuss Adam's latest baby antics or Sam would listen to Dean talk excitedly
(or dejectedly, depending on the day) about his day at school, or out with
friends (if it's summer time).
But this day they didn't exchange a word throughout the meal. Dean didn't look
up from his plate, lest he be assaulted by a pair of doe-eyes that would
probably make him lose all resolve. Time inched forward at an excruciatingly
slow pace. On Dean's life, that meal was the longest 15 minutes of his
existence.
Only at the end of that week, after they'd run into each other in the hallway,
did the ice melt.
Dad was away for the day; he went fishing with his friends, the outing was
planned weeks in advance, and Sam had stayed in to take care of Adam and Dean.
He'd put Adam to sleep, after nursing him, and slipped into the shower. Sam
stood under the hot water for close to 20 minutes trying to ease the tension in
his shoulders and back. When he was done, he pulled a large towel around
himself, covering up his swollen chest as well, and left the bathroom. Because
of his figure, even the oversized towel didn't decently hide his nakedness
enough.
The towel just barely covered his limp swinging prick, and if he bends forward
just a little, his bare ass would jut out.
He should invest in a large fluffy bathrobe, pamper himself a bit, Sam thinks.
Heading out of his room for a reprieve from his self-imposed incarceration,
Dean sees his mom come out of the bathroom, just opposite from him, at the same
time. He was nude except for a towel, obscenely short, and failing to hide the
miles of long legs, still damp from his shower apparently.
The towel wrapped tightly around his chest pushed up the swell of Sam's mounds
giving him a bit of cleavage. Sam's thighs are muscled, and well-defined, and
in contrast, his tits are soft and feminine (probably leaking milk right now,
Dean thinks). The son's gaze moves over his mommy, his mouth going dry.
The man standing in front of Dean is gorgeous. And it's too late to turn away
and hide in his room.
"Hey, sweetheart," Sam says awkwardly. He takes a deep breath and looks Dean
right in the eyes. The doe eyes, damn it. Dean's screwed. "Still not talking to
me?" Sam says, biting his lower lip, wetting it then releasing it. It's shiny
now, friggin' edible. Dean's a little gone.
"No, mom, we're OK. I was just a little taken back," Dean says. He won't say he
was hurt. He's too proud to admit it to his mom's face.
"You know, Dean," his mom begins, and mid-sentence, he looks away for a second
and lifts his hands and runs them through his wet hair. When he does, the towel
rides up an inch or two, and Dean catches a glimpse of his mommy's flaccid
cock. Just the tip. Dean swallows audibly, blood pooling to his groin. Sam
continues, "I was hurt too."
Dean swallows again, and his voice comes out hoarser than he'd intended,
"Yeah?"
"Yeah Dean," his mom says. "The way you spoke about me. You know, being an
omega. That was--that wasn't nice, sweetie."
That damn subject again.
"But you're an omega, mom," he says stubbornly, his half-arousal wilting. He
doesn't want to pick a fight again, so he flattens his tone, adding: "I meant
no disrespect. I was just stating a fact. It is who you are, mom."
"Well one day sweetie, we need to sit and have a good talk about this. 'Least
when I'm not half-naked and dripping water all over the carpet," Sam says and
smiles. "I'm not like other omegas, and I'm sure you've noticed that. Cas and I
..." Gulp.
Dean could see his mom's Adam apple bobbing as he swallows.
"Your dad and I, we do things differently, and we don't care for a second what
society says about that. I'd like to keep it this way," Sam explains. But his
tone is apologetic now. It doesn't carry the sting or resoluteness than it did
a week ago when they first discussed the dress.
Still means no dress.  God, he's turning into a knot-head.
"Yeah, I can see that," Dean says, feeling a little defeated.
"You don't like it," Sam says, and it's not a question. He looks guilty, like
he's disappointed Dean.
"Does it matter?"
"Sweetheart, you just don't understand it well enough—"
"Then make me! Help me understand it."
"Ok, first off, I wanna know ... why do you wanna see me in a dress? Is it that
important to you that I be like other omega moms?" Sam asks, and he's genuinely
curious. The conversation might linger, so Sam leans back against the now
closed bathroom door, easing his posture and making himself a tiny bit more
comfortable.
"Yes," Dean says without thinking. Sam's reading this wrong, it's not about
other omegas and what they do, it's about you, mommy, being my omega. But
that's okay. If Sammy reads him right, Dean's screwed. "I mean, would it hurt
to be normal, on occasion, do what everyone else does?"
He rests his back against his door too, mirroring his mommy's more relaxed
posture.
"It's not only that," Dean says softly then pounds his head back lightly,
against the door. "It's just that you're--you're so damn beautiful, mom." He
guesses he can get away with a little swearing right now. "It's ridiculous. It
takes my breath away sometimes. And I just want to see you in something nice,
that brings it all out, you know, how pretty you are. It's not like I'm asking
you to wear dresses all the time." A lie. "Just once or twice. For me."
He's finding it hard to explain without being explicit. "And it's different
than anything else you have. If you wear it, it makes you ..." Mine. "It's--And
I--it's just that." Dean looks down, suddenly interested in the carpet pattern
beneath his feet.
Sam nods his head slowly, though part of him is visibly trying to fill the gaps
between Dean's words, to decipher the pauses and the stutters. That part gives
up. Sam looks touched by the declaration though.
Then he surprises Dean.
"Ok, I'll think about it."
"Really?" Dean's head shoots up.
"Yeah. Really," Sam says smiling big. "Now, ready to give me a big, old hug?"
He says spreading his arms wide.
Dean throws himself into Sammy's arms without an ounce of hesitation. His mom
huffs out a breath at the contact then giggles at his son's sudden enthusiasm,
in the wake of a dead cold miserable week.
If it'll keep Dean in his arms, where he belongs, Sammy will man up and wear
the stupid dress. It's totally worth it, he concludes.
They stay locked in a tight embrace, neither wanting to let go first.
Dean's head rests comfortably under Sam's chin, his own chin lying on top of
Sammy's breasts. At 13, Dean is one tall boy; and he'll grow taller still. But
Sam is huge.
He's huge and ripe, and soft and solid, and the smell of his soap-clean skin,
and his flower-scented shampoo, washes over Dean and calms him. Sam smells like
home, he is Dean's home.
The fuzzy feelings soon start getting replaced by heat, and Dean feels it in
his belly and beneath. He knows that if he lets this hug drag on for much
longer, he'll get hard, fast. So he pulls back a little.
His mom doesn't let go completely.
"I'm sorry mom." This time Dean means it. "I was too hard on you. You're not
just an omega to me."
"I know, Dean," Sam's gaze doesn't falter. "I guess I overreacted too. I have
my baggage, and sometimes, I keep it close to the surface. There's nothing
wrong with being an omega, buddy. A male omega. And I-I know that. It's just
that I'd like to think I'm a little more than a child-bearing, breastfeeding
omega to the people I love," Sam says, repeating Dean's words from that day.
Dean catches on, of course.
"Mom, I didn't mean it this way. Not as an insult. Come on, I'm blessed that
you gave birth to me. To my brother. I'm blessed that my omeg--my mom is a man.
And breastfeeding, it's not something to be ashamed of. ... It's totally cool
actually!"
Hearing this, Sam giggles again. His smiles are contagious; Dean smiles wide
too. "You think so?" he asks.
"I know so, mom."
They gaze at each other for a moment. Then Dean does it. He pushes up, and
starts placing soft kisses along his mother's throat, sliding his lips against
skin as he moves down to Sam's collarbone. Kiss. "I'm sorry, mommy." Dean wets
his lips, then moves lower still. Along the swell of his tits. Kiss. Then
another. Then another. Small, wet butterfly pecks.
Then Dean pulls his arms out from around Sammy's waist. And ...
... He unknots the towel some, without unwrapping it completely, just enough to
reveal his mommy's breasts.
Sam lets him have this. Dean doesn't know why, he doesn't care. Sam's silent
except when his breath quickens a little as his tits are revealed. The nipples
harden under Dean's unwavering, hungry, gaze.
Sam's breasts are full, heavy with milk, his dusky buds are now hard and, like
always, a dark shade of pink. It's not like he hasn't seen his mommy's tits
before. But this, this is different. Dean senses his mommy knows it too, though
he might not be able to put a finger on why.
Right in front of Dean's eyes, a drop of milk forms on one duct and trickles
down. Dean catches it with a finger and licks it. Then places a chaste kiss on
each nipple, whispering I'm sorry, his lips brushing the nipples as he speaks.
He hikes the towel back up, then braves a look at Sammy. His mommy's cheeks are
flaming, he looks shy, confused perhaps but--his eyes are full of love. Like
always. "Thank you, Dean," he whispers, clutching Dean's hands and pulling them
to his lips. He places a kiss inside of each palm.
...
The following Saturday, Dean wakes up to some music blaring from the kitchen,
and his mom singing along, probably dramatically, performing for Adam who
usually squeaks and laughs at his mommy's theatrics. It's Angus and Julia
Stone's Big Jet Plane, Dean recognizes the lyrics and secretly judges himself
for it. His mom, the romantic. Argh, what happened to sweet old Metallica, mom?
He thinks. He hates mornings. He splashes his face with water, brushes his
teeth, and walks down.
And there he is. His mommy Sam in a white dress.
The white dress.
Adam is already up of course, in his high chair, spitting out food and making a
happy mess. Mommy's lips quirk into a big smile when he sees Dean come in. He's
prepared a big breakfast. Eggs and sizzling hot bacon, pancakes and orange
juice.
Mommy gives him a quick pec on the cheek. Then swirls around, showing himself.
"What do you think?" Sam asks, a little shy from the looks of it. "Your daddy
is out of town, and I thought I could just put it on for a few hours. It could
be our little secret. Until I'm comfortable enough to wear it again, if I'm
comfortable enough." Dean almost doesn't believe his ears. Their secret.
Castiel is not going to have a piece of this. This is just for him?
Dean looks at Sam, from head to toe, taking it all in. The dress falls low on
Sam's back, revealing it all.
The dress is not low-cut on the front, but the outline of Sam's pecs is clear,
the hard nipples are poking out through two damp - now transparent - spots on
the front, and Dean's eyes linger there for a bit. Sam notices, and quickly
explains to Dean that the spots are washable. It's just milk. "It won't stain,"
he says. "This dress doesn't go well with any of my bras."
And thank the Lord for that, Dean thinks, his eyes going back to those wet
spots. His cheeks burn hot and his cock gives a twitch. Then another when
Dean's eyes move down along the expanse of Sam's body, all the way from his
floppy hair to his bare toes stopping at the high-cut slit at the front of
Sam's dress.
Every time he moves around the kitchen, the open sides of the skirt flutter
revealing Sam's thick thighs and long unshaved legs. My heart, Dean thinks.
Dean needs to sit down, he decides, and hide what will soon be an
embarrassingly full arousal behind the kitchen table.
When he does, he takes several deep breaths, thinks of big fat spiders, grandpa
and grandma going at it and other ugly things that could help his erection die
down. He succeeds a little, and his length falls to half-mast. Phew, disaster
averted. Mostly.
...
Later this evening, Dean walks into the living room to find his mommy snoozing
on the sofa. He still tires easily, ever since Adam, and he usually collapses
by late afternoon, or early evening. Sammy is half sitting up, half lying down,
his back resting against the arm of the sofa and his head is falling on his
shoulder. Fatigue left him boneless, apparently, and drooling a little and Dean
finds the latter adorable instead of gross.
Sam's mouth is slightly open, one arm falling to the floor, the other on his
chest. One knee is slightly bent, resting against the back of the couch, the
other is bent up and away, hiking up the dress, the skirt of it falling wide
open and putting Sam on display. Not used to being in a dress, Sam's body is
accustomed to comfort and openness. Being in shorts or pants all the time, it's
subconscious; Sam's not used to closing his thighs or crossing his legs to hide
his modesty, which is right now beautifully exhibited.
Dean's eyes flicker to between his mommy's lax legs, and Sam's white briefs are
in full view.
His heart races.
His mom is spread out like a delicious treat for his eyes only.
Dean moves closer, almost on tip toe, trying to be as quiet as he can. Don't
wake up mommy please, Dean thinks. Just let me see, show me please. Show
me.Dean keeps repeating this like a mantra in his head as he approaches his
mom.
He's kneeling by the sofa now. His heart almost stops at what he glimpses. A
fire burns hot in his belly. His gaze gets fixed between Sam's spread legs, and
...
... in his sleep, Sam's slack briefs have slipped to the side and now part of
Sam's hairy sac is exposed. Dean can't stop staring, and it feels dirty wrong,
in all the right ways.
He keeps staring, mesmerized, his own chest rising and falling sucking in
breaths at double speed.
Dean wishes he could bend forward and take Sam's naked heavy balls into his
mouth and suck, lick a wet stripe across Sam's junk, mouth at the head through
the cottony fabric. Dean's own cock fattens up as his gaze travels between
Sam's open mouth, slack briefs and his covered tits. His hips jerk. Once,
twice. He starts alternating between rubbing his cock to give himself some
relief, then kneading his balls (almost bruisingly) to stop himself from
creaming his underwear. He desperately wants to rut against the couch, or
better his mommy, but he can't chance Sam waking up.
His own briefs are now damp with precome.
He plucks up some courage, and runs a finger against mommy's balls. He looks up
at his face. Sammy hasn't even stirred, his mommy is fast asleep.
Then without hesitating, Dean takes the rim of the threadbare, loose fabric and
stretches it to the side exposing more of the hidden treasure beneath. He can
now see cock.
For an Omega, Sammy is well endowed.
Now that he can see everything, Dean can't stop looking at his mommy's nuts and
flaccid prick.
He wants to take Sam into his mouth and taste him there, nibble on the flesh.
Perhaps bury his nose under Sam's sac, take several deep breaths. Smell his
mommy down there, take in the pure omega scent.
He wants to breathe his mommy.
But he can't, not now, so instead, he kisses, very lightly. Nuzzling Sam's
exposed bag, the inside of his thigh, his cock.
He releases the briefs, letting them go slack again.
Before he stands up to go back to his room - find some release there, jerking
off to the memory of this display - Dean fondles Sam's mounds a little, brushes
the pads of his thumbs across mommy's engorged nipples, then leans in and
kisses the corner of his mouth.
One day he'll be able to touch his mom like this when he's awake, he tells
himself. Holding this thought, Dean gets up and walks away.
Chapter End Notes
     The plan? Dean will become more sexually aggressive as he grows up.
***** Getting a taste *****
Chapter Notes
     I got busy so this is just a short one, compared to the previous
     ones. I promise you that a longer, juicier chapter is coming up
     soonish, with some sex, angst, drama and tears. Stay tuned.
     This is my first ever slash fic so of course feedback is more than
     welcome.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Dean and his mommy have become inseparable, to the point where Dean's chest
aches when he's away from him for too long whether he’d be at school; in boxing
training, with friends, or those times when his parents (the lovebirds) would
go out on dates, or spend some alone-time together.
It's the reason why weekday afternoons are now near-sacred to Dean. It's his
time with mommy before he gets busy with homework, or, before he gets picked up
and dropped off to training or to see his friends.
Dean doesn't hold back during those times: He doesn't stop touching his mom,
whether he is  hugging, fake-wrestling, horsing around, "accidentally"
 touching Sammy's breasts or groin or ass, lying in Sammy's arms or even on his
lap, running his hands through mommy's hair, nuzzling his jaw, his neck,
smacking kisses on his hands and fingers, rubbing their noses together and a
few times, kissing him right on the lips. Mommy basks in the attention and
love.
Of course he does, Dean thinks.
Dad told Dean that Sam had a tough childhood; his father was mostly absent and
when he was around he didn't pay much attention to his kids, and Sam's mom was
anything but warm. It's part of the reason why Sam is openly affectionate—over
compensation for a starved childhood—while avoiding his mother's parenting
model in the process. Unlike his parents, Sam prioritises bonding with his
family and is programmed—not just to give love —but take love where he can take
it; he's like a bottomless pit, always craving what he grew up missing. And of
course, he worships at the altar of his husband and kids.
Besides, Dean is convinced his mommy was already his; he just has to ease him
into the realisation. And so far, his mommy is very responsive.
Right now, they’re sitting on the living room sofa again in their typical
position, Adam in his mommy's arms, nursing, with Dean half lying on top of his
mom, practically straddling a thigh. With the way they're snuggled, Dean's own
chest is squishing Sam's currently unoccupied breast.
Dean has convinced his mom to lose the shirt while he's nursing, saying things
like "easier," "you run too hot mommy when you're nursing, this way you won't
sweat in it," yadda yadda. Sammy would still keep his bra on, and just free one
boob at a time to feed Adam, but Dean isn’t complaining. As long as there's
progress, he's good.
Dean's cheek is touching Sammy's collarbone skin-on-skin where his head is
lying. Sam's scent is heavier, more filling. Two of Dean's fingers are absently
circling the skin around where Adam's mouth is latching on and suckling. Dean
is lost in the sight before him. He's a visual person. He likes looking.
His mommy is relaxed, and from time to time, he'll turn his head and kiss
Dean's forehead.
Sometimes when they're in a different position, when Dean is just laying a head
on Sammy's shoulder instead of half-blanketing him like he is now, he would
gently knead Sammy's free milk-swollen breast as he watches Adam or talks with
his mom. Dean likes feeling up the nipple poking through the bra, caressing it,
playing with it until it's fully erect. He'd feel feather-light shivers running
through his mommy's body as he does. If Dean wasn't listening to every small
response, registering every twitch and ripple, consumingly tuned in to his
Sammy's body as he is, he would've missed it.
Sometimes, he would finger Sammy's navel, or run the pads of his fingers along
his treasure trail, from the navel and down to the rim of his shorts or sweats,
then back up again. Sometimes, he just rubs his mom's belly in soothing
circles, like his mom would do when he has a belly ache. Other times, Dean
would just rest a hand near his mom's groin, his pinky rubbing absently,
stroking against Sammy's genitals.
"I'm gonna miss those," Dean says now, as he touches where Adam's lips meet
skin. "When you wean Adam off," he elaborates.
"Trust me, sweetheart, mommy won't. They're heavy, and they're painful
sometimes."
"How long did I nurse on them when I was a baby?"
"Almost two years. You were weaned early, and you didn't give me any trouble at
all. Unlike Mister Adam here who I think is gonna give me a hard time," Sam
says, his tone full of love.
Adam is around 16 months old, so thankfully Dean will get to enjoy the sight of
his mommy's C-cups for a bit longer. He can only hope Adam proves hard to wean
off. He knows some kids keep nursing until the age of 9 or 10, especially in
traditional households. His grandma once told him that his uncles and dad
nursed for roughly 4-5 years, and that was considered too little time back
then.
Sammy told him that his breasts will eventually get smaller when he stops
breastfeeding, "I'll never be flat-chested again. Your body changes forever,
you know, after having children. But it won't be as big and full as it is now,
thank God."
But Dean won't start mourning them yet.
"I don't remember," Dean says.
"What? Being breastfed? No one does, sweetheart."
A pregnant pause.
"Mommy, can I get a taste?" he blurts out.
His mom just laughs softly.
"Please?"
"Someone's curious, alright. You're probably the first big kid I've heard of
who's not terribly grossed out by the idea," Sam says.
Dean scrunches his nose in genuine bewilderment and looks up at his mom, "Why
would I? It's food for my baby brother. It'll help him get big, like me. And
you have a nice chest, mommy. Breastfeeding is beautiful." Your titties are
beautiful.
"Aww, baby, now you're waxing lyrical," Sam says, leaning in to press a peck on
the tip of Dean's nose.
"So can I?" Dean insists.
Sammy huffs a breath, and says, "Yeah, sweetheart. Why not?"
Dean starts to sit up. Sam looks a little surprised.
"What, now?"
"No, mommy, when I'm in college,"  he smiles. "Of course now!"
"Alright," Sam says, sits up himself and eases Adam off his breast for a
moment. Dean helps him hold Adam while he unclasps his bra and takes it off
completely.
Dean can immediately sense his mommy is feeling somewhat self-conscious at
getting topless, and he avoids looking at Dean.
Dean doesn't understand why: Sammy's tits are very pretty, and his nips are
hard and pointy, they're fucking gorgeous. If it were up to him, he'd make his
mommy walk shirtless around the house.
Scratch that, if it were, his mommy wouldn't be allowed to put clothes on
inside the house. He'd have him barefoot and butt naked 24/7.
When Adam is settled again, Dean doesn't waste a breath and swoops in to take
the other breast in his mouth. He begins sucking right away, like he'd been
thirsty for weeks.
He's on a high, right now, doesn't even believe he's getting away with this.
Probably hurting mommy from the sound of it, but Sammy's whimpers only excite
Dean more, his dick now taking interest and pushing against his zipper.
He hopes his mom doesn't notice this side-effect.
"Easy, Dean," mommy says moments later and squeezes his shoulders with his free
hand to get his attention. Dean looks up at him as he continues to suckle, his
mouth still working, but Sammy's eyes are squeezed shut and his breathing is
coming out a little faster. He's biting on his lower lip.
"Don't bite the nipple, baby. Wait--Dean!" He pushes him away, suddenly. Dean
pulls back a little, a thin line of spit connecting his mouth to the hard nip
he just parted with. He regards his mom innocently.
"You're hurting mommy, De," Sam says.
"What should I do, then," Dean asks, inching closer so now his lips are
brushing against the bud as he speaks softly, "to make you feel good, mommy."
His voice is vibrating against the nipple. He adds, "I mean, so you'd feel less
pain."
"You're sucking too hard, sweetheart," Sam holds Dean's head against his bare
chest, with one hand. "Open wide ... wider, honey," Sam says then pushes the
tit back in. Dean latches on again, but this time keeps his mouth slack,
waiting for more instructions. "Don't just take the tip. Don't latch on just
the end, De. The nipple should be touching your tongue, not pinched between
your teeth." Sam explains. Oh mom, you're killing me here.
Dean begins sucking, as told. "Yeah, that's right, just put enough pressure
there to get some milk out. Don't rush, and don't bite down. Th-that's good,
baby."
Dean is enjoying this too much, his arousal at mommy's brand of accidental
dirty talk is making him a little dizzy. He can’t help the moans that escape
him. His hips hitch too despite his efforts to control his downstairs brain.
Before his mom suspects he's nearly bringing himself off as he does this, with
all the moans and twitching, he takes his mouth away, and mutters "It's
delicious, mommy," as innocently as he can. His eyes never leave his mother’s
chest for a moment, then he goes back and continues suckling.
He doesn't do it for longer though. His mom soon pushes him away, telling him
to leave some for Adam, doesn't put the bra back on, but puts on the shirt.
While he does, Dean adjusts himself so his arousal is not visible.
Sam looks somewhat uncomfortable. And when he's settled back, he doesn't pull
Dean back in his arms. He just ruffles his hair and asks him if he's got
homework to do. It's Sammy's polite, loving way of dismissing him.
Dean kind of expected this; when things become a little strange, like when Dean
started making a habit of kissing Sam's neck or his jaw, or when he started
placing soft pecks on his lips, wires are crossed a little for Sam, and he'll
get momentarily confused or falter instead of reciprocating or thinking nothing
of it.
But every time he'd end up embracing the change in dynamics.
Dean knows his mother is enjoying all this as much as he.
The first time Dean kissed him full on the mouth, Sam didn't exactly kiss back,
and asked humorously, "What was that for?" Dean just shrugged, not wanting to
make it look like a big deal, like he didn't know where the question is coming
from, like something is up with Sammy if he's asking. Dean just told him, he
"just felt like it."Can't a son give his mommy an innocent, chaste kiss?
The last time they kissed? It was his mommy who puckered up and presented his
lips for kissing. Dean was ecstatic. He gripped mommy's waist and gave him a
big old wet kiss. No spit was exchanged or anything, but Dean parted his mouth
a bit as he kissed. He consciously pressed his lips a few seconds too long, the
tip of his tongue prodded Sammy's sealed lips, then nibbled on his lower lip
dragging it with him. When Dean pulled back from the kiss, Sam's lip slipped
from his mouth with a soft pop.
The kiss was yummy. Dean had raised his game, and it could only get better from
there.
So now, Dean decided he won't read too much into Sam's discomfort at the
breastfeeding experiment; perhaps his mommy did realise on some level that it
was slightly erotic for Dean. Perhaps Sam sensed his arousal, smelled it, or
caught a glimpse of his growing bulge before he had a chance to adjust. Or not.
His mommy is very innocent and worships Dean.
In all cases, Dean knows like he knows like he knows that he won't be denied
this if he asks for it again (and he will).
Call it an alpha hunch.
Chapter End Notes
     On the alpha nature of Castiel: I realized after chapter 3 that I
     described Cas in two different ways: once as a traditional yet
     flexible and understanding alpha in chapter 1, and another as a
     "liberal, sort of" alpha in chapter 3, who broke ranks with family
     tradition when he relinquished their ultra-conservative lifestyle. I
     went back of course, and fixed this, compromising in favor of the
     view that sees Cas as slightly progressionist and atypical.
     That said, Cas might think he's more liberal than he is. Yes, he
     grants his family liberties other traditional families won't allow,
     he's monogamous, he's not sexually aggressive, etc. ... but he would
     never do certain things: like let Sam get a job, for instance (it's
     seen as "degrading" for mated omegas to labor outside of the house).
     He'd never allow Sam to travel alone, unless accompanied by another
     alpha relative. When they started their relationship, Cas convinced
     Sam that going to university was a bad idea. Sure, more than ever,
     more and more omegas have been seeking higher education. But it was
     generally more of a beta and alpha thing. Besides, male omegas
     weren't that common, and he hated the idea of his Sammy being
     outnumbered like that, away from his watchful eyes. Sure, Cas
     discussed his reasons with Sam, and wasn't immediately dismissive of
     that particular idea, but he knew he wasn't going to change his mind
     about it. From his end, Sam didn't push too hard on some things; he
     knew Cas was already fighting the tide on many aspects.
     Cas' family didn't approve of his bonding to Sam, but Cas fought for
     him tooth and nail. He paid a hefty price: His father cut him out for
     the first few years of his marriage, and barred him from being part
     of the family business. And his father's ill feelings didn't change
     for the better until much later.
     Sam had wanted to start an American History degree, long distance,
     but with Dean being born, he got too busy and was forced to drop the
     idea. By the time Dean was old enough for Sam to put aside some free
     time for studying, Sam had lost interest altogether, being wholly
     focused on and devoted to his son.
     And so yes, there were some traditional beliefs that Castiel couldn't
     let go of, others he was happy to re-consider and yet others that he
     have done without altogether. There.
     Let me know if there's any confusion there, and I'm happy clarify or
     edit the text to make it all better. Hope you're still enjoying this.
***** What you don't know ... *****
Chapter Summary
     So as not to keep you waiting any longer, I'm posting this chapter in
     two parts :-) Hope you like the first installment.
     Dean is now 14 years old.
Dean was steadily taking more and more from his mommy. Now, the kisses are
wetter, the touches last longer, and he doesn't even need Adam to be hanging
off a breast in order to go ahead and take out one of his mommy's tits and
start suckling.
Months after the first time he tasted the milky buds, it's now a familiar thing
for Dean, during their idling on the sofa, to slide his hand under Sammy's
shirt or bra and start fondling his breasts.
He can't grope his mommy between his legs yet, and he hasn't even suggested
they spend their quality time in less clothing (like he'd like to), but he's
getting there.
Already, he now gets away with placing an open palm low on Sammy's stomach,
inching down bit by bit until he can push past the rims of his mommy's sweats
and shorts and graze his fingers lightly through his coarse pubic hair.
Sometimes, he simply tugs down the waistband of his mommy's sweats some and
enjoys the view.
Some days, Sam's so exhausted—thanks to two-year-old Adam—who spends his time
trying his legs at walking, experimenting with different ways of face planting
into the carpet, throwing stuff around, or throwing tantrums, and forever
demanding more attention from their mommy. And Dean offers a helping hand,
quite literally, by giving Sammy a head massage or, sometimes, a foot rub.
He's seen his dad do that sometimes, and realized he wants in.
He loves giving his mom some relief but also likes to show him that he, too,
can be a caring Alpha. On top of that, he enjoys rubbing Sam's head to coax out
those orgasmic sounds his mommy unwittingly makes when he does. He loves
carding his fingers through Sam's silky soft hair, or kissing the underside of
Sam's feet after he's done kneading them, and rolling and pulling the toes.
Dean loves his mommy's toes. Is there anything about this man that's not
downright pretty?
Dean even skimmed through a book at his school's library and saw an educational
video online on how to give proper (medical) massages, and if you know him
well, Dean doesn't read books, mind you, and educational videos are for ...
well, not for him.
But what his mommy doesn't know is that he plans on taking this further into
the realm of shoulder and back rubs, and one day, full body massages, where his
mommy would be lying in briefs, or better still fully undressed, and naked to
his gaze and at his mercy. This way, Dean has a legitimate excuse to touch and
squeeze everywhere, without needing to distract his mommy during, or making a
gazillion baby steps over the course of several months first.
Dean thinks he only has to tactfully play this one card right, and his mom
might not even think it too odd to be laid out, face down on his marriage bed,
legs splayed, holding his cheeks apart for his son, so Dean could massage his
asshole  ... you know, to "ease the tension there, release pressure, relax the
lower back" and all that. Dean will find something to say, he's sure, to make
it sound like it's anything but erotic for him. He fantasizes about this
scenario a lot.
He'll just have to wear a cock-ring while he's having this particular
conversation so he won't blow his load too early and—yes, at 14, and interested
in anything sex-related—Dean of course knows what a cock-ring is, though he's
not of legal age to buy one if he desires. Dean's best friend, Benny, happens
to be as obsessed with sex and body parts as Dean is, so they talk about these
things all the time, especially during recesses at school where they can ogle
girls and undress them with their eyes. Benny has popped his knot this year, a
month after turning 14, and although he hasn't experienced a rut yet, his
libido is often sky high.
As an early bloomer, Dean has started to feel the heat too only this year.
Before turning 14, scenting an omega's heat used to wash over him without
reducing him to a boneless mess. Only his mom would make his blood run warm and
pool to his groin. Now, his reactions are becoming more intense and spread out;
he reacts to other omegas and betas, and his senses are becoming sharper.
It's all typical of Alphas who've presented very early; they don't feel much
for the first two to three years after their knots pop, then suddenly,
overnight seemingly, they feel everything.
Dad had, long ago, given Dean the birds and the bees talk, and explained to him
that it was OK for him to get off in the privacy of his room or in the shower
if he started feeling the heat badly. In fact, it's physically draining and
very unhealthy for an alpha to fight their heat, or force it to die out, if it
hits hard. So he actually has to do it.
Of course, kids younger than sixteen aren't allowed porn, or sexual activity,
so they're expected to get off using their imagination and plain old friction
techniques.
Sure, with his sexy mommy strutting around the house looking gorgeous and
edible, Dean has a loaded spunk bank in his head, usually featuring mommy in
different compromising positions, naked or in purple lace panties that he holds
aside for Dean so he can fuck into him. In these  imaginary scenarios Sammy
always begs prettily and tells him he's his.
But at "horny 14," Dean still needs the aid of skin mags - which Benny smuggles
from his dad's ever-growing collection - and he also blows steam with girls in
school. He flirts, touches, makes out with them behind the bleachers, groping
them everywhere, pulling down the zipper of his pants, lifting up skirts,
grinding cock against pussy through underwear, usually soaked wet with precome.
Once he's ejaculated several times with the same girl, he moves on to another.
He rarely stays in these mock relationships for over a couple of months.
And oh, did Dean ever mention that he's a jock? Yes, he's sexy as hell and he
knows it. His grandma had once predicted that he'd be a heart-breaker, and he
kinda is—he thinks—and he's not even 16 yet. Being athletic and strong for his
age helps his case, and usually it inspires girls to drop their panties for
him. Not just girls his age, but girls who're a year or two older, and in
school, that's a feat!
His sexual encounters with the girls are mechanical though, more often than
not, and always without any emotional investment (though Dean has mastered the
seductive art of sweet talking, which is mostly pretty-sounding nonsense that
the girls obviously swoon to, but is the closest thing to "affection" Dean can
give away to these girls).
He's not cheating on his mom, Dean reasons. He and Sam are a done deal. He
tells himself every night—the ghost of Sam’s lips on his—that he hasto use the
girls, considering how often he needs to calm down little Dean who springs up
and stands at attention whenever the wind blows a little too strongly or a
whiff of omega in heat tickles his nose.
Ever since he popped his knot two years earlier, around the time his baby
brother was born, his mom hasn't really experienced heat.
After giving birth, Sammy was weak - some omega males suffer profoundly during
conception and child-breaking, and to top this off, he was one of those omegas
whose bodies stopped producing certain hormones right after birth, which gave
him intense hot flashes, menopause-like symptoms specific to omegas, and pains,
especially during sex. His mom had explained it to him last year when he asked
him about his lack of heats.
Besides the regular post-pregnancy medicines, Sam was put on a lot of omega
supplements shortly after birth for hormonal replacement, and some of these
automatically suppressed his ‘heat’ cycles as a side-effect, and it was a good
thing, since, in Sam's case, being in heat would've probably ravished and
weakened his body even more.
Heats take a toll on omega bodies.
That two-year medicinal schedule was up last week, however, and he heard Sammy
tell his dad that he'd have to start monitoring his cycle again. In hushed
whispers, he also heard them arrange the logistics. In short, what they'd do
with Adam and Dean during those three or four days when his mom's heat hit bad
and dad would have to ease its brunt (through frantic sex marathons, Dean
assumes, and immediately feels like emptying his stomach but manages to swallow
back the bile already rising in his throat).
When the time comes for it, Dean promised himself, he'll have to be around, do
what he can to help his mommy, so it's his touch that would soothe him instead
of his dad's.
Yes, Dean knows he can't make love to his mommy, not yet, but he can do other
things if his mom allows it.
Practicalities aside, the thought that his mom—because of his nature—can't
handle heats until he's fucked open on a dick constantly makes Dean angry at
the world. He can't stop thinking about it, right up until that day his mom
started permeating a shockingly pronounced scent that signaled the nearness of
his heat.
Right now, they're sitting at the dinner table, and his dad is holding
conference after dinner to discuss their new routine during the following four
days. Sam knows his heat will probably intensify some time tomorrow.  
Adam would have to stay at grandma's during the interlude, Cas explains. Being
a little over two years old now, he can't be without a present caretaker for
too long, and Sam will probably be too drained during the heat to give him the
attention that he needs. At grandma's he'll have a line of helpers to cater to
his every whim, and Aunt Naomi, Castiel's half-sister, who's still single,
adores Adam, and had already said she'd love to babysit him at their family
home for a few days.
Dean is so far silent.
It's like everyone around this table is pretending they're not essentially
talking about freeing the house for his dad to climb his mommy and do him.
What's wrong with his family? They're sitting here talking like they're making
vacation plans.
Dean is already sulking, trying to hide his increasing annoyance that his mom
looks glowing, cheeks blotched with red and eyes bright with want. In a first,
Dean feels like punching that look off of Sam. You know,practice some right
hooks on mommy's pretty, beaming face. And man, his right hooks are good!
Goddamn,he thinks. It immediately hits Dean how violent this image is and he
mentally cringes. He'd never intentionally hurt his mommy, not ever.
According to dad, Dean will have to spend his time after school with Mrs.
Harvelle, their next door neighbor, and her daughter Jo who's two years Dean's
junior and goes to the same school as Dean. Ellen will fetch them from school
every day for the next four day, and bring them back to her house, where Dean
will spend the rest of the afternoon and early evening until Cas helps mommy
take the edge off and he's settled and calmer, and it's time for Dean to go to
bed. Sugar-coated words for "Cas will send Dean away so he can fuck Sam into
the mattress, and pump him with his seed."
Cue bloody murder.
Dad will be off work, of course - companies happily accommodate Alphas
partnered with omegas (betas don't go into heat).
"What about my training?" Dean asks. He knows he'll already refuse the
arrangement whatever it is, but pretending to be interested in the details is a
good way to find a loophole and in turn an excuse to stay.
"I'll drive you there, and back again of course," Cas says matter-of-factly.
"Yeah, well, no! Dad, I don't wanna stay away all day. That's just terrible.
I'll be in my room."
"Not gonna work, buddy."
"I don't wanna hang out with either Mrs. Harvelle or her daughter."
"Why? Mrs. Harvelle is one of the swee--" It's Sam who speaks this time.
But Dean cuts him off. "She's a wench and her daughter is annoying as hell."
"Dean!" Cas bellows, "watch your language, young man!"
Dean ignores him, and fumes some more.
Sam suggests, "Would it be easier, sweetheart, to sleep over at grandma's, you
know, watch over Adam too?" Dean hesitates.
His mommy extends a hand to grip Dean's shoulders, probably to calm him a bit
seeing that he's getting flustered, but Dean shrugs it away.
If Dean has a say, he doesn't want Adam to leave the house to begin with. He
friggin' adores his baby brother, and he'd hate to be away from him for that
long too.Four days, dammit. This truly sucks balls.Under other circumstances,
he'd agree to watch over Adam in a blink. The little chubby boy is funny when
he half-talks, half mumbles nonsense and he's a cute as a button. He might have
had Dean a little whipped as well.
But no!
So, "No!" Dean says stubbornly. Castiel's parents live on the edge of town, and
to make arrangements to get Dean to and from school everyday while he stays
there might be problematic, so thankfully Cas shoots down this idea too.
"You don't have much of a choice, buddy," Castiel says, with a finality Dean
rejects.
"I. will. not. spend my days with Ellen and Jo," Dean repeats through gritted
teeth.
"It's Mrs. Harvelle," Dad corrects firmly.
Then he and Dean's mommy exchange meaningful looks.
"Look, Dean," Here it comes, and it's dad using his patronizing I-will-start-
explaining-this-in-small-words voice. Exasperating. "This is the first time
your mommy is going through heat while you're alpha. We don't know how strongly
your body will react to that, yet, and we don't want to make it too hard for
you. I mean, did you go through a rut before? during this past year? If you go
into a rut with an omega in heat in the same house, it's a problem. So ... did
you get a proper heat before?"
Dean glares daggers at his dad, then looks away, refusing to answer, grinding
his teeth.
"Okay, I'm guessing no! So the first time is always hard, and we don't want you
to experience it during a school week with your next set of exams so close.
It's different from being turned on. You already know that. And if your mom's
heat accidentally stirs your first heat, without relief, you might get sick,
Dean."
Dean knows that first heats are the absolute worst. He’s heard all the stories
about people forcing themselves on others during, or burning up when they fail
to find relief, and no, jacking off doesn't cut it with heats. An alpha can
control it only for so long, so he has to leave the proximity of any  omega or
take the omega; if he's around an omega in heat long enough without release,
like his dad said, he'll probably fall ill. It's why omegas take leave from
work, or school, during heats; both to avoid being jumped, raped, or molested,
and to spare alphas the pain. Some take suppressants and suffer their long list
of side effects.
In many ways, betas are the luckiest.
"Come on sweetie, it's for your own good to stay away during the worst of it,"
his mommy interjects, cheeks burning red, clearly embarrassed now that they're
openly talking about this.
"It's not for my good. It's for yours, mom," Dean says, and pushes his chair
back and stands up. "’Cause you're horny and you can't control yourself!"
"Dean!" Sam protests, but Dean's on a roll now.
"It's for him," Dean spits the words then points at Cas accusingly. His
finger’s shaking with rage and his own audacity. "Cause he's selfish too, and,
and he’s p-possessive and he can't even friggin' compete with another alpha!"
It's for you, Dad, so you can be alone with your bitch,Dean wants to say it
because it's true, and it definitely makes more sense than what he's babbling
right now which even he knows is a load of crap.
But how can he make them understand the wrongness of it all without sounding
like a jealous lover?
Both parents have stilled at his sudden antagonism: Sam’s staring like he can’t
believe what Dean’s saying, while Castiel, he–
"You know what, Dean?" Castiel says, his posture shifting. His eyes are glassy
and hostile, like he's calculating just how to lunge at Dean and strangle him.
"You're not part of this conversation anymore." He stands, the chair dragging
horribly across the floor like nails along a chalkboard. "The decision has been
made. In fact, it's an order."
Castiel is all intimidation and broad alpha. His hands are splayed out across
the table and white at the edges.
Dean is a little afraid of his dad now, of the darkness that is seemingly
gripping him, but he's not about to back down. So he squares his shoulders when
Cas moves closer and rises to his full height for effect. He's not that much
shorter than his dad. He'll probably outgrow him in a few years. But right now,
his father is towering over him a little menacingly.
His dad has never hurt him before, but Dean so far has not given him a reason
to.
Castiel is generally even-tempered, but if Dean's fair, his dad's temper has
never really been tested. Now that Dean thinks of it, he hasn't pushed him far
enough to see if he's capable of turning.
Dean is hard-headed and strong; he's a skilled boxer who's used to thinking on
his feet and strategizing—not book-smart like Adam or Sam—but in matters
involving conflict, he's far from stupid. He wouldn't take on an opponent
blind. And let's face it, if it comes down to wolf country, brute strength on
brute strength, wolf on wolf, his father can easily take him, irrelevant of
Dean's training.
And Castiel is in wolf mode now, with Sam's heat innervating his possessive
streak and his own rut stirring in response to Sam's and somewhat clouding his
senses.
"I'm not your soldier, and dad, when I'm done with school...” Dean stares
straight at his father, unwavering. “I'm coming right back here."
"God help me, I'm breaking both your legs if you step through that door a
single minute before I allow you to, Dean Winchester!" Cas shoots back, his
voice venomous.
"Castiel!" Sam shouts. He comes to stand between them, back to Dean, nudging
Castiel away. "How could you say something like this?" He splays his hands over
Castiel’s chest and shoves, "–to our son?!"
Sam's angry now. Good, he should be, Dean thinks. Looks much better on him than
that flushed, dreamy look he had a while earlier.
“Son?” Castiel half-roars. “What son is like this?!”
“Ours!” Sam’s hand spreads over Dean as though protecting him, and he must feel
the thud-thud of Dean’s heart pounding in his ribcage. They’re all locked in a
standoff where the only way forwards is through violence—Dean can see it
already, Castiel shoving forwards, Sam tumbling to the ground, a red whip-lash
of blood and a crackof Dean’s jaw.
Then Adam begins to cry, and it spears through the tension like a siren going
off.
He must’ve caught the distress in his mommy's voice. Adam's crying startles
Dean and immediately he feels guilty for upsetting his baby brother like this.
He wants to take him in his arms and shield him from everything, including
himself, but his mom moves first, plucking Adam from his high chair and putting
him on his hip, bouncing him up and comforting him.
"Shhh, it's alright baby," Sam says, kissing Adam's face. "I scared you, honey.
Shhhh, I know, I know, I'm sorry baby."
Sam looks back at his husband and son. Castiel breathes deep, then backs off
from Dean, putting a lid on his rage, though his shadow is still cast long
across the tile floor and Dean stands at the apex of it.
Castiel’s angry, but more in control now that his wife's shock at his words and
his toddler's wails have sobered him.
"It's my fault," Sam says, when both alphas remain tight-lipped. "I should've
planned this another way and spared you all the pain. Taken suppressants or
something, instead of putting Dean through this. Dean shouldn't be made to
change his routine. He shouldn't give up comforts for me."
Oh, I'd do anything for you mom, but not this, Dean thinks. I will not
authorize your violation.
At Sam's words, or maybe the look that crosses Dean’s face, Castiel's nostrils
flare and his jaw clenches tightly. "That's it," Cas says, voice like steel.
"Dean, to your room!" And when Dean doesn't move- "Now!" Cas bellows, his voice
gone all Alpha, and Dean can't help but give an about-face, abandon his plan of
fighting back and instead speed to his room, climbing up two stairs at a time.
He can hear his brother lunge into another crying fit as he does, getting
worked up again hearing Cas shout at Dean.
In the kitchen, Sam continues to comfort Adam, and Cas reluctantly joins in
after Sam gives him a hard gaze.
"Let's move to the living room," Cas says. They do, and when they settle down,
Cas puts his head between his hands, and takes another deep breath, trying to
calm himself.
"That was ... disastrous," Sam says.
Cas just huffs drily.
"I can't believe you threatened Dean like that. Cas, saying something so cruel
..." Sam simply says. "I mean, I know you didn't mean it, of co--"
"Suppressants, Sam? really?" Cas begins, cutting off Sam's lecture. Sam nods
slowly.
Cas continues: "You're barely recovering from childbirth. Two years on and you
practically pass out from exhaustion when it's bedtime. And what, now you want
to keep injecting your body with poisons? ... and why? Because our son is a
spoilt brat!"
"Don't call him that!" Sam says sharply. He huffs a breath, then adds, "Dean is
the most sensitive kid I know."
"That, that looked sensitive to you? Back there? Come back to Earth, Sam. Dean,
he's selfish and--"
"No! Cas, no! Stop it," Sam says and when Adam gets upset again, Sam bounces
him a bit and speaks to him softly.
"Look, Cas, Dean just hates to be away, that's all. Besides, he doesn't
understand. Cas– last time my heat came on, he was barely 11, or did you forget
that?" Sam says.
Throughout his pregnancy, Sam was taking supplements that tapered off his
heats.
Silence.
"No, I didn't forget," Cas finally says, partly humoring Sam, obviously still
riled. Then he declares, "you're too close to him."
"What?"
"I've been seeing it for a while, Sam. You two are just too close. He's
clinging to you, and you're letting him," Cas says.
"I don't know what you're talking about ... how close is too close for a mother
and son who're also best friends?!" Sam says, genuinely baffled.
Cas huffs a laugh, devoid of humor. "Now he's your best friend?"
“Yeah, he is, Cas. And Dean's not clingy. He's considerate. Sensitive! ...
despite his hard demeanor. He likes to pretend he's a hard-ass, but I know
better. He has the decency to set aside time to spend together with his family.
I’ve never met a kid his age who does that, let alone without being asked."
"For God's sake, he's too attached to you, Sam! Can't you see it? You're so
wrapped up in each other. Just look at how you're rising to his defense."
"Really, Cas? You're practically accusing our son of love! And you expect me to
back you up?" Sam says, rocking back with Adam clutched to him. "What else now?
Blaming me for not trying to put a stopper on his feelings? Right. ... How dare
he love his own mother! How very un-alpha-like of him to be open about his
feelings like the sweet child that he is!"
"That's not what I'm saying, Sam, and you know it."
"Do I?"
A pause.
He doesn’t, Cas realises. Sam’s line of sight starts and ends at his son’s
feet.
"What do you want me to do, Cas? Ask my own son to back off when he tries to
hug me or kiss me? Push him away—is that it? I don't know, maybe I’ll become my
own mother and hope he'll man up a little if I treat him like crap. Manhandle
him and order him around so he can grow to be tough. Huh? tell me, Cas. Say it.
What do you think I should do the next time Dean lays his head on my shoulder
or spends an afternoon with me? Tell him to find another source of affection?
Tell him to turn to his friends? Turn to strangers?"
Obviously, Castiel has hit a chord. He backpedals with all the hesitation of
his recent revelation. He doesn't want to cause Sam distress; the point of
imposing this separation during their heats was to give Sam a break and avoid
putting him on suppressants that would eat at his strength and good health.
His and Sam's looming heats are wearing them out, making them run hot and cold
and obviously rendering Sam too emotional at the moment. Castiel will think
about all this later when his mind’s clear.
"You know, it's been a long day. So here's what's happening. Sam, I don't want
to hear this suppressants talk again," he says. He softens a little, "Please
baby. For me." He then approaches Sam and takes both him and Adam—whose head is
buried in Sam's neck—into a tight hug that he puts all his love into.
"I'm sorry, baby," he says, kissing Sam's forehead. "And you're right. I didn't
mean what I said to Dean. I wouldn't touch a hair on his head. I love him. I
just--his attitude surprises me sometimes."
Sam nods, finally relaxing a little and melting into the arms of his alpha, the
one he chose to marry.
"For now, he'll have to do as I say, no discussions. It'll be a good way to
teach him to rein himself in. If he wants to talk about things, we can talk.
But not this time, not after how he reacted."
Sam feels he has to agree with Cas on this one. He loves his son to bits, but
Dean's temper flares easily and for his sake, he needs to learn to control it.
So Sam nods, and he leans in to kiss his husband. When Cas opens his mouth, Sam
quickly slips his tongue inside, deepening the kiss. They continue to taste
each other, kiss, lick, bite each other's lips for several minutes, hunger
growing, only stopping to catch a breath. When Sam gets a little worked up, his
breath laboring, it's a sign that they should stop before they lose control and
pounce on each other, right here. Adam is still perched up on Sam's shoulder.
Sure, he's quiet; he picks up on the good energy and basks in it. But there's
no need to scar the kid by taking this any further. So together they put him to
sleep in his crib, after Sam feeds him one last time for the night, then they
lock themselves up in their room.
....
On the fourth afternoon of his banishment, Dean’s still angry he was kicked
out. During his time away from home, he could only speak to his mom on the
phone at night, briefly before going to sleep. Instead of spending the day next
door then sleeping in his bed every night, his father had amended the plan, and
on the first day, Uncle Bobby turned up at Dean's school to pick him up instead
of Mrs. Harvelle.
As it turns out, his dad - sneaky Alpha - has decided Dean was to sleep over at
Bobby's until his mom is out of heat. Dick move, if you ask Dean, but thenwhat
does Dean expect from a man who's thinking with his dick these days?
Uncle Bobby, an older maternal cousin of Cas, twice removed, told Dean that
he'll also be his driver for the next few days. Dean is naturally taken aback
by his dad's decision, but he knows he can't veto this one, not if he wants to
avoid being maimed as per his dad's threat.
Besides, he loves Bobby, and would choose him any day over Ellen. At least,
he'll get to spend some of his free time in Bobby's salvage yard, and maybe
Bobby can teach him more about fixing cars. It wouldn't be the first time Dean
spends a few days at Bobby's. He used to do it more often when he was 9 and 10.
If he wasn't too angry and wasn’t missing his mom and Adam already, he'd even
welcome the change of scenery.
When Bobby comes to school to take him home with him, he gives him a small
duffel that his mom had filled with the essentials, plus a box of homemade
double chocolate chip cookies, with a small paper plastered on the lid that
read, "Miss you already. Love, mom xxx"
During breaks at school, Dean would sneak away with his current disposable
"girlfriend," and make out and dry hump like there was no tomorrow. It always
helped put his mind off things.
Now that this forced vacation from home is nearly over, he should be seeing his
mom later this afternoon.
As per the arrangement, it's not Uncle Bobby that picks him up from school on
the last day, but Ellen. She'll "kindly" drop him off to boxing training, his
dad had explained on the phone the night before, where he'll spend the rest of
the afternoon, then be home by early evening.
Castiel gave him the go-ahead to take a bus home following training. It's not
unusual for Dean. Castiel has been slowly easing Dean into independence,
despite his mom's protests, including occasionally letting him take his own
rides to places.
When his boxing session is cancelled on very short notice, Dean decides to skip
calling in ahead and just heads back home early. His dad will probably be on
his way to grandma’s right now to pick Adam up, so that their life can finally
go back to normal.
Despite his initial resentment towards his mom - and his resolution to boycott
Sammy's delicious-looking cookies - he couldn't keep it up, and now he can't
wait to throw himself in his mommy's arms and lock lips with him until they
both can't breathe right and their lips are slick and swollen.
And of course, he ate all the cookies, inhaling every last crumb. They didn't
disappoint.
Throughout his break, Dean actively avoided thinking about what his parents
were doing; he knows what easing heats entails but trying to picture what's
going on between Castiel and Sam would constrict his chest and make his eyes
prickle.
When he reaches home, he uses his extra key to let himself in. The ground floor
of the house is empty, but nearing the stairs to the second floor, Dean hears
sounds. Part of him immediately recognizes them for what they are. Moans of
pleasure coming from his parents' bedroom. Where else.
He lets his duffle fall to the floor with a muffled thud. Then Dean walks up
the stairs very quietly. He's aware he might witness something he'll loathe and
hate, but it feels like he's hypnotized, and before he knows it, he's standing
by his parents' ajar bedroom door. It’s late afternoon; although the lights are
off on the upper floor, the room itself is illuminated by the soft reddish
light seeping from between the half-closed window curtains.
And now standing at the door opening, he can see everything. Through the gap
between his dad’s thighs, Dean can see the long arch of Sammy's neck, his chin.
A very naked Cas is kneeling on the bed almost sitting on Sam’s face, his cock
wedged deep down his mommy’s mouth. He is thrusting slowly. Sammy is moaning
around his dad’s cock.  and his swollen lips, stretched around Castiel’s thick
girth. The same swollen lips he was dying to plunder only a few minutes ago,
the same mouth he's been fantasizing about for four days.
Sam himself is lying on his back, nude as the day he was born, feet planted on
the bed, his knees obscenely spread wide, hips stuttering, a thick red dildo
buried in his leaky hole, stretching the rim, opening him up - and Dean can see
it all. His mom, with a cock fucking his throat, his body flushed and trembling
with arousal, his full teats and his stuffed asshole exposed. Every few seconds
his mommy’s toes would curl, his feet would just barely leave the bed and his
soft belly pudge would tremble. Dean's trapped cock twitches and fights against
its restraint; his arousal at odds with his rage.
Sam almost gags a couple of times on the meat stuffed in his mouth, coughs
wetly around it but soldiers on.
Sam’s hands are curled around Cas’ thighs and his cock is standing up from a
nest of curls. It bobs when he thrusts lightly into air, seeking friction
that’s not there. His dick head is purplish and engorged, and his slit is
drooling precome like a leaky faucet against his belly.
The room is stuffy, like it hasn’t been aired in a week, and it smells like sex
and sweat, sickly so.
The bed his parents are lying on is messy, the linen already stripped and half
falling off the bed; it's like a battle was waged there.
“Play with your nipples, go ahead, Sam. Finger your nips,” Cas says, his voice
hoarse. His mommy whimpers, then slides his hands off Cas’ thighs and brings it
to his soft breasts, pinching on his buds, making them rock hard. Tugging them,
dragging his nails over them, moaning again. Seeing this, Dean starts rubbing
at his own cock, now hard enough that it aches. He can't help it.
It makes him sick to his stomach to be getting off to this. But his mom is hot,
and he's never seen him so raw, so vulnerable ... and open - figuratively and
literally.
During the first few seconds of seeing this, pure scorching anger at his mom's
betrayal warred with Dean's searing hot arousal, and the latter won.
“Does it feel good, baby?” Cas whispers again.
“Hmmm.”
Sam looks sick with pleasure right now, dying to get off; rub his dick against
something, anything. His back arches off the bed, hips jackknifes a few times,
and his dick bounces heavily. When his thighs spread even wider, knees falling
to the side and a spurt of slick oozes from his hole, it makes him even wetter
and the movement and the wetness push the dildo out.
When it slides free, his mom’s gaping hole is exposed, clenching on nothing as
it tries desperately to close, the air tickling the rim.
Dean looks as Sam’s hole keeps twitching, alternating between gaping and
narrowing, breathing, like a tiny mouth.
The sight is killing him. He starts palming his dick, rubbing it, over fabric.
Then he thinks to hell with it, opens his zipper and slides his hand inside his
own briefs. He starts stripping his own length, up and down, quickly,
punishingly. His lids want to close, but he can't let them; he needs to look.
The pain-pleasure of seeing his mom like this, being used by someone else,
spread out like a two-dollar hooker, yet having a full view of his glorious
body, getting this craving satisfied, is filling him with a combination of
loathing, rage, and maddening arousal. He wonders, as he watches Sam's hole
twitch, whether one day he’ll be able to take his mom like this. Then he
wonders if his mommy is one of those omegas whose holes squirt when they
orgasm.
Benny once showed him this porn clip on his ipad where the male omega orgasms
twice, once releasing his useless seed through his dick while he was being
impaled on an alpha cock, and another squirting like a girl, his man-pussy
gushing a fountain of fluid in thick spurts ... erupting so hard he was
practically vibrating, bucking off the bed like he was being electrocuted as
his Alpha tortured his nipples and fucked his dick hole with a urethral sound.
The porn actor passed out from the pleasure and intensity of it.
Dean would give half his life to see his mommy reduced into a trembling,
incoherent mess like that, thrashing, spraying jets of slick from his hole
after taking Dean’s cock.
His mom gags slightly around his dad’s prick, trying to speak. Castiel pulls
back. “What?”
“Fuck me,” Sam croaks weakly.
“Come again, baby?” Castiel groans.
“Fill my hole, Cas, fill me up baby,” his mom says, sounding filthy and wanton.
Like a whore, Dean. Your mom is a whore, for another alpha.
“Is your asshole open enough for me?” It's rhetorical. His mommy's delicious
pucker is stretched loose.
“Oh God Cas, yes. I’m so wet and open for you baby,” Sam hisses, chest rising
and falling fast.
Castiel moves down the bed, his back still to the door and Dean. His parents
are still oblivious to his presence.
He kneels between his lover’s legs, throws the discarded dildo away, grips a
foot in each hand and pushes Sam’s legs back, at once opening him and folding
him in half. Sam’s knees almost touch his shoulders, his bare feet in the air,
toes spread. His ass is splayed obscenely.
Cas lines himself up then pushes in, his saliva-coated cock stabs Sammy’s hole
and in one hard thrust, Cas is balls deep inside his mommy’s ass.
He growls like an animal, Sam cries out, his back arching, then Cas blankets
him, and Sam burrows even deeper into the bed.
Cas, now lying face down between Sam’s spread thighs, is chest to chest with
Dean’s mommy, their mouths breathing the same air, touching from forehead to
groin. Dean can see where Cas’ dick is buried in his mommy’s ass, the knot
filling up quickly ... ballooning ... with Sammy’s rim red and impossibly
stretched after eating up the fat knot.
“You okay, honey?” Cas whispers.
“Hmmm. Y-yeah.” Sam’s eyes are filled with adoration, but not the type that he
gives to Dean. Sam looks at Dean like Dean’s his son, like Dean’s something to
be protected, like he promises to love and protect Dean forever. But Sam looks
at Cas like he hand-picked every star just for him.
What Dean would give to have Sam look at him, and only him, this way. 
“Yeah?” Castiel smiles, and then he leans down and says something else Dean
can’t hear. Dean, even right outside the door, seeing his mommy gaping open on
Castiel’s dick, can’t hear it.
Love you, he thinks he hears. Forever and ever, promise.
“I know,” Cas whispers again, punctuating his words with soft pecks to Sammy’s
lips. Sam breathes heavily for a few seconds, and Dean thinks his mommy’s too
gone to respond, then he hears it, a mere soft whimper. “C’mon, you gonna show
me?”
With the words, Castiel gives Sam a hard thrust, rocking Sam's body backwards.
The bed creaks. Then another. Creak. Slow, yet solid thrusts that are driving
the breath out of Sam’s lungs. He cries and whimpers, but the sounds get
swallowed up by Cas’ open-mouth kisses. Cas goes slowly at first, kissing
lovingly, sucking on Sam’s lips, suckling on them as he alternates between
thrusting deeply into Sam and corkscrewing his cock slowly, like he’s massaging
the insides of his mom with his dick.
“Whose hole is this?” Cas speaks, his lips brushing Sam’s spit-soaked ones.
“Huh, baby? Who does this hole belong to?” Cas asks, his breathing ragged,
circling his hips, stabbing his cock inside Sam’s ass.  
“Yours,” Sammy hisses, breaths hitching. “Yours, Cas." Kiss. "Only." Kiss.
"Yours. All of me, baby.”
Hearing this, Dean can't hold back the tears he hadn’t realised had filled his
eyes. It’s almost like a betrayal. Dean’s been holding on, somewhere, for the
crazy hope that maybe Castiel and Sam don’t actually love each other any
more—even though it’s stupid, because they have never given him a reason to
think so—and the sad thing is that he can’t make himself walk away from this.
It's setting his body on fire, at once filling his senses with physical, dirty,
earthly pleasure and clawing at his soul and tearing his heart to pieces.
Cas grazes the backs of his hands along Sam’s arms, then takes Sam's palms in
his and raises Sam’s hands over his head, stretching his arms, lacing their
fingers together, holding Sam in place and locking their lips. Then he starts
pounding into Sam with abandon.
Soon his mommy is thrashing, trembling, screaming his moans into dad's mouth,
sobbing, asking dad to give it to him in those moments when their mouths
separate to breathe, asking dad to plunder him. And that Cas does ... until Sam
is mewling and coming untouched between them.
When Dean hears the sounds his mommy is making as he reaches orgasm, he comes,
his own orgasm barreling through him, his seed erupting into his shorts. He
bites his fist to stop from crying out loud as he continues to milk his dick
with his other fist for every last drop, tears still falling freely.
Dean has loved Sam his whole life, but that doesn’t seem to be enough,he
thinks. Castiel has loved him for even longer.
When he's done shooting, his mom’s arms and legs go lax and his head falls
back. He might have blacked out a little, Dean can't tell for sure. Cas sits
up, holds on to Sam's ankles and spreads his legs impossibly wide. He continues
fucking into him in the same punishing pace, and Sam takes it like a ragdoll,
his eyes closed, mouth open, his tits, belly and soft cock jiggling with the
movement. His body is rocked violently up the bed.
Cas owns him, fucks him like he owns his body, Dean thinks and Sam gives it all
to him; like a used toy, he’s lying back, in a haze and letting his body be
consumed roughly ... violated.
With a loud groan, Cas comes too, shooting his seed deep inside his mom,
soiling his beautiful hole and asserting his ownership yet again. His chest
falls forward between Sam's outstretched arms. He blankets Sam. Then he ties.
And Dean can't stand there for a split second longer, can't watch them
literally bond, tangled together, not knowing where one begins and the other
ends, lying in each other’s arms, cuddling, laughing softly, whispering or
making out and trading the same breaths as they're glued together.
Now that would just be pure torture.
And Dean feels he just had his fair share of masochism for a whole year, thank
you very much.
So Dean falls back, stumbles to his room, his cock still heavy and hot,
painfully sensitive, between his legs. He shuts his bedroom door, removes his
soiled shorts, throws them in the laundry and steps into a fresh pair. He turns
the lights off, then slips tiredly into bed.
His body is sated, but his head is still wrapping itself around this storm of
pleasure that roared through him like nothing he’d felt before and the tsunami
of pain in his chest.
In a first, he suspects he might be delusional about how far he can claim his
mommy. The dark thought takes his breath away. He suddenly feels small and
worthless. He dreams about his mom every night; the dreams soothe some of his
needs and ease his unquenchable desire for Sam. Intricately woven fantasies,
with beautiful images of them together, bonded in every way. But every night,
his mom sleeps in someone else's arms, drinking pleasure from someone else,
promising his love and devotion to his father instead of him.
In a first since he started feeling this way towards his mom, Dean feels sorry
for himself.
His eyes begin to tingle again and he lets the silent tears fall. Under the
dead weight of that mind-blowing (more like mind-fucking) orgasm, he can't
fight sleep any longer. And as sleep washes over him, he secretly wishes it
would end up swallowing him into its cocoon for good, propelling him into a
deep darkness where there's no pain or hurt or love to mourn over.
So Dean lets go and slips into unconsciousness, his eyelids drooping and his
tear-streaked face pressing into the pillow.
His sleep is dreamless.
***** Dreams, blood and tears *****
Chapter Summary
     “My soul was stuck rotting in a hollow sleep until you woke me.” -
     Klaus, Maiden Rose.
Chapter Notes
     1. Sam's dream is heavily inspired by a short scene in Fusanosuke
     Inariya’s Maiden Rose.
     2. Good people, I'd like to hear from you if you think the narrative
     is dragging too long. Honest feedback please, I won't break (or stop
     writing altogether, promise). And feel free to discuss the story in
     comments, if you like it enough to do so. I love reviews :-)
     3. Every once in a while, while you're reading, try and please
     refresh the page. For the next couple of hours, I'll be going back to
     proof-read and copy-edit the new chapter. Also, the chapter will be
     beta'd later. So if you refresh, you'll more likely to get the most
     updated/cleanest copy. Thanks in advance.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
“That wasn’t a big forest, Sammy,” she giggles, “don’t look so scared.”
I can finally see the family house far off in the distance, at last, and I hear
birds singing. I release a sigh I didn’t know I was trapping, my shoulders
sagging, the terror that tightened my chest back in the forest losing its grip
as quickly as my irises are catching the light of this otherwise bright day.
The adrenaline withdrawal is making my knees go weak. And I know, now that the
forest is behind me, that my fears are mostly irrational.
“But it was very dark,” I insist to her, if only to save some face.
“It’s grandfather’s forest ... nothing to be afraid of,” she says, voice bright
and fearless like always, eyes green with a little mischief. She lives for
these moments of recklessness and adventure, plunging into them, both feet in,
and with all her heart.
I hate and love her for it.
“Hey, what’s over there?” I say stopping in my tracks, and holding her back.
“Hurm, sky. Trees. A squirrel--” she responds humorously, stating the obvious,
never giving up an opportunity to poke fun at me some.
“To the west,” I cut her off and nudge her shoulder, raise a finger and point
to our left.
Silence.
“An unknown wind,” I whisper.
“And the promised land,” she says, suddenly gone solemn, gazing to where my
stare is locked. My eyes flicker over to her. I watch her, and that look on her
face? It's as if the howling wind is calling her name. Her green eyes are
glistening. In the light of day, the freckles dusting her nose and cheeks stand
out. She's so beautiful. I gulp audibly, hold her hand, lace our fingers
together and tighten my grip.
Sometimes, when she scares me, I cling to her.
A moment later, her hands wriggle free anyway. She slips from me.  “Aren’t you
coming, little brother?”
And suddenly she’s so far away from me, out of reach, golden locks blowing away
in the breeze. I know what's coming next and I start to panic.
She walks towards the wind.
“No, wait. Don’t go. Stop. Wait, Mary.
... MARY!”
Sam jerks awake as his own hoarse voice tries to tear its way through the veil
separating dream and reality - he comes to with a sharp intake of breath. He's
covered in sweat and tears and it takes Sam a few minutes to get his bearings.
He can still feel her, like they were actually together again, like she was
real. He can smell her, and God, he misses her so much it breaks his heart.
He’s too afraid to stir, or blink, or inhale a little sharply lest the memory
of the dream - of her face - elude him. With all his might, he's trying to hold
on to her vivid image for a little longer.
He remembers his own voice from the dream, pleading with her not to leave him
alone, and more tears fall.
Sam, Sam.The litany continues. "Sam!" Someone is speaking to him, but their
voice feels like it's being carried from miles away. Sam is still in his head,
tears pouring, trickling onto the pillow on which his head is laid. He’s still
naked; after all the love making, he was too spent to move.
Until he woke up a minute ago, Sam hadn’t even realised he had drifted off.
Suddenly, a weary-looking Cas comes through the bedroom door, looking a little
perturbed. So it's Cas who called for him, Sam thinks. “I went checking on
Dean, and he’s in his bed, but he looks ill and he’s not waking up," he
declares.
Sam immediately jumps off the bed, all traces of his dream - and the nostalgia,
longing and sense of loss that came with it - vanish. These feelings are
replaced abruptly by dread and fear. Sam stands up so quickly that his vision
swims, but he grips the night stand to steady himself, then, without wasting
another second, reaches for his sweats.
“Easy, Sam," Cas says quickly. "The boy's breathing, he’s probably alright.
He’s just feverish, I think, and out of it,” Cas adds, seeing how distraught
his earlier comment has made Sam, who's now as pale as a white sheet. Damn, he
shouldn't have scared him like that.
“We don’t know that,” Sam says sharply, quickly throwing a t-shirt and
sweatpants on, going commando. “For all we know, he took a hit to the head in
training and he’s sustaining a serious injury. If he’s unconscious--”
“I didn’t say he’s unconscious, Sam! Not exactly," Cas says as they both pad
hurriedly to Dean’s room, Sam still barefoot.
Once inside, Sam runs to his son’s side and starts patting Dean all over,
looking for any sign of injury. He slides away the covers to take a better
look, searching for bruises, or breaks, feeling Dean's neck, skull, chest,
wrists, legs and feet for wounds. Sam's touch is less frantic, more clinical
now. Dean is sleeping in his boxer briefs, so Sam doesn't have to remove any
clothing. Dean doesn't protest or so much as wince in pain when Sam prods with
his fingers.
Sam lets out a huff of breath. “Nothing looks broken to me, Cas, no bruising,
nothing ... Dean, honey, wake up. Dean!”
Dean’s chest is wheezing, though, his face is tinged red, and he only stirs or
lolls his head fitfully when Sam tries to rouse him. Sam can also feel the
tremors going through his son’s body now, so he pulls the thin covers over
Dean.
Sam himself is breaking in cold sweat.
“Cas, quick, bring me the extra blanket from Dean’s closet,” Sam says. Then
gently, “Dean, sweetheart, you’re scaring mommy here. Come back to me. Open
your eyes, come on.”
As Cas throws the extra cover over their boy's shivering body, Sam says, “I
told you Cas, I told you, a million times over, these boxing classes are
dangerous. They should stop. Dean could be sustaining a head trauma ... g-god
forbid ... a concussion or internal bleeding, or-or something much worse. God,
I’m never letting him go back there again."
"Don't you think his coach would've called if something bad went down?"
Sam ignores his husband's attempt at reassurance.
"Dean! Dean, honey.” Sam is losing his grip fast.
“Sam, just breathe, I highly doubt De’s in any mortal danger. Baby, he's woozy,
but I bet it's just a fever, that's all."
"Just a fever?"
"I mean, if he were injured, it would--” Sam gives him a murderous look, and
Cas lets his words die out. He knows better than to argue any further with Sam
when his wife is in this viciously protective mode, and, let's face it, he's
worried too. “Alright, I’ll go give Coach Hendrikson a call and see if Dean's
taken any hard punches to the head. Or if he fell or something. Let's hope not
though. Maybe the kids sparred. Check his temperature until I'm back, Sam."
Minutes later, Cas returns. “There was no training today, it was cancelled.”
"It's 102," Sam says, stomach churning.
“So a boxing injury is ruled out then," Cas says.
Sam is still trying to lure his lethargic son into consciousness. He climbs
into bed with him. Some of the tension leaves his shoulder now that he knows
something like a head trauma, a hit to the kidney or heart, or internal
bleeding is off the table.
He's still dead worried, though.
“I wonder where he’d gone to then? Why didn’t he call? Do you think he might
have come home early and sneaked past us?”
“Here! His eyes are fluttering open,” Sam says excitedly, not paying one bit of
attention to Cas’ mutterings. “Come on sweetheart, wake up for mommy, love.
Yeah. That’s it, beautiful. Show mommy those gorgeous green eyes.”
First, Dean becomes aware of murmurs, whose intensity ebb and flow. They
scratch their way into his brain.
His head still feels like a brick, his lids heavy and tightly sealed, his
breath short, and his brain is groggy. His chest, for some reason, is
whistling.
He realizes he’s lying in his own bed and the murmuring belongs to his parents.
He forces his eyes open in response to his mommy's voice - it takes a few
tries, but the room finally comes into view.
His mom is propped up against the headboard, lying beside him in bed, with
Dean’s head in his lap. Sam's face is hovering over his. His mommy’s soft hair
is falling like a curtain around his face, and his brows are knotted together
in concern.
Dean looks back at his mom through droopy eyes, then past him to his dad,
standing at the foot of the bed, and both look worried.
What’s the big deal? Sure, he feels like roadkill. But Dean doesn’t understand
all the fuss.
His mom begins caressing his cheek. “Hey,” he says, with a small smile.
Dean just flutters his eyes; he’s finding it hard to both keep his eyes popped
open and get his mouth to work and form words.
His throat is parched.
His mom feels his forehead again, then lays his palm against Dean’s cheek and
asks softly, “how are you feeling, sweetheart?"
"Water," he says, and Cas runs out and comes back a couple of minutes later
with a glass of water. "Fetch some paracetamol, Cas," Sam says, and his mom
helps Dean sip on the liquid, and then after, swallow the pills.
“W-what?” Dean says when he's done, can barely speak around the lump in his
throat. His voice feels weak when he asks, “What’s wrong?”
Cas sighs in relief. Now that his son is talking, then starts explaining.
“You’re just running a fever, baby boy,” it was Cas’s turn to speak. “I found
you here looking like death warmed over, fast asleep. Naturally, your mom and I
got worried. Ehm, we didn’t hear you come in.”
Of course you didn’t, thinks Dean with a tinge of bitterness, you were too busy
fucking each other stupid.
“Your cheeks look flushed, and you were groaning in pain when we first tried to
wake you up,” Sam says, then his voice breaks as he continues. “You wouldn’t
wake up baby, no matter how hard we nudged. You scared me there, sweetie.”
His mommy looks consumed with concern and nothing like the wanton slut moaning
in bed earlier. He leans in to place a few feather-light kisses on Dean’s nose,
and the corner of his mouth. He’d turn his head away ... from the lips that
were wrapped around Castiel’s cock ... but he’s too damn tired to move. So he
settles for recoiling, stomach turning like he’ll throw up.
“Let’s put some fluids into him, Sam,” Cas says, a shadow of discomfort
flickering through his face at the intimate kissing.
Cas also hates that anything that goes wrong with the world can somehow impart
a touch of guilt on his wife. He can see it, like it’s Sam's fault Dean has
fallen ill.
Castiel of course - and he knows Sammy is probably thinking it too - is mulling
over the possibility that Dean’s body got affected by Sam’s waning heat once he
came back home; the remnants of the intense, electrifying wave of omega arousal
that hit Sam like a freight train, following a nearly three-year-long dry
spell, must have shaken the young alpha up a bit.
If it’s the case, then as the remains of Sam’s heat subside and die out during
the night, Dean will automatically get better, probably perfect by morning.
“Do you want anything to eat, darling?” Sammy purrs, still caressing his
cheeks.
“No,” Dean croaks. “Not hungry.”
“If his fever doesn’t let up in a few hours, I’m driving him to the ER,” Sam
turns to Cas saying, his voice becoming suddenly no-nonsense.
“Let’s just wait and see it through the night. Give the pills a chance to work.
He’ll be okay, I promise,” Cas says, leaning more and more towards the idea
that this is caused due to Sam's heat.
Sammy is being a drama queen, Cas thinks.
Sure, he’s a little worried about his son too, but now that Dean’s up, there’s
no need to be frantic about it. Besides, Cas is due back at work early
tomorrow, and as much as he wants to make sure his son is fine, he also wants
to have some rest in order to be useful for himself and everyone. Following
four days of barely leaving the bed, keeping his Sammy satisfied, orgasm after
another barreling through them, Castiel wants to collapse into a restful sleep.
“I don’t think I can wait all night,” his mommy says, voice hard.
“We’ll see what happens, Sam ... I’ll go heat up some soup, you stay with him.”
“Get me the baby mo--oh, scratch that. Worry over De is making me stupid.
Forgot Adam’s not here.”
This gets Dean’s attention.
“Adam isn’t back yet?” he asks, clearing his throat, which is still scratchy.
“Not yet, sweetheart,” his mommy says.
“I was about to go out and pick him up, De, when I realised you don’t look so
good,” Cas explains. “Sam, I think I better call mom and Naomi and ask them to
take care of him for one more night.”
“You better, yeah. God knows I miss the adorable pipsqueak, but Dean needs me
more right now,” Sam says, without hesitating. “I’m not leaving your side until
you’re 100 percent all right, sweetie,” he says to Dean, placing a chaste kiss
on his mouth. Castiel grimaces, but he doesn't comment; he knows better than to
take Sam on this now.
Dean doesn't believe Sam just kissed him with the same mouth that was slurping
up come from his father's cock. Yuck! If they french kiss, Dean would probably
taste alpha semen. Double yuck!
“I’m fine,” Dean croaks weakly, roughly rubbing his mouth on his naked forearm
to remove all traces of that kiss. There's still some good old Winchester
stubbornness left in him despite his condition, and he still doesn't want to be
around his mom right now, with the pain so fresh, and the memory of what he saw
so close.
It doesn't help that his mom is showering him with affection. He simply can't
dismiss the images that keep attacking his brain every time Sam touches him.
“No, you’re not, buddy. You better listen to your mommy,” Castiel says, and his
voice is poison to Dean’s ears.
What the fuck ever, Dean thinks, but keeps his lips sealed.
It’s one of those extremely rare times Dean feels his body is burning hot, not
just from the fever, but from being so close to his mommy - and not in a sexy
way. He smells nauseatingly like Cas right now; the Alpha's scent is permeating
through his mommy’s body.
An Alpha scent cannot be washed away easily. It sinks into the skin, settles in
it and it’ll probably take a few days and several showers to fickle out.
To make it all worse, Dean catches a glimpse of his dad’s fresh claiming mark
on the side of his mommy’s neck, and another love bite sitting low on Sam’s
collar-bone right above his chest.
Sammy’s deep V-neck shirt is putting all these hickeys on display.
Dean wonders if Sam chose this item on purpose to show off his alpha's mark
claims. The bitch.He's probably got more love marks peppering his body.
His mommy is braless right now, the thin white t-shirt he’s donning is thin,
and thanks to his lactating breasts, Sammy’s nipples are showing behind two
translucent spots on the front. His mom’s dusky as-good-as-exposed dark pink
nipples poking obscenely through the material only reminds Dean of how Sam was
finger fucking them earlier today as he writhed underneath Castiel in their
marriage bed, his greedy, wanton hole fluttering and gaping, begging silently
for cock.
The image makes Dean’s vision go white all of a sudden. In panic, he sits up
and he starts heaving, and then he empties the meager contents of his stomach.
Thankfully his mom was right there with a bucket under his chin, which he'd
fetched as fast as lightning once the heaving started.
It’s embarrassing as hell to throw his food back up like this in front of his
parents, the man he loves, least of all. And yes, his dad chose this minute to
walk back into the room with the hot broth, just in time to witness his
humiliation. But Dean's too drained to care right now. And at least he didn’t
get sick all over himself or Sam. Small mercies.
When he's done puking his guts out, his dad whips out a clean wet towel for
Dean to wipe his mouth with, and then hands him more water. Dean takes a few
gulps.
Before getting a chance to lie back down, Dean's suddenly snatched by two giant
arms, dragged across the bed, and is being pulled snugly against his mom's
chest. Dean lets out a small yelp and finds himself sitting between Sam's
spread legs, his back to Sam's chest. Sam's upright and leaning against the
headboard.
Dean can feel his mom's groin against his lower back and his breath in one ear.
Sam winds an arm tightly around him and urges him to relax.
Dean stays stiff, however, and if he weren't too drained, he'd forcefully
wriggle out of his mom's arms.
If you think that a mouth that was just overflowing with vomit is super gross
and untouchable, think again, because Sam doesn't think twice before
whispering, "Come here," turning Dean's head back, and placing a quick peck on
his lips. For some reason, his mother can't stop touching and kissing him in
front of Cas tonight, and it's making Dean's cheeks burn. Dean rolls his eyes,
and quickly rubs the back of his hand against his lips.
Cas gives his son this look; probably the man thinks Dean is turned off by his
mom being extra schmoopy and overbearing. And he is, but for private reasons,
and not because he wouldn't normally welcome this kind of attention to his
lips.
To add to his mortification, Sam asks Cas to hand him the bowl of soup with the
spoon, and very carefully Sam takes them, each in a hand, and brings a spoonful
of the hot soup to Dean's mouth. "Come on, open up," Sam says, like spoon
feeding his grown-ass 14-year-old son is the most natural thing in the world.
Again, this morning, Dean would've welcomed the cheesy gesture, but right now
it makes him want to run for the door.
"No friggin' way," he says, and crosses his arms tightly, feeling trapped by
Sam's giant arms bracketing his upper body. He's in fact sandwiched between
Sam's torso and Sam's hands now holding the food right in front his face.
Cas is momentarily amused, what with Dean looking like a caged animal, blinking
rapidly as he stares at the spoon like it's going to eat him alive. With all
his snappiness, hard shell and strong opinions, it hits Castiel that Dean is
still painfully young.
"Don't be a baby."
"No, mom, I'm being the exact opposite of that. Cos only babies are spoon-fed
like, you know ... like babies!"
The fight is coming back to Dean now that there's something he can rebel
against.
Sammy giggles; he's happy his son's attitude is back in force, it means he's
alive and kicking, and strong enough to be a pain-in-the-ass. And God knows Sam
needs this. He almost suffered a stroke the moment Cas told him Dean wasn’t
waking up, back in their room.
He doesn't even want to recall the degree of panic those words stirred in him.
So he doesn't. And instead keeps torturing Dean with the spoon, which now Sam
is pressing against a thin pair of tightly-sealed lips. Dean can grow up all he
wants, or think he has, because to Sam, he'll always be his baby. And right
about now, Sam needs to reassure himself his baby's here; the spoon-feeding is
partly for him.
When his son opens his mouth to protest yet again, Sam uses the opening -
literally - and shoves the spoon into Dean's mouth. Dean, of course, huffs and
puffs but Sam eventually manages to spoon feed him every last drop.
Dean avoids eye contact with his father.
When they're done, Cas takes the empty bowl away, and moments later, Dean is
fast asleep again.
Sam gently extracts himself from behind Dean. He goes to grab a quick shower.
Cas keeps a vigilant eye over their boy during.
When he's all clean, Sam heads back to the room and finds that Cas is already
dozing off, head lolling on one shoulder. Sam takes pity on his man, walks up
to him, places a soft kiss on his mouth to wake him up, then tells him to move
to their room.
Sam himself peels the covers on Dean's bed, gets under them, and sinks into the
bed beside his resting son.
"Sam, what are you doing?"
"What does it look like, Cas?"
Cas drags his hands through his hair. Sam can be too much sometimes.
"He looks better now, Sam. And baby, it's a small bed, and you're a Sasquatch.
The boy needs his space."
"Not tonight he does."
Cas sighs heavily.
"Just come with me. He'll be fine, I want you in my arms tonight."
"Can't do, hon. I'm not leaving his side until he's out of the woods."
"He sort of is, I can sense that his fever is letting up already. And you must
be weary yourself."
"I'm alright, trust me. You go get some rest, honey."
"Sam!" Cas says, voice colored with frustration.
"What?"
"What if it's the last of your heat that has caused this? Have you thought of
that?"
"Of course, but my body is recovering by the hour, Cas, I can feel it. If my
heat did cause this, being close to me won't make him any worse than he is now.
And if it's not, being watched over by mommy will certainly help him sleep
better."
"He's already fast asleep."
"Cas, please!"
"God, alright," he says, scrubbing his face with his hand. "You two are
unbelievable, you know that?"
"We are, and you love it, come here you big baby and give me a proper kiss."
Cas's shoulders slump in surrender, then he walks up to the bed, and presses
their lips together. Cas kisses softly at first, then he picks up some speed,
curling a possessive hand around Sam's neck, licking at Sam's sensual lips,
nipping the upper lip, then suckling on it, plunging his tongue into Sam's
mouth. He catches his husband's tongue and practically slurps it, the kiss
quickly turned sizzling hot and sloppy. God, Cas can never get enough of his
wife. He often wonders what he's done right to deserve him. Sam's head falls
back, a little, his lips quirk into a smile, mid-kiss, then he moans into
Castiel's mouth and pushes at his chest gently.
"Go, Cas," Sammy whispers sweetly. "Before we start humping like teenagers in
our son's bed."
Sam adds playfully that they've had enough of that for today, and Cas,
begrudgingly, agrees. He's beat.
"Ehm, Sam," he begins as he leaves the room, before he shuts the door. He
doesn't know why he feels he needs to say this but he does. Before he
hesitates, it comes out of his mouth, but he doesn't meet Sam's eyes as he
speaks. "Just ... just don't take your clothes off while you sleep here, okay?"
"Woah, what? Why the heck would I--Where is this coming from, Cas?"
He doesn't know how to respond to this, clearly not thinking past his request.
"Cas?"
"I don't know. Forget it. It's a stupid thing to say. Go to sleep. I'll drop by
to check on you both before I head out tomorrow."
"Yeah, you do that, Cas," says Sam, giving his husband a tight-lipped smile.
Nodding his head, he adds, "Love you, okay?"
"Yeah, yeah. Love you back!"
...
Sam wakes up at 6:00 am, curled around his son. He checks Dean's forehead and
it's cool, and his breathing is even. They're okay now, phew. He allows himself
to relax. His husband is right; his heat was the culprit.
Sam is still tired, but something has made his body restless, perhaps another
dream that he now can't remember because he can feel the shadow of something
lurking, and the memory of the other dream is re-surfacing, now that he's not
as crazy worried about Dean as last night.
Sam pads to the restroom, splashes his face with some water, brushes his teeth,
stares at his tired reflection in the mirror for a minute, runs his fingers
through his unruly morning hair, finally sighs heavily and moves to the kitchen
to brew some coffee.
Cas will probably be up any minute now. Cas always wakes up at un-Godly hours
because he likes taking his time getting ready for work. Sam's hardworking
husband is always first on his desk, and sometimes, the last to leave the
office. When Sam knew him, Cas was being groomed to be his older brother
Michael's right hand at their family-owned law firm. Cas had began studying law
only to drop out and shift interests to marketing and PR - that was after he'd
insisted on partnering with Sam, of course, and his father had told him that
there was no place for him in the family business if he insisted on Sam, or
their life. For Cas, there wasn't even a choice there. Sam was it for him. It
seems like a lifetime ago when this happened, and although Cas and his father
made up, Cas refused to change horses again, and stuck with his career choices.
Now, Cas is one promotion away from being the PR director at his company, a
medium-sized enterprise. This promotion carries the promise of a much better
pay and traveling opportunities and Cas is working so hard to get it. Sam is
immensely proud of how dedicated Cas becomes when he's set his sight on
something, though for long, Sam hadn't appreciated spending long afternoons and
evenings on his own, or taking care of a kid, alone, thanks to Cas's sometimes
ridiculous working hours.
Sam won't lie, he's pulled his share of tantrums in the past, ones that would
make his hot-blooded son proud. He sometimes resented how demanding his
husband's job could get. Sam is generally supportive and all, but sometimes,
even for a family man like Sam, it's hard when it all falls on him; the
cooking, cleaning, taking Dean to and from school plus his training, helping
his son with his homework and projects, and now he does all that with a baby on
his arm. Cas helps when he can, but naturally, with a full schedule, it's not
nearly enough.
That being said, in the last couple of years, with Dean stepping up and
becoming a source of comfort for Sam, the brunt has been eased. He's still
doing most of the work in the house - being the stay-at-home wife between them
and with Cas providing - but it's now different. Now, he looks forward to the
afternoons with his son, to their talking, to having his son's head on his lap,
and to basking in all the love Dean has started to provide.
There was a phase between Dean being a cute and adorable baby, and him being a
loving teen again, when the boy was snappy, dismissive of his mommy's
affections and sometimes downright rude and hurtful. Sam has endured this dark
phase, alright, trying to be patient as he could.
He got that his kid was growing up and fighting for a semblance of
independence, but Sam was not happy.
He felt he was losing his kid - to his friends, to his obsession with boxing,
to the first signs of adulthood - and Sam knows he's being selfish, but he
loathed it. When Sam would try to kiss Dean or take him out for an evening of
fun "mommy and son quality time" and his Dean would recoil or refuse, Sam would
genuinely feel hurt; sometimes he'd even cry in his room like a jilted lover
and he'd judge himself for it later, reprimand himself for being too attached.
But now, with Dean being everything to him again, not becoming embarrassed to
be "joined at the hip" anymore (regardless of what his friends at school say),
and not holding back his affections, Sam's in heaven.
His son's newfound passion for their relationship and their growing intimacy
has breathed life into Sam.
Sometimes, Sam feels he can't get close enough - feels like he wants to burrow
inside of Dean's skin and sink into him ... He wishes he could take Dean back
into his womb in order to keep him safe, sound, nurtured and part of him for
good.
And even though Sam dreams of the day when his son would grow up and start his
own family, he honestly can't imagine being away from Dean for more than a day
or two, let alone giving him up to someone else for life ... hand him over to a
beta or an omega who probably doesn't deserve him (and no, Sam doesn't even
need to see who Dean would end up with to know that they don't and won't ever
deserve Dean's beautiful heart or million-watt smile).
The sun shines out of his son's ass, dammit, and anyone would be immensely
lucky to get him! If it was up to Sam, his son wouldn't mate with anyone before
he was 40. He's a suffocating mom, so? Bite him.
Sam smiles to himself.
"Someone looks relaxed this morning," Cas says, walking into the kitchen,
already suited up. "And oh, the coffee smells good. Morning, honey," he adds
and swoops in for a quick kiss.
"Morning."
"I dropped by Dean's room, thought you'd still be there too. He looks much
better," Cas remarks.
"He is, I think. But I'm letting him skip school today."
"Right before the weekend? Well, lucky him! That's three off days in a row.
Some of us don't have the luxury, sick or not. Which reminds me, I'll probably
be staying late today. Don't wait up. From the deluge of incoming mail, it
looks like the pile of pending work is high up to the ceiling. I'll have a
tough day ahead of me."
"Aww, I'm sorry to hear that, come here," Sam says and pulls Cas into a quick
hug.
"I'll call Naomi, and see if she can be a good soul and drive Adam back here
later tonight. If she can't, do you mind picking him up yourself?"
"Sure."
Sam begins preparing some sandwiches for the road for his hubby, breakfast on
the go, while Cas scrolls through his phone, probably catching up on his mail
already. Cas usually drives for at least an hour to get to work; and in bad
traffic, you can add an extra half hour for good measure.
"Cas," Sam says. "Remember Mary?"
Cas raised an eyebrow. "Erm, yeah. Well, from you mostly. I mean from your
stories."
Silence. Sam's face looks sombre, all of a sudden.
"What's going on, honey? Why do you ask?"
"Nothing," Sam says. "Remind me to show you a picture. Ehm, she looks, ah
looked, a bit like Dean. The, ehm, grass green eyes." Sam's voice cracks. "The
f-freckles. Even the temper, ha! She was so goddamn beautiful, Cas. I wish
you'd seen her, man." Sam's tears are running down his face now.
"Sammy, come here baby," Cas says and takes his wife in his arms, and Sam
starts sobbing softly. For the life of him, Cas has no idea where this is
coming from, or why Sam has suddenly decided to dwell on his sister's memory.
But he doesn't need to understand, except that his wife is downcast right now
and he needs him, so he holds him tight until Sam's calm again. Perhaps it's
lingering emotions from the heat, who knows?
When the waterworks are done and Cas is off to work, Sam's head feels weary, so
he goes back to Dean's room and crawls into bed with him.
...
Dean wakes up to a heaviness at his back, and a solidness wedged between his
legs. Spatial recognition takes him a moment, then he realizes he's in his bed,
with his mom spooning him.
Sammy's arms are snaked around his waist, one palm sits low on his naked
stomach (he's still in his boxers), and Sam's nose is buried in his hair; Dean
can feel his warm, even breaths. Sam has pushed one of his long legs between
Dean's own, and so their limbs are now tangled together. And, hold the phone,
Sam is shirtless from the feel of it; his boobs are squished against Dean's
upper back, and Dean can sense some wetness, probably from his mom's hard and
leaky nubs. He can feel those too, poking gently.
And of course, Dean - like the typical teenager he is - has popped some wood
while sleeping, and Sam's proximity is not helping in this area. The covers are
now bunched around their feet, so there's nowhere to hide either.
Trying to extract himself without rousing Sam is difficult, but no one can
accuse Dean of not trying. Of course he tries and fails miserably, and mommy
stirs, and pops his eyes open. Sam takes his arms away from beneath Dean and
sits half up, propped on an elbow. He gently turns Dean so he's lying on his
back and he takes a look at his boy. Dean's dick is at full mast, and his face
heats up, because mommy will see his wood right about now.
But Sammy's focused on his face and eyes for now, and once Dean meets his gaze,
Sam shoots him a blinding ear-to-ear smile, dimples and all. "How's my boy this
morning?" Sam says, carding his fingers lovingly through Dean's hair.
"I'm OK," Dean says, gulping, and turning his head away. He's super
embarrassed, and still can't get himself to go easy on his mom; he just can't
with what he saw last night. His gaze catches the clock on the side-table, and
it’s way past the time for school. He guesses his mom has decided he's off.
See, today of all days, Dean wouldn't have actually minded school - if only to
get away from his mom, get his mind off things and ask his "girlfriend" out
after school, you know, to get lucky ... to blow off steam. Always to blow off
steam, nothing more.
"You look it and I'm glad ... oh God, Dean, I was so scared baby," Sam says,
tilts Dean's head back, and attacks his mouth. Between them, kissing on the
lips is on the table now, but Sam's kissing right now has an edge of hunger to
it that wasn't there in earlier kisses and which does nothing to help with his
lingering phallic problem, down there between his legs.
Despite the temptation to reciprocate and deepen the kiss, Dean pulls back,
burying his head further into the cushion to get away from his mom's mouth. But
his mom's face is right up in his, and their lips are still almost touching
when he manages to finally free his now throbbing lips from Sam's own.
His mom's gaze is locked with him, and Sam immediately senses his son's
flinching. "What? What's wrong, Dean?"
"Nothing."
"Are you sure?"
And before Dean gets to respond, his mom's eyes accidentally flicker lower, and
he catches the sight of his son's prick tenting his boxer briefs obscenely.
Dean's face flares with heat and his cheeks are now tomato-red.
"Oh," Sam smiles, amused. "Erm. That's nothing to be shy about, sweetheart--"
"MOM! Just drop it," Deans says, looking away mortified.
"I will if you give me a big old kiss, woody wood pecker."
"Jesus, MOM!" He pushes him away, attempting to get up. Sam steals another kiss
before he releases his son, not catching on the real reason why his son is
extra snappy and a tad bit aggressive. Sam probably think he's irritated only
for being caught with a stiffy, so he leaves him to be without any more
torture, saying he'll be at the kitchen, "preparing second breakfast." Dean
doesn't get the joke, huffs a breath then sneaks into the bathroom for a
shower, in which of course he gives some relief to Little Dean.
When he's done, he pops into the kitchen - he really wishes he could go on a
hunger strike if only to avoid being around his mom, but he's just too damn
hungry to make any such protests right now. His stomach is rumbling noisily
enough for both of them, though the bottomless pit that's his stomach has a
different agenda.
He plops into a chair, and his mom puts a plate of scrambled eggs and sausages
in front of him. As he grabs his first bite, a digital thermometer is pushed
into one of his ears by his mom. "Hey," Dean yelps.
"Gotta double check, sweetheart." The thing beeps, and his mom smiles when he
reads it. "All back to normal." He ruffles his hair.
"Stop doing that!"
"Doing what?" His mom asks, confused.
"Touching me, alright? Stop it," Dean snaps, then digs his fork into his food
and starts eating.
"Well, I thought ..." His mom's voice trails off; Sam's bewilderment at the
change of attitude clear on his face. His brows knit together, and his face
loses some of its brightness. He takes a chair himself, next to Dean. In his
peripheral vision, Dean can see Sam gazing at him, probably searching his face
for answers. Sam bites on his lower lip, then he finally asks, voice quivering,
"Sweetheart, are you still mad?"
"About what?"
"You know, because you had to stay away, at Uncle Bobby's? I mean, we talked on
the phone, you and I, and the last time we did, you sounded like you were over
it, so I thought--"
"Well, you thought right. I'm not mad. Not anymore. In fact, I don't care."
"Dean--"
"Can I please finish my food in peace? I've had a rough night."
Sam nods sympathetically, but his face is dark and sad now. Silence descends on
the kitchen room for a bit, until Dean takes the last bite, then his mom starts
asking if he wants some tea, juice, an apple, asking him what he wants for
lunch already, obviously desperate to make conversation.
"For God's sake, stop fussing, mom," Dean snaps again.
"What is wrong with you?" It's Sam's turn to get irritated, running his hands
nervously through his hair.
"What is wrong with YOU? You won't leave me alone."
"I wanna make sure there's nothing you need, here. And you're touchy and I
don't know why. Are you still not feeling okay, you know, from last night?"
"I'm fine. I'm fine! If you ask me if I'm fine again, I swear I'll start
throwing punches!"
"DEAN!" Sam's nostrils flare, the colour draining from his face, and his eyes
start watering. "Just go. Okay? I'm sorry for caring."
Sam doesn't know what's up, but he thinks he has an idea. When Dean was away,
he sounded "okay" on the phone but in reality, he was probably just missing
them. Now that he's home again, he's back where he left off; shutting down
after his hands were forced, or so he believes. Sam backed Cas, but he hates
the fact that his son was made to take a break from his own home against his
will. And he gets that Dean's angry.
Dean leaves the kitchen, then holes up in his room for a couple of hours.
When he comes back down to the living room for some TV, he finds his mom there,
sprawled on the couch in a dress, in the white dress he bought a year ago, and
which Dean had only seen him wear once. He knows what his mom is doing; and no,
he won't let Sam off the hook so easily. He friggin' tore his heart out, made
him feel like he only has eyes for him, then stood silent as his dad sent him
away and gave himself to Cas completely.
Dean walks into the room like he hasn't noticed the dress, though he's sure Sam
caught the initial surprise on his face.
"Hey," Sam says, to get his attention, then pulls his feet back to make some
room for Dean to sit. Dean just makes a non-committal sound and places himself
at the other end of the wide couch.
"What's up, sweetheart?"
"Here to watch some TV," says Dean. He was oscillating between dying from
boredom and biting his nails in frustration back in his room. He flicks the TV
on, and after some searching, settles on the wrestling channel. He likes
wrestling. He'd like to take it up next year, besides boxing, and perhaps add a
martial art to the combo.
Learning the art of combat does it for Dean, more so than group sports.
"Come here, Dean. Want you in my arms," Sam says, voice apologetic and hopeful,
arms reaching out.
Dean gives his mommy a level gaze, then turns back to the TV. "No, I'm good,
mom."
"Sweetheart, just talk to me."
Sam sits up, and scoots closer to Dean. Sam's intoxicating smell is right in
his nose. The dress' skirt, which boasts a high slit, leaves Sam's legs and
thighs exposed. And his mom is not doing any effort to cover up, letting the
skirt's sides fall open and the dress already reveals Sam's strong arms and his
back. His mom's inner thighs are not touching; not used to dresses, he doesn't
remember to put his knees together or close his legs when he sits, and the
sight of those legs accidentally teasing him like this is making Dean's mouth
water.
"There's nothing to talk about," he forces out, and avoids looking at the naked
skin, or he'll lose it. He's willing his anger and resentment - his disgust at
what he saw - to take over.
"Dean, please, don't shut me out like that. Not me," Sam says and takes one of
Dean's hand in his own.
Dean quickly snatches it away, "I'm not ... just, just let me be."
Sam's puppy dog eyes start watering, and that's it, Dean can't have this
anymore. He stands up to leave. Sam catches his arm. "Please don't walk on me
like that. Not before telling me what's wrong."
Dean shrugs off his mom's touch and pulls away.
"I know it's the past four days. You're still mad at me. Fine, get angry at me,
shout, throw those punches if you want, but don't push me away like that!" Sam
says, eyes pouring. Like he's the victim here, Dean thinks. The audacity.
"What do you want me to say, mom? That I'm angry! Alright, I'm angry. But what
difference does it make? You know what? A big fat nothing," he says then starts
walking quickly towards the stairs, to seek the sanctuary of his room again, to
hide in his "cave."
"And stop pretending like you care that much!" he adds, as he starts climbing
the stairs, his mom now following him.
At those extra words, Sam flips, from weepy to somewhat angry himself.
"Don't you dare say that, Dean. You of all people should know how much I care
about you!"
"Really?"
"Yeah, really!"
"Didn't look like it when I was forced to hole up at Bobby's, while you were
here ... argh! You know what? Just get away from me."
When he reaches his room, Dean goes in and attempts to close the door behind
him, but his mom holds it open, then pushes back and squeezes himself in.
"I'm not going away until we resolve this!"
"There is nothing to resolve."
"So what? You're gonna cut me off? Stop talking to me, again?"
"Maybe I’m gonna."
"Yeah, well I won't let you."
"It's not up to you."
"God, Dean! I'm your mom! It's me! Look at me, you can't do this, not to me,"
Sam walks right up to him, as he speaks, face inches away from his own, and
despite his height and anger, Sam feels small as he stands there pleading with
his son, practically begging him to take him back. He can't bear this coldness,
he can't let his son dismiss what's between them in anger like that.
They're more than mom and son, they're ... soulmates.
"You're being too hard on me. And for what, Dean? For pushing you away so you
won't get hurt. You saw what happened to you last night, and in case you didn't
put two and two together yet, that fever was triggered by my heat."
"Bullshit."
"It's not, Dean."
"Stop blaming it all on that heat."
"I'm not. And I'm not lying. It was all for you, and now you're being a baby
about it, and trying to punish me for my biology."
"I'M TRYING TO PUNISH YOU FOR BEING A DIRTY WHORE!" Dean screams at his mom.
And he flinches at the words the moment they leave his mouth, but it's too late
to swallow them back.
Before he gets a chance to whip an apology, a sharp slap lands on his left
cheek, and it burns. Neither parent has ever laid a hand on him, not like that,
never. He freezes for a moment, so does his mom who looks as shocked as he is.
Dean's eyes prickle and suddenly a blind rage overwhelms his senses. His right
fist clenches and he feels like punching ... his mom, or someone, anyone,
anything. Before he knows it, his fist is raised, ready to land on his mom's
face; it only takes Dean's mind a tenth of second to backtrack and decide, no,
he won't - can't! - go there, can't hurt his mommy, and so changes course.
Instead of jabbing his mom's face, he hooks his arm and his fist swings into
the vanity mirror, right beside Dean.
His punch is solid, sharp, filled with hot rage, and the mirror shatters
noisily on impact. His mom jumps and shouts his name. He's in a daze, and
before he realises it, he's rushing out of the room ... trying to get out of
the entire house.
He's already downstairs, steps away from the door, when his mom manages to
catch up with him. When Sam fails to force him to stop, he throws his weight at
Dean's back, hugging him from behind and they slump to the ground together,
with Dean locked tightly in Sam's arms. "Oh God, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so
sorry," his mom repeats over and over right in his ears, his face wet with
tears and so is Dean's.
Dean suddenly realises there's a throbbing excruciating pain in his fist, and
when he looks, his hands are dripping blood, and there are at least a couple of
pieces of glass still wedged in his flesh. He holds onto his wrist and brings
his hand to his stomach, wanting to hide it, wanting to disappear himself, get
swallowed by the Earth. The lower part of Dean's shirt will soon be soaked in
red. He's angry at his mom, but he's also angry at himself, for calling his
mom, "a dirty whore," for almost hitting him, and most of all, for loving him
so consumingly it's eating him up inside.
His mom's litany of apologies doesn't let up. And now Sam is trying to grab the
injured hand to inspect the damage, sounding teary and frantic with worry. "Let
me see it, De. Sweetheart, you're bleeding. Let me see," he sobs. Dean holds
his injured hand tighter to his body and doesn't let go. "Let me see it," Sam
repeats, his tears soaking the side of Dean's face. Then Sam starts kissing his
face, brushing his lips back and forth against Dean's cheek, nuzzling his neck,
his ear, and Dean leans into the soft caresses and squeezes his eyes shut. He
doesn't understand how this man can put him together and break him like this,
only to patch him up again.
Sam continues to cover Dean with kisses, desperate, open-mouthed, kisses that
are wet with salty tears. "I'm sorry." He's kissing Dean's eyelids, the side of
his brows, his cheek, he tilts Dean's head then places feather-light kisses on
his nose, grazes his lips against Dean's lips, his chin, down to his neck, and
his collarbone. His lips don't leave skin, grazes, pecks, nibs softly. "I'm
sorry, please, there's so much blood Dean, please, you're killing me here
sweetheart. Please, De."
Dean opens his eyes, and this is what he sees: his mom's hair falling over one
side of his face, his mother's cheeks blotched with dark pink, and his eyes are
tired and dripping with tears, lips red and swollen with kisses.
His mom locks their lips together again. When Dean starts speaking against his
mouth, Sam pulls back an inch, to allow him to.
"I saw, mom," he says.
"Saw what, baby?"
"I saw you and dad together. Yesterday."
At first his mom doesn't look like he gets it, then Dean sees the exact moment
when he does. His eyes widen a little, and his mouth goes slack. They remain
speechless for some moments, then his mom nods his head, and more tears fall.
"Okay ... Okay, I get it. I'm sorry, Dean."
And Sam doesn't even know what exactly he is apologising for; what his son saw,
or the fact that what he saw happened in the first place? He won't explore this
right now, he tells himself, he just needs to make sure his son is fine, that
he hasn't broken any bones, that nothing cut into muscle or injured nerves. His
son's fist is sturdy from training, but still, he's broken skin, and there's a
lot of blood, and Sam's getting nauseous with worry. He'll even punish himself
for that slap later; or accept whatever punishment Dean wishes to inflict,
whatever it takes for Dean to forgive and hopefully forget.
"No, you don't, mom. You don't get it."
But Sam does, he thinks. It would be disturbing for anyone to see his parents
together like that, and being so close to his mommy, Sam knows it must have
been harder on Dean. ... Or what if?—Could it be?
Then the possibility hits him, and he feels a little dizzy with it.
"Dean," he whispers. "Di-did it, you know, turn you on?"
Dean gives a little nod, and Sam buries his face in his son's neck. He feels
like it's his fault somehow. It must be eating Dean up, he must think he's
dirty and wrong for getting aroused from seeing his parents making love. Poor
Dean, Sammy thinks and holds his son tighter.
"Forget it, De ... just let it go, baby, alright?" Sam says soothingly, placing
yet another kiss on his son's cheek. He just wants this out of the way in order
to tend to Dean's wound. Nothing else is as important right now. "Now, please
baby, let me take a look at your wrist. Feel my heart? How fast it beats? I'm
so scared Dean, so let me see how deep the cuts are. Please baby."
Now that he said it, Dean feels a wave of tranquility wash over him. It doesn't
change what happened, sure, but nothing could, anyway, so it's better to get it
off his chest. It may also give him an opening, some time when they discuss it
again, to tell his mom how he really feels about him, and how as his rightful
alpha, he can't tolerate his sexual relationship with his dad any longer. That
he won't.
If it takes him some pain, tears, and a mangled fist to get there, so be it.
His mom is worth it all.
Dean's shoulders finally sag and all the fight leaves his body, his head falls
back on his mommy's shoulder, and he tells him weakly that his hand hurts,
which it does, like abitch. For a second, he also wonders how they'll explain
all this mess to Castiel, but decides they'll cross this bridge when they reach
it.
Hearing his son acknowledge the hurt to his fist is Sam's cue for action, and
he springs up, helping Dean up with him. Dean can walk just fine, but his mom
snakes an arm around his waist and supports him all the way to the kitchen
still.
After inspecting the now swollen hand, his mom removes the shards of glass
carefully, washes and cleans the wound as best as he could, then ices it, and
declares he's driving Dean to the ER. Dean hates hospitals but reluctantly
agrees this time; he's badly bruised and tender, and Dean can't risk leaving an
injury like this untreated, being a boxer and all. Sam gives Dean something for
the pain, discards the dress and changes into one of his proper outfits, and
rushes them out of the door. "Baby, hold it to your chest. Keep it above your
heart. De, don't move it."
Sam insists on helping Dean get into their SUV, so he wouldn't rely on the hand
in any way, fastens and locks the seat belt for him.
In the hospital, after an hour of waiting, Dean's hand is nicely patched up.
He's suffering a minor fracture, and two of his fingers were misaligned, which
the ER doctor fixed. And it hurt like hell. He was also put into a splint,
which means he'll be off training for at least 2-3 weeks, depending on how fast
he heals. And at his age, the doc expects it'll be lightening fast.
On their way back home, Sam stops for ice cream, and Dean feels he's being
babied. "It's not for you Dean, it's for me," his mom says, squeezing his
healthy hand. Ever since they left the ER ward, Sam has been constantly keeping
this hand in his, clutching tightly, fingers interlaced, unless when he's
driving.
In the car, Sam puts on some Metallica, for Dean's benefit, and even hums along
from time to time. He occasionally curls a hand around Dean's thigh and
squeezes. Or looks at him, and throws him a (somewhat sad) smile. And his mom
can't stop apologizing.
"I'm sorry too you know," Dean says, eyes on the ground. "For calling you, you
know."
"Forget it, honey. You were angry, and you had a right to be. Just--just try to
reign your anger a little, baby, from now on. Take deep breaths when you feel
like reacting harshly. For you."
"Yeah."
"Dean, about what you said earlier. About what you saw ..." a pause. "Ah, I
don't want you to feel guilty, honey. It happens, it doesn't mean anything.
You're young. When I was your age, everything turned me on."
Dean stays silent.
"De, what I'm trying to say is, don't overthink it. There's nothing--"
"I watched. I didn't just--I stood there and watched."
"Dean."
"When I saw you come untouched, I jizzed my pants," he says without even a side
glance at his mom. He shivers at the memory of Sam spread out, moaning,
writhing, shivering with want, caught in the woes of desire, so pretty and
vulnerable, and so soft. Dean suddenly feels shameless about his small
confessions. This is his omega, he should know how he riles him up, what he
does to him.
Besides, it's nothing compared to the whole truth. And he needs to prepare Sam
for it. So yeah, baby steps.
Sam doesn't respond to this, swallows audibly and keeps staring forward into
the distance, eyes on the road. Dean, too, stays looking ahead.
A moment later, Sam takes Dean's uninjured hand in his, brings it to his lips,
and places the softest kiss there. He stirs the wheel with his left, and keeps
holding Dean's hand with his right, then he interlaces their fingers together
and brings their entwined hands to his heart. He shouldn't drive like this, so
he slows down significantly. But he doesn't pull the car over.
"Don't hurt yourself like this again," Sam whispers softly. He's talking about
that punch to the mirror. "It's not a request, De. No one, and I mean no one,
is worth hurting yourself over. ..."
Dean doesn't respond, so Sam squeezes the hand wrapped up in his. "Are you
listening?"
Dean nods.
"Not me, not anyone, De. You hear me, kiddo?"
"Yeah, yeah mom, I hear you."
Sam places another kiss on his son's fist, still closed around his, then takes
them home.
Chapter End Notes
     Maiden Rose is a yaoi manga and the dream at the start of this
     chapter is a homage to it. I borrow a few lines from the original
     dialogue in Inariya’s story.
     If you’re not familiar with the work, you can watch the anime here:
     http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x23wekn_maiden-rose-ova-1-english-
     subbed_lifestyle
     You can read the manga here: http://www.mangahome.com/manga/
     maiden_rose
     However, you don’t need to read/watch it in order to understand
     anything related to the dream though - there’s no Mary, or Sam there
     :D and in turn the background story that connects these two. Maiden
     Rose and this are of course two very different narratives, and they
     don’t overlap anywhere, except perhaps in the "forbidden love/lust"
     theme.
***** - Intermission - *****
Chapter Summary
     This is a warm thank you ...
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
I just wanted to thank you profusely for all the love. The kudos/likes (200!!)
and your sweet comments have been keeping me going. This my first slash fic, so
naturally, I felt really insecure writing this initially  ... so I'm pleasantly
surprised with the feedback and I appreciate all the support, definitely. 
I didn't get a chance to update over the weekend, but tonight I should start
writing the new chapter, and I'm crossing my fingers it won't disappoint. I
will put it up as soon as I can. 
So there, this is just a short something to say thank you all, and to share
this collage of this story's Winchesters. :-) 
Love,
Joanna L.
.
.
.
.
Artwork: Pompei77 (bonny) - art repost here and on tumblr done with the
artist's permission. Do not repost please.
Also: Here are some yummy GIFs of shirtless Sam ;-) 
Chapter End Notes
     1. I started sharing some SPN art on my tumblr: http://
     joannaleeuniverse.tumblr.com/ Everything there is borrowed (with
     credit) except that last collage. And I expect I'll start making my
     own manips for this story - once I find some time to do that.
     2. The story is not beta'd yet, so do feel free to bring my attention
     to typos or grammatical errors if you find any and I'll be happy to
     correct them (and apologies that they're there to begin with). That
     being said, I go back and edit a lot. So if you've been following
     from the beginning but happened to go back to the old chapters
     recently, you'll find they've been cleaned up.
***** Luck, love and lust *****
Chapter Summary
     "I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving
     you but this." — Pablo Neruda.
Chapter Notes
     This is a relatively small chapter compared to how long I write - for
     me, it's not a stand-alone but rather the tail end of the previous
     chapter. And a taster of what is yet to come. Plus, I've included a
     new collage of this story's Winchesters;-)
     I had intended to squeeze more events into this, but I didn't want to
     keep you guys waiting.
     Friendly reminders:
     1. If you're reading this right after it's posted, refresh, refresh,
     refresh ... my little elves are probably correcting typos in the
     backend as you read.
     2. Please keep the comments/suggestions/critique/corrections coming :
     -)
See the end of the chapter for more notes
[Sam and Dean - Family Secrets - JoannaLee]
Three weeks after Dean breaks his own fist in a rage, he loses his virginity.
But three weeks before he loses it, he lies in his bed and reflects on how far
things have gone after a long day that involved a meltdown, a visit to the
hospital followed by ice cream and lots of cuddling with his mommy, and finally
a lazy evening spent with Sam and Adam, who came back home with Aunt Naomi
later in the afternoon.
Naomi didn't stay for long, and Dean pretended to be asleep while she visited,
mainly to avoid questions about his hand. When she was gone, Dean made a re-
appearance and greeted Adam who seemed fascinated with Dean's splint; at once
curious and suspicious about exactly how his big brother got his "big ouchie."
During their playtime, Adam eventually turned his "Deedee hurt" statement into
a sing-song—he'd say it, and giggle, and in the course of that, remind Dean how
much he'd missed the little drunk ... because that's always how he seems like
to Dean: just a tiny drunk man. And God, does Dean love his tiny little
brother.
Before bed, both boys nursed from their mom—Sam was happy to accommodate, and
feeling visibly at peace with his two babies tucked safely in his arms. It
seems that Sammy got past the fact that Dean is way past the age of
breastfeeding very quickly. Now his mother almost takes it for granted that
during their private quality time, when Dad's not around and when it's time for
a feeding, Dean would want it too. Sam is still not used to being topless when
he lets them nurse, but at least now he automatically loses either the shirt or
the bra.
And today there was something more; an air of guilt was engulfing Sam, and in
retrospect, Dean feels that his mom was perhaps trying to make amends through
every small action, and breastfeeding was probably one way Sam was saying
sorry. It's likely why he let Dean continue to suck at his tits long after the
milk stopped dribbling. He also let Dean feel them up, and let him enjoy the
hot pull of his mouth on his mom's nipples, licking and blowing on the spit-wet
buds, occasionally biting, and accidentally leaving what Dean can only term a
hickey (if only to continue to fuel his own sense of victory) in the meat
around one of his mommy's nips.
When his mommy gasped with the bite, Dean apologized quickly,
"Shhh, it's okay mom, I'm sorry I hurt you."
His whispers blew hot breaths over the sensitized, sore nipple when he spoke
them. Dean then brushed a soft kiss to the nipple to soothe it, then quietly
returned to milking Sam dry. With Sam's lower lip trapped between his teeth,
eyes scrunched shut in pain, the man looked delicious and worth all the trouble
Dean is going through to get him all to himself.
When they were done, Sammy put Adam to sleep, then helped Dean clean the mess
in his room. His mother insisted that there was no way to keep their argument
from Castiel, especially with the damage done to Dean's hand and to the vanity.
Dean gets that, of course. But they agreed they would skip details, water down
Dean's attitude in the re-telling, lose the parts about Dean witnessing Sam and
Cas together and Dean still feeling bitter about the "heat break" he took from
home.
They concocted something. Sam would tell Cas he was trying to talk Dean out of
his boxing training, like he wanted him off the sport forever. The thought of
Dean getting hurt or lost scared him, he'd tell Cas, and he got a preview the
night before and he didn't want to go there again, ever.
There's already a lot of truth that they felt they could build on; Sam had
always felt uneasy about Dean becoming a boxer—especially since he was so good
at it that his coaches had high hopes for him and are pushing him so hard. Sam
had complained abundantly to Cas. He even tried to convince Dean to take up
basketball, swimming, or something like tennis or squash instead. Cas had
refused to pressure Dean into abandoning something he loved just because his
wife was being overprotective, and Dean had laughed off his mom's fears,
adamantly refusing to even discuss switching sports.
Dean remembers saying he'd rather die of head trauma than take up something
like tennis.
Tennis, mom? You're friggin' kidding me! he had added indignantly.
So it's believable.
It's also very likely that Dean would flip out if his mom insisted too
badly—and maybe, according to their new story, his mom insisted and flipped out
a little too.
Dean knew that this was no way near a free pass. He knew he'll probably get
lectured by Castiel at best and penalized somehow anyway.
But this was better than the truth, which would probably just enrage Castiel,
or worse, raise his suspicions about Dean's true feelings for his mom, and in
turn, put a damper on everything Dean has been planning with regards to his
mommy.
Of course, he didn't reveal to Sam that last detail, but it's what he believes.
Sam himself has his reasons for the elaborate lie. Cas hates to go to war over
something twice, or needlessly protract discussions over an issue that he
believes has been settled, and Sam knows that. If he hears it as it is, Cas
will take Dean's lingering anger and persistent attitude over something that's
said and done (at least to Cas) as a personal challenge to his authority, as
both father and Alpha. Sam hates the tension a situation like this could create
between his husband and son. Now, as Dean is growing up, Sam can sense that
Cas's Alpha sensibilities are becoming sharper, much more vigilant to signs of
rebellion or dissent. And Dean is not easy, already. He's passionate, and he
marches to the beat of a different drummer.
Sam thinks the less confrontations between these two in this delicate juncture,
the better. He's tired of standing between them.
And the whole affair with witnessing Sam and Cas being sexually intimate? To
Sam, that has already been classified as their "little secret" the moment it
was divulged and there was no need to even discuss it out loud again and make
everyone feel awkward.
....
Stretched in his bed, hugging his wounded hand to his chest, Dean goes over his
last conversation with his mom, and smiles. He thinks the more secrets and lies
he and his Sammy share, the closer they'll get, and the farther away his mom
will drift from Castiel. Or so he hopes.
And that's when he hears the rising murmuring coming from his parents' room,
two doors away, and realizes Castiel is now becoming privy to his earlier
meltdown. Dean knits his brows in concern as he hears a door creak open, then
footsteps approaching his room, and from what he can gather based on sound
alone, it's Castiel and apparently he wants to wake Dean up in the dead of
night to talk about what happened. Cas can't wait until morning, he says, and
Dean knows that's bad.
But he also knows that his mommy simply won't let this happen, and Dean's
proven right a moment later. He can hear his Sammy coming to his defense,
whispering that his son has had enough and that his day was quite hard already.
Castiel won't listen, apparently, and Sam finally lets it out (unaware that
Dean is probably still awake, perking up his ears on the other side of the
closed door, spying on their semi-hushed conversation, even if he's still lying
in bed).
Well, the doors are thin.
"I hit him, okay," Sam hisses.
"You what?"
"It's why he lost it. I slapped him, Castiel," Sam repeats, and his voice
sounds teary, which is probably why his dad remains silent for a few moments
registering this.
He can hear his father release a sigh.
"Sam, that's still not--"
"No, Cas. Don't. I've never laid a finger on our kids before, and after ... you
know, how I was raised, I swore, I'd never-- But today, I did, Cas, and I feel
awful, and I wish I died before it happened. And I don't know how to make it up
to him. I feel responsible for what happened, alright? For everything: the
pain, all the blood. My God, he bled so much. And I made him cry, and I never
thought—God. So ... please don't make it worse."
Cas stays silent, letting it all sink in. He knows just as well as Sam does
that violence is not in Sam, so for him to lose his temper and strike... it
must have been as traumatizing for Sam as it was for Dean. Punishing Dean,
again, would make it more painful for Sam; would be like punishing his wife
along with Dean.
Lately, Cas has been feeling as if something is slipping out of his hands. He
doesn't know what it is, and because of that, he can't control it - Sammy's
changing, and he can't put a finger on how he is, or why, and he's losing his
grip on Dean too. In the past, Sam and him were more of an united front, but
now things are not as black and white. His thoughts trail off as Sam speaks
again.
"Look, Cas, you can have a talk with him tomorrow. In the morning. When he's up
and well rested. After he's had his first meal. We're not sadists. He made a
mistake, alright, but he was thoroughly punished for it. Please, Cas."
"Alright. Okay. Backing off, Sam. For you, honey. This time, I'll let it go,
but only for you," Cas says, emotionally exhausted from all the back-and-forth.
This time, and last time, and probably two more times, Cas thinks. God, Dean is
getting away with a lot these days.
"Good, thank you, darling." Phew.
When Dean hears the unmistakable sound of kissing, his stomach churns a little,
but at least he feels this is for his benefit, to help his dad calm down and
forget he has a bone to pick with his son. Cas is probably not happy his hand
was forced yet again.
Dean also feels for his mom, so he'll go easy on Sam, too. Sure, he doesn't
like that everything ends with him and Cas kissing, and man, that slap burned,
and not just physically. It shocked Dean to the core, but it looks like his mom
is already torturing himself over it; the guilt and the pain in his voice is
potent, and his sorrow touches Dean.
So Dean lets it all go, soaks up the sensations of fatigue, the tingling relief
from the pain pills he popped earlier, and finally drifts off.
...
When Dean comes to, it's still late at night. The light from the street lamp
swept in from the gap in the curtains attests to it.
There's a dip in the mattress, and a weight settles down beside him—it's what’s
woken him up. When Dean flutters his eyes open, he can see it's his mom.
"Sorry, go back to sleep. I'm just checking on you," says Sam, and his voice
sounds a little broken. Dean squints, letting his eyes get used to the dim
lighting, then he sees it; his mommy's red-rimmed eyes. It's either Sam was
crying or couldn't sleep.
"Hey, something wrong?"
"Nothing, sweetheart. Is your hand alright? Does anything still hurt?"
Mildly. It's mainly a persistent dull throbbing, Dean thinks, but he isn't
going to say it, seeing how torn up his mommy looks already. "Nah, mom, it's
all good."
Sam cards his fingers through Dean's hair. "Do you know how much I love you,
Dean?"
"Yeah, mom ... I do."
"Good, because I'd never hurt you sweetie, never," Sam says, and a single tear
falls, and he quickly wipes it away.
"Mom, come here. Come to bed," Dean says, sits up with a little difficulty,
then holds both his healthy arm and injured arm out for Sam. And Sam complies.
He slips under the covers, and into Dean's arms, lying between his legs, his
torso resting on Dean's hips, and Dean spreads his thighs to accommodate his
mom.
Sam hugs him like he's trying to hide inside his son's much smaller frame, his
head buried in his son's neck, and his arms curled tightly around Dean's waist,
lifting him slightly off the bed. They hold each other, and Dean can feel the
hot tears against his neck. He starts stroking Sam's hair, kissing his
forehead, and rubbing his nose against Sam's cheeks until his mom's breaths
even out and calm down.
Sam turns his head up, and asks, "Do you forgive me?"
"Mommy, there's nothing to forgive. I'm yours. You can do anything you want to
me," he says, his softness now in direct proportion to his cruelty in the
morning when he'd called his mom a whore and pushed him away. They're now
gazing at each other, breathing the same air, lips mere inches apart, and Dean
takes the opportunity, and slots their mouths together, kissing hungrily.
His mother lets his own lips be plundered.
"Mom, open your mouth," Dean whispers urgently between kisses, feeling bold.
"Dean,"
"Come on, I wanna taste you." Kiss. "Please." Kiss. "It'll make me feel
better." Kiss. "Safer. Loved." Kiss. "Open ‘em."
Sam does, and the moment his mommy's lips part, Dean stabs his tongue inside,
running it along Sammy's tongue, his teeth, the roof of his mouth.
He takes Sam's tongue between his own teeth then starts sucking on it,
slurping, pulling like he wants to devour it already.
His mom squirms a little. Dean can feel his surprise and reluctance at being
kissed like this; so consumingly, like no son should kiss his mother, like
they've never kissed before. But Dean pushes past his mother's hesitancy, and
continues to eat his mouth like a piece of coveted dessert.
"Dean," Sam manages to groan between kisses. His grip on Dean loosens at first,
then he feels his mom trying to nudge him, then trying to push up from the bed
and away from his mouth. But Dean's hands are around his mommy, and Sam won’t
dislodge or throw him off knowing he could hurt his son's bandaged hand if he
does. So he tries to wriggle, but without much heart.
Every time Sam tries to pull away, Dean moves with him, follows his mouth with
his own, re-slotting his lips over Sam's and pushing his tongue inside his
mom's mouth again.
Dean rests his injured hand, the one in a splint, against Sam's shoulder and
neck, but his other hand moves down and slips under Sammy's shirt.
His mom is not wearing a bra, and his breasts are soft and accessible. Dean
mounds at one breast, groping it, then he pinches a nipple, taking it between
thumb and index fingers, willing it into hardness. "Dean, sweetie. What are you
doing?" Sam rasps when his mouth is momentarily released. Dean attacks his
mouth again. When there's another break, Sammy asks him to "hold on, wait," his
lower lip still trapped between his son's voluptuous lips as he speaks.
But Dean's not listening.
And Sam doesn't try anything beyond the feeble, small attempts to escape Dean's
not-so-tight clutch.
Dean knows this is happening too close to his confession of getting turned on
watching his mother get fucked, but a) he can't fight it, b) he's sure he can
get away with anything right now with his mommy feeling so incredibly,
irredeemably guilty.
Feeling even luckier, Dean grazes his hands down Sam's torso, along his abs. He
dips a tip of a finger in Sam's navel, then continues down, tracing Sam's
treasure trail, until he meets the fabric of Sam's sweats. His touches are not
exploratory, but urgent, hot and claiming.
His hand changes directions and he curls it around Sam's waist instead of going
lower. Dean can't go there yet. Too soon.
But as a compromise, to himself, he lays his now sweaty palm against the dip of
his mommy's back, right above the swell of his butt, where a thin pair of
sweats are sitting low, nothing beneath them from the looks of it. Just this
thin item of clothing separating Dean's hand from Sam's most private parts.
He's still making out aggressively with Sam, and while his mom may not be
reciprocating as enthusiastically, he's not totally passive either, despite
calling Dean's name between breaths and begging him to "stop" as his son's hand
wanders.  
Dean's hand moves from Sam's lower back and dips lower, then, in a moment of
pure uninhibited passion, he thinks fuck it and pushes his wandering, insistent
fingers past Sammy's sweats and into the crease between Sam's ass cheeks. He
wants to ravage and rape that secret spot ... touch a finger to Sam's sweet,
pretty pink pucker, then slip it inside, claim Sammy, finger fuck him into
confessing he's his alone. Make him writhe, and squirt. Drool cum and slick as
he talks dirty to him. Wet his own pants from the stimulation, and finally
orgasm with Dean's name spilling from his lips like a prayer.  
But it happens differently, and so quickly, one push, and he's barely touching
Sammy's hole before his mom panics, pushes back and bucks off the bed and him.
"Oh God, Dean, you shouldn't ..." Sam runs his hands through his hair, looking
for words. His face is flushed, eyes still teary, his lips wet, swollen and
bitten, wrecked from the ravenous kissing and nibbling they were subjected to,
and Dean feels a wave of pride course through him at making his mommy look so
used, so deliciously confused and edible. His cock is already twitching from
the passionate kissing.
"What's wrong, mom?" Dean takes one of Sam's hands in his, laces their fingers
together, and pulls him closer. Sam reluctantly follows. Dean kneels on the
bed, to be closer in height to his now standing mommy, then he lays his chin on
the swell of Sam's breasts, gaze never leaving Sam's. "I like tasting you, mom.
You taste so good," Dean says, lacing his voice with sweet innocence, but, it's
still rough with want, and his breath is coming fast. He knows he can't mask
that rasp.
He's not hiding his intent per se, physically he definitely isn't, but he's
challenging his mom to put a name on his actions, to accuse him of taking
things "too far."
He knows Sam won't. Because even as he's being groped and fondled and kissed
like a lover, a big part of Sam will still refuse to see Dean as anything but
his sweet, innocent, loving son, who perhaps can't differentiate yet between
feelings of love, and feelings of lust.
Dean can live with that misperception—if it gives him what he wants.
"Would you prefer it if I don't kiss you again? At all?"
"No!" Sam responds without thinking. "I mean, of course we can kiss, but not,
not like this, sweetie."
"Like what?" Dean asks, and pushes himself up a little in order to place a deep
kiss on Sam's mouth. He releases his lips with a pop, then asks again, "Huh,
mom?" Another lingering kiss.
Sam's eyes close with each kiss, and again he doesn't push Dean away. In fact,
he snakes his arms around Dean and hugs him closer, as Dean cradles his mom's
head and presses feather-light kisses against his lips; his chin, the tip of
his nose, the corner of his mouth, and his collarbone. "What's wrong with
this?"
Meanwhile, Sam doesn't answer all his son's non-questions.
"Forget it, De. Just when you touch me, if you do, baby ... just don't—" Don't
what? Sam thinks to himself. Is he going to tell his son to stop touching him
so intimately, so beautifully because it's wrong? ... and is it wrong? Should
there be taboos between mother and son, if they're as close to each other as he
and Dean is?
Who puts the rules?
And it's not like Dean means anything by it, Sam reasons. It's not like his son
is consciously stepping over a line. He probably doesn't fully understand that
love manifests itself differently between parents and their kids; no matter how
deep it runs, Sam muses, that there are still red lines. Dean is too pure, and
whole, and too true to his love, to understand what these man-made boundaries
were created to accomplish. Besides, despite knowing how to win people, Dean is
generally emotionally withdrawn. He hasn't learned to dispense his feelings
except with family. Sam is partly responsible for that, drilling into him that
it all comes down to them: his parents and his brother. So this type of love,
it's all Dean knows.
Sam himself doesn't understand why society has decided it's not OK for mothers
and sons to love each other so unconditionally, like lovers or better ... this
love, Sam knows he can't have with anyone. Not even Cas. Because not even Cas
was born out of his womb. Not even Cas, for all his perfections, had been
inside Sam for nine months. It wasn’t Cas that was literally part of him, it
wasn’t Cas that fed from his breasts for years, and it wasn’t Cas who walked
his first steps towards Sam, spoke his first words to Sam, and loved Sam even
before he knew what love was.
For all his life, Sam has been Dean's all, his center of attention, his rock,
his friend and parent. Sam would never be this for Cas.
Sam has witnessed every little detail of Dean's life, and it has not been so
for Cas. Even as in love as they are, Sam still keeps certain things—memories,
stories, dreams—from Castiel. He bets it's the same for Cas. But to Sam, Dean
is an open book. He knows his son inside out.
For all their love and longing, Sam's and Cas's passion for each other pales in
comparison to how tied up together and how tightly connected Sam and his first
born are. Sam's heart could burst from all the love he has for his son; it
fills him up, overtakes him, and sometimes, maddens him.
He'd never confess it out loud, but sometimes Sam doesn't even understand his
feelings for Dean completely.
The closest thing Sam has to this all-encompassing love is his love for Adam.
And even with loving Adam so warmly and deeply, Sam knows he and Dean share an
uncanny special bond. He hates to admit it, but sometimes he feels even Adam
can't exactly compete, at least not in this respect. Perhaps when Adam is
older, things will change and Sam will be able to forge a similarly strong bond
with him. 
So, bearing this in mind, should he still push his son away, deny him things
and school him into accepting the tenets of this flawed society - the same
society Sam himself struggles with day in day out?
Should he tell Dean it's wrong, dirty, to seek comfort and security from
kissing his mother, or touching him, just because he's not his Alpha, because
he was designated only the role of a "son," or just because it was decided long
before Dean was born that one man and only one should touch Sam this way? What?
Should he tell Dean to restrain his natural impulses, train himself to fear and
sexualize even the purest expressions of love, instead of taking them for what
they are: displays of deep affection and unwavering love?
It's too late in the night to ponder on this any further, Sam thinks, so he
just places a final chaste kiss on Dean's cheek, detangles himself from his
son's embrace and asks him to go back to sleep, so he could get some rest. He
needs it.
"Sleep with me?" Dean asks, refusing to let his mom go. "Please?"
Sam's shoulders' sag. "Ok, just for a little bit. Maybe until you go back to
sleep."
Foot in the door, Dean pauses.
"Mom, one more thing."
"What, De?"
"I'm feeling pretty shaken. From this morning. And I just wanna—" Dean trails
off, on purpose. He knows what he's doing to his mom.
"What? What do you want, De?"
"No ... You won't get it ..."
"Try me, sweetie."
"Mom, I'm suddenly scared to ask."
"Hey, don't! Scared from me?! We don't censor ourselves around each other, you
and I."
"But you might take it the wrong way. After today ... I just can't—"
"Dean, there's nothing we can't say to each other. Hear me, buddy?" his mom
says, voice serious.
Dean gulps audibly, but doesn't speak.
"Baby?" And the word is beckoning softly.
"Can we sleep together without clothes on? Just for tonight. Earlier, I felt my
heart was racing, like I was on the verge of panic, mom, and I needed you. But
I didn't wanna come to your room," he lies. "I just wanna feel your skin, mom.
I want to feel us touching."
"Oh."
"Forget it, I'm—you know, being a baby. Maybe even a freak for wanting this."
"Hey, no, no, no. It's just that I'm not sure I'm comfortable—I'm. If. How it
looks, De. If your dad wakes up and comes here looking for me ..."
"Ah ... It's fine, mom." Whatever. It's always his dad standing in the way.
"Look, don't. There's nothing wrong with wanting to feel close to someone. I'm
your mom, and best friend, remember? We're it for each other. I'll tell you
what? I'll help you take your shirt and sweats off. You can sleep in your
shorts. I'm going commando, so ... erm, I'll just take my shirt off and keep
the pants. We'll snuggle closely. You'll still feel me, I promise."
"Ok, mom, thank you." Good enough, Dean thinks.
When they're out of most of their clothes, Dean lies in his mom's arms. Both of
them are on their sides, with Dean lying on his good side, of course. His mom
makes him promise to come and call him anytime he feels panic taking over him:
"It's not negotiable, De. You feel like that again? You come straight to mommy.
I don't care what hour it is." Dean promises, and when they settle, cuddle
closely, he finds his face right up his mom's full naked chest. Without
thinking he opens up his mouth, and seals his lips around a breast, and starts
nursing on it. Sam's eyes glaze over and he holds his son tighter. Dean's lids
soon start feeling heavy ... he finally sleeps with one arm around his mom, the
other propped up against Sammy's waist, their legs tangled together, his mom's
mouth pressed to the top of his head and one of his mom's nipples clutched
between his lips.
In Dean's books, with all things considered, this is certainly a good outcome
for the day.
...
Three weeks later, Dean is in Rhonda Hurley's bed, kissing her heatedly,
tasting the remains of cigarette smoke and whiskey on her tongue, and fucking
for the first time, his new girlfriend getting impaled on his dick.
She's straddling him and he's buried to the hilt inside Rhonda's hot pussy with
two spit-slick fingers buried in her ass. She's whining helplessly - or so she
pretends. Dean can't tell if she's intentionally turning up the volume on her
sluttiness. He doesn't care. She knows what she's doing, it seems, and it's
fucking working wonders on Dean.
Dean's lazy arm, with the near-healed hand, is stretched beside him. Dean
thrusts up into Rhonda, slipping in and out with his cock, and stabbing with
his fingers - overworking them plus his core muscles - as he fucks into her two
holes simultaneously, screwing her in more ways than one.
His pace is punishing and Rhonda is indulging him, working herself up and down
Dean's thick length with abandon, moaning like a whore and even Dean can't
believe the bitch's barely 16. She fucks, and gets fucked, like a pro - her ash
blond hair falling back, her perky udders bouncing, rose pink nipples hard
enough to cut glass, and her mouth is open, panting and making the sweetest
noises Dean has ever heard.
And jeez, he's two years younger, and she still worships him; age doesn't even
register to her. All she wants is a strong, handsome Alpha and a good, solid
fuck. If Dean had known her back when he was still 12, she'd probably still let
him dick her if he tempts her enough.
And Dean's cock is very tempting—he's a young dominant Alpha through and
through.
When his orgasm hits, it's electrifying. Against good reason, he's fucking her
bare, without a condom, and he shoots inside - and the feeling he gets from the
friction, and from letting loose inside her pussy is worth all the risk (and
the tests that will follow to make sure he didn't contact anything). But even
in the throes of passion, and considering how ready he feels for more sexual
adventures, Dean still remembers to pull out before his knot fattens up. Not
that he can properly knot with a beta like her. But even if she could trap his
knot with her inner muscles, like omegas do, Rhonda doesn't deserve the honor
anyway.
Dean's knot is for one person, and one person alone. And that person's name is
too pure and too good to be so much as uttered in Rhonda's presence.
Dean's cock perks up again, shortly after they're done with round one. You see,
Rhonda does this filthy thing: when Dean is lying back still trying to catch
his breath, the insatiable bitch sits up against the headboard and splays her
legs wide open for Dean, showing off the sloppy mess he made of her. Her cunt
and hole are obscenely stretched and on display, and Dean can't take his eyes
away from that juicy spot between her legs.
Now having his full attention, Rhonda uses two fingers to scoop up the cum
leaking from her pussy and she fuckin' eats it. Dean's cum, that was just
dribbling out in rivulets from her pussy hole, whose muscles are still flexing
... the dark-pink-rimmed opening that's still winking enticingly at Dean.
His mind melts, and he makes a mental note to tell Benny every last detail of
this. Hell, he'll tell anyone who listens.
And Rhonda's still taking it all. Dipping her fingers in her soaked cunt.
Swallowing Dean's fluids, moaning around her fingers like it's honey she's
tasting or chocolate syrup. And Dean has never seen anything so dirty.
His dick goes from twitching to rock hard in under a minute. "Want to come in
my ass, Dean? My pussy is still dripping with your seed but my hole feels so
empty," she purrs, as she plays with her pucker now, circles it, slips a
manicured finger in, for his eyes only. "Want you to ruin my slutty hole,
Dean," she begs beautifully.
And Dean ... Dean is a gone man, all thoughts of anyone else but Rhonda simply
forgotten.  
Chapter End Notes
     Again, I apologize for the non-events here. And for how brief this
     is, compared to chapter six. It's been a super busy week at work, and
     I come home late every night. I barely had time to write.
     Next chapter: Dresses, lingerie, Rhonda Hurley, slutty phone pix and
     a very #JealousSam plus some more drama. We're closer to the actual
     "Dean X Sam fucking" than we ever were btw. I'm personally very
     excited about the next chapter.
     Stay tuned! ;-)
***** Dean and Rhonda *****
Chapter Summary
     Extended scene from the last chapter
Chapter Notes
     WARNING: NSFW picture below!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
[Dean-Rhonda-Joanna-Lee-2015]
Sitting on Rhonda's couch, buck naked, his cock lying soft against his thigh,
Dean sips on a beer as he lazily watches a muted show on the TV screen - he's
not "watching, watching," more like observing the moving pictures. At 16,
Rhonda already has the house to herself most of the time. A nearly absent mom,
and a dad who drinks himself into a stupor every single night, means a lot of
freedom - and sure, less money, and minimal prospects, but Rhonda is not the
self-pitying type; she has long accepted that this is her life and that this is
probably it. And she makes the best out of it - mostly by getting fucked stupid
and building a solid reputation as the school slut, in addition to drinking,
smoking up, even hustling men twice her size in pool in shady bars. Dean has
seen the girl in action, and she's good. She can wiggle her way through
anything, including getting them into some pretty exclusive clubs without
showing IDs.
He doesn't know how she does it but he's not complaining.
Right now, she has thrown a thin crop top on, and she's sitting on a love seat
to his right, her breasts covered, but the lower half of her body completely
nude. She's not even trying to hide her modesty; she's sitting with her legs
folded, knees splayed out, and her pussy lips are spread from the position,
showing off her pink opening and because she's lazily lying back against the
seat, Dean can also glimpse her pucker. Her shamelessness is quite gripping! 
She looks sexy as hell, but Dean fucked her at least three times in less than
four hours and even at 14 that's pushing it. He can enjoy the view, but at this
point, his dick is not interested in anything beyond twitching feebly in
response to the visual stimulation.
Rhonda is sipping on scotch, neat. She offered him a shot earlier but Dean of
course declined. She's also smoking and he wouldn't come near cigarettes no
matter what. Never again. The last time he did, his mom smelled it on him, and
he went through scorching hell for a couple of days. 
His mom can forgive him for anything, except wrecking his own health or harming
himself. When he smelled the smoke, whose smell Dean had mistakenly thought had
faded from his mouth and clothes, Sam was furious. Dean had never seen his mom
this mad - except for the time when Dean had called him a 'dirty whore' but
even then Sam's rage was fleeting, and he was quick to forgive then beg for
forgiveness himself after the whole broken bones fiasco. But it wasn't the case
with being caught smoking. 
It happened the first time Dean went out with Rhonda, and it was tempting to
try. It was only a week after Dean had hurt his hand punching the mirror. It
was their first date, and Rhonda magicked Dean with her rebellion, her daring
and the way she flips off the entire waken world with everything she says or
does - he was inspired. When she offered him a cigarette, he didn't want to
come across as a coward or a wuss, and between them, they'd smoked an entire
pack by the end of the date.
Dean's not stupid; he tried to mask the smell. He tried sucking on mint
lozenges, used a breath spray and gurgled with lukewarm coffee and he went home
thinking he has it covered, until his mommy gave him a welcome home kiss, right
on his mouth, and immediately caught on the trace of his sin. Sam's face
scrunched up in disgust, and when he asked, Dean couldn't lie. Well, he tried,
but his mom could read him right away, so he quickly caved in and told him
everything; that yes, not only did he smoke, but he also chain smoked, and yes,
it was out of peer pressure, because his friends were smoking (Dean didn't
mention it was just Rhonda), and he didn't want to be the odd one out; the
loser, the goody-good boy who's too afraid of his parents to try anything new.
He's 14 goddamnit, he's susceptible to bad influence; it's practically a right
at 14, Dean thinks.
But the look on his mom's face when he was done with his confession made him
feel he should've flipped Rhonda off, and refused the ciggies altogether,
leaving her to think whatever she wants to think of him.
Sam's bitchfacing abilities are legendary, and at that moment, he unleashed his
best one on Dean. When Dean tried to make amends by burrowing into his mom's
embrace and apologizing, shockingly, Sam pushed him away.
"You reek of smoke, Dean. Never come near me smelling like that. You should be
ashamed of yourself," Sam had said, cheeks tinged red with anger. And Dean did
feel ashamed, at that moment. For never had his mom been so harsh. Never had he
felt that he'd disappointed him like this.
The next day, his mom was stone cold, and they barely talked. It was a weekend
but he was grounded. His mom even threatened to rat him out to his dad, who
would've probably tanned his hide if he knew. So Dean happily accepted the
penalty. If his mom is this unforgiving about it, then his dad would probably
break his face, or do something equally drastic. 
Instead of spending Saturday evening in his mom's arms, he spent it holed up in
his room feeling sorry for himself. Later, when his mom calmed a bit, Sam
explained to him how it breaks his heart when Dean does anything to hurt
himself; that he can't stand it when Dean's reckless or acts so irresponsibly,
least of all to please someone else or out of petty pressure. Dean understood.
He would've felt the same if it were Sam or Adam. He promised solemnly he won't
do it again -- a promise that Dean will break of course, but many years later.
Not now. Now, at that moment, he promised, then covered Sam's face with kisses.
Eventually, his mom softened, and smiled a little. By Sunday night, it was all
back to normal, and his mom even tucked him in bed, where they made out some
before Dean went to sleep. Dean didn't dare re-attempt a proper making out
session, with tongue and all, so close to the first incident. So these kisses
were mostly closed-mouthed, but they were lingering and deep, and many, and
they left them both with swollen lips. 
Right now, he listens to his mom. So when Rhonda offered him a puff post their
frantic sex making, Dean firmly refused. He also realized that he too hates how
smoke smells, and he especially loathes how it tastes on Rhonda's mouth. It's
almost a turn off, so next time they plan to go at it like bunnies, he'll tell
Rhonda in advance to lay off the cigarettes. 
"What's on your mind, darling?" Rhonda purrs, from where she's sitting.
"Nothing. Just relaxing."
"Tell me about her?"
"Her?"
"The girl you obsess over when I'm not sucking your dick, or riding you like a
friggin' horse, Dean. Is she in the same school as us?"
Dean understands. He probably has this look in his eyes; whenever Sam crosses
his mind, he gets lost for a bit. Dean will have to learn to school his
features into neutrality when he's thinking of Sam, otherwise people who can
read other people well, like Rhonda does or anyone else, will be able to spot
the dreamy element to his thoughtfulness. 
"No. And it's a he."
"Oh, the plot thickens."
"There's no plot. He's the love of my life, he's the Omega I will finally marry
and settle down with. That's it more or less."
"Typical Alpha. One omega for the main course, and a beta on the side."
"Oh, sweetheart, don't kid yourself. We're nothing. You're not even my
mistress."
"What? Just a one-time fuck? You're hurting my feelings, Dean."
"I don't know if it's a one-time thing. But I don't commit, Rhonda, I can't,
not even to casual. I can't even promise we'll keep playing around like this. I
might come back for seconds. Or not." Dean knows he will. Rhonda is a find. But
he still doesn't want to promise anything.
"And when he's mine, I won't cheat. I won't have to. No betas on the side, just
him," Dean adds, then gulps down some beer. 
"If he has you wound around his little finger like this, so perfectly, why
aren't you with him right now? What are you doing here, darling?"
"Well, it's complicated."
"Complicated how?" she says, smiling playfully, clearly amused. 
"He's not exactly available. Yet. But he's mine, I know it." Dean doesn't even
know why he's not shutting Rhonda up, nipping the conversation in the bud and
ending it with "it's none of your business" before it's even starting. Maybe
it's the alcohol, and sex afterglow, loosening his tongue, or perhaps, a part
of him wants to spill; wants to find a way to talk about Sam, discuss their
messed up situation, and seek comfort from the idea of letting someone else
know that Sam is his, and only his; that his mom is his everything. 
"He's married, isn't he?" 
How on Earth are her guesses spot on like this? 
"Rhonda, tread softly." 
"I don't even know what this means."
"It means it's time to shut up, maybe."
Rhonda puts out her cigarette, lays the glass aside, leaves the chair and
crawls on all fours, seductively, to where Dean is. She kneels between Dean's
legs, grips his knees and parts his thighs further, and dives in between,
sucking on Dean's naked balls, moaning as she does, like his bag is the most
delicious meal. Her eyes meet his as she slurps, and he knows what she's doing.
This conversation's not over. Dean can't help but throw his head back; pleasure
coursing through him, his lower parts slowly coming to life, cock stirring, and
blood rushing to his groin. Before he falls further into pleasure, he tips his
beer bottle back, and drains the rest of it. He discards the bottle, on the
floor by the couch. 
Rhonda pops one of his balls out of her wet lips, and says, "Tell me a bit
about him. What you love the most."
"No way, but go back to what you were doing. Jeez, Rhonda, put your mouth on my
balls. Keep sucking," Dean says, breathlessly. 
Rhonda runs her lips against his length, and her voice vibrates against his
penis when she speaks, "na-uh, not until you tell me about your boy. Come on.
What's so special about him, darling?" She kisses the head of Dean's cock.
Softly. Like she's kissing a baby. It's pure torture. 
"Damn it, Rhonda. I like the way he smells." She takes the head in her mouth,
and starts sucking. "I like his b-body. It's soft in places, and h-hard in
others. God!" She pushes her tongue into his cock slit. "I like his voice. It's
manly, yet full of love and warmth. And ... Rhonda, God." He can feel the slit
give, the tiny hole expanding under Rhonda's assault, and he's never had a blow
job that felt so dirty. She continues her ministrations, and he continues
spilling, and although he feels erotically blackmailed into speaking about his
mom, his Sammy, he still feels liberated he could even talk about him to anyone
else.
He keeps going on and on about Sam's lips, Sam's eyes, his chest, his belly
pudge, his cock. Even mentioning he's older. All, saving Sam's name and
relationship to him of course, or anything that would give his identity away.
Then Dean's brain gets sucked through his prick and he starts outright rambling
... 
"When we're married, I'll pump him full of babies. And-and, put him in dresses
all the time. I'll fuckin' flaunt him everywhere, I'll fuck him where people
can see. So that everyone knows he's mine. God, he'll l-look - Oh, Rhonda, keep
doing that, please. Ahhh - he-he will look great in panties and lacy bras. And
that's the only thing he'll be allowed to wear around our house. I'll hand pick
his lingerie. Uhhh. I won't even take off his panties when, when ... I'm gonna
come, Rho-. Soon. ... I'll just ... I'll just part his legs and pull the panty
to the side, and f-fuck his hole. I'll fuckin' fuck him into the mattress. I'll
knot him. He'll be my bitch. And I'll stay in him for hours. I'll fuckin' fill
him with my cum, and-and piss. Mark him all over. I'll plug him, and let him
walk around with my seed and pee sloshing inside of him. I'm coming, coming.
Uhhh." Eyes glazed, pulse thundering in his ears, and vision whitening, Dean's
orgasm rips through him, strings of white pearly fluid shooting from his dick
into Rhonda's throat. She swallows it all down, then parts her lips, and
releases him. 
"How was that, darling?" Her voice is raspy, and her lips look edible. 
"Come here," Dean says and pulls her into his arms, slotting their mouths
together, and devouring her lips, practically tasting himself there. "You know
how delicious you are, Rhonda? Huh, baby?"
"Does this mean I'll see you again?" She asks, sweetly, against his lips,
between hot kisses. "Maybe." She pulls away. "Well, most probably," Dean adds
hastily. 
"Good enough," she says, giggling. And Dean flips them on the couch so that
he's lying on top of her then he resumes fucking her mouth with his tongue.
She is something, he thinks, before falling hard, again, into the throes of
passion. He wonders, for a split of a second, if he can indeed keep her on the
side like Alphas typically do, but his mind doesn't stay there. It's his dick
thinking now. No, no, he'll just have Rhonda as long as he can't fully have his
mom, then it's over, he tells himself. And until then, his mom doesn't even
have to know there's a Rhonda. 
Or so he tells himself. 
 
Chapter End Notes
     Short and sweet (I hope). Then more juice in the next update, and as
     promised, a bit of #JealousSam ;) Sorry for making you guys wait for
     so awfully long before updating. Will try my best to be consistent
     from here on.
***** The big reveal *****
Chapter Summary
     Dean strings Rhonda along while he still can't get his mom.
Chapter Notes
     Hiya, this is just a (very) little something to prove to you that I'm
     back on the grid and back to writing this. It's just to wet your
     appetite. All the real action, and the emotional turmoil, is in the
     next chapter, which will come some time this week, I promise. This
     was actually supposed to be only the first part of the new chapter,
     but since I've been getting a lot of comments inquiring about
     updates, I thought that the best way to reassure you is to just post
     what I have so far.
     I'll continue writing tonight as well, so that I can post a full,
     juicy chapter as soon as I can.
     FYI, Dean has recently turned 15 in this one.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
[Young Dean Winchester ]
Dean and Rhonda are an item now, and everyone treats Dean like he's won the
lottery - including Benny, who called dibs on getting all the details to Dean
and Rhonda's "bedroom rodeo", as he calls it. The girls call Rhonda a slut, but
the boys envy the ground she walks on; she's hot, and easy, a guy's dream come
true. Right?
Wrong, because Dean is already taken.
Sure, Dean knows she's a looker. 
And Dean will give Rhonda something else: she endures. He's been hot and cold,
moody, and downright rude to her sometimes but she's still tethered to him. 
She knows Dean is in love with "an older boy". He insinuated as much, more like
nearly admitted it during one of their sexapades. She accepts she's never going
to be "the one," but she sticks around, and Dean won't lie, he enjoys the
intimacy. In bed, Rhonda is anything but boring.
A part of Dean has humored the thought that maybe there's a longer play at
hand; Rhonda may be lurking, waiting for a chance to pounce on Dean, and tie
him in a committed relationship, but as far as he's concerned, she can lurk all
she wants; she'll never be his other half.
He already cheats on Rhonda with other girls. He often comes clean, she
pretends to mind, but deep down, Dean doesn't think she does as long as,
publicly, they're still together. In another life, she might have worked well
as a beta mistress, if only for her looks, because let's face it, that's her
only powerful asset. The girl's got no class. 
Dean tells himself he can make do with this broken relationship for now - until
he's with his mate. His own mother. 
He realizes how it sounds, and he's already bracing himself (mentally) for all
the battles he will have to wage in order to convince the world his mom is his.
He knows what this love entails; this obsession. He's painfully aware that his
mom was claimed before Dean was even conceived - in fact, Dean himself wouldn't
be here if he weren't.
He also knows choosing Sam means breaking ranks with his entire family, losing
his father, maybe even his brother, and one day having to stand up and claim
his own mother, marry him and be both father and brother to his sons and
daughters. 
It's messed up. If he were an outsider, he'd judge himself and Sam harshly. 
But Dean also doesn't care - family politics or societal norms don't hold a
candle to the red, hot passion coursing through him at the idea of having Sam
all to himself.
He's familiar with the history of Alpha and Omega relationships, and being
claimed by family members happened and still happens, albeit rarely compared to
the old days. But it's not unheard of, and new social laws are not scripture,
he tells himself. 
Dean sometimes wishes he could vent to someone. He once thought of Bobby. They
talk sometimes during his banishment periods, which are regular now that Sam
goes into heat, but he couldn't muster enough courage to talk to him about
this.
The closest he came to spilling it all to Bobby was when Dean fell apart this
one time. Dean had been staying at Bobby's when he was suddenly hit by a bout
of rage at the thought of his father claiming Sam like he once saw him do; the
anger soon turned destructive and Dean's awareness caught up with him only in
the midst of a tantrum where he was literally wrecking one of Bobby's cars in
the yard with a heavy metal rod.
Usually working on the cars was meditative for Dean, but not that time. That
time, he got carried away with his thoughts. He came out of his trance when
Bobby started screaming at him to stop, holding his wrists, barring him from
swinging his make-shift bat and hurling it at the poor vehicle one more time.
Dean remembers the moment he came to: He was being manhandled by Bobby,
standing in front of a wreck that he'd caused. He unclenched his fist, the rod
fell out, and tears started overflooding his eyes.
The adrenaline withdrawal left Dean light headed, and his knees almost gave
out. He held together, barely keeping from passing out or having a full
meltdown. He sniffed and shifted his gaze away from his handiwork and from
Bobby. He expected a lecture, and a phone call to his parents. Out of shame and
not fear, Dean then started profusely apologizing. But Bobby just dismissed
him. Dean saw him inspecting the damage - or pretending to, while in reality he
was probably digesting the scene he'd walked onto - muttering "idjit" under his
breath.
Later on, Bobby who usually hated talking about feelings as much as Dean did,
popped open a couple of beers, slid one to Dean across the kitchen table, and
told him to spill.
And Dean could've done that, would've, right there and then, and perhaps Bobby
would've understood.
Dean would've told him his problem, mainly that he loved a man too much and it
was making him mad and he didn't understand half of it. He'd tell him that his
man was always with him, but always out of reach, loving but not romantically
interested, his, but not his.
But Dean made a last minute decision to shut his cakehole, and keep his secrets
and moaning to himself. Instead, he told Bobby he's feeling burned out, after
losing a boxing match plus enduring overwhelming school work, expectations,
etc. to which Bobby listened patiently, finally concluded it was all bullshit,
telling Dean that when he's ready to talk, he'll be here. "And not a word to
Cas or Sam about this," Bobby had added, pointing to Dean's beer bottle. Dean
protested humorously that he's not an idiot, he'd never tell his parents about
the odd drink. It wasn't worth mentioning anyway; it was one single beer. And
that was that. 
The 'dark' incident was shoved under the carpet, and for that Dean was
immensely grateful. 
...
It's almost the end of this school year, and the next is Dean's freshman year
in high school.
He knows it's a big deal for his parents, but for him, all that he can think
about is his sixteenth birthday, which, according to his pre-set plan, he's
going to celebrate by fucking his mom.
He plans to do it some time around the Lupercalia festival, and his official
coming-of-age ceremony as an Alpha male of the Winchester family. Both
traditions are very medieval in flavor but his father's family uphold the
tradition religiously. He's never attended the festival before; only adults are
allowed to. But he hears that everyone dresses up for it, that it's grand and
regal, and that during the festival, the family's freshly matured Alphas are
honored by the heads of families. Dean doesn't think Castiel is progressive
enough to force him to miss such a celebrated, life-defining event.
And again, Dean believes it's fit to claim his mom around that time, in the
after-glow of his own ceremony, after his mom witnesses his enthroning as an
Alpha. 
But he's no way close to being anything like that for Sam. In fact, he had to
take it all down a notch, sensing a strong reluctance from his mom's end when
he pushes or when he tries to brave new territory, especially during the last
couple of weeks. 
Sam still wavers between holding back and giving his all - and Dean is
sometimes not so sure if his mom is still buying into his innocent charade. 
Dean thinks perhaps it's time he let go of polite pretenses and instead, reveal
to his mom his true intentions.
It's a wager; he could lose all. But how else is he going to make this work?
Besides, Dean would like to think that his mom loves him too much to risk
losing him, even if it came down to a choice between him and his father. Or is
he wrong? 
His string of thoughts is severed when he hears his mom calling him down for
dinner. His dad, as per the new tradition, is not around. He's so close to
promotion, and he's working his butt off these days, spending more time in the
office, and in work-related events, than ever before. Dean was propped up
against the headboard waiting for the aspirin he popped half an hour earlier to
kick in when he heard Sam's call. He was badly beaten in sparring, and took a
bad hit to his chest. His ribs are aching. He was distracted and clumsy and his
boxing coach was not happy. 
Dean climbs off the bed, and walks down to the ground floor. His mom and Adam
are already around the kitchen table, as Dean shuffles into the kitchen then
grunts in pain as he plops down in his seat. 
"Your ribs?" his mom asks, concern lacing his tone, but also a hint of anger
that Dean doubts has anything to do with him being banged up.
"Getting better," Dean responds.
"I highly doubt."
"I'm fine, mom."
"Whatever, Dean. Eat," his mom says, dropping a plate in front of him. 
OK, something is most definitely wrong. Throughout the meal, Dean tries to
start a conversation but his mom's clipped responses kill those attempts. Sam
is uncharacteristically impatient with Adam, who's like any three year old at a
dinner table, is squirming in his seat, and playing with his food between
mouthfuls. When they're done, Dean tries to help his mom clear the table, but
Sam tells him not to bother. Dean takes Adam to the living room, and pops a DVD
in, a cartoon to entertain his little brother, something he can fall asleep to.
Then he returns to the kitchen where Sam's washing the dishes. His mom's back
is straighter than usual, his shoulders are visibly tense, and he looks
agitated - his distress is radiating off of him in waves. Dean swings his arms
around him and hugs him from behind, chest to back, but Sam doesn't relax. Dean
lays his head on Sam's back, in the nook between his shoulder blades, and
starts massaging his mom's abs, wanting to soothe him of whatever it is that's
eating him up. But Sam wriggles, clearly uncomfortable with the gesture and
wanting to break free, and asks Dean if he has school work that requires
attending to. 
Dean doesn't know what to do with himself, so he withdraws to his room. 
The week goes on with Sam being aloof and physically unresponsive. And between
school and training, and studying for exams, Dean can't find the time to corner
his mom and finally find out what's going on. Roll on the weekend, he thinks,
because he really wants to get to the bottom of this. 
On Thursday, late in the afternoon, Dean feels disenchanted with the cold
situation at home, and he's climbing the walls. He decides to call Benny to see
if he could come over to study with him. Cas is in early from work, a rarity
but it happens, and Sam is showering his husband with attention. They're both
ignoring him; Cas is not doing it on purpose, and Sam? Who knows what's going
through his mommy's head right now. Where else do you think Dean got his talent
for closing up and shutting his emotions away?
To make it all worse ... Dean has this dreadful feeling in the pit of his
stomach that his mom and dad might have sex tonight, and he's helpless to stop
it, as always.
An hour after his call, Benny comes round and at least now Dean has someone to
talk to. 
Believe it or not, they do study for a bit, in Dean's room, but then Cas swings
by and tells them that dinner is served. When they're at the table, everyone
makes polite conversation - it's not too often that Dean brings friends to the
house - and for some reason everything is a little awkward. Sam doesn't talk to
Dean a lot, it's like he's avoiding him or something, and Cas is making small
talk. Adam is being his cute self, and telling Benny about his day. At three,
he can string some sentences together, already, and he likes talking. 
The conversation inches forward until Benny starts talking about his obsession:
hockey, and it's something that perks Cas' interest, and they start going on
and on about the last hockey season, making projections as well about the next
one. Dean's eyes are on his mom, trying to read him, get into his head. He's
only distracted when Benny nudges him, and asks if he's willing to come over to
his place and watch this recorded game, something that he's organizing some
time next week. "It'll be fun. Ash will be there, Charlie too. And oh, bring
your girlfriend." 
Dean's heart skips a beat, he chokes on his food, coughs a little and his
watery eyes jump to meet his mom's, who's not looking at him but who has
stopped chewing now and is staring at his plate, frozen like a statue.
Dean didn't tell his family about her.
To his friends, she's his girl, but here, in the Winchester home, she's a
nobody, or at least Dean would've wanted to keep it this way. 
Dean clears his throat before responding, "Sure, Benny. I'll ask her." Shit. He
now just confirmed it. Shit, shit, shit. He looks at his mom, and Sam's face is
unreadable, but his ears and neck have turned beat red. 
"Girlfriend? How come I don't know anything about this, young man?" Cas asks,
not exactly sternly, but playing it up. He's barely keeping himself from
beaming; it almost feels like Cas is mentally sighing in comfort. He adds:
"Tell us about this girl, Dean."
"Yeah, Dean," Sam says, almost challenging, and he's practically glaring at
Dean now. "Tell us about her."
"Erm, we haven't been together for long."
"What are you on about?! It's your longest relationship yet, Dean," his very
dumb friend says. "And they're all over each other, sir," Benny adds addressing
Cas. 
"Benny!" Now it's Dean who's flushed, his face burning.
Why does it feel like he's been caught cheating on his mom, like he's been
ratted out by Benny. Practically, there's nothing between him and his mom, but
he still feels like the scum of the Earth, and his mom's reaction is not
helping. Is he reading this right? Is Sam pretty mad at him?
If Sam is livid, Dean deserves it of course. Dean and Sam are best friends; he
doesn't keep anything from him. So Sam probably feels betrayed, for not
knowing. He'd feel the same in his shoes. For a moment, Dean feels like it
could be more; he wants it to be more. A part of him has always been indignant
at the thought of being forced to tell Sam about Rhonda, and another longed for
Sam to find out ... to test his reaction, to spark his jealousy.
"Alright, Dean, I'm sorry. It's just that you've never stayed with anyone for
this long. As your best buddy, I'm happy for you."
"So, who is she?"
"Dad, do I really have to do this? Benny, I'll kill you."
"What? Were you going to keep this from us forever?" It's Sam again. 
"No! Ugh. It's just that--I hate chick flick moments, mom, alright? Talking
about relationships and all that. And I'm not exactly getting married here. So
there's no forever. Is this clear?" 
"She's not an omega, is she?" It's Cas who's asking. 
"No, dad, she's a beta. And her name is Rhonda."
"You know I've met your mom for the first time when I was your age. We didn't
start dating right away but things got interesting quickly, at least from my
side. Are you in love yet?" Cas teases. He is enjoying this a little too much,
on his son's expense. In fact, Dean's discomfort is egging Cas on. When Dean
just glares at his dad, and doesn't respond, Cas continues, "Alright, that's
enough. Dean, you're inviting your girl over. Your mother and I would like to
meet her."
"Dad, come on, we're not even that serious. I don't wanna give her the wrong
impression."
"And the right impression would be to hide her away from your family, Dean
Winchester? You're already together from the sound of it. It's as serious as it
gets for your age. Bring her here. No girl is dating a son of mine without
passing our test."
"What? You're gonna let her jump through hoops for you?"
"Keep talking, and I very well might," says Cas winking at Sam, who gives him a
tight smile back.
Castiel, for some reason that Dean is starting to feel in his bones, is
suddenly very cheerful. He knows, Dean thinks, about his feelings for Sam. But
Dean can afford to entertain the disturbing thought for a brief moment, before
moving onto the more pressing issue: the fact that he'll have to ask Rhonda to
come and meet the family. To meet Sam. 
"Tomorrow night," Cas says and his tone is final. Dean nods slowly, his
shoulders slumped, feeling defeated. 
This is going to be interesting. 
He most definitely will kill Benny. 
 
 
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     As always, feedback makes my heart flutter. Let me know your thoughts
     xox
***** Small Betrayals (Chapter tag) *****
Chapter Summary
     The demons inside Sam's head.
Chapter Notes
     I decided to have an experiment, that is post much shorter chapters
     (especially tags like this) immediately instead of making you wait.
     I personally prefer the longer chapters, tying things together, and
     balancing dialogue, some action, with characters' reflections. Make
     it rich and eventful. It's how I roll. But I don't want readers to
     get too tired of waiting, or hating me for taking my time.
     So it's up to you; let me know if you'd rather have one full 7,000+
     word chapter in one go, with all the juice, instead of these smaller
     ones.
     That being said, this can work well as a standalone, because it's our
     first glimpse inside Sam's head re his relationship with Dean. And I
     think it's very revealing. I hope you also read between the lines
     with this one ;)
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Sam was on his back, spread open, with Castiel on top of him, his husband's
engorged, leaky cock ramming into him. If Castiel's thrusts weren't stimulating
his sweet spot, sending the occassional electric jolt to Sam's cock, the latter
wouldn't have taken interest at all, Sam realizes bitterly.
He's barely half-hard, despite the forced foreplay (in which Sam was hardly
reciprocating) and the stroking of his prostate with every push.
And if Sam's hips are undulating, falling into a pulsing rhythm from time to
time, it's a purely physical response. His head isn't in it.
In a first, Sam feels like sex with Cas is a temporal affair; not sensual, not
spiritual, not even loving at the moment, at least as far as he's concerned.
Because, above him, Castiel is going at it like there's no tomorrow. At least
one of us is enjoying this, Sam thinks. Their marriage bed is protesting with
regular creaks and it feels like it's going to give under their weight.
Castiel's moans are muffled with his face buried in Sam's neck, his chin
resting on Sam's right shoulder. 
It's dark, save for a few feeble rays of warm street light creeping into the
room through the window's half-pulled curtains. And Sam is thankful for that,
because otherwise, Castiel will easily see the tears rolling silently across
his wife's face, some pouring to the side, and pooling on his pillow. 
After the day was done, and the kids went to bed, Sam and Cas retired to their
rooms, with Castiel beaming and with Sam barely able to contain the weight of
the warring feelings inside his chest. The anger, disappointment, confusion and
distress manifested in a knot, that wedged itself between his throat and
collarbone and stayed there, making it hard to breathe or speak and harder to
act like nothing is wrong. 
When Cas asked Sam how come he never knew about Rhonda, a part of Sam - on
autopilot - wanted to immediately defend Dean, make up excuses for him. But at
that moment, he just couldn't.
"Because your son's a dick," Sam spat, surprising himself.
"Woah, touchy," commented Cas, and started going on about how at Dean's age, he
too was surprised at his own feelings when he started crushing heavily on Sam,
about how it's hard to interpret these new feelings sometimes and how Dean must
have needed time considering it's his first "real" relationship.
Practically, Cas was a heartbeat away from planning Dean's wedding to this
Rhonda, who would've been faceless to Sam if he hadn't made his own revelation
around two weeks earlier. 
It began with Dean's phone experiencing unprecedented activity; texts and phone
calls around the clock. Sometimes, Dean would ignore the calls, which Sam was
sure were returned later when his mommy wasn't in earshot, and other times he'd
spend an hour or two texting back and forth with a mysterious someone. First,
Sam brushed it aside, chalked it up to Dean widening his circle of friends.
Dean always had buddies, sure, but he's always been more on the introverted
side. He was never quite busy with those friends. But hey, a little surge of
activity doesn't warrant suspicion. 
But then, the texting sessions became more frequent, and when Sam asked, Dean
would say it's Benny or Ash, or find a way to wriggle out of giving a proper
answer, like giving Sam a name for instance. Because Sam knew in his heart that
it was neither Benny nor Ash, but he could never explain, if asked, where this
certainty came from. Sam found himself uncomfortable with the idea of his son
keeping something from him - he didn't have proof per se that he was keeping
secrets to begin with, but Sam had already been sensing that something has
changed in his son, something that he quite couldn't put a finger on, something
that only a mother, connected to his son in heart and soul, can sense.
The eerie feeling had lingered for months, but finally two weeks earlier, Sam
decided to do something that's very unlike him: check Dean's phone behind his
back.
It was compulsive, wrong, and Sam felt dirty doing it, but he did it anyway. He
chose a moment when Dean was in the shower.
Once he heard the water running, Sam sneaked into his son's room and popped
open his phone. Damn it, it was password protected. But in a moment of
inspiration, Sam keyed in Adam's year of birth, and when it didn't work, his
own year of birth, and Dean's phone unlocked. Too easy, De, Sam thought
satisfied and feeling lucky, and proceeded to check Dean's messaging apps.
Before he had a chance to do it, a picture message popped onto the screen with
a beep that made Sam jump. He knew he was transgressing but he just had to see.
The picture was of a blonde girl, a teen. She was buck naked and striking a
sexy pose. Sam felt his chest close up, his cheeks burn and before he knew it,
he was checking all the pictures saved on Dean's phone, and several were of the
same blonde girl, including a selfie with the very pretty teenager lying
topless in Dean's arms - free, uninhibited, her breasts womanly, round and her
nipples puffy, perky and perfect, her blemish-free skin milky, and her look
wanton and filled with want. She's everything Sam - in his early thirties, body
exhausted by childbirth and mind burdened by insecurities and memories - will
never be.
Sam felt like crashing the phone, trashing his son's entire room actually, then
emptying his stomach in the nearest bin. 
Since then, things haven't been the same. Sam hasn't been the same, and the
realization that Dean is not only sleeping with someone but hiding her, like
she's precious, felt like a hundred razors cutting Sam from the inside. The
revelation left him with a lump in his throat, that stayed with him for
days. What does this mean for them? Will Dean now start drifting away? Will he
give up on their afternoons together in favor of spending time with his new
flame? Will he leave Sam behind now that he's found someone to shower his
affections on? What becomes of Sam if these two fall in love or get together?
Will the girl be OK with how close Sam is to his son? Or will she try to break
them apart? 
Sam started wondering if Dean kisses the girl like he kisses Sam. Recently,
Sam's and Dean's kisses have become hotter, deeper, frenzied - was Sam
imagining it? Are his son's wires just crossed? Are Sam's?
Did he selfishly use his son's need for intimacy to get something he shouldn't
have? Sam wondered, a shiver running through his body. Does Dean realize this
on some level? Is it why he felt a need to hide the girl from Sam? 
Sam couldn't think straight for a while. When Dean would hug him, or kiss his
lips, something inside of him would recoil. He felt robbed of something big. He
walked around, feeling like he should be mourning for something. And in a way,
he was.
He thought about confronting his son, but he was too afraid of what he might
find out, not just about Dean, but also about himself, in the process of doing
so. So he drowned his feelings in house work and the occasional drink. Dean was
always around, but Sam felt like he's miles away; he'd look at him and it's
like he was seeing him for the first time, like someone swapped his son, who he
knows inside out, like the back of his hand, his son whose love and smiles and
kisses are for him, with some other teen, who now spends a long time sexting
and exchanging nudes with a stranger, with a girl than can never love him, and
appreciate him like Sam does, but who can (and here's the tricky part) give him
so much that Sam can't.
Until a few hours earlier, before that dinner with Benny, it was almost
bearable. But the ugly truth reared its head and it turns out, the blonde is
not just a random girl, it's not a teenage sexapade, apparently Dean is dating
the girl. She's his sweetheart, now. Apparently, his son is serious enough that
all his friends know about her, and according to Benny, she's it, she's his
longest relationship.
"They're all over each other, sir."
Benny's words ring inside Sam's head as he's being fucked into the mattress by
Castiel, transporting him back to the present moment, and Sam's eyes flood with
a fresh outpouring of tears. He feels like hiding away, in a dark alcove,
crying until his tears dry out, but right now, he's trapped in the hollow of
Castiel's arms, being at once emotionally and physically engulfed by his
husband's passionate display of love and lust, and suffocated by the
smothering, oppressive closeness. He's being drenched in his husband's Alpha
scent, and in a first, he hates it.
The thoughts, and the depth of his sadness, cause Sam's half-erection to
finally completely wilt; at least now, his outside reflects his inside, because
he's in no mood for sex, least of all this frantic pounding, but being Sam, he
allowed it anyway, to please Cas. Always wanting to please Cas, or Adam, or ...
Dean. 
Dean. He almost whispers it, like he's supplicating to a saint or a deity, but
catches himself in time. It's not something that he can explain, or wants to.
Then again how can he tell Cas, or anyone else, that the moment he realized
there was a contender for Dean's affections, that someone could steal his son
away, something feral awoke inside of him; a desire to protect not just Dean,
but himself, from this threatening predator.
And then how can he explain the consuming guilt? It's eating him up.
Why can't he be like other mothers? Be a little mad that his son had been
hiding this from him. And instead of brooding, just get worried that Dean was
having underage sex, ask him if he used protection, ground him for a weekend or
something then sweep it under the carpet, and be friends again. Where is this
scorching fire in his chest coming from? Is he jealous? Sam thinks darkly,
oppresses the idea and muffles a sob, or tries to. It's this moment that Cas's
knot decides to swell, and lodge itself inside Sam's stretched, slick asshole.
Sam has been dreading this bit: the intimacy that follows the knotting. He
doesn't want it right now, not from Cas. 
Cas, who was just a moment ago, covering his neck, collarbone, and shoulders
with kisses, biting and dragging his teeth across flesh, looks up, and of
course, he can see the tear tracks, and the fresh weeping. 
He doesn't immediately ask, just searches Sam's face for a few moments. Their
eyes meet, and for a second, Sam is filled with terror; the terror that creeps
up in anyone when they feel the other person might be staring right into their
soul; that they might figure them out after all. And right now, Sam isn't even
sure what his soul would give away. He doesn't know himself, and he doesn't
want to see any unwanted, disturbing truths reflected in Castiel's eyes, so he
closes his eyelids, still sensing Castiel's face mere inches away from his, his
breath blowing on his own lips, caressing it. 
"What is it, darling? Tell me," Castiel says, very softly, his voice like
butterfly kisses against Sam's sweat-damp skin.
More tears soak Sam's eyes. Then he lets go. 
It's almost liberating that he's ceased control completely like this, that he's
letting his body express its pain; letting the tears fall, thoughts swimming
through his head uninhibited, letting his fears get the best of him, and
finally laying himself open like this, right under Castiel's scrutiny.
He wants to tell Castiel that it's nothing, that it's the stress of house work,
and taking care of Adam, and it's the brunt of his long hours away from home.
He wants to tell him that he just misses him, or that he's lonely and wants
him, more of him, every day. He wants to give him something that sounds
reasonable and proper, and reassuring and loving. But instead, Sam starts
sobbing loudly.
Shocked and confused, Castiel hugs him impossibly closer, carding his fingers
through his hair, speaking softly to him, until Sam lets it all out. Until Sam
calms, and until he can breathe evenly again.
When Cas finally pulls out, his knot deflated, Sam is spent, emotionally and
mentally, and he barely feels it as Castiel leaves for a minute then slips back
into the bed after he cleans up, and spoons him.
Sam sinks into a restless sleep. 
Chapter End Notes
     Hope I didn't disappoint. If you look closely, you'll realize that
     this scene is somewhat mirroring an earlier also similarly painful/
     insightful/revelatory scene ;)
     As always, I love your feedback. So don't hesitate to share your
     thoughts please.
     ------
     IMPORTANT UPDATE: I have now chosen "NOT to use archive warnings"
     besides the main warning for "underage", meaning that NOT ALL
     WARNINGS ARE LISTED. In turn, in the future, I may not warn for major
     things, mainly to avoid spoilers. The tags have been amended to
     reflect this. So please continue to read at your own risk! (I hope
     you end up choosing to read, but that's up to you of course).
     Much love, and so glad you've come this far. xxx
***** Star-crossed *****
Chapter Summary
     Cue love, drama and revelations.
Chapter Notes
     Thanks for the 700+ kudos. I'm overwhelmed! I don't know what to say
     except I love you all xoxo
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Dean is furious and Benny has been apologizing profusely for spilling the beans
about Rhonda for, like, the past 15 minutes. But Dean isn't having any of it.
He rarely ever brings friends home, in general, and now he kind of regrets
inviting Benny over tonight. Besides, he doesn't feel like sitting on the porch
stairs with Benny right now, speaking in hushed tones so they're not overheard;
he wants to be inside the house with his mom, to see how he's doing and to,
sort of, monitor the situation.
Is his Sammy still fuming? Because he looked like he was fuming, only inwardly.
What does he think of all this? Is he mad about not knowing or at the idea that
Dean is seeing someone to begin with?If it's the latter, then there's hope.
Then maybe it means his mom is starting to feel something too. It would mean
their bond is being welded already; that his grand plan is working. It would
also mean he's in deep trouble. And that he may be in fact ruining his own
progress. He doesn't want to send mixed messages, here. 
He wants to hear from Sammy - even get heavily scolded or get his ears boxed.
He knows he deserves it, for hiding something so big from his mom.
Waiting for the other shoe to drop is unnerving. 
Dean was also kind of hoping he could change his dad's mind about meeting
Rhonda, there's no way he's bringing her into his home, to meet his parents,
like she's a real girlfriend, like she matters. How could his dad think Dean is
serious about her? How could Sammy?
In the worst case scenario, Dean thinks, if his dad insists, he'll just make
something up, an excuse so Rhonda never has to show her face here. He'll do
that repeatedly if he has to, until his dad eases off or gets off his back
altogether. 
Speaking of his dad, Dean can't hear anything from the house any more. Not
Castiel or mom or Adam, or the usual post-dinner commotion. It's not a quiet
house when his dad is around; his dad likes to fill everyone in on his day at
the office, especially Sam.
Have they turned in already? Dear God, are they, you know, in their room,
getting intimate right now, while Dean's on the porch, stuck with Benny? 
Damn it.
After Dean feels Benny has been lectured enough for one night, the boys soon go
back to talking about lighter things, like summer plans, their highly-
anticipated venture into high school next year, and of course, the school's hot
girls. At the moment, neither of them is in the mood for studying, that's how
they ended up outside, and anyway, Benny should be leaving soon. Dean's mind
and heart are half into the conversation with Benny, however. And what's said
is nothing of real importance until Benny starts braving dangerously new
territory: talking about Dean's mom. His Sam. 
"You know, your mom is the first male omega that I ever get to know."
"Yeah. So?" Dean says, uneasy as to where this is headed. He realizes that it's
not every day that people run into male Omegas. There aren't a lot of them.
Still, it doesn't mean he wants to talk about his own. 
"It's kinda hot."
"What do you mean?!" says Dean, a little incredulous. Benny has some nerves on
him. 
"Well, all I'm sayin' is that your dad is a lucky man. He gets to have an omega
man. A male omega, for crying out loud! And so handsome. No wonder why he's so
infatuated, even after all these years, it shows, man. Your dad worships your
mom. My dad barely looks at my mom anymore. But your mom is--"
"Careful, Benny." Dean warns, partly furious just for the sole reason that
Benny is talking about his dad and mom's relationship like it's unbreakable,
like Sammy belongs to Castiel or something, like it's a done deal. Dean begs to
differ. If he could, he would show Benny just how much his mom equally belongs
to him, and that's just now. In the future, there will be no place for Castiel
to begin with, if all goes as planned. 
"I didn't say anythin' bad here. It's just that your mom is freakin' gorgeous.
His body--"
"Woah, dude! Are you out of your mind?" 
"What? He is gorgeous!" 
And Benny is not wrong, especially today. Although his mom was brooding, his
pout was so goddamn sexy it hurt Dean's heart just to look at him, all while
fighting the urge to plant a hard-mouthed one on his lips, until he swoons. 
And ever since Adam (who's three years old now) has been going slow on the
nursing, and Dean not getting much of that either, with his mom being distant
and withdrawn, Sam's chest has shrunk, his boobs becoming at least half a size
smaller. Now that would have been bad if it weren't for the fact that because
of the size shift, Sammy rarely ever wears a bra inside the house anymore,
meaning Dean can usually get a glimpse of his perky nipples pushing against the
thin shirts he always dons. On most days he could make out the shape of Sam's
pecs through his shirts, and they're round and dainty, and it's so sexy how
only a flimsy piece of fabric is separating them from Dean. He wishes he would
bare them to his eyes, and eat them. 
He hates the thought that Benny was most probably inspecting his mother, sizing
him up and ogling his beautiful form. Maybe Benny also noticed that Sam's tits
were poking out. Maybe he dared to fantasize. Fucking hell. Dean now feels he
should've been more watchful of Benny at dinner earlier, especially of where
his eyes were roaming.
Benny is a typical Alpha, a knot-head, from a very traditional household, with
an obnoxious, womanizing Alpha for a father and a submissive omega for a
mother. When Dean first told Benny about his own mom, that he's a male omega,
Benny was impressed, murmuring that omega men are as rare and precious as
diamonds in this society. His dad's words too, not only his. He kept pestering
Dean with questions. "Is your mom a submissive? Does he wear dresses?," and
when Dean reluctantly responded, the insinuations in Benny's next questions
became dirtier. "Does he wear lingerie around the house? Is his equipment, you
know, big like Alphas? Is he womanly in any way?" Like Benny is trying to
fucking picture it all.
It made Dean feel like his family is a freak show, like they should be featured
on the National Geographic for fuck's sake.
He also never appreciated all the prodding, mainly because no, he doesn't like
to publicize that his mom never wore dresses, or is not effeminate and has
always refused to be prototypical in any way or form - except for bearing
children and being OK with the label "mom" as opposed to being called "dad".
Imagine if he'd been forced to call Sam "dad" on top of all this. That would've
been unacceptable, Dean thinks. He wouldn't have done it, on principle.
Dean usually gave Benny clipped answers, and he never humored his questions for
too long. 
And now, sitting on the porch after Rhonda-gate, he feels like shutting him up
again, feeling increasingly protective of his mom, and sensing he might have
been slightly violated by Benny's gaze at dinner, to Dean's utter oblivion.
Benny better NOT be perving on his mom right now or imagining his mommy in
compromising positions, with Castiel or otherwise. Dean would have his head on
a stick if he feels Benny is entertaining any dirty thoughts about his Sammy. 
So there. "Just shut the fuck up, before I make you Benny."
"Fine! I just envy your dad to be honest."
"Benny! You want a taste of my right hook?"
"Alright, alright," he says then his phone beeps. "Ok, time to go anyway. My
ride's here," he motions with one hand in the general direction of the street,
where a car is slowly approaching. "You alright, Dean? You seem a little on
edge still."
"I'm OK, dude. I'll see you tomorrow at school, alright?"  
"But we're OK? This Rhonda shit didn't make a dent in our friendship or
anything?"
"Since when do you get all sensitive and caring Benny? Should I be worried?"
Dean teases, amused by Benny's apologetic stance, and relieved he's leaving,
along with all his curiosity about Sam. Benny is a pig sometimes. 
"Just making sure my best friend is ok, asshole. Earlier, you were wound up
tight. And you're still moody."
"Now, you're just turning into a girl. Get going, Ben, before our balls shrink
and we grow lady parts sitting here talking about feelings."
"Right. See you tomorrow, ballsack." 
"See ye, jerk!" 
...
Later that night 
Dean is suddenly awake, his sleep was awfully restless anyway due to the
realization that his mom and dad are locked up in their room, probably going at
it like bunnies. In moments like these, Dean loathes his dad and he feels like
punching holes through the wall from sheer frustration and jealousy. In a weird
way, he's in a better form than he ever were, having marginally trained himself
to get used to the idea that his parents are regularly sleeping together, and
that this will continue, at least until his plan is complete and he'd managed
to separate them - and yes, Dean doesn't have any qualms thinking about driving
a wedge between Sammy and Castiel. It's meant to be. He didn't force himself to
want his mom, it just happened. He's not evil. Sure, it's unfortunate that his
dad would have to step aside, but it is what it is. The alternative would be
Dean giving up his right to his omega, and sorry but he can't do that, not even
for his dad, who's barely traditional anyway. Castiel is most welcome to go
look for another omega, or even a beta (since he'll treat his omega like one
anyway), and fall in love with him or her. Dean doesn't mind a step-mom or dad,
he's an easy son. 
He looks at his bedside clock. It's 12:24 am. And he's barely had any proper
sleep. And it doesn't look like he'll have any tonight.
Shit, waking up for school will be a bitch tomorrow. 
He tries to doze off again, but fails. Instead, he keeps rolling around in the
bed, from side to side. Kicking the thin blanket off then pulling it back on
his body again, changing positions every few seconds, sprawling then curling up
on himself, and finally utterly failing to find a resting state that would put
him at ease and help him slip back into slumber.
So in the end, Dean gives up, jumps out of bed and decides to leave his room
altogether.
He's in his boxers, hair mussy and eyes bloodshot - but it's not like anyone's
gonna see him anyway.
If he can't have some decent shut-eye or manage to go back to sleep, he might
as well properly wake up, eyes wide open. If his parents didn't forbid it, he
would put something on and go for an after-midnight run, to get the tension out
of his system (he asked once before, and he was given the stink eye by his
mom). It's not like he'll be eaten by wild dogs if he ventures alone at night,
he's a strong kid and an Alpha, and a boxer with a promising future in the
sport on top of that, he can take most people. But, yeah, his mom was up in
arms against the idea. And his dad backed Sammy up completely.
Outnumbered, Dean didn't bring it up again. 
Perhaps he'll go check on Adam, he thinks, then trudges barefoot to Adam's
room. Adam is sound asleep, looking like a little angel. He looks more like
Dean than he does either Castiel or Sam, and Dean finds it endearing. God, does
Dean love this kid! He bends forward and plants a soft kiss on his little
brother's forehead, then watches him sleep for a few moments. It's actually
relaxing just looking at his baby brother, sleeping so serenely without any
burdens, Dean thinks. 
For a second he wonders about how his plan will affect Adam, if burdens will
eventually find their way to him, because of Dean's silent plotting, especially
when Adam grows up in a broken home if Dean has his way. 
The thought is disturbing and Dean quickly dismisses it. It won't be a broken
home; it'll be a loving one, where Dean and Sam are openly together, for good,
and Adam is loved and cared for by both of them. Dean will always protect Adam.
He'll die before harming him in any way. Castiel would still be there of
course, albeit on the peripheries, as their father, but not as Sam's lover or
husband.
"It'll be OK," Dean whispers to his oblivious sibling, as if the alternative
non-painful future he drew in his head to calm his conscience is secured and
sealed. 
When he finally leaves Adam's room, ready to walk down to the kitchen for some
chow (because seriously, he's got nothing better to do) a small sound from the
nearby bathroom catches Dean's attention. He treads lightly towards it and it
sounds like someone's retching. Worried, Dean knocks on the door. "Is
everything alright in there?" It's his mom who answers on the other side, after
a long pause, with the affirmative.
God, it sounds like his mommy is sick and now Dean feels a hundred times
guiltier than before he went to sleep. Of all the days on Earth, Benny chose
today to rat him out, when things are already tricky with his mom, and when
Sammy is obviously sick. He thought he forgave the bastard, but you know what,
fuck it, he's cutting him out. Stupid Benny! 
"You don't sound so good, mom," he responds back.
"It's OK, Dean. Just go back to bed." His mom sounds like he will pass out or
something.
"No, I'm coming in," he says, as he turns the door knob, and as per usual, it's
unlocked. Sam is the kind of parent who shuts his bathroom door but doesn't
lock it, just in case. With a toddler in the house, it makes sense. Sam likes
to be available at all times, and he generally doesn't set strict boundaries
for his children either - glaringly obvious. Dean usually respects his mom's
restroom privacy but he's not doing this now, not when Sammy sounds like he's
in distress. 
He lets himself in and shuts the door behind him. Sam is on his knees, bent
over the toilet bowl, and when he sees Dean walking in, he can't help the wave
of nausea that overtakes him and he starts dry heaving into the bowl again.
Sam's mouth remains dry. Nothing is actually happening except that it looks
like Sammy is seconds away from hyperventilating, and Dean is immediately
overcome with worry over his mom, and bursting at the seams with guilt. 
"Mommy, what's wrong?" He says as he approaches, kneeling beside his crouching
mom, who's sweaty and looking worn out. Sam is wearing only a threadbare shirt
and a pair of shorts that don't hide much of his long legs and toned thighs.
Otherwise, his hair is damp and his eyes are swollen with tears, and he looks
utterly miserable. "Just a little queazy, Dean," his mom whispers and it's the
understatement of the century.
Dean's heart breaks a little. He suddenly feels like hugging his mommy so tight
neither of them can breathe, putting into the hug all of his love and his
longing until the intensity of it consumes them both. Suddenly, he feels like a
piece of shit for even allowing someone like Rhonda into his life, and not just
devoting his all to Sam. What the hell were you thinking Winchester? He scolds
himself, as he gives his mom another once-over and takes in his sorry state. He
knows it might not be him that's causing all this and his mom might be coming
down with something, but still, he must have contributed somehow. He can feel
it.
"Mom," he says softly.
"What are you doing here, Dean? Really? Go back to your room."
"No!"
"No?"
"Yeah, you heard me, mom. I'm not leaving you."
His mom softens a little. "It's nothing. I'm probably coming down with
something, and whatever it is, I don't want you to catch it from me. You've got
school tomorrow, you shouldn't be up, Dean. It's past midnight."
"Fuck school," Dean retorts. 
"Dean!"
"Mom, you're more important. And it's not just stomach upset, you've been
crying. You're clearly upset!" 
His mom tears up, and shakes his head no.
Sammy's kidding himself if he thinks Dean's budging before he gets to the
bottom of this. Something's been off with his mom for weeks and he knows it.
Maybe Sam's not sick. He's heaving, but he's not actually throwing up - it
looks more like he's having difficulty breathing more than anything else. Maybe
this is some kind of a panic attack.
"Mommy, look ..."
"Enough, Dean! Just leave," Sam says, his attempt at being firm and final
failing miserably as more tears spring to his eyes. Dean's heart breaks into a
million pieces, and he can't help but throw himself into his mom's arms. To his
surprise, his mom hugs him back, just as fiercely, heaving sobs racking his
body.
They stay like this, locked in each other's arms, for a minute or so, until his
mom calms down a little. It's Dean who pulls back to look at his face, and gaze
into his eyes - hoping to see some truth there, or at least some clues to
what's ruffling Sam's feathers so. When his mom looks back, Dean can get a
glimpse into the depth of his sadness, and confusion, and Dean is suddenly,
completely rattled by the idea that Rhonda, and his relationship with her,
might have caused some of this. He decides to broach the subject head on. No
more dancing around it, he can't take it anymore.
"I'm sorry about Rhonda," he whispers. And Sam breaks eye contact and pulls
away, or tries to. Dean holds on tighter. "No, mom, let me say this. I can see
it's bothering you."
"It's fine, Dean," he says, dismissive, squirming, obviously wanting to escape
Dean's embrace.
"No, it's not. And for what it's worth, I kept it to myself because it means
nothing. Nothing, Ok?" Sam just shakes his head, a single tear escapes his eye,
and he smiles, unbelieving. 
"I'm not lying to you, mom. Mom, look at me! Come on ... Sammy!" That gets his
mom's attention, and keeps it on him. He's never called him Sammy before. His
mom is more confused now, but attentive, locking eyes with his son again. "I
would never, ever lie to you about something like this. You're everything," he
says, then he gently places a hand at the side of Sam's face, and start kissing
his wet-with-tears lips.
As he does, his mom's shoulders drop, like all the fight is leaving his body.
Dean deepens his kiss, and brings on his A-game for this one, the tip of his
tongue pushing off against Sam's lips, wanting to get inside. Sam opens up for
him, without hesitation, and Dean starts moving his open mouth against Sam's,
their tongues twisting around each other, tasting and devouring. 
When it's done, they're both slightly panting from lack of air and are a little
worse for wear, in a good way. Color is creeping back into Sam's face, and he
looks less distraught. Dean gently takes him back into his arms and rests his
forehead against his mom's. They close their eyes, and just melt into the
comfort of the embrace.
After another moment of silence, his mom speaks up.
"Why didn't you tell me? I mean, I understand when you say it's not important
but why keep it all from me?"
"I ..." Dean breathes out then stops.
"I saw the pictures on your phone, of her," Sam says, quietly, and Dean's heart
drops. He opens his eyes, but his mom's are still shut. "A few weeks back. I'm
sorry I went looking." That doesn't make sense, Dean thinks.
Or maybe it does. Could it be? Could this be why his mom was aloof. Was he
angry at Dean for hiding her? Or is it something more? Sam can't even get
himself to say Rhonda's name, apparently... Does his mom feel it too? What's
between them? Are they finally coming to the same page, here? 
Dean is suddenly dizzy with the near-revelation and the possibilities it holds,
for him, for them! 
"You slept with her, Dean."
"Yeah. I did. She's not the only one."
His mom swallows audibly, still resting against him, but now turns his face to
the side. Their foreheads are still connecting, albeit at different angles. 
"If it bothers you," Dean begins, not exactly planning his next words. "If
there are feelings beyond, you know ... it's fine, I'll just end it with Rhonda
first thing tomorrow--"
"Dean, don't ..." Sam's eyes are still closed.
"Don't what? Don't end it? Or do you want me to stop talking about this
altogether? Because if there are feelings from your side, mom, I want you to
know that they're returned. And more."
"Dean, please."
"I love you, mom." It just slips out of Dean. He doesn't know what else to say.
What is there to say really, except that? And he doesn't mean it the platonic
way. And his mom senses it, because he pulls back, and so does Dean, and they
stare into each other's eyes, his mom's searching his, almost desperately.
He repeats it for good measure, stressing on every word. "I love you."
Sam nods, and for the first time Dean knows that his mom finally gets it ...
gets what it really means. 
He looks away, shakes his head a little, like he's dismissing a thought. "Dean,
I can't ..."
And suddenly, it feels like a burden has been lifted despite Sammy's words,
despite his "I can't". Dean is talking openly - as openly as he can, at this
point - about something he feels like he's been bottling inside his chest for
centuries, not just a few years. 
"Can't or won't?" He asks softly. 
His mom laughs a little laugh but it's mirthless. "Does it matter?"
"It matters to me!" Dean insists, his voice pleading. 
"Dean, it's ... uh, complicated." 
Dean nods.
"Ok, you know what?" Dean says, inspiration hitting him in the depth of the
moment. "Right now, it's not. Right now, you're tired, and hurt. I hurt you,
mom. And I wanna make it up to you. As your son. As someone who worships you.
Let me do this for you." Sam face lights up at the words. And Dean says them
but doesn't wait for an answer.
He takes his mommy's arm and helps him stand up. Sam's knees are a little
wobbly from kneeling for so long but he balances himself with Dean's aid. Dean
drags Sam slowly to the bathroom mirror, which takes a big portion of one wall.
He makes him face it, and Sam is reflected in it from his head to the end of
his torso now, Dean plastering himself more to Sam's side than his back, so
he'd be able to look at their reflection too. Dean may be heavily built and
he's the tallest among his friends, nearing six feet at barely 16, but Sam
still has about four inches on his son.
Sam leans against Dean and is taking heavy breaths, his eyes are closed, like
he's bracing himself for something, like he's on the verge of jumping off a
plank into unknown waters and he can't bear to look. Dean caresses his arms
lightly with the tips of his fingers to relax him, gets on tiptoes and plants a
barely-there kiss on the side of his jaw, then another lower on his neck, and
whispers, "beautiful". And for the second time tonight, Sam exhales and
relaxes, most of the tension leaves his body. 
"Mom, open your eyes," he whispers, almost into his ears. And Sammy's obviously
reluctant, but after a couple of seconds, does it anyway. "Look at you. The
most beautiful thing I've ever laid my eyes upon," Dean says and starts
caressing him again with a finger as he speaks. "Your face, your eyes, your
cheekbones, your lips," Dean continues as he runs a finger across Sam's face
and along the fullness of his lips. "Your arms, your breasts," he adds,
trailing his fingers gently up his mom's right arm, across his collarbone then
down. He cups a boob, fondling it, and rubs his thumb against the nipple. "So
pretty, mom. ... Hey. Look at me. Do you know how long I've loved you?"
Sam's eyes meet Dean's in the mirror and they fill with tears at the question.
Sam slowly nods. Dean smiles wide, "I've been dreaming of touching you like
this since I was 12" he adds, then turns Sam's face to the side and gives his
towering mommy a deep, lingering kiss, before Sam has a chance to realise what
this means. The wheels in his mom's head almost never stop grinding.
"Let me take care of you for once. Let me wash you," Dean says right into
Sammy's lips, and again, Sammy nods, like he's hypnotized. Dean gives him
another peck on the lips, and thinks this is it. This is the beginning of
everything. 
He leaves his mom for just a moment to turn on the shower water, close the
tub's drain stopper and let it fill as the water sprays. He locks the bathroom
door, then he gets back to their position at the mirror. "I want you to watch
as I undress you. I want you to see how beautiful you are. How perfect."
And it's like a dream how Sammy, his mom, lets himself go and lets Dean take
off his clothes - he raises his arms above his head as Dean takes his shirt
off, watches his breasts get bared to his son's eyes, looks at Dean looking at
him, eating him up with his eyes, he doesn't flinch when Dean tugs on the
waistbands of his shorts and slips them off of him. He steps out of them, the
air touching his uncovered skin, making him conscious of his nudity, his naked
ass, his cock soft but filling up, slowly jutting out of a nest of dark hair,
as Dean watches. He's seeing everything. His own son looking at him, like this,
taking him all in, from head to toe.
Sam is blushing furiously, but he's letting it all happen. At Dean's direction,
he steps under the warm spray of water.
Dean slips off his boxers too, and joins him.
His son is hard and Sam's now staring at his impressive girth, both proud and
intrigued ... and suddenly more than a little afraid. It suddenly hits him what
he's allowing his son and him to have, if only for a moment. As if sensing his
fear, Dean tells him not to think. "Just feel. Right now, we're not mother and
son. We're just two people who love each other ... OK? In this moment, we can
be together. Please, please ... for me." 
They stand under the shower, for a few minutes, mesmerized, both watching each
other and almost afraid to touch. Dean can't believe he's having this moment,
that he's standing in the shower with his buck naked mom, finally, free to
look, at his breasts, his stomach, his groin, his long legs ... his nakedness,
his most private parts are his, at least for the moment.
Their feet are immersed in water now, the tub is almost half filled. Dean turns
off the spray and tells his mom to just lay back in the water, as he sits at
his feet, at the other end of the tub. "Just lay back mom, relax and close your
eyes." The water doesn't quite cover Sam's big body, and his breasts and cock,
parts of his thighs and his bent knees jut out of the water.
When Sam settles back, Dean takes Sam's right foot into the palms of his hands.
He cradles it and begins kneading, massaging it all over and tugging on the
toes. As he relaxes even more, trusting, Sam lets his thighs fall open and Dean
watches Sam's half-flaccid cock grow before his eyes. Sam is well aware he's
being watched, that his nudity is very much being observed and it sends a
tingle down his spine and he gets butterflies in his stomach - just from being
looked at like this. Dean enjoys the view as he rubs the sole of one foot after
the other with his fingers, then he runs his open mouth along Sam's beautiful
feet, and lovingly sucks his toes.
When he's done, his mom is fully hard, and leaking precum - and just the act of
watching that, his mom getting hot and bothered, being massaged into a hard-on,
right under his gaze, was enough to send Dean's blood pooling to his groin,
leaving him with a raging hard-on. 
He lets Sam's feet go, and slowly crawls into his mom's arms, and lies on top
of him, their hard cocks lined up, touching, and their faces inches away from
each other. Sam opens his eyes for a moment, his lids lazy and droopy, his
mouth pouting, his cheeks flushed and his pupils blown wide, and Dean thinks,
"this is it," and starts rubbing his full length against Sam's.
Dean's in heaven. Sam's head falls slightly back, and Dean thinks, this is what
his mom looks like when he's in the throes of pleasure. It's not a fantasy,
he's not dreaming, he's witnessing it for real. His mom moans sweetly and Dean
chooses this moment to lock their lips together, swallow the moan and they kiss
opened mouthed as they rut heavily into each other, skin on skin, nothing
between them, their cocks hard, heavy and drooling. It takes only an
embarrassingly few moments before Dean loses it and he comes all over himself
and his mom, the orgasm barreling through him and taking his breath away.
Sam is hot on his heels, his body seizing and his moans drowned by his son's
open-mouthed kisses. They continue devouring each other's lips for minutes,
then Dean feels something else, like his mommy is getting another orgasm, he
can feel the racking vibration travel across his mom's body, who's plastered to
his, almost from head to toe (if it weren't for the height difference), and his
mom moans again. Dean pulls away, a line of spit connecting his lips to his
mom's. "What was that?" he whispers, and his mom is very obviously embarrassed,
a serious flush is creeping up his face. He looks away, avoiding eye contact.
Dean pulls away a little, looks between them, at their cocks, and it looks like
Sam just spilled his seed, from his dick, and it's a full orgasm. A second one.
That's impossible for an omega, in his age, unless ... 
What? Was the first time ... "Mommy, did you squirt? The first time, was that
your asshole?" If possible, Sam turned even redder and one hand came up to
cover his face. "Oh dear God," he says, panting like he's been running a
marathon. Dean, who's beaming now, can't help asking, "Does this happen a lot?
I mean, I know you get wet down there when you're turned on but are you used to
orgasming this way, from your butthole?" For a moment it looks like his mom
won't answer, just talking about it sends a dark thrill through Dean's body.
His mommy squirted, in his arms, like a girl. His cunt gushing out slick. Dean
is building up to another orgasm just thinking about what just happened. It's
fucking dirty. Imagine how Sam feels.  
Finally, Sam shakes his head no. Then confirms it in words, "no. It's, uhm, my
first time." Poor Sam looks like he's going to cry. His first time and Dean is
proudly responsible for it. He feels like it should be on the news. Sam's shame
is turning him on even more.
Dean reaches out, takes Sam's hand away from his face, and into his own,
interlacing their fingers together. He waits. When his mom finally opens his
eyes, and looks back at him, cheeks beautifully red, Dean smiles, then whispers
against Sam's mouth, "One day, I will make you feel so damn good, kiss you all
over, touch you, take you apart. But this time, I will sit between your open
legs, I will look at your gaping asshole and I'll watch you cum like this." He
kisses him hard. "It's a promise, Sammy."
....
Hours later, when the sun has come up, Castiel wakes up to find his bed cold
and empty. Huh. Sam must have waken up before him, he thinks and pushes himself
out of the bed. The house is quiet, not like it would if Sam had woken up first
for an early shower, to feed Adam, or to prepare breakfast down in the kitchen.
As he passes by Dean's room, something inside of Cas beckons and he decides to
quietly open the door and check on his son. 
And there is Sam, locked with Dean in an embrace so tight, you can't tell the
young man and his mom apart, where one begins and the other ends, their limbs
tangled together and their faces up against each other, their mouths breathing
the same air. Like lovers, Cas thinks and he's immediately overcome by a brand
of jealousy he rarely ever experiences when it comes to his son's and Sam's
relationship.
Yesterday, only yesterday, his wife was distant and burdened, crying through
sex and Castiel couldn't comfort him, and now he's lying in his Alpha son's
arms like he belongs there, his face restful and blissed out. 
Perhaps for the first time, Castiel feels like he's lacking, like he's not
enough for Sam, and it makes him feel small, and useless. And somehow Dean has
something to do with this, and Cas feels it's more direct than meets the eye.
As if, for some reason, Dean is purposely driving them apart. No, it can't be.
But still, their closeness, how they're tied up together, that just can't be
normal, Cas thinks. He releases a sigh and he decides to talk to Sam about it -
not in passing, not on the sidelines of another argument but for real this
time.
He dares to look at them again, holding tight to each other, even in sleep,
like they're the last two people on Earth, then he gets out, and shuts Dean's
bedroom behind him. 
You must put a stopper on this ... thing, Castiel. This unhealthy co-
dependencey, he thinks darkly, a lump getting wedged in his throat, his heart
already feeling the heaviness of that inevitable conversation with Sam.
Castiel gets ready for work, makes his own breakfast, and as he does, he thinks
he knows what he might do about it, for starters. He just hopes his wife won't
hate him for it.
Chapter End Notes
     The plot thickens ;) Also, don't expect Sam to always be this
     submissive and willing. In fact, things will go south from here
     (sorry!)
     As always, honest feedback and thoughts are most welcome. I always
     love reading your interpretations of events and characters and your
     meditation on this love story. It always inspires me and sometimes
     helps me understand the characters better. And thanks a mill for
     reading xox
***** Breaking up, breaking down *****
Chapter Summary
     This is the tail end of the previous chapter. Dean ties a loose
     thread. Castiel has a heart-to-heart with his mom. Sam makes some
     disturbing realizations.
Chapter Notes
     It's not a long one, but it's not short.
     This is just me not wanting to keep you waiting for long, so I'm
     giving you something to chew on until the next big juicy chapter.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Following their steamy night together, Dean oversleeps.
So the next morning, when he realizes his tardiness, he jumps out of bed
(jolting his mother awake as he does) and he gets ready for school in a rush.
He is barely able to mouth a few words to his mother, as Sam prepares some
sandwiches for him, before he is forced to snatch them out of Sam's hands and
shoot off to catch his ride with Jo and Ellen as he does some mornings.
Before he leaves, though, he remembers to give Sammy a small peck on the mouth
but that's it.
Even in his hurry, Dean is able to feel how Sam has already slipped into the
"mommy" frame of mind. Last night, after their intimate time under the shower,
they got dressed, and slipped into bed together, facing each other. They
murmured sweet nothings into each other's lips and slept soundly in each
other's arms. During those moments, Dean had felt they were together together.
Almost like husband and wife. And he guesses, the feeling was mutual.
It was a delicious sensation.
But now, he's not so sure. In the light of day, things are off. Of course, he
had expected his mom to still resist this new thing between them, to relapse
and to take sanctuary in denial, at first, but eventually, Dean thinks Sammy
should come around.
At least, it's what he hopes and prays for.
The school day inches forward and Dean is itching for it to end so that he can
meet up with Rhonda after. He told her earlier he wanted to talk to her. She
said OK. When she leaned forward for a kiss, however, Dean turned his face
sideways and Rhonda took the hint, and backed off. She looked curious but she
didn't ask.
Smart girl. She knows when he's bottled up tight. Dean guesses it shows in his
features, in his eyes, in the way he carries himself. 
When it was finally time for them to meet, Rhonda was late. Dean stood outside
of school shifting nervously on his feet, and checking his watch every few
minutes. It's 10 minutes past their meeting time. 15 minutes. Now 20.
Thirty long minutes later, Rhonda appears, and Dean is furious she kept him
waiting cos he's due for boxing soon.
But he doesn't want to be sidetracked. He's not here to talk to Rhonda about
her erratic habits or general lack of responsibility. He's here to fuckin' end
whatever it is that's between them.
When he goes back to Sammy, he wants to tell him that Rhonda is history - it's
the least he can do, it'll be his apology. 
When Rhonda's close enough to him to be in earshot, Dean smirks and asks if
she's finally done blowing the football team. Rhonda, uncharacteristically,
looks hurt by the sneer. Dean doesn't even bother listening to her excuses as
she rambles. Detention, she says. Dean can't care less at the moment.
He doesn't beat around the bush.
"Listen, Rhonda. I'll be forward here. You and I? We're done." 
"Slow down, Dean. What the hell happened?"
"Nothing. It's just, it's not working. Stops here."
"Really? That's it? You owe me some explanation, dude. We've been together,
like what, two, three months? I've never had this before."
"Actually, we've never been together. Not really. I was clear from the onset,
Rhonda. This was never headed anywhere. It's just sex ... Was."
"You don't have to sugarcoat it for my benefit, hun," she says, sarcastic, and
for a moment, she looks older than her years. Like a woman who's been hurt and
trampled on over and over. Like someone who knows the drill. 
"Can't think how you could've expected anything else, considering ... " Dean
trails off, and just gestures meaningfully between them.
"Well, yeah. You introduced me to your friends," she says it, like she hasn't
seen it coming, clearly bewildered, and she's back to sounding like the teen
that she is again. "Paraded me, more like it. I thought, you know--"
"Yeah, whatever it is, I don't wanna hear any more of it, Rhonda. Bottom line?
You thought wrong."
"You know what? You're a jackass, Dean!" 
"Whatever," Dean says, then notices how flushed Rhonda's face is and how her
speech is somewhat slurred, only a little but Dean is observant. "Wait, have
you been drinking?"
"No!" she says, then shrugs "Ok, I might have had a few brews." She smiles
wryly and wiggles her eyebrows. Totally inappropriate, thinks Dean, considering
they just "broke up" and she'd just started calling him names. 
"At school? For fuck's sake Rhonda. Go easy on the alcohol ... and on rule
breaking. Sometimes, it's not as cool as you think." For a second there, even
Dean thought he might have been genuinely concerned. He sure sounds like it.
But he doesn't stop to mull it over, and barrels on. "You know what? I don't
care," he says, hands up in the air ... "So am I clear? Will you remember this
conversation tomorrow?"
"I'm not gone, Dean, it was just a couple of beers. I'll remember," she says,
and her frown is back. And that look of hurt from earlier. 
Sure, Rhonda is a slut, and she's older, but did Dean expect her not to have
feelings at all? Obviously, she has some. Maybe she actually likes him or
something, like she might have developed feelings, Dean thinks and shudders at
the thought. It's easier to break up with someone knowing they were both
goofing off, playing around, anything but being serious. But if feelings are
involved ... well, he can't do a thing about it anyway, not now. 
He starts backing off, when Rhonda asks: "So who is it? Is it the boy or
someone new?"
Dean shakes his head, frustrated. "It's none of your business," he says,
turning away. 
"Oh well, good luck Dean," she calls out after him, her voice now pitched a
little higher. "I really mean it. Cos from the sound of it, if it's the thing
with the married boy, you'll need some luck ... And by the way, when the whole
thing crashes and burns, you'll come crawling back to Rhonda." 
This makes Dean's blood boil but he suppresses it. It's the malice, and sheer
confidence, lacing her words that anger him. 
He slows down, and turns, taps his watch and tells her he's gotta run. He
notices her eyes are teary. He's surprised but that doesn't stop him from being
final about it all. "Gotta catch training. You done?"
She crosses her arms, looks away huffing a breath, then looks back at him
again, meeting his eye: "See you later, Dean." It feels like a challenge, Dean
thinks. 
"Don't think so. Bye, Rhonda."
"Tall order," she spits, and Dean doesn't grace it with a response.
.... 
On his way back from work, Castiel decides to do something he hasn't done in a
long time: swing by his parents' house.
He knows his dad is away on business; he keeps tabs on the going ons of his
family, albeit from a distance, mainly through his sister Naomi whom he calls
regularly.
Generally, his mother and Naomi are his favorites. He's emotionally distant
from everyone else, and considering how he was brought up, Cas doesn't think
anyone can blame him.
When he arrives there, even Naomi is out with friends, and it's only his
mother, Deanna, who's at home.
Castiel's family can afford to hire several housekeepers and one of them lets
him in.
He's in the terrace, gazing into the distance, enjoying their well-kept garden
view, when his mom walks in on him. She still looks surprised that he's here,
but unlike his father, Deanna is always welcoming and usually refrains from
asking too many questions - Castiel believes it's partly due to her omega
nature and how she's conditioned not to challenge or cause discomfort to an
Alpha.
That being said, his mom is anything but submissive. Castiel's parents are
blindly traditional and Deanna is a typical omega in many ways except for that.
In her own very sly, passive aggressive way, she can hold her own. She even
tricks his father sometimes into submitting to her will, mostly through the
power of suggestion. 
Castiel used to marvel at how she does it. He used to be proud of her for
managing like this in a house full of Alphas. That is, until, Deanna didn't bat
an eyelid when Cas was thrown out of favor for choosing Sam.
It was probably of course because she didn't approve either - she tried to
change his mind many times over. All the same, Castiel had expected his mom to
have his back, and for a long while, he resented the fact that when it came to
Sam, she didn't and he was on his own. Only Naomi was mildly sympathetic. 
But this is all in the past. Now, they've all reached a peaceful understanding,
and Castiel had managed to forgive the majority of their actions, even found it
in himself to appreciate and love his family again. His father - who rarely
initiates contact - even called him a month earlier informing him that he is to
make arrangements to be there during the Lupercalia festival next year, "with
your family," his father had said, emphasizing the words, almost enunciating
them, to indicate that Sam must come along, since he's usually absent from any
Winchester family gatherings. It's a long enough notice. His father was making
sure Castiel would have no excuse not to attend, along with Sam, and the kids
of course. 
At the beginning, Sam was (like Cas) barred from the Winchester house. When
amends were made and Sam was finally allowed to be part of the family functions
again, his wife was reluctant to make any appearances. Sam almost always chose
to fall back, and let Castiel make appearances alone with Dean and Adam -
something that Castiel's father saw as another sign of weakness; a proof that
Castiel can't control his omega, and a potent reminder that his son had parted
with their traditions and lifestyle.
But it looks like, at the Lupercalia, Sam has to be there, and it's Castiel's
father that is putting his foot down this time and is making the decision for
all of them.
Castiel doesn't mind it, since Dean's Alpha status will be officially
acknowledged and celebrated, and it's a big deal. Considering how Dean's nature
is shaped, from what Cas can tell, Dean wouldn't want to miss it either. Cas
thinks Sam should be there for his son's coming of age as well.
On the terrace, though, all these thoughts are skipped in favor of greeting
Deanna. Cas bends forward to pull his much shorter mother into his arms,
planting a soft kiss on her forehead. After giving her a brief report of their
latest, including his upcoming promotion, almost a reality now, Deanna smiles
softly then asks how he's really doing. 
"I'm fine, I guess. Just a little overworked."
His mother gives a knowing smile, about to say something when a female servant
comes in with a tray. "Here, have some camomile," she says, offering him one of
the tea cups. "I've asked Jill to add some cinnamon to it. It's the way you
like it, isn't it?" It's not a question. His mother knows him inside out. 
Castiel takes the tea and it's just the right temperature. When he starts
sipping, the warm juice warms him up inside, and the smell relaxes him. He
closes his eyes, savoring. 
"So, trouble in paradise?" his mom asks, seemingly nonchalant, like she's
talking about the weather.
"Nah, Sam and I are good." Cas lies, a lump rising in his throat at the mention
of his wife. Then he remembers the night before, the crying, his failure to
comfort Sam and Sam ending up in Dean's bed. He clears the imaginary mass in
his throat and swallows. "Why would you think so, mom?"
"Well, you're here to talk about something."
Castiel throws his head back and smiles, amused. "Can't a son swing by to see
his mother these days without harboring an agenda?" 
"A son can. But you're not here just to see me, sweetheart. And we both know
it," she says it and sips on her own tea, smiling.
There's not a hint of resentment in her voice. She's always genuinely happy
when Castiel seeks her - it's not very often that he does anymore, not since he
married Sam, but it still happens sometimes. Cas and Deanna always had a
special relationship. Of all her sons, he was the closest to her. Perhaps it's
his dampened Alpha nature, and his reluctance to give orders, his sensitivity
growing up (especially after he met Sam), that endeared him to her - the
opposite of the effect all this had on Castiel's father. 
Castiel sighs, gives his mother a long look and somehow he feels she knows
already what all his woes are for, even if she really doesn't.
"I want to send Dean away," he says finally, his voice even. 
His mom nods, like she expected it. Of course, she didn't. She's not privy to
Castiel's thoughts, or the details of his life. But her nod is one of
understanding, or perhaps foresight. Like she knew things would eventually come
to that. 
"Where to?"
"Haven't decided on this yet. Perhaps here? I don't know."
"Clearly, you don't," says his mom, her tone suddenly acquiring a firmer tang.
"You know our ways Castiel. This is a traditional household. Your father still
rules this house. You surely don't expect Dean to fit in, or fall in line,
considering the way you've raised him, do you? It will be hard on all of us.
And Dean is almost a man, now. A boarding school will do him better. It'll be
painfully difficult to bend him out of shape and force him to follow our house
rules. And if he's anything like you or Sam, it will be impossible to tame
him."
"That's the thing, mother. Dean is different." Like my father and my brothers,
he almost says. He swallows the words, and thinks of a way to put this, without
sounding like he's regretting the lifestyle he chose or failing to control his
own son's leanings towards the tradition.
His mom doesn't comment, just waits for him to collect his thoughts.
As if responding to an unasked question, Castiel, now getting worked up (though
still projecting a calm manner), begins again, "I can't describe it. He's not
like me or Sam. He has his own ... thoughts."
"Did he voice any objections to your lifestyle?"
"Not in words."
"Ok, sweetheart, what's really at stake here? And what does your wife think of
this?"
"Sam, ha!" Cas says, and shakes his head. "Sam doesn't see a problem. He's ...
well, he's Sam. He worships the ground Dean walks on, and Dean ends up walking
all over us. Or tries."
"Hmmm."
Somehow, her silence sounds accusing to Castiel's ears, like his mom wants to
ask Cas, what did you expect?
"Mother, it's not us. There's nothing wrong with the way we raised him."
"Well, and I didn't suggest it!"
"Perhaps Sam was a little too lenient. But I overcompensated in this area,"
Casiel says, clearly still defensive.
It's his mother's turn to sigh.
"What is this really about, Castiel?" 
Cas doesn't know where to begin. So he stays silent and looks away,
contemplating. He knows his mother is watching closely, he can almost feel his
thoughts being read, his every gesture processed and analyzed. His mother,
however, doesn't force an answer out of him, instead joins him in his silence.
After a while, not too long, Deanna moves closer to him then takes one of his
hands in both of hers and squeezes, reassuring. "It's fine not to know,
Castiel. Not to feel in control. The uncertainty. It comes with being a
parent."
"How did father do it?" Cas asks watching their clasped hands, grateful for the
warmth it's pumping into him. 
"You know how, son," says his mom, her lips pursed, like she's lightly
scolding. She's not. 
"Yeah, I guess," Castiel says, then gently slips his hand out of his mother's,
and rubs his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. 
"Have you been sleeping well?"
"Not really."
"Well, here's what you could do. How about you sleep tonight, and we talk again
tomorrow? I'm assuming you haven't talked to your wife about sending Dean
away."
"You're correct in your assumption, mother."
"Well then, if you want my advise, talk to Sam. And if you're serious about
having Dean move here, we'll discuss the details then. I'd be happy to. But at
least give me a chance to test the waters with your father, see if he'll like
the idea to begin with. See if he has any considerations. And God knows, even
if agrees, he'll want to lay down some laws. And trust me, knowing you,
sweetheart, you'll hate most of them." 
Castiel huffs a laugh. "You bet," he says, and he feels grateful for his
mother.
She's right. He should talk to Sam first. He should think about what this means
for all of them. And man, he should sleep. His mother and him talk some more,
casually, about Naomi, the family business, and his brothers, then Castiel soon
excuses himself to leave.
He's already tired by work and a mind that doesn't wane. His mother gives him a
parting hug that for a moment makes it feel like things are right again. Then
Castiel takes off. On his way home, his phone rings, and it's Sam. 
....
Sam spends the day doing everything mechanically. He's on autopilot when he's
arranging beds, cleaning the house, feeding and bathing Adam plus entertaining
him, going out for some grocery shopping, cooking lunch, and then starting
early on dinner preparations as he tries to subdue a moody Adam. In that
order. 
Except for the few hours of sleep he caught last night, he has been insomniac
and in turn dead on his feet for weeks. 
He hasn't eaten anything either. He doesn't feel like tasting food today. And
he feels he'll soon empty his stomach if he does. 
Dean will be late today on account of boxing training, and God knows when
Castiel will finish work.
So, in conclusion, he's running on an empty stomach, on little sleep, and he's
on his own ...
... with his thoughts of course. 
Sam can only block what happened the night before for so long before it catches
up with him. Just a few fragmented thoughts of how he and Dean were together
are enough to send the blood in his veins rushing downstairs, making his face
heat up, partly in shame at how the memories turn him on.
The thought of having the privilege of being intimate with Dean revoked (if he
faces reality and puts an end to this, as he should) is dark and daunting. 
His head is killing him. 
When his mind finally stops chasing the racing thoughts of how he and his son
ended up like this and starts digesting what he got himself into, his mood
starts to be choleric, and Sam starts absently taking it on Adam - he's wearing
a pained expression, he's distant, impatient, and at one point he finally snaps
at his three-year-old. Adam's lips pout sadly, quiver and he starts to cry,
then wail, breaking Sam's heart to pieces.
"I'm sorry, so sorry sweetheart," begins Sam, realizing his mistake.
"Mommy hateses Adam," he says between hiccups, his face blotched and teary. Of
course Adam thinks he hates him. He's been anything but present for the boy
today. 
"Never!" Sam says, and kisses his son's red and wet cheeks repeatedly, and hugs
him close. "You're my sweetest. I could never."
It's a wake up call, of sorts. And Sam decides he should rest his over-
exhausted brain and body and sit down with Adam to watch some cartoons or
something, and try to get himself together. So he abandons the task at hand,
screw dinner prepping, takes Adam to the living room, and tries to make up with
his son by offering some ice cream and some downtime in front of the TV, a
suggestion to which Adam is enthusiastic and giddy.
And thankfully, all's forgiven!
Sam still refuses to eat.
A couple of hours later when Adam is napping in the safety of Sam's arms, it
all finally sinks in.
What he's doing to his family. What he has done long ago when he sought Dean
for comfort, ruining his own son and inspiring forbidden thoughts in him by
forcing himself on Dean. Not listening to Cas' warnings about how tied up he is
with Dean. And now, cheating on his husband with his own son, allowing himself
to have something he should never have.
Sam cannot lie to himself any longer. It was already happening when he allowed
Dean to smash through one boundary after another. It was decided the moment Sam
let his guard down and allowed himself to enjoy and relish in how Dean was
braving new territory, one after another. It happened because Sam let himself
get carried away ... until Dean's kisses and hugs and attention became his
bread and butter, and until Dean became more important to him than the air he
breathes.
He's a bad, needy mother and a worse caretaker, and now he could lose
everything if he doesn't backtrack and try to cure Dean of the very thing that
he, as a mother, caused due to his own shortcomings and emotional defects. 
Sam starts crying, for the umpteenth time, only this week, and as he cries, his
chest closes up, not just with guilt towards his family, but with his longing
for Dean still, with the realization that he'll end it.
He loves him. He's in love with his son. He loves him in ways he cannot count.
He loves him in a perverted, twisted way.
And he doesn't want to end this thing between them. If Dean abandons him
altogether, he'll collapse, he thinks, and hugs Adam closer and cries some
more.
He must do it then, Sam decides. When Dean's back, he'll sit down with him, and
let him know. He'll tell him it's not his fault, at least not just his fault.
He'll ask his son for forgiveness. And he'll be ready to bear the consequences
of his deviance - including the possibility that he may never be forgiven. Not
by himself at least. 
He gets up, Adam still in his arms, and he puts his kid in his room so he'll
continue napping, as late as it is in the afternoon for siestas. Sam knows
he'll pay the price for this in the form of a grumpy kid, who'll refuse to
sleep on time, later in the night. But that's later. He'll deal with it then. 
Now, he goes into the restroom to splash his face with some water. After he
does, and as he still stands over the sink, tired, and holding onto its edge
with both hands, his grip hard, he dares to glance at his reflection in the
mirror and he looks like a ghost of himself.
He can't believe that after being so close to something he thought was
impossible, an intimacy he never experienced in his life before, a completeness
he might not have ever again, he'll let it go ... He can't fathom that after
having a taste of something he didn't know he'd always longed for until he had
it, that he will be forced to give it up.
He wishes he had never tasted it to begin with. 
The tears come. He starts sobbing again, so hard, until he feels his chest is
aching and his breaths are coming shorter and shorter. And until he feels he
needs something, an anchor, because he's drowning fast. He's suddenly barely
clinging to consciousness. 
Weary and swaying on his feet, he reaches for his cell phone, wedged in his
jeans pocket, removes it and blearily dials Castiel's number. 
When his husband finally picks up, Sam only has the energy for muttering a few
words before, with a heavy thud, he collapses to the floor.
"Cas. Help me."
Then darkness overtakes him. 
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     I know some of you are tempted to hate Dean at this very moment, and
     side with Cas. And Castiel IS generally amazing, and sadly, he's
     caught up in this co-dependant relationship between Sam and Dean, and
     it's eating him up.
     But I want you to put in mind that this is Dean, as a teen, hopped up
     on his desires for a love forbidden to him, and carrying the
     resentments, penchant for drama and rebellious streak any kid his age
     usually is. But he will change as he grows older, so hopefully, he
     won't be such a dick forever. I'd hate to spoil the image of the Dean
     we all love, the one who would die for family and who has a heart of
     gold beneath the rough exterior. Think of this Dean here as a
     completely human Demon!Dean, with all the rough edges, the rawness,
     without inhibitions. Except that this version of Demon!Dean is young
     and not villainous. He's just clinging to Sam, and he is desiring him
     violently.
     Dean will mature, but mind you, this won't un-complicate things,
     because yes, he won't be as selfish and he'll start to see things
     from a different perspective but no, he won't give up Sammy. And
     therein lies all the drama.
     Until he's older and wiser, Dean will remain a dick however, zeroed
     in on his desire for Sam and nothing else (he just wants him, come
     what may), stepping brutally on everyone that comes between them. But
     with an older Dean will come a responsibility to his family that will
     make things clearer, albeit, harder on him, and should drive (not a
     change of heart) but definitely a change in strategy, attitude and
     some compromises. But hey, I don't want to tell too much. I wanna
     show you. So bear with me! :-)
     Feedback and reflections are most welcome. Don't hold back please! I
     wanna hear all your thoughts. Like I said, it all helps me understand
     how you see the story, and it gives me ideas sometimes. xoxo
     -----
     IMPORTANT UPDATE: I have now chosen "NOT to use archive warnings"
     besides the main warning for "underage", meaning that NOT ALL
     WARNINGS ARE LISTED. In turn, in the future, I may warn for some
     things and not others. So please note that I may not warn for major
     things, mainly to avoid spoilers.
     The tags have been amended to reflect this. So please continue to
     read at your own risk! (I hope you end up choosing to read, but
     that's up to you of course).
     Much love, and so glad you've come this far. xxx
***** - Intermission - *****
Chapter Summary
     A thank you, a link to my tumblr with some steamy hot fanart. Oh, I
     also have some questions for you all, my awesome readers, regarding
     the story. xoxoxo
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
I just wanted to let you all know that:
1. I'm writing a new chapter. And I have outlined several more. This is going
to be a long story y'all.
2. Holy hell! 866 kudos! I'm humbled. Thank you all so much for reading.
3. In case you don't know, I'm on tumblr ... I don't share stories there, but a
collection of fanart that inspire my writing. Feel free to take a look. 
4. I'm grateful for all your attention and support. There are a handful of
comments that I still haven't responded to. I will do so very soon. I apologise
for the delay. And please, please do continue to share your reflections on the
story whenever you want. Your thoughts on the story are always welcome. It's my
pleasure to read them really. Like everyone else, I'm a whore for praise. BUT
my favorite type of comments are the ones with analysis, critique, honest
reflections and predictions. So don't hold back.
5. I have made my mind about the direction of the story, but just as an
excercise, and for my own information, so I can understand my readers' needs
better:
           A. How many of you want unconscious Sam to be found by Dean and not
Cas? Do you want Dean to arrive home first?
           B. Do you think Castiel will really send Dean away? ...
           C. Considering how Sam felt in the last chapter, how many of you
fear that Sam might actually support Cas' decision to send Dean away if it all
goes down like Cas wants? 
           D. I know that some of you already support the whole sending Dean
away, and others loathe it. But if you're with the plot line that sees Dean
leaving his family home to live with the elder Winchesters, I'd love to hear
from you on why you approve of it.
(Am I asking too many questions? lol! Also, feel free to ignore me completely.
it won't hurt my feelings. Or maybe it will, but I won't stop updating so don't
you worry about that)
6. Much love! And see you soon on this space ;) 
Chapter End Notes
     If you don't mind volunteering as a beta reader for this fic, please
     shoot an email to Joanna.lee.ao3@gmail.com
     -----
     IMPORTANT: I have now chosen "NOT to use archive warnings" besides
     the main warning for "underage", meaning that NOT ALL WARNINGS ARE
     LISTED. In turn, in the future, I may warn for some things and not
     others. So please note that I may not warn for major things, mainly
     to avoid spoilers.
     The tags have been amended to reflect this. So please continue to
     read at your own risk! (I hope you end up choosing to read, but
     that's up to you of course).
     Much love, and so glad you've come this far. xxx
***** Found *****
Chapter Notes
     I know I promised a long(er) chapter. But again, I caved under the
     pressure of not wanting to make you wait. So here's Sam's awakening.
     Short and sweet, I hope. (Well, 4,000+ words but you know what I
     mean).
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Dean walks into the house, following boxing training, to the eerie sound of
baby screams, muffled behind a door. When he strains his ears, as he steps
forward towards the stairs, he can hear nothing else - he can't hear the voice
of Sammy sushing Adam or trying to soothe him, as he would, or any sounds to
indicate his other parent is around. And suddenly Dean is gripped by worry. He
throws his backpack off his shoulders, and runs up the stairs, two at a time,
and straight to Adam's room. 
The crying becomes louder as he approaches, but as he passes the lit bathroom,
with its door ajar, he comes to a halt and his heart almost stills, as he
recognizes the figure lying on the floor. His mommy is turned on his side, in
the recovery position, but more like he was trying to get up and failed. His
arms are limp and his phone is barely held in a loose grip in one hand. Dean
momentarily freezes. His heart is in his throat and his knees become weak. He's
torn between wanting to follow the sound of the baby screams of his distressed
little brother and checking on his obviously unconscious Sam. He quickly makes
a decision. As his pulse quickens and thunders in his ears, he runs towards his
mom, crouching down so fast, his knees hit then skid along the hard floor. That
will hurt something bad later, when the adrenaline has left his body.
"Mom," he says, his voice quivering, and laced with panic. It feels like a
nightmare. He checks for pulse, it's there, a little slower than usual but
solid. Right now, he can't tell if he's imagining the change in speed but as
long as it's there, Dean is happy. "Sweetheart," he pleads, as he laces his
hands through his Sammy's hair. As his fingers make contact with the skin on
Sam's forehead, however, Dean's surprised at how warm it is. He puts the back
of his hand to Sammy's forehead, then his palm to Sammy's cheek, and realizes
that his mom is burning up. 
Adam's crying continues unabated, and the thought that maybe Adam is hurt too
hits Dean like a brick to the face, so he gets up and hurries to his baby
brother's room. He'll make sure he's Ok, then come back to his mom without
missing a beat. "I'll be back, Sammy," he whispers.
When he turns the door knob and steps into Adam's room, his brother is standing
up in his crib, and when he sees Dean, he cries even harder - it looks like
he's been weeping himself hoarse for a while. "Shhh, I'm here, I'm here, Adam,"
Dean says as he fetches his brother and runs back to the restroom. "Are you OK,
buddy? Anything hurts?" Dean has to repeat the questions twice for Adam to
focus, regain some composure, ease on the crying enough to say, "no. Mommy left
Adam all, all alone," he says between huffed breaths. "Bed is too high DeeDee,
Adam can't leave." He's probably just afraid and hungry then, and by the smell
of it, needs a diaper change. Yup, Adam is one of those babies that are too
stubborn for toilet training, so he uses the potty or the toilet modified with
a baby seat only in his good moods or when he's being promised a reward.
But Dean doesn't have time to attend to Adam. Now that he knows his brother is
not hurt, his mind zeroes in on his mommy again. When they're back in the
restroom, Adam starts screaming frantically when he sees Sam on the floor.
"What's wrong with mommy!?" Dean shushes him again, and places him on the step
up stool that they usually put for Adam so he can reach the toilet and try and
sit by himself. 
"Hey," Dean says to get his attention. "Hey, buddy. Mommy's fine. He's just
asleep, he's very tired. I need to help him wake up and you need to be a big
guy for me, and stay here, so I can help mommy. OK?" Dean uses his teen Alpha
voice to solidify his order-masquerading-as-a-kind-request, and Adam recognizes
the difference between his usual brotherly voice, and this, with a shadow of
firmness that Adam is not used to sensing from Dean. And luckily, he responds
to it. Teary eyed and red-faced, he nods solemnly, like the three-year-old has
suddenly recognized that Dean is in charge and that he needs to get out of the
way, or better, have his big brother's back. "Ok, DeeDee," he says, like a good
soldier, holding back a sob. "Good boy," responds Dean, kissing his forehead.
Then quick as lightning, he's by his mom's side, gently shaking his shoulders,
and checking his temperature again. 
Should he call 911 or wait to see if he can wake up his mom? As he thinks, his
fingers are working, checking for bruises or signs that Sam has injured his
head or another part of his body when he fell - Dean learned much about falling
during boxing training and now he's trying to put some of this knowledge to
use. Breathe, Dean, he tells himself, as he feels panic rising again. If
something happens to Sammy, especially after last night--no, he won't think it.
He can't afford to. He'll collapse himself if his mind goes there. Sammy is
going to be alright, dammit. 
His mother's eyes flutter open, and Dean takes that breath (or 10) that he was
holding, and he can almost literally feel it as his lungs get filled with air
again. Sam's eyes are glassy though, and he lethargically bats his eyelids.
"Sweetheart, you with me?" Dean whispers. Sam swallows thickly and his eyes
travel across this side of the room, taking in his surroundings, then they
fasten on Dean's face again. "Yeah," he croaks weakly. Dean's gotta make sure
his mom's aware, and not concussed. 
"Do you know who I am? Where you are?" Dean sees the shadow of a smile, despite
Sam's bleariness. Sam tries to move his head, as he attempts to turn onto his
back, but groans in pain instead. 
"Hey, hey, don't move," says Dean, taking one of Sam's hands into his,
interlacing their fingers together. He needs to give Sammy something solid to
hold on to. "Just answer the question. Please."
Sam coughs a little, then breathes the words out, with difficulty, "you're my
Dean." Dean's eyes tear up at the words, and he smiles, "that's right, I'm
yours. Always ... uh, how many fingers am I holding up?" he says, as he holds
up three fingers. "Three," Sam huffs out, correctly, but it does look like it's
painful to string words together.
"Mommy, do you feel pain in your head?"
"Yeah."
"How bad is it? On a scale of one to ten."
"Don't know," he says, slurring. "6. 7 maybe."
"High, but I'm guessing if something was strained or broken, it would've been
close to a 9 perhaps." 
"Adam."
"He's here, mom." 
At the mention of his name, Adam, as if sensing it's OK for him to move now
from his designated spot waddles towards Dean who's hunched over their mom, and
Sam sighs heavily as his other son comes into view. A tear escapes Sam's eye
and falls to the floor. About to throw himself at his mom, Adam is stopped from
lunging forward by Dean so he wouldn't hurt Sammy. "Easy, tiger," he says.
"Mommy will hug you when he's completely awake. Now, he's still half asleep, ok
buddy?" Adam nods, surprisingly understanding for his age, and considering his
neediness for his mom. 
"Sweetheart, try moving your legs for me, even a little." Sam does, and Dean
huffs another sigh, his own body coming under control as his fears are squashed
in stages with every relatively good sign. 
One by one, Dean goes through a number of questions, impressed that he's calm
enough to remember the ABC's of this. Perhaps Dean should call an ambulance,
but not before attempting to bring down Sammy's temperature, he thinks. Even as
bleary and tired as his mother is, he's conscious again, and it doesn't look
like any of his limbs is in temporary paralysis. He hasn't lost sensation
anywhere, and he's familiar with his surroundings. So he's betting they don't
need immediate medical attention.
Where the hell is dad? Dean thinks for a second, then focuses back on Sammy.
He'll ring Castiel as well, but now, he needs to get Sam into the bath, before
he loses him again, and he might, since Sam's eyes are becoming droopy and it
looks like it's getting harder for him to stay awake. 
"Mom, listen. You're running a fever. By the feel of it, it's bad. I need to
get you under the shower. I might even have to fill the bathtub with water, and
grab some ice from the kitchen to cool it down more. But look, you're heavy
sweetheart, so you gotta help me here." His mother doesn't respond, and Dean
doesn't wait. He turns the words to action.
Dean cradles Sammy's head and neck, lifts them as tries to help him sit up. Sam
does help by raising himself on his arms, the pain showing, as his jaw becomes
tighter, his moans deeper and his eyes are squeezed shut. Dean waits for a few
seconds until a wave of dizziness washes over Sam. When it passes, Sam confirms
he's fine, then he's being hauled upwards, half of his weight, or more, resting
on his son, who now has one arm clutched tightly around his thin waist, and
another firmly holding one of Sam's flail arms up and across his shoulders.
There's no way Sam can stand under the shower spray - his long legs are weak
and wobbly; they barely make it inside the tub without Sam slipping or keeling
over. 
For the second day in a row, Dean helps his mom, into the bathtub. Yesterday,
it was loving and his touch was sensual, his intents sexual and lustful. Sam
was naked and healthy and he was at his most beautiful, despite the crying and
panic that preceded the incident. Today, it's still loving, with the way he
holds Sam, and helps him sit there, but Dean's touch is protective, almost
clinical, and his intents spring from his responsibility as an Alpha and his
fear and concern as a loving son. Sam is fully dressed, and burning with a
fever, his eyes are red and his cheeks are moist. A fever that might be half
caused by a disease, and half by fatigue and stress, Dean suspects. He blames
himself for the latter - he's been selfish and he knows it. But he won't stop
and think now. He'll leave the thinking for later. 
When Sam, still pallid and in pain, is secure, with a small towel rolled up and
placed behind his head, on the edge of the tub, to cushion it, Dean turns on
the cold water tap telling Sammy to brace himself and waits as the tub begins
to fill up, before running down to the kitchen and coming back up with three
ice-cube trays, which he empties into the water. Adam is hanging onto the rim
of the tub, watching with tear-filled eyes. Dean holds Sam's hand with one of
his own, but he rubs Adam's small back with the other to comfort him, to show
him he's here. His mommy, now submerged in cold water, rests for a minute, then
slowly begins to shiver as the temperature clearly becomes uncomfortable. But
it does look like Sam's limbs are waking up, because he's suddenly moving,
faster than before, as he's muttering the word "cold" in a shaky voice, and
trying to leave the tub. Surprisingly, he stands up on his own, before Dean can
help, despite the shakes and quivers. 
The water sloshes, as he steps out, half supported by Dean, with Adam holding
on to one of Sam's hand, under the illusion he's stepping up and helping his
mommy too. Some of it splashes on the floor, and on Adam, the whole ordeal made
worse as Sam's jeans and shirt soak up water and leak heavily as he moves.
Dean leaves his trembling mother's side for a few seconds to fetch the
thickest, warmest towel they have and throw it around Sam. Sam welcomes it. He
wraps it tighter around himself and closes it at his throat. 
"Let's get you out of these clothes mom, and into your bed, come on," he says,
and he begins unwrapping the towel so he can take Sam's shirt off. Sam
reluctantly cooperates, wanting to hold on to the towel some more, even though
it's itself wet now. Still trembling, however, he lets go and lets Dean take
his shirt off. Before Dean can take off his pants, Sam walks to the towels
closet, fetches a large dry one and quickly wraps it around himself. Sure, the
fever would probably be a little down by now, if only momentarily, but he's
friggin' freezing, and Sam can't wait until he's out of the wet clothes and
into his warm bed. 
Dean kneels and reaches for the belt holding up Sam's jeans. He undoes it, then
unbuttons the pants and rolls down the zipper. Dean's teen brain - his stupid
hormonal brain - is already heating up at the thought of seeing his mommy naked
again, his Alpha instincts while inherently protective are beginning to gain
purchase on the oppressed lust and are now responding to Sam's proximity and
body heat on principle. Images of his mom naked and willing in his arms flood
his inner vision all of a sudden and Dean mentally shakes them off so he can
concentrate on the task at hand. Jesus, perhaps he's a knot-head after all. 
When the pants are off, Dean doesn't hesitate before he curls his fingers into
the waistbands of Sam's wet white slips, already see-through and almost
transparent because of the water, and peels them off. Sam's soft length comes
into view, his crotch inches away from Dean's face, and it's so delicious
looking. Its powerful, manly, all-Omega smell is tickling his nose. He can't
help but inhale deeply to take it all in. His mom's dick is perfect. The thick
shaft, the tiny piss slit, the mushroom-shaped crown so close to his lips he
could kiss it right now. If Sam wasn't so ill or Adam standing right beside
him, Dean would've shamelessly sucked Sam's cock down to the base, until Dean's
nose is buried in the dark hair around it, breathing only Sam's scent, until he
gags on it. Until it fattens and hardens inside his mouth. Until it throbs and
weeps. 
Ok, that's it, Dean. For Pete's sake, stop it, Sammy is sick, you perv, Dean
scolds himself inwardly. He swallows audibly and tries to breathe evenly, in an
attempt to bring his horny Alpha under control. And thankfully, he manages to.
He supports his mother as they walk back to Sam's room - Adam following
closely. Dean sits a naked Sam, save for the big fluffy towel, on the bed and
falls to his knees in front of him. Sam's upper body is mostly covered and
shielded by the towel but not his lower half. So Dean starts rubbing Sam's
thighs, knees, and legs for added warmth. He tries not to think of Sam's
slightly parted knees and his flaccid member in between.
This is about nursing Sam back to health, not hitting on him, Dean reminds
himself again for good measure. He knows his horny Alpha is still fidgeting.
Dean kisses Sam on his lips. It's one single barely-there, reassuring kiss,
then he says, "talk to me, mom. Are you feeling better? Should we call an
ambulance still?"
"No, I'll be alright." He's clearly not out of the woods. But Dean believes
him, he'll be OK, he knows it too.
"Promise, mom?"
Before Sam can answer, they both hear hurried steps approaching and suddenly
Castiel is in the room. They were so preoccupied they didn't hear him come in
the house or come up the stairs, it seems.
It looks like Castiel is taking in the scene before he comes to Sam's side. He
looks disapproving of Sam's nudity, Dean feels it, as Cas's eyes run over Sam's
naked thighs and legs, stopping for a second too long at where Dean is resting
his hands on Sam. 
Cas comes to the bed, almost shoving Dean aside. He starts fussing. He asks Sam
101 questions about how he's feeling and what happened, and Dean is the one who
answers most of them, since mom still looks and sounds disoriented, and somehow
it's making Castiel more annoyed. Dean picks Adam up, and pats his back to
assure him. 
As if to assert his dominance, Cas sits by Sam and takes his wife into his
arms, squeezes him tightly, resting a hand on the inside of one of Sam's bare
thighs. It makes Dean's cheeks heat up with jealousy. And his heart pounds a
little faster. But he pushes the feelings down; he's been training himself to
suppress his possessive streak for months, and his efforts pay off sometimes.
Like now. 
Paradoxically, Cas is not even looking at Dean, as Dean recounts how he found
Sam, and his dad doesn't grace his story with anything but a tight nod.
Dean doesn't understand. He stepped up, he was there for his mom, he subdued a
screaming Adam, who's now starting to get real cranky, squirming in Dean's arms
and is huffing and teering up again by the way. Adam tries to wriggle free and
Dean obliges him, setting him down. The moment his feet touch the ground, Adam
runs to his mommy, and hugs his torso, and Sam hugs his youngest back with one
weak arm. Cas ruffles Adam's hair lovingly. 
Great, so Castiel's attitude is exclusive to Dean? Friggin' perfect. 
Why is his father acting like Dean made things worse. In fact, Castiel is
glaring at Dean from time to time accusingly, and it's starting to peev the
hell out of Dean.
When Castiel is satisfied that Sam is marginally better, that there would be no
need for a call to the hospital or a visit to the ER, unless the paracetamol
and ibuprofen double bill he'll put into Sam doesn't work to contain his fever
during the next 48 hours, he finally tells his wife to get under the covers,
and settle into bed. But before he takes the towel away, disrobing Sam, he asks
Dean to leave the room. 
"No, I wanna be by mom's side."
"I'll be by his side. I'm here now."
"Still--"
"THAT'S ENOUGH, DEAN! NOW!" He shouts it at him, suddenly impatient and
hostile, making Dean visibly flinch. Mainly because Dean didn't expect to be
lashed at, especially after what he's done. It's uncalled for. His mom
whispers, "Castiel," but he's bleary and tired enough not to say anything more.
Only for the sake of his mommy, Dean steps back and takes away Adam, now in
full crying mode, with him. His little brother definitely needs some attention,
some food and a change of diaper. He must have been equally distressed by the
sight of his unconscious mom, earlier, and of course the scare of being left
alone before Dean found him. Well, he will fix Adam then.
He'll also heat some soup and pass it on to Cas so he can feed it to his mom.
Sammy shouldn't be medicated on an empty stomach. Dean takes in a deep breath
and blows out hard. Fine, he'll be on the sidelines for now, he resolves. 
...
Two hours later, when Adam is in a better shape, and Dean's got his own half-
frayed nerves and boiling anger (at his father) under control, he decides to
check on his parents. The door to their bedroom is shut. He knocks and when he
gets the permission to go in, he does and sees that Sam is sleeping in
Castiel's arms.
"What do you want, Dean?"
"Just wanna remind you to wake mommy up every couple of hours in case he
sustained a concussion when he fell and hit the floor."
Cas nods saying he will. He still doesn't look happy Dean is interfering, it
seems. It's his mom, what does he expect? Sammy is his entire world actually. 
When he just stands there, with his eyes trained on his mother, Castiel's asks,
"anything else?"
He meets his father's eyes. "Adam's hungry, I don't know what to do."
"Fix him something. You're a big boy," Cas says, his gaze firm and level.
"No, dad. I'm not going to give him cereals again for dinner. He just had some
an hour ago. It's getting late. And a PB&J sandwich is out of the question.
That's too much sugar for one night. He needs a hot meal. Mom would kill us if
he finds out we're neglecting Adam like this. I can watch over mom as you whip
up something." He adds: "You know how hopeless I am in the kitchen."
Castiel doesn't move.
"Dad," Dean swallows his pride and pleads, hoping to look innocent and
convincing, and in more ways than one, he is honest. Sure, part of him just
wants to be alone with his mom for a while. But really, he doesn't want Adam to
get another mediocre meal or to suffer because Cas is being stubborn. 
Cas seems to get it, huffs a sigh and takes himself down to the kitchen to heat
up some food for Adam, give his son a proper meal. 
Dean immediately takes his mom's side in lieu of Cas. His mom opens his eyes,
when the bed shifts and Dean lands beside him. "You gave me quite a scare back
there, Sammy," he says. "Don't you ever do this to me again."
Sam nods. "I'm sorry, De," he says weakly. "Didn't mean to scare you."
"I know, sweetheart. I just don't want to ever see you hurt." 
Dean huddles against Sammy's warm body, and starts soothing him, carding his
fingers through his hair. They spend a few minutes like this. Then Dean swoops
down on him, and kisses his mouth. Sam is motionless for a few seconds, just
letting his mouth be used. Perhaps it's exhaustion or maybe he's holding back
on purpose, Dean doesn't know.
Insistent, Dean follows one kiss with another. His kisses are loving and urgent
and as he kisses, he crowds against Sam more, until he's almost blanketing
him. 
When Dean starts on Sam's soft, pliable lips, he usually can't stop. Now is no
different.
Between kisses, Sam whispers, "we shouldn't" to which Dean responds by putting
his own slightly parted lips to better use. They capture Sam's in a deep kiss. 
And Dean puts all his ache and fears and passion into the heat and pressure of
his mouth. He breathes in the kiss a promise of an undying love. When he
slightly pulls back, he keeps Sam's lower lip tucked between his own teeth and
lips, and sucks on it, as he likes to do sometimes. When he finally releases
Sam's mouth, he seals the make out session with three consecutive quick pecks,
then pushes himself up from the bed.
He doesn't leave immediately though. Sensually, Dean lowers the covers, baring
Sam's naked body, bunching the covers to below his waist, right where his torso
meets his legs. He inspects Sam's nakedness with hungry eyes, not ashamed to
look and stare. Dean bends forward, lays his wet and swollen lips on Sam's
fleshy stomach, right below his navel. For a second, it looks like it's all
he'll do, just lay his lips there, or brush them against the skin. But he pops
a single chaste kiss on the sweat-damp skin. Then he starts kissing the spot
forcefully, just like he was kissing Sam's mouth a minute earlier. Dean's
tongue flicks out to taste too. Then he bites, hard, with teeth.
The moment the stinging pain hits, the blood rushes to the assaulted spot and
Sam realises what Dean is doing. He doesn't have a choice but to let him. When
he's done staking his claim, Dean licks then kisses the bruise.
Without looking, Sam is sure it's red, soon to turn purplish. He knows it will
stand out if Cas sees him in the nude tonight.
"I'll go check on Adam," Dean declares. "And see if dad is heating you some
food too. You need to eat, mom." He says, so casually, like he wasn't just
devouring Sam's mouth with his own, like he didn't just give his mom a hickey.
Sam nods. Then ... "Before you go. Throw me a shirt, sweetheart," Sam says.
And Dean smiles like he likes the idea that now Sam will have to cover in front
of Cas. That Sam's naked skin is not for his father's eyes anymore. Not tonight
at least.
Perhaps next time, Dean will plant this claiming kiss a little lower.
He helps his mom put on a shirt, and underwear (Dean's initiative! He might as
well since he wants Sam properly covered up from his dad's greedy eyes and
prying hands. Besides, he loves the idea of helping Sam into his briefs, he
gets off on it too. He actually couldn't help placing a quick, light kiss on
Sam's cock before he pulled the briefs up).
Done, Dean pads out of the room, closing the door gently behind him.
When he's alone, Sam touches a finger to his lower lip, where his son's
insistent mouth was moments before, where his tongue licked and sucked, and
Sam's own tongue flicks out to lick the lingering taste of Dean off his own
mouth. The bruise below his belly button is throbbing, sending a tingle down
Sam's own groin, where Dean kissed, his lips moist and gentle, threatening to
spur a hard-on despite Sam's extreme fatigue. Dean knows exactly what he needs.
He knows what to say. What to whisper in his ears. Where to touch him.
For a moment, Sam imagines what it would feel like if Dean had been his
husband. If it were Dean, young as he is, who gets to mate Sam. If it were his
son who kisses him every morning and every night, who makes future plans with
him, who spoons him at night, if it were Dean who makes love to him during his
heat and gives him babies.
Every taste of Dean awakens some thing old inside Sam that he had once thought
he lost forever - feelings that were once associated with youth, ideals,
discovery, fresh dreams and beautiful uncertainty, the vanguard of a new life,
young love and the promise of adventure, and had died (or so it seems) with
these abstract things, as dreams ground to a halt and life became monotonous.
Dean's own youth breathes life into Sam's middle age, and his passion makes Sam
alive again.
His love for him surprises him, and warms and breaks his heart in endless
cycles; but it makes life worth living. Sam knows that he can never get enough
of this.
He also knows it's a sin.
Even if it feels so right, it shouldn't be. And it's so, so unfair, Sam
reflects. He knows that he'll continue to crave this. And he knows that he
can't let go.
But that incidentally, he must.
Sam closes his eyes. And waits for the painkillers and the sum of his fatigue,
weariness and depression to pull him back to sleep. 
Tomorrow. He'll have his talk with Dean tomorrow. 
 
Chapter End Notes
     Thank you so much for answering some of my questions during the
     intermission. I'm honored by the degree of attention you're giving
     this story. I'm copying one of the responses I gave to a reader,
     "Although I said that I have decided the path already - and I have -
     all of your comments are helping me decide how I want to flesh out
     the plot that I have already drawn out. By answering these questions,
     each of you is helping me realize a dimension of the problem our
     characters are facing. By hearing what you guys think, all the
     different perspectives on this, I'm getting a better idea of how I
     should justify some decisions that I make as a writer and in turn
     that the characters make within the drama and through situations and
     actions and words of said characters.
     Thank you so much for engaging with me in this exercise. Despite the
     fact that the roadmap is already laid, this is not futile, it's
     actually helping me tweak some details so in the end whatever
     happens, it comes out with the feel that this is the natural outcome
     of things, that it had to come to that. Because the last thing I want
     is for the progression to feel forced or for the story to reach a
     halt as Sam and Dean continue to circle around each other, pushing
     and pulling, going forward then hesitating. In order to infuse drama
     into a situation and make it heat up, I guess we gotta take some
     risks and raise the stakes."
     So bear with me! This should be good ;-)
     As always, your comments make my heart flutter. Also, critique is
     most welcome, but be gentle please :-) xoxoxo
     P.S. I updated the publication date by a day since those of you who
     read the story during the first few hours after it was published
     probably read an old version of this chapter. I added several
     paragraphs to it *after* it was already published and I want to give
     you all a chance to read it in its (near) final form. And I say "near
     final" because I always go back and correct things or add lines. For
     instance, I just made corrections to chapter 1 so that some things
     read better, so if you read it now, it's slightly different in some
     parts (nothing big, but it has some extra lines and typos are
     corrected).
***** Kiss and break-up *****
Chapter Summary
     Sam makes a hard choice.
Chapter Notes
     This is just a short chapter to show you that this is not dead. I'm
     writing again, and this fic will be updated regularly again. Hope you
     haven't lost interest at this point, because there's a lot more to
     come following this emotional gridlock. This story is far from over.
See the end of the chapter for more notes

 
"Absolutely not," Sam had barked in response when Castiel merely floated the
idea of making Dean take some time away from the house, from them. Cas had
tried to reason that it was mainly for Dean, "He's grown too dependent on you,
he's almost 16 now. He should learn how to be alone, Sam. Your son is a man
now," he'd said, but Sam was adamant that Dean stayed close. Cas hadn't even
had a chance to make his case or begin to suggest where Dean should actually
move to; the very idea of Dean spending any time away from them (whether in a
summer camp for a few months or in boarding school) was immediately shot down
by Sam. It was like he was expecting it.
Cas is furious about Sam's dead-fast opposition but he's also still worried
about Sam's wellbeing ever since he collapsed, so he lets the conversation
drop—for now.
Seeing Sam standing there in their kitchen, pale, scrubbing the dishes
furiously like they've personally wronged him, with Adam sitting on the floor
at his feet and clutching a stuffed, plush alligator while oblivious to their
worries, is a sore reminder of how much responsibility and chores Sam is
shouldering, physically and emotionally—usually without complaint.
Sam has been busting his back taking care of all of them and is now hanging by
a thread. So yeah, Cas backs down.
Inwardly, he knows this is not over.
In fact, the first thing Cas does when he turns his back to Sam is dig his
phone out of his pocket and get out of earshot. He walks out of the house,
stands on their front yard and keys in his mother's number. He's well aware
he’s acting based on a nagging feeling that he can't even begin to explain, but
it’s a safety net, that is, if ever ...
He stands there, holds the phone to his ear and outright lies to his mother. He
tells Deanna that he talked to Sam and that they're both strongly considering
the idea of having Dean move to his grandparents. He has the audacity to tell
her that Sam’s of the same mind. It's not like she'll double check his story
with Sam; his wife and Deanna rarely ever talk. This family has a complicated
history, and though Cas has forgiven and forgotten, mostly, it’s clear Sam
still holds some grudges towards Castiel's parents.
Deanna senses her son's tension. Cas tries to keep his tone casual and light,
but it's not above his mother to see through this and into the myriad of
emotions that Castiel feels he's carrying right now. Deanna doesn't promise
anything except talking to Henry, Castiel's dad, who's now enjoying a short
break from work in their waterfront mansion in a different state. But she’ll
talk to him alright.
Sure, Castiel is half dreading the whole thing for obvious reasons, including
the judgement of his lifestyle this upcoming talk with Henry might entail. His
father will probably bring up the past, Castiel's rebellion, and his subsequent
choices. He'd rather let sleeping dogs lie. Still, Cas is unsettled and
feeling—threatened? Sam and Dean's co-dependence rubs him the wrong way. He
can't even put a finger on why. It's primal.
Sam has also been drifting away from him. Even their moments of silence have
turned from companionable to frosty.
Sometimes Cas feels like shaking Sam, confronting his wife with his thoughts
and suspicions. What undid us, Sam? he'd ask. What happened to our great love?
We used to ride the wind and promise each other our hearts. He barely
recognises them these days. They were once Romeo and Juliet and now their love
is snoring away somewhere; it feels distant and surreal—like a memory. What is
it that’s led them to this rut after they worked so hard to craft the perfect
union? They had so many fitful starts and setbacks at the beginning of their
marriage and they navigated through them all. Life had thrown many curveballs
at them and they took pride in enduring. “We’ll get through this, Cas, like we
always do,” Sam would promise. Have they become complacent?
Or was it Castiel's high-pressure job, the many nights he spent away from home
that caused Sam to grow cold? Should he blame himself? He wonders. Is Castiel
the reason Sam turned from one half of a madly-in-love couple to a wife who
cries his way through sex? Is something irretrievably broken here? Castiel
shuts his eyes and swallows the lump in his throat.
Dean. It’s all about Dean, and Sam, and family. The move—if it happens—doesn't
even have to happen any time soon, Castiel reasons; Dean still has a school
year to finish and they can always wait until the Lupercalia, Dean's coming-of-
age and the designated rite-of-passage ceremony, he tells Deanna.
The moment Castiel hangs up the phone with his mother, he instantly regrets it.
He regrets lying to Deanna, who probably already figured out something wasn't
right, but more importantly, lying to Sam—or rather, keeping this away from
him.
You're the alpha, it's your right to make decisions for them, a voice whispers
in his head, a voice he hadn't heard in a long time. His abdication of some
alpha traditions and responsibilities shouldn't mean he's not allowed to put
his foot down from time to time (even if it means trampling on Sam's feelings
occasionally). Maybe it's not wrong to succumb to his basic instinct when it
comes to this.
Or maybe, he thinks darkly, he's screwing his relationship with both Sam and
Dean for nothing. Castiel sighs audibly.
"What's done is done," he whispers to no one in particular, pockets his cell
phone then walks back into the house.
...
From the kitchen window above the sink, where he stands washing the dishes, Sam
watches Castiel walk out their front door and flip open his phone. After he
hangs up, there's a moment of stillness where his husband just stares into
nothingness, as if seeing what no one else sees. His shoulders are tense, and
Sam feels a pang of guilt for the umpteenth time today for hurting the man he
is supposed to love the most. Cas is nothing but good, Sam thinks, his heart
twisting in his chest. Cas is his life partner. His commitment to their
marriage has never dulled. He's the same man who once rescued Sam from his
personal demons; who'd refused to hew to tradition and loved him for who he was
and is, unconditionally. He's Dean's and Adam's father. The apples of Sam's
eyes are part Sam, part Castiel.
Sam continues to watch his husband, feeling like a voyeur or that maybe he's
witnessing something he shouldn't. He feels even smaller as he sees Castiel
dragging his feet back into their house.
Perhaps Sam’s a bad husband and parent, but he's not just that: he feels he's
broken, too. He sees clearly what his failure to control himself has lead to.
Maybe Sam knew all along that it would come down to this thing with Dean and he
let it. In retrospect, Dean and him were silently circling around each other
for months, maybe years. And it wasn't just Dean who was breaching boundaries.
Sam still remembers the first time his own arousal stirred at the touch of his
son. He pushed it down to a level of consciousness that he thought was deep
enough. He pushed and pushed, denied and justified, did all the mental
gymnastics needed to make his and Dean's growing affections sound okay until
the sickening final turn: his son desired him, and Sam desired him back.
He's twisted his own son out of shape in search of ... love? Well, he had love
with Cas. So what had changed?
Everything, it seems.
The coup de grace? He not only cheated on Cas with his own son, but he couldn't
even pluck up enough courage to do the right thing and separate Dean from the
household temporarily. In fact, he emphatically fought for Dean to stay.
This retrograde step—despite earlier promises to himself that he’d be stronger
about this—is typical of Sam. He does plan to limit his affections, and he’s
already been rebutting fresh attempts from Dean following their last make-out
session in Sam's own martial bed, but he hasn't ended it definitively. And he
should.
It hurts, but he's aware he's figuratively footing the bill for his choices,
for his growing emotional and erotic codependency on his oldest son.
He hears Cas walking up the stairs to the second floor of their house. A moment
later, Dean walks in through the front door, back from his training and ready
for dinner.
"Hey mom, hey pipsqueak," Dean says, looking fresh after his training.
"Hey, Dean," says Sam, his voice tight. "How did your day go?"
"OK, I guess," he says as he moves behind Sam, circling his arms around him,
his palms resting on Sam's belly, his chin on Sam's right shoulder. He starts
peppering small kisses along his shoulder like it's the most natural thing in
the world (like Sam is his wife waiting for him to get home, Sam thinks with a
small shudder). Dean doesn't stop; he starts kissing the side of Sam's neck.
He's bold, kissing Sam so suggestively with Castiel under the same roof.
Dean's lips are damp for some reason, soft, and his kisses leave Sam's skin
tingling in their wake. Dean removes a hand from around Sam's waist, wraps it
around the nape of his neck and turns Sam's face gently toward him. Before Sam
can protest, his son locks their lips together.
His lips are closed, but Dean's are glued to them, sealed as they are. The
passion is paralysing.
Almost.
Because, against every fibre in his being, Sam twists and pushes Dean back.
"No, Dean," he says. Dean, his lips still moist and a little swollen from the
hard kiss, asks quizzically "what? what's wrong?"
For God's sake, thinks Sam. "This, Dean," Sam says, getting worked up but not
wanting to turn this into a fight, least of all when Castiel is in the house,
and Adam is sitting there right at their feet. He gestures between them, "This
can't go on."
Dean just stares back, slack-jawed. His eyes are crestfallen. Sam feels
horrible for putting this confused and lost look on his son's face. He feels
like throwing up, but holds the bile in and soldiers on, "Dean, I know it's all
on me. Baby, I'm the one who let this happen in the first place."
"Mom, what are you doing? Don't do this," Dean says, running his hands through
his hair in obvious frustration. Adam chooses this moment to speak, "Are you
mad, mommy?"
"No, sweetheart, I'm alright. Just discussing something with your big brother."
"OK," Adam says. But he's only silent for a second. He mumbles something about
being bored, looking up so innocently at DeeDee as he calls him sometimes, and
asks if he wants to play together.
"Come here buddy, I'll put something on," says Dean. He’s a little disoriented,
his mind still rummaging for an explanation of his mom’s recoil. He carries
Adam out of the kitchen.
Sam takes this moment of reprieve to lean back against the kitchen
counter—bracing himself with his arms—and breathe. This is it, Sam, this is the
moment where you should be strong. Don't back out. You can do it.
Sam can hear the sound of the TV as it's turned on in the living room. It looks
like Dean has decided to sit for a few minutes with his little brother until
he's absorbed in the cartoon on screen. Then Dean walks back into the kitchen.
He watches Sam. He's chagrined at the rejection. Frankly, he expected some
reluctance but not this.
His mom's eyes are still closed, and it looks like he's trying to get his
breath under control. Dean can't resist. He walks towards Sam, grabs his belt
loops and yanks his pelvis toward him. Sam reluctantly comes along, but as Dean
tries to wrap his arms around his mom, Sam resists again. Dean holds on strong
though, one arm clutching Sammy's waist, another holding his arm in a death
grip so he won't twist away. He looks at Sam, trying to make their eyes meet.
When they finally do—
"Mom, come on, we love each other," he pleads.
"Yes, we do, sweetheart," Sam says, and for a second he sounds like the old
version of himself, the one who wouldn't deny Dean anything. "But not like
this," Sam says, shoving him back, without losing eye contact, and this time
with force.
Dean stumbles back, hurt and humiliated. What on Earth is going on? This
resignation he's seeing in his mother's eyes is something new and it shakes up
his core. He doesn't know what to make of it.
Dean's world has just imploded and come raining down on him.
"Mom, you want this too," he implores. He's not above begging. Not when Sammy
is slipping from between his fingers.
"No, I don't. Not anymore. Never again."
"Sammy--"
"It's mom."
Dean is visibly shocked, dejected, but besides shock, Sam can now almost
literally see the agony and fury rising up in his son.
"Mom, I'm warning you. You can't ... you just– can't," Dean says darkly. His
breaths are coming faster and he looks like he wants to punch something (or
someone), and Sam is suddenly afraid this might turn physical. The last time he
and his son had a showdown this intense, his son ended up in the ER with a
broken fist and Sam ended up feeling like the vilest person on Earth.
"Dean, look, don't make this harder than it already is. Whatever you thought we
had, son, it's over. We're over."
"Wh-Wait, what does this even mean?" Dean glowers at him.
"Dean, I'll never stop loving you. But whatever boundaries we stepped over to
get to this, to get to the point where we ..." Sam trails off, leaving this
hanging between them for a few seconds too long. He doesn't want to say it but
he must.
Sam speaks the next words with trepidation, like he's announcing a verdict (and
it is the death sentence to what's between them). "Where we are now, Dean. It's
not love. It's incest ... and it's wrong." He says it while staring Dean in the
eyes.
"Wow," Dean says, jeering. Tears well up in his eyes against his will. "Calling
our love something so dirty. Never thought--"
"Well, you thought wrong, De. You're old enough—we're both old enough to know
right from wrong. I'm your mother, I'm married, to your dad, and I love my
husb—"
"Stop! Stop ... just stop talking," Dean says, stepping back, and his knees are
about to give out. He waves up a hand at his mother; he doesn't want to hear
the rest of that sentence.
The finality of it is sinking in, it seems, and Sam is at once satisfied his
point is hitting home and breaking into little pieces inside.
It's inevitable, this hurt, Sam thinks, to save his family.
"Dean," Sam says, his voice even. Sam is refusing to let the sight of his son
so stricken, and in tears, faze him. He's being strong for both of them, for
Castiel, for this family to work, he tells himself. This is the price you gotta
pay, Sam. It's to see your great love crashing and burning, he thinks.
Again, he feels like emptying the contents of his stomach on the kitchen floor.
He doesn't want to be standing here saying any of this. He doesn't want to tell
Dean they're done. He wants to tell his oldest son that he's his oxygen, that
he wants his touch everywhere, that at night he dreams that he's naked in his
arms, that they're in an alternative reality where they're happily married and
Sam is pregnant with Dean's child. He wants to throw himself at him and hold
him, and kiss him until he can't breathe. He wants to tell him that he's
terrified for his sanity. He wants to tell Dean that Cas won't have it; that he
wants to send him away.
He also wants to tell his son that he's young, too painfully young and that
he's disillusioned, and that Sam is old, broken, and that Dean is way, way,
better than him. Dean is perfect. And he has a long, full life ahead of him,
and he shouldn't be wasting his thoughts on Sam.
But he doesn't say any of it. He just stands there as his son shuts down and
backs off from him.
"This is really happening, isn't it?" Dean whispers and it feels like he's
talking to someone else. To himself. To the universe, perhaps. Sam nods.
"Maybe I'll take Rhonda back," Dean says. He's sure he goes for defiant but
combined with his tears, it feels juvenile. But it's, well, a last ditch effort
to try and stir something inside of Sammy, who he barely recognises at the
moment. He watches his mom. Sammy's shoulders are squared, his eyes vacant and
he's radiating a cruel brand of dogged determination so alien to their
relationship it's painful to observe.
"Maybe you should," Sam responds softly, keeping his face hard and unreadable.
Dean nods—tears streaming—and walks out of the kitchen and away from Sam.
That's it. It's done, Sam thinks when Dean is out of his sight, and the tears
come unbidden.  
Chapter End Notes
     The next chapter will be a long one. Already outlined and half-
     written! Don't go away xox
     Find me on tumblr, the handle is joannaleeuniverse.
     (I sure do hope the majority of you haven't given up on this fic. I
     certainly haven't. Keep the comments coming, always ecstatic to hear
     from you)
     (Updated the date cos I corrected some typos and added a few lines to
     the newest chapter. Also it would be great if someone can volunteer
     to beta read the fic, thanks!)
***** It's complicated *****
Chapter Summary
     There ain't no easy answers for Sam and Dean.
Chapter Notes
     First off, I wanna say that I really, really LOVE the readers of this
     fic. Thank you so much for being loyal, supportive and AMAZING in
     every way!
     I was really planning on giving you a much longer chapter, it was all
     outlined, but for that happen, I had to make you wait. And God knows,
     some of you have been waiting long enough for updates. So I decided
     in the end to break it down into three parts. This is the first. Hope
     you enjoy!
See the end of the chapter for more notes

It turns out that "breaking up" with Dean was the easy part; the hard part is
living with this decision, especially with him and Dean living in such close
quarters. As expected, Dean spends the first few days after their talk (Sam
calls it "talk" for lack of a better term to describe the disastrous exchange
that ended in heartbreak and tears) either glaring daggers at Sam or pretending
not to care less about him. And he spends less time in the house now. Sam
assumes he's socialising more with his school friends, or maybe he’s made good
on his threat and gone back to this Rhonda girl.
Of course the silent treatment Sam is enduring is also interspersed by
incidences of A-class Dean-Winchester-style rudeness, specifically when the
family is gathered round for dinner or spending some quality time around TV in
the living room. Eye rolling, answering back in a derisive tone, facing away
when Sam addresses him. The whole nine, though Sam does feel genuinely sorry
for how the boy automatically becomes rigid when Sam talks to him. Cas,
oblivious to the recent escalation and the fact that his wife and son were
teetering on the precipice of an incestuous relationship, doesn't understand
where this is coming from and eventually chalks up Dean's moodiness to teen
hormones. This doesn't stop Castiel from having words with Dean or warning him
that he's a breath away from being grounded or losing privileges like later
curfews, generous allowances or getting behind the wheel during time spent at
Bobby's.
It's a tiring ordeal, and Sam wants no part in it, but it's part of the
aftermath, and he's got no choice but to lay low or bend with the wind.
Several times, Cas would send Dean back to his room, or demand to talk to him
privately, cutting into family time. Sam remains quiet all through, doesn't
reprimand his son or even meet his eyes. Castiel usually steals glances at Sam
to gauge his reaction, and Sam is sure Cas is surprised that his wife remains
on the fence every time it happens, instead of jumping to Dean's defence as per
usual.
Dean, more often than not, reacts to his dad like he's being personally
challenged and has to prove that he can remain unfazed in the face of his
wrath. Sometimes he becomes scornful, which riles up Cas even more, other
times, Dean doesn't bat so much an eye at his father, though Sam knows too well
that his son hates having his freedoms restrained—if only because it's a
reminder that someone else is steering his life. It's all exasperated by Dean's
untamed, premature, dominant alpha nature, coming to the surface too often now.
Sam fears that soon this nature may come unhinged, especially as his father
becomes more frustrated and more intent on disciplining Dean.
Surprisingly, it's Sam who's not balking at all this, or at least he's taking
it better than he thought he would.
Some days, of course, are harder than others.
On some afternoons, when he's stretched out on their fold-out couch
breastfeeding Adam, who still nurses out of comfort sometimes, Sam remembers
fondly how Dean used to lie next to him, head on his chest, licking and sucking
at a breast, his fingers pinching Sam's nips or tracing imaginary shapes on his
exposed skin. Just thinking about the heat of Dean's mouth and the pull of his
soft lips, the steady swipes of his tongue, usually makes Sam chub up in his
pants.
The memories bring with them a whiff of the raw alpha scent that is all Dean
and which usually reduces Sam to a sweaty, squirming mess, melting from the
inside out.
Months back, Sam would feel guilty about getting off on the thought of
breastfeeding Dean, but now that's he's emotionally estranged from his eldest,
he feels he's at least allowed to indulge. The memories of these sweet moments
and the sensations they induce in him ... they’re all he has now.
Still, despite the inner turmoil, the moment Sam decided to put the mental and
emotional welfare of Dean and his family first, there was no turning back. It
was like a switch was hit inside of him, and his mental state shifted. It's
almost like Sam and Dean had to slide into depravity for Sam to wake up, step
back and realise something has gone horribly wrong.
And now, very simply, he's up against the wall. When it was just intimacy,
tender touches and sweet kisses (even as it sometimes edged on heavy petting),
Sam could have at least continued to warp the situation in his head and tell
himself it was all platonic; an unconventional expression of deep love and
affection between his son and him, something that no one had a right to judge.
But once it was all out in the open and he realised it was sexual and primal
and bone deep, and that he doesn’t just love Dean, but is "in love" with him,
there was no running away from the bite of this truth. When did it all happen?
How? At which point in time did he stop being crazy about Cas and, instead,
became crazy about Dean? Sam has no idea. He's drawing blanks here, blank
cartridges.
Now that Sam is at least conscious of how deep his feelings run, how they
upended his mind and how potentially destructive they are, he's painfully aware
that these feelings could corrupt his family, that they have power to rattle
the very foundations of this household and everything he and Castiel spent
years building. There’s no real choice but to stop and save Dean from the
consequences. So yes, he is finding the strength and it's pleasantly surprising
in an odd way.
In his dreams, at night, it's another affair.
In unseen corners of his mind, he's Dean's, every bit of him belongs to Dean
and there's no changing that. In those nightly fantasies, Sam is the perfect
omega to Dean's alpha, bending to his will and slaving away to please. In
sleep, Dean is his dominant; taking him any way he wants and Sam the pretty
obedient wife who has no shame and doesn't hold back. He dreams. Then wakes up
aroused and aching, on the edge of orgasm, pining for his son, the memories of
their physical intimacy vivid and palpable and Sam nearly trembles with need.
On some nights, he'd even rub himself against Cas, hump Castiel's leg like a
dog as he sleeps; Sam would close his eyes, pretend it was Dean and soon after
he would come in his shorts. On other nights, he'd stay up, shrouded in
darkness, eyelids peeled back as he imagined depraved scenarios and wondered
about things he didn’t dare put in words: how would their non-existent first
time be like? Would Dean want him face down on his belly or on his back where
he could see his face? Would he be gentle, sensual, romantic; would he take his
time to open him up and prep him for the invasion, whisper sweet nothings into
his ears? Or would Dean talk dirty? Kiss him rough until his lips bruise, call
him a whore and fuck him to within an inch of his life? If Dean were his mate,
would Sam walk around the house like he does now in men's clothing, or would
Dean force him to be in drag, even in public? Would he make him wear lacy bras
and panties? Like the omegas Sam thought he'd never want to be, like he's
owned? In the past Sam would cringe at the possibility, call this lifestyle
'backward', and this alpha-omega behaviour 'oppressive' and 'genderist' - Sam
being what traditionalists would stereotypically call 'omegaphobic' or 'self-
hating omega' (terms that Sam hates). But with Dean in the picture, being the
boss of him in all these fantastical scenarios, Sam would shudder, in a good
way, his dick would stir and harden and his hole would twitch ... sometimes
leak at the wrongness of it.
On bad nights, he'd shift in bed as his restless mind took these scenarios and
applied them to faceless strangers (the girls that Dean fucked) and to one face
Sam remembers all too well: Rhonda. During these nights, Sam would grit his
teeth until his jaw locked and pained him, and he'd end up losing sleep.
All these forbidden images, the arousal and the agony are hidden away within
his heart and mind, shielded from view in the higher plains of dreams and
thought, obscured by the dead of night and buried in secrecy.
In the light of day, he'd blank it all out ... forget. Keep on keeping on.
But that's something, and the reality of trying to navigate their daily lives
like nothing happened is something else.
Dealing with Sam, Dean wavers between being hot and cold, angry and dismissive,
but these are strong emotions whose wells are finite and will eventually dry
up.
Dean might get used to the new situation after all, Sam tells himself (although
he prays day and night that it doesn't happen at the expense of their love for
each other. He prays, almost obsessively, that Dean will recover from their
brief stint as lovers without hardening. He hopes against hope that somehow he
may find it in his heart to forgive Sam, his Sammy).
But from his side, Sam doesn't know how to be with his son anymore - he's
always fearful that his affections, if he let them show, might be misread as
renewed interest or as a desire to rekindle the romance that was nipped in the
bud. His casualness might be misinterpreted as lack of caring. And opting for
avoidance is just adding fuel to the fire, and may hurt Dean and cost them
dearly on the long run.
In a first, Sam doesn't know how to be a mother to his oldest son.
When Sam reflects on it sometimes, he finds that he's at a loss of what really
drove a wedge between them, what led to where they are now. Which should he
blame for the current predicament: their erotic feelings for each other or
Sam's decision to suppress them? Their love or the fact that they openly
acknowledged it? Their pedigree or their fate?
If they hadn't put a name to their feelings, if they hadn't acted on them so
passionately, if they had pretended that whatever they were feeling was just a
deep unabiding love, a profound bond, would they have been better off?
...
A few brochures fall on the kitchen table right in front of Sam, assaulting his
field of vision. Cas takes a chair at the table where Sam is already seated and
waits for a reaction.
Sam looks, and they're brochures for schools—boarding schools, that is.
Sam's head shoots up, his blood pressure quickly rising, "What the hell is
this, Cas?"
"You know what, Sam."
Sam balks, not believing that they're still discussing this.
"Well, the answer's still no."
"Sammy—"
"Don't Sammy me, I thought we settled this."
Castiel gives him a labored look like Sam is the one who's being obstinate and
tiresome. It irks Sam. He huffs in anger.
"Just hear me out," he begins. Castiel is choosing his next words meticulously
in an effort not to offend Sam's delicate sensibilities or feelings for their
son. "I think, given Dean's attitude and his penchant for rebellion, we should
see this as an option."
Sam is visibly taken aback. Castiel isn’t skirting around the issue any longer.
Sam knows all too well what Castiel is referring to when he says 'attitude' and
'rebellion'; he doesn't just mean the regular pain-in-the-ass teenage attitude
and rebellion, he means Dean's "different" nature, specifically his growing
aggressive alpha tendencies.
Cas speaks again, softly, like he's not sticking a dagger in Sam's heart and
twisting, "It might be problematic as he grows older, considering, you know,
our unconventional lifestyle."
Sam looks down at the brochures again and hesitantly leafs through them. James
Exeter School. Trinity School for Boys. Black Hills Academy. Stonewall Abbey.
St. Apollo School. Castiel and his brothers attended the last one. Sam's heart
burns in his chest. The schools in the pictures resemble castles and cathedrals
with their high walls, lakes, surrounding parks, all in the suburbs apparently,
and they bear all the hallmarks of traditional schools—and for the life of him,
Sam can't imagine Dean being locked away from him behind those cold walls for
most of the year. Not in any of those golden cages.
Sam takes in a deep breath, or tries, because right now, his lungs are refusing
to fill up completely. He also tries to will away the disturbing images these
schools stir up in his mind. It's not easy. He suddenly remembers Mary, his
sister, and Sam's stomach turns and he gets the urge to throw the leaflets
right at his husband's face. His muscles physically ache with the strain of
keeping his hands to himself and his impulses well under control. Finally, he
pushes the brochures away, across the table, toward Castiel.
Castiel continues talking, gently, like Sam didn't just confirm his rejection
of the idea with this small but definitive gesture.
"If this was my father's house, if I were my father," Cas says, almost
apologetically. "No alpha would be out of line, no matter how old. But we're
different, Sam. And we raised our children to speak up, and have a say, and I'm
not saying it's wrong, darling, but I can see it becoming a problem. Dean is
..." Cas stops, looking for the right word, "feral," he finally says, eliciting
a bitchface from Sam that so far is probably his best, and Cas has known Sam
since they were teens, so that's saying something.
Sam keeps his mouth zipped, so Cas soldiers on: "Look, you and me, we
consciously chose this. You of all people know it took me a whole lot of effort
and then some to become who I am today, to break ranks. And we paid."
When he's met with more silence, Cas adds, "I don't want to twist Dean out of
shape or force him to be like us just because it’s how we live. I want him to
have the freedom to explore other options, away from any parental influence.
Not yours. Not mine."
"If you were like your father," Sam finally speaks, voice soft but tight, eyes
clouding over. "We wouldn't be married, Cas. There wouldn't be any 'you and
me'."
"I know—"
Sam cuts in, "Besides, you don't know if Dean is different as you say he is."
Sam knows it's a lie, but holds his ground.
"Darling, I do know," says Cas, patiently but firmly. "Trust my instincts on
this, Sam ... please. He's my son too, and I understand this about his nature
on a level that I don't even know how to articulate. I know it in my guts ...
It's an alpha to alpha thing. And before you say anything, I don't mean to shut
you out. But Sam ... There are things—there are urges, feelings beyond our
control. ... Look, he reminds me of my brothers, at his age. Sam, our eldest is
a traditional alpha through and through. If you don't get it already, then
you're burying your head in the sand, and you need to stop."
"I'm not—" Sam begins, but his husband speaks over him again, and his words now
carry a certain intensity that Sam, instinctively, submits to.
"Sam, if I were my father, I wouldn't think twice about breaking my own son to
keep him in line. Wherever that line is drawn," Castiel says, and it's bitter
and it carries a hint of that anger Castiel took years upon years to release
and let go of. Sam, in a first during this conversation, feels genuinely sorry
for Cas imagining what it was like for his husband to grow up in such a harsh
environment. Not that Sam had it any better, but still.
"And Dean? He tempts me. Sometimes I feel that he's asking for it. But we're
not like that," Cas carries on. "And 'cause we're not, we have to open our
eyes. Sammy, darling, this, what we have, it's probably suffocating Dean. And
we need to let him breathe ... or on my life, we'll regret it later."
"Ok, Cas, let's pump the brakes a little bit," Sam says holding a hand up.
"It's almost like you approve. If he's turning into something that we—"
"There's nothing to approve or disapprove of here, Sam. This is what I'm trying
to say," Castiel says, his voice rising now. Sam's denial is eating away at his
patience. "And that's what you need to get through this head of yours," he
finally snaps, making Sam flinch, then swiftly collects himself.
He huffs a breath. "It is what it is."
"Cas, we don't have to accept," Sam says, desperation bleeding into his voice.
"Darling, we don't have a choice."
Cas continues: "Now, the schools I've got here," he points to the brochures.
"They're the best. Traditional. But not radical. They know how to coach alphas,
nurture the wolf inside without letting it take over. We'll have to ask my
parents to put in a good word for us, pull some strings. And I gotta break the
bank to get him in. Maybe I'll even have to rob one at some point," Cas jokes,
in an attempt to dampen the mood. It doesn't work at all, so he goes back to
being gravely serious and adds reassuringly, "But hopefully with my promotion
coming up, we can make it work. It'll be hard but it'll be worth it, I swear."
"Cas—"
"Sam, look, we don't have to make a decision now. There are other options too,"
he says, standing up and leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to Sam's mouth.
He's inwardly alluding to his other plan of sending Dean to his father's house,
which frankly Cas is leaning towards. Castiel has had his share of troubles and
disagreements with his family, but sending Dean to them? It's a familiar
option. At least he knows his family's ways well and he can step in if things
go too far. There's his mom and Naomi to ease the brunt of the big change in
Dean's lifestyle, and he'll find solace in the fact that Dean will still be
surrounded by people who love him deeply. His son won't feel abandoned or
rejected.
Certainly he'd still transfer Dean to one of those ridiculously expensive
traditional schools, but Dean wouldn't have to board there and be raised by
complete strangers.
But of course, he's not ready to reveal this to his clearly distraught wife.
Not right now, especially with all the politics between his family and Sam. So
Castiel doesn't elaborate on those 'other options' and Sam doesn't ask. He's
probably too absorbed in the possibilities, Cas thinks.
He gets it. And he doesn't want to throw everything at Sam all at once. He'll
be overwhelmed and his darling wife will lash back. So Castiel schools his
patience and waits for Sam to wrap his head around all this. Castiel hopes
they'll be able to come to terms on this. The alternative is too painful to
think about.
...
Sam is in the shower when he feels it again: the burning need, scorching and
deep in his belly. He's been feeling hot and bothered for the past few days,
and he thinks he may be nearing his heat. It would be really off schedule if
this is true, but he's been stressing recently, and he's certain it has to have
some effect on hormones. And right now, he's feeling it hard.
His right hand moves south, and he kneads at his own balls a little too harshly
in an attempt to stave off the warmth pooling in his nether region and giving
him light spasms. He combs his other hand through his soaked hair, half in
frustration at the thoughts that keep creeping into his brain at the moment;
thoughts of Dean and only Dean.
In a first, he makes a real effort to actually divert his thoughts to Cas
instead of settling in for either indulging in forbidden, incestuous fantasies
or blocking images of Dean altogether.
Perhaps if he conditions his mind to turn to Castiel instead of his son every
time he feels horny, his mind will eventually go there on its own without
making a long rest stop at Dean's, he thinks. A couple of years back, he'd cum
like a freight train just fantasising about his husband's junk or their sensual
lovemaking. Now, it's tough to even get hard thinking about Castiel alone.
He tries and tries. He fails, royally.
The more he pushes Dean out of his head, the stronger the images of them
together come racing back. So he surrenders. Instead of continuing to grope his
balls painfully, he moves his hand back a little and start massaging his taint
then his fingers ghost over his hole. He's already leaking, but the constant
pounding of warm water keeps washing his release away.
He dips a finger in, experimentally, and it slides in easy. No lube needed,
good. He pulls the slicked finger out and turns around in the bathtub. He leans
back against the shower wall, and braces a leg on the rim of the tub. Sam
adjusts his stance, spreading his legs wider, carefully so he wouldn't slip. He
pushes his raised knee out and his butt cheeks part a little. He pushes a
finger into his tight heat again and clenches his hole. He's gentle at first,
then as his mind wanders into taboo territory, he goes to town on his own ass;
at one point, sticking four fingers inside, trying to hit his prostate as many
times as he can.
He fucks the fingers in and out, his pace punishing and his hard dick
throbbing, and bobbing with his jerky movements. In spite of himself, he moans
deeply, and then he starts flat out babbling as he fantasizes about all the
ways Dean could take him, how he'd like his strong, well-endowed alpha son to
fuck him until he passes out. The thoughts make his insides shiver. He whispers
his son's name, Dean, as he finger fucks himself even harder, repeats it like a
litany, Dean, Oh Dean, Dean. The lewd sounds are drowned out by the running
water. Or so he thinks.
He doesn't hear it, of course, when the bathroom door is opens and someone
comes in—in fact, he doesn't notice anything until suddenly the shower curtain
is pulled back and there he is face to face with the very son whose name is on
his lips as he's touching himself. Dean doesn't speak. His son stands there,
and shamelessly stares. For a second or two, his mind freezes. Then when it
unfreezes and Sam realises what he must look like, he quickly pulls his fingers
out of his ass, but it's too little too late. The rush of seeing Dean, fully
clothed, lustfully staring at his naked private parts, his gaze zeroed in on
Sam's genitals and the hand between his legs, his eyes dark and wanting,
coupled with Sam's impending orgasm, means he can’t hold it in, hard as he
tries. He shoots his load untouched right there, his soft pecs and belly
wobbling softly as he bends forward a little and as the spasms coarse through
his core ... and Dean watches, fascinated, panting, with a hand cupping the
bulge obviously straining his pants.
The breath is knocked out of Sam for how strong his orgasm is. His face is
burning and he shifts his gaze downward, just watching his come get washed down
the drain. For a few seconds, he can't even will himself to look back up at
Dean.
"I came in to pee, and I heard you. I heard my name," Dean says, explaining,
still breathing heavy like he can't help it. Perfect, just perfect, Sam thinks
bitterly.
"I thought you were in pain," his son adds. Dean's voice is hoarse and it's
doing all kinds of crazy things to Sam. It's like his voice is caressing his
sensitive skin with every syllable. Sam shudders and dribbles out the last of
his release. He dares to look up. But he's spent and his head falls back to
rest at the wall behind him.
Dean's eyes are still dark, and—what's that word Cas used—feral.
Well, Sam sees it now, and it makes him tremble. His hole is flexing, and his
legs are still splayed out. His dick is drained and softening quickly, but he
still feels the pressure around the head and at his slit, like it's pulsing
from the inside.
Sam looks straight at Dean's eyes, and he feels like pissing himself. He feels
the sudden urge to lose control of his bladder and humiliate himself ... for
Dean, like some omegas would do as a show of complete submission to their
alphas.
If he goes there, there's no turning back. No detours.
Stop. Stop. Stop. You can't let this go any further, his mind screams, or the
part of it that can still make sense of the world and his surroundings right
now. His nearing heat must be blinding his senses, he concludes.
So Sam shuts his eyes, and just whispers to his son to "get out."
"Mom," Dean says, and he's close to begging. His son must be hard and aching
right now. He doesn't envy him. It must be too painful for words. He knows
alphas. Not many of them have got this level of self control. If this wasn't
Dean, he would've been as good as raped right now.
"Get. Out. Now," Sam says, a little ruthless, despite his dazed state thanks to
a mind-shattering orgasm whose residual buzz is still a little numbing. "Don't
let me repeat myself," he spits, at once demanding and begging. His heart beats
double-time at the thought of Dean coming closer—Dean, imperious and strong,
pushing Sam back and taking what he wants under a spray of warm water and
against slippery tiles.
But he doesn’t. Dean obeys, and he turns on his heel and slams the door.
 
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     Author's notes:
     - Sensitive subjects get addressed in this story and will continue to
     get heavily addressed as the story progresses, so if you're easily
     triggered, please turn back now.
     - I usually go back and correct typos and grammar errors a day after
     I publish, so you'll find that I sometimes repost the *same* chapter
     again the next day. Hope you don't mind.
     - Leave your thoughts please. It's pretty awesome hearing from you
     xox
***** No strings attached (chapter tag) *****
Chapter Summary
     Dean feels sucker punched. And he's clutching at straws.
Chapter Notes
     This is the tail end of the last chapter. I thought of giving you
     something, since chapter 18 is taking much longer than anticipated. I
     also got distracted writing a full 4,000-word chapter so far into the
     future of this story (but the inspiration came, and I couldn't stop
     myself. Sorry!).
     This is Dean's POV (well, more accurately, third person POV since I'm
     still the narrator). Next chapter, we're on Sam again.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Dean and his mom's routine of non-communication has left Dean feeling isolated
and withdrawn. His mother’s earlier prudent hesitation—which Dean had honestly
thought they were over and done with—had suddenly transformed into flat-out
rejection, bending Dean out of shape and dashing his hopes to smithereens. This
time, his mom is not insisting on a resolution to their stand-off, and Dean's
stubbornly not eager for one if it means agreeing to being just mother and
son. 
Vexed, he tries to spend as much time away from home, but his pent-up
frustration is doggedly keeping up with him and he ends up carrying it
everywhere. Even boxing practice fails to take the edge off. Whatever thoughts
occupy his mind during the day, it’s Sam that he ends up thinking about before
he falls asleep at night.
He doesn't know if he's more angry or anguished about the separation from his
mom, and in a first, Dean wishes he had a close girlfriend to vent to.
It's not like he can share with Benny. The way Benny talks about sex, lovers,
omegas, girls, is crass and slightly perverted, and his relationship with his
mom is not a matter of prurient interest. Ash is the last person to talk to
about matters of the heart, being the standard nerd that he is. Dean and him
are not that close anyway. Charlie, a typical beta and a proper girl, would
never get it. He never speaks to her about his regular sex life for starters,
for fear of scandalising her.
Save for Rhonda, he never disclosed this part of his ‘love life’ to another
soul, so he wouldn't even know where to begin. Can he even trust anyone with
what’s transpired between him and his mom?
Dean has always been jealously private, specifically about his home, and
especially ever since he realised having a male omega for a mom is considered a
little exotic.
He remembers how some parents would stare at Sammy when his mother would drop
him off to school. Some, particularly the male alphas, would be a little too
eager to strike conversation. As a child, Dean didn't realise where the
feverish interest, verging on fixation, was coming from. As he grew older, he
became amorphously aware of how most alphas are obsessed with male omegas; how
it's almost like a fetish. As if, unlike the rest of the population, omega men
hail from some far outlandish places that everyone is deadly curious about. His
friends are mildly curious too, except for Charlie who has a male omega for a
cousin.
Dean never wants to give his friends cause for murmuring about him, his mom or
his family’s slightly avant-garde lifestyle—and telling anyone he's got the
hots for mommy is not only fodder for gossip but also kindling for scandal.
It’s not pushing the envelope, it’s smashing it altogether. Bumping uglies with
family members is not unheard of, but Dean knows that in this day and age, only
radical, far-right traditionalists would approve.
Dean is experiencing other problems too. While his lust for Sammy is in
overdrive—he knows his mom still feels something if what he witnessed in the
shower is anything to tell by—Dean has been experiencing a chronic case of
‘dead sex drive’ towards all his usual outlets.
Emotionally, he feels raw. Physically, he doesn't feel like smashing hips with
anyone.
When Dean had broken it off with Rhonda, Benny took his contemplative silence
for sadness. Back then, he nudged him painfully with his elbow saying that the
best way to get over someone is get under someone else. "Nuff, brooding. Find
yourself a juicy omega fucktoy, brother, and take some hot revenge on Rhonda,"
he said. Dean had never actually corrected Benny's presumptions about his
feelings for Rhonda or of how things ended, although his best friend was wildly
off mark.
As practical as the advice is (it's tired but tried), Dean doesn't feel like
jumping into bed with anyone else but Sammy right now.
His weak appetite for pleasure-seeking has extended to food. Dean used to pig
out during meals, especially post workout (his training routine is quite
punishing). Ever since Sam cut him loose, everything feels tasteless and he
often has trouble finishing a meal; he's lost about five pounds in a couple of
weeks.
Inconveniently, he bumps right into Rhonda (of all people) on his way out of
school one day. He murmurs an apology that lands like a sneer when he realises
who he'd accidentally slammed into. Dean feels like running off in the opposite
direction when Rhonda's eyes meet his (really, he has zero tolerance for sass
right now, so he hopes she doesn’t even try). But his 'ex' has other ideas.
“Hey Dean, been a while," she begins, as she continues to block his way.
"What’s up with you? You don't look so good," she says, but there's no malice
in her voice.
Dean really wants to be civilised here, so he tries even though he's at the end
of his rope. He shrugs, glossing over her remark about him not looking “so
good”.
"It’s nothin’. All's going well with you?” he says, fake-casually, and he wants
to be anywhere but here right now. She's still standing in his way.
"It's going. How's your boyfriend?" she asks, seemingly nonchalant, and it
feels like a challenge. Dean picks up the gauntlet by lying through his teeth.
"He's good. Thanks for checking.”
"You're not together, are you?”
“Why do you care? We’re fucking peachy.”
“As if,” she says, shaking her head slowly.
"Fuck off, Rhonda,” he spits.
"I knew it," she says under her breath. The conversation has taken a sharp
detour and he’s steaming. So Dean squeezes past her, their shoulders
unavoidably bumping.
Unexpectedly, Rhonda hurries after him and grabs his arm to slow him down.
"Hey, hey, I didn't mean to piss you off," she says, genuinely apologetic. He
turns, slipping his arm from her hand and giving her a dirty look.
“Jeez Dean, you’ve always had a short fuse," she says but her tone sounds
endearing. "I'm sorry. I really just wanted to know how you are. I care about
you, you know."
Dean huffs impatiently.
"Look, Dean. I've been meaning to text you. I'm not mad about you leaving,
before. It's cool."
“Okay,” he says, unconvinced. 
"I mean it, Dean. I want us to at least be able to talk to each other. Dude, it
doesn't have to be all or nothing."
Dean doesn't say anything. He nods instead, the gesture non-committal. 
"We did have fun," Rhonda adds. 
"I guess," he says, after a moment of silence. She's not wrong. 
"We cool then?"
Dean is reluctant to sweep it all under the carpet, remembering how she got all
torqued about the breakup. But he's too tired to stir any more drama so he
sighs, his shoulders sagging, and mumbles, "Sure."
She doesn't relinquish the conversation.
"Cool," she says, quickly adding, “Do you wanna hangout sometime? You know, as
friends."
"I don't know, Rhonda,” Dean says, with a doubtful expression. Pause. "Maybe."
"Well, you have my number."
They part and Dean thinks it actually went better than he thought it would.
In fact, an hour or so after their encounter, Dean starts thinking that her
offer to chill out is not a bad one. Then again, she's the only other person
who knows about Sam, sort of. Perhaps it's his chance to get some things off
his chest without revealing too much. With Rhonda, the stakes are low.
It's not until a couple of days later that Dean, skin burning with rage that
Sammy is now apparently avoiding him altogether, texts Rhonda and takes her up
on her offer.
They meet at a greasy spoon. They talk and it's mostly casual; no one initiates
any deep conversation. As the evening wears on, they both spend some time
skirting around the subjects of their breakup or ‘his boy’ as Rhonda calls
Sammy, being blissfully ignorant of his real identity. It seems that Rhonda is
willing to act that neither is a big deal.
She, however, furrows her eyebrows mid conversation, and mentions that
something still seems up with Dean. “I’m a little worried. Are you really
alright?” If he wants to vent, it's his opening, Dean thinks. It’s also a risk;
she can razz him about it. But he'll bite.
He finally swallows thickly and confides to her that things went south with
‘his boy’, that she was right and that it hurts something bad.
Instead of the much-feared ridicule, Rhonda extends a hand across the table,
laces their fingers together and tells him that she's "sorry"—and it feels like
"I told you so" laced with real compassion, which Dean finds a little
unbearable.
Why? Because it feels like it's final, like he's lost Sam for good and he's
being consoled. He doesn't want to ever think of it this way. He wants to be
close again with ‘his boy’, he wants to fuse together.
A part of him, however, is glad that he can at least talk about it after weeks
of nearly going out of his mind.
Physically, he can't stand the intimacy of his skin being touched right now, or
the troubling weight of a hand in his. He feels like snatching it away,
disentangling his hand from Rhonda's soft but prying fingers, but he doesn't.
He ends up letting it happen despite feeling distantly conscious of Rhonda's
feelings for him. If this situation ends up reviving hope that they can
rekindle their 'romance', he’s not responsible for it.
She's here and solid, and the knowledge that he's in love with someone he can't
or shouldn't have is like a secret bond tying them together. Dean has to admit
that he's been craving some companionship too. It's friggin' Rhonda, he knows.
The school slut, as some call her. But maybe this will do.
After a short moment, she quirks an eyebrow and says, “Wanna sweep some beers
from home?”
"Always," Dean says, the thought of returning his home with beer on his breath
and getting a rise out of mommy is suddenly very appealing. 
They take off and Dean thinks: Maybe—and it's a much smaller, frailer,
maybe—they can be friends after all.
Art: Pompei_77 - reposted here and on tumblr with the artist's permission. Do
not repost.
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     First off, Chapters 1-5, and 16-18, are now beta'd and updated.
     Thank YOU SO DAMN MUCH @lejf and @BlackRoseAmongLilies for agreeing
     to edit this monster for me. @lejf: your remarks helped me enrich the
     text so much. @BlackRoseAmongLilies: Thank you for being my biggest
     cheerleader. At 65,000+ words, you're both heroes! You're doing an
     amazing job line editing and also enlightening me about
     characterisation. Now I want everyone to go back and re-read the
     chapters you beta'd cause they're THAT much better!
     Second, a huge shoutout to my artistic muse "Madame Gabrielle", who I
     chatted with for the first time last week. Her paintings create a
     lovely mood board in my head for this story. On tumblr, she's "mlle-
     gabrielle". Check my tumblr; I just reblogged some of her pieces,
     including one depicting burlesque Sam—to those of you who love
     crossdressing/omega/bottom Sam or Sam in the realm of the feminine,
     you're welcome! ;-)
     A big thank you to Pompei77, another brilliant and gifted artist,
     who's allowed me to repost her (his?) work on this fic, with credit.
     Check out the artist's deviant art page (link at the end of the
     chapter); it's delish!
     Finally, to those who're still invested in this story, a heartfelt
     thank you is also due. I love reading your critiques, thoughts, and
     reflections. They're the fuel to my creative energy! And I'm humbled
     by your unwavering support. xox
***** Derailed *****
Chapter Summary
     Sam breaks, in more ways than one.
Chapter Notes
     Dear readers,
     - Let me reiterate that I don't warn for everything to avoid spoilers
     (and the tags reflect this fact) so always read at your own risk (and
     always remember that I love you and respect your choice not to
     continue reading if you start feeling any discomfort).
     - This chapter was originally published on the 13th of August but I
     just decided to re-publish it after diligently reviewing it and
     adding some things, especially to the final dialogue between Sam and
     Dean. I corrected some typos and cleaned it all up. Sexed it up a bit
     too ;-) Sorry, I'm the queen of nitpicking. Hope you enjoy this
     version. If you've already read this, there's no pressure to read it
     again of course (though I just really wish you would, since I believe
     this write-up is more superior to the original).
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Sam dreams of Mary, and wakes up drenched in sweat, tears streaking down his
face. Again.
Castiel is fast asleep with his back turned to Sam. The thin blanket is bunched
around their waists. Sam rolls towards him, burrowing against his side and
brushing his fingers lightly across his husband’s naked back. On most nights,
like tonight, they sleep in the nude. It's less constrictive and when they're
tangled together, the warmth from their bodies is usually reassuring.
Sam continues to gently stroke Castiel's back, but he doesn't stir. His husband
is a heavy sleeper; nothing short of a zombie apocalypse could rouse him after
a tiring, long day. Sam often sleeps fitfully, especially recently, regardless
of how short or long his day had been. He spends his nights battling insomnia
triggered by indecent thoughts for his older son, or recurring, frightfully
vivid nightmares.
Sam shifts again. He lies flat on his back and stares at the ceiling for what
feels like an eternity, before he pushes himself off the bed and decides to go
check on Adam and Dean. He slips on a pair of boxers, tiptoes barefoot to their
rooms and thankfully, they’re both sleeping soundly. Sam sighs and pads down to
the living room. He turns on the TV and mutes it so as not to wake any of his
family up. Right now, he's partial to the isolation.
Sam just lounges there, remote control in hand, flipping to a new channel every
minute or so. It's a long while before something old and familiar stops him in
his tracks.I love Judie. It's an action-comedy show for tweens that he and Mary
used to watch as kids. It revolved around an unabashed and untamed teen alpha
girl called Judie. Sam, still a child, had not been aware that female alphas
were a thing. He'd never met any at school or in their neighborhood, so he
naively and very deftly thought that Mary was the only one.
Judie was Mary’s idol at some point; Sam often suspected that Mary tried to
mirror the way Judie spoke and some of her flamboyant mannerisms. He had
noticed that the fictional character’s brashness and sass also gradually
brushed off on Mary— as if Mary had needed more of either. Sam used to tease
her endlessly about it. Of course, he'd end up regretting it when Mary would
kick his ass and hand it back to him. The show, considered brazen back at the
time for depicting a female alpha in a lead role, garnered limited viewing and
was eventually taken off the air. Many parents had protested vigorously that
the character was a bad influence on their daughters, and that alpha girls
shouldn't be encouraged to believe they're equal to men, especially male
alphas. 
Naturally, Mary and Sam were bummed when the show was cancelled. Sam had
developed a not-so-little crush on Judie himself, and they had both come to
love Judie's vibrance, biting humor and bold adventures - it was all very
refreshing.
And as if Sam's earlier dream, which now sits half-remembered in his head
wasn’t enough, stumbling upon I love Judie is bringing some unwanted memories
back to the surface.
His ‘other’ life, before he and Castiel settled down and made babies together,
often seemed distant, like ancient history, up until dreams of Mary kept
cropping up and started gnawing at the wall Sam had erected inside his mind. As
unhealthy as it was to just tuck away old trauma and torment, following years
of therapy Sam had decided that forgetting was the best way to go. He tried not
to scratch at that wall, standing between him and his past life, out of self
preservation. Otherwise, he feared he’d be locked in his own mind for the rest
of his life.
Before becoming someone’s other half, Sam Winchester, née Campbell, was the
youngest of two, son of Jeffrey and Gwen Campbell. His parents had dreamed a
large family, of perhaps five or six kids as is the norm among traditionalists,
but that dream never materialized.
His mother’s side of the family is populated by many alphas, men with well-
defined bones, broad shoulders, strong backs, slightly tanned complexions, none
of them standing below six feet—it’s where Sam got the shape of his jaw, and
his long, lean, and coltish frame. But not the alpha genes. He didn’t inherit
those.
When his older sister Mary presented as alpha, it was unexpected. Their parents
were taken aback, because it was an alpha girl. Nevertheless, they quickly
recovered, and took it to mean that "we’re bearers of alphas". If even their
girl turned out an alpha, by default Sam would be one too, like his own father
and sister, and like his uncles, and cousins before him, they thought. In their
rose-tinted glasses, it was a near certainty that they relished in for a while.
There were always signs that Sam would never be, however.
The shy manner in which he carried himself, the softness beneath his sturdy
exterior, and how he clung to Mary and capitulated to her dominant nature,
especially after she presented, were all red flags. The fact that he acted like
this without conscious intent was more proof. His father slowly became aware of
the signs; his hope tapering off and in its place, disappointment showing.
Jeff's disdain creeped into day-to-day conversations, eventually coloring all
his interactions with his son.
But his mother Gwen, frigidly beautiful and brutally proud, had remained in
denial—that or she was adamant to influence Sam’s biology, like it was an
affront to her and what she stood for. Her rational mind must have known she
couldn't change primal nature, but it looked like her heart could not come to
terms with what Sam was.
With equal fervor, she tried to force Mary to tone down her alpha.
Traditional families warm up to the familiar: male alphas and female omegas. A
disturbance of this dynamic either brings anxiety or shame, and often,
especially in case of male omegas, unwanted attention from knot-heads and a
depraved degree of erotic craving.
Treated as eccentrics, Mary and Sam always felt like partners in crime. Growing
up in each other's pockets, they also clung to each other for comfort. 
But it was Sam that had carried the “omega” tag like a chip on his shoulder for
years. Mary (beautiful, fierce Mary, her dirty blonde locks always matted, and
her green eyes alight with mischief) reveled in her nature. She celebrated it
every day with small acts of rebellion and obstinance—her attitude a perpetual
middle finger to traditionalists.
Then she died. When it happened, Sam had stayed in bed with cold chills,
trembling from the shock of it for days on end. It took weeks before he could
find his bearings, and go out and face the world again. Then again, Mary was
more a parent to him than either of his parents ever were.
Her death is possibly the greatest tragedy of Sam's life.
The pressure to shed his omega skin didn’t ease with Mary’s death. His mother’s
grief soon turned into waves of hostility that were directed towards Sam and
Sam alone.
Officially presenting as an omega at 15, Sam became an even easier target for
his mother’s taunts and fitful outbursts of anger.
The inevitable confirmation of his gender identity further alienated him from
his father who, following Mary’s death, had become sullen and apathetic. Then,
Jeffrey retreated to the sidelines until one morning, he simply upped and
left. Sam has not seen him since.
With his father's departure from their lives, Sam’s misfortunes got dialed up.
His mother alternated between being impossibly cold and gratuitously
aggressive. Sam believes that without her alpha, his mother must have felt she
was without a lifeline. She probably felt betrayed too, by her husband, and
generally, by the world.
Since then, Sam’s mother always walked around like a woman who was denied
divine providence—like she was being unduly punished.
But Sam could have protected her; he was and is very much a man. Omega or not,
he could’ve been the head of the house, in lieu of his father, if only his
mother had allowed herself to lean on him. If only she was a gentler soul, Sam
could have easily become that lifeline on his mother’s toughest days, Sam
thinks retrospectively. 
But all Gwen did was become more insistent on beating the omega out of Sam,
which she did, figuratively … and literally, sometimes.
“Stand straight, Sam,” she would say, prodding him painfully in the shoulders.
“Chin up ... man up ... Speak up," whatever it was, she was always exasperated
with him. "Louder, Sam, say it like a man,” she’d screech, giving him a cuff on
the ear, or “Sam, don’t sit with your legs closed up like a tongue-tied, shy
omega, or you'll get the spanking of your life!"
But he is and always was an omega. As if by twisting him out of shape, his
mother thought that she could somehow alter who he is and was. It all made him
miserable; he couldn’t just get himself to bite the bullet, or grin and bear
it.
Years on and Sam still feels a tightness in his stomach whenever he remembers
all this. It's the same sinking feeling he used to have as he waited for his
mother to reprimand him, spank him, or tell him off for one crazy thing or
another. In that way, the memories regress him to being a child. Every time he
remembers, he feels 12 again, deprived of love and smothered by prejudice.
To add insult to injury, outside of their home, Sam was expected by society to
conform to his nature; act the part of a willing or submissive omega. His manly
clothing, neutral tone and androgynous mannerisms—more similar to a beta man
than an omega man thanks to his mother—confused people.
Growing up, he always felt like a fraud.
The divide—suppressing his nature indoors for his mother's benefit and being
bombarded by opposing expectations outdoors—had nearly brought Sam to his
knees.
In reality, it’s his mother that's the fraud. A beta, born to a traditional
family and married to a satisfyingly traditional alpha, she had always relished
the alpha-omega lifestyle and enacted it to a fault.
Sam suspects that his grandparents were ambivalent towards their daughter until
her wedlock. Being born as a beta into a traditional family must have not been
easy. Through her marriage into a traditional family, Sam imagines that proving
she could bag an alpha and live like an omega, even if she weren’t born as one,
elevated Gwen’s status in the family. It's probably why his mother had a solid
relationship with her parents, whom they all visited every other weekend like a
ritual when Sam and Mary were growing up.
It wasn't the case with his father's side. They seldom exchanged visits and
socialized only during the holidays. Sam never knew why. He lost contact with
most of them over the years. The reason why Jeffrey, as traditional as they
come, married a beta in the first place remains a mystery to Sam. A perpetual
question mark.
Perhaps his father did love his mother (though, on most days, Sam always found
it hard to see her as lovable in any way), or perhaps he was bedazzled by
Gwen’s heritage and her parents’ old money. Sam still remembers how huge his
grandfather’s house was; how regal. It’s that money and status that had helped
them keep their dignity after their household crumbled and Sam’s father - the
money maker in the family - had pulled a vanishing act.  
Sam’s emancipation finally came in the form of Castiel, the angel who snatched
Sam’s soul from the inner circles of hell, and from the depths of self-
loathing, promising to guard him with his life and respect all his wishes.
Unlike Sam’s parents, Castiel had not only accepted Sam’s omega nature but also
indulged it lovingly, and unlike society, he neither tried to pigeonhole Sam as
an exotic cumdump for his horny alpha nor erotocized his existence.
Sam had tested Cas and his limits a lot, pushed every button but Cas, gods
bless him, endured, and took it all in stride. It was not just progressive, it
was also sweet, romantic, and incredibly refreshing. And it reminded Sam,
endearingly, of Mary—the only other person who never tried to change him.
Meeting Castiel and falling in love became a milestone in Sam’s life. There was
life before Cas, and life after.
And after becoming a couple, Sam didn’t look back.
During his teens, progressive Alpha-Omega movements had been on the rise, but
Sam had followed them only from a distance. He couldn’t afford to align himself
with them, or root for them publicly, and risk his mother’s fury. After
Castiel, he could breathe.
Sam remembers how when he signed up for his first peaceful omega rights march;
it felt like an act of revolution. Cas was reluctant to participate at first—to
declare his affinity to such movements was to part ways with his family and
heritage. But he came around, mainly for Sam.
He made Sam’s life better. But then, that's Cas. He makes everything he touches
better, Sam muses with a smile.
Sam was surprised to find that Gwen wasn’t up in arms against his marriage to
Cas. In fact, it looked like she finally realized that her son was a lost cause
so the prospect of separation, shifting the burden to another person, seemed to
give her comfort.
Sam and Cas didn't have a wedding ceremony; they both didn't care that much for
it. Money-wise, they couldn't afford to splurge on one anyway so they got
married at city hall and moved into a small apartment a couple of weeks later.
The day before Sam was to move out, his mother chatted on the phone, immersed
herself in a novel for an hour or so, then spent a fair amount of time in the
living room, eyes glued to the TV—doing anything but spending time with Sam.
She, consciously or perhaps out of habit, ignored him. Sam couldn't tell.
When he was done packing, he eventually joined her.
He was just freshly married off, but the impulse to lash at his mother (that
had always racked him) never failed to reduce him to feeling like a moody
child. His indignation still lived inside of him. That day, Sam and his
mother spent about an hour in silence, sitting rigidly on opposite sides of the
same couch, before Sam finally plucked up enough courage to speak.
“There’s enough pain in the world, mother,” Sam had said with deliberate care,
hoping his words would leave an impression. “And I don’t wish it upon you.” He
didn't meet her eyes. The silence continued to be heavy, he recalls, stretching
like miles of road between them. Sam had swallowed around the lump in his
throat and added somberly, “I forgive you.”
It was a lie, of course. At the moment, he'd only wanted to feel somewhat
morally superior. It was gratifying on some level to hold his pain over his
mother’s head then declare that she was pardoned, without arguments or any
attempts to guilt trip her. It superficially gave Sam the air of a saint or a
messiah.
In reality, it took years of therapy and self-medication for Sam to actually
half forgive his mother.
But back then, during Sam’s last night in his family house and despite his
parting words, his mother didn’t own up to anything, not to any of her toxic
habits or her withered motherly feelings, none of that. If it hadn't been for
how her lips pursed into a tight knot, in response to Sam’s words, it would’ve
appeared to Sam like his mother hadn't even heard him.
But “I forgive you” was the last thing he had said to her, as far as he
remembers, aside from mumbling a quick goodbye before taking off with Castiel
the next day.
Sam has always been proud of his exit from his mother’s life, even if what
she’d done to him messed him up in ways he couldn’t count or even fully account
for. At least his mother had stuck around long enough to be partly forgiven,
Sam thinks. It's not something that he can say of his father.
....
Sam remains camped out on the living room couch until the next morning. He ends
up falling asleep watching a war flick. He only catches a few z's before he
rises up once again to prepare breakfast for his family ahead of the morning
rush to school and work. He prays that Castiel doesn't realize that he was
missing from their bed at any point. His husband might think it's on purpose or
that something is wrong with them—which there is, Sam muses, but their
relationship doesn't need any additional strain, thank you very much.
A few hours after his husband and son leave the house, Sam receives a
happy phone call from Castiel telling him that his promotion is now official
and that naturally, it comes with a fatter paycheck and the promise of travel
and some jet-setting. Cas, ecstatic, tells Sam that they should definitely
celebrate tonight. It's Friday anyway, so they can stay out late, drink to
their hearts' desire, and sleep it all off the next day.
Feeling wrung out from lack of sleep, Sam would rather stay inside; he really
isn't in the mood to dine out but he can't say no to Cas now that the promotion
he'd been slaving away for has finally happened. So of course he plays along,
feigning enthusiasm.
He'll whip up a meal for the kids and ask Dean to babysit his younger brother,
Sam thinks, trying to get all his ducks in a row. He can ask Ellen, next door,
if she minds being on call in case of any emergencies. Sam knows she won't
mind.
Cas texts again later in the day to say that Meg and Fergus should be joining
them. They're the closest things to best friends to Sam and Cas, and Sam
genuinely likes them both. Cas and Fergus work together, and they go on fishing
trips every so often, and Meg is pretty easy going and loves a good laugh.
They're both progressive and they don't intrude in any way. 
Frankly, Sam would rather celebrate with Dean and Adam, but, hey, whatever Cas
wants right now. 
When Castiel finally walks into the house - tie loose, his jacket thrown over
his arm, and arriving later than expected - he hurries over to Sam and hugs him
fiercely. Sam feels sweaty and gross from spending too much time by the
stove cooking something healthy for Dean and Adam to eat when he and his
husband are out, but he hugs Cas back anyway. 
Castiel smells a little of beer and cigarettes. He most probably had early
drinks with his work buddies before heading home. He's beaming and oozing off
cheer, so Sam decides not to berate him for smoking. Sam hasn't seen him this
cheerful for months, and it's frankly quite beautiful to behold—smoke and mild
beer breath notwithstanding.
They kiss for a minute before Cas pinches and slaps Sam's butt and orders him
to clean up and get ready.
When Sam pops in the shower, he's surprised when, a moment later, Castiel jumps
in there with him—they haven't showered together in a long time, not since
their first year of marriage, now that Sam thinks about it.
It turns out Sam doesn't mind being trapped in the small shower space with Cas.
They spend some time lathering up each other and scrubbing themselves clean,
before it turns a little sensual and they end up getting hot and bothered from
all the touching, making out under the warm spray of water. Cas feels safe and
familiar. The hot kissing makes the deal so much sweeter, and Sam
completely relaxes, forcing all his dark thoughts to grind to a halt, and just
focuses on how his body is responding to Cas. And God, is it responding. His
nearing heat is making sure his cock stirs and starts filling up. His hole
twitches in anticipation.
Penetrative sex under the shower is trickier than people think, and from
experience, Sam feels that if they move to the bed now, they'll end up staying
there for the rest of the night, so he and Cas end up jacking each other off
under the spray until they both come. When they finish, they wash off some
more then pad out of the bathroom and ready themselves for the night out.
Things may look up again, Sam thinks, feeling sexy, squeaky clean, and perked
up following that steamy albeit brief lovemaking session. Perhaps it's just a
rough patch and he'll eventually find it in himself to fall in love with Cas
again - instead of reducing him to being a placeholder for Dean. Perhaps he can
crave and desire his husband like he used to if he gives them both the chance.
Well, right now, Sam is praying for it. He's painfully aware that Castiel
deserves better than what they currently have, and it's eating up at Sam's
insides.
Before they leave the house, Sam goes to check on their boys. They're both in
the living room, Adam splayed out on the couch, and Dean sitting cross-legged
on the floor texting someone. Dean is holding his phone at an angle and Sam
can't see the screen from where he's standing. His radar involuntarily goes up.
Perhaps he's chatting up the blonde, Rhonda, Sam thinks. It makes Sam feel
funny, but he culls his curiosity, and instead asks Dean if he'd like Jo, or
Benny and Ash, to come over and keep him and his brother company.
Dean shrugs. "It's alright, not in the mood for people," he says, nonchalantly.
Dean is still lukewarm and withdrawn, and Sam feels sorry for that. 
When Castiel walks in, the boy forces a small smile and huffs a
"Congratulations, dad. You deserve it" at his father that just feels awkward.
Cas thanks him, ruffling his hair. The gesture clearly annoys Dean but he
doesn't speak up.
Sam can see that Adam is already getting tired and sleepy, but he's not
worried. He knows his big brother will take care of him and, when it's sleep
time, tuck him in. Tonight, Sam won't sweat the small stuff or overthink.
Tonight is for Cas and Cas alone,he decides.
On his way out, Sam kisses Adam's cheek tenderly, then leans in to place a soft
kiss on Dean's forehead. His older son doesn't pull away and Sam counts it a
win.
....
At such a short notice, they couldn't make advance reservations in any of their
favorite restaurants, so they decided to play it by ear; start the evening at a
cocktail bar then take it from there.
With the other three downing one drink after another, giggling their way
through the evening, Sam highly doubts that they're presentable enough for any
sort of fine dining. The bar has a good menu, and they can just eat there. But
Castiel insists on changing the venue, tells Sam to look up the nearest
steakhouse on his phone. Well, the nearest one is an hour away but it's his
night, so Sam is willing to indulge him.
Castiel swigs more drinks than everyone else, already starting to slur his
words. Meg and Fergus are a little tipsy. Sam holds back in an effort to remain
the more sober person between them. 
Leaving the bar, they all walk aimlessly for a few blocks before deciding it's
time they request an uber or hail a cab. 
They stop and while Fergus fiddles with his phone to request a driver, Cas and
Meg chat laughingly about the antics of Fergus' junior secretary. Sam had never
met her so he just stays on the sidelines and looks on.
So much for Sam's promise to focus only on Cas tonight, and think of no one
else (or one-particular-person-else), he still couldn't help how he got a
little riled up noticing that they are standing near a window for a lingerie
shop that catered to both women and male omegas.
Sam eyes the numbers on the mannequins, depicting male and female figures, and
gulps. Cas is still engaged in light-hearted conversation and is completely
oblivious to how the heat is rising up in his wife's face, coloring it red,
unaware of the thoughts that the lace bras, satin panties, and see-through
night gowns are conjuring in Sam's mind.
One specific item on display—a black, sheer babydoll with a flirty bow under
the breasts and matching thongs—catches Sam's eye, and he looks at it brazenly,
almost too long. He imagines himself donning it, all dolled up for Dean, his
own masculinity standing in contrast to the delicate lace that would barely
cover his skin, accentuate his round pecs and the soft curve of his belly,
leaving little to the imagination. Sam could picture the look on Dean's face if
he ever sees him dressed like this, features transitioning from young and
innocent to fierce and lustful, body responding beautifully to his own mother,
and Sam's cock stirs.
Despite his protests, he still craves being wanted by Dean; he's secretly
addicted to seeing the effect he has on his son. He wants him. And he wants
Dean to covet him. He wants to morph into that wanton omega than Dean obviously
desires, and he wants his son to fuck him senseless. Sam's mouth waters at the
images in his head, and he feels a little dizzy with it, a little wet between
his ass cheeks. His nipples tingle and harden beneath his shirt.
Realizing he's still with company, and not in his bed at night fantasizing
away, he quickly looks away from the store window and tries to get his
breathing, and his filthy mind, under control.
The guilt soon follows; here he is, pretending to be there for Castiel, telling
himself he could fix things, when inside his head, he's cheating. Still
tethered to their son.
"Earth to Sam," Meg hollers at him and he jumps slightly at the intrusion. He
realizes she was already talking to him before. He forces himself back to the
moment, and smiles at her. "Sorry, drifted off a little."
"For a moment there, you had a lights-on-but-no-one-home expression on your
face," she says. Cas is giving him this strange look and for a fleeting moment,
it almost feels like his husband is sober again and can see right through him.
"How's our driver doing?" Sam quickly asks, if only to flee Castiel's gaze. 
"Two minutes away," Fergus responds.
When the car finally pulls up in front of them, they pile in - still without a
destination in mind.
”We’re looking for the very best steakhouse in all of Stonehill," Cas begins.
The driver probably thinks they're tourists or something. He smiles, then,
after some thinking, politely makes some suggestions.
"Just choose one and take us there?" Cas says and Sam cracks up.
Sam spares the poor driver and randomly makes the pick for them.
"Do we need to book a table in advance?" he double checks. Apparently not.
The four of them end up in this swanky restaurant on the other side of
town. The prices on the menu are over the top but the margaritas are very
potent, and the service is great. They wolf down their steaks, juicy and quite
delicious and well worth their price tag, then Cas orders a round of
shots. "Here's to Cas and his awesome, hard-earned promotion," says Meg, and
the four of them raise and clink glasses. "To Cas," they speak in chorus.
Cas drinks his shot then shakes his glass. "More shots?"
Sam is slightly worried; his husband is pounding back a few and Sam doesn't
know whether Cas is still celebrating or trying to drown down
something. Worries, fears, sorrow or all of the above. Something feels off.
Their seemingly-perfect marriage has been on the rocks recently, Sam thinks
gloomily, and in a first, he's secretly wondering if they'll ever make it to
"till death do us part". Cas doesn't exactly know about Sam's doubts, but he
might have instinctively realized that they're struggling.
Suddenly anxious and not knowing what else to do, Sam takes one of Castiel's
hands in his and squeezes firmly. Castiel squeezes back, and leans in to give
Sam a quick peck on the lips.
Soon enough, the giggles and silliness taper off and give way to quiet
conversation. Fergus and Meg, who're childless by choice, say they've been
thinking of expanding their family. "Fucking finally," says Cas. "This is big,
you guys," Sam adds. Kids are a grand responsibility and both Fergus and Meg
are employed full-time, both fearlessly ambitious and very career-oriented.
Someone will have to pull the brakes a little, and make time for the kids if,
or when, they come. Sam guesses it will probably be Meg. They're not an alpha
and omega couple, but their dynamics are sometimes similar to one. And Meg
knows how to make Fergus feel he’s boss. 
"I'll tell you this. Having children? It's a decision we never regretted," Cas
says, still slurring from all the liquor. "We have such a sweet time," he
continues to ramble. "Sam and I are a team, and we do things as a team."
Sam smiles and agrees, swinging his arms around his husband's shoulders.
It's all good and civilized until the couple in the table next to them start
becoming a little loud. Obviously drunk, the man and woman are suddenly all
over each other. Kissing turning to flat-out making out. Things escalate
quickly and they end up frenching like a couple of teens, making slurping
sounds and moaning, in a seated restaurant, in front of God and everyone. Sam
realizes he's staring so he looks away quickly, exchanging amused smiles with
Cas and the rest. It's not long before the man shrugs off his jacket and pulls
the woman into his lap, quite aggressively. Alpha and omega: their scents are
permeating strongly, and instead of amused, everyone at Sam's table now look a
little embarrassed. Fergus and Meg, for all their open-mindedness, don't seem
too enthralled with the display. It's not that kind of restaurant, not one
catering to traditionalists, but most restaurants, even the classy ones, allow
for many liberties for alphas and omegas in the throes of their heat, which
these two obviously are. "Oh my God," exclaims Meg, as the exhibitionist couple
start dry humping. The entire table laughs. 
Sam's laugh is a little nervous though, because unlike the rest, all this is
really affecting him. He's warm and soft down there, and a part of him wishes
Cas would move his hand under the table and start stroking him through his
clothes until he's hard. Then perhaps he could get him off, as they try and
make polite conversation with friends. Sam thinks he might let it happen.
His mind skitters off to Dean again, and again, he wonders if this is something
that Dean would do. If his alpha son would shamelessly devour him in a public
place, as everyone watches, careless of their surroundings. Not unlike this
couple.
Sam is also curious about how far the man and woman would go in a place like
this.
His curiosity is not satisfied, however. Fergus orders the check, and they're
out of the restaurant before Sam gets to see if the couple will end up having
sex right there on the table next to them, may be even knot, and whether the
restaurant would allow it. Each venue's tolerance to these displays is
different. What some consider scandalous, others think is business as usual.
Once outside, Meg barks out laughing. "That was something," she says. "It was,"
her husband agrees.
"Don't get me wrong, but couples like these two got no shame! Alphas and
omegas, man, they're unstoppable," Meg says. "No offense, you guys." 
"None taken," says Cas, reassuring.
They breathe in some fresh air. Then request two different cabs, say their
goodbyes and all head home.
...
Back at home, Cas is out like a light moments after they move up to their
bedroom. Sam, who's now tipsy himself, succeeds in keeping him awake just long
enough to toe off his shoes and pull his shirt and pants off. Castiel will have
the mother of all hangovers tomorrow, Sam predicts. He'll have to brace himself
for it. Cas is not cute when he's feeling sour or pissed.
Sam takes a quick shower, puts a pair of briefs on and slides into bed next to
Castiel. He looks at his sleeping husband, and a pang of guilt rises up in his
chest. How can you make yourself love a person again, he thinks. He still loves
Cas, like a partner and the father of their children, but it's not that burning
hot, crazy love they used to have. He leans over and plants a chaste kiss on
Castiel's cheek, then pulls back and closes his eyes. Tomorrow. Perhaps
tomorrow will bring a resolution to the rut they're in.  
...
Sam is lured out of sleep by a strange sensation: featherlike touches across
his abs, and below his navel, and a warm breath hitting his nether region. At
first he thinks he's dreaming; it does feel good, and his body is heating up
slightly in response to the barely-there touches.
He's having a wet dream, he thinks as his brain teeters on the edge of
consciousness.
The pressure on his genitals becomes more pronounced, though, the heat rising
quickly. Still drowsy and half-asleep, it takes Sam a moment to realize he's
not actually dreaming. He manages to pry open his eyes as the touches become
more insistent. His surroundings are dimly illuminated by lights leaking from
the hallway and streaming out from the street through their uncurtained bedroom
windows.
As Sam rubs the sleep out of his eyes, and as they slowly adjust to the low
light, he can't believe what he's seeing.
"Dean?" He croaks. 
His son has apparently pulled down the covers, sat himself between
Sam's slightly parted legs and is now brazenly staring at Sam's naked groin,
without an ounce of shame or inhibition, while Castiel is sound asleep next to
him. Sam doesn't even know how Dean has managed to get his briefs down his hips
and his thighs without waking him up. He can barely suppress a groan at how
depraved and dirty it feels. 
"Dean," he says again, and his voice is still hoarse. "What are you doing?"
Sam still feels dizzy, can't make himself move.
"I missed you," Dean whispers, bending over his body, his lips now mere inches
away from Sam's dick. Dean starts to kiss along the length of Sam's cock. His
right hand comes up, and follows the thin trail of hair on Sam's belly,
creeping down into the thicker, coarser thatch of crotch hair around his cock.
His hand bypasses Sam's penis, however, and keeps moving down until it reaches
the hem of his briefs, still caught around his knees. His left hand comes up
and Dean uses both hands to slip Sam's briefs off completely and throw them on
the floor. Sam lets him.
Dean moves up again, and starts planting kisses on Sam's stomach. When
his tongue dips into his belly button, Sam groans again. Inches away, Castiel
rolls over; now he's facing them, snoring lightly next to Sam as Dean touches
and fondles him.
Sam is holding his breath, terrified, and his eyes are slowly welling up with
tears. He whispers urgently, "Dean, stop." But it falls flat, even on his own
ears. "Stop this," he hisses and he knows he doesn't really mean it. Whether
it's heat, or lust that's taking control now—whatever this is—Sam feels
powerless against it.
Like a man on a mission, his son is unstoppable. He's not taking Sam's protests
seriously, because he knows. Sam can't hide his desire, not now; no part of him
is hidden from view and Dean can see how Sam's dick is filling up for him,
that he's at least half hard now. His eyes flicker up to Sam, defiantly,
challenging him to stop him, as he tongues the trail of hairs on Sam's belly
until he reaches his dick.  
Dean rubs his face on Sam's cock then carefully takes it in his mouth, and Sam
feels like shooting his load right then and there. Dean stills, keeps it popped
in his mouth, tucked between his plump lips, like he's savoring the taste
before he starts sucking on the head lightly until the pressure on Sam's dick
becomes almost unbearable.
Sam is about to speak but Dean chooses this moment to go down on his dick,
wetting the length of it. Sam bites his tongue and starts leaking in abandon.
He can feel his cockhead tickling the roof of Dean's mouth. Dean slurps
down the beads of precum as they come and Sam feels like he'll lose his mind.
It's so wrong, so fucking wrong, but he still doesn't move; doesn't dare to
either stir or raise his voice. If Cas opens his eyes, right now, he'll see
everything. He'll see Dean blowing him; using his tongue to get Sam off in his
marital bed. He'll know that Sam has popped a boner the moment Dean took him in
his mouth. And he'll see Sam letting out breathy moans as he watches Dean take
his dick, lick around the head, and the underside of it, pushing his tongue
into the slit like he wants to fuck it. It isn't long before Sam groans like a
dying man and rewards his son with a mouthful of cum.
Dean drinks it down like it's wine, swallowing the sweet and salty hot rush,
without spilling a drop. As his orgasm barrels through him, Sam rests his head
back on the pillow and cries hot tears. His son continues to drink him down as
he shoots his full load, as his asshole squirts and leaks into the bedspread
beneath him, his shame making him burn up.
"So fucking hot," Dean whispers. "How are you this hot?"
He then moves up the bed, and lines his body with Sam's and then settles over
him. He's still clothed, donning a pair of white boxer briefs and a thin shirt.
Sam can feel how hard his son is, how heavy his balls are, as Dean embraces
him. Dean must feel how quickly Sam's heart is pounding in his chest - part-
arousal, part-fear.
"Dean," he huffs. "Shhh," Dean whispers, as he starts kissing his lips, slowly
at first, one brief touch of lips after another, until they lose count of how
many times their lips meet. Then Dean starts drawing out the kisses.
Dean kisses passionately, fiercely, like a thirsty man. Sam can taste himself
inside Dean's mouth and he can't help but open up more to the kisses.
He should be sick to his stomach, doing this so close to Cas, his husband's
breath hitting his shoulders. But he's too distracted by the thrill of kissing
Dean again to try and stop this. The tears keep on coming, but Sam still
shivers and trembles with need and want as Dean starts rubbing their cocks
together.
Sam's hands come up, as if without his volition, and wrap around Dean's waist.
They fumble beneath the waistband of Dean's boxers, blindly grabbing at naked
flesh.
Itching, and feverish with want, Sam pulls down his son's underwear in one
swift move. He's aching to feel him, skin-on-skin. Dean lifts his hips up for a
second to help his mom peel his boxers off. When their naked lower bodies touch
again, his son's groin feels scorching hot and it's heaven and hell, all at
once.
The bed creaks as they move, grinding, soaking each other's dicks, balls and
pubic hair in precum. But they're both too far gone to care.
They kiss some more. Sam, blinded with need, moans loudly as Dean mauls his
mouth, mashing their lips together, sucking on his tongue, and biting his
bottom lip, pushing and pulling, drinking him up like an elixir. Dean has
insanely hot lips, and oh, dear God, they're gonna be the death of him, Sam
thinks. 
One of Dean's hands creeps up between them and his son's fingers tug on the
hard nubs of his nipples and Sam, still a nursing mother, starts leaking there
too. He's sloppy and wet everywhere now.
Cas huffs, and rolls on the bed again. Dean and Sam hold still, breathing into
each other mouths, their kiss-bruised lips almost glued together. When Cas
settles down and his breaths even out, Dean pulls back an inch and whispers "I
wanna eat you" into the damp air between their wet mouths.
Sam should shake his head, he should push his son off and make it stop here.
His rational mind knows he should draw a line somewhere. He should fight this.
But he doesn't. A moment later, Dean is sitting between his legs again, and
Sam willingly parts them for his son - all his willpower long gone.
Sam feels like a slut, spreading his legs like this so his son could go down on
him, put his mouth at his most base part, kiss him, and touch him in a
forbidden place that only his lawfully wedded husband should be allowed to
touch. But he does it anyway. Because the way Dean looks down at him makes his
flesh burn. The way his son's eyes is now raking over him, while his palms are
stroking up his thighs, it's an absorbing, mesmerizing thing. The way Dean
neglects his own engorged dick, pleasuring Sam instead, makes Sam's insides
tingle. 
Dean hooks his strong hands behind Sam's knees and pushes his legs up. Sam
feels vulnerable and exposed, almost bent in half like this with his thighs
open wide. Dean's eyes lock between the obscenely open V of his legs, staring
freely at his flushed prick and lewdly-spread butt. 
Sam closes his eyes and jumps a little when he finally feels the pressure of
Dean's tongue against his asshole, shamelessly twitching, refusing to close up
completely and continuously slicking itself for the alpha. 
Dean pushes his tongue into the moist and warmth of Sam's hole, and it opens up
to him like a flower. The tight heat sucks the tip of his tongue in.
Sam can't stop leaking, drizzling slick from both his dick hole and his
asshole. He buries the side of his face in his pillow, his hands fisting the
sheets beneath him. His toes curl from the stimulation.
Dean continues to rim him, alternating between licking around his fluttering,
hungry hole, and fucking it with his tongue. Sam's hips are jerking off the
bed, riding the waves of pleasure as they come.
When his orgasm hits, too soon, he can't hold back. He tries to but fails. His
dick begins shooting untouched and his cum lands on his chest, and face.
Seconds later, he squirts into Dean's open mouth, feeding his slick to his son.
Dean nurses at his asshole, laps up everything Sam gives him, sucking it out of
him and drinking it up until Sam's gushing well completely dries up.
Sam doesn't think he ever came so strongly in his life. He feels at once
satiated and drained and so bone tired, he could pass out.
Dean is still holding his legs open and out. He sniffs his ass, scenting him
down there, then he brushes his lips lightly against Sam's pucker, and the
overstimulation sends an electric buzz through Sam's body. Dean kisses along
his taint. He kisses his hole, then whispers softly into it, "God, you're
perfect. I love you so much." Sam feels the heat of the words on his skin, his
warm breath hitting his asshole and it twitches. His cheeks burn with the
humiliation of allowing his son to be this intimate with him, this close. He's
a perverted parent, and he'll go to hell for it, Sam thinks.
"Sammy," Dean whispers. Sam dares to meet his son's eyes. "Keep your legs up,
and hold your ass open for me," he says it so simply, entitlement lacing his
tone, like he owns Sam's body. Like Castiel, his father, the Alpha of this
house, is not trapped in a drunken stupor just one feet away.
"Sammy, I'm still hard. I need to come," he urges. Sam squeezes his eyes shut
and does what he's told. Obeying, he puts his own hands behind his knees, and
spreads his legs wide, his cheeks parting and revealing his wanton hole for
Dean. He can hear his son's heavy breaths, coming faster, as he strips his own
dick furiously looking down at Sam's nakedness, using it to relieve his horny
wolf. Dean jacks himself off with one hand. With the other, he thumbs at Sam's
entrance, circling the rim of his quivering pucker.
"Such a pretty hole. So hot, goddamn," Dean whispers, lightly biting his bottom
lip. "Fucking perfect."
Sam moans as his asshole is nudged, as Dean thrusts his hot, pulsating cockhead
against it. Rubbing, playing with his rim, but not breaching. Sam, against all
reason, wishes Dean would just push inside. He bears down, willing his ass to
open up more, silently begging to be invaded. The wet tip of Dean's cock
kissing his entrance like this is an awful tease.
Dean had once called Sam a whore. It was in anger and Sam, indignant and mad,
had slapped his son. But now he thinks, maybe Dean was right. Perhaps he really
is a whore, and Dean just saw through his bullshit. After all, he's allowing
this to happen, isn't he? And for all its wrongness, it's not even enough. Sam
wants more. He wants Dean inside of him so much he can barely breathe.
Sam endures the slow torture, however, without revealing his sick needs.
Moments later, he feels a hot wetness against his hole as his son drenches it
in cum. Some of it gets inside of him, mixing with his own fresh slick. Dean
groans deeply, like a wounded animal, as he shoots his release.
Castiel stirs again, and this time, Sam finds his voice. "Dean, just go," he
whispers, his own chest still punching out fast, short breaths. "Please," he
adds and his voice is shot to hell.
Dean waits for a few moments until he can breathe steadily again before he
pushes himself off the bed, his boxers still bunched up around his ankles.
Before covering himself, he attacks Sam's mouth and kisses him deeply. His
tongue darts out to taste his tears, and softly lick the drying cum off his
face. He prods and licks his nipples clean too. Then he goes back to kissing
his mouth some more.
The smooching sound of their wet kisses, as their soft lips catch and part
repeatedly, feels obscene in the otherwise deadly quiet room.
His son finally pulls back before they lose themselves again, looking almost as
wracked and worn out by his orgasm as Sam is (by his several ones in a row).
"I love you," Dean whispers breathlessly against his lips one last
time tonight. Then he stands up straight, pulls up his boxers, and walks out of
the room. 
Sam can feel his son's cum seeping out of him and wetting the bed as he watches
him leave and close the door behind him. He feels at once whole and destroyed,
and he can't begin to imagine what this means for all of them. 
....
The morning after ...
Sam flings open the curtains in Dean's bedroom while Dean is fast asleep. It's
a little past 6 am so the light is still faint outside. Dean stirs, looking
feverish, and he groans. "What the hell, mom?"
"Oh, so you still remember I'm mom."
"What the—what's that supposed to mean?" Dean slurs, still fending off sleep.
"Nothing, get up, and start packing. You're moving to Bobby's today. If your
dad won't drive you there, I will."
"Come again?" Dean feels like an ice bucket has been emptied straight over his
head. 
"My heat's coming on strong," Sam says, as he opens Dean's closet and grabs a
duffel bag.
You don't say, Dean thinks sarcastically. Sam is reeking from his heat. Dean
practically tasted it in his slick last night as he went to town on his ass.
But it looks like his mom is pretending last night didn't happen. He's refusing
to look Dean in the eye either.
"Mom, is this some kind of a joke?"
"Your dad and I have been planning on it anyway, 'cause it's hitting early.
And—"
"And what?"
"Things can get out of control, you know the deal, shielding yourself from my
heat can drain you," Sam says, as he starts fishing out clothes from the closet
and some of Dean's drawers.
"You gotta be kidding me," Dean says. His mom sidesteps his comment and he
still wouldn't look at him. "By the way, I can pack on my own."
"Happy to help Dean, speed it all up," Sam says, deadpanning, as he continues
to fill the bag.
"Come on, do we really have to do this? It's not as bad as it used to be when I
first—"
"It's bad in other ways," Sam hisses. "Or don't you remember last night? The
heat is—"
"Last night wasn't about the heat. Don't blame--"
"I am, and I will. 'Cause last night, we were out of our minds. I wasn't in
control."
"Is that how you wanna play it? Animal attraction, heats and ruts, mom? Take
free will out of it?"
"Dean—"
“I mean whatever makes you sleep at night, mom. I don’t give a rats what story
you wanna tell yourself. But I told you. I want you and not because of friggin’
biology. Sure, maybe that plays a part. In the old days, they used to believe
alphas and omegas are born mated, that it’s fate. Maybe that's part of it too.
But it’s not just that for me. I love you. I'm in love with you, dammit."
"Stop saying that."
"At least I have the guts to admit it.”
“You don't know what you're saying, Dean.”
“This is where you're wrong, mom. You still have one foot out of the door, but
I’m all in and I know how I feel.”
"Then you're gonna have to find a way to unlove me or to cope, Dean. ‘Cause I'm
not gonna cheat—"
"Keep up, mom. You already have, and the way I see it? When you’re with him,
you’re cheating on me—you're mine!"
"No, I'm not. Never going to. Not that way. Are you so delusional you can’t see
what’s happening here?"
“Are you?”
"Dean, this is an illness. This isn't right," Sam says and plops down on the
bed next to Dean. God, he doesn't know how to look at his son any more without
recalling what happened between them in the dead of night. But he tries.
"Sweetheart, look at me, we can deal with this. Remember when we were close,
real close, best friends, soulmates even, but still mom and son. Still clean.
We can still go back to that, ‘cause this is what it needs to be." Sam pleads.
And Dean wants to tell him, it was never like that. It’s always been like
this, only Sam didn't realize it.
"You know, we won't be the first alpha and omega mom and son to fall in love,
Sammy," Dean begins. "It happened before and it will happen again. I know
history, I've read the lore. Some even get married—”
“Great, you wanna march over to Cas and tell him I'm leaving him for you? Or
shall I? You want me to abandon everything, and everyone, and be branded as a
cheater and an omega whore for life? That what you want, Dean? ‘Cause I'm
telling you now that’s not gonna happen!"
"Why not?"
"Why not?! Have you lost your mind? How can you even ask that? ... If we follow
through—" Sam cuts himself mid sentence because he can't even fathom it. He
begins again, "What becomes of your brother? Your dad, Dean? Have you thought
of Cas? Have you thought how filthy and dirty I felt this morning? After last
night? What we've done, what you've made me do—“
"I didn't make you do anything—”
"I was forced to—” Sam wants to say submit, but it feels too primitive and it
only reminds him of how perverted he is, how he can't seem to keep his legs
closed when his son is around. His cheeks flare up.
"Are you saying you didn't want it?" The question, laid bare like this, has a
cruel bite to it. Dean already knows the answer, but he still pushes. "Because
from what I remember, you were moaning in pleasure. You orgasmed twice. Or was
it three times, mom? Wanna refresh my memory?”
"Dean, stop it!"
"Unless you're saying I raped you. Is that what you’re saying?"
"God, no," Sam whispers.
"'Cause I could have thrown everything out of the window and taken what I
really wanted last night. I didn't. I let you set the pace, like I always do.
But you're right in this with me. So don't you dare pretend you didn't want
what I gave. The blow job, the kisses, my tongue down there, everything—“
"Shhh, stop," Sam covers his ears.
Dean sighs. "I may be pushy, mom, I can play rough but we both know I didn't
force myself on you. Won't ever. It's just ... not in me."
"You're right. This is on me too ... and it's going to get worse as long as
you're around," Sam says it, and for the first time, it hits him, the truth of
it lands. Dean doesn't just need to go to Bobby's temporarily; he needs to move
out altogether. But Sam doesn't broach this now. He's too scared, and too
shaken up. He'll bring it up later. But it looks like it will come down to
that. Cas is right. He's always been right.
Sam's heart breaks again, if that's even possible.
“Mom, can’t you see? I’m hurting. I can’t think. I can’t sleep,” Dean says,
hoping to pull on Sam’s heartstrings, draw him in using a combination of worry
and guilt like he used to do when he was younger. He's aware he's being
manipulative, but he can't help it; he's very much in love. And he’s not lying;
he can’t live like this. “Sammy, I don’t know what to do.”
Calling him by this nickname again is a mistake, Dean realizes, because Sam’s
face shifts and darkens when he hears it.
“Here’s what you'll do, now.” Sam says, with finality, getting off the bed and
away from Dean. "Start packing. We’re moving in an hour. Bobby's an early
riser, I'll call him.” He pauses, then adds, “And for the last time, I'm not
your boyfriend or your husband, Dean, so it's mom, not Sammy. Mom's the only
thing you get to call me."
When Dean stares daggers at him and doesn't respond, Sam decides to one-up his
son in the pissed-off department and he throws the half-packed duffle violently
at him. "Move!" Sam spits, and leaves the room.
Chapter End Notes
     - Art: snapshot from the show with a Prisma filter, my edit. No
     reposting please.
     - For all those who're still following this story, 19 chapters on and
     nearly two years in the making, I'm so grateful for you all! :-) I
     can't believe I'm in this far in myself. It was my first slash fic
     and I only decided to write it after I posted a request on SPN Kink
     Meme that was thoroughly ignored. When no one stepped up to fill it
     and fulfill my fantasies, I rolled up my sleeves and went to work. I
     essentially started writing what I wanted to read. And now, here we
     are. :-)
     - Keep the feedback coming please. Your comments make my heart sing.
     - I'm on tumblr: http://joannaleeuniverse.tumblr.com/
***** Between the devil and the deep blue sea *****
Chapter Summary
     Things heat up for Sam. Cas faces old demons. A certain 'baby' joins
     the family.
Chapter Notes
     Important note: Sensitive subjects get addressed in this story
     (including but not limited to non-con/rape, mentions of death, sexual
     submission, BDSM, and emotional trauma) and will continue to get
     heavily addressed as the story progresses, so if you're easily
     triggered, please turn back now. It's not too late! Let me reiterate
     that I'm not warning for everything, so please read only at your own
     risk.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Castiel is sprawled on the living room couch, splaying the back of his
hand over his forehead to shield his eyes from the light. His feet are in Sam's
lap and his wife is giving him a foot rub.
As Sam expected, Cas woke up royally hung over and visibly in pain. It’s almost
noon and save for water and some paracetamol, he’s had nothing else in him. Sam
shoots him a sympathetic look every once a while.
Dean and Adam clear out before Cas wakes. He’s a little surprised when he finds
out but Sam tells him he got it covered to spare him the trips. He totally
foresaw that hangover.
He tells Cas how he was rudely awakened by an intensely hot flush from his
heat, and decided at the drop of a hat to take Dean to Bobby’s, then drop Adam
at Castiel’s parents. His heat, whose scent is evident, must be giving credence
to his story.
Sam skips over the part where he called everyone at ass o’clock in the morning
on a Saturday. Bobby is an early riser but Naomi was a bit surprised when Sam
inconveniently buzzed her at 7 am, he recalls. In his defense, Sam was
confused, overridden with guilt, at his wit’s end with Dean, and panicking. 
Castiel remains subdued. 
“You’re welcome,” Sam says, giving one of his feet a squeeze. 
“Thoughtful, Sam, but you know how much I loathe it when you go out during your
heat,” Cas says, clearly not pleased.
If there’s one thing that Castiel is stringently traditional about, it’s this.
He prefers Sam cooped up at home when he’s pumping slick like this, his heat a
constant siren announcing his sexuality to the world. Sure, he’s mated, and
only suicidal douchebags dare approach a mated omega, but still, suicidal
douchebags exist. Castiel would rather have Sam stay inside and avoid coming
across these creepy types all together.
“How did Dean take it?” Cas murmurs nearly through clenched teeth. His headache
is blinding him, its grip vice-like. His burgeoning rut is also making him on
edge, already riling him up.
“Good,” Sam says.
“Hold up, he didn’t fuss at all?”
“Well, by now, Dean knows it’s not punitive, Cas.”
“Still complains every time.”
“I guess he finally gets it,” Sam lies, keeping his expression vacuous.
In reality, Dean did actually give Sam hell on the drive to Bobby, but Castiel
needn’t be told how his son foamed at the mouth and called his own mother “a
coward” and “a moralising dipshit”—words that would’ve easily earned Dean a
punch from Sam in the heat of the moment, if Sam hasn’t been feeling criminally
guilty for harboring sexual desires for Dean to begin with.
Castiel also needn’t be told of the sickening new turn that their marriage has
taken last night or how his wife spent an hour in the shower this morning under
a scathingly hot spray trying to wash off the scent of another alpha so Cas
wouldn’t smell it on his skin.
His husband is the last vine in the grapevine in this affair, and Sam plans to
keep it this way.
“Sam, did we have sex last night?”
“What’s that?”
“Last night, did we—you know.” Cas gestures between them.
“Ehm, no. You went right to sleep after we got back.”
“Yeah? ‘Cause when I woke up, the room smelled like sex. It was reeking
actually.”
Sam’s heart is beating in his chest at double its speed. He aired out the room
a little when Cas was still asleep. But Sam did climax a few times and Dean
came on him, and alpha scents are strong.
“Eh, yeah, it’s ‘cause I’m—I jerked myself off. After you slept. I told you.
The heat was coming on strong,” Sam says, blushing. “Multiple orgasms. That’s
what you smelled, I suppose.”
“Looks like, yeah.”
“Sorry,” Sam murmurs.
“Nah, it’s hot. You getting off next to me. Who were you thinking about?” he
asks playfully.
“You, of course,” Sam says, with a tight smile. “Who else?”
Cas is too good for him—still blissfully ignorant of the skeletons in the
closet of Sam and Dean’s evolving relationship. It’s painful how much he’s
oblivious to how his marriage to Sam has become fractured.
And yet they had been fiercely in love with each other once.
Soon, Sam will have to break it to Castiel that his dead-fast opposition to
sending Dean away is gone, and that he’s willing to discuss options. It’s safe
to say that Sam’s now past the point of denial; if Cas had awoken to the
display from last night, it would’ve been the end of them.
...
Sam and Cas sit in companionable silence for a couple of hours. Castiel nurses
his hangover and Sam, laptop in his lap, is reading stuff online.
Sam feels restless inside—partly from his heat and being so close to his alpha,
and partly from the guilt racking his brain. The wheels in his head are
spinning, trying to gain a purchase on his impossible situation.
He feels disgusted with himself, and a part of him almost wishes Castiel would
find out about him and Dean so he’d be sorely and grievously punished.
He deserves to be; he doesn’t have an ounce of steel in his spine or else he
would’ve stopped this once and for all. Although, the idea of Dean getting into
any kind of trouble over their incestuous relationship makes him feel queasy.
Trouble? Who is Sam kidding?
If Cas ends up knowing, he’ll divorce Sam and wring his son’s neck.
The notion sends an ugly chill down Sam’s spine.
Sam surfs the web for self-help websites, but there’s nothing much out there
about healthily dealing with sexual advances from alphas within one’s family—it
seems there’s a near consensus among the traditionalists that the likes of Sam
are breeding holes without opinions or feelings of their own, so it’s all obey,
indulge, submit.
If one’s already mated, it’s a different story, and traditionalists are not
very forgiving of cheating omegas.
The laws are harsh too, and if an alpha decides to press charges of infidelity,
these situations are dealt with in special courts with juries that are almost
always pro-tradition.
Progressivists don’t pander to these types of topics anyway, being narrowly
focused on rights and pushing for liberties and a place for omegas in the
social sphere.
In all cases, no one looks kindly on cheaters across the spectrum so Sam’s
screwed.
He wishes he had someone to talk to, outside of their situation; someone who
can help Sam get his life back on to an even keel. He’s got friends, but how do
you confess incest to anyone then ask for their advice? Sam will come away
empty-handed, or worse, severely judged.
There’s no way around this: he let his husband down, and there are no do-overs.
He’ll have to find a way to atone for cheating.
Soon enough, he puts an end to his musings, because, dear God, he’s overheated
and horny as fuck, and he needs his alpha right about now. Cas not Dean, he
reminds himself, and it’s quite telling and pretty awful that he has to force
the reminder.
At least on the physical intimacy front, Cas and Sam are not a lost cause. It’s
not as intense as how he feels about Dean, but yeah, he can still get it up for
his husband.
Right now, his loins are on fire, and the full body shudders are not letting
up.
He wants to blow Cas first and drink up his release. He wants his husband’s
semen to sink into his skin. He wants to soak up his scent to make up for what
happened the night before, and for every wrong thing, no matter how trivial,
that led to it.
He gets up, and the rush of hormones is making him sway a little on his feet.
He gets on his knees and plants himself beside Cas, still lying back on the
couch. Without warning, he starts fondling his husband. He’s feeling quite
shameless right now. Cas groans; it’s his headache, not the touches.
“Just lay back, let me do this,” Sam whispers. “It’ll get your mind off the
pain.”
Sam fumbles with Castiel’s fly and takes his cock out, and Cas’s breath catches
when Sam just swallows him down in one go. “What the--” Castiel is startled at
first, but his rut catches up, forcing him to get hard despite how dog-tired he
is.
As his husband’s dick fills up, Sam’s pace picks too.
When Castiel is hard as wood, Sam stops for only a second to tell Cas to fuck
his mouth. Cas is gentle, at first, thrusting very shallowly, so as not to hurt
his wife but Sam is having none of it.
“Harder,” Sam says with a puff then takes Castiel’s dick in his mouth again.
Cas pumps hard, accidentally ramming the tip of his dick into the roof of Sam’s
mouth a little too strongly, and a bolt of pain rips through his jaw but Sam
won’t pussy out. His eyes water, and it gets worse when he start to gag and
choke a little on his own spit, but he soldiers on.
This is it, this is what he wants, what he deservers. It’s fittingly punishing,
Sam thinks.
Cas sits up, gently prodding Sam’s shoulder and scrambling back, in an effort
to dislodge him. “Easy, Sam. You’ll choke,” he says, and his voice is roughened
up by both exhaustion and desire.
Sam can still feel him shivering every few seconds from arousal. Thanks to the
deep throating, Castiel's base instincts are still very much in gear even if
he’s getting worried over Sam.
So Sam doesn’t quit; he keeps on sucking, bobbing his head back and forth,
taking Cas’ dick even deeper, like he wants it to clog his airway.
He does almost choke when Castiel (probably can’t help it) shoots off like a
geyser. Sam can’t keep up with the hot rush of semen and starts heaving around
Cas’s dick. He still tries to swallow the hot release, but he’s forced to pull
off with a loud pop when he can’t. “Sorr--” he begins to apologize but instead,
sputters and coughs wetly. God, his throat is sore.
“What the hell, Sam?” Cas says, slumping back in his seat.
“Don’t worry about me,” he gasps out.
...
After Castiel freshens up and gets some chow, he wants to talk about it, see if
Sam’s alright.
Cas fears Sam may have hurt himself some with that intense blowjob.
He's not wrong. Sam’s jaw does ache and his throat’s still burning, but it
feels right.
He false-reassures Cas, and calls him a drama queen. Before Cas responds, Sam
gets up and straddles him, right there in their kitchen, thrusts his tongue
inside his mouth and starts grinding his bulge against him. “Come on, I want
you inside me, Cas,” he says, his voice all desperate, almost keening. And they
end up doing it on the kitchen floor.
During, Sam keeps asking his husband to give it to him rough, to bite him and
leave his mark, pull his hair and make it hurt. Cas is reluctant at first, but
blinded by how Sam is writhing, moaning and thrashing beneath him, he
ultimately gives in.
...
After they’re done rolling in the sheets one more time, Cas asks Sam about what
really is up. They’re lying side by said, tangled up in the sheets, naked
underneath, covered in cum and slick, and completely worn out.
Sam is thinking about how he couldn’t get himself to squirt from his hole like
he does in Dean’s arms. And he wants to curl up and disappear for how dirty and
bad it makes him feel.
“I’m not saying I don’t like roughing things up,” Cas says, “I just don’t
understand where this is coming from. We’ve always been pretty vanilla.”
Because it’s what Sam wants,Cas thinks.
“Doesn’t hurt to spice up the sex, Cas,” Sam says, calmly, like it’s nothing,
like he’s not burning hot inside with shame. He’s a cheater and a whore, he
wants to say. That’s why he needs roughing up.
“You grabbed my wrist, pushed my hand against your throat and asked me to choke
you, Sam. Is that normal?” Cas asks flatly.
“Just some light choking, no big deal,” Sam croaks.
"You said I shouldn't stop until you almost pass out. Doesn't sound light to
me."
“Right, so maybe not normal for us, but people do it.”
“Is that what you’ve been looking up online—you know earlier?”
Sure, why not?
“Yeah,” Sam lies, and it’s the umpteenth time today. “Thought we can introduce
some kinks, explore a bit.”
“I don’t mind, but Sam, throttling you in bed is where I draw the line. Light
or not, I’m not doing it.”
Sam rolls over towards Cas and lays his head against his husband’s chest,
worming his arms around him and holding him tight. “I trust you.”
“Doesn’t matter. It’s way out of my comfort zone, Sam.”
Shame, Sam wants the pain and the crushing pressure. He wants to feel the air
leave his lungs, as his heart pounds and his throat burns.
“Alright then, we can try something else,” Sam says, and he spends the next
morning binge reading about the humiliating things he can let Cas do to him.
...
“I want you to rape me,” Sam says, between frantic kisses, while Cas is lying
buck-naked on top of him, his hard cock poking his hips.
“Woah, what?” Cas says, pulling back.
Sam’s face burns hot but he barrels on, not avoiding Castiel’s gaze.
“Just pretend rape,” Sam says, and it sounds nasty even to his ears.
He doesn’t sugarcoat it. He tells Cas he wants to be tackled to the bed, and
mounted against his will. “I want you to hit me. Hard. You can twist my arm,
spit at me, slap my face. Anything you want.”
Cas pushes off of him, and there, the moment is lost. Sam can see that Cas’
erection hasn’t wilted, so perhaps it’s not the idea that’s a complete turn
off, but how new this is to them. Castiel’s face is pained though, his features
contorted.
“What’s going on, Sam?” He asks, exasperated.
“I told you--”
“No, I’m sorry," Cas retorts. "It just doesn’t make sense. We’ve been together
for, what, 18 years? You've never wanted this before.”
“Well, I want it now.”
“You can’t just spring something like this on me while we’re already in bed
together.”
“I want us to try something different. Keep things interesting, you know.”
“Yeah, but since when have you welcomed any roughhousing, Sam?”
“Since today. What, I can’t share my newfound fantasies with my own husband? Is
it a crime that I wanna try something different?” Sam says and he doesn’t know
whether he wants to push on or break down, and confess his sins. 
Cas breathes in deeply and it looks like he’s trying to wrap his head around
this.
His wife has a point; Sam should be able to share if he wants to get off the
beaten track, no matter how taboo or crazy his suggestion is, Cas reasons to
himself. He just doesn’t know why he feels he’s lost his footing all of a
sudden. His Sam is vanilla and also somewhat traumatized by his parents and
society. Violence, in whichever form, makes him sick—that's the Sam Cas knows.
Cas can’t be blamed if he’s a bit taken aback (and maybe somewhat worried) that
Sam, out of the blue, wants to be pinned down and mounted as he pretends to
struggle, or worse, have the oxygen choked right out of him.
“You’re right. There’s nothing wrong with speaking up. But let’s take it
slowly, shall we? I wanna make sure you know what you’re getting into when you
ask for something or another.”
“But Cas—”
“Sam! I’m not shaming you for wanting this, I promise. I just wanna know it’s
coming from a healthy place, alright?”
Sam nods, touched by his husband’s concern and caution. Even in the heart of
his rut, Castiel is still sensitive, thinking of Sam and his safety first. Sam
doesn’t deserve him.
“Alright, come here and kiss me, Romeo,” Sam says, and Cas doesn’t wait to be
asked twice. He immediately seals their mouths together, then slides his tongue
into Sam’s mouth, and really tastes him. He lines himself up, and pushes into
Sam in one hard thrust, then he pumps away, his hips snapping.
...
Some time in the next three days, and after some coaxing and negotiations,
Castiel comes around.
Sam gets tied to the bed as Cas pounds hard into him. He gets spanked raw with
a wooden spoon until he’s tearful. He’s rammed against a wall, and held, as Cas
fucks him with his fist, and it hurts like a motherfucker, but Sam takes it
like a trooper. When it becomes too much, too humiliating, Sam reminds himself
that he’s nothing but a filthy, lying whore.
He repeats the line in his head on a loop.
With every line they cross, Cas seems to feel more encouraged, and his
domineering alpha slowly comes to the surface, until finally, Cas holds nothing
back and throws him on the bed, tears his clothes off and takes him roughly
from behind. Sam squirms and tries to get away but Cas pins him down with his
weight and rams deep into him. He gags Sam with his own torn underwear to
muffle his growls and screams. It’s perfect in how undignified it is and how
much it hurts, Sam thinks.
His tears pour freely throughout the ordeal, his fist gripping the sheets like
a vice, and his legs flailing. Later, it's Cas who looks a little shaken, and
Sam has to assure him (in a voice made hoarse by screaming) that the tears were
part of “the game", that Sam himself got carried away in their role playing.
Whatever they do, Sam often reaches climax but he always comes from his dick,
never squirts. His asshole pumps slick, but that’s it. It doesn't gush like it
does when his son touches him. Only Dean seems to know how to coax this
maddening brand of orgasm out of him. Only Dean can make him tremble with it.
It feels like another betrayal to Cas, but at least he’s trying to make it up
to him in other ways, Sam tells himself.
No one gets to dominate him like Cas does, only Cas has the green light to
treat his body like this, Sam promises, body bruised and ego shattered. Only
Cas, he whispers to himself faintly as his heat wanes and as they settle down
and his eyes finally flutter shut after a long day. 
No one gets to break him or humiliate him except Cas. He won’t allow it. 
….
Castiel rings the doorbell to the the upper-class Beaux-Arts townhouse in
Coldwater Hills compound—the house he used to call home once upon a time.
He’s welcomed inside by Jill, a young maid working for his parents. She informs
him that his sister Naomi is waiting for him in the upstairs living room.
He really hasn’t been in this area of the house for an awfully long time.
He walks up, knocks before entering, and Castiel lights up when he sees Adam
sitting on Naomi’s lap.

“Aw, there's my little buddy,” he says. Adam jumps off and runs into Castiel’s
open arms. 
Castiel lifts up his boy, and goes to kiss Naomi hello.
They chat a bit and Naomi apologetically explains that she couldn’t follow
through with Sam’s instructions on potty training. By Sam’s standards, Adam’s
too far behind. By traditional standards, he’s doing OK.
“Mom kept guilt tripping me,” Naomi explains, sheepishly. “She says these
things shouldn’t be rushed. That if Adam prefers being diapered until he's 5
even, we should indulge the boy. You know mom.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Cas says. “I know how difficult this little one can
get. He’s very reluctant to potty train and we’ve been pulling our hair trying
to make it happen. Well, more Sam than me. But yeah, it’s hard.”
“It’s hard,” Adam repeats, like he’s part of the conversation. “Is hard for me
too, daddy.”
Both Naomi and Cas laugh.
“I bet it is, buddy," Cas says.
“Alright, let me change his diapers and then you’re ready to go. I packed
everything up after you called,” says Naomi. “Adam, wanna come with?”
“Yeah,” the boy says nodding.
“Perfect. Thanks, sis.”
“And oh, poppa wants to see you before you take off. He’s in his study with
Hael. They’re talking business. Give them five, ten minutes tops, and they’ll
be done.”
Castiel’s stomach does a backflip, and he swallows audibly. He was hoping this
would be a quick in-and-out.
“Sure, yeah. You go ahead, Naomi,” he says, sighing.
Naomi takes Adam away and instead of waiting in the living room, Cas decides to
venture out.
His old bedroom is on the same floor. He imagines it’s where Dean will set camp
if he moves here.
Castiel walks up to it, feeling a little strange and out of place in his
childhood home. He turns the doorknob experimentally and it’s not locked. He
takes one step in, flips on the light switch, and looks around the room—it’s a
time capsule of his childhood, immaculately preserved since he moved out.
He’s got time to kill so he walks inside, and scans the framed family photos on
the wall. He stops at one with him and his four siblings, crammed into the
frame, and his right hand comes up, about to touch ...
"Reliving the great old days?"
Castiel tosses over his shoulders. It's his brother Lucian, as savagely
handsome as ever, leaning against the door frame, plastering on that signature
lawyer-smile, the one that never reaches his eyes.
"I wouldn't go as far as calling them great," Cas responds, with a smirk.
“Oh, Cassie.”
Cas does them both a favor and blows past his brother’s use of that silly
childhood nickname. Lucian, 10 years his senior, probably still sees him as the
shaggy-haired little boy whom he helped put in line. So Cas lets it slide, and
pulls up his guard instead.
"What can I say? We’re not the Huxtables,” Castiel says. Or they are, with a
lot of disciplining and browbeating.“We’ve had some good times. Some very bad
times.”
The last words are said with an edge, but it looks like Lucian is willing to
push past it.
There was a time when Castiel had looked up to his big brother, even followed
him around everywhere and hung on to his every word. But that time is more than
long gone. Outside of the few family gatherings that Cas has showed up to over
the years, they rarely ever talk. The two brothers haven’t been in the same
room for at least a couple of years, now.
Their relationship has been chilly ever since Cas eloped.
He fell out of favor with almost everyone back then, he remembers. Cas managed
to rebuild his relationship with his mom and Naomi, to an extent, but only
years later.
Cas and his other brothers—Hael and Michael—remained distant too. He and his
dad has somewhat of a cold war going on, but that preceded Sam. Their
personalities always clashed.
"There's been some rumblings. Your boy is moving up here?"
"I haven't decided yet," Cas responds firmly. "Dean’s moving out. Perhaps he'll
come here, perhaps I’ll let him board at St. Apollo, or any of the other ivy
schools."
"Didn't think that it would ever come to that, that you'd even consider having
your kid here. I mean you bolted at the first chance you got."
"Yeah, well, things change. We grow older. We see things in new light." Cas
speaks the words with a small smile, but there's tension there.
He feels weird discussing this with his brother, as estranged as they are, when
he still hasn’t had the chance to break it to Sam, or warn Dean this is in the
cards. He knows Lucian is not encroaching, per se, but it sure as hell feels
like it at the moment.
“Does this new light shine on your relationship with pop as well? Or is this
part still in the dark?”
Lucian calls him pop, Naomi and Hael call him poppa, Castiel just calls him
father; always had.
“What are you talking about, Lucian? I talk to father all the time.”
“You call those clipped phone conversations every few weeks talking? Brother,
I’ve been in courtrooms that were less formal. Same goes for how you treat us
all, if I’m being honest.”
“Be that as it may, Lucian, it’s as good as it gets for us. Your pop tossed me
out on my ass. And you practically locked the door behind me—”
“You chose to leave us, brother. Besides, I seem to remember a few choice
phrases coming out of your mouth the night you left.”
“You’re even more in denial than I remember,” Cas says, but there’s no heat
behind it. He’s not angling for a fight at all. “He may have been a good father
to you, Lucian. Still is. But all he’s done for me is set the land speed record
for messed up childhoods!”
“Don’t be overdramatic, Cassie.”
Cas desperately wants to correct him. Tell him it’s Cas. Cassie practically
doesn’t exist anymore. Besides, it’s patronizing as hell. But he decides to
save this conversation for later. They’re already getting off on the wrong
foot.
“Look, Lucian. Point is, don’t expect father and I to bury the hatchet and hug
it out any time soon. We have a complicated relationship, always did, but ...
at least now we’re dealing.”
“So Dean,” Lucian says, backpedaling. “Is he on board with this?”
“He doesn’t have much of a say if Sam and I decide it’s the right idea.”
"I see." A pause. "Does this mean you and your omega have reverted?"
"Reverted?" Castiel asks incredulously, his face momentarily losing its forced
cool.
"You know what I mean, Cassie."
"I don't, actually,” he says stubbornly, and to his ears, he sounds like Dean.
“That so? Because, to me, it looks like you’re having some sort of an about
face.”
“Lucian. First off, it’s Sam, not my omega. He’s my partner, not my slave,” Cas
says, shoulders tensing despite knowing that referring to omegas plainly by
their sexual gender is only un-PC in his circles. In the seedy underbelly of
traditionalism, Sam would actually be referred to as his bitch.
“Noted,” Lucian says cooly. If there’s any hint of mockery there, Castiel
doesn’t sense it.
“Second off, he and I? We’re still the same people we've always been. Nothing's
changed on that front. Won’t ever."
"So you do know what I mean," Lucian says with a smile that is neither fond nor
unkind.
"Hey, you wanna wake sleeping dogs?" Cas says, shooting him a harsh look.
They’ve learned to carefully dance around their differences over the years. Cas
doesn’t think they should stop now. Lucian seems to be on board because he
backs off a notch.
"Alright, chill,” he says, waving a hand dismissively. “Didn't mean to ruffle
your feathers."
"You didn't,” Castiel huffs, not wanting to give Lucian the satisfaction of
seeing him agitated, but feeling he just did nonetheless. “Just please, don't
assume things from here on.”
"Sure, brother. Whatever you say," Lucian says, one side of his lips quirking,
at least half-amused at Castiel's growing chagrin, and it's quite typical of
Lucian, Castiel thinks. He’s the only one who knows exactly which buttons to
push. Cas wants to tell him to grow up, but he bites his tongue. He doesn’t
want to sound like he’s 10.
“Thank you.”
“I mean, as long as you don't mind our lifestyle, we won't mind yours. If Dean
moves under this roof, however, it’s pop’s house rules all the way and nothing
else.”
“I'm aware.”
Instead of letting the conversation drag on, Cas opens a connecting door and
moves to the adjoining room. It used to belong to Naomi, but when their brother
Hael moved out with his wife to a multi-million-dollar maisonette, she lay
claim to his room—more spacious and opens up to a large, luminous terrace—and
now hers is empty.
Of his four siblings, Lucian and Naomi are the ones who remained here - Lucian
by choice (he divides his time between the family house and a private penthouse
that he owns in the city), and Naomi because she's not allowed to leave until
she's married off—if she ever is. In traditional families, alpha girls are
still married off, and their fates are, more or less, decided by the head of
the household.
Knowing his mother, she will most probably remove the bed from Naomi's old
room, refurbish it and give it to Dean too. Connected like this, Castiel’s and
Naomi’s old rooms will feel like a separate apartment. That is, if Dean ends up
moving here, as per Plan B.
Or is it Plan A? Castiel doesn’t have the faintest idea. He’ll have to talk to
Sam first.
His attention shifts back to the ridiculously large rooms and they make Castiel
feel uneasy: Dean's move from their modest house, and his relatively small
bedroom, to Cas's childhood home—a seven-bed sprawling townhouse with dark
interiors, arched doorways, custom-designed furniture and a small flock of
live-in housekeepers can prove to be more than a little unsettling.
Castiel lived here. He knows how it feels: jarringly lavish, never warm or
inviting. Suffocating. Foreign. Ridden with rules. The luxurious veneer more
punishing than comforting.
The traditional alpha-omega-specific habits, and the underlying sexism therein,
are the cherry on top.
If their situation were different, he'd never let his older son touch this
over-the-top lifestyle with a 10-foot pole. But Dean could use a firm hand.
Besides, Sam and Cas’ well-baked plans for Dean, in line with their choices and
philosophy, have been set askew ever since Dean turned full alpha and showed,
in actions and sometimes in words, that he wanted something different.
He heard Lucian stepping up behind him.
“You broke with tradition, kept us out of your life for years, rebuffed all our
efforts to go back to what we were before, even after pop took you back,”
Lucian starts again, reciting Castiel’s greatest hits like he’s keeping a
running tally.
It seems that Lucian’s never going to let him live this down and he has the
gall to call him overdramatic. Cas doesn’t even know why his brother is
doggedly dwelling on the past right now. It seems they’re going in circles.
He zips it, however, and patiently waits for the crescendo.
“I don’t even know what the inside of your house looks like, Cas,” Lucian
barrels on. “But trust me, if Dean ever makes the move here, he’ll be looked
after. We’re still family, you know.”
His brother’s voice is casual, but his gait is formal. His hands are tucked in
his front pants pockets, shoulders straight, like a lawyer negotiating a deal.
He fixes Castiel with a steady look, and for a second, Cas feels like the “baby
brother” again, Cassie, his big brother looming large over him, boring holes in
his brain, and sifting through his thoughts.
“Yeah,” Cas answers succinctly. He doesn’t need any reassurances from Lucian.
For all their differences, Castiel knows that his mother loves him, and, on
some level, the rest of his family does care for him; they’d never hurt Dean,
not on purpose at least. He wouldn’t have considered moving him up here for a
second if it were any other way. In fact—and it saddens him to say it—his son
will probably warm up to their ways.
“Anyway, I’ll go check on dad and Hael. See if they’re done,” Castiel says, and
pushes past his brother. “Nice talk.”
When he’s out in the hallway and away from Lucian, he finally feels he can
breathe again.
…..
Cas would like to grease the wheels with his father.
For Dean moving up here to ever work out (with Cas slipping in some of his and
Sam’s rules too), he’ll have to be as agreeable as he can in the next juncture.
Heading towards his dad’s study, Castiel tries to will his posture into
becoming less defensive. His shoulders are kinda stiff so he relaxes them, and
he stretches his neck to relieve the tightness at its base. He takes a deep
breath and exhales slowly. He can do this.He won’t get vexed and won’t argue.
...
He and Hael brush shoulders as Cas moves into his father’s study, as cold and
unnerving as ever. The brothers nod towards each other and reluctantly stop for
a few seconds to observe the niceties.
“Castiel.”
“Hael.”
“I trust you’re well.”
“All good. You?”
“Can’t complain,” Hael responds, with a polite smile.
“Great,” says Cas, returning it.
“Sorry, I gotta run. See you around, Cas.”
“Take care then. Send my regards to your family.”
“And mine to yours, please.”
His father, as imposing as ever, is at his large mahogany desk, still looking
over some scattered papers, his reading glasses perched low on his nose and
tilted.
Castiel clears his throat to get his attention.
“Father,” he says.
“Sit down, Castiel,” Henry says without so much as a glance in his direction.
Castiel takes a seat, and waits for him to finish reading. Of all his brothers,
physically Cas looks like his father the most. They’re both six-feet tall,
solidly built, with raven black hair—though his father’s has morphed to silver
as he aged—and those signature piercing blue eyes. The ironic thing is that
they couldn’t be more further apart as people.
Castiel’s worrying his lips between his teeth when his father finally puts
aside the papers and takes his glasses off, his eyes moving to Castiel’s face
and boring into him.
“It’s good to finally see you,” his father says, his face straight, looking him
up and down. Knowing his father, it could mean anything from Idon’t see you
enough and it's your fault, to you’re an ungrateful little shit.
“It’s good to see you too, father,” Cas says, tilting his chin up.
He waits expectantly for his father to say something, but he doesn’t.
“Ehm, Naomi mentioned you wanted to talk,” Cas says, because even these few
seconds of silence are stretching his patience.
At his son’s prompt, Henry jumps straight into it, making Castiel’s head spin.
"The Lupercalia. It’s in 7 weeks. As agreed, you’ll be there with your family
so I’d like to set some ground rules,” he says a little harshly.
“I’m listening, father,” Cas says.  
“The first rule: No politics. None of the ‘progressive’ talk at any of the
functions. Zero tolerance, Castiel. Least of all during dinners with the other
families,” Henry says. “Never slip up, and don't ever think you're too old to
go over my knee, if you do.”
Castiel swallows his pride and burning desire to lash back, and nods slowly
instead. The other families will probably be free to talk Alpha-omega politics
all they want, even throw snide comments at his and Sam’s lifestyle if they so
choose. He won’t be allowed to defend it or himself, that’s all. This is what
his father is essentially saying.
But he promised himself he’d indulge Henry.
"Fair enough,” Cas says, when there’s nothing fair about it. “That can be
managed, father.”
“Is Sam familiar with the event? I know his family is traditional as they
come.”
“They are. But as far as I understand, the Campbells follow Pan. And it's a
different ritual altogether, father. We mark it in the spring, they celebrate
in the fall. We party. They go hunting, and camp in the wilderness for a few
days. And it's only Alphas who're invited to take part in their Lupercalia so
naturally, Sam's never been to one.”
“Hurm. The Campbells are good people. I guess sometimes, the apple does fall
far from the tree.”
There are so many things Castiel wants to say to this, but he bites his tongue
and chooses the path of least resistance.
“I don’t know about that, father. Sam doesn’t have very fond memories of them.”
“Anyway,” his father says, waving a hand. “Here's something else you should do:
help him get familiar with the practice, Faunus, the feast ... so he knows what
to expect.”
“Neither of us observe these things,” Cas says. “But I imagine Sam would enjoy
reading about the folklore-part anyway. I'll get him a book or something. Do
you mind if I borrow one from your library?”
Henry takes a moment to come to grips with this, before moving past it,
unlocking his steady gaze from Castiel’s as he does.
“Help yourself. Moving on. We’ll be staying at the Sunset Ridge for 10 days. No
kids under 16 allowed. I expect you to be there for all ten,” Henry says.
Sunset Ridge is their estate up in Telluride. A sight for sore eyes. Really, it
steals one’s words away. Lying within 40 acres of land on a private peninsula.
Surrounded by mountains and overlooks a few ponds. Sullied by awful memories.
Castiel hates it.
“But father, there's Adam, and I can’t be away from work for that long. I just
got promoted, and I don’t think I should—”
“—Castiel!” Henry says, his voice raised. “Son, let me make it clear, in case
you misunderstood what's going on here. This wasn’t a suggestion, and this is
not a negotiation. You just got handed down a rule. And I’m not a big fan of
disobedience. This is your son’s first Lupercalia as an Alpha Winchester. We’ll
do this right. So, put your affairs in order and make it happen. Show some
respect.”
“Yes, father,” Cas says, his lips pursed. See, totally agreeable. Not vexed at
all. He meets his father’s eyes though, without flinching.
Pushing his advantage, his father continues: “You’ll be present for all meals
at the main table. No shutting yourself out. On the eve of the Lupercalia,
we’ll dine at Samuel Colt’s. This year he’s hosting. Don and Maggie Stark’s son
is also an alpha coming of age. He’ll be celebrated too. We’ll be joined by the
Braedens. The Talbots. The Vanderbilts. Samhain and a couple of his omegas. His
wife can’t make it. Bobby Singer of course, and Caleb too. Father Delaney and
Jim Murphy. Cain and Collete Mullen. And oh, Lilith and Alastair.”
Mostly old money families like them. And incidentally, a collection of
Castiel’s least favorite people on the planet, except for Bobby and Pastor Jim.
He knows his father is proud of Dean—or rather, proud of officially adding
another alpha to the family tree. Still, Henry is emphasising the importance of
this mainly for his son’s sake, but Castiel is already dreading the Lupercalia,
and all the small confrontations and big discomforts it can bring.
His father proceeds, “On the day itself, there will be a grand feast at Blue
Earth Church and more families will join. You remember your first Lupercalia?
It means something to us.”
“Right,” Castiel huffs.
“Optics are of grave importance at events like this, Castiel. I expect your
wife to look the part.”
And here it comes.
“I’m sorry I don’t follow. Look the part?” Castiel says, his defenses coming up
and it shows in his tone. “Look the part how?”
“The least he can do is not look like an alpha that smells like an omega,”
Henry barks at him. Sam has always been a sore spot for his father. “Not in
your realm, but some people get offended by this.”
Sam will murder Cas, and then bury his lifeless body at the foot of those
beautiful Telluride mountains, if he ever goes along with this.
“What, you want Sam to wear a dress? We both know that’s not gonna happen,
father.”
People dress up for the Lupercalia and the gender differences are usually very
pronounced in the dress code, almost vulgarly so. But Cas won’t push this on
Sam. 
“Omega dress robes or a kilt will do,” Henry says dismissively.
“Tall order,” Castiel blurts.
Henry stares daggers at him, his eyes darkening. Castiel takes a deep breath.
He tries not to let this—his father, the atmosphere, the talk—get under his
skin. “Look, father, I can promise to run it by him, and see how he feels. It’s
his decision after all,” Cas says, and he chooses the last words deliberately.
He knows he’s rubbing it in.
“I'm sure I don't care for your tone,” Henry says.
“No disrespect, father. I’ll suit up. But I can’t force my wife into anything.
It’s not how we do things in my household. If he doesn’t want to abide by the
traditionalist dress code, I can’t make him.”
As far as Cas is concerned, the bargaining scope is not wide when it comes to
this issue.
“Can’t or wont’?”
“Can’t, won’t. Both, either. Does it make a difference?”
Henry shakes his head, and looks away.
He's displeased, but he's not exploding in his face. And Castiel will grant him
this; it looks like his father is actively restraining himself too. Castiel
respects that he’s trying, struggling even, to put up with their differences
and to make this as civilized as possible.
Sometimes his father is a typical knothead, and sometimes, like now, he’s
patient enough that Cas can almost, almost forget he has a few omega mistresses
on the side and that he used to be a member of an elite S&M Alpha-Omega club as
a younger man … one that incidentally, Lucian (he hears) is a regular at.
“Will he at least be on suppressants? We don’t need him distracting people.”
By distracting, his father means tempting, and by tempting, he means asking for
it, as some alpha douchebags think omega men always are.
When they’re pounding alcohol and feasting, alphas’ hands can wander, and their
judgement can get clouded. Especially during the Lupercalia. It’s like spring
break for alpha-omega adults. The lavish parties can turn lewd, and some people
exhibit and scene without shame, and though Castiel doesn’t plan to be part of
any of this being so far removed from this lifestyle, he won’t be able to
control his surroundings at all times.
At the Lupercalia, they’ll be neck-deep in the armpit of traditionalism.
Castiel attended only one but it’s still etched in his memory.
“I don’t like him being on suppressants, but I think Sam won’t mind if it’s
absolutely necessary. … You think it is?” Cas is now genuinely asking, getting
a little perturbed.
“We’re not barbarians. You’ll be around some of the best in this country. I
don’t have to explain the ABCs of who we are, and who we know, to my own son.
No one would dare make any serious advances towards your omega, but omega
scents are quite strong, enticing, even intoxicating and yours is a man, so
it’s double the trouble. Use your imagination a little. The scent may invite
some touches, some words. People will be happy, drinking each other under the
table. Most families there are very open. Expect some propositions to share
your wife, even.”
“That’s outrageous—”
“The fainter the scent, the more you’ll be at peace. That’s all I’m saying. I
don’t like suppressants either. They’re against nature. I'd suggest using a
collar, or public reclaiming, but I know you're a snowflake. So here we are. …
I’ll leave this to you to sort out.”
So basically, Cas is being simultaneously asked to put his wife in a skirt to
flaunt his omega, while keeping his scent smothered in order to fend off the
voyeuring drunken pervs and the sexual deviants “among the best people in this
country.” Either this or he’s left with the revoltingly embarrassing option of
mounting Sam somewhere public in front of strangers, family and friends as a
preemptive measure, or wait, collaring him like cattle.
Such a lovely culture, Cas thinks sarcastically. He can hardly wait for all the
festivities to begin.
After a beat, Castiel slants a look in his father’s direction. His father is
resting his elbows on his desk, fingers steepled, giving him his time to mull
this over, and Castiel thinks perhaps this specific forewarning is his father
actually accommodating him and Sam. He’s obviously trying to spare them the
unwanted attention, and he thinks that being blunt about it like this will ease
Castiel in, or at least give him a heads up.
If he wasn't so uncomfortable, Cas might even appreciate the gesture. In
another life, maybe.
“I’ll talk to Sam about the pills.”
“You see to it, then. Questions?”
There’s no way Cas can broach the idea of bringing Dean here, right now
(frankly, he’s not even sure he wants to anymore. He’ll have to scope out all
the possibilities first), so he just shakes his head.
“No. Thank you, father.”
“Great. Tell Dean he should come visit his grandpa more often,” he says
gruffly.
“I will,” Cas responds, standing up.
“Take care, now,” Henry says, and he’s already popping open his laptop, and it
lands like a Dismissed on Castiel’s ears.
Well, it still went better than he thought it would.
They had a conversation of sorts. It wasn't all one sided—sure, the bar is low,
but this is him and his father. Therefore, all things considered, this wasn't
entirely disastrous.
Castiel hurries out and goes looking for Naomi. He wants to fetch Adam so that
they can be on their way.
When he does, he’s out of his childhood home along with his son as quick as he
can. He feels like he wants to take some time to recover from the two short but
strenuous conversations he's had with his father and sibling before he sees Sam
again, so he swings by the nearest grease pit, orders burgers and fries with
Adam and just kicks back.
He soaks up the neighborly feel of the place, and how down-to-Earth and noisy
it is, compared to where he just came from.
Since Dean is coming back home tonight, Cas orders some pie to go before he
settles the check—a sort of a peace offering to his son.
Then Castiel drives them back to Sam, to normalcy, to the familiar. They’ll
watch Netflix together, Castiel thinks, and when the kids are asleep, they’ll
slip out of their clothes, go to bed and cuddle. Everything will be alright
with the world again.
….
A few days later ...
Dean is turning 16 in less than two weeks.
Cas and Sam want to buy Dean a car for his birthday—well, Cas more than Sam.
The latter is still nervous about Dean driving so he’s not as enthusiastic.
Cas calls Dean into their living room and sits him down to discuss it. He can't
just spring a gift like this on his son without getting his opinion, not with
Dean being the car enthusiast that he is.
“I was going to surprise you but I thought I better not. You’re not a kid
anymore. So the least I can do is let you choose your wheels. You gotta have a
say … Besides, you’ve been quite unpredictable lately with your likes and
dislikes. So better leave this in your hands. But nothing too expensive, De.
I’m on a budget here.”
“Awesome, dad. I’ve got something in mind, actually. It’s at Uncle Bobby’s.”
“You’ve got an eye on something in a scrap yard? What, a piece of junk?”
“Dad, it’s anything butpiece of junk, trust me. Let me show you, please.”
“Alright, how about we swing by tomorrow?”
So they do.
...
When they’re at Bobby’s the next day, and Dean shows him, it's clearly not what
Cas expects to see. It’s a dented 1967 Chevy Impala. Black. Leather seats. Hard
top. The kinda car a bad boy would drive (and eventually crash).
Cas quirks an eyebrow and gives his son an Are you kidding me? look. Dean
responds with a shit-eating grin.
Cas circles it, inspecting it, trying to give it the benefit of the doubt.
It’s in great shape, a beast of a car, and it’s got attitude like his son. But
Cas is on a budget, not a shoe-string budget. He can afford something more
high-end for his son, certainly something better than a car manufactured at
least three decades before Dean was born. Besides, it doesn't look like a daily
driver and Cas is pretty sure no insurance company is going to cover a teenager
driving it.
“Dean, are you sure about this?”
“100 percent.”
“Dean’s right on the money. It’s a Rottweiler of a muscle car, Castiel,” Bobby
says.
“It’s on a league of its own, dad!” Dean barges in, and it’s been a while since
Cas had seen his son this hopped up—he’s eyeballing the Impala like it’s the
hottest thing he’s ever seen.
“It’s the kinda car that when people stop next to at the light, they lock their
doors,” Bobby says. “Wait and see how she looks when I bang out the dents and
give her a spit shine.”
Castiel doesn’t doubt that if anyone can restore this monster of a car to its
mint condition, it’s Bobby.
Bobby opens up the hood. “390 four barrel, 385 horses. A little TLC and this
thing is cherry,” he says.
“The standard is 275 hp, but Uncle Bobby upgraded the horsepower quite a bit
with an engine rebuild,” Dean explains.
“Added a disc brake kit to the front wheels too, brand new suspension …”
“He also retrofitted a power rack and pinion,” Dean cuts in again, filling in
the gaps.
“Six inch travel, so top of the line,” Bobby says. At Castiel’s blank
expression, he elaborates, “We’re looking at smoother, more responsive steering
here. Better maneuverability.”
“Oh. And a new $2,000 AC system,” Dean says with a wink.
“It’s sealed off well, too. So you won’t have to worry about venting coming
through the doors,” Bobby adds.
Bobby and Dean continue their back-and-forth, giving Cas a run down of the
car’s specs, fuel efficiency, all the upgrades, including an updated alarm
system apparently. In short, the whole nine.
Castiel only understands half of it. But he’s impressed with how his son seems
to know the vehicle inside out. In one of his past lives, Dean must have been a
mechanic or something.
Cas is also surprised at how much Bobby has invested in the car to begin with.
It’s like he used the original chassis as a skeleton to build on, and turned it
into this beautiful, powerful thing.
Dean calls it a “work of art”. Cas wouldn’t go that far, but it is indeed a
labor of love.
“Top speed?”
“98 to 100,” Bobby shoots back.
“Not bad for a car this old," Cas says.
“And it’s not just in theory, I gave it a trial run,” Dean says excitedly.
“Goes from 0 to 100 in five seconds. Dad, you can chase demons with this baby.
It’s probably 40 but goddamn, it’s still badass.”
“Not helping the decision-making, Dean,” Cas says. “I don’t want you ever going
over 60 mph. And that’s an order.”
“Yes, sir,” Dean says, with a smile.
“Also, you better watch your language around me, young man.”
“Sir, yes, sir.”
Castiel is barely covering a smirk. He knows he’s being petty. It’s not like
Dean doesn’t say worse things in front of him. Dean seems to know it too, and
it’s why he’s giving him cheek.
Castiel just stares at the car for an extra minute. Honestly, Cas was thinking
along the lines of a Toyota Prius, a Subaru, a Chevy Cruze or even a used Buick
LaCrosse. Safe choices all of them. He wanted something fitted with some new
technologies that can help them avoid accidents—a modern, decent car with blind
spot monitoring, automatic braking and the ability to set speed restrictions.
Something more suitable for a hot-blooded teen like Dean so he and his mom
won't have to endure panic attacks every time he's out and about.
But it looks like his son is only interested in this passion purchase, and
Castiel did make him a promise. Whatever he likes as long as the price is not
over board. And it’s not, by a wide margin.
Besides, it’s not perfect, but with all the numerous upgrades, conversions and
the brand new parts, Cas gotta admit it looks reliable.
Man, Sam won’t be happy about this.Cas is married to the alpha-iest omega in
town. Multiple Helicopter-Parent-of-the-Year award winner. He’ll probably tear
him a new one when he knows about this monster of a muscle car - upgrades or
not.
When it comes to their sons, Sam can be quite picky ... and pretty scary.
“So?” Dean asks.
“Final verdict?” Bobby says.
“Let’s do it.”
“Yeah!” Dean and Bobby say together.
Dean gives Bobby’s fist a bump and after a moment’s hesitation, hugs Castiel.
It’s very brief, their chests barely touching, and Castiel wonders if his son
feels uncomfortable being close to him, because it feels like it sometimes.
It’s partly Castiel’s making; they’re used to spending days without any
meaningful contact.
Castiel takes Bobby aside to discuss payment, but the man won’t have it. He
refuses the very idea of taking a penny from Cas.
“Argh, you’re a fool if I ever saw one. I’m not taking your money.”
“Bobby, don’t be ridiculous. Of course, I’m paying.”
“Look, I meant to give it to Dean anyway. But only after talking to you, of
course. I pimped her up for him. Besides, the boy already worked on this car
plenty.”
“Be that as it may, it’s my gift to him. It’s his 16th. That’s big, Bobby. He’s
not gonna come of age everyday. I gotta at least chip in, you know,” Castiel
says, and really, the cost is nothing to him. It’s probably less than half of
what he’d planned to pay for a brand new teen-friendly car.
"Pick him something else, then. Besides the Impala.”
“Bobby, come on—”
“Tell you what? He doesn’t even have to know it’s from me.”
“Well, that’s not fair.”
“Cas, for all I know the car’s always been Dean’s. D’you know the kid named her
already?”
“That so? What does he call it?”
“Hey, don’t let him catch you speaking of her like some inanimate thing. It’s a
her, and it’s Baby according to Dean.”
“Baby?” Castiel huffs a laugh. “Wow! Frankly, I thought he was a little too
infatuated. Didn’t realise he went ahead and fell in love.”
“You see the way he fawns over her?”
Castiel laughs because he did, and what he’s seen? It edges on being lust.
“Yeah, like he wants to marry the thing and have her babies,” Castiel jokes.
“Idjit,” Bobby says, and he means Dean. It’s very fond.
Cas is suddenly reminded that Bobby sort of considers himself a second father
to Dean. He really is always happy to step up and take care of him when Sam’s
in heat. And he’s always been patient and very kind to his boy.
He can understand where it all comes from. Bobby had quite a rough upbringing
and he lost his wife to cancer a few years back. No siblings. No
children. Aside from his dogs and a couple of friends, Bobby doesn’t have
anyone besides Castiel’s family.
They’re not even family by blood, he’s sort of an “honorary relative” who was
taken in by Henry Winchester’s cousin Charles.
Charles had unofficially adopted him when Bobby Singer’s old man, who was
working on Charles’ ranch, shot himself. Bobby was a young teenager at the
time.
“Family doesn’t end in blood, boy,” Charles had told Bobby back then.
Ever since, he’d been considered part of the family, a “third cousin” of sorts
who’s always been around, always present at big family functions. He’d
inherited a sum of money when Charles had died, but his wife’s illness had
exhausted most of the funds.
If gifting the car to Dean means this much to Bobby, perhaps Cas should make
him a part of it.
...
In the end, Cas and Bobby agree to split the cost 50-50. Cas, of course,
doesn’t forget to tell Dean that the gift’s from Bobby too. Dean thanks them
both profusely.
They go for a test drive. Dean can’t wait to get behind the wheels apparently
and try it out with his father. Cas has to admit that he’s excited too. The car
is huge and intimidating, and a little eccentric for a teen, but it’s smooth.
The seats are comfortable, and it looks like the engine rumble is music to
Dean’s ears.
They’ll have to add an iPod jack though. Castiel can’t imagine Dean listening
to cassette tapes. When Cas suggests it, Dean grimaces, however.
“It’s not necessary, dad.”
“But who listens to tapes now?”
“Well, maybe I should start. I listen to classic rock bands. Bet I can find
their cassettes on ebay.”
Cas raises an eyebrow. “Really, you’d do that?”
“Sure. I mean we’re supposed to take care of this sweetheart, not douche her
up.”
Cas barks out laughing. Yup, the boy’s in love alright.
“Fair enough. Your car, your rules, Dean.”
“Hell yeah!”
They can’t drive it back home yet. There’s still minor repair work left (Bobby
will hammer out those dents too). There’s paperwork, and Bobby still has to
transfer the title and registration to Dean.
On their way back to Bobby’s yard, however, Dean is squirming in his seat, and
Cas can tell that the kid wants to go faster. A moment later, he does ask
Castiel if he can pump up the speed a little and show him what the car’s got.
“Sure, why not?” Cas sighs, defeated by Dean’s own rendition of puppy
eyes—something he inherited from Sam.
His son lights up like a Christmas tree as they gain speed; his eyes full of so
much fire. Riding shotgun beside his son, Cas feels like he’s finally bonding
with Dean. It’s their moment. Just a father and his son shooting down the road.
Cas realizes that he’ll have to sully Dean’s happiness soon by talking about
switching schools and moving out. It sends a cold chill to his heart, and
Castiel almost wants to change his mind about it.
He wishes things were different; that they’ve had more of this, and less
butting heads and arguing. Definitely less attitude, and territorial marking.
He wishes the alphas in them would chill some, and stop rearing their heads at
every turn.
In the end, Castiel knows giving Dean a chance to find himself and explore a
different lifestyle is the right thing. He could use some disciplining too and
if there’s anything that Ivy schools, or his father’s rules, can supply in
abundance, it’s discipline.
At least it’s what Castiel tells himself. It’s the alternative version of the
other reality: that Dean is changing into something that Castiel is afraid he
can’t control. That he feels threatened, on a deeper, primal level, and he
needs Dean to back off. That Dean is clinging to his mother, and Cas can’t find
a better, less invasive way to stop it.
Castiel banishes this train of thought before it wears him down, and forces
himself to come back to the moment.
As much as it will pain him to see Dean leave, it’s inevitable.
So he’ll just have to enjoy this as it lasts.
 
                                                                       
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     It's not Beta'd yet, and I'll review it again in a couple of days
     (when I've had some distance from it), so I might re-publish the
     chapter if the edits/changes/corrections end up being substantial
     (but I doubt they will be).
     Hope you enjoy this one. As always, I'd love to get your feedback.
     Much love x
***** - Artists wanted - *****
Chapter Summary
     Calling for artists ...
Fellow AO3ers - I'd like to commission digital artwork for this fic (paid
commissions of course, with credit). If you're interested, please kindly email
a link to your art portfolio or a sample of your work to
joanna.lee.ao3@gmail.com (or leave a comment with your email / website here and
I'll definitely be in touch).
If you know someone who might be interested, please let them know about this.
I'd be truly grateful. 
Thank you very much! Hope you're enjoying the ride so far. ;-)
Much love,
Joanna xx
---- 
Update: The brilliant Vongue and the incredibly talented emilue (previously
"jarpadalecki" on Deviant Art), very kindly, gave me permission to use their
SPN digital artwork with my fics on AO3 and on my_tumblr. I love their Wincest
art so much, so this is pretty awesome news. 
p.s. I'm still looking to commission original_art tailored to Family Secrets,
and A Return to Love. If you know anyone, or if you're interested yourself,
holler at me xx
----
Sam W. photo manip/art(above): My edit [snapshot from the show with PS CS6
edits + edited royalty-free backdrop]. Please don't repost/reuse without credit
and a link back to me.
***** Out of the frying pan ... *****
Chapter Summary
     This new chapter is dedicated to Madison a.k.a. BDB4Life :-) Happy
     reading, girl, and my deepest apologies it took a while to update
     (I'm quite bummed I didn't give you a birthday update). But the good
     news is, at 11,600 words, this chapter is my longest update yet.
     Enjoy, and let me know what you think when you're done.
     Ohmymultiplegods, there's something in here for you too! Hope you
     like ;)
Chapter Notes
     Drinking age in this world is between 16 and 18, depending on
     country/state.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Dean and Sam are on talking terms again, enjoying some respite from the endless
push-and-pull and hot-and-cold cycles that ritualistically follow every sexual
encounter they have.
It’s Sam who goes out on a limb to make things work again after his son returns
from ‘exile at Bobby’s’ as Dean calls it.
His son has such a pull on him that Sam feels sick to his stomach whenever
they’re on bad terms. He knows like he knows that he can’t give Dean what he
wants, and that they keep going in circles—but he also knows (it has been
proven time and again) that there’s nothing Dean would do that Sam won’t or
can’t forgive.
So Sam makes amends: he makes Dean burgers for dinner two nights in a row, and
is generous with the onions, bakes him an apple pie, plus little things here
and there. He also doesn’t tear him a new hole for purchasing a classic car
like the Impala instead of something safer and more teen-friendly.
Of course, he does go berserk behind Dean’s back, and verbally flogs Castiel
over the choice of birthday present. Castiel’s excuse was that he faltered
under the pressure of Dean’s own rendition of the “puppy eyes” (“He got that
from you,” Cas complained. And Sam rewarded him with one of his finest bitch
faces).
But Sam, in the end, does begrudgingly accept the ‘67 Chevy Impala as part of
their family (a car which Dean not just loves, but apparently, endearingly
calls “Baby” according to Castiel.)
Finally, Sam decides there’s no way around approaching Dean and hitting the
nail on the head.
He knocks on his son’s door one afternoon and Dean lets him in … reluctantly,
if his stiff shoulders and lukewarm demeanour are anything to go by. After
unlocking the door, Dean goes back to bed, lying down on his side and giving
Sam his back.
“Can I talk you for a second?”
“No one’s stopping you, mom.”
“What I mean is we need to talk, De. I need you to look at me.”
There’s a pause before Dean turns on his back, but still avoids meeting Sam’s
eyes.
“What about?” he asks.
“Everything. Look, I really hate it when we’re fighting,” Sam says, and he
really, really can’t take it, especially that Dean’s birthday weekend is coming
up. It’s his 16th, a rite of passage of sorts, and he doesn’t want them to have
to mark this occasion when they’re distant and cold to each other. Besides, he
really wants Dean back. He misses him.
Dean remains stubbornly tight lipped for a minute before he relents and speaks.
“I hate it too,” Dean whispers. “But I don’t see an end in sight as long as—”
Dean lets the sentence trail off into the unknown.
“Dean, last time—” Sam says, then pauses to breathe. He sighs deeply. He really
doesn’t want to go there.
He finds that he’s still standing nearer to the door, so he crosses the
distance between him and his son, and plops down on the bed beside Dean. He
needs to feel close to Dean as he speaks the next words, “last time, we crossed
so many lines that we shouldn’t have crossed. I should’ve stopped you but I
didn’t. It’s on me too. And I feel guilty as hell. Your father doesn’t deserve
this, Dean. He loves me. He loves us. It’s a betrayal of not just his trust,
but his unconditional love. Something tells me you must realize this as well as
I do.”
Dean stays silent and Sam can’t read his reactions (His son has the best poker
face. He can’t tell if he’s making headway and Dean is finally relenting, or if
Dean is still being stubborn).
Sam presses on. “I don’t want to fight you on this every other day, Dean. I
need you to understand. Your feelings, they’re very much shared. You’re right.
I was in denial. But we can’t keep going back to each other, or go at each
other like this every time things don’t work. And they won’t ever. Not the way
you—or I—want them to.”
“Mom—”
“—No, Dean, listen—we, uh, we don’t have a shot, sweetheart. And I’m sorry.”
Dean frowns but remains tight-lipped. Sam can’t help raking his eyes across his
son’s body; Dean has grown so quickly recently.
His eyes keep flitting, stopping at Dean’s broad chest first then his lean
torso and finally, toned thighs and what lies between them. Dean’s shirt is
riding up and his thin sweatpants are not leaving much to the imagination and
Sam can’t help but notice that Dean is becoming thicker everywhere, hairier
too, especially below his navel and around his groin. The contours of Dean’s
pectoral muscles are evident even when he’s donning a shirt. Alphas usually
grow bigger, quickly, once they hit puberty, but goddamn, his son is a stud.
Sam feasts his eyes for a bit, gulping audibly, and hopes Dean doesn’t realise
he’s ogling.
Dean still avoids Sam’s eyes anyway when he finally speaks. “You usually love
talking things to death, mom, but this ... You get scared or confused or
whatever, and bam, I get sent away to Bobby’s for days without getting a word
in. It all happens so fast my head spins. Do you realize how fucked up this is?
And man, do I hate going away feeling like this,” he says, then adds in a
vulnerable whisper, “I hate how you make me feel.”
“Sorry, Dean. It is what it is,” Sam responds with a sense of finality and he’s
not just referring to those times when his son has to get far away from Sam’s
heat but to the future move Sam now knows he and Cas must take—Dean moving out
altogether and parting with this family for a while.
But Sam doesn’t bring this up now. He won’t, not right before Dean’s birthday.
He doesn’t want to sully it for Dean. Perhaps he’ll even wait until after the
Lupercalia. He wants his son to remember both occasions fondly. 
They stay silent for a moment. Dean continues to stare down, picking threads
off his clothes, and Sam looks at his own hands, lying idly in his lap—each
avoiding looking straight at the other.
Sam huffs a breath and straightens his back as he lies down on his son’s
relatively small bed, and stretches out his long limbs.
They barely fit and now they’re squished together shoulder to shoulder. Sam’s
face is next to Dean’s with their heads lying on the same pillow, almost
touching … close enough to turn to each other and make out or make love.
Sam takes it up a notch by putting an arm around his son and gently hauling
Dean closer.
Dean goes with it, shifting to his side and laying his head on Sam’s chest. Sam
wraps both arms around him, trying to get even closer. This is familiar, Sam
thinks. And he likes it. He misses being able to touch and kiss his son without
worrying about getting carried away or taking it too far. He wants to worm his
way into that place again, and enjoy his son as long as he’s around — which
won’t be for long once the decision to send him away to a boarding school is
made.
“The Impala, huh?” Sam says, still holding Dean. 
A slow smile starts building on Dean’s face, lightly smothered against Sam’s
soft chest, and Sam’s own face floods with color at how close Dean’s lips are
to a nipple, almost brushing against it as he speaks.
“She’s perfect, isn’t she?”
Sam can’t help rolling his eyes, but admittedly, he’s more amused than annoyed.
"You have to actually shift the gears, De."
"If it's not stick, it's not driving."
“Whatever, Dean. I don’t want you speeding with this thing,” says Sam,
squeezing Dean’s shoulders, touching his lips to Dean’s forehead and placing a
soft kiss there.
Castiel tried to assuage Sam’s worries by insisting that Dean’s got great
skills in the driving department. But that’s exactly what Sam is afraid of:
that Dean might be tempted to show off his exceptional driving skills,
especially with a powerful muscle car like the Impala. Dean is a fearless yet
brash and cocksure young alpha, and someone might throw down the gauntlet and
challenge Dean to an amateur race. Knowing his son, he’d surely pick it up.
“It’s not a thing, mom. I told you, she’s got a name. And I wish you’d let me
show you what Baby can do,” says Dean, unknowingly confirming Sam’s every fear.
“I think I’ll pass. If I see what—erm, Baby—is capable of, I might hide the
keys from you for good. Or hog the wheel, and drive us everywhere myself.”
“As if I’d let you get behind my wheels,” says Dean, a laugh bubbling out of
him.
“And why wouldn’t you?” Sam says, brows unfurling and shooting up
“Baby needs special treatment. Your driving—”
“—Don’t even say it. My driving is impeccable, Dean Winchester!”
“You ride the brakes—
“I do not!”
"You'll probably ride the clutch too in a stick-shift—"
"Speculation—"
“—you always put your turn signal on at the last minute, and don’t get me
started on tailgaiting.”
“Lies!”
“I’m just saying. Baby is too precious.”
“Well, if that’s not the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard you say.”
"What, you jealous, Sammy? Don’t worry. She is something else. But you’re still
my number one.”
Sam doesn’t scold him for using his nickname again. But there’s a slight shift
in the energy when Dean utters those words as teasing as they are meant to be.
Dean looks up at his mom and their faces are so close now, their noses are
almost touching. Dean’s eyes are soft, and his cupid’s bow lips are slightly
parted. Staring down at Dean, Sam is suddenly hyper aware of his own
heartbeats. His mouth is becoming moist.
“Can I kiss you?” Dean says, eyes glossing over, voice raspy and low, and the
hand lying on Sam’s chest clenches briefly around Sam’s soft pec, as if copping
a feel. Sam reflexively thrusts out his chest and his nipples stiffen and
tingle as a response to the heat from his son’s touch. He’s not wearing a bra
(he rarely does inside the house these days) and he can feel the
warmth emanating off Dean's skin through the fabric of his shirt.
Sam swallows and nods, giving his consent, eyes not leaving Dean’s.
His son presses in and his lips are creamy-soft when they touch Sam’s, and Sam
can’t help leaning into the kiss. Their mouths fit together perfectly. It feels
right, and suddenly, all what Sam had been doing with Cas—the extra rough sex,
and the pain experimentation—now feel like the real betrayal. If it were up to
him, even the right of punishment would be Dean’s, as his own body should be.
Dean tips his chin up, and slowly drags his lips over Sam’s. Then he opens his
mouth only slightly and catches Sam’s bottom lip between his, suckling lightly
before letting it pop free.
To Sam’s surprise, the kiss remains closed mouth yet painfully sweet. It also
doesn’t linger as long as he’d like it to, though he’s quite sure he would’ve
popped wood if it had. When Dean pulls back quicker than expected and rests his
head against Sam’s chest, Sam’s tongue darts out to lick his own lips and taste
his son there.
Dean’s hand—the one that’s not tucked underneath him—runs slowly across Sam’s
chest and his thumb brushes lightly over one of Sam’s perky nipples but then
that’s it. His hand stills and just rests there (warm and heavy) over Sam’s
breast.
Dean is breathing heavily, and so is Sam—fingers aching and lips tingling,
nerve endings stirring and the restraint leaving his body almost trembling with
desire.
Dean shivers once and his hand squeezes Sam’s breast (probably impulsively),
then his son shifts slightly and his hand goes down to hold on to Sam’s waist
instead. They remain still for a few moments, chests heaving.
When Sam looks down, Dean is worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, but his
breath is coming under control. His son doesn’t initiate anything else. 
Sam, flooded with warmth, hugs Dean tighter and kisses the top of his son’s
head. “Are we good?” He finally asks.
“Yeah, we’re alright,” Dean croaks from where he’s buried in Sam’s embrace.
….
Castiel can't be around for Dean's 16th birthday party. 
Sam's nostrils flare, his jaw clenches in anger as Cas breaks the news to him.
He exclaims "unbelievable" as his husband explains how he was forced to sign up
for a week-long work trip that coincides with Dean's birthday. He tries to ease
the brunt by promising a compromise: to take them all out for dinner and cake
as a family once he's back. "Think of it this way: Dean will have two birthday
celebrations not just one," Cas says, aiming to wipe the scowl off Sam's
face, but fails miserably. 
“Sam, I just can’t skip this one,” Castiel adds, shoulders sagging.
Cas sounds miserable and for a split second, Sam feels horrible about pressing
this, but he has this nauseous fear that something bad will happen if Cas is
not around.
Castiel’s presence in the house calms him these days, and it’s a perpetual
reminder of who he belongs to, especially ever since they started experimenting
with pain play in the bedroom. Whenever Sam feels a flare up of guilt or a
surge of panic, or desire for Dean, he seeks out his husband to ground him —
whether it’s a spanking or edging or some wax play (they once experimented with
urethral fingering and it was torturous and every bit as relieving as Sam
wanted), whatever the ‘punishment’ of the day is, it seems to put Sam’s mind at
ease.
“Can’t someone else go, Cas?” Sam persists. “It’s Dean’s birthday weekend we’re
talking about here. And I need you,” he adds, hoping that Castiel will get it
without Sam having to be explicit about what that need is in front of Adam
who’s nestled between them on the living room couch playing Clumsy Ninja on
Dean’s iPad, as they continue to argue.
“I’m already taking a break for 10 friggin’ days for the Lupercalia, so no, I
can’t blow off this assignment. Sam, please understand.”
“I’m sorry if I don’t exactly appreciate the fact that we’re bending over
backwards to accommodate your father and his unreasonable requests. Requests
that are forcing you to accept an assignment that happens to be in conflict
with a big event like your oldest son’s 16th birthday … which, in my books,
happens to be more important than an archaic coming-of-age celebration, Cas.”
“Please don’t make this about my father. We can’t skip Dean’s first Lupercalia
and we both know it. Whatever the protocol is Sam, we’ll have to abide by it.
As inconvenient as it is, it just so happens that my father is hosting this,
and yes that means he does have an exclusive on the rules. I thought we already
went over this.”
“Not like I had any choice in the matter.”
“To be fair, Sam, I told you that you can do whatever the—” Cas is about to
swear then he remembers that there are little perky ears sitting between them,
so he swallows the profanity and continues “—whatever you want with everything
else. But the dates and the duration are non-negotiable.”
“So are the dresses and the suppressants, and being around traditional, sexist,
wrinkly old men with grabby hands 24/7,” Sam blurts out, knowing that he’s
being very unfair, especially that the bad company is not something that Cas
can control anyway, it comes with the package.
As well, Cas had told him that he should wear a kilt only if he’s comfortable,
and that he doesn’t prefer pumping suppressants into Sam for a couple of weeks
just to be able to get by — that they can always find a way around it and that
he’ll just have to stick to Castiel’s side and no one will dare touch him then,
not without Castiel’s permission and consent (neither of which will ever be
granted).
But right now, Sam is feeling a mix of disappointment, panic and anger and
Castiel is the only target around, so … “It’s interesting how your father
refuses to fork over control after years of emotional abuse and neglect and is
happy to start barking orders the first chance he gets like you haven’t even
left his house. And now, we’re all bending over at his say so. Did it occur to
you that I might not even want to come to the Lupercalia to begin this?”
“Then don’t, Sam. Honestly? I don’t care what you do anymore.”
“What? And break my son’s heart? Unlike you, I care about how Dean feels,” Sam
shoots back, all worked up, and seething.
“Listen to yourself. Are you hormonal or something, Sam? Getting a second heat
this month?”
“Oh, go to hell, Cas,” Sam says and he instantly regrets talking to his husband
like this, considering … everything, really.
Cas facepalms, and it should be Sam’s cue to ease the pressure and shut up but
he doesn’t. When Sam begins again, Castiel sighs heavily, pushes himself off
the couch and cuts him off. “You know what, Sam? I’ve been tripping over my
feet trying to please you lately but nothing ever works,” says Cas, and it’s
the closest thing to an admission of their marital problems that Cas has
uttered. “I had a terribly long day and I don’t have time to listen to you
prattle on about this. You seem to be in a foul mood and I wish I could humor
you. But honestly, I don’t have the energy. Let’s talk again when you’ve
wrapped your head around this.”
How condescending, Sam thinks, and any compassion for his husband is now gone.
“Apparently, there’s nothing to talk about, Cas. You’ve made your decision.”
“Unfortunately, I have,” says Cas and he leans down to place a kiss on top of
Adam’s head and leaves Sam to stew in his own juice.
….
Cas and Sam spend the rest of the day in awkward silence, each waiting for the
other person to speak first. But neither do. At night, in their bed, they give
their backs to one another, and put as much space between them as they can.
The next day, they only exchange a few comments that completely fail to break
the tension.
But then Sam, exhausted and not wanting to drag this longer with Cas, just lets
his anger blow over, and has a proper sit down with his husband.
He’s glad he does, because it really makes him realize how much Cas is both
burned out, and bummed for missing Dean’s birthday himself—Sam is guilty of
misreading how his husband has been feeling about all this.
Soon after, Cas is back to his normal self, promising Sam over and over that
he’ll make it up to them, especially Dean.
Dean isn’t thrilled himself when he’s made aware that his father won’t be
around for his big day, but he eases a little when they go pick up the Impala
from Bobby’s garage. Dean drives them half way back home (because, no license
yet) and Sam rides shotgun; he gets to experience, as Dean calls it, the “thing
of beauty” that’s the Impala. Sam is surprised that face-to-face, he actually
likes the car—or more like, he can understand why Dean’s fascinated with it.
The Impala does have this classic charm.
They all end up having dinner together, and Sam bakes Dean another pie — this
time a cream-filled one. (It’s Dean’s week so by default it’s also pie-week).
Castiel takes off the next day, four days before Dean’s birthday weekend,
leaving behind a teary-eyed, anxious Sam.
….
Dean has long decided that he wanted a small home celebration, inviting only
around 10 buddies, some of which will stay overnight throughout the entire
weekend (the chosen three are Benny, Ash and Charlie).
Dean rarely ever has friends over so Sam is excited for him, and he quickly
gets into super-mom mode, getting all his ducks in a row, and drawing up a list
of all the things they’ll need ahead of the party.
Sam will bake at home: a big cake, and three pies: apple, cherry and pecan. The
finger foods, he’ll order in (Ellen says she knows a good catering place). The
weather is mild enough for an outdoor barbecue so they’ll have hot food as
well. He’ll stock on crisps and munchies too. They won’t need an entertainer;
Ash will be their DJ (apparently, he’s good at that), but they’ll need to rent
speakers and a mixer.
“What about booze, mom?” Dean says, leaning on the kitchen counter with a
notepad as Sam is washing the dishes, and dictating a shopping list to Dean.
“You’re not drinking, Dean.”
”What the hell, mom?”
”Just hear me out. We’ll have a civilized get-together. Don’t forget that we’re
inviting Bobby, Fergus and Meg, Ellen, Jo, ehm, your grandparents, and your
aunt Naomi. Coach Hendrickson and his wife. So you need to be on your best
behavior.”
“You’re kidding, right? It’s not a party for a 10-year-old, mom. I’m turning
16. It’s not illegal. And I’m definitely not going teetotal in my party.
‘Sides, grandma and grandpa won’t come. They never do."
“They very well might, Dean. This year’s different.”
“Right, even if they do, doesn’t change a thing. I’m sure they won’t mind
either way. We’re all grown ups. In fact, if it were up to Benny, we’d have a
beer pong party. If I don’t bring nothing, I can promise you people will
smuggle stuff in,” Dean says, putting down the notepad, approaching Sam and
plastering himself to his mom’s back, wrapping his arms around his waist like
an octopus.
Dean brings his voice down a notch, laying on the charm thick, and adds: “But
since it’s here, and I love you and I want everything out in the open, we’ll
make it civilised, exactly like you want, and just stick to beer and punch. We
don’t even have to hire a bar. How does that sound?”
“As if I’d let you hire a bar for your 16th,” Sam says, squirming a little with
how Dean is wrapped around him. He just can’t be 100% comfortable with these
displays of affection anymore because it’s like rubbing salt into a festering
wound. Despite his fidgeting, Dean doesn’t ease off his hold on him.
"Come on, beautiful, say yes."
"Ha! You think flattery will get you what you want?"
"Oh, I'm quite sure it will," Dean says, and plants a kiss on his shoulder.
“Ok, Dean, alright!” says Sam, huffing a sigh. As if he can deny Dean anything,
with how he’s wrapped around his little finger. “We can keep things above board
and allow liquor. But I’ll have to double check with your dad first.”
“Oh come on, Sammy.”
“Told you, it’s mom,” Sam says, remembering the boundaries he once set, while
scraping a dish a little too furiously. He also remembers their kiss a few days
back, and how frisky it made him feel.
Dean rolls his eyes. “Alright, mom,” he says with emphasis, sarcasm lacing his
voice.
“Dean, if your dad green-lights this, you still can’t get drunk. Same goes for
your buddies.”
“First off, even if we do get a little drunk, you can’t embarrass me in front
of my friends. I’m not a kid anymore. Second, booze is non-negotiable so make
sure you hash this out with dad. Besides, they’ll be slightly older people. Not
all my friends are 16, you know.”
“Right, the boxing class crowd,” says Sam remembering.
“Yup, and an older friend from school too.”
“Hey, what about Ash. He can’t drink. He’s still 15, right?”
“Then I’ll make sure Ash sticks to Diet Coke.”
Sam’s shoulders’ sag. He can’t win with Dean these days. “Fine, you can have
beer and some light cocktails,” Sam says, as he turns off the water tap, and
turns around in Dean’s arms to face him and pull back from the embrace a
little, so that they’re not glued together (Sam is always aware of where
they’re touching). “I’ll handle it with your dad. I can whip up a few, you
know, sherry cobbler, spiked Arnold Palmer and variations. I bet you know a few
recipes yourself. We’re not going to pretend you haven’t been sneaking drinks
behind my back.”
“I actually don’t know any. But I know someone who’s really good at mixing
drinks.”
The mention of this “someone” reminds Dean of something he needs to give his
mom a heads up about, considering their history.
“There’s one other thing,” Dean adds. He pulls Sam to him again and buries his
face in the crook of Sam’s neck, like a child hiding from something.
Sam can feel his son’s hot breath on his skin, and tries not to let the
sensation wake up other parts of him. Seriously, his brain needs to be rewired
to register these simple gestures as what they are: natural intimacy between a
son and his mother, and nothing more. His hormones are haywire for some reason;
picking up on every little thing related to Dean and reacting accordingly.
Reminds Sam of when he was a teenager and discovering sex and his own body for
the first time.
Dean stays silent for a beat, and Sam begins to worry so he hugs Dean back. One
hand comes up to rest on the back of his son’s neck and he asks, “What? You’re
scaring me, De.”
“Erm, remember Rhonda Hurely?” he asks, words muffled against Sam’s neck. Sam’s
heart sinks. "The girl I used to, ehm, go out with?"
“Uh-huh,” Sam murmurs. Is Dean seeing her again? Is that what Dean is too
scared to break to him? Will she come over and sleep in his son’s bed, perhaps
fuck Dean, while Sam is under the same roof? But Dean just said he used to date
her. Knowing Dean, he could be bending the truth a little, or saying it like
this to try and ease the blow. Has Dean been sleeping with her while stringing
Sam along all this time? Taking what he wants, what he can from both, like a
typical knothead.
Sam hates that he immediately feels like an ex or a jilted lover instead of
Dean’s mom at the mention of this girl. It’s like everything is stacked up
against Sam; somehow every single encounter or conversation or comment is a
reminder that what he feels for his son can’t be shaken off that easy.
“Eh, I invited her too. I mean, I had to. After we broke it off, we stayed in
contact. We’ve been talking and hanging out. We’re not back together or
anything. I mean we only kinda dated for 10 minutes anyway. But she’s a friend,
now. And she’s kinda helping me cope with all what’s happening between us.”
That’s when Sam’s heart jumps in his throat, and he quickly pushes Dean away
and holds him at arm’s length to force him to meet his eyes. He asks,
incredulous, heart pounding: “What the hell, Dean? She knows about us? You told
her about what’s going on between you and me?”
“God, no! I just told her I’m in love with someone I can’t be with. An older
boy,” Dean says simply, pulling away from the embrace himself. “That’s all she
knows.”
Sam lets out a deep breath and his heart breaks more for Dean if that’s
possible. Like him, he has to keep his feelings bottled up and it looks like he
was itching to tell anyone. In love with someone I can’t be with. Sam feels
guiltily responsible for the somber statement that has become his and his son’s
reality.
It’s not bad knowing that Dean has someone to talk to. Still, he’s glad Dean
didn’t overshare.
“Yeah, ok “ says Sam in a tone of great relief. “No one can know anything, De.”
No one can know Sam’s robbing the cradle. They’d think he’s another filthy
omega taking advantage of his own son (and Sam’s greatest fear is that “what if
he is?”)
“Give me some credit,” Dean says.
“Right, I’m sorry. I just freaked out. There’s a lot on my mind, and I can’t
think straight. I should’ve known better.”
“So, about Rhonda. You don’t mind having her around?”
“No, no, of course not,” Sam makes himself say.
“K, good,” Dean says. “She’s not sleeping over though. She’ll just be here for
the party.”
“Whatever, Dean. I don’t mind either way,” Sam lies and forces a smile. Dean
nods.
“So, here’s your list,” says Dean, fetching the notepad with the supplies and
handing it to Sam.
“Sure, thanks.”
His son steals a quick kiss before taking the car keys out of his pocket and
jingling them, telling Sam he’ll go for a ride.
“Now? Isn’t it late?”
“It’s 7:30.”
“Its night time. I’d prefer it if you go out during daylight.”
“Mom, listen to yourself,” Dean says, amused. “You gotta get used to me
actually driving.”
“I only approved of the car under pressure. If it were up to me, I’d just drive
you everywhere. Besides, we agreed that without a license, you can’t go too
far, remember that little rule?”
“I won’t, I swear,” Dean says and he’s already moving.
“Alright, be careful. Keep it in the neighborhood. If you get caught—”
“—I won’t. I’m just going for a quick spin with Benny and Ash. They’re meeting
me nearby. We’ll get ice cream and cruise around for a bit. Gotta show off my
Baby,” Dean says, wiggling his eyebrows. He turns, fetches his jacket and bolts
out of the kitchen.
Sam follows, but Dean doesn’t stop. “Just listen, be back in an hour alright.”
“Mom!”
“It’s an order, De.”
“Argh,” Dean groans, as he walks out of the door.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” Sam shouts after him. But Dean is probably getting
into the car already. A moment later, Sam hears the engine’s roar as the Impala
fishtails out of the parking lot.
….
“We need more tupperware,” Sam announces at lunch the next day, as Dean wolfs
down his steak.
Adam, as per the new usual, is playing with his food and barely touching the
meat, despite the fact that Sam had sliced it for him into tiny pieces. Unlike
most children his age (including Dean when he was that young), Adam loves
vegetables and hates chicken, meat and fish.
He recently started becoming obsessed with animals, always asking his parents
or Dean to find him animal videos online so he can watch them on a loop. His
dislike of meat began with some harmless curiosity; Adam asking his mom and dad
where it comes from. And upon getting an answer, asking fearfully if meat is
essentially a dead animal.
When Sam and Cas, after negotiating whether to tell the truth or make up a
creative lie, ended up saying that, yes, indeed it is, they unknowingly invited
an avalanche of questions about how animals are killed to be cooked, and why,
and if they feel pain and whether or not they cry when people take their lives
and if the “animals’ parents or kids miss them after they’re gone.
Sam almost broke into tears at his son’s innocence and subsequent painful
realisations as they enlightened him about the subject, watching helplessly as
the truth was reflected heartbreakingly on his baby’s adorable face.
It’s easily one of the most difficult conversations he’s had with a child.
In the end, Adam decides that he wants animals to be alive and happy, and not
dead on his plate, essentially swearing off meat and poultry. If Adam wasn’t so
tiny and needing of nourishment, Sam would’ve probably gotten behind this. He’s
proud of his son but he can’t help worrying. Being sensitive and compassionate
(especially at such a young age) is a great thing but it always comes with
caveats; including dealing with very harsh realities in a very broken world.
Sam can’t humor his baby boy as well because at almost four years old, Adam
still needs his proteins for development.
Sam did start researching alternatives and he intends to consult a doctor about
how he could feed Adam less meat while still giving him all the proper
nutrition he needs. But the jury is still out on whether this is a healthy
option at Adam’s age.
“What for?” asks Dean, in response to Sam’s declaration about the need for
tupperware.
“We’re getting a lot of food for your party, I’m cooking a feast. But I don’t
have enough containers to store the leftovers. We also need a few other things.
Napkins. Centerpieces. Disposable plates and cups. I’m not doing dishes after
20 people,” Sam says. “Bottled water, too.”
“We already jotted that down on the supply list,” Dean reminds him. “I’ll add
the Tupperware and the other stuff.”
“Do we need a disco ball?” asks Sam, in all seriousness, but feeling that he
might already know the answer to that.
“You serious? Hell no,” exclaims Dean, glaring at his mom. 
“Alright, calm down. We’ll need extra chairs and a table for the grill in our
front yard. Mulling over pitching a tent. Or you know, one of those shade
canopies. We can just rent those.”
“Front yard, mom? Do you plan to smoke out the neighborhood?”
“It’s tacky, I know, but our backyard is small, Dean. We need the space. What
about balloons?”
“I’m not turning 10, remember?”
“You can have balloons in a grown up party, Dean.”
“Sure, why don’t you get a bounce house too and a slip-and-slide while you’re
at it? And you know what would be smashing? A clown!” says Dean in fake
enthusiasm.
“Oh lord,” Sam visibly shudders. He hates’ em. “Got it! Okay. Did we write down
trash bags?”
“Yup. What else, mom?”
“So yeah, trash bags. Lots of those. Oh, and an ice bucket.”
“Cool,” Dean says, feeling that his mom is going slightly over the top for a
party with barely 20 people all in all. But Sam is taking the whole turning 16
rather dramatically, and Dean won’t stop him. He’s happy with the attention, if
he’s honest with himself.
“If your friends are sleeping over, let’s get you a new set of PJs.”
“Right, I’d love me one of those adult onesies with buttflaps,” says Dean, wide
eyed and beaming. “You know, Jumpin Jammerz?”
“Is everything a joke to you, Dean Winchester?”
“Mostly, yeah.”
Sam rolls his eyes and continues to rack his brain, but he thinks they’re all
set.
“I think that’s all, De.”
“Wanna swing by the Woodcreek later and pick the stuff up?”
“Yeah, let’s do that. There’s a Walmart on the same street too. Two birds, one
stone,” Sam says, then speaking to his other son, adds: “Adam, will you be a
good boy and stay with Auntie Ellen while Dean and I run a few errands after
lunch?”
“Don’t wanna,” Adam says, miserably.
“What’s wrong, sunshine?” Sam coos, guiltily realizing he hasn’t been paying
much attention to his other boy.
“Don’t wanna eat this, mommy,” Adam says. “Can I have some of your milk
please?”
“But baby, haven’t we talked about this? You’re getting old for mommy’s milk.
You’re my big boy now,” Sam says, actively fighting his instinct to just pluck
Adam from his chair and take him in his arms; save him the trouble of eating
foods that he’s obviously not a fan of. He’s supposed to be weaning him, but it
looks like he’ll go traditional on this one and let Adam nurse until he’s five
or even 10; as long as he wants to.
“How about some more veggies?” asks Sam, out of motherly duty, anticipating the
protesting.
“Please mommy?” Adam says, and his voice is small, and cracked, eyes wide and
pleading, and Sam can’t resist.
“Alright, darling. Come here,” Sam says, opening his arms wide, and Adam nearly
stumbles off his chair, and runs to into his mommy’s embrace. Sam puts him over
his lap and lifts one side of his shirt up, making sure to only bare one
breast, and immediately Adam buries his chin in his mommy’s chest, taking a big
mouthful of his nipple and areola, latches on and he begins to suck.
Dean clears his throat, and Sam realizes that his older son is flushed and
visibly uncomfortable, and by extension, it makes Sam a little uneasy too. He
feels a little too exposed all of a sudden, with Adam hanging off a naked
breast, and Sam’s shirt all rucked up like this and showing his belly.
“You OK, Dean? We can move to the living room,” offers Sam.
“It’s fine, mom,” Dean says, not looking up from his plate, and gulping
audibly.
Sam can’t help notice that Dean sinks in his chair a little, spreading his
legs, and his eyes shift from time to time to eyeball Sam’s breast hungrily, as
if he’s wishing it’s his own mouth suckling Sam. It ends up being one of the
most awkward breastfeeding sessions Sam's had. All through, Dean’s eyes would
close a little, he’d lick his lips or chew on his lower lip making Sam feel wet
and naked.
By the time Adam's done and dozing off, Sam’s skin is tingling with the
attention from Dean, his own eyes are half-lidded, and he’s semi-hard between
his legs. Frankly, he wants to be rolling in bed with his older son right now
instead of pretending everything's normal.
Dean probably feels the same; his son adjusts himself down there, before
pushing the chair back and leaving the table, practically running out of the
kitchen.
“I’ll quickly hop in the shower before we head out,” he calls out as he climbs
the stairs to the upper floor, and Sam is sure it’s code for “I’ll have a quick
jerk in the bathroom”.
And honestly, Sam might just end up doing the same.
….
Dean feels cornered. He once had total control over his mom, and could swing
him this way or that with a look or a word or a small action, but now he feels
that he’s the one being manipulated.
Sammy, refusing to give him what he wants unless Dean snatches it forcefully,
has brought them to this rut: where they’re neither mother and son (not
exactly) nor lovers.
Following Sam’s last heat, Dean initially felt like he had planted a flag and
had meant to persist, give his mother the silent treatment until he submits
completely, until Dean can flip him over any time and fuck his ass and make him
come all over himself, but so far his small plan hasn’t been working.
He has a blind spot for Sammy. His mom is being sweet, Dean was missing him and
soon Dean found himself back in his arms again — though still unable to have
him.
Besides, how could Dean stay mad when Sammy is so adorably eager to please?
Busting his back setting up his birthday, and pampering him with lots and lots
of pie all week.
On their way to the mall, they make a stop at Walmart and stock on all the
things they need. The mall, Woodcreek, is mobbed, and by the time they are done
placing their orders at the party rentals store and making it across the mall
to where the sleepwear shop is, it’s well after 5 PM.
But at least, they’re both relaxed now, having bought all the essentials.
The nightwear store is huge, catering to men, women and there’s a big section
for male omegas, selling everything from silk and satin PJs and robes to
delicate nighties and frilly babydolls and various types of omega-fitted
lingerie. Sam goes straight to the men’s section, bypassing the omega racks and
mannequins without even a side glance. Dean, of course, doesn’t let it slide.
“Mom, slow down, it’s not like the omega rack will attack you,” Dean says,
sarcastically.  
“I just need to get this out of the way, De. Your brother must be getting
grumpy by now,” says Sam.
“Nah, he’s probably sleeping, or cuddled up with Jo. He loves her.”
“Well, I sure do hope you're right and that he’s not pulling a tantrum as we
speak,” Sam says.
“Wanna phone in and make sure everything's alright? You know, put your heart at
ease?”
“It’s fine, Dean. I don’t wanna bug Ellen.”
“Then relax, mom, and let’s have fun with this, alright? Wanna buy matching
jammies?” he asks playfully, and it coaxes a smile out of his mom.
“Come here,” Dean adds, and he takes one of his mom’s hands and laces their
fingers together, rubbing his thumb across the back of Sam’s hand to help him
unwind. “Just breathe for me, alright?” Sam inhales deeply.
“Thanks,” Sammy says, inhaling again and squeezing his son’s hands. Dean is
like a drug, Sam thinks.
They stroll leisurely through the men’s section, sifting through the
merchandise, still holding hands like a couple, when they’re approached by a
young but stout sales assistant with ginger hair, and nerdy thick-rimmed
glasses. “Hi there, how may I help you today? Are you looking for anything in
particular?”
“Yes, please. I’m thinking a bathrobe for me, nothing too fancy though, and
Dean here is looking for PJs,” Sam explains, with a polite smile.
The sales assistant’s eyes flit quickly to Sam’s chest. Sam’s bra is slightly
outlined under the shirt he’s wearing (he’s only donning a jacket with a shirt
underneath it), and Sam knows this look too well (it’s why he’s not a big fan
of shopping for clothes). It’s that look that Sam gets when the other person is
trying to work out where Sam fits on the alpha-omega spectrum, considering his
clothing is very manly. The store assistant seems to make up his mind quickly,
though.
“If you’ll come with me, we have a wide selection of bathrobes, and morning
gowns at our omega section. We have hooded and regular bathrobes, in a variety
of fabrics; cotton, velvet, cashmere or if you’re looking for something more
delicate, we have silk kimonos, wonderfully soft, and lace dressing gowns,” he
says, with a fake smile, as he starts leading the way back towards the omega
section.
Sam begrudgingly follows but his nose flares in anger. Just as he’s about to
school the assistant for assuming that being an omega means he’s automatically
interested in the fluffy, feminine stuff, Dean squeezes the hand tucked in his
and says, “Sure, show us what you’ve got.”
“Dean,” Sam protests, unbelieving, and Dean gives him this heated look, all
dominance and control, and strangely, it shuts Sam up, albeit begrudgingly. 
He’s practically being dragged back to the omega section by Dean, and as much
as he wants to pull his hand away and run in the other direction, he doesn’t.
The store assistant proceeds to showcase the different styles, and Sam is
barely looking. Dean takes over completely and starts giving his opinion,
coaxing Sam to take interest. Finally, Sam looks and he votes down all the
super feminine stuff in favor of a classic, cotton bathrobe. White,
straightforward, not exactly masculine with a bit of silk lacing its collar,
but neutral enough. They settle on it, and Dean doesn’t look exactly satisfied.
“Can we also look at some silk gowns?” supplies Dean.
“Dean, do we have to?”
“Got nothing to lose, Sammy,” Dean says, and the nickname flusters Sam; it’s
like Dean is challenging him.
To make it worse, Dean brings their interlaced fingers to his mouth, and places
a kiss there. He probably wants the store assistant to think they’re a couple
or something. The age difference is significant, but it’s not unheard of for
young alphas to date older betas or omegas, or do whatever the hell they want
for that matter, Sam thinks. He should rectify this, and make some reference to
them being mother and son, but he doesn’t want to embarass Dean.
He also hates to confesses that he gets all tingly when Dean takes control like
this; he can’t stop it.
“Sure, this way please,” says the assistant, with a smile. He leads them to
another rack full of silks and frills. Dean has his eye on this short little
thing; a black satin dressing robe lined with lace, that will probably ride up
and leave Sam’s butt hanging out. It’s totally inappropriate and Sam cheeks
heat up just imagining himself donning it.
“Feel the texture. See how soft it is?” says the assistant, proud of the number
like he’d sewn it himself or something.
“No way, Dean.”
Dean kisses Sam’s cheek and says, “Shh, you’ll look perfect in it,” and it’s
just above a whisper, spoken so close to his ear. It’s like Dean and his alpha
pheromones are nuzzling him with those words.
“Would you like to try it on?” asks the assistant.
“Yes!” “No!” say Dean and Sam simultaneously.
“He’ll try it on,” confirms Dean, with an air of finality. 
Sam, who’s clearly tense, might as well be invisible, because the sales
assistant blurts out “of course” and points them towards the fitting room with
the offending item in hand. His son is practically bouncing on the balls of his
feet.
To make it all worse, Dean joins Sam inside the fitting room, and sure, it’s
big enough to fit both of them and three other people. It’s also empty save for
a wooden stool. But Sam is not sure that taking his clothes off in front of the
son he can’t keep his eyes or mind or hands off is a brilliant idea.
“Dean, what the hell are you doing?”
“I wanna see you wear something nice for a change.”
More like ogle my naked bits, Sam thinks.
“I’m not comfortable with this, De."
“Just humor me. Know what? Consider it a birthday gift,” says Dean, batting his
eyelids.
“You already got one, Dean,” says Sam, and he’s thinking of the Impala. But
he’s already snatching the damn thing out of Dean’s hand. “Fine, just turn
around,” he growls.
“It’s not like I haven’t seen you naked before.”
“I don’t care, Dean. You either look the other way, or I’m walking right out.”
“Fine, have it your way,” Dean says and gives his back to his mom.
Sam strips out of his clothes and his skin gets covered with goosebumps as the
cool air meets his naked skin. He’s wearing a non-padded full-bust cotton
brassiere and even Sam has to admit that it’s unattractive and in quite
contrast to the silky thing he’s trying on right now, so he takes it off.
He does keep his underwear on to maintain some dignity, because he’s sure the
short number won’t do much to hide his dangly bits and his behind. He slips his
arms into the sleeves of the robes and folds it around him, and God, does the
sumptuous fabric feel nice, softly hugging his frame and caressing his skin.
He takes a quick look in the mirror and suddenly, his hairy legs, lanky figure
and wide shoulders stand out more when he’s donning this. He turns around, and
his butt cheeks are peeking out, covered in the grey cotton of a pair of plain-
looking briefs. Sam doubts he looks attractive at all. He feels out of his
comfort zone, awkward and weird. Too damn naked, too. He ties the robe snugly
so it doesn’t slide open, and spins around. He clears his throat and tells Dean
he can look now.
Already on the horny side of things, Dean’s nether regions stir once his eyes
land on Sammy. The robes are barely hiding his modesty, and under the harsh
fitting room lights, they’re a little see through.
His mom’s erect nipples are poking through, and Sammy is blushing prettily,
biting on his lower lip when he meets Dean’s gaze. He looks down quickly to try
and avoid Dean’s eyes, in obvious embarrassment. And the whole sight is rather
obscene.
Sam’s own stomach does a flip at the way Dean is staring at him. In a hoarse,
small voice, he asks if Dean is done looking.
“Don’t think I’ll ever be, mom,” he says, and he takes a couple of steps closer
until Sam’s barely a feet away.
One of Dean’s hands come up, and he starts caressing the skin right above the
front folds of the robes, dipping into the deep V and teasing at the hidden
treasure underneath. “You look so pretty, mom.”
“Dean, we can’t,” Sam pleads in a whisper. “I’ve done what you wanted, you’ve
had a look. Let’s just stop here.”
“Don’t wanna,” says Dean, and he takes another step forward and now their
bodies are almost touching. He slips his hands inside the robes and grabs Sam’s
breasts and starts teasing his engorged, sensitive nipples, and Sam almost
jumps at the intrusion. Dean brings his lips closer to his mom’s, not kissing,
just hovering, breathing the same air, his eyes seeking his mom’s. “Best pair
of tits I’ve ever seen.”
“Dean,” whispers Sam, and their lips are almost brushing. 
“Gorgeous. Unbelievably gorgeous,” says Dean, and he opens the flap of the robe
to reveal a tit. He stares at it, his eyes half lidded with lust, then he bends
forward and takes the tip into his mouth, and starts suckling.
His fingers toy freely with the free nipple, squeezing lightly and tugging. Sam
moans wantonly despite his shame. He really, really wants Dean, and in this
moment, he can’t bring himself to care about anything else—least of all the
fact that they’re in a public place, with a thin curtain separating them from
anyone else who could walk into the fitting room area right now.
Dean’s mouth travels upwards licking its way up to Sam’s lips. He locks his
mouth over them, his tongue darting out to invade and conquer.
Sam opens up to him, and Dean licks inside his mouth, and sucks on his tongue,
until Sam’s knees almost give, and his slick starts pumping between his legs.
He parts his thighs a little, and Dean wedges himself in between—his own hard-
on rubbing against Sam’s, one hand still squeezing a boob possessively and the
other now grabbing Sam’s hair.
“Is everything alright in there? Do you need any further assistance,” comes the
sales assistant’s voice from behind the curtain, and it almost feels he’s in
the same room, witnessing this. He is practically is in the same space, except
that he can’t see, but Sam fears that he can perhaps smell their arousal.
Dean’s lips are still glued to his, and for a scary few seconds Sam heart
pounds violently as he thinks that Dean might just continue eating at his lips
and ignore the assistant altogether. God forbid, the assistant might just pull
back the curtain, and peek inside to check and ends up seeing them like this:
chest to chest, embracing and making out passionately, with Sam’s soft, spit-
slick tits spilling out of his robes, and his juices leaking between his spread
thighs.
The sound of their smooching is already too loud, Sam thinks.
Dean disengages for a second, lips popping, and Sam’s face is flushed with both
shame and desire.
“Everything’s peachy,” Dean says, breathless from the kiss. He unknots Sam’s
robes and opens the flaps. “Do you mind getting my boyfriend a couple of
panties to try on with this?”
“Any particular fabric or style in mind?” asks the assistant.
“Let me think,” Dean says, pretending to think.
Sam can’t tell if the man’s already figured out what’s happening or not. Dean,
meanwhile, is keeping up the conversation like everything is normal, like he’s
not grabbing his mother’s waist in a vice-like grip and rutting dirtily against
his groin as he talks to the assistant.
“Hmm, just choose something sexy,” says Dean, one hand circling around Sam’s
waist and without preamble, sliding underneath the robes and the waistband of
Sam’s briefs all at once. He runs a finger down the spread of Sam’s ass.
“Surprise us,” he adds, as he roughly thrusts his finger up Sam’s asshole,
without warning, making his mommy whimper audibly.
Sam’s head falls back, resting on the wall behind him and he tries to breath
through the intrusion, lips wet and parted, and arms coming up to hug Dean to
him.
If the sales assistant didn’t know what they were doing before, he most
probably knows now with all the desperate moans and groans Sam can’t keep in.
Shortly after the assistant’s gone, Sam hears the click of heels on ceramic as
someone new enters the dressing room area and approaches, and it eerily feels
like they’re gonna get walked on. The insistent steps bypass their room,
however, and Sam can hear the curtain being drawn in the fitting room right
next to them — another customer slipping in to try something on for sure. The
risk of discovery gets dialed up 10 fold. Dean keeps thrusting.
“Sammy, you’re soaking wet,” Dean whispers in his ear. “Can’t believe how good
you are for me. So filthy, so fucking easy, wet all over, tits and cock
bouncing as you fuck your cunt on my finger in some random fitting room, where
anyone can hear or see. Best birthday present ever, by the way,” he says and he
goes back to mauling Sam’s mouth.
Sam moans like a whore, bearing down, sucking Dean’s finger in—his warm slick
dripping and soaking it.
“I think that I may have just the item for you,” says the assistant a minute or
so later from behind the curtain. Sam shudders when he hears his voice; still
can’t believe how close the man is to them while they’re doing this.
Dean slips another finger inside Sam’s hole and starts pushing in and out more
roughly, his mouth pulling away from Sam’s. “Yeah?” he says, his voice choked.
Then he leans in to whisper to Sam’s ears only, “Would you like me to invite
him in to watch? I don’t mind. As long as he doesn’t touch what’s mine.” He
finishes the sentence and locks their lips again.
Sam opens his eyes, and realizes, as if for the first time, that they’re
surrounded by mirrors, and takes in what he looks like. His robes are wide open
at the front, briefs soaked in precum, his son is rutting against his groin,
sucking on his mouth like it’s a pacifier, and simultaneously fucking him with
a finger. Sam can feel his rim fluttering under the assault.
This is what the man will see if he walks in: Sam, a man in his thirties,
falling apart for his 16 year old lover (not knowing he's Sam's own son).
He'll see a slut. A filthy omega slut.
“Sir?” asks the assistant.
Sam quickly pulls away from the rough kiss and buries his face, red and burning
in Dean’s neck, wanting to hide away from the obscene image they’re making and
huffs, “no, please don’t.”
“Just reach out from behind the curtain, please, and I’ll take it from you,”
Dean tells the assistant, and the man obliges. Dean reluctantly walks them
backward, fingers loosely wedged inside Sam’s passage, and snatches the items
from the man’s hands.
“Thanks.”
“Anything else, sir?”
“Not right now. I’ll holler if we need you again.”
Dean slips his fingers out of Sam’s hole. Sam takes a step back and his body
slumps against the mirrored wall behind him.
Dean takes it all in. The sweaty skin, the heaving breaths, the nakedness, and
the hot mess in Sam’s briefs.
“Take your underwear off, Sammy,” Dean says, authority bleeding into his tone.
“Dean, please,” he says, biting his lip.
“Want you to try one of these on,” he says, shaking the items in his hands for
emphasis. Sam’s eyes flick to them, and they’re a couple of frilly see-through
girly panties, one is pink and the other is red. And despite fantasizing about
wearing such things for Dean, and flaunting himself in them, he just can’t
imagine doing this now; in reality, he can’t. His eyes well up with tears of
humiliation, and he just looks away.
“Hey, hey, look at me,” Dean says, coming closer and depositing the panties on
the fitting room’s stool. He holds Sam’s chin up with one hand and forces their
gazes to lock, “It’s going to be alright. Just breathe.”
Sam’s eyes fill with more tears. Dean leans forward and places a soft kiss over
Sam’s lips then licks them lovingly. “Shhh,” Dean whispers against his mouth,
just as he hooks his thumbs in the hem of Sam’s briefs and tugs them down
slowly until they pool around his ankles. Sam gives a small whine. “It’ll be
alright, I promise,” Dean says and he’s laying another kiss on Sam’s lips, then
another. “Just let me do this,” Dean says between kisses, and now, Sam can’t
help a single tear from falling.
Every time Sam thinks he’s hit rock bottom, he surprises himself.
Dean helps Sam step out of his briefs, picks up the red number and he slowly,
torturously slips them on Sam, tucking his hard-on inside the soft fabric.
His son goes down on his knees between Sam’s thighs. And Sam can feel Dean’s
warm breath on his shaft, now wrapped in the delicate lacework. Dean’s mouth
ghosts over his dick for a few moments, savoring and scenting, then he starts
peppering small kisses along the length of it, whispering filth in between as
he palms his own erection. Sam is blushing furiously, his mouth gaping.  
“I should buy you a bra to match, something soft and girly to cup those pretty
tits of yours. You gotta accept who you are Sammy.” Kiss. “Your boobs, your
cunt, your pretty omega cock, the fact that you wanna be fucked and owned by a
real alpha, someone who’ll put you in your place, and make you comfortable in
your skin.” Kiss. “Don’t hide, Sammy.” Kiss. “You’re the most beautiful thing
I’ve ever seen. You should never hide. Your body should always be wrapped in
beautiful things, nothing rough.” Kiss. “Silk, satin, lace. You’re born for
this, sweetheart.”
Dean gets a grip on Sam’s hips and starts mouthing over Sam’s cock, clearly
enjoying the slide of the texture against his own lips and the wetness he can
taste through the lace. Sam’s hips involuntarily gyrate and he grinds against
Dean’s mouth.
“Keep them wet so you won’t chaff. Wanna see you cum in them,” Dean says, now
tilting his head and rubbing his warm cheeks along the front of Sam’s panties,
where his cock is beginning to stain the fabric.
“Dean, I’ll ruin them,” Sam says, breaths coming in deep bursts, his cock
hiccuping a copious amount of precum already rendering his fears obsolete.
“Do it. Cream your panties for me, Sammy,” Dean says, lips grazing Sam’s
trapped dick, and his voice vibrates against it.
Dean’s lips are spit-slick and swollen from all the kisses and the rubbing, and
Sam bets his own are too. They’re throbbing and they feel hot.
“I can’t,” says Sam, voice breaking, feeling the maddening pressure against his
swollen dick from the inside, pulsing and pushing more precum out of the head
that has escaped its lacey confines and is now leaking against his belly.
“What? Afraid the guy will see them and know? Realize that you came all over
yourself as I played with you, that he’ll see you’re mine?”
“Oh God. Dean, please, please, please don’t make me do this,” says Sam, but
he’s still shamelessly rubbing his cock against Dean’s cheeks, tumbling towards
his climax.
“Come on, do it. Wanna taste you through the lace.”
“Dean,” Sam says, and he’s going out of his mind, repeating Dean’s name like a
prayer. He’s writhing beneath his son’s attentions, hips jackknifing and his
balls drawing up. “Dean, I’ll come. Can’t--can't hold back.”
Sam’s body trembles and seizes as he finally spills into his panties from both
his dick and asshole at once.
It hits him, mid orgasm, that they’re in public, that he’s doing this as people
come and go outside of their curtain, and that discovery is inevitable. He’s
moaning and wetting a pair of panties that he doesn’t even own, covering his
thighs and Dean’s cheek with glops of his release.
Dean moves back and looks Sam up and down like he’s an artist admiring his
handiwork.
When their eyes meet, something primal trembles within Sam, and he just can’t:
the urge to submit to the alpha who owns his heart is too strong, he’s
overcome.
So Sam pees himself ... and it's the strongest show of submission he's let
anyone have.
It’s a slow trickle at first, his dick squirting urine shyly, then when he
hears the soul-deep groan coming from Dean as he realizes what he's happening,
Sam soaks the panties and the clean floor with his piss. As his bladder
empties, what Sam’s just done finally hits him. He feels lightheaded and his
vision tilts. His body goes limp and he fears he might pass out.
Dean stands up from his kneeling position and quickly catches his mom then
attacks him like an animal, mouth hot and urgent, as Sam sways between
consciousness and awakening.
His mouth, his face, his stomach and tits are being kissed savagely and ravaged
and it feels like Sam’s being eaten alive. Dean slips his hands inside his
panties and grabs Sam’s wet, semi flaccid cock painfully. He fondles and grabs
and pulls hungrily, feeling everything. There isn’t a part of him that Dean
doesn’t kiss, or run his hands along. Dean french kisses Sam’s navel. He sucks
on his neck and collarbone. He rubs the rim of his hole and dips his fingers
inside Sam’s wet passage, curling them, and forcing more slick out.
Sam’s pliant and easy like a rag doll in his son’s arms. He sobs in
pleasure and he doesn’t care anymore who hears. Dean’s his alpha, and he owns
him. If he wants to take him in a public square, in the light of day, as
everyone watches, Sam will probably let him right now.
“I can’t believe you did this for me, you’re mine, mine, mine,” Dean says,
breathlessly, between frantic kisses, now rubbing his rock hard cock against
Sam’s softening member, still trapped in the now sodden fabric.
“Yours, only yours,” Sam repeats, in response.
…
Coming down from their high, Dean tells his mom not to worry about the mess
they've made. He'll handle it.
When Sam finds that he can finally stand up straight, he shyly steps over the
puddle of come and pee, and puts his clothes back on — save for the wet briefs.
He’s red in the face with embarrassment, and can’t begin to stomach how
humiliated he feels. Somebody shoot him right about now.
His ears perk up when he hears Dean casually explaining “the accident” to the
sales assistant on the other side of the curtain like it’s the most normal
thing in the world. Sam pretty much wants to melt into the floorboards.
“So, we kinda got carried away and ruined the red panties,” he hears Dean says,
and it sounds like his son is beaming. “We’ll pay for it, of course. We’ll also
need the white cotton robe, and the black satin one, and oh, the other pair of
pink panties. The one that’s not ruined.”
Outside of the fitting room, Dean gives the store assistant a wink and adds,
“We’ll come back for the PJs another day.”
…
Still jacked up, Dean blows Sam while they’re driving back, and Sam can barely
drive in a straight line or keep the car within the lane. So he pulls over and
parks on the side of the road before he runs them both off it and until he
shoots his load, then jerks Dean off hurriedly.
….
“We’re both ripe and sticky with cum. Shower with me,” Dean says when they get
home. They shower together, soldered to each other from head to feet and making
out passionately under the spray. Dean, rock hard and leaking, tries to fuck
him under the shower. “I wanna be inside of you so bad. Wanna breed you,” he
says. But Sam cries hot tears and begs him not to, tells him he’s not ready and
that they’ll regret this. Dean hugs him tight and doesn’t force it. They end up
frotting until they come.
...
Sam locks himself in his bedroom and bolts the door that night so that Dean
wouldn’t sneak inside and try to have him again during the night. Dean has to
go, Sam’s mind keeps repeating on a loop. But until then, he knows this won’t
stop.
Part of him blames Castiel for this, for going away and leaving him vulnerable
and open. If Castiel was here, this could’ve been avoided, Sam thinks, though
it feels like a big lie.
At 4 AM, he tiptoes out of his room, goes down to the kitchen, and opens a
whiskey bottle from his and Castiel’s secret stash of liquor. Sam sloshes the
whiskey down until he can barely stand. An hour later, as he’s lounging, he
texts Cas telling him he wishes he were here ... and that he wants to be
spanked. “When you’re back, I want you to bend me over your knees and punish
me, Cas” writes Sam, remembering how delightful and well-deserved the painful
sting was the last time they did this. He adds: “Then I want you to fuck me on
all fours, giving it to me rough". Until he wiggles and squirms in agony, and
sobs uncontrollably, Sam thinks, his brain in a fog. He waits for 10 minutes
and when he doesn’t get a text back from Castiel, he goes up to his bed, and
collapses on it.
The next day, Sam wakes up hungover to a message from Castiel reading, “Have
you been bad, baby?” It takes Sam a moment to remember what this is about.
Scrolling back to his own 5 AM texts, he gets the picture. But the moment is
gone, so he doesn’t bother texting back. He’s definitely not in the mood for
playful sexting with a husband he’s cheating on.
...
In the afternoon, Dean sits behind Sam on his bed, takes his sweatpants and
shirt off and fondles him while he’s on the phone with Cas. “What’s wrong?”
Castiel asks when Sam’s breathing becomes uneven and hitched.
“Uh, talking to you ... it's making me hard, Cas,” lies Sam, as Dean presses
kisses over his shoulder and neck, and gropes his naked chest.
There’s a pause at the other end, and naturally, Castiel thinks Sam is feeling
riled up for him. His husband seems ready to get on with the program.
“Why don’t you touch yourself for me, baby,” Cas says in a whisper, and Sam can
hear the echo of Castiel’s steps, even through the line. Looks like he’s moving
somewhere more private.
“Cas,” Sam moans weakly, as Dean’s hands slide down his torso, exploring the
curve of his belly, and the hair below his navel. He runs his hands further
down, and caresses the thatch of pubic hair over his cock.
“Come on, baby boy, put your hand on your dick for me,” Cas says.
As if tuned in, Dean takes Sam’s cock in his hand and gently strokes it,
sliding his hand up and down the shaft, smearing the pre-cum spilling from the
head with a thumb, and only removing his hand briefly when he feels that Sam is
prematurely edging closer to orgasm.
Sam himself is barely able to string a few sentences together as Cas spews
filth in his ear on the other end of the line, thinking he’s the one getting
Sam off, thinking that these sounds of pleasure are for him. “Are you close,
baby?” Cas asks, and Sam nods. Then remembering that his husband can’t see him,
makes his mouth move and tells him that he’s close. From the sound of Castiel’s
breathing, it looks like his husband is also bringing himself off on the other
side.
Dean’s hand abandons Sam’s cock and slithers down and disappears between his
legs, past his aching penis and taint, until the tip of his middle finger
ghosts over Sam’s asshole. Sam breathes heavily, parts his legs and arches his
back in invitation. Dean stabs his finger inside. His son uses his other hand
to fondle a breast, taking a nipple between thumb and forefinger and squeezing.
A minute later, Dean adds another finger.
They keep at it, Dean massaging the hard lump beneath his prostate, and playing
with a tit, until Sam can’t take it anymore, and starts coming untouched,
moaning in abandon; Dean’s fingers drawing out every last drop of come as they
continue to circle and rub his insides. Sam struggles to catch his breath.
Castiel comes too on the other end of the line.
….
Dean asks Sam to wear the panties and the robes around the house for him, but
he categorically refuses; Sam still pretends that the feminine lingerie is not
actually in his possession, and he tries to forget about the humiliation of
coming and peeing all over himself in the dressing room (Somebody had to clean
after, and they must have guessed that someone came undone in the dressing
room. The store assistant might have even exposed him as the culprit, as the
slutty omega who has no self-control, who pisses himself in submission, in
public, at the whim of his little alpha. Perhaps he pointed him out to his
colleagues on the security cameras, and they all had a laugh about it).
Sam doesn’t think he’ll set foot in that store again.
…
One evening, Dean tugs down Sam’s pants and looks freely at his junk, while
they’re at the kitchen table, having dinner, with Adam sitting across from
them, oblivious to what’s happening right under his nose, to how Dean is
pushing his mother into depravity. Sam tries to keep his breath steady all
through, as Dean watches his mom chub beautifully under his eyes.
The same night, Dean leaps into the shower with him and fucks his ass cheeks,
as Sam begs him not to penetrate him. Dean comes on his crack and lower back.
If they keep this up, Sam knows that they’ll end up rolling together in Sam’s
marital bed sooner than later, that Dean will make on his promise and breed
him, put babies in his own mother, and ruin his family, and his own future.
….
Talking has proved futile, but unfortunately, Sam currently knows no other way
to curb Dean’s sexual appetite for him, so he tries again, and royally, fails
again.
Following the foiled attempt at reasoning with his son, Dean and him end up
cuddled together on the living room couch with Dean nursing from his breasts,
drinking up his milk and sucking him, as Sam, lithe and supple, leisurely fucks
himself on three of his son’s fingers, running his hands across Dean’s back and
down over the mound of his butt as he does.
When they’re done, there are dark patches of drying cum spotting the couch.
Sam waits for the inevitable moment, and counts the days until he can put a
stop to this near-fatal addiction.
The hard bottom line is that their days together, living under the same roof
and cheating their loved ones, are numbered. Soon, Sam will have to drop the
bomb.
 
Chapter End Notes
     I had meant to squeeze Dean's birthday in this chapter, but it just
     didn't happen. The next chapter will be shorter, and will be
     dedicated to the birthday party and sleepover (there's drama there
     too, as always). And then the following one, it's finally the long-
     awaited Lupercalia!
     Do leave your thoughts, and please let me hear from you. Always makes
     my day.
     Also, please subscribe if you want to get notifications of new
     chapters on your email.
     Much love xo
     ------
     Separately, I wanted to reiterate this (it's from a short set of
     warnings from chapter 1, in case some of you missed it):
     - To avoid spoilers and because this is a super long WIP (I don't
     plan everything far in advance), tags will continue to be updated as
     the story progresses.
     - Most importantly, not all warnings are listed. When push comes to
     shove, I might not tag some major things to avoid spoilers. So read
     at your own risk!
***** - THANK YOU - *****
Chapter Summary
     A heartfelt thank you to all the wonderful fans of this fic!
Chapter Notes
     ... and if you're still not aware, yesterday I posted a super long
     update for the story (chapter 22), so check it out, if you still
     haven't, and let me know your thoughts.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
I just want to thank every single reader who's been following this fic for over
two years now. You're patient enough when the updates are slow (or when
they don't come at all), encouraging when I feel down or inadequate, and you're
SO generous and constructive with your feedback, critique, comments,
projections, and analysis. Thank you for your guidance!
I know the updating pace is far from ideal, but I'm struggling with so many
things in the real world that make it hard for me to write regularly. That
being said, I'm committed to this and my other fics, and I'm NOT going to let
go. I absolutely love that most of you are understanding and sweet about this,
going the distance, hanging in there and only nudging me kindly from time to
time when I fall off the grid for too long. Thank you for the compassion!
Hopefully, I'll be able to escape more to AO3 in 2018, and I'll be able to
deliver on new chapters much quicker.
As some of you know, this story started as a one-shot fill for an SPN Kink meme
prompt that I personally placed there (and that I decided to fill when no one
else picked it), and many months later, it's nearly 100,000 words and counting
(and 1,900+ kudos OMG! Who would've thought?!). Honestly, I couldn't have done
it without you. It's your enthusiasm, cheering and warm support that are
keeping me going. 
Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU from the bottom of my heart, and happy new
year! Love, JL.
[Sam and Dean]
[lovely art work by Vongue who gave me permission to repost her work with
credit]
Chapter End Notes
     If you tweet, I'm @SlashPiper on Twitter, find me and let's be
     friends.
***** Into the fire *****
Chapter Summary
     Happy Birthday Dean ;)
Chapter Notes
     Some smut to celebrate 2018. // 19 JAN UPDATE: Chapter beta’d,
     edited, cleaned up and re-published.
     Important note: Sensitive subjects get addressed in this story
     (including but not limited to non-con/rape, mentions of death, sexual
     submission, BDSM, and emotional trauma) and will continue to get
     heavily addressed as the story progresses, so if you're easily
     triggered, please turn back now. It's not too late!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Dean wakes up to a gorgeous sight: Sam sitting on the edge of his bed, leaning
towards him and caressing his cheek. The blinds are pulled wide open and the
bright glow of sunlight is bouncing upon his mom's face and illuminating his
dimples and hazel green eyes.
“Good morning, birthday boy,” he says in a hushed voice and leans in to peck
Dean on the lips and the tip of his nose.
“Morning, sweetheart,” Dean mutters, voice groggy and throat dry.
Dean spends a few seconds finding his bearings. Somehow, Sam feels different
this morning. There’s a softness in Sam’s eyes that Dean doesn’t witness so
often and also a brand of sadness that seems to be buried underneath—he’s
looking at Dean with longing and a sense of loss, like Dean’s going to
disappear right in front of his eyes. It does feel like Dean is getting an
intimate glimpse into Sam’s soul for a fleeting moment. His emotions flood him
and he feels like a voyeur so he glances away.
“‘Time is it?”
“11:00. I let you sleep in all morning,” Sam says. It’s so unlike his mother.
“You alright, mom? Sure you’re not possessed or anything?”
“What can I say? I suck at discipline apparently. But hey, it looks like you
needed the shut eye. I vacuumed the entire house and you still managed to sleep
through it.”
“Really?”
“Uh-huh. Ellen and Bobby are already downstairs by the way. They came in early
to help me prep. Adam’s with them. Your aunt Naomi should be here in a couple
of hours tops.”
Dean groans, “damn, I just wanna stay in bed.”
Juggling school work ahead of a long weekend and fooling around with his mom
(getting both of them off three to four times a day for two days in a row) must
have contributed to Dean’s current state of bone-deep weariness.
“Come on, baby. Let’s get you in the shower so we can go downstairs and join
the others.”
“Only if you’re getting in there with me,” he says, his hands rubbing up and
down Sam’s arms.
“All clean and showered already. I’ve been up since 7, sweetheart,” his mom
says, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
“Then how about I get you dirty again,” says Dean huskily, and instead of
protesting, Sam belts out a hearty laugh and mutters, “corny.” The sound
of it fills Dean with a pleasant kind of fuzziness. Sammy needs to be laughing
more often, he thinks.
“Spoilsport,” Dean huffs, pretend-offended.
"Poor you," Sam says in mock apology and gives Dean a small peck on the lips.
He adds, “How about you brush your teeth first, mister? Splash some water on
your face, then we can talk about making me dirty again.”
“Wait right here,” Dean says, throwing off the covers and pushing himself out
of the bed. He strides across his room, through the hallway and into the
bathroom, moving briskly before Sam changes his mind. “Stay where you are!
Don’t you dare move,” he shouts from where he is standing, holding on to the
porcelain sink.
Dean washes his face and brushes his teeth hurriedly. He’s back in his room,
lightning fast, and he’s relieved to see that his mom hasn’t run away, or
worse, tearing up or having second thoughts or poised to guilt-trip them both.
Instead, Sam has made himself comfortable, lying back against the pillows,
tangles of hair fanned out, biting his lip, knees butterflied out and the soles
of his feet almost touching. He’s gazing back at Dean with hooded eyes that are
flirting silently albeit embarrassingly.
Effortlessly seductive, he’s barefoot and fully clothed, donning a crisp white
button down and linen slacks. Temptation has never come in a hotter, more
sinful-looking package, Dean thinks. 
The sight of him laid out like a prize, relaxed and submissive, the outline of
his bulge clear in his pants and the scent of his omega wetness in the air, is
doing all sorts of crazy things to Dean’s loins. He can feel his dick
swelling and tenting his boxer shorts, a drop of precum forming on the tip.
There’s also a vulnerability and softness in Sammy’s eyes that melts Dean’s
insides. So he does what any self-respecting alpha in his right mind would do
at seeing his omega looking so pliant and obedient, he shrugs out of his shirt,
pushes down his shorts, and jumps on the bed naked, molds himself to Sam from
head to cock, lowers his mouth to his and starts ruthlessly kissing like it’s
going out of fashion.
Dean doesn’t know if one can love someone too much, but it feels this way
sometimes with Sam—too much and consumingly. They’re both hard, and the
hitching of their breaths and churning sound of their tongues as they lick each
other’s lips are all what can be heard in the room.
Dean continues to ravish and plunder his mother’s warm and tender mouth until
Sam, breathless, pushes Dean away gently, and tells him with a voice that’s
hoarse with desire that their friends are waiting for them to come down and
lend a hand. “‘Sides, I need to make the icing for your cake,” he adds with a
small smile.
“Wait, you wanna leave me like this, rock hard without so much as touching me?”
says Dean, pulling back to let Sam catch a breath. “On my birthday of all days?
You’re heartless, Sammy.” Dean says mockingly as he uses a hand to rub one of
Sam’s voluptuous, warm breasts through his shirt.
“How do you want to get off, baby?” Sam whispers, his pupils dilated from lust,
and lips kiss-swollen and red. Dean shivers (and vaguely wonders if there’s a
catch to Sam’s obedience. His blood-deprived brain doesn’t linger in this
space, however).
Right now, Sam feels less like Dean’s mother and more like his loving wife and
Dean wants to freeze the moment. Stay together like this and let the rest of
the world carry on without them.
“First, these clothes? I want them off.”
“Hmm, I think this can be arranged,” Sam says, moisture shining on his lips and
a playful smile tugging at them. Dean bends down and licks them, can’t resist.
He plunges his tongue inside, exploring every inch of Sam’s mouth. Then he
pulls back, and places a trail of kisses along Sam’s jaw, nuzzles his neck and
bites his earlobe playfully. Unable to stop, he circles back to Sam’s
impossibly soft, cherry-red lips, kissing them once again, still can’t wrap his
head around how malleable his mom is.
But hey, Dean’s not complaining.
He pulls away from the kiss but keeps his lips ghosting over Sam’s. “I wanna
fuck you so bad," he says, voice rough.
“You know we can’t, De,” whispers Sam.
“Come on, Sammy. We both want it,” Dean whispers back, lips brushing against
Sam as he speaks.
His mom doesn’t respond, just locks their lips together again, and holds Dean
closer, running his hands through his son’s short hair and tugging it. Dean
kisses back with the same force.
A kiss, as passionate as it may be, is not exactly consent and Dean doesn’t
want to send his mom running off, so he curbs his desire once again, and
decides to settle for his current winnings.
Sam breaks the kiss for a second, and in a voice so hypnotizing and with a deep
flush coloring his cheeks, asks, “You wanna fuck my tits?”
Dean is so maddeningly aroused, it takes his mind a second to realize Sam is
actually offering this. His mom is watching his reaction, pretty bottom lip
caught tight between his own teeth and the small lip action is porn-like
despite the doe-eyed innocence of Sam’s face.
Dean doesn’t respond in words. He doesn’t even bother with the buttons, just
tugs on Sam’s shirt, and throws it off.
He spends a few seconds too long staring at Sam’s pert breasts, saliva
gathering behind his teeth at their sight — his nipples are erect, like they’re
begging for attention, and his areolae are perfectly rosy. Sam starts arching
his back and pinching his slutty nips, tugging until they become wet with milk.
Dean once spied on him doing the same thing for Castiel, and in a split second,
Dean's world keels over, an ugly knot forms in his stomach, and it feels like
all his blood is rerouting and rushing there.
Sam does this for his dad too; Castiel has had all his firsts, kissed him and
touched him everywhere, still does, and it always feels like Dean’s getting the
sloppy seconds. Does Sammy writhe in his dad’s arm like this too, make eyes at
him, and beg with his body just like he’s doing with Dean now?
Dean is suddenly trembling with jealousy, pupils narrowing and his eyes
clouding over. Sam immediately registers his son’s distress.
“Dean,” he whispers, worry worming its way into his fast beating heart. Dean
withdraws, sitting back on his haunches between Sam’s spread thighs, and looks
away.
“It’s not fair that dad gets to see you like this too,” he says and the words
flow like acid through Sam’s veins. It’s the sincerely solemn, dark tone in
which Dean says this that flattens him.
Sam doesn’t know what to say or how to defend himself against this. He gulps as
he remembers all the things that he has been letting Castiel do to him lately
to make up for his sinful longing for their son—things that would make Dean
loathe him if he knew. A sudden sick surge of fear courses through Sam; what if
Dean ever finds out that he now scenes with Cas, how Sam allows his hide to be
whooped with a belt like property, how he obediently presents and lets his cunt
get fake-raped to atone for a secret sin, how every time Sam submits, he takes
his ego and burns it, how he cries and begs to be hit, kicked and pummeled, how
he walks around sometimes with welts on his ass and bruises around his private
parts, clothes hiding the scarlet marks from view — he does it for Cas, and for
his own sanity, but in a way, Sam must admit that he does it for Dean too.
Because otherwise, how can he give Dean anything? Without the penance, how can
Sam excuse or stomach the transgressions, the cheating? What he does with
Castiel isn't redemption but it balances the scales—or so he tells himself.
But Sam doesn’t mention any of this, of course. He doesn’t dare. His heart
pounds in his throat and he stays tight-lipped, just staring up at his son—the
unsaid words like bitter ash inside his mouth. In his mind, he is lost ...
reduced to a whimpering mess.
“Do you also whore yourself out to dad like this every night while I sleep
alone in my room, forgotten, desperate, dreaming of touching you?” Dean asks,
voice tortured, his face pale, his eyes misty and it all feels so damn wrong,
Sam thinks, considering how much he’s compromised to make Dean happy, at least
for a little while.
“Do you touch yourself and talk dirty and make him watch? Huh, mom?”
Sam can’t have this. He can’t bear to watch Dean bleed for love in his embrace;
wetness in his eyes and shoulders hunched in defeat. Not on his birthday, not
when he's planning to send his boy away and poor Dean has no clue. Not when his
son is so preciously young and in the first flush of love but aching. Not when,
in reality, Sam feels like a whored-out wife when he’s with Cas, because
it's not who he belongs to anymore. So Sam acts on impulse. He sits up a
little, pulls Dean to him and roughly flips him over onto his back so Sam's on
top. He might be an omega but he’s still bigger than his son and he’s the more
experienced one between them. The element of surprise works in his favor too.
He straddles Dean's hips and his son stares up at him—lips parted, and eyes a
little wide and darkening with arousal. Sam rapidly pushes his pants and briefs
down in one swift movement and slumps forward awkwardly only for a second to
push them down and off his feet. He sits himself back on Dean’s crotch, stark
naked, hips grinding—his son’s hardness sliding sensually between his cheeks.
Sam lets himself fall forward and slots their lips together, kissing Dean
frantically.
“It’s never been like that,” Sam says between kisses. His voice carries a
resigned sympathy, his breaths are coming strong and Sam feels like he’s now
tumbling off the edge of the precipice that he’s been scaling for years.
“I need you to see that. I'm begging you,” Sam whispers, raining open-mouthed
kisses on his son’s spit-wet lips between words. Dean is groaning dirtily into
his mouth.
They’re gloriously naked, burning hot, frotting as they lie on top of each
other and as the lights flood the bedroom and the curtains remain wide
open—voyeuring, nosey neighbors be damned.
There’s some commotion downstairs, echoes of Bobby’s gruff voice can be heard,
but it all feels too distant to matter; like it’s happening in another world
that Sam and Dean are not a part of. The universe is now reduced to where their
sweaty bodies are touching. 
Sam reaches back with a hand and finally does what he’s been trying to avoid,
seemingly forever. He holds onto Dean’s fat cock, and sits on it.
He walks straight into the flames; a human sacrifice to his beloved.
His ass, though wet is not stretched open enough, but Sam takes it, pushes and
bears down, welcoming the pain and the impossible relief that comes with
putting out. This is where he belongs, he thinks as he tries to fit Dean’s dick
in him. His son howls like a wounded animal as his mom’s tight hole swallows
his cock — his eyes squeezed shut, and lips bitten red.
“Don't you dare think that there is anyone, past or present, that I would put
in front of you,” Sam says, sweating bullets, rolling his head back as he
finally gives one last push and sinks all the way down, burying Dean’s dick to
the hilt in his slick channel.
Sam rakes his hands through the tumble of his unkempt, now damp-with-sweat
hair, rides out the sensation of fullness then very gingerly makes himself
slump forward onto Dean’s chest.
He gasps as even the cautious movement pulls agonizingly at his furled center
and sends a jolt of pain to the lowest point of his spine.
Dean is speechless, barely catching his breath and Sam can feel the tremors run
through his son’s body, connected as they are.
But despite his shock, Dean manages to gently circle his arms around Sam and
runs one hand up and down Sam’s spine as his mother adjusts to Dean’s size and
girth, and as Dean himself adapts to the impossible pressure around his teenage
alpha cock.
Sam rests his temple against Dean’s forehead, and stays like this for a short
moment. He doesn’t move his head or open his eyes until he feels wetness
against his cheeks. He pulls back and meets Dean’s eyes and he’s surprised to
see that the wide orbs are filled with tears. Dean closes his eyes and they
pour freely. His baby boy’s face is red. His cupid’s bow, sinuous lips are
pursed and the adoring look in Dean’s misty eyes right before they closed and
spilled their silent confession of undying love is everything.
Sam puts his mouth to work: licks the salty tears and starts kissing Dean’s
face—his cheeks, lips, forehead, his freckled nose, and his eyelids. Sam
already worships his son; if giving him this is the sacrifice Sam needs to make
to prove it, so be it.
Sam feels dizzy, swimming in a whirlwind of need. His dick is hard and is
poking Dean just above his navel, his asshole is pulsating around Dean’s cock,
and he’s now trembling with the need to be fucked. He rolls and grinds his hips
experimentally and it’s bliss just to feel Dean quiver so deeply inside of him.
Back in his guts. His motherly instincts kick in, and strangely, suddenly, Sam
has this cannibalistic urge to swallow Dean whole inside of his womb; pull his
son back inside his body so that they become one again; force his son’s flesh
and blood, his skin and being to merge with his own. The mental image is
macabre, and feral, and possessive, and Sam is blinded with it for a few
seconds before he grounds himself, sits up straight and starts riding Dean’s
dick.
There’s no way that the voices they’re making are not traveling downstairs but
neither of them seem to care at the moment. Let them hear. Let the entire
neighborhood witness their erotic depravity and their unconventional, twisted
feelings for each other.
Sam stays in charge and works himself up and down on Dean’s cock, starts slow
then bounces himself fast and animalistic. Sam's dick sticks out of a thatch of
dark pubic hair, swaying and bobbing and spitting precum on their skin and on
the sheets as his movements become fast and jerky. 
Dean holds one of Sam’s hand in his, lacing their fingers together, and keeps
his eyes locked with Sam’s. His other hand is flat on Sam’s tit, squeezing and
fondling, coaxing wetness out of Sam’s engorged nipple as it jiggles under his
palm. He is sucking oxygen in gulps, shakes with the effort to meet Sam thrust
for thrust. He’s suddenly overwhelmed; can’t believe that he’s making love to
Sammy. Dean can literally feel himself stuffing his mother to the brim,
spilling precum right against his sweet spot as Sammy expertly sways and dances
on his dick — dirty, slutty, whorish. His whore now. Fucking finally.
Sam’s hole starts convulsing and his dick spills in ropey spurts. Makes a mess
of both of them.
Spent, he tumbles forward into Dean’s waiting arms, head swimming and penis hot
and pulsating.
Dean buries his face in Sam’s neck. It's arched as if in invitation and
Dean doesn't fight the blind urge to fasten his mouth around his mom’s throat.
He can hear his own heart pounding in his chest, languorous ecstasy coursing
through his veins as his teeth press and dig into damp skin to bite and bruise,
and his lips suck wetly in their wake to make amends.
This will leave a mark. Dean knows. And Sam lets it happen. 
His mom lifts his head and tilts it to look Dean squarely in the eyes, his hot
breath burning Dean’s kiss-bruised lips. There's nothing but love in those eyes
and Dean only has to lean in a little to claim his mother’s voluptuous mouth.
The kisses that follow are breath-stealing, all slurpy tongues and deep moans.
Dean’s body jerks with his nearing climax, his toes curling and his back
arching in a struggle to stave off his impending orgasm.
Somehow, his omega mom has managed to turn him into a writhing mess when he’s
the one who’s actually doing the fucking.
There’s no one, no one, like his Sammy.
Dean’s final thrusts are more frantic, out of sync, leaving his knees trembling
and weak. There’s enough sense in his mind, however, to ask Sam, with his eyes,
if he can spill inside and knot. Sam gets it and just slips off Dean’s prick,
in silent response.
The rough slide almost sends Dean over the edge but he manages to reign himself
in. The loss of Sam's tight heat is palpable.
Sam doesn't leave his son's cock unsheathed for long. He quickly turns around
on his hands and knees, bends forward and folds himself like a pretzel, ass up
and right in Dean’s face, then he tosses his hair and swallows Dean’s cock all
the way down his throat until his nose hits the curls at the base.
Sam's balls are heavy and his knees are stretched wide apart, still straddling
Dean's torso in a modified 69.
His mother's softening cock is very lightly, almost torturously brushing Dean’s
abs, leaving a wet trail where it slips and slides. 
Dean wants to will his head to move so he can dip his tongue inside his mom’s
asshole — sloppy wet, gaping in invitation, and winking enticingly—he really
wants to. But his cock warmed inside Sam’s mouth can’t handle the maddening
stimulation and his nostrils are catching the lingering scent of Sam's arousal.
Sam squeezes his balls very lightly and Dean finally gives up and shoots
his spunk inside Sammy’s slutty orifice while whimpering like the dying.
Sam dutifully swallows his new alpha's semen.
Only a couple of seconds later, Sam’s hole shudders and squirts beautifully—the
explosion of slick soiling the back of Sam’s thighs and spraying Dean’s chest
and his flushed cheeks, even catching in the sweep of Dean's long eyelashes.
It’s easily the prettiest sight Dean has ever set his eyes upon; it’s like
Sammy is peeing from his ass, except that omega slick is thick, sugar-sweet,
its whiff like perfume to Dean’s alpha senses. 
Sam sighs and giggles around the flesh in his mouth; the quake of his laugh
tickling Dean’s length and sending a flutter to his now-mushy insides.
Sam finally lets Dean’s over-sensitive dick slip from his mouth, covered in the
slobber and cum that Sam didn’t swallow down or spit out. He presses an
impossibly soft kiss to the center of Dean’s twitching head, right on the
sensitive slit.
Dean’s whole body spasms, his penis still tingling and the afterglow of
arousal sinking into his bones.
Sam just stays in his position, shoulders sagging, fingers splayed on the
sheets, too tired to sit up or lift his head, still straddling Dean, with his
ass presented.
His son, the overachiever, decides he still wants more and slots his lips over
Sam’s wanton hole and starts slurping his abundant slick—shifting between
lapping out Sam’s release, still coming in tiny globs, and stabbing his tongue
inside, past Sam's loose rim, to coax out more.
Sam claws at the bed sheets and tries to crawl away, shifting his weight and
moving off Dean in an attempt to escape the plundering of his basest part;
over-stimulation making his flesh prickle and his toes curl. But the heat of
Dean’s mouth doggedly follows, as if his son’s fiery lips are tethered to his
easy, fucked-out hole. Entitled to own and prey on his man-pussy, even turn it
inside out.
When Dean’s done french kissing his hole, the two lovers shift their positions
and lie side by side, facing each other. The ease in which their mouths find
each other repeatedly, lips melding like magnets, is a testament to how
effortlessly they fit together.
The lush curve of Dean's lips tastes like Sam’s slick, and Sam’s mouth is
slippery with the remains of Dean’s ejaculate, and it’s dirty, wrong, perfect.
The two continue to lick the insides of each other mouths insatiably, hands
roaming over sweat-slick bodies like they haven’t just fucked each other sore.
Sam is the first to break away from the liplock, however, breathing deeply and
heavily before he can manage to utter a single word. “I don’t care who else
touches me, De,” and it’s the tail end of their earlier conversation, picks
right where they left off, “this,” he says hoarsely, taking one of Dean’s hands
and placing it flat against his chest, over his heart. “This belongs to you.”
Dean looks at where his hand is resting underneath Sam’s. Then his eyes flick
to the mark he’d left earlier with his teeth, high on Sam’s neck; angry red,
slowly dilating, obscene, like a brand. He slowly leans in and puts his lips to
the soft fleshy part right beside where their hands are overlapping and
intertwined. He touches his mouth feathers-soft to Sam’s skin and just lets it
sit there.
It feels like a birthright to have Sammy like this, to give the man helpless
orgasms, to penetrate his tender depths and make him swoon, lay claim to his
heart and the most secret parts of his body and own the gushing fountain of
delight between his legs.
Sam hugs Dean with his free arm, and Dean is content to keep his face smushed
against his mother’s beautiful chest, his breath coming warm against Sam’s
collarbone. He wants to stay like this until the Earth is upright again and he
can get his sweeping emotions under control. His world is starting to swing
open on a road that even Dean—as many times as he’d wished for this—doesn’t
know where it leads to. So yeah, he needs a moment.
Sam kisses his forehead and whispers, “How about that shower now, De?” Dean
hums contentedly against his chest, and smiles wide.
.....
Chapter End Notes
     The party itself will be next chapter. Cue: sly-Rhonda, Cas-parents-
     drama, drunk-flirty-Benny, jealous-Dean, jealous-Sam, everybody is
     jealous basically, etc. This is where it all gets super messy and
     angsty again so brace yourselves.
     Hope this small chapter didn't disappoint, considering we've been
     building towards this moment for a while.
     But hey, this is just the beginning. The trickle before the flood.
     Feedback is gold! Would love me some x
***** - Dear readers - *****
Chapter Summary
     It's a love letter masquerading as a warning.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
 
     Dear (beautiful, loyal, gorgeous) readers,
     Let me first thank you for the flood of love and support (Over 2000
     kudos?! Wow. I'm truly humbled. Couldn't have dreamed this!).
     I'd like to quickly reiterate that I don't warn for everything in
     this fic to avoid spoilers (and the tags have been reflecting this
     fact for close to a year now, in case you haven't noticed) so please
     always read at your own risk (and always remember that I love you and
     respect your choice to discontinue reading if you start feeling any
     discomfort as a result of reading this fic — because of kinks or
     subject matter or any triggers it might have).
     I have already peppered the story with some warnings regarding
     sensitive content, and I have included a pretty exhaustive list of
     tags and notes, but I like to be safe and repeat this from time to
     time because I respect you so much and I don't want any of you to be
     triggered by any subject or issue that this story might address or
     touch upon (even at the expense of losing readers).
     Although the fic has porn and smut, it's clearly not a light read,
     and several readers have more than once talked about how they have
     mixed feelings for the characters' choices, how they feel pained when
     one character or another gets hurt, and they sometimes question the
     morality of the whole set-up because sometimes it feels too real. I
     always take it as a great compliment and perhaps a testament that I
     may be telling a good story after all, but I also don't take this
     kind of feedback lightly.
     I'm fully aware that some people come to fanfic world and AO3 in
     particular to relax and have fun, and not to have their emotions torn
     apart or hearts broken. I understand this. Hence the repeated
     warnings.
     Bottom line: If you're a sensitive reader and/or easily triggered,
     it's not too late to turn back. The plot will thicken, emotions will
     get tangled up more, hearts will break, your favorite character may
     get hurt and things will get even more complicated (the story is FAR
     from over). With this type of love triangle, please remember that not
     all characters will come out on top, and someone will end up getting
     hurt, if not all three (and we're already seeing it).
     If you're looking for fluff and light SPN m/m romance, this is very
     obviously not the story for you (if it's not already clear, here I am
     stating it explicitly). If you're here for the feels (and sure, all
     the sex and erotic scenes) but also for the drama, the intensity and
     uneasy emotions, and if you can stomach grave situations and the
     possibility of tears and heartache, then you're on the right track
     and this is for you. There are no easy answers in this fic (sorry!).
     Of course, I wish that everyone can read and enjoy it, but because I
     appreciate you so much, I'd rather lose readers then hurt their
     feelings in any way or form.
     Thanks for sticking with me, and thanks for reading thus far. I hope
     I never, ever, ever disappoint you because frankly, I can't do this
     without you. You're truly the backbone of this story. And I plan to
     continue writing it for a (pretty long) while. 
     I'm back to writing this week and plan to update by mid-February at
     most, and I hope and pray that the new chapter meets expectations.
     Much love,
     Jo xox
Chapter End Notes
     New juicy chapter coming up soonish! Stay tuned! And thanks again for
     bearing with me xox
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