Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/258385.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Stats:
      Published: 2006-11-20 Words: 1707
****** Forgotten ******
by itsthedetails
Summary
     Dean could have lost his brother tonight.

The three Winchesters stumble from the car into the small apartment they’ve
been renting for the last six weeks. Dean can’t decide who he needs to help
more. They’re both hanging on to him, trusting him to get them safely inside.
Dad is definitely worse off physically, but Sam has got this dazed look in his
eyes that is ripping at Dean’s insides.
Dean wants to be angry with Dad for taking Sam on this hunt, but he can’t.
Dean’s the one who told him Sam was ready; that he could do this. Thirteen
years old, what the hell was Dean thinking? No matter that Sam’s had all the
same training as Dean; he just shouldn’t have been there tonight.
Dad staggers down the short hallway to his bedroom in the back and Dean knows
he’ll be passed out, sprawled across the bed, before he can even get his boots
off. He lets him go, knowing that while there’s blood, the wounds are
superficial.
Dean turns his entire focus to Sam. He’s just standing in the hall, looking
confused, like he’s not sure where he is. Dean grabs his brother’s arm and
leads him to the bathroom. “Come on Sammy let’s get you undressed and into a
nice hot shower. It’ll make you feel better.”
He basically manhandles his brother into the bathroom, but Sam still hasn’t
said anything and his eyelids are drooping like his been drugged. The
fluorescent light glows brightly, making the hospital-grade pale green tile
glare around them. Lime stains cloud the filthy shower door despite how much
scrubbing Dean has done trying to clean it.
He gives Sam another little push. “Sammy, go on, get moving. You can’t sleep
like that. You’ll thank me in the morning.”
Dean twists the leaky faucet to get the warm water going and grimaces at his
brother covered in blood and guts. Not his own, but covered none the less. Sam
whispers something that Dean can’t quite make out, and Dean’s not sure if the
barely-there whisper is worse than the shrieking Sam was doing a few hours ago
when the demon they killed tonight was chasing him. Before Dean shot it and it
collapsed on top of Sam, exploding its innards all over his little brother.
He tries to make a joke, do anything to get Sam to snap out of his funk. “Are
you five again, Sam? You still need me to bathe you? Come on, off with the
shirt.”
Sam looks down at his plaid shirt and with trembling fingers tries to undo the
buttons. He’s shaking too hard to get them open, though. He meets Dean’s eyes
with a pleading stare and practically whines his name. “Dean.”
Dean reaches forward with a frustrated sigh, quickly pops the buttons and
pushes the shirt off. Sam is as compliant as he was as a little kid reaching
his arms up for Dean to lift the undershirt over his head. Sam finally comes to
life a bit and gets the rest of his clothing off himself.
He steps into the shower and Dean sighs in relief. Dean strips his own gore-
covered shirt off and kicks his boots into the corner. He catches sight of
himself in the grimy mirror and sees how exhausted he looks. He thinks to
himself that he’s gonna get Sam cleaned up and himself showered and then sleep
for a week.
Dean peeks around the shower door to tell Sam to hurry up, to not waste all the
hot water, and finds his little brother staring at the mildewed tile wall and
shivering despite the heated steam rising around him. “Oh, Sammy.”
There’re bits of demon entrails clinging to Sam’s hair and the gore and blood
are staining the tub pink. Dean sheds the rest of his clothes and climbs in
next to his brother. He grabs the washcloth he’d put in Sam’s hand a few
minutes ago and soaps it up.
Gently, he washes Sam’s neck and back. He runs the cloth over his not-so-skinny
anymore arms, taking special care to get the blood that’s imbedded under his
fingernails. He soaps up Sam’s legs, scrubbing at his knees and around his
ankles. He can feel Sam’s muscles begin to relax and a small sigh escapes from
his little brother, letting Dean relax a fraction.
Dean tosses the pink stained cloth to the corner of the tub and grabs the
shampoo bottle. He lathers up Sam’s hair and even those soapy bubbles turn
pink. While kneading his foamy fingers through Sam’s hair Dean’s realizes how
easy it would have been to lose his baby brother tonight. Had the demon caught
up to Sam, if Dean’s shot had been a fraction too wide, instead of washing
demon blood from Sam’s hair he’d have watched Sam’s fresh young blood seep into
the ground. Letting his thought’s run away from him Dean rubs too hard and Sam
tries to duck away, coming alive a bit more, but Dean just scrubs harder trying
to erase any trace of tonight’s clash.
Sam’s watching him now and the dazed look has faded and been replaced with such
a Sam look that it makes Dean relax more. Dean smiles a little and pushes Sam’s
thick hair up, arranging it into a giant point of soapy lather sticking
straight up from his head.
He grins at Sam, meeting his gaze. “I told you, Sammy, that you were dropped on
your head as a baby. Take a look at that head.” Sam gifts him with a thousand-
watt smile, shoves his hand away and finally speaks in a voice above a whisper.
“That only worked when I was five, Dean.”
Dean rearranges the hair. “How about a Mohawk? You always liked that one.” He
continues to play with the curls at the back of Sam’s neck, stroking the soft
baby hairs there. He’s about to shove Sam directly under the spray, when all of
the sudden Sam twists away from him and faces the wall.
Surprised, Dean asks if Sam’s alright, but all he gets in return is a mumbled
answer to the wall. He puts his hand on Sam’s shoulder, but before he can ask
Sam to repeat himself Sam twists further away. “Just lemme alone.”
He stares at Sam, unsure of what’s going and why his brother is suddenly so
enthralled by the sour green tiles of the shower. Dean’s gaze drops down and
watches the water sluice over his own belly before his lips twist into a smirk.
He steps closer in the enclosed space and whispers into Sam’s ear. “You hard,
little brother?”
The flush that spreads over the back of Sam’s neck is enough of an answer for
him.
Dean chuckles and he sees Sam’s shoulders stiffen. “Don’t sweat it, bro, we’re
in the shower and I was touching you. It’s no big deal. You’re thirteen, it’s
gonna happen. Besides, look at me.”
Sam turns, surprise etched on his face as he looks down at Dean’s half-hard
cock. He turns such a pretty shade of plum and just as quickly looks away.
Dean’s about to step out of the shower to let Sam take care of business when
Sam catches his arm, stopping him. Sam’s gaze freezes Dean in place; his eyes
are dark and intense and filled with… lust? That look sends an electric shock
through Dean’s entire body and his own cock stands fully erect, flushed dark
with hot blood against the creamy skin of his belly.
Sam steps forward; his brother’s name a desperate plea on his lips. “Dean,
please.”
Dean’s not sure if Sam really knows what he’s asking, and Dean’s not sure what
he’s willing to give, but their eyes are locked and the fiery look that’s
passing between them is doing crazy things to Dean’s head.
His hand comes up and his fingers trail down Sam’s wet, heated skin. They trace
the ribs that stand out on Sam’s too-skinny frame. They stutter to a stop when
they reach Sam’s hip, his thumb making small circles in the delicate flesh
stretched over bone. It’s a step he’s willing to take, but only if Sam is.
Sam whimpers and it’s all the answer Dean needs. He curls his hand around his
baby brother’s dick and strokes. Sam lets out a strangled moan and grips his
own hands into Dean’s shoulders, jerking his hips forward.
Dean strokes him harder, swirling his thumb around the head, and then pressing
the slit. Sam’s hips buck wildly, “Dean, I need…”
Dean pumps faster, “I got you, Sammy. I got you.”
He can feel Sam’s fingers dig deeper into his shoulders and he twists his wrist
on the upstroke. Sam’s coming against Dean’s stomach, hot and sticky, and Dean
thinks he’s never seen anything this hot ever before. Sam’s skin is flushed
bright pink and is glistening under the deluge of water, as his chest heaves
with stuttered breath.
Sam looks up at him, a mixture of amazement and embarrassment painted across
his face. They’re still standing only centimeters apart when Sam’s body brushes
forward against Dean’s straining erection making his eyes roll back; his breath
hitch.
Sam’s eyes widen, and he reaches out to touch Dean. Hesitant fingers brush his
brother’s cock and Dean thrusts his hips to press into the touch. Sam wraps a
tentative hand around Dean, giving a small squeeze.
Dean rolls his hips and fucks into Sam’s slippery fist. Sam watches with
fascination as Dean loses control right before his eyes, frantically jerking
forward. Suddenly, Dean’s coming as he slams his mouth over Sam’s; rocking
against him and crushing his tongue into Sam’s mouth.
Sam’s eyes widen, almost comically, and he tries to keep up with Dean’s
incessant kiss.
It’s over and both of them are breathing heavy in a barely lukewarm shower.
They’re hazy and sated and neither expected the night to end this way given how
it started out.
The shower is turned off. They leave ruined clothes on the bathroom floor and a
trail of damp towels to their bedroom. They curl around in each other in Dean’s
bed, warm and content, and drift off to sleep; horrors of dangerous chases and
exploding demon viscera forgotten until another day.
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