Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1056159.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Character:
      Sam_Winchester, Dean_Winchester, John_Winchester, Bobby_Singer, Cassie
      Robinson, Jessica_Moore, Jim_Murphy
  Additional Tags:
      Wincest_-_Freeform, Teencesters, Angst, Dubious_Consent, Headcanon,
      Kissing, Curtain_Fic
  Series:
      Part 1 of Headcanon_'Verse
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-11-23 Words: 10480
****** I am the Alpha and the Omega ******
by paper_back_writer
Summary
     I'm new.
     Discovered the word 'headcanon'.
     Got over excited.
     This is mine.
     Building on a couple of teeny fics in ...you_fool
     Set pre series, 1;01 and Spoilers for potentially everything so
     careful.
     Underage - Sam is 16
     This is un-beta'd so please feel free to feedback on stuff I messed
     up.
     Always helpful if you say something nice and something that could be
     improved upon.
     That way my writing gets better and I don’t cry myself to sleep at
     night : ) x
Dean was always the oldest.
Even at four years old, he was the oldest.
Mom was gone and it was so confusing. He didn't really understand why she
wouldn't come back.
He wanted to go home so badly because he missed his room and it made sense that
she would be there but every time he asked, John would sit him down and explain
again that the fire had burnt it up so they couldn't.
Dean started to wonder if she had gone with the angel, the one she said watched
him while he slept. Maybe he'd taken her from the fire to keep her safe but now
she couldn't find them.
He tried to ask John about it but he would just start to cry and squeeze him so
tight, Dean felt a little scared.
Dad missed Mom so much. It made Dad so sad and cross, he just seemed to cry all
the time in the beginning. When that stopped, it was almost worse. He was just
so silent.
But that was okay because there was Sammy. And even though he couldn't play
ball or do anything really, Dean would talk to him and teach him stuff like the
names of all the different trucks he knew or which things he shouldn't put in
his mouth.
And he would watch him when he was sleeping, just to make sure that the angel
didn't decide to take him too.
John would see him sat cross legged, his chin resting in his chubby hands just
staring at the crib and would ask him "Dean, what are you doing there?" and
Dean would say "Nothin'. Watching out for Sammy" and John would smile.
It was the only time John would smile.
So Dean knew, right from the beginning, that it was the right thing to do.
Even before John talked about it like it was his job. And for a long while it
was the only thing that he could do.
----------------------------------
Dean sat in the dark and listened to the sound of Sam breathing.
It had been slow and restful but now he was puffing out irregular huffs. Dean
hoped that it was a regular dream, not a nightmare. A regular dream for a
regular kid.
He scoffed quietly to himself as he brought the bottle up to his lips. He took
a slow draft and then lowered it, letting his arm dangle over the arm of the
small couch, swinging the beer gently between his two fingers.
He had tried to sleep but there was only so much tossing and turning he could
do before deciding to give it up.
Normally he would read. He had a Salinger hidden at the bottom of his duffel
that was nearly done but he didn't think he could concentrate tonight. There
had been too much research for Dad's hunt tonight during the day to make
reading seem restful.
Beer was helping his body to relax and hopefully his brain would catch up soon.
At least he'd found something that worked, though he was determined that it
shouldn't become a habit. He didn't really like the way a bottle seemed to be
the go-to solution for his father. There were a lot of things to admire about
the man but his relationship with Jack and Jose wasn't one of them.
Sam shifted in the darkness. Dean could see the grey mound bulge and a whitish
elbow breach the surface of the bedcovers before Sam settled down, facing away
from him.
Dean ran his free hand over his face, the sound of calloused fingers over
stubble sounding loud in the darkness. He wished he could turn off the
swirling, dull thoughts looping in his brain.
Things had always been…complicated. The life they led, grasping at the straws
of normality whenever they could find them, training like soldiers, covered in
gore and weirdness the rest of the time, it was complicated.
But now. What the hell were they going to do now? Or more importantly, what was
he going to do now?
Because ultimately, he was the oldest. He couldn't expect Sam to really be
responsible or know fully what they were getting into.
Except he seemed to have a better handle on it than Dean.
The first time they kissed was somehow the first time either of them had felt
complete.
God, Dean felt stupid even thinking about it like that but when Sam had said
it, he had to admit that thats exactly how it did feel.
They had spent months struggling with their own private torment, both of them
scared and horrified by the intimate thoughts of each other and their bodies
reaction to them. Sam had put his down to some psychological trauma. Dean had
put it down to just being sick. Just another way that he was going to
disappoint his father and fail do the one job he had. Watch out for Sam.
But then when it had actually happened, after a long day, both of them needing
comfort and the kind of understanding that you can only get from someone who
knows your soul, not just this week's fake version of you, it didn't feel sick
or wrong. And now not doing it, felt like the sick option. It felt natural and
easy to be together like that. And even when it wasn't, when it was terrifying,
when they knew John could be back any minute, when they reached for each other
in the dark, desperately quiet, it still felt right.
Sam wanted to talk endlessly about it but all Dean ever asked was "Are you sure
Sammy?" or "Are you okay, Sammy?" which infuriated Sam but really it was all he
cared about. He didn't care why they felt like this, or what had shaped them to
think it was okay or whether it would last or if it was a hormone thing. All he
cared about was if his brother was okay, right now.
What happened, had happened and who knew what might happen next. It all seemed
so less important than what was staring them in the face right this minute.
And right at this minute, the thing staring him in the face was Sam's
desperation to move things on to the 'next level' as he'd so delicately put it.
Dean wanted to go slow.
Sam was sixteen. He needed to be sure that Sam was sure. So he's been careful
to make sure that they hadn't gone too far, although by normal standards that
first kiss would have been going to far. God knows what holding your dick
against your brother's, jacking you both off would be construed as.
There was enough trauma in Sam's life, he couldn't bare the thought of adding
to it by forcing himself on his little brother.
Although he had been pretty traumatised himself when Sam had said he'd been
'researching' the best way to go about it.
All kinds of horrifying images and scenarios popped in Dean's head, shady
conversations with fat sweaty men in trench coats, the low end of pay per view
porn, thumbing dodgy magazines in a sex shop.
Apparently the internet was a wonderful thing that meant Sam had been spared
all that and Dean relaxed. Sort of.
He knew some stuff, hell, he'd done some stuff. He was twenty after all but all
his experience had been with girls. Admittedly some of those girls had been
more than happy to try pretty much anything, what Sam was talking about was all
new to him.
He really wasn't interested in guys, he knew he wasn't gay despite how he felt
about his brother, so knowing how to pleasure a guy seemed…superfluous.
He had enough to remember about sticking which pointy thing into which pointy
monster without having that stuff rattling around in his head.
The thing that really freaked him though was the thought of getting it wrong.
He knew what he was doing with girls and besides, if they didn't like it or he
screwed up some how, it didn't matter. There would always be another girl.
But there was only one Sammy.
He so desperately didn't want to disappoint or hurt him. He knew from exploring
his own body that it was easily done and somehow couldn't imagine the fall out
of not getting it right or making him happy. God, it made him feel pathetic.
Sam coughed. Dean could see his vague shape rise up on his elbow and stare at
the empty bed next to him "Dean?"
"I'm here."
Sam looked over his shoulder but seeing nothing flicked on the light between
the beds and blinking, turned back. His hair was sticking up all over and he
had a hint of white crust at the corner of his mouth "What time is it?"
"About 2.30" Dean didn't need to look at his watch but raised his hand to rub
his eyes instead. "Did I wake you?"
Sam squinted, trying to orientate himself and flopped his arm and the covers
forward to sit upright."No. No, I don't think so. I was having a weird dream."
"Something fun?"
"Not sure. I'd gone to try out for the football team. Except when I got there
it was for a major league team. And there was a game and Dad was there but he
was on the bench and just kept smiling and waving and Uncle Bobby was a
linesman and kept yelling at me but I couldn't understand what he was saying
and you were there but you were on the other team…"
Dean snorted, "You had me playing for the other team?"
Sam chuckled and rubbed his eyes "I dunno, man. It's just a dream."
"Well, the most disturbing thing sounds like Dad smiling and waving."
"Yeah, maybe. What about you? Bad dreams?"
"Didn't even get the chance."
Sam nodded towards the empty bottle "Is that helping?"
Dean glared and pushed himself out of the chair with his hands. "Don't start,
Sam"
Sam opened his mouth to speak again but thought better of it and just ran his
smart alec thought in his head while he watched his brother walk to the
bathroom. He was still sitting there when Dean came back in and plopped himself
down on the bed facing him. Dean started to pull off his tshirt, very aware of
Sam's eyes on him and his mumbled,
"Y'know…you could sleep in my bed, if you wanted."
Dean smiled but shook his head. "We've been over this Sammy. I want to. But if
Dad came back…if he found us…" Dean couldn't even bring himself to imagine what
could happen. But he knew if he survived it, he would be the one left out in
the cold. John would just take
Sam and run and that terrified him.
Sam nodded silently and looked down at the fingers twisting in his lap. Dean
looked at the boy. It made him feel torn up inside to say no to him. It made no
difference how hard he tried to control the situation, all it took was one word
from Sam, one look and all his good intentions went out the window. Maybe it
was time to stop. Stop the thoughts in his head, stop the endless struggle with
his body and his damn stupid brain. Maybe it was time to stop thinking. So he
reached out with his hand and took hold of the edge of Sam's bed and let his
hips follow it over.
"Sleeping's overrated anyhow."
Sam didn't raise his head but Dean could feel the smile radiate out from him.
They sat there a little longer talking about nothing and tentatively exploring
each others fingers and hands until Dean didn't want to wait any longer.
Wrapping a hand around the back of Sam's neck, he pulled him in, their mouths
meeting open and wet, tongues instantly sliding each other, Dean breathing
spearmint into Sam's gasping throat. Sam's hands found Dean's hair and
shoulders and clung to him, fingers pressing into his flesh, holding him close
as Dean crawled up over his body, pushing him back, laying him down on the
rumpled bed.
He took his time.
Took what felt like an age.
Dean moved his hands over Sam before he slowly worked his fingers into him,
gradually inching forward, waiting for Sam to completely relax, sucking and
licking his neck and chest and stomach and arms until his mouth was numb and
his cock was steel hard from listening to Sam gasp and beg and 'oh god Dean!'
over and over.
And all he could think of to say was 'Are you sure?', ' Should I stop?' until
the moment he slid inside him, hellish slow. I
t would have been slower but Sam's fingers buried into the muscles of his ass
and urged him forwards.
Then they were both a flurry of 'Jesus, fuck's' and 'Oh god, don't stop's.
Dean tried to be slow, be careful, sliding as far into Sam as he dared,
battling against the urge to thrust full hard and Sam's insistent 'oh god oh
god go faster'. But there wasn't the chance.
Dean's eyes opened and met Sam's and it was all over. Dean lost control of his
hips and they pulsed forward hard as he came. He cursed as Sam moments later,
arched back clenching around him and calling out his name, coated their bellies
with hot white.
Then they lay there, sticky and panting, Dean's head resting down onto Sam's
shoulder, Sam's arms wrapped around his neck, his face buried in his hair, both
breathless and wordless.
Light was starting to turn the thin curtains from black to bluish by the time
they stepped out of the shower and back into Sam's bed. Dean curled in behind
Sam, one arm tight around him, breathing in the scent of his hair and dozed
until he heard the Impala's low growl.
He pulled back the covers carefully so not to wake the sleeping boy and was
halfway into his own bed when the door creaked open. John looked about to speak
but Dean put a finger to his lips. John closed the door quietly behind him and
looked quizzically at Dean as he slid under his blanket with a yawn.
"What's been going on here?" He didn't look mad, just confused and tired. And
Dean knew it was going to be okay.
"Nothing Dad. Sammy had a rough night. Bad dreams. Did it go down alright?"
"Yeah, all good. Ram's blood did the trick. You should get some sleep."
"Yes sir"
And that was all it took.
Which was a lot in a way.
It took Sam to stop trying so hard to impress his big brother.
It took John to come to the conclusion that Dean was still looking out for his
baby boy even though they were both full grown and no more than that.
And it took Dean to trust Sam. To realise that, yes, he was the oldest but that
Sam wasn't a child anymore and that it was alright to let him decide what he
wanted. That he was allowed to be happy too.
------------------------------------
Sam often thought about that first night.
For him, it seemed to be the end of the relentless loneliness he felt but for
Dean it seemed different.
He couldn't help think back to a few years before, he wasn't sure when.
John had taken Dean on one of his first big hunts. Dean had been twitchy and
nervous and stressing about it but it had all gone the way it was supposed to.
Something had died and it wasn't one of them.
But Sam remembered clearly, watching from the back of the car, curled up under
a blanket, as his Dad and Dean dragged a shifter, or werewolf maybe, into the
woods and then after a while smelling the woodsmoke and the sickly odour of
burning flesh permeating the night air. And when Dean walked back, he wasn't
the same.
Somehow he'd gone into the trees a sixteen year old boy but had come out a
hunter. Because he had decided that that was how it was going to be.
The same thing had happened that first night.
Before then, he seemed torn up with guilt and doubt over the turn their
relationship had taken. As much as he wanted it he didn't seem able to believe
that Sam could want this too, somehow thinking that if he loved Sam physically,
it would tarnished what they had already.
It was compounded by the genuine fear that John would find out. Both boys knew
they needed to be careful but Dean thought that every little look or touch was
giving everything away, one false move or word would bring the wrath of John
down on their heads. Which Sam totally got. Hell, even though Dean got the
worst of his father's attentions, Sam was terrified of the man but it was
exasperating because they weren't being obvious or stupid.
Much later Sam realised it was Dean's guilt eating away at him, projecting the
punishment he felt he deserved on to his father. That he couldn't quite get his
head round the fact that it was okay. That their lives were fucked and that
fucking each other, was not okay by normal standards but the normal rules
didn't really apply to them.
But after that night he changed. It was like all he had to do was make the
decision. To embrace their life. And then it was okay. Because he had decided
that that was how it was going to be. And all the guilt and worry seemed to
burn away.
As time passed, and the number of nights they spent together started to
outweigh the nights they spent apart, the memory of that first time faded a
little but the important parts were seared on Sam's brain.
How, as much as he had fantasised about it and had begged Dean to do it, he had
felt so scared, until Dean had stopped kissing him and started to talk,
whispering breathy in his ear, while his fingers worked over and into him, the
intense overwhelming feeling of Dean inside him and how it lingered on into his
dreams when he had fallen asleep in his brother's arms, and the horror of
waking up to the sound of his father snoring just a few feet away, panic
ripping a void in his stomach until he saw Dean lying in the bed parallel to
his, grinning and winking.
But the memory of Dean's eyes had stayed crystal clear.
Even now, being able to look up and see him staring back with all the depths of
Dean's love for Sam filling up with the skyrocketing raw orgasm burning in
those green, green eyes. It was beautiful. It still was beautiful.
Even an hour ago, seeing it through Deans rage and his own pain, it had been
beautiful.
Sam started to get up off the bed but had to put a hand down to steady himself.
His head was still swimming. Could have been from the beer but it was more
likely the punch to the head. His body was aching and told him in no uncertain
terms that he should just lie down and recover, sleep if he could but he got to
his feet and walked over to the trashcan.
He bent but pain made him rethink the motion.
Clutching an arm across his ribs helped. He reached down to take out the
scrunched up letter and kept hold of himself until he was sat back down,
smoothing the paper flat on his bare thigh.
He couldn't stop looking at it, at the little tree logo on the letterhead, at
his name and the word 'acceptance'. The whole thing seemed slightly mystical,
like those three things somehow couldn't exist together but were right there in
front of him.
The reaction it had produced in Dean had certainly triggered his hunter
instincts when Sam had had excitedly handed him the crisp envelope and a
celebratory beer.
"What the hell is this!?"
"It's from Stanford. Dean. I got in."
"Well, that's…good, I guess."
Sam laughed, "Good? It's better than good..!"
"Yeah...but you're not going?"
Sam laughed again but then registered the switch from confusion to anger on
Dean's face.
Except it wasn't really anger, it was more like panic.
And suddenly wasn't so sure this had been a good idea.
Things between him and Dean were the same as they'd always been. They got into
stupid arguments about nothing once in a while, sure, but then they'd make
up…in a profoundly non-brotherly way, admittedly but for them, everything was
completely fine.
It was virtually impossible for him to be in the same room with John though.
All they did was fight and it was making all three of them miserable. Sam
didn't agree with his father about, well, anything but at least he could see
his point of view. John on the other hand absolutely refused pointblank, to see
things from Sam's side and it was driving him crazy.
Hell, when he first started mentioning college to Dean, led on his shoulder,
sweaty and sated, he'd expected resistance but Dean would just stroke his hair
and they'd talk through what courses, which college, just like they were
regular brothers making regular plans, despite where their hands might be
wandering at the time.
Dean was even the one who had come back from the library and silently dumped a
clutch of college prospectuses in his lap hidden underneath some obscure volume
on vampires. And the one who had come up with the excuses and had sneaked Sam
to the campus when they were doing a job in San Francisco so that he could have
a look around.
But it wasn't until that moment that Sam understood that he hadn't believed
that it would ever happen. It had all been make believe, something to keep them
tethered to some semblance of normality or just maybe something soothing to say
to Sam after yet another bust up with Dad.
Sam hadn't known what to say but his face obviously had said 'of course I am'
All Dean's breath seemed to leave his body at once, like he'd taken a knee to
the chest. "You're leaving me? Leaving us?"
Sam stood slowly, feeling slightly perplexed at why he hadn't seen this coming.
He knew he was going to have to fight his father, tooth and nail but not his
big brother.
Dean looked like he was about the break into pieces right in front of him.
"No! No, I'm not leaving you. It's just…college. I can come and see you on
weekends and whatever and it's not like you won't know where to find me! You
can come visit…if you want."
Dean opened his mouth about to launch into a tirade but stopped and shook his
head, his eyes opening wide "Wait..If I want? What the hell is that suppose to
mean!"
Sam swallowed.
He had no intention of bringing it up.
Had never even mentioned it to Dean, let alone admitted to himself that the
main reason he had applied in the first place was what had happened after
Florida.
It seemed such a long time ago now. It was before they had started being
together, not long after Sam had become aware that the uncomfortably intense
sexual feelings towards his brother were not only not normal but they were
relentless and he couldn't seem to stop them. It had been a relief when Dean
had taken off on his 'five states in five days tour' while he and John headed
south for Orlando.
Although it felt like his insides were being ripped out as he watched Dean
drive away, he had been glad to have a break from the torment of having to be
so close to him, his hormones screaming at him to reach out and touch him every
minute of the day.
When they caught back up with him just under a week later, something about him
had been different.
Sam was convinced that it had been the time away from hunting, away from John,
away from him, that had given Dean the chance to see what another life could be
like. He seemed more resigned to see them, than happy to be back and Sam
couldn't shake the feeling that no matter how committed Dean said he was to the
life, really he wanted normality as much as Sam did. And despite everything
that had happened between them since, Sam believed it was inevitable that they
would leave the life.
And not necessarily together.
So the seed was sown, his search for a normal life had begun.
"Oh come on! You know what I mean!"
"I can't believe you're leaving me!" Dean glared at the paper in his hand, eyes
wet but his jaw working like he was ready to fight.
Sam suddenly felt angry.
He wasn't sure if it was his own righteous indignation or just the fact that
Dean sounded so very much like John at that moment.
He knew he should stay calm but the words starting pouring out of his mouth
before he could stop them.
"And I can't believe you're acting like this! What did you think was going to
happen, Dean? We talked about it. For months! You know this is what I want.
Hell, you even drove me out there! What did you think was going to happen?" He
tried to get hold of himself. Taking a deep breath and holding out his hands,
he took a step towards his brother and said quietly, "I can't stay here. I
can't stay with Dad. I just can't take it, Dean. I can't…I won't do it
anymore!"
He reached out to take the letter back but Dean crumpled it with one hand and
it flew to the bottom of the trashcan without him taking his eyes off Sam.
Sam froze.
It was a dick move but nothing less than he'd expect from Dean.
So Sam pushed Dean back, hard.
He didn't see the punch coming. He didn't really realise that he had even been
hit until he was picking himself off the floor, intense pain radiating from one
side of his mouth. Their squabbles almost inevitably turned physical but never
like this. He genuinely didn't know Dean could hit that hard.
He saw the second punch coming and managed to dodge enough to take a glancing
blow.
Dean barrelled into him, knocking him back down onto the floor between the two
motel beds.
Then he was on him, holding his arms down with one hand and punching him hard
in the ribs with the other while Sam rolled into the fatal position, shielding
himself the best he could and begging Dean to stop.
When he did stop, it was only to start tearing at Sam's clothes, wrenching hard
at his jeans pulling them down while using his body weight to hold Sam on his
side. Sam was kicking and struggling but he had managed to get in such an
awkward position, pinned between the furniture, that he was virtually
immobilised so he just screamed and swore at Dean to let him up.
By the time Dean had managed to slip his own jeans down far enough that he
could free his hard angry cock and pushed Sam's legs up to his chest, Sam
realised that he was only going to hurt himself if he kept fighting.
He was pissed but he wasn't stupid.
Dean panted and swore above him as he forced his way inside, oblivious to Sam's
cries, just adding his own, the dry entry hurting them both. A handful of
thrusts and Dean came hard, cursing and trying not to meet Sam's glare but
their eyes met anyway and neither of them could look away.
Dean fell on him panting, his head finding it's way onto Sam's shoulder. Sam's
first reaction was to push him away and not stop punching until Dean was
unconscious but somehow he found himself with his arms wrapped around Dean's
neck, his face buried in his hair, and he held him for the longest time while
Dean sobbed and sobbed.
Sam lay with Dean's fists bunching into his torn shirt, listening to him wail,
feeling his body shudder with the force of it, the tears and snot slicking his
neck. He pressed his lips to the top of Dean's head and waited wordlessly for
his brother to come back to him.
When he eventually did, Sam realised that he had never actually once asked him
to stay.
And he never would.
Not that night nor the following one, on that dark stretch of road as Sam
walked away from him, their father yelling at him to never come back.
----------------------------------------
The weeks after Sam left for Stanford were tough on both of them.
Sam bounced from one emotional state to another. One moment he would be
consumed with anger at his father, then grieving the loss of his family or
trying to deal with the anxiety of having to fit into a normal life without
being a freak but underlying it all, Sam missed Dean.
Missed him so much he felt like he might suffocate with it.
They talked on the phone.
Sam had bought two cells as soon as he stepped out of the bus station, one for
his new life and the other he had used to call Dean as he walked away from the
store where he'd bought it. And whenever it rang, his stomach would flip and he
couldn't answer it quick enough.
They called each other almost everyday to begin with, whenever they got the
chance to sneak away, although they didn't necessarily talk.
Neither of them really wanted to be reminded about the reason they were apart
so Dean would try not to talk about hunting and Sam would try not to talk about
college, which came easily sometimes but very often they ended up just
listening to each other breathing.
But small talk or silence, calls almost always ended with grunts and moans, one
of them begging while the other taunted with memories of mouths or tongues or
hands, sliding, sucking or pushing, hands slapping harshly until they were
coated in cum, with dry mouths and empty arms.
It gave some comfort but it seemed to make the miles between them tangibly
farther.
And then they would hang up and have to deal with the void next to them.
Sam, at least had the novelty of his new situation to distract him. He did his
best to acclimatise to the routine of study and socialising and was frightened
at how easily he was falling into it.
It was harder for Dean.
The phone would go dead and he'd find himself in the place he'd always been,
the Impala, a motel room, some backwoods cabin, doing what he'd always done.
And not even doing it alone. John had taken to watching him like a hawk and
everything he did was wrong. Dean wasn't sure if John had some inkling of his
involvement with Sam leaving or whether it was just that Sam wasn't there and
he was taking the flak.
The worst part was that Sam had become unmentionable. If Dean let slip his
name, John would glare and change the subject.
Then one night in Tampa, John had got drunk and started ranting about how it
would have been less shameful if Sam had died.
Dean held his tongue, waited until his father was unconscious, then grabbed his
stuff and drove almost non-stop for two days to California.
That first visit pretty much set the tone for the next two years.
Dean called Sam when he was a few hours away. Sam would make his excuses,
family emergency, 48 hour virus, whatever he thought he could get away with,
then he'd book a motel room, text Dean the details and just wait.
He'd sit on the edge of the bed in silence, picking at the pulled threads of
the bedspread, listening to the sounds of the traffic, his heart leaping every
time a car slowed or had a timber low enough to be the Chevy.
Eventually, he'd hear the rumble pull up slow outside and all the feeling would
drain from his legs. He'd hear the door slam as he'd struggle to stand,
footsteps leading up to the room and then a pause that seemed to last eons
before it opened.
And there would be his brother, all grin and green eyes and strong arms around
him.
And then Dean would be there, soft lips searching his out, stubble rasping
against his cheeks and neck, hands grasping and pulling, needing bare skin,
wanting to be as close as possible, tangling into each other, desperate and
urgent, coming hard and frantic and stupidly quick.
And then the laughter would start. And they would spend however many hours they
had together never more than two feet away from each other.They might go to a
bar and have a few beers, sat shoulder to shoulder, talking about hitting on
girls or go to a diner to eat with their legs touching under the table and
pointedly talk about everyone but John.
But mostly they were wrapped in a sheet, misted with sweat, damp hair matted
down on their foreheads, muscles quivering, moving slow, as Dean eased his hard
cock into Sam's lube-slicked hole, grazing over his sweetspot, making him arch
back and press his fingers deep into Dean's flesh or twist in the bedding and
call out Dean's name until he was hoarse or as Dean's tongue ran up, then up,
then up from the fist wrapped around the base of Sam's dick up to swirl around
his slit before plunging his head down, until Sam couldn't wait any longer and
would lace his fingers in Dean's hair and fuck his mouth hard, the sounds of
Dean choking and coming as he jerked himself off, making Sam come apart or just
lying in each others arms, Sam's fingers finding new scars and bumps over
Dean's chest and arms and thighs while Dean wondered at how soft and smooth
Sam's hands were getting and they'd kiss long and deep, tongues lapping and
searching, tasting their own special flavour, the two men mixed up together,
making them feel drunk and stupid.
And it worked. It was working.
Sometimes it was weeks in between visits, sometimes months.
John would never ask where Dean was going and Dean would never mention where he
had been. The irony of the 'don't ask, don't tell' policy they had wordlessly
agreed, wasn't lost on Dean. John was still just as hard on him and it seemed
like this was his apology to them both for the forgiveness he could never bring
himself to say out loud.
Time passed and it wasn't perfect but it worked.
Except in those last few moments before Dean had to drive away again, the
moments when both of them had trouble keeping it together, when the laughter
was gone, when there were tears and hugs so tight they smothered, when they had
to drag themselves apart.
Those moments had started getting longer.
Until those moments weren't moments any more.
When Dean pulled up to the motel that weekend, he was almost dreading it.
The last couple of visits, Sam had seemed so unhappy. He had been struggling
with the workload this last semester, which in reality meant that he was
actually having to try for once instead of it coming to him easy and it was
making him miserable.
Sam wanted to lose himself in Dean but he seemed to get obsessed with the fact
that it would only be for a matter of hours and couldn't seem to be in the
moment, to enjoy being together, and it was clouding what time they had.
But it had been fine when he walked through the door. Sam had seemed much
better and Dean was relieved.
He was a little suspicious of Sam's over eagerness to please but after two
seconds of Sam's tongue in his ass he somehow forgot about it until later, when
they fell away from each other panting and gasping.
Dean wiped a hand over his face. "Dammit Sammy, remind me to bring a towel to
bed next time. I feel like I've just taken a sweat shower."
Sam laughed with what little breath he had, propped himself up on his elbow and
shook his head like a dog over Dean's.
Dean half growled, half chuckled and pushed him away with his palm on Sam's
face before rolling out of bed and heading for the bathroom.
Sam watched him go, the smile dropping away as Dean passed through the door. He
paused for a moment, then swung his legs over the side of the bed when he heard
the shower come on.
Dean walked back out of the bathroom and started rooting around in his duffel
on the chair.
"Dean, can I ask you something?" Dean didn't look round.
"Uh huh. Shoot"
"Do you think Dad really meant it when he said I can't come back?"
Dean froze then turned slowly.
There was something nightmarish about Sam bringing up John while he was
standing there naked and sweaty, with his brother's cum in his hair…and his
stubble and various other places, the taste of him in his mouth and slick with
him over his chest. He felt filthy for the first time in a long while.
"Sam. I'm gonna shower…and we'll talk about this…but no. No I don't think so"
He stood under the hot water for much longer than he needed to, hoping it would
scald the spinning thoughts from his head.
He should have seen this coming.
Why hadn't he seen it? And dammit, why hadn't he said 'Yes. Yes, Dad meant it.
He will never take you back'
All those little comments about how Stanford wasn't how he thought it would be,
how hard it was to fit in, how he couldn't do the work, Dean knew his brother
well enough that he should have seen what it was building up to.
When he came out, Sam had pulled on an pair of sweatpants and was sitting cross
legged on the bed.
Dean let the towel drop and pulled on a clean set of underwear "So what's this
all about Sammy?"
"I think I should come back with you."
"You what?" Dean's eyebrows raised so high it hurt his forehead.
Sam held out a hand and unfolded his legs, the look on his face like a man
confronted by an unexploded grenade
"No! No, just listen…Dean, you need me. Dad needs me. I don't want to be here.
I've tried. It just isn't working. I just think I should…"
"Wait! Just…wait. I don't know where this has come from but we don't need you…"
The words came out a little harsher than intended and Dean winced at the way
his brother's face went slack with the pain of it "…that's not…Sam. This isn't
about me or Dad. Dad's fine. He's not pissed at you anymore but he's not
expecting you back either. And I'm fine! I can do this alone..."
"No, you can't.."
"Yes I can, Sam! I might not want to but I can. This is about you. You hate
hunting. You hate the life! You need to give this place a chance."
Sam huffed out a laugh "I've been here two years, Dean!" He pushed himself off
the bed and started to pace.
Dean shook his head, grabbed his jeans and roughly shoved his legs into them.
"Yeah well, you may have been here but you've had one foot out the door this
whole time."
"That's not true!"
"No!" Dean yanked his tshirt down over his head, feeling the anger getting hot
inside him and tried to keep control of his voice as he stalked toward Sam on
the other side of the room. "Other than that Brady kid, how many other friends
have you made in those two years? Why is it whenever I call you're never too
busy to see me? What else do you do here other than study and wait for me to
show up? That's not a life, Sam. It's not!"
Sam's face was twisting, trying not to let the truth of what Dean was saying
bring out the tears that were stinging inside. Dean reached a hand up to Sam's
neck, pulling him down until their foreheads met. "I love you Sammy, you're my
brother but you will stay here and be a
good little dork or I swear to god, I will kick your ass from here to Hell and
back"
Then the tears did fall, wetting Dean's shoulder when Sam wrapped his long arms
around him and mumbled into his neck "I just miss you so much"
Dean's mouth quivered. He blinked back the emotion and patted Sam hard on the
back.
"Alright, Samantha, I didn't realise they were handing out free vaginas with
textbooks these days."
He pushed Sam away, his hand still on his neck and kissed him, chaste with lips
pressed together and only Sam's tears to wet them. Sam held on to him like a
drowning man.
Dean may have not seen this coming but he knew how to fix it.
"I tell you what, why don't we take off, just for a couple of days, head to the
beach or the mountains, just the two of us? Change of scene might do you good?"
Sam nodded and started to relax his grip. His voice was quiet and rasping
"Yeah…yeah let's do that"
Dean swallowed and nodding, pushed his brother upright "Okay then, that's what
we'll do. But, Dude.." Sam looked at him wide eyed "…you are not getting in my
Baby smelling like that! Shower, now!"
Sam laughed, full of relief and pushed Dean's hands away from him. "I don't
know why. You'll only make me all dirty again when we get there."
He smiled and walked into the bathroom, not noticing the sad look on Dean's
face or the muttered "Maybe" under his breath.
He wouldn't have heard the Impala pulling away under the noise of the shower,
if he hadn't stuck his head back out the door to say "Beach. Let's got to the
beach."
And Dean wouldn't have had to glance up at the rearview mirror, like he
promised himself he wouldn't, to see Sam burst out of the door, bare chested
and barefoot, chasing him down the road before collapsing in it, feeling his
tears still wet on his neck and the smell of him, of them, fading oh too
quickly from his skin.
------------------------------------
The next time Dean saw Sam he was on the ground again.
Because he'd put him there again.
But only just.
When he finally managed to pin Sam down, it took him a moment to register that
yes, this was his brother and yes, he had always been this beautiful.
Maybe prying open the window of his apartment had not been the best plan but he
just wanted to scope out the place a bit before he knocked on the front door
during daylight hours. It had been nearly two years and just wanted to reassure
himself the Sam that he'd run out on had turned out okay or to at least get
some idea of what reception to expect.
When he had wrenched himself out of Sam's arms at the motel, he couldn't
imagine a greater pain. And the longer Dean had stayed away, the more it felt
like he was dying without Sam. The thought of making it official had even
fleetingly crossed his mind.
He started to get reckless, taking stupid risks when hunting, not caring one
way or another about his own safety and risking John's a few times too. John
had yelled and lectured and tried to knock some sense into him but that didn't
help. Dean would just take it, then drink so much it actually started to
frighten John a little bit.
He tried to talk to Dean about what had happened between him and his brother
and why he'd stopped taking off but Dean just gave him the glare that John
himself had used when Sam had first left. He didn't need to be told twice and
never asked again.
Eventually, John packed him off to Pastor Jim's under the pretence of him
needing a hand on a hunt. They had hunted but spent most of the three days
talking, Dean trying to be strong, desperately wanting to tell Jim everything
but somehow he made him understand without having to. When Jim asked him flat
out if he thought about killing himself, Dean shook his head but admitted that
maybe he wasn't trying very hard to live.
Saying it out loud like that made him realise just how much of a dumbass he was
being.
For three very good reasons.
First, there were enough sons of bitches out there trying to kill him without
adding himself to the mix.
Second, it had been his choice to leave Sam at Stanford. He could have said
yes. He could have bundled him back in to the car and back into the life or
have run off into the sunset with him but he hadn't. He had chosen not to.
Lastly, and most importantly, he had done it for Sam.
And he had to keep doing it for Sam.
Sam needed him to be gone so that he could learn to live the regular life that
he wanted. It was his shot at normal. All Dean's instincts knew that if he and
his brother were together, there's no way Sam would take it. It was what Sam
had always wanted and what Dean had always wanted for Sam and he wasn't about
to screw it up.
It was his one job. Look out for Sammy. And if that meant not being able to see
him, then so be it.
Maybe there had been one more reason.
The hardest one to admit. He had done the right thing, absolutely. Sam needed
him gone and there wasn't going to be an easy way to do it.
But the way that he'd left had been designed to make Sam hate him.
Not just a little bit but enough so that he didn't try and follow him, so that
even if Dean's resolve buckled and he called Sam's cell, Sam wouldn't pick up,
so that if he turned up out of the blue, Sam wouldn't just run back into his
arms.
He had made Sam hate him.
It was hard enough to live with, but the idea of dying with that on his soul,
of leaving the world unforgiven…well, that just wasn't going to happen.
Dean heard Sam's bare feet on the floor behind him but only just before he was
grabbed. He was surprised at how easy it was to twist out of his grasp but less
pleased by the kick to the guts despite blocking most of it's force. The fight
was short but sweet. He got in a good left cross and a tiny part of him swelled
with pride when Sam almost bested him with a move he'd taught him back when
Dean was still the tallest.
Sam still had some moves and felt more like a brick wall than when he had been
hunting but Dean still got the drop on him. He ended up straddling him, one
hand fisted in Sam's tshirt, the other wrapped around his wrist, Sam panting
beneath him.
And there it was. Just a hint of that smell. Of sweat. The two of them mixed
together again.
A light switched on inside him that he hadn't realised had been turned off and
Dean couldn't help but grin.
When he said, "Oh, easy tiger!" he was talking as much to himself as he was to
his little brother. A couple of years ago, they would have been seconds away
from ripping each others clothes off and fucking until dawn, especially with
Sam saying Dean's name all breathy like that. He felt like he was going to have
to fight to keep his hands off him.
The fantasy running in his mind got a boost when Sam flipped him over and held
him down but it died a horrible premature death when Jess turned on the lights.
It wasn't so much that Sam had a girl in his life, Dean had expected that. But
he hadn't expected all the old feelings to surface so soon though. Hell, he
thought it would take more than thirty seconds at least. And seeing Sam and
Jess together, Sam insisting that he should talk about family business in front
of her, reminded him too much of what he'd lost.
Even though the time spent with Jim had straightened Dean out and he had gone
back to his father determined to make the best of things, Dean still grieved
for his brother. But he carried on, embraced the life and merrily cut, slashed
and burned through the pain,
And then he met Cassie and he really thought for the first time that maybe
everything was going to be okay.
What he had with her wasn't what he had with Sam but it was close enough.
In truth, he didn't think that he could ever have that closeness, that intimacy
with anyone other than Sam. Sex, sure. He had no problem hooking up but never
trust, never being himself, being vulnerable.
The look on her face when he'd finally told her who he was, about the family
business, made it quite clear that he'd been right the first time.
He felt like an idiot. Who had he been kidding?
He had gotten caught up in the idea that he could get a slice of that normal
life, just a little bit to take the edge off. But there was never going to be
enough to go round. They had been so little of it for him and Sam growing up
and even the small amount they had as adults had come from what they had
managed to wring out of the twisted thing between them. If it was ever going to
work, that whole apple-pie life had to be Sammy's. There just wasn't enough for
two.
And that was fine. And he had got past it and been fine. Except it started him
thinking about Sam again. Not that he'd ever really stopped but he started to
imagine how he was doing, scenarios where he was happy, laughing, doing the
ordinary things that he saw other people doing, not just remembering him or
thinking about the two of them together. But that seemed fine too.
Until, he got the garbled voicemail from John. His first reaction was 'Gotta
find Dad'. His second was 'Gotta get Sammy' His third was to drink a bottle of
scotch.
Standing there next to the open trunk of the car in the middle of the night,
doing his show and tell of maps and missing persons reports, he didn't quite
know how to explain it to Sam.
John had been acting weird for months.
He had gotten a call and they had rushed off to help with an exorcism, which
was weird enough but when they got there he made Dean wait in the car, like he
was five or something. The guy didn't make it and it seemed to hit John really
hard.
He had started talking about Sammy, asking questions about what Dean remembered
about them growing up, all the silly things Sam used to do, about his smarts
and his stubbornness. Dean hadn't realised how much John had been missing him.
So when John disappeared, it seemed vital to get Sam close, to keep him safe.
Dean had a bad feeling and he'd come to trust those more than any good one.
Although on the drive up from New Orleans, he did cross his mind if he was
blowing John's absence out of proportion just so he could see Sam again. The
answer was a resounding, no but there was a tiny part inside him that was
dancing and whooping, louder and louder the closer he got.
Dean hadn't known what to expect. Sam had huffed and bitched and stung him
badly when he threw his own words back in his face.
"I can't do this alone"
"Yes, you can." But he had come all the same. Dean knew it was just for a
couple of days so he was determined to make the most of it and promised himself
that he wouldn't hope for any more.
It was awkward but familiar at the same time. Sam bitched about the music,
about how Dean paid his way and about his disrespecting law enforcement and
Dean tried to be a big brother again, trying to get Sam to face up to his past,
his family and realise that he couldn't move forward with his new life without
accepting that past was a part of who he was. He didn't do a very good job of
it. Maybe because everything came out of his mouth as 'come back to me'.
By the time they had found John's journal and finished the hunt he had started,
their time was nearly up. It took a while to get the Impala out of the
abandoned house and check her over for damage. On Dean's third pass over the
bodywork, running his hands over her to feel for anything he might miss in the
low light, he glimpsed Sam, sat on what was left of the stoop, watching him.
"Why don't you take a picture, it'll last longer"
Sam smiled and looked away before saying, "I'm not like Constance, y'know"
Dean stood and faced him. "Hot, dead chick you are not. Psychotic, maybe.."
Sam smirked "Hey!…no, I mean…nevermind." He pushed off the step with both hands
and walked towards the car.
Dean shook his head, reluctant to speak and risk spooking him but then sighed
and said, "You mean about your family being your weak spot?"
Sam shook his head, "About not being able to face them…About not being able to
go home."
Dean swallowed hard, trying to keep his heart rate from climbing. "Does…does
that mean you will? Come home?"
Sam stopped and let his head hang down. Then changed his trajectory towards
Dean, saying purposefully, "That was always you, y'know. Not Dad. Wherever you
were was home. You are my weak spot. And goddammit, if you asked me...I might
just say yes."
They were so close, their bodies almost touching. Dean could feel the heat
coming from Sam through the cool night air.
Sam leant his head down until their foreheads touched, closed his eyes tightly
and said quietly, "Please…please don't ask me…not yet"
Dean reached his hands up, running his fingers back over Sam jawline and into
his hair. He pulled his mouth down until he felt Sam's breath on him and
whispered, "I can wait Sammy. I can wait. Whatever you need. For however long
you need."
He pressed their lips together, dry and chaste wanting to sooth and reassure
but didn't fight when Sam's tongue teased it's way into his mouth or when Sam's
hands grasped at his jacket or when they fell into the backseat of the Impala
not able to get naked enough quick enough, the unfamiliar familiar flesh under
their hands, the long forgotten always remembered sounds and tastes, as they
ground and rocked against each other, until they came, the pleasure and
rightness of it cascading through them, listening to the sounds of each others
names crying out over and over.
"What's with you?" Dean felt like an idiot as soon as he'd said it. It was too
damn close to 'what are you thinking' but Sam was musing over something while
he tucked his shirt back into his jeans and the look on his face was driving
Dean nuts.
"Constance."
"Oh, god. Are we back to that?"
"No, it's just…she said this would happen"
"The ghost told you that you were going to nail your brother in the back of his
car? That's pretty specific!"
Sam laughed "No! I told her she couldn't kill me as I hadn't cheated. She said
that I was going to."
Dean was about to make a lame joke about the fact that Sam had been cheating on
him all this time but thought better of it. "It doesn't count, Sammy"
Sam raised his eyebrows but Dean shook his head and in his most serious voice
said "It's that whole two wrongs making a right thing…"
Sam shook his head and smiled "Only you could think that infidelity plus incest
equals everythings fine."
"What can I say. Book learning will only get you so far. You need to start
thinking out of the box" He winked and grinned, praying Sam would see the funny
side, if one really existed at all.
Thankfully, Sam snickered "Yeah, whatever, Forest!"
"Get in the car, Bitch"
The journey back had continued in pretty much the same vein until Sam had
figured out the co-ordinates John had left. Dean wasn't sure what John was
playing at but as reluctant as he was to let Sam go, he knew he would have to
figure out the stupid game by himself.
But that was okay because Sam had said 'not yet'
And when Dean dropped him off, it would have been enough when Sam had asked him
to call. But he drove away smiling, knowing that his brother wanted to see him
again. That Sam wanted to meet up later. And whatever that meant or became or
didn't become, it was okay.
Because Sam would be coming home. And who knew how long he would stay.
Sometimes Dean dreams about the fire.
Sometimes he dreams that he was too late and by the time he kicks down the
door, Sam is a burning mound on the bed and he can't get to him.
Sometimes he dreams that Sam is on the ceiling instead of Jess and all he can
do is scream his name over and over.
As time passes the dream keeps changing. Sometimes Sam's eyes are yellow.
Sometimes Lucifer is there. Sometimes it's Lilleth aflame on the ceiling,
laughing and laughing.
Sometimes he's pulling Ben from the flames while Lisa burns or Bella or
Gabriel.
Sometimes Cas is there, just watching and telling him that everything is going
to be okay while the flames lick up around his trench coat.
Sometimes he sees himself on the ceiling, while Alistair lies on the bed
humming softly, and sunning himself in the glow of Dean's burning, screaming
flesh.
But he always wakes up. And it's just a dream.
Before his eyes even open, he reaches across knowing there's an empty space
beside him. He lays his hand on the indentation in the mattress.
It's cold.
And then he remembers.
Slowly he drags his aching body upright and sits back against the headboard and
sighs. He's definitely getting too old for this. Hunting is a young mans game.
Who knew he would live so long.
He rubs his hands over his face. It's been years but he still isn't used to the
gap left when he lost part of his ring finger. Sam never let him live down the
fact that it happened in a bar fight.
"Demons, Angels, Leviathan!…Dude! All the other crazy shit we went up against
and you lose it basically 'cause you suck at pool!"
In the end, Dean had to punch him three times with his good hand to stop him
from laughing. Now that was a good memory.
He starts to think that he should make a move, when the door swings open.
Sam shuffles in, overloaded. A mug of coffee in each hand, newspaper under his
arm and a piece of toast in his teeth. It's not the Sam from his dream. His
hair is short, like the bathrobe he's wearing that normally looks so big on
Dean, and he's greying a bit at the temples but it's still him.
Dean frowns, "Dude! Where's the bacon?"
Sam hands him a mug and lets the newspaper drop onto the bed. He bends down and
lets Dean pull the toast from his teeth, chewing the bite he ripped off and
says, "It's coming. Relax! When have I ever forgotten the bacon?"
Dean grunts and takes a bite out of what's left of the toast. Sam lays the
paper out and jabs his finger at a story at the bottom of the page before he
walks back out, sipping his coffee, leaving Dean with something to do while he
finishes breakfast.
Dean skims it but is too distracted by the smell coming from the kitchen to
really concentrate. Normally, no-one, and he means no-one, is allowed in there
but one day a week Sam makes breakfast. It took him a while to be persuaded
that this was a good idea but Sam had proved himself repeatedly and now it was
the favourite part of Dean's week.
He would sit and drink his coffee and the smell from the kitchen would make his
stomach growl and he would feel like it had all been worth it.
The fighting, the pain, thirty years in Hell, losing everyone, losing himself,
selling his soul, giving up, going dark…it was worth every second. And he would
do it all again. For this. For…
Sam pushes through the doorway, jarring the tray on the doorframe and cursing
as a fork drops onto the floor "That's yours!"
"Whatever Dude. I don't know why you even bother bringing one when I'm just
going to eat it with my fingers."
Sam lays the tray on the bed between them, sits back against the headboard and
turns his head to his brother. "You're disgusting."
Dean puts his mouth close to Sam's and whispers, "It's why you love me"
And kisses him.
And keeps kissing him, because unlike the two of them, that never gets old.
Like forgiveness or sacrifice or a decision made such a long time ago that
really meant 'Yes, yes I will. Forever if you let me'
Like when Sam catches Dean just staring at him, out of the corner of his eye
and asks "What are you doing?"
And Dean still says, "Nothing. Just watching out for you, Sammy."
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