Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2795333.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester, Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester/Original
      Male_Character(s)
  Character:
      Dean_Winchester, Sam_Winchester, Thomas_Donnovan_(Original_Male
      Character), Matthew_Donnovan_(Original_Male_Character), John_Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      dubcon, Threesome_-_M/M/M, Angst_and_Feels, Teenage_Rebellion, Drug_Use,
      Drugged_Sex, Alcohol, Marijuana, Spanking, Codependency, Jealous_Dean,
      Possessive_Dean, Size_Kink, Hurt/Comfort
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-12-18 Completed: 2015-01-29 Chapters: 8/8 Words: 55064
****** Mountain Trippin' ******
by hellhoundsprey
Summary
     The last couple of months, Sam had been out at night. As Dean finds
     out, he is furious about finding out where his brother went and who
     he was with. In an attempt to keep everything private, he stays away
     even more often, avoiding Dean completely. As John takes both of them
     out for a hunt, Sam finds himself trapped with his raging brother.
     The grudge between Dean and the resident hunter’s son Thomas does not
     really help. At all.
***** Cabins are the worst. *****
Chapter Summary
     Hunting in the woods - fun for the whole family. Not so much if you’d
     rather shoot yourself in the face than spending time with your
     brother. Even less if you’d rather not have him find out about what
     you do when you sneak out at night.
Usually, Sam hated the way too loud rock music blasting from the Impala's
speakers, making it hard to start a conversation. Usually, Dean would stuff his
face with any kind of candy every few minutes while singing along to 'Kiss'
with a passion.
"What is wrong with you, boys?" John's question suspiciously poked into the
silence. Usually, he had no need to break the silence during their hour-long
drives. Simply because, well, there never was one to begin with.
But today it was different. Today, it was not the usual case.
Dean had insisted on sitting in the passenger seat and was staring out of the
window to his right with his arms crossed tight in front of his chest. The thin
wrinkle between his arched eyebrows meant trouble. In the back, Sam was behind
John's seat, squeezing to the door, and sported the same pose as his brother.
None of them had spoken during the entire drive and John's chances of getting
an answer to his question were at about zero.
Something was clearly wrong with them and John sensed that this could become a
serious problem.
"For the past 60 years, people vanished in these mountains." John pointed on
the map he had spread over the living room table. "Were filed down under
'grizzly attacks'. They never found the bodies, so they figured something
must've eaten them whole."
"What about survivors?" Dean murmured, eyes on his father, his chin resting on
his hands.
"Not many. Talked to all of them. Some thought they'd seen a shadow in the
woods or heard growling, like from a big animal. But those stories are decades
old. Now, the ones who saw it, did so when it attacked. Serious, nasty
injuries, but they managed to escape." He eyed his younger son. "Sam. Your
guess?"
"Wendigo," Dean murmured immediately, making Sam gasp in anger.
"I did not ask you, Dean," John growled warningly, "But anyway - you're right.
That's our idea so far."
"I knew that, too," Sam hissed quietly.
"Yeah, sure," Dean barked into his hands.
"Stop it, you two," John ordered. "Anyway. The last 20 years, nobody who met it
came back, not even in pieces. It has become good at what it's doing, and we
have to stop it before it gets perfect at it." He took a sip of his coffee, his
boys' eyes still focused on him. "My friend Matthew owns a cabin close to said
area. He's been after the thing for years now. Asked if I could lend him a hand
or two." He nodded at Sam. "Or three."
Sam's eyes twitched. Oh fuck no. Not now. He hesitated before spilling a hoarse
"Yessir". He felt Dean's eyes on him for a second and in the corner of his eye
he saw his shoulders tense up, but he kept staring forward. Okay, he was proud
that his father wanted to take him with them, he really was, but… fuck, he
would've given everything for being left home this time. Alone. Without Dean.
At least for one damn day. But no one in their right mind refused an order from
John Winchester.
"Good. We'll be gone for five days at least - if everything works as planned.
I'll call your school tomorrow before leaving."
Sam swallowed his stomach acids. No matter how good the hunt would go - this
trip wouldn't come for free.
"Okay boys." John stood up. "You pack and better go to bed soon. We'll leave
for the Donnovan's at five in the morning." He grabbed his journal and strutted
off to the kitchen.
Sam rose immediately and made haste to his room with fast, long steps.
Fortunately, in this rental, they had separate rooms. Sam shut the door behind
himself.
Unfortunately, there were no keys. Dean flung it back open right away.
"Dean," Sam sighed angrily and grabbed his duffle bag from underneath his bed,
"Privacy, man. Would be highly appreciated."
"Oh yeah right," Dean snapped and crossed his arms in front of his chest, "As
if you haven't had enough of that these last days as you were fucking hiding
from me."
Dean's expression was somewhere in between hurt, unsure and raging mad. Sam
gave him a nasty look and did not care. "Dean." His voice was soft as if he was
talking to a small child. It made the anger spread in Dean even more. "I am
fif-fucking-teen years old. You can't boss me around like a child."
Dean's jaw twitched. "Maybe if you didn't act like one, I shouldn't have to
treat you like one!"
Sam rolled his eyes and let out an annoyed, heavy breath. "You know what?
Forget it."
"Hell no I won't!" Dean barked and followed Sam who crossed the room to yank
open the wardrobe. He could tell the younger one was struggling to maintain his
cool cover in the way his knuckles went white as he grabbed random shirts and
hoodies. Maybe he just had to wait long enough. Until now, Sam's defense had
gone down more sooner than later if he just pushed all the right buttons, hard.
Dean knew the other's weak spots - and the biggest one was his big brother
being mad at him. In silence, his best angry glare pierced through the back of
Sam's head as he went back to the bed and stuffed his clothes into the bag
carelessly. Dean followed, always only two steps behind him, making sure Sam
would sense the angry heat and testosterone he was giving off. Chemicals worked
wonders, after all.
Sam kept his mouth shut. No way he was gonna give in. Doing his best at
ignoring Dean, he went back to the wardrobe, slid open the drawers and grabbed
two handfuls of underwear and socks. Mountains meant hiking, and hiking meant
hiking boots, and hiking boots meant gross feet, Sam thought. So he grabbed
some more socks.
This was not going after Dean's expectations. He made another step towards his
brother, who twitched and finally snapped due to the uncomfortable closeness,
twisting around to face him. "Dean, fuck off!!"
Heh. Gotcha. "No way!" Dean yelled back, "You fucking tell me what you've been
doing these past weeks or I swear to God, Sam…!"
Sam squeezed his mouth shut, his lips pressed into a thin line. His cheeks
flushed red in anger, his glare flew back and forth between Dean's left and
right eye. /Yes, that's a good boy,/ Dean cheered internally, on the outside
keeping his rock-hard 'I'm mad at you' cover, /Come on, tell me, just fucking
tell me already!/
"Leave. Me. Alone." Sam hissed every word quietly through his clenched teeth,
and as Dean's face dropped, pushed him away against his chest. Before Dean
could collect himself, Sam had brushed past him, left the room and locked
himself in the bathroom across the corridor.
Dean's mouth dropped open and closed again. He swallowed.
What the hell was going on with his little brother? Just yesterday, as it
seemed, Dean had taught him how to ride a bike and sang the alphabet to him.
And now? Now he was seeing people. Or one person. Dean had no idea. And it
frightened him more than any monster he ever had encountered.
"This is it," John commented as he shut the Impala's engine down. The boys
looked up for the first time today. Deep in the woods, there was nothing much
to see but pines next to pines, behind and in front of… more pines. John exited
the car and, after a short stretch, walked up to the cabin he had been talking
about yesterday. They had stayed at much, much smaller ones, so the cabin
having two floors and a massive front porch raised the boys' spirits a tiny
bit.
/Still too damn small to get away from him,/ Sam decided and got out of the car
with a sigh. Raising his head, he noticed that one probably had a stunning view
over the mountains from behind the cabin. It was placed on high ground, a
massive jeep parked next to their Impala, a steep way leading up to the cabin
built of logs. Sam caught a glimpse of steel blue sky somewhere around there.
He went after his Dad and heard Dean hopping out of the car behind him,
slamming the door shut just a bit too loud to call it 'casual'.
The front door flung open and a man at about John's age welcomed their father
with a wide smile and a tight, honest hug. John returned both, a sure sign that
he trusted this man one hundred percent. It made Sam smile to see his Dad so
carefree. It was something one would catch on rare occasions only. "Good to see
you, Matthew," John proclaimed.
"You too, John!" Matthew replied. A light brown full beard covered his face,
his head shaved down to short stubbled hair. He was not as massive as John but
he was obviously leaner than him. Sam could tell by the veins showing on his
forearms.
"Hey!"
Surprised, Sam saw another face appear behind Matthew, just as tall but with
shoulders as wide as John's. The boy's semi-long hair was the same color as
Matthew's beard and was combed back carelessly. His grin was wide and self-
confident and surrounded by light stubble, as he, too, hugged John.
"Wow, Thomas! You sure grew a lot since the last time I saw you!"
"Yeah," Matthew said with a pat on Thomas' shoulder, "Boy sure did not wait too
long to let his old man feel like… well, an old man." The three of them
laughed.
Thomas' eyes flew over the brothers on their way up, now almost at the steps to
the porch. Sam returned the look and Thomas kept eye contact with him as he
walked up the stairs. Shy as he was, Sam's hands slipped into the pockets of
his jeans as he felt them go sweaty. His nose blushed under the stranger's
stare. "Hi," he murmured, standing still next to his father, his look switching
between the two new faces.
"Sam!" Matthew laughed, grabbing the boy by the shoulders, "Look at you! How
long has it been?"
"About twelve years," John smiled softly, stuffing his hands into his pockets
as well. He certainly hated getting emotional but the pride over his boys
always got to him.
"You were a baby the last time I saw you, young man! Wow, time sure flies by
fast!" Opening his mouth for an answer, Sam was pressed tight into the foreign
chest into a hug.
"D- uh- Yeah, thanks, I-I guess," he stuttered, being released, his cheeks
flushed pink by the unfamiliar intimacy.
"Still the shy one, huh? I remember you always walking on your big brother's
hand, never leaving his side!" Sam wondered how that was even possible but
Matthew's smile grew larger and larger with every minute. "Talking of Dean,
where is- hey, boy!"
"Hey Matthew," Sam heard only inches away from his ear and spun his head around
to find Dean sporting his politest (which did not mean 'happiest' at all)
expression. His hand reached out for the man, deliberately brushing between
Thomas and Sam. They shook hands with strong grips.
Matthew sighed happily as he let go. "Man, wonderful. Just wonderful to see all
Winchester men together like this." He eyed John again. "You must be so proud
of your boys, John."
John chuckled and cleared his throat. "Guess so."
With a pinch in his stomach, Sam felt Thomas' gaze settling on him again. He
looked up into his eyes that were sparkling softly. They were about the same
brown as his own. "Thomas. Nice to meet you, Sam."
His smile was stunning, Sam thought. "Thanks, uh, hi," he murmured. Hadn't he
seen this smile somewhere before?
"Hello, Thomas." Dean's hand grabbed and squeezed Thomas' tighter than
necessary. Sam's eyes twitched suspiciously. "How're you doin'?"
"Dean." Thomas squeezed back even tighter. Sam witnessed his smile change into
the polite one Dean was using right now. In the corner of his eyes, he compared
the two. Holy fuck. "Doin' very fine. What about you?"
"Feelin' perfect," Dean pressed through his teeth, smiling. Sam looked back
into Thomas face and swallowed. They were looking so alike, it was beyond
scary. "Perfectly perfect." And they obviously were pissed at each other. /This
is not good,/ Sam decided, /This is not good at all./
Seated on old but comfortable couches with his family and the Donnovan's, Sam
checked out the spacey living room. It almost was a bit too kitschy for a son-
and-father household, but it felt right anyway. Over and around the fireplace
there were at least fifteen antlers and skulls - only one or two looked like
they had come from a 'normal' animal. Heavy, dark rugs and skins covered most
of the floor. Everything was made out of wood and Sam wouldn't be surprised if
it all was handmade by the two. The windows were recently installed and big,
and just as Sam had expected, gave away a view way too romantic for the
original purpose they came here for.
"Anything new about the thing we're here to help you with?"
Everybody held a mug of strong coffee. Thomas sipped on his one as his father
shook his head. "Wasn't heard or seen for months. We've been out almost every
night, but nothing. Must've gone really deep into the mountains."
/Fantastic,/ Sam grunted, /'Five days' my ass./ He breathed out heavy through
his nose and took a seriously needed sip of coffee.
"No victims for months…," John repeated, "Must be hella hungry by now."
Matthew nodded. "That's why I asked you for help."
"Hiking season is about to start," Thomas added with worried eyes, "There are
gonna be so many tourists, it won't know where to start slayin'."
The brothers sat listening in silence, even Dean. Usually, he was just as eager
as John to get information and details to push the hunt forward. But Sam knew
this hunt was not going to be 'usual'. Dean could not concentrate on anything
if something was wrong with Sam. It was, kindly phrased, not the best situation
for such a complicated and skill demanding hunt.
"Not much time then," John concluded and nodded slowly.
"Exactly." Matthew had this sparkle in his eyes the boys knew from their
father. He was eager to hunt this thing down. He had a plan. "Today we will get
everything together and you guys can rest from the drive. Tomorrow morning at
sunrise, we'll leave for the forest." Everyone nodded in accepting silence.
Eyeing Winchester after Winchester, Matthew added: "You make yourselves at
home, please. If you need anything, just ask us. Boys, you get the guest room
upstairs. For you, John, I prepared a bed in my office."
Sam cringed. Perfect. Sharing one bedroom with his personal Dr. Jekyll was the
cherry on top of this mess.
"Great, thanks," John smiled.
"No problem. Thomas, show the boys around, will ya? I'll start preparing
everything with John. We'll fill you in later this evening."
"Sure, Dad." Thomas skipped Dean and smiled directly at Sam. "Well, get your
bags and I'll show you which room to throw them in."
Dean grunted and got up to the Impala with his hands stuffed into his jeans'
pockets. "Uhm, we'll be right back," Sam excused them and followed his brother.
Down the stairs and up to the car, both remained silent, but Sam was very aware
of the older one's tension. As they came to a halt and Dean opened the trunk,
he opened his mouth just alongside with it. "Awesome. Just awesome."
"Same," Sam murmured with lowered head.
"Stupid ass-hat Thomas," Dean grunted as he aggressively picked up their bags.
Sam was barely quick enough to catch his one that came flying at him. "'Course
Dad 'forgot' to tell us Matthew had a son. Well, 'telling' you, 'reminding' me.
Hate that kid." He slammed the trunk shut and turned his glare at his brother.
"You don't remember, right?"
"Uhm, no? I was like two years old back then, I guess. Why? What'd he do?"
"Nothin'." Dean walked right off, face cold as stone, back to the cabin.
"Simply don't like him."
/Yeah right,/ Sam doubted and followed a couple of steps behind. It was
refreshing to have Dean angry at someone else than himself, so he did not
question the situation too much. Anything keeping his brother off him was
highly appreciated.
"And this is your room." Thomas pointed into the last room at the end of the
corridor, next to the bathroom. Sam went in first, closely followed by Dean. It
contained nothing more or less than a cupboard, wardrobe, nightstand and…
"Queen size bed," Sam swallowed.
Thomas leaned against the door frame and smiled apologetic. "Yeah, sorry,
that's all we've got. Usually, this is our family's vacation spot, you know.
Must be awkward for you two to sleep in the same bed."
"We're used to that," Dean threw in, letting his bag drop on the right side of
the bed. He threw a provocative grin on first Thomas and then Sam. "After all,
we're brothers, right, Sammy?"
Sam frowned sourly at him. "No use denying that," he hissed and threw his bag
across the room, right onto his pillow. It might have been unintentional that
he almost hit Dean's stupidly grinning face - if it wasn't a known fact that
Sam Winchester's throwing skills were absolutely accurate at all times. He
stomped out of the room without looking at Thomas or Dean.
Confused, Thomas' look followed the younger brother and then focused on the
older one. "What the hell happened with him? Weren't you like conjoined twins
the last time I saw you?"
"None of your business," Dean growled through grinding teeth.
"Oh, it will become my business soon enough!" Thomas crossed his arms in front
of his chest and made a few steps towards Dean who was forming tense fists.
"You two better get over your quarrel before we're leaving or I'll have to
protect you not only from the Wendigo but from your stupid selves!"
"Ha!" Dean spit out with raised eyebrows and a knowing smile. "You protecting
us? As if we'd need your so called 'help'."
Thomas was only one step away now and towering over Dean who tried looking
wider and taller as he was. As if it wasn't enough that Sam - his 'little'
brother, for God's sake! - had passed him height-wise, now this smart-ass here
was even taller. Dean prayed for another grow spurt of his own while glaring as
intimidating as he could upwards into Thomas' blank face. "We'll see about
that, Winchester. By the way - still sucking ass handling a shotgun since last
time I checked?"
"I was only two years into training back then," Dean whispered, "And, correct
me if I'm wrong, but wasn't it you whom I managed to wrestle down seven out of
ten times?"
"'Cause you jumped my back, coward…"
"Oh, I'm so sorry - I'm sure the Wendigo will ask politely if you are okay with
him ripping your head off, Thomas."
Only inches apart now, they could feel each other's breath on their faces, and
it sickened them. Both were obviously masters at holding a meaningless grudge
based upon their pride.
"If we weren't leaving tomorrow morning," Thomas growled in a low voice, "I
would so rip off yours."
"Afraid of your daddy?" Dean smirked.
Thomas chuckled dryly. "More of yours." Under a triumphal but nervous twitch in
Dean's body, Thomas stepped back. The older one's serious face puzzled him.
"John's changed, Dean. I remembered him as a dark man… but it has gotten
worse."
Dean hesitated and squinted his eyes. "What the fuck, Thomas?"
"You see," Thomas sighed and licked his lips nervously, "I really really hate
you. But watch out for you and your brother, okay?"
Unbelieving in what he just heard, labelling it as pure arrogance, Dean looked
Thomas up and down before shaking his head with a warning smile. "We are doing
just fine. Thanks for your concern, asshole, but it's not needed, understood?"
"Oh yeah, I can see that." With thin lips, Thomas was the one scanning Dean
with his look now. "I'm starting to get the feeling you're not any better than
him. No wonder your brother is freaked out b-"
"SHUT UP!" Dean screamed and jumped towards Thomas, fist-first. He was easily
blocked but his speed threw both of them to the ground with a bang. "You don't
know ANYTHING!" Desperately trying to land a hit on Thomas' stupid face, Dean
tried to yank his fists free of his opponents' massive hands.
Only in the corners of their eyes they saw Sam's surprised face appear on the
staircase. "Wh- What the FUCK, guys!?" He set up for a sprint towards the
fighting pile of youngsters - but a big hand on his shoulder held him back.
"DEAN!"
Both startled and froze immediately at the intense bass in John's voice.
Neither of them dared to look up.
"Get off him. NOW."
With a push from Thomas' hands, Dean withdrew his fists and got up to his feet.
He was panting and held his head low. His clenched fists were shaking in
frustration. In his field of vision, John's shoes were clearly visible.
"What do you think you're doing?"
Dean panted nervously before slowly answering. "I was-"
"Oh wait, I already know the answer - BULLSHIT!"
Dean heard Thomas get up behind him but he did not care. His face started
burning in shame.
"Look at me."
Slowly, his eyes turned up into his father's. John's expression was cold and
absolute, as always when he was scolding one of them. It was the worst you
could get.
"You won't waste your energy on some stupid teenager-hormone-bashing here, you
hear me?"
"Yessir," Dean answered quietly but quickly.
"You know better than this. I expect you to do your job as I have taught you,
Dean."
Dean swallowed dryly. "Yessir."
With a short nod, John turned and went back down the stairs. The three boys
stood there in tense silence, not knowing what to say, who or how to move
first, out of this uncomfortable situation.
Thomas coughed dryly, pitiful eyes resting on Dean's slightly trembling back.
"Nothing better to set the mood for a nice family weekend in the woods than a
good old military drill."
***** Nobody loves hiking. *****
Chapter Summary
     That Donnovan kid is a cutie. At least not as pushy as Dean.
In awkward silence, the boys got their plan for the next days explained to
them. At some point, Sam had the impression that he was being concentrated the
most - and he was not too concentrated at all.
"Basically, we have to get to this area." Matthew pointed on the map he had
pinned to the wall. It was a detailed, close-up map of the forest but Sam could
not see any remarkable points of reference. Compass and map were not exactly
his favorite navigation tools. For a second, he was relieved to have his big
brother with him, who was an expert at hose - but then he realized that Dean
would probably be busy strangling Thomas instead. "Eighteen miles, and it's
hilly, sometimes more, sometimes less - and we can't move at night. Too
dangerous. Before sunset, we have to reach these places," Matthew's pen ticked
on four red circles he had added to the map, "and set up our camps. One of us
has to be on guard while the others rest, but with five of us to circulate,
everybody's gonna get enough sleep, easily."
"We stay together at all times, no separating from the group, no sneaking away
for a quiet minute," John added with an alarmed tone in his voice the boys knew
they were supposed to take personally, "This beast is probably just as good at
hunting as we are. But it is alone against five of us. We're gonna outnumber
it, make it panic, scare it - and then it's gonna make a mistake and we're
gonna trap it."
"And burn it to the bones," Matthew added with an excited grin.
"Exactly."
Toothbrush between his teeth, Sam stared at himself in the mirror. He had
locked the door behind him, just as he had been doing it every evening after
dinner for weeks, month. Bathrooms had become his place of refuge from Dean as
it always was lockable, even in the cheapest motels. Most of the times, the
keys were built-in, so Dean had no chance taking them away beforehand. If he
did, Sam simply went out right away, without staying in the bathroom first. Sam
would leave and it did not matter to him where exactly he would be going most
of the nights. It didn't matter as long as he could simply be alone for a
while.
If he wanted to be undisturbed, he went to a park or for a long, long walk or
jog, or hung around at some random playground. Sometimes he went to bars or
arcades, shopping malls, restaurants, coffee shops, diners. He sat down alone
and simply watched the other people, sometimes having a coffee or soda.
Sometimes someone chatted with him or treated him for something to drink or eat
because he looked so lost and lonely. Sam wondered if he really looked like
such a pitiful kid since he actually felt really good during these nights.
In order to have a good time, he let his Winchester charm work on teenagers he
would meet by coincidence or know from the school he currently was in. Crowds
and cliques, all boys, all girls or mixed genders - usually, all were fun and
all of them liked Sam. The girls adored him because he was so gentle and
mysterious and they loved to play with his hair. The boys were impressed by his
fighting skills and the stories he told about guns and knives and how to use
them. For them, Sam was the good guy, not the freak, the hunter, the soldier,
and it felt incredibly good to let this unusually innocent and 'normal' side of
him take control once in a while.
When he was out and away from John and Dean, he was more 'Sam' than he was
'Winchester'. With them at his side, it was the other way around. With
strangers and people his age he could feel free and let go. With his family,
everything seemed complicated and painful, under so much pressure that he could
barely take it. Dean never seemed to see any problem in this, so Sam figured he
wouldn't understand. And if Dean did not understand something Sam was doing, he
stopped him doing said thing. So Sam kept it a secret, pulling every trick he
had been taught about lying and keeping a good cover and disguise.
When it had started, he only did it once every few weeks, calming the immediate
questions from Dean the next mornings with a simple "Couldn't sleep, went for a
walk". It did the trick until Sam got hungry for more and left a few times,
several weeks in a row. Dean got suspicious so easily and it annoyed Sam to get
entwined into angry interviews the moment he came home. Soon, his answers came
shorter, sassier, more aggressive. The first "leave me alone" slipped out after
his first night drinking beer in some classmate's cellar on a friday night when
he was halfway through fourteen, and the way it seemed to slap across Dean's
face made his stomach turn inside out. He hated lying to his brother. He knew
that Dean only wanted to protect him and be there for him. But Sam wanted to
live his own life, make his own decisions - just for once. And if Dean couldn't
respect that, Sam decided, he had no choice but hurting his brother.
'Hurt' was not even near a sufficient description the evening Dean discovered
his little brother's month-old secret. Sam had no idea Dean's face could burn
in such an intense red. He had looked as if he was about to start bawling. "For
God's sake, I am simply gonna meet my friends tonight, alright?!" he had
shouted at his brother who just didn't shut up and had raised his voice louder
and louder until he was practically screaming at Sam to tell him the truth. The
anger started dropping off Dean's face like an old layer of paint and revealed
pure terror and disappointment. At this sight, Sam simply had turned and ran
off, leaving his brother standing in the motel room all by himself. He felt
terrible but there was no way he would confront himself with his brother's
issues. /If he can't let go, it's not my problem,/ Sam had told himself that
night, over and over.
That was two weeks ago. Sam still repeated the same words in his head as he ran
off every night, without exception. As soon as he would have the chance, Dean
would jump at him and start asking the same questions, over and over. "Where
are you going?", "What are you hiding?", "Why don't you just tell me what's
going on?", "You think you can hide from me forever, Sammy?" Sam pressed his
lips shut and simply stopped talking to Dean at all. It was childish, but if
Dean wasn't acting very grown-up himself, Sam did not see any reason why he
should be, either.
Sam spit out into the sink and wiped his mouth. Dean's aggression and
frustration had been growing ever since and tonight they would probably make
him explode. And Sam couldn't run. Outside was no option. Inside, Dean would
simply follow. /Be calm and sit it out,/ Sam ordered to himself. He nodded to
his image in the mirror and then walked off to their room.
The lights were out already. Dean was lying on his side of the bed, his back
turned towards the door. Sam quietly shut the door behind him and slipped under
the sheets, facing away from his brother, too. The bed was so soft that he
would have sighed if he wasn't so sure that there was no reason for him to
enjoy himself that night.
"Thought you'd sneaked away through the drain."
Sam closed his eyes. "Haha. Very funny."
He heard rustling from behind. "Seriously though, Sammy." Dean now must be
facing his back. Sam swallowed. "Why are you running away from me?"
"Because you won't leave me alone." His answer was as dry as his throat.
It was almost as if Sam could hear the frown on Dean's forehead in his voice.
"Damn right I won't. Why would I? You're my brother, and I-"
"-and you're watching out for me, bla, bla, bla." Sam rolled his eyes. "It gets
old, Dean. Your 'big brother' parole. Literally."
Dean's jaw twitched. He didn't understand. He wasn't even sure if he wanted to
understand. But his brother lying to him, hiding from him… it just broke his
heart. It had to stop. "Why are you saying that? I am doing it for you, Sam, I
want you to be safe, I want to know what's going on with you!"
Sam felt the anger climb up his throat. "I am not a little child, Dean…"
Dean spit out a laugh. "Says the fifteen-year-old. You have no idea, Sam."
Enough. "I am not talking to you anymore," Sam barked into his pillow, "Good
night, Dean."
Dean shifted closer to his brother across the bed. "Don't you quit on me like
that! Who are you seeing, huh? 'Friends' my ass! I want names, Sam!" He waited
for an answer but was punished with silence instead. "Are they so terrible
you're ashamed to tell me about them? You're chilling with junkies and bums,
Sam?" Still nothing. Dean's nose started blushing in anger. "Or are you seeing
girls? Sammy, you know you can talk about girls with your big brother, don't
you?" It was not even as hard as Sam thought it would be to keep silent. Dean's
questions were getting more and more desperate and hilarious. The trembling in
Dean's voice sounded pathetic in his ears. "You're doin' drugs, Sammy? I mean,
a beer or two won't kill anybody but it can get dangerous for a drunk kid out
at night. Somebody could-" Sam almost laughed at Dean's shocked gasp. He
couldn't help but smile unseen at this nonsense. "Nobody, like, touched you,
right, Sammy? Did someone do something bad to you? Oh for FUCK'S SAKE, talk to
me!!" Suddenly, Dean sat up and pulled Sam over on his back. Helplessly, Dean
searched in his little brothers big eyes for the answers he was so desperate to
find. But they were as cold and thick as cement.
"I said," Sam pronounced every word clear and slow, his eyes darting his
brother's, "Good night." He wanted to roll over to his side again but Dean's
hand held him in place.
"Sammy." The sound came short and sharp like a helpless little puppy's bark for
its mother. "Please, Sammy."
Sam's cover was startled hard by Dean's heartbroken expression. "You're hurting
me, let go!" he murmured through clenched teeth, trying to pull his shoulder
away underneath Dean's strong grip.
"Why're you doin' this to me?"
He was doing this on purpose. This was only show to bring him to his knees and
do what Dean wanted him to do. But not this time. Not this time! "Dean,
seriously! Let go! I want to sleep!"
"Sammy, I j-"
"Dean, I swear to God, you open your stupid mouth one more time and Ima never
talk to you ever again, about anything!!"
Dean looked like he just got stabbed in the back. His face going pale, he
withdrew his hand. Without another word but not without another angry glare,
Sam rolled over. It didn't matter to him at all that he had been very loud just
now and probably the whole house had listened to his stupid threat through the
silence of the night. Everything that mattered was that it had worked. Shutting
down every sense he had, Sam concentrated on counting sheep.
Behind his back, Dean was left alone with his thoughts. In shock, he lay down
on his back and stared at the ceiling for a while. What for Heaven's sake had
he done to deserve such a treatment from his little brother? Hadn't he always
been right about his worries up to now? Wasn't it exactly what being a big
brother was all about, watching out for the little one? What had changed so
suddenly? Wasn't he needed anymore? A trembling sigh slipped out between his
lips, just past the growing lump in his throat. It hurt. It hurt so much. In
hope of escape from his thoughts through sleep, he pressed his eyes shut.
Morning came way too early. The brothers got up in silence and no word was
exchanged throughout breakfast and the last preparations at the cabin. Both
tried not to think of anything. Just function, no questions, no feelings, just
simple, pure function. Just like they had learned from their Dad.
The group left just as planned, everybody stacked with different parts of
equipment. Matthew carried enough gasoline to burn down ten of what they were
hunting - just in case. John had the big tarp they would use as tent and a few
guns - because you could never be cautious enough. The three boys were stacked
with food and cooking tools, clothes and as well as everybody's sleeping bags.
The luggage was heavy but the Winchester boys had been sent out training for
such occasions often enough to handle it without complaint. Not that they would
do so in front of other people, anyway.
John and Matthew were out in the front. A rush of pride woke up Dean's spirits
as John entrusted him with the important task of bringing up their rear.
Shotgun in his hand, he walked shortly behind Thomas and Sam in the middle.
Thomas sensed that something was wrong and didn't talk to neither of them. This
seemed too complicated to joke about, at least for now - so he would wait. The
hike would melt their spirits soon enough, anyway. He had been out in these
mountains since he had been old enough to walk and knew them in and out. And
they were nowhere near an 'easy' terrain.
Two hours into their expedition, the rising sun tickled Sam's nose. The first
time for today, he tilted his head up to see the burning yellow spread over the
spiky mountain tops near the horizon. It was beautiful beyond measurements and
suddenly, his heart felt so so much lighter. A deep sigh filled his lungs with
perfectly fresh air.
Both Thomas and Dean noticed everything with tiny smiles on their way too
identical faces. Thomas' lips weren't nearly as full as Dean's, but chins,
noses, and the curves of their lips looked and moved in perfectly similar
patterns. And both patterns seemed to surround around Sam.
"Good to see you smile," Thomas commented the youngest boy's change of heart,
"Only took you, what, two hours?"
Sam chuckled shyly and shrugged his shoulders. "What can I say. Hiking's not
exactly my top favorite thing to do."
A cheering grin spread over Thomas face. "Heh, don't blame your grumpy face on
this wonderful sport, man. It's awesome!" /And I heard you fighting last
night,/ Thomas added in his mind. "Come on, for now, just leave everything
behind and enjoy this tour."
"Sure, as long as we don't have that Wendigo up our adorable asses yet," it
came from behind them in a mocking, non-chalant tone.
"Our asses will be perfectly safe with your sharp eyes on them, I'm sure,
Dean!" Sam laughed at that remark, making Thomas' heart throb with satisfaction
- and Dean's with humiliation.
/Oh, don't worry, Thomas, your ass is on my watch 24/7 for sure,/ Dean growled
to himself.
Hours and miles passed. Breaks were short and rare. The forest got thicker and
thicker until only a few sunrays found their way down to the hunters. The paths
got wilder and rougher until there were none to be seen anymore. Matthew
gripped his compass tight and guided them with preciously earned knowledge.
With growing discontent, Dean watched over and listened to his precious brother
bonding with that idiotic excuse of a hunter. Dean saw their smiles from a
sideways turned angle when their faces were turned to each other. He heard
their small laughs, Sam's dancing through the air like silver bells, Thomas'
loud and barking bursts - and he hated it. Sam's laughter belonged to him and
him alone. He had earned it, all these years of sacrificing everything for his
baby boy, for his Sammy, his all and everything. His smiles and laughs and his
deep dimples showing - all those were Dean's trophies, not somebody else's.
"Everything okay back there, Dean?"
His father's strict voice startled Dean for a second since his thoughts were
nowhere near the subject of their hunt. "Uh, yessir!" he shouted forward and
realized in embarrassment that he hadn't paid any attention at all to the
surroundings for the last half of an hour - at least. His eyes flicked through
the trees but there was nothing there. Daylight was still about to stay with
them for another couple of hours and so the Wendigo wasn't about to show up -
but that didn't mean that there weren't other things out here to be worried
about. Dean's eyes returned to the front. In the corner of his eyes, he noticed
Thomas grinning at him. His eyebrows shot together on his forehead. "What?"
"Forget what I said about our butts - please take a second here and there to
check out the rest of the world, too, Winchester."
"Haha, very funny," Dean murmured through his teeth, quickly looking down to
the ground as he felt a pitiful smile from his brother rain down on his
embarrassed head. /Just one little bullet won't hurt him... not that bad...
right?/
***** Dangerous mistake. *****
Chapter Summary
     The hunt is going just as well as Sam had predicted - i.e. not at
     all.
John's probably most wonderful words ever sounded like a song in Sam's ears:
"This is where we'll build our camp tonight."
Under a collective sigh of relieve, the backpacks hit the ground. Night was
about to fall upon them and Thomas immediately started preparing a small
bonfire to give them a well-needed source of light.
"Good job, Dean!" The older Winchester brother smiled politely at Matthew's
praise, but Sam still ignoring him and even worse, practically jumping to help
Thomas... it simply drained every bit of happiness out of his system. Bowing
his head in silence, he offered John his help with the 'tent'.
All hunters soon were finished with their individual tasks. Something between a
soup and a stew bubbled over the bonfire they had gathered around together.
Matthew stirred through the pot, obviously pleased with his work. "So, let's
split up the guard shifts. It's nine p.m. now and sun will rise at about seven
a.m. - that's two hours per shift."
"I'd like to start, please."
Sam looked at his brother for the first time this day, due to Dean's eager
efforts all of a sudden.
Matthew nodded. "Alright, sure. Go ahead."
As Dean got up, he patted his little brother's shoulder and earned a pissy
expression and grunt for it. Not like he gave a damn about that. "Put some of
that 'dinner' aside for me, will ya, Sammy?" And off he went, grabbing his
shotgun on his way.
Sam's suspicious look followed Dean for a moment. What the...? And now he was
friendly again? As the youngest hunter got his bowl filled up and started
digging in, it came to him. /He took the first shift so that he can get on my
nerves all he wants for the rest of the night.../ Sam's spoon almost dropped
from his mouth. /And now he's playing along so nice just because Dad's still
awake to witness his jealous, bitchy self./ That fucker.
After they had finished eating, the difference between the two families became
more and more obvious. While Matthew and Thomas gave their best at lifting the
mood with jokes and stories and this and that, John and Sam were happy with
staring into the flames in silence. Sam laughed and nodded along with the
Donnovan's efforts, but it was more polite than honest. Tiredness crept into
his body and he shivered in his way too big hoodie. It was a new one, not even
a hand-down from Dean, simply because Sam was clearly outgrowing his 'big'
brother. Obvious favorite-clothing-material.
With heavy eyelids, Sam looked right across Thomas' wild gestures and excited
face to find Dean, back turned to them, shotgun shouldered. His leather
jacket's collar was popped up. He probably was cold so far away from the fire.
Sam sighed with a knowing, pitiful smile. /My brother, the lone wolf./ He
filled Dean's ration, waiting above the fire, into a clean bowl and popped in a
spoon. With sloppy steps, he went over to Dean.
"Hey." Dean's head spun around in surprise. "I know your shift is almost over
anyway… but I thought you really could use this right now." Sam handed him the
bowl which was welcomed after a few hesitating seconds.
A lazy smile appeared on Dean's face. The 'soup' did smell awful but his
brother's efforts to comfort him made him forget about that fact. "Thanks,
Sammy."
"Don't get me wrong - I'm still mad at you." Sam raised an eyebrow at Dean. He
probably wanted to look serious, but it made his brother chuckle.
"Yeah, I know." The first spoonful gave the lie to the smell - this stuff was
actually quite tasty. "And I'm still gonna make you spill," he added with his
mouth full.
"'Spill' yourself, gosh, swallow before you speak." Finally, a smile, the
dimples; only for Dean. His heart made a small jump at the sight.
"Tell that to your girlfriend, dude," Dean laughed and slurped away on his
dinner.
"SAM! Back here, boy. No lurking around, remember?" John did not sound amused.
Sam sighed and turned back. "See ya later," Dean murmured, just loud enough for
Sam to hear it. /More of a threat than a comfort,/ Sam interpreted.
"He okay back there?" Sam knew Thomas' interest was only show, but hey, at
least he tried to be nice.
"Yeah, sure," he nodded, shifting awkwardly as he decided to not sit down at
the last second, "I'm gonna go to sleep. Is it okay if I take the last shift?
Whoever's in front of me, just wake me up."
"Alright, sleep well!" Matthew cheered along with a silent nod from John.
Thomas rose, yawning. "I guess I'll go, too. Will take the shift from two till
four."
Going for the tent, Sam's hands started sweating nervously in his sweater's
front pouch. He did not need to look behind himself to know that Thomas was
following him closely. By this point, he thought, he must be used to others
sleeping and being so close next to him - but he wasn't. Thomas was a nice guy
judging from today's bits of small talk and jokes and stories. He played the
guitar, his favorite dish was Peking duck, back home they had a dog, Kelly, a
golden retriever. Sam really liked him. Thomas seemed to be a fun guy to be
around. But still.
Entering the darkness underneath the tarp, Sam's eyes searched for a
comfortable spot on the ground as he bent down to grab his sleeping bag. As he
spread it out, it came to him that there never had been a singlehunt Dean had
been out of his field of vision. Not even for a single minute. And he always
slept right next to him. The thoughts hit him hard and for a second he was
happy that it was too dark for Thomas to see his face grow pale right now.
Sam's boots got kicked off carelessly and in the corners of his eyes the boy
watched Thomas preparing his bed right next to him. To his left, Sam had left a
little bit of space. Half of him hoped and half of him knew that Dean may or
would be lying down there later. It was a comforting thought but it did not
actually mix too well with his anger and intentions of keeping his brother
away. Slipping under the covers, his stomach twisted so hard that it made him
nauseous.
"You don't look too good," Thomas whispered. Sam flinched at his face appearing
above him.
"'S nothin'," he murmured against the cover pulled up right to his chin.
"Strange without your brother next to you?" Yes, it was hella dark, but Sam
could make out the soft smile on their hunting companion's face just right. It
reminded him so much of Dean, this smile from these familiar features and the
mocking remarks. He felt really stupid relaxing immediately due to those
things.
A heavy sigh was breathed away out of his nose. Sam would rather bite his
tongue than say or let alone think about a good answer to Thomas' question.
"Heh, that's just adorable." Thomas was so close that Sam could feel his warm
breath against the bridge of his nose at the older boy's exclamation. "I don't
remember much from when we first met but I remember you never leaving Dean's
side, like, never ever. As if you could only walk if he held your hand."
Sam blushed a bit under the wave of warm, cozy memories of Dean's warm hands,
so tiny in person but, for little Sam, they had been big enough to carry the
whole world. The loneliness crept up to him and he gasped at that. He felt the
need to change the subject, quick, to distract himself. "You sure hate Dean a
lot for remembering so little about us."
Thomas rolled his eyes at that and blew up his cheeks with a dry chuckle. "Heh,
yeah. Well, actually, I have no idea what I did to deserve your big brother's
eternal wrath." His hand brushed through his bangs, shifting them back over his
head. "The moment we were introduced, he gave me the nastiest look. We hadn't
even spoken a word yet. You came waddling at me like the clumsy little toddler
you were, to say hello - and bang, I was his arch-enemy."
And bang, Sam realized what all the trouble was about. Seriously? Seriously.
"Ooooh Jesus," he exclaimed and rubbed his hands over his face, "Thomas, I am
so so so sorry."
A helpless snort from the blonde. "Huh, why's that?"
"It's about me," Sam whispered through his fingers, "It's stupid as hell and I
have no idea why he feels like he needs to do so, but Dean… he does that
because he's protecting me."
Thomas' raised eyebrow was practically audible. "'Scuse me?"
Sam's hands slipped over his face into his brown locks and gripped tight. "Most
of the time, like, ninety-nine percent of the time, it's only him and me, you
know," he whispered away with an excusing tone, "And he thinks that he is, uhm,
my protector or somethin'? I guess?"
"'Big brother is watching you'…?" Thomas quoted with wrinkled forehead.
"That's not even scratchin' the surface," Sam hissed and rolled over to his
side, facing towards Thomas now. His eyebrows furrowed together tightly as his
whispers got even lower. "Obviously, for him, I never passed the age of three.
As if he wasn't by my side 24/7, I'd drop dead immediately."
"That doesn't sound psychotically overprotective at all," Thomas chuckled
quietly.
"Exactly." Filling those lonely spots inside of him with anger worked
perfectly, Sam noticed. Excellent. "I cannot leave the house or go to the mall
or visit a friend or go out with my friends, no, nothing. 'It's too dangerous,
Sammy; we don't know those people, Sammy; they could be freakin' Shapeshifters,
Sammy' - GOD, I'm so fuckingsick and tired of it." A lump and a tremble fought
for space in Sam's throat. "You know where this ends? This ends in him stalking
and chasing away any damn person that I might spend my time with away from him.
This ends in him breaking your bones for getting my attention he feels
exclusively entitled to."
The sudden emotional outburst left Sam breathing heavy through his nose, face
glowing red with anger, and Thomas speechless. Sam buried his face helplessly
in his hands again. He felt silly for bombarding poor Thomas with all this
built-up crap. It was none of his business, actually, and he probably only
understood half of it. But Sam couldn't help it. Blowing some of the steam made
him feel a little bit less like exploding any given second.
Thomas blew out his breath between his teeth. "Wow. Talkin' 'bout issues, man."
"Who's got issues in here?"
Highly annoyed, Sam rolled over onto his stomach as Dean appeared in the tent's
entrance. Why did time have to be relative and make the last two hours the
shortest he had ever witnessed?
"Hey Dean. We were just talkin' 'bout you right now." Thomas watched Dean pick
up his sleeping back and, just as Sam had seen it coming, he crammed it into
the little space in between the tarp and his little brother. It barely fit but
that didn't seem to matter.
"Ah yeah?" Sam's stomach flipped at Dean's whispering voice, suddenly so close
to him. The smell of bonfire and whiskey and leather and Dean hit his nose
right through the sleeping bag he was crushed into. He got angry with himself
for liking it.
"Can we just sleep, please?" Sam moaned into the fabric. No way he wanted to
see Dean's stupid face right now.
"A slumber party isn't a slumber party if there's no nasty talkin'," Dean
purred, stuffing his leather jacket under his head in order to use it as a
pillow. His head was now resting on his hand and he was leaning on his elbow.
"So, what were you two young ladies twittering 'bout?" Sam rolled his eyes so
hard, it hurt. The provoking tone in Dean's voice told him that his brother was
pleased with himself, and that wasn't something he could stand at the moment.
"I said…" Rustling from Thomas' sleeping bag and increased heat to his right
gave away to Sam that Thomas just had moved closer to him. Not such a good idea
when Dean was around. "… that you've got serious issues." Yeah. Really not too
much of a good idea at all.
Dean pressed his lips into a thin line. "Who the fuck do you think you are,
Thomas?"
"Oh, me? I'm just a simple man, Dean." This wasn't good. Not good at all. Sam
wished for the Wendigo to show up, just to get out of this tent. "But, you
know, at least I'm n-"
"Don't!" Sam hissed, getting up on his forearms. His eyes were desperately
begging Thomas to just shut up right now. The situation was bad enough as it
was - no need to push it any further.
"Hey, let the man speak if he wants to, Sammy."
A silent laugh punched the air out of Thomas' lungs. He had seen the look upon
Sam's face, yeah, he got the message, but damn, if this jerk kept asking for
it, he would deliver. "Dean - would you mind not treating me like a goddamn
criminal? I didn't do anything, to any of you."
Dean's eyebrows made a jump at that. That bastard really didn't know when to
quit, did he. "Last time I checked, it was me who decided who or what's a
threat to us, not the other way around."
"Look - I get that you're really into controlling other people's lives, but
damn, not even you could be stupid enough to think that that'll work forever."
Bam. Both Winchester mouths dropped open at that. Sam couldn't believe how
utterly stupid or brave Thomas was facing Dean's current level of aggression.
Dean couldn't believe that this son of a bitch had the nerves to interfere with
Winchester business, his business, questioning his qualifications on how to
take care of his brother. He raised his index finger and started getting up on
his knees and hand. "Okay, listen, asshole-"
Sam's body hadn't quite decided yet between launching a panic attack and
throwing up, but he didn't want to risk either of it. "Dean, keep it down!" he
hissed. The last thing they would need right now would be drawing John's
attention to them. One would think a father's attention was something a son
would be wishing for - well, if yours was known for taking down a whole nest of
Vampires in ten minutes, things were a little bit different.
It was a tiny miracle for Dean to listen to his brother's warning, given the
shade of red his face and ears were burning in by now, but he clenched his
teeth as tight as possible. "Listen, Thomas, it's not called 'controlling',
it's called 'saving' people's lives, you hear me?!"
"How exactly does a sleepover at a friend's house endanger someone's life?"
Once again, Dean's face dropped. Sam could almost listen to his brain
processing what just had been said and wished that it wouldn't succeed. As his
brother's eyes switched to him for only a second or two, right back to Thomas
and again to him, Sam abandoned that hope. Was that just his imagination or did
Dean's breath start to shake? "You… you talk to him about it… but with me you
can't?"
Swallowing is hard if one's tongue is stuck to one's throat. Sam let himself
fall back into his sleeping bag, face first. Why did he even blush at this? He
hadn't done anything wrong. Dean's breathing echoed in his ears, short and
quick. It frightened him. Even though he could tell that Dean was waiting for
an answer, Sam did not dare to speak.
After what felt like minutes, Dean's voice pierced through the silence, sharp
as a knife. "You know what? Fine." He shot up to his feet, grabbed his jacket
and stomped out of the tent.
Thomas stared at the entrance and then back at Sam whose face was still pressed
into his sleeping bag. "Dude," he breathed, rolling his eyes, "Issues."
Concentrating on calming down his stomach, Sam didn't respond. His head was
empty but spinning. Angry or pitiful or ashamed or guilty - he couldn't decide.
Why did it have to be so difficult? The last few days had been hard on the
brothers. Sam was sick of lying and leaving his brother so confused. But on the
other hand, what other choice did he have? Telling him about his actions would
mean giving in. Giving in would mean losing. Losing would mean, well, losing
what he had achieved for his own good, what his family wouldn't allow him to
have. His little pieces of 'normal' and 'privacy' and 'happiness'. Why did it
seem like he simply wasn't supposed to have things like that for a change?
"Hey, Sam, you okay?"
Thomas' hand on his shoulder felt warm through his hoodie. Dean had grabbed him
in the exact same spot last night. "No, I'm not," Sam murmured and rolled over
to his side, facing away from Thomas. A tiny look fell upon the empty bedding
next to him before he slammed his eyes shut. "Just- just leave me alone,
please."
Was it the heavy whiskey smell hitting his nose or the hot palm on his face
making Sam blink through his lashes? He wasn't too sure but both were not
exactly his favorite thing to wake up to. It was nice and warm all around him -
at least something good. No sound was there to be heard but the bonfire's
distant crackling and the wind whistling in the pines. Oh, and breathing. Above
his head. Huh?
Sam tried to shift a bit in his position but he was surprised to find his body
too heavy to do so. His nose brushed against soft fabric covering firm skin. It
smelled like Dean. Sam's fingertips reached out and found a familiar stomach,
warm and a bit flabby.
"Hmmmm 'ammy…"
Okay. It was Dean. "Dean… what the fuck?" Sam's voice was raspy with sleep. He
tried to press away a bit but it was no use. There was something blocking him
from behind, warm and heavy like Dean in front of him.
"Sleep, Sammy," Dean lulled and gently stroked his brother's cheek in his palm.
"Are you drunk…? For fuck's sake, Dean… We're on a hunt…"
"Naaah, jus' a little." Him planting a kiss on Sam's hair told a different
story, though. "Sleep."
In an alternative universe where they hadn't been fighting for the last couple
of days, this would have been cute. At this point though, it was purely
annoying. Sam collected his strength and rolled over on his back just far
enough to take a glimpse over his shoulder. His eyes went wide at the sight of
Thomas, snuggled tight against the spot between his shoulder blades. And while
Dean had one arm under his own head and one on Sam's face, Sam eventually
noticed the weight of Thomas' arm around his waist. His eyebrows furrowed in
annoyance.
"I'm not your pillow," he growled at both of them, turning up his voice a tiny
bit. It was nice to be warm, yes, but this was a bit too much. They weren't
exactly a pack of dogs or penguins who had to share body heat. Dean was under
his sleeping bag with him, Thomas had thrown his own over himself and Sam so
that theirs overlapped.
"Jus' lemme sleep like this tonigh'," Dean blabbered into Sam's hair. The
warmth and smell and the soft skin under his fingertips were so familiar and
comforting. He had missed it. Couldn't Sam just be tiny and helpless and
dependent on his big brother again? When was the last time they had slept like
this? He couldn't remember - and he was sure that that had almost nothing to do
with half the bottle of whiskey he had downed in secret.
Sam felt his stomach cramp again. If it was possible to get drunk just by the
smell of alcohol, this here surely was the right way to get it done.
"I really miss you," Dean confessed, lips buried in his baby brother's soft
hair.
Sam trembled. He had tried really hard not to talk back. With Dean being this
drunk, it probably didn't even make a difference. But it hurt too much to keep
the words in. "Too bad, idiot," he hissed, "Maybe if you weren't so much of a
dick as you are at the moment, things could be different."
"Hey, I'm always nice to you… Always a good brother to you… Aren't I!"
So pathetic. "No, you are not. And the fact that you don't even notice makes it
even worse."
His words made Dean shut up and that was great. Sam heard his brother's and
Thomas' even breathing. It was all sound there was. The thumb on his cheek kept
brushing over his skin absentmindedly though, as if it wanted to comfort him. /
Just fall asleep,/ he told himself, /Don't think and just fall asleep./
Just when he was about to drift off, Sam heard steps and rustling. Then a short
silence, then a quiet, dry laugh. "Come on, Thomas, cuddle time's up." Matthew
shook his son lightly by the shoulder and Sam felt the movement against his
body. Hot breath and friction against his spine had him tense up as Thomas
slowly came to. "Your turn, big guy," his father joked with a last push against
Thomas' shoulder before preparing and then lying down in his own sleeping bag.
Thomas groaned angrily and hoarse as he stretched, pressed against Sam. The
youngest wondered if this guy really was so carefree with body contact that
somebody not sharing these sentiments didn't even occur to him. Thomas murmured
a tiny "Alright" as he got up and rubbed his face. The sudden empty space and
lack of heat on Sam's back was even more uncomfortable than how it had been
before. As he became conscious about whose chest he was cuddled into, Sam slid
away carefully in order not to wake his brother up. Dean shifted with a tiny
moan but remained asleep safe and sound.
Thomas glanced over his shoulder to see Sam follow him outside. "Can I, uhm,
join you for a bit?" the boy stuttered, hair pointing away from his head in all
kinds of directions, "I, uhm… can't really sleep." That was a lie and both knew
that. Sam had been asleep like a baby in between the two older ones.
Nevertheless, Thomas saw no reason to refuse.
"Sure," he croaked and picked up the shotgun leaning against the nearest tree.
What a relieve. No way he could go on sleeping next to Dean right now. Sam
sighed quietly and strolled along behind the Donnovan. Suddenly he realized his
father wouldn't approve of him distracting Thomas while he was on his watch -
but John was nowhere to be seen. He must have gone to bed before Matthew. Sam
hadn't heard him at all. No surprise, actually.
Sam watched Thomas' serious behavior as he checked around their camp, eyes
focused deep into the woods. This usually so carefree boy really wasn't like
any other hunter Sam had met, except maybe Uncle Bobby. Yes, he was mature, but
so light-hearted that Sam did not really know what to think about it. He was
used to his family's cold-as-ice attitude that was getting worse and worse each
year, maybe even with each single hunt.
As he watched the older hunter, Sam wondered if Thomas even was a regular
hunter. Just on how many hunts had he been with his dad? Had it been big things
or more casual salt'n'burns? How much blood had he seen yet? Had he ever
witnessed somebody's death?
The way he searched the trees was professional. He knew exactly what to look
for. But there was nothing there, fortunately. Thomas raised his head and there
was his cheery smile again. "Looks like our big boys over there can dream in
peace for now." He sat down on a tree stump on the edge of their camp and
raised his head into the sky. Well, at least into that vague direction. Sam
couldn't tell - all he saw above their heads were dark green pines. Sam's trot
came to a halt next to Thomas and they stared up together for a while, heads
still dizzy with sleep.
"Did he drink?" Thomas asked into the blue, "It smelled like a bar in there."
Sam blushed in shame. "Yes," Sam gulped quietly. Yeah… No, is brother was not
exactly what you would call a shining example of a Winchester. Or a hunter. Or
a young man in general.
He heard Thomas shake his head. "Idiot. Our dads aren't exactly gonna love
that. He better keep up with us during the hike or I will personally make sure
he does."
Sam bit his lip. "Sorry, Thomas."
Thomas blinked in confusion. "It's not your fault that your brother's an idiot,
Sam."
"I know…" His fingers played with each other nervously in his sweater's front
pocket. He knew that alright. The nagging pain in his stomach wasn't fading
though. "I-I'm just kinda… I feel responsible. Maybe I just should have talked
to him. Then he wouldn't have to freak out like that."
"I guess you have your reasons for doing what you do." Thomas shrugged his
shoulders. "And that's not a bad thing. Sometimes, we need things that are
completely and only for ourselves. That's not selfish… that's healthy. It's not
a bad thing."
"But why does it feel like it is?" The question came out so suddenly that Sam
wondered if it was Thomas or himself that he had just asked. He looked at the
older one in confusion. "I-I… Sometimes I just don't know any more what is
right or wrong. I'm not sure what I want."
The way Thomas smiled at him reminded him of a teacher he once had. He had told
him that it was okay if he wanted to do his own thing. He had understood him.
"Nobody your age has any idea what they want, Sam. Not even at my age."
Sam sniffed at nothing. His gaze fell to the ground onto the tip of his shoes.
"Dean always knew."
"Dean is an idiot, Sam. Okay?" Thomas raised his eyebrows to stress what he
just said. "He may act like he is oh-so brave and strong, just like your daddy.
I have seen a lot of hunters like John. A lot. This is what pain makes out of
you. Pain and loss and all that crap we pick up along the road. I get it… Dean
'wants' to be a tough hunter, just like John. Awesome, strong, respectable. But
you know… Dean just drank himself silly because he's so freaking sad over you
ignoring him. He didn't even think twice about what John will tell him about it
tomorrow." His lips curled in a tiny smile. "If that doesn't show that he
clearly has no idea where his priorities lie…!"
A shy gaze and a pout came from Sam.
"He has no idea, man. Really. Don't beat yourself up about it."
They talked about this and that until it was time for them to switch. Nothing
happened on Sam's watch whatsoever. As the sun rose, Sam listened to the birds
chirp and John and Matthew scolding Dean. They weren't exactly fully raging but
as far as John was concerned, his anger-o-meter was at about 80%. The last time
that happened, Dean had come home as a stoned, puking mess after a friday night
date - at age seventeen.
They had breakfast in silence, packed up and were on their way again in no
time. Sam ignored his brother who was walking next to him. Obviously, Thomas
had gotten his task as the group's rearguard, and obviously, it was the most
intense punishment for Dean. Well, maybe next to his hangover. He was sweating
a lot more than yesterday and looked like he would throw up or stumble or both
any given second. And the smell radiating from him…! Sam rather didn't think
about it too much.
It was a bit sad though that it was as good as impossible to talk to Thomas in
this constellation now. Their night-talk had calmed Sam down and he felt like
maybe he understood his brother and even himself a little bit more now. Thomas
was right. He shouldn't beat himself up too much. Didn't change much anyway.
They made even less brakes than yesterday, regardless Dean's condition.
Everyone including himself seemed to agree that he had it coming, so that was
that. Matthew was happy with their progress, he told them. They were making a
lot of miles. The ground became steeper and steeper. There was less earth than
there was stone underneath their feet by noon. It was exhausting. Sam
completely forgot about his psychological topics as sweat started running down
his forehead. His whole body concentrated on going forward up to the point
where he did not notice Dean tripping - and falling.
"Watch it!!" he heard Thomas yell behind him and swirled around to see what was
causing the fuss, just to see his brother drop to his back way behind him.
"Dean!" he screamed in shock, but his brother raised his head immediately. Good
for him that he was wearing that enormous rucksack. It probably was what
protected him from cracking his skull open like a walnut on these stones.
Thomas hurled to help him up as Dean was looking way too disorientated to do it
by himself. As he noticed these familiar unfamiliar arms grabbing him, he shook
his whole body to get them off. "Don't you touch me!!" Dean was close to
kicking around but instead only his fists were flying. "I can do it myself!!"
"Yeah, totally looks like it, Winchester," Thomas barked and tried his best to
help him up anyway.
Just before Sam could even grab the thought of "This looks really dangerous",
Dean's fist landed a hit on Thomas' temple. Planned or unplanned - it hit hard.
Thomas yelped at the sudden pain and let Dean go, resulting in him hitting the
ground once more. "Are you insane?!" He held his pulsing head.
In the corner of his eyes, Sam saw their dads stopping in their steps and
turning around. Oh no. "Stop it you guys, come on!" He practically begged. This
was horrible.
He hurried back down to help Dean, but as he reached out for him, his brother
kicked in his general direction. "You!! Fuck off, Sam, just fuck off!!"
Sam stared at his big brother in shock and disbelieve. He hadn't looked him in
the eye yet today and now that he did he regretted it deeply. There was nothing
but pain and hate. He couldn't recall his brother looking at him with such
negativity, ever. Maybe it was due to the alcohol's aftermath but Dean's eyes
were wet and swollen and red just like they sometimes showed bawling girls in
cheesy soap-operas. He collected his senses again and shouted: "What is wrong
with you!?"
"Wrong with me?? Oh, shut up!! You think I didn't hear you two this morning?!
Don't think I-"
"DEAN, shut up!!" Sam's stare switched to Thomas who just had yelled. He looked
serious all of a sudden.
"'Shut up' yo'self, Donnovan, you little-"
"Dean, seriously, SHUT UP!!"
Sam's heart stumbled and then raced up his throat as he heard a crackling above
their heads. Immediately, he pulled out his gun and jumped next to Dean to
cover him. Three shotguns and one revolver were pointed up into the pines.
Something was definitely there. Sam could see something move. Nobody shot.
Everyone was waiting for something, even though he could not name for what
exactly. Sam's fingers were tingly around the cold metal. There was another
short rustle, distant - and then there was silence.
The hunters stood there in tension for another few seconds until Matthew
dropped his shotgun with a heavy breath and an angry: "FUCK!" The boys and John
followed, Dean still on his back on the ground, frozen. Everyone was panting.
The boys looked up to the front where their fathers were standing, looking
around them in disbelieve.
"W-was that-"
"YES, Thomas, it WAS the freakin' Wendigo, and you STUPID KIDS almost got us
KILLED!!" Matthew yelled at his son in a tone Sam hadn't thought he would use
against his son. Or, well, anyone. Hadn't he been one fluffy lumberjack only a
few hours ago? Thomas looked just as surprised as him but there was another
emotion on his face that he knew too well. As he saw it, it crept onto his own
expression, too. Guilt. His eyes met his father's and his cheeks lost any bit
of color that had been left.
It was almost not visible but his sons could tell John was shaking. Yes, they
were his sons, but that did not mean they were safe from his death glare.
John's chest was raising and falling visibly under his thick flannel jacket.
Any bit of rage Dean had missed to get out of him now rose altogether anew. "…
I knew it was a bad idea."
Sam almost choked on his stomach acids. There was no use in looking for
excuses. They were done for. He noticed John's glare fall somewhere behind him
and remembered Dean. His look dropped down and yes, he was still lying there,
eyes full of terror, paralyzed.
John simply had to look at him with that certain spark in his eyes to make him
fall apart. Sam wasn't too sure if his dad was aware of that. He sure used it
just like he knew. But today, he must have decided that it wasn't sufficient.
"I told you. I told you so many times. Never get distracted. Never endanger
your group. I thought I'd taught you, Dean, I thought you'd get it by now."
Sam stared down somewhere around the spikes of Dean's messy hair. He held his
breath and knew that Dean did the same. Their father was even scarier with his
voice low like this. Sam never thought he'd pray for him to just yell and
scream.
"Well," John murmured, "turns out I was wrong."
"S-Sir, I-"
Dean's stutters didn't impress John at all. "Go back to the camp."
The command came dry and hit home. The sensation of something ripping inside of
him flashed through Sam's nervous system. If it made a sound, he was sure he
just heard it coming from Dean's direction, really really loud.
"I don't need you here with us if all you gonna do is fucking attract that
thing with raising so damn much noise. Your childish attitudes can stay home,
where they belong. Leave."
Thomas' look switched back and forth between John and his father. He was
confused. This wasn't fair! "D-dad? Rea-"
"Yes, Thomas, REALLY," Matthew barked and slammed his rucksack to the ground,
"John is right! If all you gonna do is jump each other's throats, you're
welcome to do that while we're NOT about to be eaten alive! Come on - let's
split up the luggage. We have to rearrange it."
***** Grounded. *****
Chapter Summary
     Back at the cabin the boys are eager to distract themselves from the
     burning shame in their heads. Thomas has some good ideas for that.
Their bags fell heavy to the ground as Thomas pulled the door shut behind them.
Without a word, he walked off to the kitchen. The brothers stayed in the
corridor, panting in silence. They had been going almost non-stop and made it
back to the cabin in less than 24 hours. Sam was still shaking. He felt like
crap. The lump in his throat was growing in nausea. "I'm gonna take a shower,"
he murmured quietly. Dean grabbed his shoulder as he was about to go for the
stairs. His brother wanted to say something, but Sam pulled away underneath his
hand. "Don't," he murmured powerless and disappeared upstairs.
"Fuck," Dean whispered, clenching the fist that was supposed to be a comforting
hand to Sam, "Fuck fuck fuck FUCK…" His eyes started tearing in despair and
helplessness. How could he let that happen? What was he thinking? He had
disappointed John, dishonored him and his efforts, his training, their
training. Being ripped apart by the Wendigo seemed like a far better way to
remain compared to the state he was in right now. Tired, he shuffled to the
living room and dropped onto one of the couches.
Minutes passed and they seemed like hours. Eventually, Dean heard Thomas sort
through the cupboards and ascend the stairs. Shortly after, shy stomps
announced his little brother coming downstairs. Hesitating, Sam sat down to the
couch Dean was not occupying. He was so tired and so done with everything and
his brother's broken heart did only add to his guilt he already couldn't deal
with.
"It's not your fault, Sammy," Dean murmured into his hands as if he just read
Sam's mind, "It was me. I shouldda known better." With trembling breath, he
sighed. "I didn't focus. If I would have concentrated, this wouldn't have
happened."
Sam looked into his brother's face for the first time since they were sent
back. Dean's wet eyes were already on him. "Don't say that, Dean," Sam
breathed, his shoulders sinking down a little more, "All three of us fucked up.
Not only you."
"But I should have known. I should have kept myself in control." Dean rubbed
his eyes and turned his gaze to the lower right corner of the fireplace. "In
control, like always. Should've kept strong for you, Sammy."
Sam opened his mouth but did not know what to say. He looked down at his hands
in his own lap, as clean as they hadn't been for days. "Well," he grunted after
a few minutes of silence, "at least we're fucking done with the fucking hike."
Dean sniffled, his eyes wandering back to his brother. That boy always tried to
ease the atmosphere and Dean never had been more thankful for that. He smiled
with thin lips and red eyes. "Heh, fuck yeah."
"As soon as we're home," Sam smiled, finally, finally smiled, "I'm gonna set
fire to the nearest pine."
"Yeah, please hold back with that till home." They didn't hear Thomas come
downstairs and wondered how that was possible as he was carrying three bottles
and glasses that clinged and clanged against each other with each step he made.
Sam noticed that he must have jumped into the shower after him. "We don't
exactly need a monster and a wildfire." Under two pairs of greedy Winchester
eyes, he put everything on the coffee table in front of them. Two bottles of
Jack and one Bacardi. Damn.
"What a sight for sore eyes," Dean moaned and reached out, not for a glass but
straight for a bottle.
Thomas grinned. "I thought to myself: 'Why drown in sorrow if instead we could
drown the sorrow?'"
"I like your way of thinking," Sam smiled up at him. Thomas returned the smile.
Dean got up from the couch, grabbing his bottle tight to his heart. "Jack here
and me are gonna take a shower now," he grinned and walked right off.
"Was about time you got your stinking ass off our couch, idiot," Thomas
murmured through his teeth as Dean was out of sight and let himself fall into
the couch right next to Sam. He smelled like strong aftershave and toothpaste
and after these last days out there with himself and three other unwashed men,
Sam loved it. Without his stubble, Thomas looked really smooth. He had thrown
on a fresh grey shirt over a tight, white t-shirt and was barefoot in his
sweatpants. His hair was still damp and dipped dark circles onto his clothes
around his neck. With a twist of his stomach, Sam recognized his brother's
knuckles' prints on his temple, bruised in red and violet.
"You drink, Sam?"
"You bet I do!" the boy grinned and reached out for the rum. Maybe it was a bad
idea to drink if you were this fucking tired, but damn, he needed this right
now. To his utter surprise, Thomas gripped his wrist tight just before he
reached the bottle's neck. His head flew around to face Thomas' serious
expression.
"You are fifteen years old," he said slowly in a low voice, "You touch that
bottle and Ima chop your hand off."
Sam's mouth dropped open and his eyebrows formed an angry 'v'. "Are you kidding
me?"
"No way!" Thomas shoved Sam's hand back at him and got up. "Your brother's
gonna kill me if I let you. Here, Ima get you some apple juice, alright?"
"B-but… you brought a glass for me, too…!"
"Yeah, for the juice. Duh!"
"But-but why didn't you bring that with you, then?!"
"Maybe 'cause my hands are full with what I brought for me and Dean? Now stop
complaining, I'll get your apple juice…"
"FUCK APPLE JUICE, MAN!!" Sam cried, all nerves and covers ripped down from
him, " Why won't ANYBODY let me have my freaking FUN once in a while?!"
Thomas burst out in laughter and fell back onto the couch. He held his belly as
Sam just stared at him with a frozen angry expression. "Oh God, you actually
believed that?! Duuuude!" He got his hand on the Bacardi and unscrewed it,
still giggling. After filling half a glass with it, he put down the bottle and
handed the glass to Sam who took it hesitantly. "If your brother complains
about you drinking my booze, with me, in my own house - Ima chop something of
his off." He raised his eyebrows at still staring Sam and filled a glass for
himself. "My house, my rules," he proclaimed as he raised his glass and softly
clicked it against Sam's, "And my rules say that you deserve this drink. So you
will have it. Cheers!"
Sam looked down into the glass in his hands and closed his mouth. "You know
what?" He told his glass but meant Thomas and shook his head slowly and
annoyed. "You know what? I don't even care anymore." And with that, he gulped
down a big mouthful from his glass.
"That's the spirit," Thomas nodded with a pat on Sam's back and had a big gulp
of rum himself.
As they felt the burning liquid slush down their throats, they heard Dean sing.
In the shower. With a passion. Both frowned. "He does that often?" Thomas
asked.
"Well, not every time." Sam did not know why he tried to defend his brother as
the evidence against him was this clear. "Usually, he's doing it sober… I
guess."
"And he's the one telling you how to live your life?" Thomas shook his head.
"You are a pitiful, pitiful bastard."
"Nice to know I'm not the only one who thinks that," Sam sighed and lay back
into the couch.
For a while, they simply sat there in silence, occasionally taking a sip from
their glasses. Sam stared into the unlit fireplace with a blank mind and
expression. It felt so good to finally relax and calm down. He hated the
permanent tension while hunting. Not paying attention to anything, not thinking
anything… it was pure bliss after the last couple of hours. They hadn't
actually spoken, now paying more attention to their surroundings than ever, now
that they had known the Wendigo was aware of them. But it hadn't shown up.
Matthew and John had given them Matthew's cell phone number and said they would
call if help was needed - but they shouldn't get their hopes up. They would
contact them as soon as the job would be done.
Thomas seemed to share Sam's feelings of relaxing. Their breathing came calm
and in unison. It came to Sam that Dean and him used to sit in silence like
this for hours, sometimes days, if there was nothing to talk about - but it was
never lonely. As if their minds were spun together, they had felt the other's
presence and care, and it had been enough. Why had that stopped happening? /
Probably because you decided to lock him out of your life,/ a tiny voice in his
head whispered. Another sip of rum let the voice fade into silence.
They heard the water stop and followed Dean's heavy stomps through the whole
house until he was back in the living room, clothed in a snug black v-neck and
a rather tight blue jeans. Sam's heart made a small proud jump as he recognized
them as a pair he originally had inherited himself from his older brother. Now,
Sam was too big to wear them and they had come back to the older one. They
always had been one of Dean's favorite pairs, so they had been Sam's, too.
With a content smile and sigh, Dean let himself fall into the couch and set the
bottle back onto the coffee table. Suddenly, he blinked. The image of Sam with
a drink in his hand was unfamiliar to him and a snarky remark lay on the tip of
his tongue for a moment or two - but he pushed it back down to make place for a
thin smile that puzzled Sam. He had watched his brother discretely, waiting for
a reaction, but he had not expected this one. "Not mad?" he asked in a low
voice.
"Nah." Dean unscrewed the Jack and poured himself a nice glass full of it.
"Surprised, yes, but not mad. Didn't think you were the type. Usually, only the
cool kids drink." He winked at his brother who sighed and smiled in relieve.
Thomas, who had been silently watching and listening, leaned forward now and
eyed first Dean and then Sam. Both returned his look. It had something dark in
it. Interest rose in Sam. "Speaking of things only the cool kids do…" He
reached into his sweatpants' pocket and pulled out a handful of stuff.
Sam gasped in joy at the view. "No way," he breathed.
"… Really, Thomas?" Dean frowned and rolled his eyes at the sight of cigarette
equipment and a plastic bag the size of his palm, full of weed, being spread on
the table. "Are you serious?"
Thomas laughed at his annoyed sigh. "Sure, man. Not your thing?"
"Yeah, no," Dean murmured into his glass, "I just get really sick from that.
Ask Jenny Marlow's mother and her beautiful bed of roses. Well, not so
beautiful anymore, I guess."
"You mind if I prepare one, Thomas?"
Suddenly, Dean was not so annoyed and Thomas not so carefree anymore. Both
looked at Sam with wide eyes. He already had grabbed the paper and tobacco and
stared right into Thomas' face, waiting for permission.
"Uhm, sure, go ahead, I guess," Thomas murmured, slowly growing from
'surprised' into 'excited'. This kid was full of unknown talents. He liked
that.
"I've done this dozens of times, don't worry." With a happy smile, Sam started
preparing the joint.
With a not so happy expression, Dean blurted out: "Wha-, Sammy, since when do
you-"
"Dean," Sam moaned, frowning and rolling his eyes, not stopping his skilled
fingers at what they were doing, "I am not a saint, even if you'd like to
believe that."
Dean's mouth hang open for a second or two before he clapped it shut. His look
swam around the room in confusion before he pressed his back into the couch
even firmer and had a big gulp of whiskey. Yet another thing in his brother's
life he had no idea about. Great. "Even a nerd isn't a real nerd if he's a
Winchester," he muttered into his glass, making Sam chuckle.
Dean noticed a smile appear on his little brother's face he had never seen
before and bit the inside of his cheeks at that. Sam looked strangely adult and
calm as he crumbled a generous amount of weed over the tobacco and, with his
elbows on his knees, started rolling it. He looked more relaxed than Dean could
remember ever seeing him, even though he was highly concentrated on the thin
roll in his fingers. Eyes halfway closed and clouded with something unknown,
his lips were parted, but tense. As Sam's tongue absently poked out and licked
the corner of his mouth, Dean characterized this new expression as 'horny'.
Just as he had formed this exact word in his head, Sam's tongue slipped out
completely and brushed over the thin paper to make it sticky. Struck by the
vulgarity, Dean's eyes ripped away from his brother and for a short moment
caught a glimpse of Thomas. The young man was watching Sam just like Dean had
done just now and as he decided to stare at the right leg of the coffee table,
Dean wondered if he had looked as hungry as him doing it.
"Looks good," Dean heard Thomas say. He probably meant the joint but maybe he
actually meant the sight of Sam preparing it, Dean thought to himself.
Sam held his work between his thumb and index finger and slightly rolled the
tip with his other hand's fingers. He was still sporting this strange, new
smile as Dean dared to look back to his brother. A soft "Thanks" rolled from
Sam's lips that made Dean shudder with its' hoarse- and deepness. "Practice
makes perfect," he smiled as he reached for the lighter. The flame leaped up
with a flick of Sam's thumb and just as hungrily as it licked on the vulnerable
paper, Sam softly sucked on the other end. Dean imagined his skinny chest
flutter with each fast, little breath under the way too big shirt.
With the joint now fully lit in his right hand, Sam grabbed his glass he had
placed on the table with his left and sank back into the couch, still with that
damned expression. After a quiet, short sigh, he closed his eyes and took a
deep breath from the thin roll. If he would hit the ground dead-tired and done
today, he would do it right. Without looking, his hand reached across his chest
towards Thomas who took it out of his fingers into his own. Sam was holding his
breath until Dean took another sip of whiskey and blew out the smoke with
satisfaction, bending his neck backwards. His hair had dried now and shifted
from his forehead.
"Good?" Thomas asked with a smile and their shared cigarette on his lips.
"Yeah," Sam breathed slowly, an innocent smile spreading on his face.
"Better than the stuff you and your friends usually smoke?" He passed the joint
back to the boy.
Sam took it into his fingers and lips with a smooth movement, head still tilted
upwards. He had another puff and opened his eyes exhaling. "Not so sure yet.
But it's good." He turned his head towards Thomas and gave him another dimple-
struck smile his brother couldn't see. "I like it. Thanks for sharing."
Dean wondered if he was the only one aware of the certain light that flickered
through Thomas' eyes that were stuck on Sam's face. "You're welcome, Sam."
The time passed and so did their drinks and the joint. Dean's ability to count
got more and more distracted with time but the current one must have been their
third. All the smoke left Dean feeling extra thirsty and he was half through
the bottle as Thomas took his own empty glass and then Sam's out of his hand to
place it on the coffee table. He sank back so close next to Sam their shoulders
were overlapping. Dean did not know why but he did not like that.
Sam's eyes and movements had become lazy and slow, worrying and amazing his big
brother at the same time. Seeing him like this made his heart ache since he
knew exactly why Sam enjoyed getting stoned so much. For Dean himself, it was
the same with booze. For this little time, finally, finally not thinking of
anything, letting go, feeling light, feeling better - maybe even close to
'good'. Sam looked beautiful like this, Dean decided. It was a shame he only
occasionally could look this beautiful, feel so good about everything and be
happy. Another sip to ease the heartache.
Thomas' left reached for Sam's fingers holding the joint and softly took it
from him. His right hand's fingertips carefully scraped over the back of Sam's
left hand that lay relaxed on his thigh. Dean felt his throat grow dry as he
watched Sam's hand and face softly twitch at the touch - but did not withdraw.
With a quiet sigh, Thomas placed his head right next to Sam's, staring at the
ceiling together with him, and took a deep hit or three. Sam felt their temples
touch as Thomas' fingers ran up and down his hand, from the fingernails to the
wrist, slowly and comforting. As he decided not to move for now but wait and
see what would happen, Thomas held the joint not to his fingers but directly to
his lips. Nipping hesitantly at first, he closed his lips around the tip and
took in the smoke under Thomas' gaze. The rough feeling of Thomas' fingers on
his lips and around the joint made smoking even better. Dean noticed his
brother shift slightly and was quite sure that now, Sam had seen the strange
spark in the oldest boy's eyes, too.
Thomas took the joint back to his own lips and watched the movement being
mirrored in Sam's slightly widened and curious eyes. He put his hand with the
joint down and licked his lips. He was not sure if his plan would work out -
but what was there to lose? "Hey… can I ask you something, Sam?"
Sam felt his eyebrows flinch at the sound of his own name. "Yeah?" he breathed
quietly. The sudden hot breath on his ear as Thomas turned over close sent a
shiver down his neck. His lips parted and his eyebrows lifted with every
whispered word rolling from Thomas' mouth right into his head.
Dean desperately tried to understand what he was saying, but it was no use -
Thomas was too good at whispering and Dean was too drunk and tried to sharpen
his senses. The sound of a gasp and then a shy laugh from his little brother
had him snapped out of his frustration.
"Wha- why would you wanna do that?" Sam frowned in disbelieve but kept his
little smile. He wasn't too sure if he got that right or if the weed and rum
were playing with his mind by now. His own voice sounded a bit shrill to
himself. He was confused.
"Dunno," Thomas smiled softly, "Just feel like it." His fingers entwined with
Sam's and pressed them firmly. "Just askin'. If you don't want to… no problem.
I just thought you'd like that."
With a nervous laugh, Sam's head turned over to the ceiling and his frown
cleared. He swallowed. At this point, he was not too sure what to do. "But…
Dean's watching," he murmured to nobody in particular.
"Watching what?" Dean barked immediately, "What're you whispering about back
there?"
"Don't care," Thomas smiled, ignoring Dean, brushing his nose against Sam's
cheek, "He can leave if he wants. Who cares?"
Now it was Dean's turn to frown in confusion. "What the…?"
Sam obviously was hesitating. Thomas needed to give just another little push.
He put the joint to Sam's lips that welcomed it hungrily. Sam's eyes swam
around without focus.
It wouldn't be the first time somebody did that to him. Not even the first boy.
He knew it would feel great. He knew he would like it. He knew it was wrong,
which made it even better. It was even more wrong than wrong to let it happen
in front of his stupid, over-protective brother, just to scare him away, to
finally show Dean that Sam was, in fact, grown up.
"Okay," he heard himself say.
***** Wasted. *****
Chapter Summary
     Things get drastically naughty. And rough. Too rough. Dean has
     serious problems with controlling his emotions. Thomas is being an
     incredibly bad influence.
Chapter Notes
     WARNING: There is dubcon/non-con and violence in this chapter.
Sam took the joint from Thomas' fingers and a light kiss fell on his cheek,
together with hot breath from a small laugh. Thomas moved immediately, making
Sam laugh about his impatience. He sat up more straight, feeling Dean's
confused eyes on him from his right, his own ones turned left, into Thomas'. He
was not exactly what people called 'gay', but he had no problem with being
close with boys. There was something more exciting and magical going on
compared to when he was with girls; unusual, forbidden. It made him tingly all
over.
Dean gasped as Thomas' left let go of his brother's hand and instead gripped
the seam of his jeans. Before Dean could protest against it, the button was
popped and the fly zipped down. Sam turned his face to his brother and slowly
took the joint between his lips. His eyes were the heaviest and darkest Dean
had ever seen them. And this smile... Goddamn. When had he learned to smile
like that?
"Lift your hips," Thomas demanded, and Sam did as he was told, leaning on his
arms behind his back, the joint resting between his lips. With one pull, Sam's
jeans were down to his knees, leaving nothing but bare skin. Sam did not wear
boxers after showers. Dean knew that. Sam has had some incredible grow spurts
the last months. Dean knew that, too. Sam's dick had found the time to triple
in size. That was new to Dean. Wow. Already halfway hard, resting in his lap,
about good and solid six inches. With his mouth hanging open, Dean's brain
couldn't decide on either getting worried about his little brother actually
outgrowing him down there or completely panicking minding the fucked-up
situation he was in right now.
Sam's eyes did not get tired of resting on his big brother's face. Yes, this
was perfect. /That's it, watch me, idiot. That'll teach you to leave me alone
for good. Be disgusted all you want, just finally leave me be./ Consumed by his
thoughts, he did not notice Thomas lying down on his stomach across the couch
and bringing his head down between his legs. The joint almost dropped from
Sam's lips that parted in a tiny "o" when a soft kiss was blown to the side of
his shaft. Finally, his eyes dropped down and were greeted by one of that
naughty but soft smiles he already knew in and out from his big brother
flirting with anything with two legs in a short skirt. Thomas didn't say
anything, just chuckled quietly and kissed again, slowly, making Sam blush and
slip the tiniest moan. Dean's stomach flipped at the sound but he couldn't tear
his eyes away.
The kisses didn't die down, woke up Sam's cock to full hardness in mere
seconds. By the fifth innocent touch of lips, the flesh was practically
throbbing. From the corner of his eyes Sam could tell that Dean was staring at
his boner as if he'd never seen one his whole life. With his own excitement,
this started to go weirder than he had planned. He took another hit to calm
down.
Thomas' lips teased and nipped on Sam's cock like it was a toy to him, like he
had no idea how to give head. God knows he knew that perfectly all right but
this situation was so delicious that he wanted to squeeze out anything he
could. One didn't have to be a genius to tell how nervous Sam was, even though
he tried really hard to look cool and indifferent, helplessly suckling on their
shared little treat. And Dean - God, the kid was messed up beyond anything, but
the way he was watching, practically eating his little brother up with his
eyes? Satan better had a special pit ready just for him.
Dean felt his pulse climbing up his throat with every flinch, blink or small
sound of Sam. He tried really hard to ignore the heat pooling in his stomach,
really, but when Thomas licked along the thick flesh of his brother's dick, he
couldn't deny anything anymore, not with the adorable gasp Sam made at that.
Realizing that his own dick started to go hard felt like a kick to the kidneys.
Okay, he hadn't been on a date since that shit with Sammy started going down,
and - hell, that was over a whole week ago. His body probably was just
confused. Desperate. Yes, desperate. Very desperate. Fuck.
Lips started closing around the sensitive tip and Sam lost focus. Too much
weed, too much booze, too little sleep, too little touches to his private parts
lately. Nobody had blown him in weeks and he had almost forgotten how
godforsaken good it felt. Smooth, wet tongue sliding over his bulged flesh,
pulsing with boiling blood, oh, his hand helplessly slid over his lower belly
and sneaked underneath the t-shirt. The touch of his own fingertips on his skin
made him hum and push his hips forward.
Hip bones this sharp should be illegal, Dean thought to himself. He bit his
bottom lip painfully hard when Thomas pulled on Sam's knee and spread his legs
even wider than before, as if he was giving Dean a fucking show, his baby
brother starring as the main act. The boy was so skinny. It was a miracle to
Dean where his body got the material to make him shoot up like he lately did.
Smooth skin, no hair to be found anywhere, damn, why did he even notice that.
Thomas' must've read his mind since the bastard slid his palm over the thin
thigh, making Sam shudder. A muscle in Dean's jaw ticked in perfect synch with
his brother's quadriceps.
Sam's head was spinning. He would blame it on the weed later that he slowly but
surely lost control over his body, twitching and shifting helplessly under
experienced hands and lips. Rolling hips and eyes, clumsy big hands roamed over
his own chest, grabbing the thin t-shirt. A constant flood of "mmmhs" and gasps
escaped through his parted lips that were carelessly bitten and licked, not
being aware of it, not caring about it.
But Dean was aware. Very aware. Too aware. He was drunk like a sailor but a
surprisingly clear part of his brain whispered to him that this image here
would be safely filed down for a later, more private moment. Dean almost
grabbed his aching cock through his jeans when the desire to jerk off to his
little brother manifested inside of his skull. He barely held back, tightening
the grip on his glass. That one part of his brain was a dangerous little
fucker. But he would take care of that later. Now, Sam's rising moans ringing
in his ears were way too distracting. Chewing on the inside of his cheeks, Dean
watched Thomas getting sloppier and faster by the second, gulping Sam down
almost completely to the base but not quite, his hands caressing those stupid
long legs, holding them wide open. The stretch in the muscles must feel so
good, open, sensitive, submissive; Dean knew as much as that, he loved it
himself when girls did this. He almost drifted off into a sweet memory about
even sweeter Michelle but just one high-pitched sound from his brother ripped
him right back into fucked-up but real here and now.
A mixture between a whine and a sob and a breath and a hiccup: "I-I'm…!"
Shivers went down everyone's spine, right into their groins like thunderbolts.
Dean's glass almost crashed between his vice-like grip and he couldn't do
nothing, frozen in his seat, cock pulsing angrily against the zipper, no, no
way, absolutely not acceptable to feel like this, to be so fascinated watching
his brother come undone underneath an old childhood friend.
Sam pushed his hips out more and was held back by a firm hand on his lower
belly, panting helplessly, fingers twitching over his t-shirt, still managing
to hold the shortened joint. Dean held his breath. No. No words, just the tiny
body he had known forever, taken care of, now spasming and shaking, the muscles
working so clearly visible underneath soft but thin skin, mouth wide open like
a fish on dry land, eyes fluttering close and rolling back behind silky lids.
It was all there was and it fucking broke, broke away something Dean had
cherished and nurtured and protected all this time, simply becoming meaningless
in this reality.
As Sam came with noiseless, stuttering breaths, deep down Thomas' throat, all
Dean could think of was how Thomas might be feeling right now, how it felt, on
his tongue, his throat, underneath his palms, Sam, Sam everywhere, flesh and
come and nothing but that.
Thomas was the one deciding when Sam was finished coming, sucking him through
it, gradually slowing down until nothing was spilling inside his mouth anymore.
And a bit longer, just to be a goddamn tease; stealing a desperate whine from
poor Sam that made Dean's blood boil with jealousy all over again. Eventually,
his mouth let go, having Sam going completely limp underneath him, arms
flopping useless to his sides, the joint's ash spilling on the sofa, but nobody
cared. Dean couldn't help but bathing in the beauty of his brother, lying there
so done and relaxed, mouth still hanging open, chest heaving with heavy
breaths, slowly returning back to normal. The perfect image was disturbed by
that stupid Thomas, leaning over the fragile body, softly smiling, getting
closer, closer, what, no, no way, that was - and he kissed Sam.
Both Winchesters were surprised by that. Yes, getting someone off was one
thing, but kissing? A whole different level of intimacy. But to Dean's anger,
Sam quickly relaxed against the obviously soft lips, swollen and pink from the
hard work. Sam groaned when Thomas opened both their mouths with a skilled use
of pressure of his jaw and fed his own come back to his mouth, warm and thick.
Dean didn't know that this was happening, but the kiss alone was enough of an
insurance for him to break this stupid son of a bitch's face, better sooner
than later.
"Tastes good," Thomas grinned, earning a shy pout and hum from Sam in return.
He licked his lips. Damn. This was going so damn well. Perfect even. Such an
obedient little puppy. Yes, he had figured he would be great to play with, but
the Winchester was clearly exceeding his expectations here. Maybe he could even
try to…? The throbbing cock in his sweat pants didn't really give him much of a
consideration here. Thomas leaned in to Sam's ear once again and whispered into
it short and sharp.
"Wh-what…?" Sam blurted out, confused, obviously shocked. He may have been
coming only seconds ago but his brain wasn't that slow. That request really was
too much for him. No way. Blood found its way into his cheeks again as he
stammered a shy: "N-no, I-I've never... No, I don't wanna do that!"
The intimidated and somewhat scared tone in his baby brother's voice didn't
please Dean. At all. No secret here, actually. But Thomas was being a
gentleman, maybe knowing it was for his own good not to push things at this
point. "Okay," he assured with a gentle smile and kiss on Sam's cheek, "That's
okay baby, you don't have to." Ha, damn. What a devil he was. Maybe he'd have
to share that special pit with Dean one day, after all. A playful lick to the
boy's lower lip and another dirty grin. "How 'bout you blow me in return then,
hm?"
"For fuck's sake, Thomas!" Snap - Dean's patience went to hell. How could that
bastard request this from his little Sammy just like that? "He said no, so-"
"Dean, shut it!"
Blinking once, twice, Dean's mouth dropped open at Sam's interruption. What?
Little did he know that this try to take over control pushed Sam directly into
the opposite direction he wanted all of this to go. Dean said "no"? Then Sam
had to say "yes". Dipping the burnt down joint into the ashtray on the coffee
table, the youngest boy slid down from the sofa without hesitation. "Yeah,
wanna. Come on." It was almost surprising to himself how fast he could move and
speak and think again after that orgasm a few moments ago. He was so determined
that it made Dean sick and Thomas excited.
"Alright," Thomas chuckled and sat back into a relaxed position, spreading his
legs wide. Obediently, Sam followed this silent invitation and kneeled down
there, hands in his own lap, looking up at Thomas in anticipation. Thomas could
practically taste the jealousy rising in Dean across the other sofa and taking
his dick out of his pants rarely had been this damn satisfying. Sam had no idea
about what was going on out of his field of vision. Probably too much drugs.
But maybe it was better like that. He was just too cute, unsuspecting and
blinded by his teenage rebellious thoughts. No, Thomas didn't care too much
what made Sam agree to this. You didn't question things too much. It made them
unnecessarily complicated.
Thumb and index finger held his throbbing dick up nice and vertical, presenting
it to one nervously gasping Winchester offspring. Well, actually two of those.
Dean almost rolled his eyes. The fact that his and Thomas' dick resembled one
another even more than their faces didn't make things any less disturbing. What
the hell, God. Were there really that few prototypes to choose from?
Raging anger and jealousy waved through Dean's nervous system, his cock
straining his jeans. The blood was rushing heavy and steady. It made it quite
hard to distinguish his need to punch Thomas in the face for getting his hands
on his little brother and his need to punch Thomas in the face for getting the
attention his little brother should be giving Dean. Uhm… what?
Sam did not know about his brother's inner conflict. He had his own to take
care off, oh, and a boner in front of his face. His pulse barely had gotten
time to go down to a steady level but was pushed into a fast rhythm again now.
Trying to calm down, he reminded himself that this wasn't the first time he
would do this. Hell, he even had been told that he was rather good at it. So,
chances of making an idiot of himself were pretty low, even with Dean watching.
Dean watching always made everything harder to do, it seemed.
"Waitin', Sammy."
Confused to hear this nickname from someone else than his brother, Sam looked
up from the impressive length into its owner's face. This damn smirk. His eyes
and face dropped down and without another comment, he started licking up and
down the shaft with his stiff and pink tongue. Wow. It really had come so far
with him that he'd rather suck cock than bearing another second of looking at
someone making Dean's faces. The taste was nice, soapy from the shower from
before, so clean. But still, undeniably, like cock. Sam had come to terms with
that to a certain point all cocks tasted the same, just like all pussies did.
At least the ones he had tried yet. Not as many as Dean had been through at his
age, probably... but enough for his own likings. Damn, why was he thinking
about Dean all the time?
Maybe because he could actually feel the looks his brother was giving him,
blatant and intense. When had it become so hard to jump off a goddamn couch and
yell at your brother to stop whatever he was doing immediately? Dean knew what
was good for Sam. And Thomas wasn't. Sucking Thomas' dick wasn't. Thomas didn't
deserve this, oh no. If there was one godforsaken person in this room who'd
deserve this delicate and nice comfort of this adorable fifteen-fucking-year-
old mouth wrapped around his dick, then it was Dean - Dean, who had taken care
of this little mouth, stuffed it with milk and mash and cereals until the tiny
tummy would stop growling and the big eyes would beam up at him like a thousand
suns filled with pure love and obedience.
The weed really was amazing. Sam just started noticing that. God, the warm,
silken skin on his lips and on his tongue was the freaking best. His kitten
licks became hungry laps in no time, wanting to taste more, feel more, the
addictive heat against his sensitive skin. His mouth was doing its own thing
and Sam let it, playfully taking a big bite, no teeth, just closing his mouth
sideways around it, actually. He probably should have been embarrassed to do
so, but he hummed in pleasure at the sensation and it was a-okay. Thomas
giggled, fucking giggled at his efforts, and he would have pouted if his lips
weren't being so busy right now, so Sam just frowned and continued.
Dean trembled in frustration now. He started to get an idea of how a demon must
feel inside a devil's trap. Glued to the spot. But nothing physically held him
here, only his never ending chain of thoughts and what-ifs. If he told Sam to
stop, would he? If not, what would he have to do to make him stop? Did he even
want to make Sam stop? Wasn't it quite nice to watch him like that, storing the
scene for later use, in private, in secret? Not letting Sam find out about the
crazy things his brain was coming up right now? What he would rather have his
little brother do? With whom?
He felt a heavy pair of eyes on him and slowly looked up into Thomas'. That
fucking grin. He knew it too damn well. Almost every picture of himself showed
him flashing it, hiding everything dark and dirty behind fortunately perfect
teeth and distracting lips. Nothing good could be waiting behind it. It never
did.
"He's so good at this, Dean."
Dean's empty fist twitched dangerously. As he felt his head emptying itself
into black nothing, he slowly counted down from ten to keep control. The only
way. Ten… Nine…
"You have no idea."
Eight, seven, six… Five…
Sam looked up in confusion, furrowing his eyebrows. Not okay. It was strange
enough to do this in front of his brother as long as he could play pretend he
wasn't there, but being reminded that he actually was? Nope. He let Thomas'
cock slip from his lips and finally act out the pout he had been aching to do
earlier. "Stop talking to him, dude! Sick!"
Thomas just laughed and, with a firm grip into Sam's hair and a little push,
pressed Sam back down on his cock. Not gagging him, no, of course not - but a
good third was a good third. "You stop talking, silly."
Four, three…
Acting on instincts, Sam tried to lift his head to clear his throat but Thomas
held him down. He whined in protest but the fact that he didn't use his hands
to defend himself and the way he arched his back now… wow. He liked it. "Nah,
sweetheart, come on, you can take it, I know it."
Two… one…
Sam's hands now shot up for real as Thomas shoved him down deeper, almost to
the hilt, but they didn't slap away the hand holding him there, just came down
shaking on the strong thighs. Fuck. This was awesome. Fuck. His throat was so
full with this dick shoved inside… "Yes, that's it, that's fuckin' it, baby…"
"Stop." 
"Ha, come again, jerk?" Thomas laughed at Dean, "Sorry, not anywhere near
stoppin' here."
The fucking counting hadn't done shit. Well, maybe shit except for turning him
completely insane. "Sam."
Dean knew he could sound like John. He also knew what it did to Sam. And yes,
the boy's eyes sprung open immediately, very very wide, his head turning as far
as Thomas' dick and hand allowed. Completely insane, completely, fuck, fuck,
fuck.
He had Sam watching as he finally, finally let his fingers dance over the rock
hard bulge in his jeans, watched his brother's eyes drop down to it and pick up
again in surprise. He didn't care anymore about anything, just as long as Sam
stopped being owned by that bastard. "Come here, Sam."
Absolutely confused now, Sam collected all his power to push himself up from
Thomas' cock with a sloppy wet plop of his mouth. He stared at Dean, deciding
on whether this was a joke or not. It had to be one. Right? Thomas was too
surprised at the turn of events to even complain about Sam letting him go. He,
too, simply stared. But it wasn't his that were locked into Dean's eyes.
When he pulled down the zipper of his jeans slowly and carefully like a secret,
Dean was aware of it, painfully aware and painfully not caring, that all eyes
in this room were on him. "Sam," he repeated, low and soft like when John had
had to tell them they were leaving this town, this new home, the friends, the
school, and he was sorry but this was an order. He did it blindly, unwrapping
his cock from underneath his denim-on-bare-skin, the weight familiar and heavy
and hot in his palm. This and Sam's eyes lost in his were the only stable
things in here to hold on to. "You come here now."
His own whimpering made Sam shudder all over and the goose bumps on Thomas'
legs under his fingertips made it undeniably real. But this couldn't be
happening. It was too much. "What the fuck, Dean?" he moaned, scrunching his
nose, not even caring to wipe the spit from his mouth. It was all he could
think of saying and he had to say something or else he would probably drop
unconscious from feeling sick and dizzy.
Dean held their gaze, eyes cold and tense. The tips of his fingers flew over
the length of his dick, so hard the touch made it fucking jump. "What?" There
was daring in his voice. A bit like those stupid dares they used to make back
when everything was so easy between them, when all Dean was had to do was snap
a finger and Sam would come running to him with open heart and arms, to him,
where he belonged. "My dick not good enough for you to suck, slut?"
This went right into Sam on so many levels that it was amazing that all his
body had to say was to rock forward once, hard, and swing back in place again.
The corners of his mouth twitched, not sure if up or down or both. "Y-you want
me to…? What?"
Time to play out the crooked grin. Works best when used along those stupid
dares. Ask your local ladykiller. "What, so shy all of a sudden? Suck some
stranger's dick but not your good and nice big brother's? Thought you were more
loyal than that."
Sam hated these mind games, hated, hated, hated, because he always lost,
always. Even while being sober. He sucked the air through his teeth in so hard
he saw stars for a second from all the oxygen. Was this what hyperventilating
felt like? "I-I'm not- D-Dean, I'm-"
"Shhh," Dean hushed him, patting the underside of his cock with his middle
finger, "Here, Sam."
The spit on his chin started getting itchy and the scrape of his tongue over
his teeth was painfully sharp. But what was worse, far worse, was the
overwhelming pull towards his brother Sam's inside twisted into at the sound of
his command. He half fell, half crawled to him, closing the short distance
fast, losing his sweatpants from his ankles completely on his way somehow. The
movement reminded his knees that wooden floor was fucking hard, but here,
between Dean's spread legs, not even shards of glass could have been
uncomfortable. Eyes pinned irreversible to his brothers', Sam now was pretty
sure he was hyperventilating, mind blank, no idea what he was doing here, why
he went and got here, why Dean would want him to do this. He could swear that
in Dean's eyes he saw that exact same hurricane of questions, nothing but
chaos. Still, Dean was still composed enough to move his hand, dipping the tip
of his cock towards Sam's face until Sam could smell it, feel his hiccup-like
breathing bounce back from the smooth flesh. Sam felt like crying.
"Good boy, Sammy."
And that was it, that was fucking it, and with their eyes still on each other,
Sam's jaw dropped open slowly but wide, showing off his swollen red tongue and
adorable tiny front teeth and he let Dean feed him his dick right in there.
Dean's balls drew up so tight at the first touch of the hot insides of Sam's
mouth that it fucking hurt and he hissed at it but held his stare. Sam tried
really hard to keep it up, too, but the sensation in his mouth mixed with the
never ending storm of Dean, Dean, Dean inside of his head and in his guts and
every fiber of his body overwhelmed him. He had to shut some of it out or he'd
faint for good, so he allowed his eyelids to flutter closed. It only
intensified his sense of taste and the salt and skin of brother-dick had him
moaning on his knees, lips sliding tight, feeling the cock in his mouth growing
thicker and probing deeper.
Somewhere behind them, Thomas growled a "Fuck" as deep as thunder which never
really touched their ears.
Sam didn't need instructions from then on. His head went bobbing up and down on
his brother's cock and Dean could swear they were arching their backs
simultaneously when after only a few moves the fat head of his dick met the
back of Sam's throat. All Dean could think of was that Sam hadn't taken Thomas
in that deep on his free will, that he wanted Dean more than Thomas. The amount
of pride that rushed through him due to that had to be absolutely
inappropriate.
The touch of plush baby brother lips against his fingers at his base. It made
Dean instinctively withdraw his hand before he really could process what was
going on. When he did two seconds later, the skin on his thighs was beyond
thankful for the denim protecting it from the sharp dig of Dean's fingernails.
Sam couldn't remember ever going this far with anyone yet. To be fair, he could
hardly remember his own name by now. His body acted on his own and it was like
it didn't remember the past days of hatred at all, like all it knew and wanted
was to be as close to his brother as possible. His fingers were slippery on his
knees and when they were sick of it, they placed themselves around the insides
of Dean's thighs, grip firm, the caps of his own fingers barely but clearly
touching his brothers'. It tickled more than the pubes against his lips and
nose.
Through the sound of his own sharp breathing, Sam's hums and gags were almost
inaudible to him. But Dean wanted to hear. Needed to. So he held his breath as
far as he could, even risking a look down between his legs. Nothing but sweet
little brother hair, flying and sticking everywhere, his forehead, cheeks, jaw,
Dean's stomach, damp from sweat and spit. Sam was glowing like a piece of coal,
drops of tears and sweat catching in his eyelashes, pressed together, lost in
tension and bliss. So eager to please. Dean's heart melted at the sight. Yes.
This was how it was supposed to be. Obedient and loving and pure.
"You guys are amazing."
Dean jumped at the sudden close voice, almost choking Sam who pulled up his
head immediately, only the tip between his lips now, eyes open and just as
surprised as his brother. Both had been so caught up that they hadn't noticed
Thomas slipping behind them to the floor. At all. Dean stared at the Donnovan
in utter confusion, unable to read these dark, shimmering eyes stabbing him
like daggers. His gaze dropped down to Sam whose mouth had dropped open wide
and let his cock drop free from it. The something between a whimper and pant
sent chills down Dean's spine; it sounded painful, somehow. "N-no!" Sam
stuttered, squirming hard all of a sudden, hands flying down behind his bare
back where Thomas was kneeling.
"Dean, wrists."
Dean had no idea why he obeyed this guy. But maybe Dad's training had shaped
him too good and deep to the sound of an order. Sam's head swirled up to Dean
who had pulled his arms back up into his lap, powerful grip around his wrists.
Locked. Dean just stared back, watching the quick changes in his brother's face
from unbelieving to begging to hurting to panicking. "No!" he whined, pulling
on his arms, hopelessly, "L-let go! N-not m-my- not my- Thomas!"
Dean couldn't see what was going on in front of the couch. And slowly but
surely, he didn't have to in order to understand. His lips went tight. Oh.
"Come on Sammy, one isn't too bad," the blonde half groaned and half chuckled,
his left now sliding into Dean's field of vision onto Sam's shoulder, holding
him in place with it. His right was still hidden between their bodies.
Thomas was. He had his finger inside of. Oh god. The pull on his insides had
Dean's cock jump in his lap.
Sam's throat couldn't decide between breathing and whimpering so it made a
compromise on doing half of both at the same time. "No!" he barked, eyes fixed
on Dean, "I-it hurts! Let go, Dean, let go!"
"No, he won't let you go, baby," Thomas replied for Dean, sending a short and
warning look up to the Winchester in question, then nuzzling the back of Sam's
neck, "Gonna make you feel so good. Trust me. Come on." His lips grazed over
Sam's neck and up to his ear, biting the shell softly. "Come on, baby. Suck
that dick while I finger your ass, come on. Be a good boy for us."
Sam's answer was a helpless whimper and arch of his back. He pressed his eyes
shut, his complete face scrounging up. It hurt. It really hurt. Burned. It was
slippery, from spit probably, but absolutely not enough. He once had tried to
do this by himself but this feeling was the exact reason for him to file it
down under "not recommended". It just felt weird. Sam hated it. He hated that
he was stuck here, held down, and Dean was helping to keep him here. He could
barely move an inch, that finger feeling him up from the inside, spoiling
untouched flesh with shallow pushes and pulls, and he couldn't do anything
about it, absolutely nothing.
He wasn't quick enough to react to the switch of the big paws pinning down his
hands. Sam was close to being ashamed that Dean only needed one hand to hold
both of his arms down but the sharp slap of cock against his cheek kind of
overshadowed that.
"Here. Open up."
Seriously? Sam stared up at his big brother, anger and frustration boiling in
his guts, trying to think of something hurtful to throw at him, but another
slap, harder this time, sent him groaning. Despite furrowing his brows and
striking his deadliest glare, Sam parted his lips that were stuffed without big
ceremony. Simultaneously, Thomas' finger slipped in to the second joint, making
Sam whine. He felt Dean's fingers dig into his bony wrists and it hurt but Dean
sounded so happy with it all, even letting slip the tiniest moan now.
Sam's face softened at it and his body took control again, worshipping his
brother, flicking his tongue over the sensitive head, the one special spot
where foreskin meets cockhead, just to juice out another moan, louder now. He
liked that sound. He wanted more. Lapping at that magical button of his
brother's, the pain from his back started growing numb. Before he knew, it had
changed to dull and thick pressure. He gasped in surprise as he felt Thomas'
knuckle meet his rim but Dean took this as an invitation to shove his dick in
deeper, so that was that.
"That's it, Sam. Doing so good, baby." Thomas' praise was like a warm shower to
Sam's whole being. His body went shuddering, sent his nipples straight up. The
friction of the couch against them underneath his t-shirt was heavenly. Thomas
wriggled his finger inside of him, hooking it a bit, and it felt so so hot,
yes, wow, he could actually feel himself burn up there. "Told you you'd love
it."
Dean couldn't do nothing but stare in awe as Thomas withdrew his hand from
underneath them, feeling Sam tense up around his cock, not letting him go
anywhere though. Thomas' eyes locked with Dean's and his grin was so dirty and
satisfied it was almost intimidating. Slowly, he held his hand up to his face
and slipped his middle finger into his mouth. Dean heard a groan and if he
would've had to tell if it had come from Thomas or himself, he'd been sincerely
screwed. The finger popped out again. "God, Dean. His tiny virgin ass is so
delicious." Dean wanted to die. Right here. Right now. Before he could think
any further about these words. Please. Ring and middle finger dipped between
Thomas' lips and were coated in generous amounts of spit when they finally
emerged. Dean swallowed. Thomas bit his lip in a grin, his eyes not letting
Dean go. "So tight. But he can take another, don't you think?"
The movements in Thomas' arm told Dean that he was probably rubbing against… He
imagined how it would feel against his fingertips. Imagined Thomas' to be his
own. He nodded.
Sam's efforts to make a sound were muffled at their source but Dean felt the
contraction of muscle around his cock and that was just as good. He imagined it
to be other muscles. Deeper down his brother's body. Where he was currently
struggling to take two fingers. Only two. Making him squirm like this. Oh god.
"Fuck," Thomas whispered, maybe to Sam or none of them in particular. He leaned
back on his heels to get a good view of where his fingers were disappearing
deeper and deeper with every tiny push. Dean could only imagine how it looked
but judging by the hungry way Thomas licked his lips, it was a hell of a show.
Dripping and glistening with spit, probably. Stuffed and tight and dark, angry
pink, probably. God.
"Such a pretty hole, Sammy. Fuck. Could watch it suck on my fingers the whole
day. All while you're taking your big brother's co- ha!" Thomas laughed and let
his left palm come down on Sam's ass cheek with a heavy slap, startling Dean
and making Sam squirm. "My, my. Tensing up at that, boy? Makes you nice and
tight being reminded of that cock inside'f you? Big brother's nice, fat cock
inside your pretty mouth? Hmmmm," he hummed in satisfaction as he felt Sam's
body repeating its motion and prove him right, "thought so."
Sam reacting like this because of him… Dean's head was spinning, crazy from all
the sex and suction and thoughts and sounds of his brother's ass and oh god,
how bad he wanted to see it right now, where his poor little body was intruded
and forced open. Maybe Thomas was stretching him so wide that he was gaping,
maybe that wonderful dark pink was showing off right now and he was missing all
of it; fuck, no. He searched for Thomas' eyes and maybe he was looking too
desperate, maybe his eyes were begging as much as his insides. To hear more. To
see more. To do more. More.
And Thomas just grinned at him. Like he knew him. Like he knew exactly what
Dean was thinking. A skilled flick of his wrists made the dirtiest and wettest
sound ever and it came from Sam's ass and oh god Dean would have given
everything to hear it again. Instead, Thomas leaned in closer and started
whispering to him, both hands on Sam's ass, groping and fingering him hard.
"Dean. His ass's so fuckin' tight. You have no idea. Bet his throat's just as
perfect, isn't it? His pretty pink tongue? Fuck. How's it? Taking your dick
down all nice and good, yeah? Letting you fuck his baby throat, hm, Dean?"
Dean almost came at the word "fuck", because, yes, fuck yes, he was fucking
Sam, Sam let him use him, let him in, just like he was letting Thomas in down
there. "Yes," he heard himself whine, feeling Sam squirm, right on from the
first hint of his voice, "yes, fuck, so good."
"Ha, fuck." Thomas grin widened until his lips were parting on their own,
pretty white teeth showing off, lips swollen from his work earlier and from all
the biting they had to endure in the last few minutes. He came closer to Dean
until their faces were almost touching. Dean thought that the way Thomas had to
stretch to keep his hands on Sam's ass while being hunched over so far must be
extremely uncomfortable. But Thomas didn't seem to mind; almost close enough to
Dean to kiss, and wow, Dean felt quite tempted to do it, or let him; it was
kind of in the air right now. His lips parted without his clear permission and
something at the back of his head started counting Thomas' lashes. But Thomas
didn't close that last distance, seemed to bathe in the tension between them,
feasting on Dean's want. Hungry for more of it. "Tell him," he breathed, raw
dare and command, "Tell Sammy how good he is doing. Make him fuckin' twitch on
my fingers."
His own breathing rumbled through Dean like thunder and the tingle in his lips
got worse, way worse from it bouncing back on Thomas' mouth. He clenched his
ass and curled his toes as hard as he could to hold back his orgasm as he
started to breathlessly mutter what Thomas had asked him to do: "Fuck… Fuck…
Sammy… Sammy, you're so good, doing so so good, baby boy… Sucking it down your
tiny throat as if you've done this a thousand times… God, you probably did,
such a slut for it, aren't you… I'll probably have to lock you up now that I
know it, hm, Sammy? Letting no cock near that pretty mouth, just keep it for
myself? Let you lap and suck at it, stuff your tight mouth with it? God. You'd
love it. You'd do. You'd do anything I ask of you. I'd have you do anything."
He had lost track of when praise had turned into a litany of possessive
fantasies. Nevertheless, it left Dean aching. In many ways. He hadn't known he
had been kind of off until the sensation of Sam's sheer trembling underneath
and on him and Thomas' breath on his face slowly settled back into his body. He
let his lips remain parted and dry and stared at the blonde, lost, gone too
far, no idea what to do now. He hadn't ever thought of any of this to happen.
Never thought he'd wanted it to. But here he was. And it scared him.
"Fuck, Dean." Thomas didn't seem to mind. Maybe he understood this darkness.
Maybe he welcomed it. His grin had vanished but his pupils were blown wide.
Dean thought he looked about as insane as he himself felt. "You two. Shit.
Heaven sent you up here just for me. I swear to god." His voice was strained,
like he was about to cry. Or come. Both were reasonable at this point. "He's
taking three Dean, three. And he's so soft. Eating 'em up down there like he's
doing with you up here. Fuck."
The imagery in his head was vivid. Yes. He could feel it. Feel it on his
fingers. He could imagine it perfectly. He held his breath once more to hold
back.
That was the exact moment when Thomas' lips touched his, not kissed, not
pressed, but touched, and fucking moved against them as he spoke, whispered, so
low he wasn't too certain that Sam could hear it.
"Sammy should be stuffed properly from both ends. Don't you think, Dean?"
Blood rushed so fast and loud through his ears that Dean barely managed to take
a breath before he suffocated. Fast as lightning, giddy with impatience, Thomas
slipped back behind Sam, gripping at something from underneath the couch on his
way. A faint clicking and squirting sound had Dean holding both his breath and
Sam's wrists harder than before, as the sounds sent Sam fighting and squirming.
He might have been close to delirious - but not close enough.
It wasn't important if Thomas pulled Sam's hips up so that Dean could see or
for another reason. Fact was, Dean could see now. Saw Thomas' fingers
disappearing under the swell of Sam's ass, now withdrawing as slow as he could
manage. Not a second later, his cock took their place, snug between Sam's ass
cheeks, shining slick with lube in the moonlight.
With a scary gurgling sound, Sam fought free from Dean's cock that slapped
heavily against his cheek, the angle not allowing anything else. But at this
point, it all happened so fast that Sam didn't even have time for the tiniest
'no'. Dean watched his brother slam his eyes shut and rip open his mouth in a
silent cry as Thomas started to push into him. The chill that ran down his
spine at the pure terror of it all left him feeling incredible sick. But Thomas
spread Sam's ass with his strong hands and turned up his hips into a deeper
arch - and now Dean could see the tiniest bit of perfectly pink rim and it was
like a shot of heroin to his system. Shamelessly, he craned his neck to get a
better view, and fuck, he would gladly have pulled every muscle in his body for
what he could see like this.
It hurt, burned, again, but so much worse with the stretch being so much wider.
The silence in the room was like needles to Sam's ears and he just wanted it
all to stop right now, no more, too much. "P-please," he cried, voice dry,
desperate for any of them to listen. But he knew there was not much of a hope
to hold on to.
"Shhh, it's okay, Sam, it's okay," Thomas cooed, his left hand softly brushing
over Sam's lower back and up his spine, "You're good, doin' so good, baby.
Shhh." His right thumb lazily circled Sam's delicately stretched rim, making
the little body jump with a terrified mewl. Fuck. He was seeing stars. Already.
This boy was marvelous. "Shhh. Dean, come on, be a good brother and tell Sam
how good he is doing. Calm down your pretty baby while I pop his cherry,
alright?"
"Sam," Dean huffed immediately, his free hand sliding into his brother's hair,
scratching his scalp, just like he knew Sam liked it, "Sam, you're doing so
good. Relax. Come, let him in. Yes. Shhh, yes, I know. Halfway there now. So
good, baby boy."
Thomas smiled to himself as he felt Sam open up more and more the longer Dean
encouraged him to do so. These brothers were just… wow. How had he deserved to
get any of this? He decided to go to church more often to show his gratitude.
But not now. Now there was a hot little body around his cock and it needed to
be fucked. Or he needed to fuck it. One way or another, fucking was inevitable.
His hips started to rock, slowly, almost unnoticed, but the pull on Sam's rim
was so clearly visible that even Dean could see it. Thomas knew because he
heard him gasp. Yes. This was a pretty view. And Sam's tiny noises. God. He
couldn't get enough of those. He silently decided to wreck this boy until he
was unable to speak or even make any noise at all.
"Fuck, Sammy, yes, he's moving. Fuck, you're so stretched there, fuck, your ass
is so tiny but it's still swallowing him up. God, baby boy." Dean wasn't sure
anymore for who he was talking. All he knew for certain was that he couldn't
stop. He didn't even care one bit that his cock was being neglected now
because, well, Sam was panting and moaning against it while being fucked in the
ass right before Dean's face and that couldn't exactly being called 'neglect'.
Thomas' hips rocked harder and Sam whimpered, pulling helplessly on his arms,
burying his face in Dean's half clothed crotch. "God. Fuck. Sam. Open up for
that cock. Come on, baby. That's it. God, you're so wet, damn, Sam. Never knew
my little brother had such a pretty wet pussy to s-"
"GOD, D-Dean!" Sam cried out, making Thomas groan and speed up, "S-stop it, for
Christ's sake, D-Dean, stop it!"
"For fuck's sake," Thomas panted, kneading Sam's ass hard, eyes fixed where his
dick was sliding in and out easier and easier by the second, "don't stop Dean,
fuckin' don't stop!"
Dean whined at the sight of Thomas' dick as good as completely disappearing in
Sam's ass, rubbing his brother's head firmer. His little way of apologizing.
"Shit, he's almost in all the way, Sammy, oh god. Look at you, taking it all
in. It's your first time and you let that cock fill you to the brim. You just
take it like the little slut you are, don't you? Huh?"
Thomas' neck bent back dangerously far as he finally, finally bottomed out, hip
bones flush against this perfect plush ass, feeling the burning skin, drinking
up the sensation of fluttering muscle all around his cock. Sam cried out in
something between surprise and discomfort and didn't get a break from it,
whining and groaning while Thomas ground and rolled his hips in place, not
pulling out, just staying buried balls deep right in there, all wonderful,
perfect, veiny, rock hard eight inches. Giving Dean a damn show on how to make
his little brother loose his shit.
"Mmmmmmh oh fuck yes," Thomas muttered, eyebrows furrowed in tension, still
grinding, melting in bliss, "This virgin's ass is the freakin' best. Feels like
he's fuckin' stranglin' it. God. Fuckin'. Dammit." He rocked into Sam with all
his force on each of the last three words. The hits made Sam sob. Which
shouldn't have made Dean's cock throb. Well, maybe not in a universe where they
weren't completely fucked up. "Gonna fuck you now, pretty thing," Thomas
promised with a tight grip on Sam's slim boy hips. The first smack of skin
against skin made Dean whimper in sympathy along with Sam's choking cry.
Over the span of a few moments and a generous amounts of thrusts, Dean felt Sam
go limper and limper in his lap. Like he was melting alongside with his sharp
yells that turned into strangled oh's and uhn's the second Dean didn't pay
clear attention to them. "S-slow down, p-please, please," he moaned into his
brother's jeans and he should have known that this would inevitably end in
Thomas speeding up, maybe had known, but still cried out when it happened,
heard Thomas' snorting chuckle from unnaturally far away.
This should have been humiliating. He should have been disgusted. He should
have been struggling more, fighting it more. But he couldn't. Just couldn't.
Sam was aware of his muscles softening around Thomas' dick, welcoming him, the
heavy slaps and stabs to his insides, the numb pressure into oh-so soft tissue.
There was another slapping sound adding to the one of their hips crashing
together. Against the friction of his t-shirt, Sam felt his own cock, perfectly
hard and freaking leaking against his belly and thighs. He immediately had the
urge to grab it but a lazy pull on his arms reminded him of his brother's
merciless hold. He whined like a kicked dog. Curling up into a ball and crying
looked like a wonderful thing to do right now. But he knew they wouldn't let
him.
"Poor little Sammy," Thomas cooed, "Getting fucked like a bitch in front of
your big brother. Having me spread your ass open on my cock while he's
watching. You like that, huh? You do?"
Dean shuddered at the mention of the word 'brother'. He kind of wanted Sam to
answer the question. But all Sam could do at this point was to groan and sob
and squirm in his lap, stuck on Thomas' cock.
"Yeah, thought so, slut. God. Such a good boy for your big brother, aren't you.
Bet you'd let him fuck your pretty hole, too, if he'd only ask."
Though it must have been impossible, Dean's heart rate seemed to pick up
another notch. His cock twitched at thin air at the thoughts Thomas was
evoking. At the same time, Sam found his voice with a terrified "NO!". Yes, no,
exactly, no, he didn't want that, no, never would, no, this was impossible.
"Haha oooh yes, Sammy, come on, don't lie to me. I have the best lie detector
right here," he gave a sharp slap on Sam's left ass cheek, making Sam yelp,
"and you can't fuckin' cheat on that ass, baby. Come on, your mouth loves him,
I bet your ass would just adore him. Let him fuck in whenever he'd wanted to.
You love being a little slut for him, don't you? Good little soldier boy. God,
Dean."
Dean felt Thomas' eyes on him but he was afraid to look. Afraid to see the
hunger in his own face reflect in these damned mirrors. Afraid to find an
excuse, a magical way to make this okay. But he looked up.
"Dean, fuck, his ass is so perfect, just made to take cock," Thomas moaned
through gritted teeth, "Come on, you should try it, come, he'd let you, I know
it. Slurp down your cock down here like his throat did, let you fuck him, come
on, big brother, don't you wanna make his ass happy, huh? Fuck Sammy open on
your pretty dick? Doesn't that sound good to you, big brother?"
Sam's movements and fighting had picked back up at Thomas' words and
intensifying his thrusts into mere brutality was barely helping to hold him in
place, his yells and moans of no's unnoticed and of no matter at all. Dean just
stared into Thomas' face, mouth open, dick aching, aching so fucking hard, knew
exactly what it wanted, where it wanted to be, but Dean couldn't, just couldn't
- right? His heart was pounding so hard against his ribs he wondered if Thomas
could see it.
"Little Sammy needs your cock, Dean." The devil himself couldn't have a dirtier
grin, Dean thought. "And you need his pretty pretty ass. Don't try shittin' me,
okay? You just wish this was your cock plowing his virgin hole. And you know
it."
[https://i.imgur.com/SC0P93Z.jpg]
"… Move," Dean heard a voice say. His voice?
Thomas laughed triumphally. And maybe a bit surprised, like he couldn't believe
he got to be this lucky. "Fuck, I knew it, oh my fuckin' god!"
"I said fuckin' MOVE!" Yes. Definitely his voice. Fuck fuck fuck fuck. Also,
definitely his body that started moving, lifting off from the couch, shoving
Sam carefully to the floor somehow, maybe not as careful as he'd had done in
any other fucking situation.
"NO! Fuckin' NO! DEAN!" Poor Sam was hoarse by now from all his crying and
begging but he assembled all what was left from his voice and got as loud as he
could. He felt Thomas pull out of him and started kicking, writhing in their
grips, but they were so fucking strong, not fair, way older, way more muscle,
not fair, no chance, FUCK. "NO! DON'T! NO!"
He once had watched a video about hunting animals in biology class. It was
different from hunting monsters. These animals did not understand that they
couldn't get away and they fought, fought so damn hard, with incredible
strength in their bodies. Different from half human monstrosities that at some
point would beg and break down. Sam felt like one of these animals that were
unable to stop fighting, had nothing else left. About to be shot, shot for
good, to be finished, no, he didn't want this, not with Dean, not Dean, not his
brother, NO. It was too far. There would be no way back. It would destroy
everything. Couldn't Dean see that? Didn't he care at all about what they had?
Were his stupid instincts all he cared about?
Where had his brother gone that had sung him to sleep with Metallica, sliced
and skinned apples for him until his tummy exploded, made up fairytales for him
with two brothers as heroes because those were Sam's favorites? When had this
lovely boy changed places with this terrible, egoistic piece of ass who would
stalk and yell and bruise and make Sam nothing but hate his life?
Tears were dripping from his lashes by the time Dean tried to move around him
while still holding his arms down, and this was when Sam could finally land a
kick, somewhere good, even. It obviously took Dean by surprise since his grip
gave in and Sam could finally rip his hands free, all slim limbs practically
flying as he crawled and scrambled halfway across the room, away, almost to the
kitchen, but something got him by the ankle. His knees scraped painfully over
the rough floor and his hands, slippery from sweat, betrayed him, letting his
face crash down without hold. Short but intense pain spread through his nose
and his knees he didn't even feel, but no possible thing could have
overshadowed the sickening sensation of burning hot palms all over him,
slippery with sweat from them and his own skin. "Nooo," he cried, really crying
now, tired of it, face down. Hands pulled him up by the hips, ass into the air.
His arms wouldn't lift. Defeated. Sam sobbed.
He knew it was Dean. He just knew. He could tell these hands apart anytime.
These hands that had cradled him, fed him, petted, comforted him. Calloused and
scarred fingertips, scraping his skin a bit, but in the best possible way. They
felt wrong on his hips, his ass, back of his thighs. "Dean, no," he begged
quietly, felt his lip sting, must have split.
Lining his cock up with Sam's hole, this hypnotizingly slick and swollen,
wonderfully pink little thing he just had to get into - this felt right. More
right than anything, lately. It was all he could think about right now. And it
was a comforting thought. Being buried balls deep in his baby brother. So
close, closer to him than he had ever been, closer than anyone in this world
had been to him, except for Thomas maybe, but who the fuck was Thomas, Thomas
knew nothing. Hadn't watched his brother turn away, run away, keep secrets,
shut him out. Nobody needed this as much as Dean. "Shhh," he shushed, rubbing
the spongy head over this perfect entrance, looking like it was made just for
him, slit kissing the first hints of smooth pink thanks to Thomas who had
turned the boy as good as inside out, "Sammy, be good, come on. Lemme in. Need
it. Please. Sam."
Sam's body started shaking as the pressure against the ring of muscle indicated
what he probably had coming the moment he had stupidly thought that he could
plot against his brother. That he could escape. That he was more than a tiny
animal you could control and push around as you liked. "We're brothers," Sam
squealed, weak but high pitched like a baby, just as limp and helpless as one.
"Shhh, Sammy, big brother needs your tight little ass." Thomas' voice sounded
so alien, his hands on the back of his head unreal. He had knelt down in front
of him, hunching over so he could watch where. Where.
All air escaped Sam's lungs as his body was preached open, unmistakably.
"Fuck," he heard Thomas whisper somewhere above his head. Fuck, he thought.
Dean was distantly thankful for Thomas being reasonable enough to lube up his
cock, because fuck, this was tight, so fucking tight he almost had difficulties
to sink in properly. But his hips knew this game and he fucked in, once and
hard, and a collective shudder went through all three bodies in the room when
he hit home just like that after merely two seconds in. Dean had to stable
himself in his kneeling position by shifting more of his weight on his hands on
Sam's ridiculously slender hips.
He could have come, just like this, head so fucking light, like flying, hot
silky perfect flesh sheathing his raw cock, and it was Sammy's, Sammy's,
fuckin' Sammy's. But the alcohol wouldn't let him and neither would his brain,
cheering him to just start the damn show, make his baby boy shake and mewl and
open up under him, because of him, thanks to him. Yes.
Thomas' blond crown of the hair and his cruel hands splayed on top of his own
over Sam's ass didn't seem to fit this reality. But Dean loved this voice, this
never stopping, fuckin' dirty voice, so similar to the voice inside of his head
it terrified him. "Shit, yes, see, told ya… Oh god Dean… So tight, isn't he?
Your pretty little brother? Yes. Yes, come on. Fuck that tiny ass, he needs it
so bad, look how he clings to you, oh fuck." Dean's hips obeyed, not too sure
to whom exactly since so many voices at once seemed to tell them the exact same
thing.
For it being supposed to be the beginning of a rhythm, it was fast, too fast,
Dean knew, but oh, how Sam's rim pulled on him each time his hips snapped away,
oh, it was the most beautiful thing ever. Along with deliciously wet smacking
sounds. God. It was wetter than when Thomas had done it. Better. Yes. This was
good. This was more than good. Better, better, better. Dean's dick plunged in
heavily with each repetition of this marvelous word from behind his forehead
and Dean wondered for the first time if anything could ever be the same again
after this would have ended. In any way. Any possible way.
Defeated, not caring, it was too late now, Sam let Dean's dick punch out every
sound his body would make for it. Face flat to the floor, mouth gaping open
like a fish's. The raw wood ate up most of them at first, but Dean going
deeper, faster, somehow resulted in his voice going higher, louder. "Fuck yeah,
make him scream like a fuckin' girl, Dean." Sam tried to growl at this indecent
comparison but even to his own ears it came out as a pitiful mewl, and fuck,
unfortunately, Thomas was right. Heat Sam hadn't known was left in himself
rushed up his neck, made his head pound in ache from the collision earlier, but
Dean just grabbed him tighter, fucked into his ass rougher and the pain
magically dissolved. Sam couldn't help but sigh in the short period that Dean's
hips needed to crush back into his backside, exactly this turning it into a
dirty moan. Heat. Fuckin' heat. Where did this come from. Sam didn't want it.
His breath quickened somehow, no control, panic rising in his chest at the
tingling that rushed through his bones like electric wires on ten thousand
volts.
"Baby boy loves it," Thomas smiled, unseen, voice somewhat surprised but
content, "Fuckin' his ass so good, big brother. Doin' such a good job in there.
I'm so proud."
The corner of Dean's mouth went twitching when Thomas kissed it, kissed away
the stray drops of sweat from his temple, over the shell of his ear. This,
together with that sweet twitch of Sam's insides around him that had started
somewhere when he hadn't paid enough attention - it was like a shot of good and
pure adrenaline. His lips were merely more than a thin line and he hunched
over, just a little, to have more leverage on Sam's body, pushing his knee up
so he could fuck his hips with more force - and Sam fuckin' jumped. Squirmed
and twitched in place, hugging Dean tight enough to crush him, screaming again
now, but not like before, more painful, hotter, fuck, so so much hotter, with
this little question mark in the end where his voice went so high it was scary.
So Dean rammed into that exact spot, just to see if there had been a
connection, and yes, it happened all over again, Sam flailing, crunching,
clenching his fists, wringing his cock with his insides, screaming not a word,
at least not any word Dean knew existed. But it was the most breathtaking thing
ever and there was no way it actually had a meaning but Dean's body was so sure
it was a beg, command, to punch his dick exactly there, over and over and over
again, hard, the hardest he could manage, yes, exactly that was what this
meant, there was no doubt. And Dean was a good, obedient brother.
Breathing had been an issue before but now it was simply impossible. Sam turned
his head to the side, cheek now pushed into unforgiving floor, acting in sheer
instinct, needed air, couldn't get it, his body too tight, blows to it too
heavy, too fast, too hot, oh god, he was burning up, must be tearing apart
inside. Dean was going at it like an animal and Sam was beyond being scared of
it, could barely hear Thomas hissing little oh fuck's and oh god's over his own
strangled screams, but heard his brother's yelps and grunts and his breathing
so clear like he was right there, right there next to his ear. Through the
breathtaking waves crushing through his body, somehow centering right where
Dean was so eager to merge their bodies into one, somewhere so deep down inside
of his ass that Sam seriously doubted it was possible to still be taking place
inside of his belly and not his stomach or chest - somewhere there seemed to be
a tiny ball of energy, very tiny, but so bright, so powerful, and it screamed,
screamed one single word that the waves picked up and filled Sam's whole body
with.
Sam felt Dean's fingers on his hip bones and his knee halfway down his calf and
his dick plowing him inside out and the word crawled up his sore throat. It
needed to be screamed but came out almost silent, like a whisper, like dying:
"Dean!"
It made the blows come down even more furious, the grunts growing helpless,
needy, broken, crying, and Sam repeated, between nameless cries and voiceless
sounds, repeated and repeated until it was all sound he made. His brother's
name on his lips, his arms grabbed blindly behind him until they found Dean's
wrists, closing around them, face crushed into the floor with all the leverage
of their bodies on it, but it was okay, didn't matter. Bruises could heal.
The moment he felt his brother's pulse tick underneath his fingertips, Sam
came.
***** Agreements. *****
Chapter Summary
     The boys try to figure out how to deal with last night’s happenings.
     Everything goes better than expected.
Chapter Notes
     No more dubcon/non-con from this chapter on.
When Sam woke up - no, came to, yes, came to - he spent the first few minutes
blinking at the ceiling and wondering where he was. Or what year it was.
As the sleep slowly lifted from him, he became aware of his body hurting all
over. Sore. Burning. Headache. There had been drinking… He remembered. And
smoking. Heavy stuff. Huh.
Hunt. Mountains. Dad. Wendigo. Dean.
Dean?
Sam turned his head and regretted the movement. And Dean wasn't even here. He
was alone in this room and bed. He frowned. Weren't they supposed to be
sharing?
Getting up on his elbows wasn't such a good idea either (The fuck had his
joints go that sore?) and his efforts to call for his brother came silent and
felt like a chainsaw shredding his throat. He grabbed it with his left, slight
panic rising in his stomach, coughing soundless. In the corner of his eyes, he
noticed something blue and black on his wrist. Sam held it to his eyes that
went wide at the sight of bruises. Looking fresh. He instinctively whined but
it made no sound. But there was a feeling now. Somewhere deep down. It felt
uncomfortably wet. What?
No.
He stared at his hand whose shaking slowly intensified.
No. It couldn't be.
Dean. Thomas. Couch. Dean. Hands. Mouth. Dean. Dean. Dean.
No. No no no no no.
Sam squeezed his eyes shut as the images started flooding his head. They had
been. He had. Thomas, he. And Dean. Oh god, Dean. Both of them. Dean.
How the fuck had it come to that? Sam dropped himself back down, rolling to the
side, hyperventilating, face not clearly deciding on whether to go pale like a
corpse or flush fire truck red. He pulled his knees up to his chin, tears of
shame and disgust in his eyes, just wanting to reverse what had happened or,
better yet, disappear.
His body shook with the loudest tiniest crackling sob when warm liquid dripped
through his boxers.
It took some time to get the courage to live on. Maybe get up. He was starving.
He could kill them after breakfast, right? Never kill on an empty stomach, Dean
always said. Sam's body wrenched at the thought of this name.
He showered, getting rid of their smells and liquids on him, swallowed, and
then of the ones inside. It was freaking hot in there, boiling, and tears shot
into Sam's eyes once more, but there was no blood on his fingers, so he chewed
on his split lip and relaxed. Just a little bit. At least not that.
Hot water let him locate bruises on his hips, scraped open, simply ravished
knees. His face felt like someone punched him across it this whole night. It
was sadly funny how he would have preferred that.
The swellings and pain dissolved a little after he had rubbed himself dry
carefully. A new pair of boxers and a t-shirt that definitely not was a hand-
me-down. He stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. His breathing was even
again.
First food. Then killing. Good plan.
His light frame was a blessing for tip-toeing. He peeped down the stairs but
there was nobody to be heard or seen. He sighed quietly.
Midway through the kitchen's doorframe, Sam stopped at the sight of Thomas
sitting at the table. He was looking out of the window, lost in thoughts, an
empty but used plate in front of him and a cup of coffee in his hand. Sam's
knee joints suddenly decided they no longer wanted to function.
To Sam's horror, Thomas turned his head in surprise of his presence and
welcomed the boy with the sweetest smile and morning stubble on his chin.
"Mornin', Sam. Slept well?"
Sam wobbled into the room slowly, trying not to be too obvious about anything
his body or mind was going through right now. That freak got nerves. He sat as
far away from Thomas at the table as possible. "What time is it?" he croaked.
Thomas's smile grew wider as he replied with a soft voice. "Three pm."
"Oh," Sam exclaimed.
"Don't worry. You're not the slowest of us." Thomas pointed into the direction
of the living room. "Your brother's still fast asleep over there."
"Oh," Sam repeated, lowering his volume. As long as Dean was asleep, he would
not need to talk to him. Or look him in the eye. Or accept the fact he existed.
It was also easier to stab people in their sleep.
Thomas scratched at his chin. "Passed out shortly after you did. Right on the
couch. Hasn't moved since. So I carried you upstairs. Hope that was okay."
Okay? Okay? What the. Sam gritted his teeth, unseen, but probably heard. But
what did he care. "Well, yeah, thank you so much, Thomas. I would rather not
have woken up to his face after." Sam tried to swallow but there was no spit in
him. "Last night. So. Thanks. For your concern."
"Hey." Thomas raised his hands along with his eyebrow. "No harsh feelings
there, Sammy, right?"
"No harsh- Thomas, what the FUCK!" He had no idea how he remembered to keep his
voice down but the soreness helped. "We're talking about the same night, yes?
Last night? Where you two fuckin' raped me?!"
Thomas' face nearly dropped. "Wow. Sam. Don't throw words like that around,
okay? Stop."
"I said NO, Thomas, like, a thousand times!!"
"Well, that was pretty hot, I must say. You playin' hard to get like that-"
"I wasn't PLAYIN', asshole, I was-"
"You sucked his dick, Sam."
Now Sam's face followed Thomas'.
"And before, you happily sucked mine."
Blood rushing echoing in his ears usually meant that he was blushing. Was he
blushing right now?
"That looked pretty, oh, I don't know," Thomas' hand made a swirling motion in
the air, "willing to me. You enjoyed it. You can't deny that, boy."
"B-but." Sam had the urge to justify himself. Why would he have to justify? His
brain worked through the memories once more, quick, like flipping through pages
of a book. Details started to add, shine, stick out. "But. But I didn't want
you to-"
"Well, your body didn't get that memo, I guess." Thomas was relaxed now, sure,
calm, dominant again. Slowly leaning back in the chair, he took a sip of his
coffee. His smile was crooked but it was a smile. Sam's lips pressed into a
thin line at the sight. "You were hard. Through all of it. Don't remember
that?"
"Th-through." He felt like crying again. Humiliation had his cheeks burn bright
pink by now. "All… all the time?" he murmured, shyly peeking up at Thomas,
"Even. Even when-"
"Especially when he fucked you, man." Could this guy read thoughts? Oh god.
"Sam." He leaned forward again, but closer, almost halfway over the table. The
crooked one had turned into an amused smile. "You came. On his dick. From being
fucked in the ass and from that alone. Now you could tell me you hated it. But
damn. You sure shot a load for someone who hated it."
Killing. Yes. Hadn't Sam wanted to kill someone? Well, fuck Thomas and Dean. He
himself would probably be the better choice by now. Sam whimpered as he let his
upper body drop on the tabletop, burying his face in the crook of his arms. No.
This just couldn't be true. No fuckin' way.
"Now, now." The touch of Thomas' hands on the back of his head made Sam jerk
forcefully once but he relaxed impossibly soon with the soft petting it
delivered to his spinning skull. "It was a rough night, kiddo. You're confused.
T'was smokin' insane. Would've kicked anyone out of line. Should let it sink
in. Just relax for now, okay? Hey, what about breakfast? You hungry?"
Sam's head and face were throbbing painfully, pressed into wood, so familiar
now like this. "Starvin'," he groaned, followed by a small laugh from Thomas.
"Toast with bacon 'n eggs sounds good to you?"
"Mhmf."
Sam heard Thomas get up and the sounds he made around the kitchen promised only
the best. The smell of frying made him melt in his chair. There was no other
option than digging in the moment Thomas placed the obscenely stacked plate in
front of Sam. His manners only went as far as using cutlery. On the eggs, at
least. In less than five minutes, everything had been stuffed into his mouth.
When he finally looked up from his plate, he met Thomas' dreamy eyes. "Coffee?"
That smile. That fuckin' smile.
Sam nodded.
"Here." Thomas pushed his mug over to Sam, who looked somewhere between
disgusted and untrusting. "I'll make another one but that'll take some minutes.
So have mine first. We both know you could use some liquid in that body of
yours."
Sam ignored that last part and took the mug into his hand. He couldn't help
scrounge his nose at it a little bit, though. "Thanks."
That smile. "You're welcome, baby."
Dropping his eyes, Sam swallowed down the comment that lay on his tongue with
large gushes of black coffee. The mug was empty far too soon.
"I'm sorry for what happened."
Frowning hurt. Sam's eyes darted across the table, lethal, but Thomas'
expression stayed the same. Smug. Acting. Very well aware of how pretty he was
with that look in his eyes. Just like. Like. "Just 'cause I drink out of your
coffee cup," Sam hissed, grabbing the used dishes, "doesn't mean I forgive
you." He got up harshly and made for the sink.
Thomas followed quick and close and leaned against his back as he came to a
halt at the counter. "I know." Sam wanted to die. His skin burned in
embarrassment everywhere and it was worst where he felt Thomas' heat through
their clothes. Thomas placed his chin on his shoulder and his breath on his
neck made Sam drown something at the base of his throat. "I'm sorry. Really. We
worked you over pretty bad last night, didn't we."
Thomas placed his hands next to Sam's hips on the counter, where Sam was
grabbing the plate as if his life depended on it. "Hurts bad?"
The shake of his head came faster than Sam had seen it coming. It really
didn't. Sore, yes, uncomfortable, yes, but in pain? His knees were worse.
"No?" Sam could practically hear that dirty grin. Smug fucker. "Well that's a
surprise, to be honest. Kinda lost control there. Couldn't help myself. Your
pretty ass was just too good not to mount."
Sam struggled to breathe and the slow, almost unnoticeable roll of Thomas' hips
against his butt did not really help him. He swallowed. Wow. Salvia. Good to
know his body decided he needed that back.
Fingertips softly settled on his flanks and the only thing that was holding Sam
from pushing them away was that they didn't match the bruises underneath the t-
shirt. "You know…" Thomas' voice was so low that it vibrated in Sam's bones.
His eyes fluttered closed. "It's not a bad thing getting turned on by what
happened yesterday. I mean. Technically, it's not illegal being a little cock
slut."
Where was that Wendigo again? Could it be attracted? Sam wanted to attract it.
Maybe John and Matthew hadn't found it yet. Maybe there was still a chance of
it finding Sam and saving it from this here with a not so painless but
nevertheless welcomed death. Breathing was so hard. So damn fucking hard. He
was halfway hooked on fainting but as he sank back and down a bit all there was
was more of Thomas and it was warm and cozy and… fuck.
He had to say something. Get out of this. Somehow. Anyhow. He started
stuttering: "I-I'm not a-"
"Oh, I think you are." The fingers danced underneath his t-shirt, happy to find
naked skin there. Sam whined at how good it felt. "I think you liked our cocks
up your ass, Sammy." Oh God. "Liked how we used you. Just ignored your begging
and fucked your pretty hole." Oh god. Oh god.
"No," Sam mewled and fuck, it sounded so weak, weak like he wasn't sure of it,
like there was a little 'maybe' hidden in there. The thought of it and maybe
Thomas' soothing voice and his naughty words and the swelling flesh against the
crease of his ass made his brain and knees seriously weak. Thomas' palms were
pressed hot on his flat stomach. Kind of holding him there. The idea shouldn't
have made his lower body pulse.
"Mmmh, yeah, you kept sayin' that. But, you know. Your lower mouth was
screamin' for cock. And it was kinda louder."
Before he knew, Thomas' left arm slid in between his legs and Sam hadn't been
this close to breaking a plate with his bare hands in months. He hiccupped down
his moan and grabbed that perfectly friction delivering arm that was pressing
against his... Wait. Dick? Rock hard? Check. Fuck. Damn. It.
Head boiling and pulsing, Sam's hips forgot all about last night's terrors,
knowing no other choice than rutting, rubbing against Thomas' arm, like a dog,
helpless in its reflexes. Humiliated, nails dug into that stupid, stupid arm,
Sam sobbed dryly. "I-it- I-I-"
"Shhh," Thomas soothed, sliding his arm up and down, making Sam squirm, fall
halfway over the counter, "Yes, I know, Sam. Shhh. It's okay. It's okay, pretty
baby. Fuck. Look what we've got here. Horny for me, slut? Huh?"
Sam wanted to tell him 'no', 'no, I'm not', but Thomas's other hand pressed up
his back all of a sudden and fucking dipped there, down there, to that raw
pulsing entrance, right through the thin cotton of his boxers, his front arm's
fingers digging into his taint from the other side around, and FUCK, it
magically turned it into his first 'yes' since what seemed like forever. And it
even came out loud. Like a beg. Like he had begged for 'no' before. Exactly
like that. Desperate.
"Oh fuck Sam." Sam wondered why Thomas sounded this strangled even though he
wasn't being touched at all but rough working fingers kept his mind blank very
well. "Oh fuck. Lemme fuck you. Lemme fuck you again, Sam. Right here. Right in
here. Come on."
Not making a sound, Sam let Thomas spin him around and lift up by the hips. All
he could and would have said would have been too embarrassing not to die from.
Most likely variations of another, very needy 'yes'. Now seated on the edge of
the kitchen counter, he grabbed said edge hard in order to not fall over. The
counter top was poured out of concrete and uncomfortably cold against his skin
that seemed to have decided on burning up. Not even speaking of the terrible
loss of pressure between his legs.
Fortunately, Thomas acted quick, shifted between Sam's legs and reached around
his lower back to press their groins together. Sam would have loved to get mad
at himself for being thankful for it. Their faces were only an idea apart, but
not touching - in contrast to their cocks. Sam eyed the older one with
uncertain eyes and thin lips, slightly rolling his hips in slick silence. The
heat was incredible, even through the two layers of cotton separating them down
there.
"Gonna let me?" Thomas whispered, his breath hitting Sam's lips.
Slowly, Sam nodded.
"Want my cock, Sammy?"
Another nod, quicker.
The grin on Thomas' face was priceless and so very humiliating… it was awesome.
"Where do you want it, Sammy? Where should I put my nice, fat cock?"
Sam whined quietly, squirming against the body in front of him. His eyes became
watery from fighting his shy side. That side that still knew something like
morals. That had wanted to take revenge on this bastard instead of welcoming a
repetition of what he had done to earn Sam's wrath. That side that somehow got
overshadowed pretty easily right now. "I-in. In my. M-my ass," he murmured,
pulling the syllables from deep down his stomach.
"Yeah?" Thomas sighed, pressing Sam down to his back in one strong and quick
move, pulling down the boy's boxers just below his ass cheeks, "Then I guess we
better stuff that pretty hole of yours, yes?"
"Y-yes," Sam stuttered, lifting his annoyingly long legs up into a ninety
degree angle to find better balance on the counter with his ass sticking out
over the edge. "B-but," he added, begging tone in his voice, "but. Be quiet. I
don't. Don't want him to-"
"Sure," Thomas spilled softly against Sam's knees and gave them a gentle kiss
each after placing them on his shoulders. His boxers dropped to his feet. "Just
you and me…" He reached for the cooking oil next to them and spilled a nice
amount in his palm. Thomas probably was a bit too light headed, but at
improvisation, he was a true king. "… having a perfectly nice breakfast."
As he palmed his cock and spread the oil all over, Thomas made sure to apply
light pressure against Sam's entrance with the slick tip - which was just as
good as setting the boy on fire from the inside. Goose bumps climbed up his
shoulder blades. This couldn't be happening, right, right? That hadn't been the
plan, had it? There had been another plan. Right? Or had there been one to
begin with? As Thomas started to slowly push into him, Sam couldn't help but
whimper.
"Shhh," the older one whispered, smiling oh-so devilish, rubbing his thumb over
the swollen rim that was kissing his cock. It slipped in past the head and Sam
slammed his eyes shut, fighting to drown another whimper. Fuck. It felt so
good. So wrong and so fucking good.
"Still so stretched and wet from last night," Thomas murmured into Sam's knee
and grabbed both of his thighs to start tiny, shallow thrusts. The pull on his
sensitive muscle and skin was intense - but it didn't hurt. Not too bad.
Breathing away the moans wasn't easy but Sam managed, at least until Thomas'
rhythm grew more and more intense very fast. Small mewling and gasping sounds
slipped out of swollen lips, desperately kept as low as possible. Don't wake
him up, don't wake him up.
Both were silently surprised how easy Sam took it. Yes, he was sore, but no, he
did not care, and his body agreed with him on that. Still, Thomas watched Sam's
face very closely. So different from last night. But it was different now,
after all. Sam had taken some really hard pounding, especially from his
brother, and Thomas didn't want to break him. Not now that he knew he could get
more if he was being good. "Hey, you tell me to stop when it hurts too bad,
understood?"
Frantic nodding was the reply to that. Thomas started to realize that he had
awakened a beast inside this boy - looking like he almost couldn't take how
good it felt, like it was the best thing to be nailed here and now on the
kitchen counter, without the need of foreplay or prep, clothes removed not any
more than necessary. All Thomas could read on this face underneath him, glowing
bright pink in humiliation and lust, first glistening of a thin film of sweat,
was pure and innocent want.
Sam's fingers dug into the counter as hard as they could to protect his head
from slamming into the wall behind him. The pain in his wrists and hands was so
worth not getting a concussion. Thomas rammed into his tender insides, hitting
home every damn time, the stretch being incredible wide and good and deep.
Holding his breath, eyes still nicely shut, Sam listened to the obscenely wet
sounds from in between his legs, felt every single vein, bump, curve pumping
into his ass. It was different from last night. He was sober. He was not being
held down. He could see what was happening. And he had consented. Kind of. His
body surely was consenting right now.
"Just look at you," Thomas gasped in between chuckling and panting, no
intention of giving Sam a well-needed chance to catch his breath, "So hungry
for it. Knew it the second you showed up on my front porch. That I'd end up
with my dick up your ass. Just had to. Saw it, bright and clear as day, god,
fuck, Sam."
He tried to open his eyes, to watch Thomas' face and search it for a memory of
it not being hungry and purely sexual. Predator-eyes. Hunter-eyes. Sam felt
like a petit animal again, hunted down without even noticing it. He gave a
powerful push back to Thomas' hips with new found energy and will to fight. The
collision punched all air he had kept in right through his teeth.
"This good?" Thomas growled, rocked, smashed their hips together harder, Sam
mirroring him, moving in new symmetry now. Both of them forgot that there had
been a question the instance it had come out of Thomas' mouth.
This spot. This damned spot. Sam remembered. His body remembered. Too deep. Too
much. Too fucking good to stop torturing it. He'd keep all noise in, even if
it'd kill him; lips being pressed together by merciless teeth from the inside.
The split was long forgotten. Covered under so much heavier, saltier facts,
memories.
"Gonna come," Sam grunted before he knew that he did. On the inside of his eyes
he replayed Dean looking down at him, offering his dick to his lips. Eyes so
heavy with whiskey and lust it made Sam shiver down to his bones.
"Shit, yes, come baby." Obviously encouraged by Sam's words, Thomas gave him
his all. Muffled jingles of pans and cutlery accompanied his slams, brutal,
fast, but it was perfect, had Sam stumble over an edge he barely knew yet. The
fall hit him hard.
"Gonna-" His talking fused into choked down screams and breathing before he
could finish it. As far as Thomas' grip and his own anatomy would allow, Sam's
body arched off the counter when his orgasm crashed through him. Light danced
in front of his shut eyes, going along perfectly with the flashes and waves
that rolled through his muscles over and over, never ending like Thomas'
thrusts, never decreasing, never giving him a chance to rest.
Yes. This. This was it.
Despite the rough concrete his fingers were wrapped around, Sam could feel the
distant sensation of rushing blood underneath his fingertips. It was intense
enough to let him overhear Thomas' naughty litany of praise and whatever else
he was saying. All that mattered was this heat surrounding him, inside,
outside, underneath, on top; comfort, love, security. He still wasn't finished
coming when Thomas followed and came inside of him, filling him up with heavy
throbs. Even hotter now. Better. Sam felt like sobbing in bliss.
Maybe he even really had let that slip since Thomas hushed him breathlessly,
smirking so pleased with himself and everything on earth. Like Sam. Their
movements died down slowly. Slick and heavy, sweat like cooked sugar, warm,
fulfilled, content. Perfect.
Sam could have sworn he smelled a rush of whiskey breath.
They held their position for a while longer, catching their breath, coming
down. Cool wetness on his stomach told Sam his shirt was soaked in his own
come. He couldn't have cared less. Thomas pulled out with a sigh that caught on
Sam as he felt himself leaking almost immediately. The supple drops on the
kitchen tiles sounded as dirty as they probably looked.
Boxers and pants were pulled back up. Sam slid down from the counter and stood
on his legs again. Not steady but good enough. He tilted his head up a bit as
Thomas pulled him into a soft hug, hands crossing on the dip over Sam's butt.
Hesitantly, he returned the gesture, face resting in this broad chest. The
intimacy of it left him awkwardly tense which was insane when he kept in mind
what they just had done.
Thomas whispered somewhere near his ear: "Sam, it's really fun with you. I
could do you all day. Twenty-four-fuckin'-seven."
Sam laughed nervously at the insanity of these words and the fact that Thomas
probably was serious. Which also was kind of hot. He hugged Thomas the
slightest bit tighter which was his way of saying 'I could get used to that
thought' without having to actually say it. 'Cause that would just have been
freaking awkward.
"We could keep that up until our dads come back. Hm?" He nuzzled Sam's neck,
probably absolutely aware of the scratch his stubble was causing like that.
"How's that sound? Making the best out of this curfew? You, me, fireplace,
couple of drinks, lots'o lube and love?"
"You're such a romantic," Sam chuckled, feeling the deep vibration caused by
Thomas returning his laughter on his cheek. This guy smelled so good. He had to
remember to ask what cologne he was using.
"'S that a yes?"
Sam nodded, starting slowly, then getting more sincere, even ending it with a
tiny: "Yeah."
"Heh." Thomas pushed away a little, beaming at him like Sam just had promised
to make Christmas happen early this year. He cupped Sam's face with his warm,
godforsaken hands and pulled the surprised boy in for a tender kiss. Sam
eventually relaxed after some moments, tasting Thomas and coffee and bacon on
the slick tongue that lazily danced around his own. They parted and both looked
a little crossed-eyes. About himself, Sam just guessed. About Thomas, he was
down-right blinded by the sight. "That's cool, Sam. Really really cool."
Sam didn't believe in much anymore at age fifteen. The things he did believe
in? Cruel truths. Cruel truths like the fact that good things only seemed to
happen to Sam when John wasn't around.
Baby? Why had he fallen asleep in her? No. Wait. This leather was different.
Didn't smell like spilled blood and candies. More like. Spilled liquor and
smoke. Carefully, Dean blinked open his right eye. Wood. Wood fuckin'
everywhere. Bottles. Empty. He moaned. Yeah. His temples just recognized that,
too.
It was a hard fight but he eventually pushed himself up on his elbows. His head
swayed around, searching the room. "Sam?" The first clear thought that came to
him and that had to be spoken out immediately, as always. But there was no
response. "Sammy?" Slow panic started rising. Dean got up into a sitting
position, rubbing his face with his hands, wiping away the drool from sleeping
on his stomach. Still no answer. His brain noticed it was needed, this was an
emergency, so it started working. Where was Sam? What had happened? Was he
okay?
Last night. Drinking. Thomas. … Sam.
…
Oh fuck no.
Oh. Oooh. Oooooh fuck no.
"No," he gasped, panic now proudly spreading, knotting his lungs together in
his chest, spilling acid to his stomach. When his hands ran over his forehead
to grab his bangs, it was covered in ice cold sweat.
No. This couldn't have. Did he. Seriously? God. No. Sam. Sam. Sammy.
"Awake yet, princess?"
Pretty close to a heart attack, Dean jerked his head around to see Thomas
leaning in the doorframe to the kitchen. He looked unimpressed. Dean decided it
was time to change that. Now.
"You."
"Well yeah, I kinda live he-"
"YOU!!"
Dean jumped to his feet and Thomas only managed to push and hold him right down
again because he had seen this coming. And maybe thought of several scenarios.
And maybe bench pressed some extra pounds after waking up. It had paid off.
"Dude, CHILL! Calm down Dean, god, calm down, let's talk, okay?!"
"TALK?! Are you KIDDING me?! I'll rip your HEAD off! AND YOUR DICK! No, wait,
FIRST your dick and then I'll FEED it to you and THEN-"
"GOD, calm yo shit, Winchester! Nobody here is fuckin' hurt and nobody's gonna
die, believe it or not, so would you PLEASE stop plotting my death for a
second?! Don't make me tie you to the nearest tree!"
There was no use in struggling. Dean was hung over and that guy obviously was a
freaking hulk. His resistance crackled and he sunk back into the couch as deep
as Thomas' force would push him. "Sam," he panted, lump in his throat colliding
with his Adam's apple. It hurt. It fuckin' hurt. "Where's Sam?"
Untrusting glare in his eyes, Thomas slowly withdrew his arms until Dean was
the pitiful puddle of guilt and pain he was supposed to be. "He's okay," Thomas
said low and calm, pinning Dean down with his stare. One punch had been enough.
He had a pretty face to lose, after all.
"Where's he?" Dean repeated, annoyed, miserably, even begging. Thomas thought
it was adorable how fast his brother had him forget his pride.
His eyebrows went up. "Dude. I don't think he wants to see you right now. Or
anytime near now."
Thomas thought he heard something like a whine from the boy. He must've been
mistaken. "I need to talk to him."
"And tell him what, Dean? That you're sorry? Sorry you fucked him through the
floor last night?"
Were that tears in these stupidly pretty eyes? Goddamn. That man broke easily.
"Please." Dean didn't even know himself what he was asking for. His thoughts
were as blank as his heartbeat was raging. There was nothing to ask for.
Nothing that could possibly do anything good. Not after what had happened. What
he had let happen. What he had done.
"Hey. Dean. Look at me."
Thomas would have loved to mock Dean for the cinematic roll of a tear from down
long lashes over freckled, pale cheek. But, as stated before, he held his
facial bone structure dear. He sat down on the coffee table, slightly hunched
over to be at the same height as Dean. "Dude. Calm down. Nobody's gonna die,
remember? Not even from shame. Trust me, that's not a thing, and I've seen some
shit."
Dean wanted to scream, scream at that idiot for being so naïve. Did he really
think anything could ever be okay again? That he could look Sam in the eye or
vice versa after so carelessly tearing any trace of trust and love they had had
left?
"It may feel like the world is ending." Thomas' face was serious as he spoke. A
bit cold. A bit like dad. And dad was always right. "But it's not. It's gonna
be okay, Dean. Trust me on this."
The wind was cool but accompanied by warm sunrays. Sam's skin took both in and
converted it into a smooth hug of air. On the west porch, he had learned just
now, was the perfect place to both read in peace and enjoy the breathtaking
view over the forest and mountains.
Charles Dickens forgotten on his lap, he stared into the distance where clouds
and sun painted their beautiful picture. Groaning and whispering pines were the
only sound and it almost wasn't self-centered to think that maybe all of this
was happening just for him to witness.
Sam curled and stretched his naked toes on the bench's cushions he was spread
over like a cat, flat on his back, arms draped wildly around his body. It
probably looked uncomfortable to others, but he was bendy like a snake and felt
perfect like this, almost drowning in his too-big sweatpants and hoodie. They
were his, his alone, bought for him, too big on Dean, maybe soon too small on
himself. Loose and big felt safe. Like Dean's clothes on him once had. Once
when he was smaller than him, the little brother by all means, tiny and clumsy
and to be protected, clothed in hand-me-downs that were worn, colors long faded
and basically made of holes. And he still had loved them. Because they smelled
like Dean, even after countless washings. Had been owned by him. Lived with
him. So close, through it all, like Sam. And they had shared them like they had
shared everything, every dream, joke, trick, worry.
It had started falling apart long before now. Before Sam had decided he wanted
to get out. Must have been before that. Because why the hell would he had
wanted to leave if it had still been the same with Dean?
Growing up sucked. Ass. Massively.
Sam had heard them yell. Dean was awake. It was only a matter of time until
they would have to face each other. Maybe not talk yet. The sheer task of being
in the same room as his brother seemed impossible to Sam. The thought brought
color to his face and sweat to his neck. So dirty. They had done such dirty
things to another. Not only one way. But both.
Brothers weren't supposed to do such things and Sam's answer to the why behind
it was that it was impossible to look at each other in that way afterwards.
There was no way they could be brothers ever again. And when Sam tried to think
of what the alternative could be, the answer was so far away not even NASA
could see it on their screens. Probably.
He heard the door open from the inside. His body decided it was a hibernator
and slowed down all vital and not vital functions. Except for Sam's pulse.
It was Dean. He knew it was. Could tell by the electricity in the air. It was
so heavy he couldn't even close his eyes. And he would have loved that right
now.
Sam listened to his brother's slow and uncertain steps towards him until he was
standing in front of the bench. His bench. The bench Sam was currently
occupying. Forget hibernation. What about self-destruct?
"Can I. Uhm. Sit? Here?"
The voice sounded distant. But Sam couldn't help obeying and he pulled his legs
closer to his body, staring straight ahead over the porch's railings. He was
mad. All he could see now was cold air hitting warm air over massive amounts of
mineral substances. Dean had ruined the pretty view.
For a long while, none of them said anything. It was far from silence what
surrounded them, though. Breathing was loud like drums, heartbeats like bass,
socked feet scratching over wooden floor or naked toes scraping sun warm fabric
like screams of a tortured guitar. Both hated this particular song it was
creating.
"Aren't you cold out here?"
Under any other condition, Sam would have rolled his eyes in annoyance at that
comment. But Dean's voice was all anxiety. Sam knew he only said this because
any other question was impossible to pose. "No," he muttered, "'S warm in the
sun."
'Silence' again. The sounds were less screechy somehow.
"What cha readin'?"
Sam knew Dean was looking, trying to catch a glimpse on the book, but it was
hidden in his lap, behind his folded legs. Where he wasn't supposed to feel
familiar with. But kinda was. "Dickens. 'It was the best of times, it was the
worst of times…'," he quoted quietly.
"'S good?"
This was getting annoying. "Dean," Sam started, planning on throwing around
something like how they both knew nobody cared about this damn book right now
and they both knew that and why they knew that. But Dean was quicker.
"I know, I get it, just- just." The sigh sounded desperate. And heavy. Sam
tried to recall if this was a sound he had heard from whom first - John or
Dean. "What else can I say. I have no idea what to say."
"Well, great," Sam muttered, just as helpless as his brother, but goddammit, he
was the younger one, he was supposed to be carried through this, not the other
way around, "Maybe start with. Oh. I don't know. An apology. If you know how
the line goes."
"Oh god, Sam," the wet sound of sweaty forehead meeting even sweatier palms
echoed on the porch, "that isn't ever gonna cut it and you know it, and I know
it; so why say it."
"Well, because it makes me less sick to look at your face knowing you're sorry
for last night? Thought about that yet?"
"Don't say that…"
"What, that you make me sick, Dean? What the hell did you EXPECT?"
"Sammy-"
"Don't 'Sammy' me, okay?! I told you not to, that exactly this shit here will
happen, and this is a one-way road, Dean. We. We can't un-fuck." That last word
hurt when he said it out loud. Saying it made it real. The worst possible
thing. Real. Real like boogie men underneath children's beds.
"God, I know, I'm so sorry, I'm so fuckin' sorry, Sam, please, I don't know
what got in me-"
"Your DICK, dean, your dick, like it always does, like it always gets you in
trouble. But hey, looks like it decided some skimpy cheerleaders along the
streets we drive through weren't enough, no, better wreck your brother too,
because, well, oops, I was horny, I was drunk, sorry, here's some change for
the cab."
"Sam, please-"
Sam lowered his voice now. "I thought I was more, Dean." Sam got up into a
sitting position and collected the courage to look at Dean for the first time
since then. The sight ripped him apart internally. Dean didn't look any better,
like he was going through the same, both hurt, broken, just another blink away
from tearing up. "More important than these girls you pick up like flowers and
bang like whores and whose numbers you put on ignore the next morning. More
like some piece of meat you could use to get off on. Someone who was worth your
respect. Worth anything more than what happened last night."
Now, Dean really tore up. His lashes were excellent diving boards for these
thin droplets of salt water. He tried so hard to keep control of his face, but
his eyes he couldn't hold back. "I'll. I'll find something. Something to make
it right."
Frowning still hurt. But what was some headache against this heartache? "What
on earth could make any of what happened 'right', Dean?"
"I have no idea. But I will. I will. Sam, I promise, I will." The hand that
came up to his face to rub away the tears was shaking. "Whatever it costs. I'll
do anything. I can't let this ruin us. I need you. You're my brother. I raised
you. I know, these last weeks…" He paused, eyes dropping to his hands in his
lap, like he was searching for the words there. Like they were some magical
portal to the past. "I. I lost my head. I felt like I was losing you, Sam. You
stopped telling me things, spent your nights somewhere I did not know, still
don't, with strangers, doing hell-knows-what, getting yourself in danger - and
I couldn't do shit about it. It was like you slammed the door into my face and
I stood there like an abandoned dog. I tried to make you talk but it only made
you angrier." Now it was Dean who frowned. "Whatever I did, it just made you
angrier. So I figured: Okay. If you're angry no matter what I do… I can put
'nice' away and pull out 'effective'. 'Cause the result was what mattered to
me."
"What fuckin' 'result'?" Anger from deep down his stomach, almost forgotten,
overshadowed, climbed back up Sam's throat and raised his voice with itself.
"Ripping me away from my friends? Locking me up in that fuckin' Impala with you
and dad and ten gallons of rock salt and bullets?"
Dean's mouth went tight. His nose hid half of its pretty freckles in deep
wrinkles. "For it to be like it had been before."
Sam's heart dropped, not stomach, not knees, more like to his toenails. There
was a silence now, real silence, no sounds, even the trees had vanished, like
this bench and who sat on it was the last thing in the universe still existing.
Dean probably didn't know, because Sam hadn’t known until now. That this result
was bigger than themselves.
Softly, Dean started talking again. "Remember that summer vacation dad left us
somewhere in Missouri? We spent the whole four weeks basically in the motel
pool." He tilted his chin up, his eyes lost somewhere in the sky. A shy smile
found its way onto his lips. "We had these. Amazing water guns. So we could
practice while playing. I stretched our money by mowing lawns for buying you
these disgusting ice popsicles you love so much every day. The motel owner
pitied us and let us use the pool at night, so we fell asleep there until it
got too cold. Then I'd carry you inside and we'd put on dry shorts and you'd
fall asleep on top of me cause the blankets were yucky and there were no maids
to change them. But it would have been too cold without anything. And we would
wake up when the room had heated up to like 90 degrees. Lying in both'f our
sweat."
Yes. Sam remembered. Remembered every detail. Even the ones he had been ashamed
of because Dean had been so openly annoyed by them. Like this sleeping habit of
his, making Dean sweat and curse with it. Like his whining for what was
practically colored water with sugar for two dollars instead of two dollars of
real food that could actually fill stomachs and not just color tongues.
"That summer. Was the best summer I have ever had. And I. I know it's stupid
but." Dean was brave enough to look at his brother again now. Or desperate
enough, for just a tiny word or sound or look that would indicate forgiveness,
hope, anything. Sam just stared at him, face tight, closed in. "I wanted it
back." Dean swallowed audibly. "Our lives are fucked up. We are fucked up. I
know I shouldn't say that but. To be honest? We have nothing. Dad. Hunting.
This is all we really have. And it's not worth a lot. I mean. Look at you.
Reading five books a day. Writing essays like I take a breath. You are worth so
much more. Deserve so much more. But if you go." Sam hated this particular
smile. The smile he once had mistaken for happiness. Back in 1995, when they
had picked him up from Sonny's. Sam had seen his brother again after endless
weeks without him and was blinded by upturned corners of this pretty mouth, so
blinded he forgot to look him in the eye and see the devastation. Dean had
masks. Plenty of them. Sam had always thought he was the one person Dean
wouldn't need to use them on. That had been proven wrong that night. "What do I
have left? You're. You're everything I have, Sammy. You and me."
"Then how? How could you, Dean? How the fuck could that last night happen?"
"That close… I just wanted to be close to you. It looked reasonable then.
Desirable, to... To be sure how much you would do for me. How much control I
still had over you, even though you shut me out and had secrets. How you'd
still listen to me, 'cause we can't forget who we are to each other. And that
this was accessible at all times. That going back to that motel bed with you
sleeping on top of my heart, where you fuckin' lay since you were a baby… that
this was accessible. Doable. That I could have that. Just once more. Just once
fuckin' more before you'd run away for good and I'd never see you again. Before
I'd regret not buying you these damn popsicles every day of every summer of
every damn year. 'Cause you deserved them. Every single one of them."
Sam's brain was bursting, along with his chest. Later that evening, his body
would notice that the position he was crouching in was not exactly recommended
for it to perform. But he didn't feel it yet. "I had no idea. Of any of what
you just said." /'Cause you hide it well,/ he added in his mind, /Just like you
always do./
Dean sat there in silence, obviously emotionally exhausted. Sam wondered if he
had ever talked so much about himself to anyone else. No possible scenario for
that came up to him.
"… It'll take time. Dean."
Dean looked up, faint light shining in his eyes. They called it 'hope'.
"Time. And lots of popsicles." He smiled, softly, but he knew his dimples
showed up easily and worked magic on his brother. Yes. Brother. "Red ones.
Especially red ones."
This smile was real now. Not real like 'boogie men are real' - but the kind of
'hopefully angels are real'-real. "Red ones till they make you puke. Check,"
Dean croaked, smile a little wavy. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his
hand.
If it was possible for Dean Winchester to go all confidential and
interventional, maybe it was possible for two brothers to un-fuck.
Sam continued reading and dozing on and off after their talk. Mostly off. Dean
had slipped inside again soon, mumbling something like "too cold", but most
likely to avoid stressing his luck with sticking to Sam like gum to a shoe. Sam
was thankful for the space. There was no need to say that out loud.
The sun was as good as down the horizon when he woke up. There was a lot of
sound coming from the kitchen. Sam knew it had to be the kitchen. Only kitchen
action produced smells this wonderful.
He trotted inside and poked his head through the kitchen doorframe. It was
convenient that there were no actual doors. Sam loved it when the whole house
smelled like food. Reminded him of uncle Bobby's.
"Hey sweetheart," Thomas cheered as he noticed the curious pair of eyes, hands
in what looked like a dozen of pans and pots at the same time, "Great timing.
Almost done here. Tell Dean to get his lazy ass over here or we will eat his
serving, too."
"Woah, this is amazing." Mashed potatoes were so much better when made from
scratch. Sam was sure he'd become a bear of a man if he'd eat this three times
a day for three months straight. With which he would totally have been okay
with. The steak and veggies on the side were just as good, to be fair.
"I cut the steaks," Dean announced proudly with a sip on his beer. He loved
this brew. 'At least one good thing up here,' he had said, discretely rolling
his eyes towards Thomas.
"Yeah, that was before I knew I had to rescue you from skinning your hands
along with the potatoes. Goddammit son. Ever touch a knife in my kitchen again
and it will be the last time you ever did."
"I SLIPPED, okay? It happens. God. Get over it."
Sam chuckled into his plate. It really had been a hard night. For all of them.
To no surprise, they finished all Thomas had piled up on the table. Even the
bread. Every last crumb.
Sam jumped to help Thomas tidy up and declared the sink as his territory. The
dishes were heavy and the water was hot but Sam didn't mind. He was focused on
some very restraining piece of burnt-in potato when he was startled by hands
sliding up his belly underneath his shirt. Thomas was standing right behind
him.
"Wanna come to my room after this?"
Sam melted a bit and it definitely wasn't the hot water's fault he was in elbow
deep. "I, uhm." Dean was still sitting right over there, right at the table,
sipping on his beer, exhausted, tired - but definitely not deaf. Sam was eager
to make as much noise as possible with the pot and cutlery in the sink. "I uhm.
Tomorrow again. Okay?"
His exhale came trembling and relieved after a soft kiss and 'alright' so his
ear. He scrubbed down the forks and listened to his brother's quiet sips from
the bottle.
Sam started to like this cabin. It had been built with a lot of attention to
details and atmosphere. He brushed his teeth, alone, and followed the moonlight
from the big window above the bathtub down to the top of his feet. It was half
play, half nervous tick when Sam let his toes curl and stretch underneath the
silver light.
He took his time in the bathroom, examined his bruises and scrapes. There were
many. He carefully brushed his fingertips over each one to get a taste of how
bad they really were. The ones on his hips looked terrible but didn't hurt as
bad as the ones on his wrists. Those were also raw and maybe a bit infected due
to the sweating and friction. Touches left them stinging.
When he was done with everything and decided his knees would need special
medical attention, maybe tomorrow, Sam locked eyes with himself in the mirror.
Hesitation was holding him back long enough to watch himself suck his lips
between his teeth. Then he decided that it was no use and leaned forward over
the sink. Pushing his hips out, he guided his right hand down his boxers. Under
his own eyes, he visibly took notice of the heat he felt was rising in the back
of his neck.
Still dripping. Slick. Warm. He had kept it in, would keep it in longer. In a
fucked up way he liked the feeling it gave him, the heat and dirtiness it
radiated. Now the sensitive skin wouldn't allow any generous touches. Too used.
Too raw. He couldn't stop caressing it though, let his middle and index brush
and push it, nursed on the slight burn it gave him. Sam's tongue ran over the
split skin of his lip. It was sticking out, scarlet red on pale pink. He
watched it carefully and wondered if Thomas had thought of it as such a sexy
thing as himself right now.
He thought about the kissing. How Thomas had kissed him. Fed him his own come
with the first and sealed their deal with the latest. Kissing wasn't like in
those girly movies him and Dean always skipped with too loud laughter when they
caught one while surfing terrible motel TV channels. It wasn't romantic or
heart-warming or eye-opening. It was filthy, dirty, downright spoiled. Knee-
wrecking and gut-wrenching.
They hadn't kissed though. All his lips had touched had been Dean's… Anyway.
Sam blinked shyly at his mirror-self, back into reality. He considered spending
the night in the bathroom but the idea of a mattress and bedding won. His knees
might have been involved in this voting a bit more than anything else.
The room was completely unlit when he entered it. Maybe Dean was already
asleep. Hopefully. Sam climbed under the sheets and met brightly awake eyes on
his way down into the pillow. Fuck.
"You okay?" The whisper came soothing, with a hint of beer breath. Just the way
all their pillow talks usually went.
"Mhm," Sam lied. Soft fabric of pillows and beddings surrounded him and it was
like sinking down into feathers, welcoming and warm. Nothing like scratchy
motel sheets. This was a bed made with love. Washed. Fresh. Comfortable.
Nothing they'd usually get. Nothing they deserved, obviously. "Bed's nice," he
sighed, even though he didn't have to. Both of them had this thing when it came
to beds and comfort, craved and appreciated every tiny bit of it they could
get.
"Shit yes." Dean's teeth reflected the moonlight like his eyes when he smiled.
"Surely better than the couch."
It was an unnecessary reminder of last night and Sam knew that Dean knew. Sam
glared at him through the darkness. He wanted to talk back so hard but all the
remarks that came to him were so nasty they hurt even thinking about them. So
he decided to be the adult one of them. Again.
The silence between them was short and Sam wished it had lasted longer.
"Can I uhm. Can we lie closer?" Dean's voice was soft but still felt like
needles to Sam's stomach. The fact that most of Dean's questions were purely
rhetorical and he was shifting closer to him already instead of waiting for an
actual answer didn't really help.
Finally, he muttered a defeated "okay". His stomach turned inside out when
their bodies touched chest to back but Dean's smile made it acceptable somehow.
"I missed this," Dean offered into Sam's hair. His big palm placed itself
carefully around his brother's shoulder. Sam couldn't hold back a flinch at
that.
The silence was back between them. Again, Dean was the one to break it. Like he
couldn't take it that there was nothing to say.
"So. Should I beat up Thomas or what?"
That hit Sam by surprise. He frowned. "Why would you do that?"
"'Cause. Oh, I don't know. Last night maybe? Earth to Sammy! Are you kidding
me?!" Aware of how easy it was to listen from outside the room, Dean kept his
voice low. The anger wasn't hidden though.
Sam really didn't want to talk about that right now. "It's not his fault alone,
jerk!"
Dean exhaled heavily through his nose. It tickled on Sam's scalp. "It's. He
told me to do it."
"But you did it!" He really really didn't want to talk about it. "Can we just.
Gosh. Fuck. Just sleep? Please?"
There was no response, just another sharp exhale. Sam followed the example and
slammed his eyes shut. This conversation was over and that was what counted.
He was almost relaxed and ready to fall asleep again when Dean's voice poked
through his eardrums once more.
"... You like him."
That was it. Sam rolled halfway over to get a proper angry stare at his brother
over his shoulder. "Dean, I swear to god-"
"You didn't beat him." Dean stared at him like he just got his personal
revelation of the day. Which was quite accurate. "No signs of fighting when I
woke up. He said you talked. You actually reasoned with the bastard."
Shit. "He told you we talked?" Shit shit shit shit. "What did he tell you?"
Dean frowned, lips slightly parted. His brain was so quick it was a pity he too
often chose to dull it with alcohol. "Told me you liked it."
That damn son of a bitch.
"Which is impossible. Right?" Both their eyes flicker for a second. "You're not
gay, right? Like. Liking it up the ass and stuff?"
Sam's tongue was numb by the time he noticed it had scraped over his teeth
since the moment he had entered this room. It felt weird to talk like that.
"I'm. I'm not." He hesitated. No more lies. Right? Just like when they were
little, right? No judging... right? "You don't have to be gay to like guys.
Sometimes."
"Sometimes?" Dean looked like a four-year-old who just had been explained the
mechanics of human relationships. "You fuck guys... sometimes?"
"Dean, jesus christ!" He knew he was glowing red again at this point. But Dean
was the same, so it wouldn't be addressed by either of them. "It's not about
fucking all the goddamn time! I just. Like them. Kissing and stuff. Talking.
Spending time. Jeez."
"And girls?" Dean asked slowly.
"Girls too," Sam added, really rolling onto his back now. Dean propped himself
up on his elbow and eyes his brother suspiciously. "I like both," Sam mutters.
"Ever fucked a girl then?"
"Dean!" It's ridiculous. Why did he even start to answer these questions? "For
fuck's sake, could you be any more insensitive?!"
"So you didn't," Dean concluded. Sam really really really itched to kick his
shin underneath the covers.
"What does it matter? I just." The covers were up to his chin already but Sam
still would have loved to hide even more. His fingers played nervously with its
hem. "There wasn't the right one yet. I don't want to sleep with someone just
for the sake of it." He didn't add 'like you, big brother'. Because he was
mature.
"Oh, but 'kissing' and 'spending time' is perfectly alright with you? That's
even, like, worse than fucking, Sam. You don't just kiss people."
"Are you kidding me? You're fucked up, man."
"How many?"
They stared at each other, Dean angry and Sam cornered, like always. Just how
Sam perfectly hated it to be. "What 'how many'?"
"How many did you 'spend time with', Sam?" There was a certain tremble in
Dean's voice. Sam recognized it from times he had told him secrets, sad ones,
or when he had been hurt.
For a second, Sam actually tried to start counting, but there were so many
faces, blurry, halfway in the dark. So he gave up. "No idea," he offered
quietly, tiny, shrunk. He was ashamed, which was stupid when he kept in mind
who he was talking to.
Dean didn't respond to that, just kept staring. That little tremble from his
voice turned into a tick of his jaw, a slow roll of his lips against each
other. Awesome. 'No judgment' Sam's a- "How many did you blow?"
Sam blinked once, twice, didn't respond.
Dean grunted a laugh. To Sam it was obvious how nervous he was and it bled to
him easily. "Oh come on. Like you didn't do that before. The way you-" He cut
himself off when he saw Sam's expression harden. He played with jumping the
edge again, insensitive little bastard that he was, like it meant nothing. Like
his nervousness was just a facade, mismatching his choice of words.
Nevertheless, he continued, voice kept especially low now, like a whisper, a
secret. Like it would make anything better. "You did it like a pro. Don't play
dumb, Sammy. How many?"
Before he knew, Sam twisted and scrambled away from Dean, this bed, this
conversation. Away, away, away; no, no way he was staying here, no way this
would ever work out, just no - and then he felt Dean's grip on his shoulder,
the mattress dip behind him, his brother's body pressing up against his own.
Holding him in place. Sam sobbed and Dean's other hand wrapped around his
forehead like he was feeling his temperature, face nuzzled into his neck,
chanting strings of "sorry" and "Sammy" and "don't leave, please, oh please,
don't leave me". "Why are you doing this?!" Sam sobbed, grabbing the arm across
his chest, not pulling or pushing it away, just holding it. He curled in
himself like a hurt animal, Dean's body surrounding him and copying his
movement, like they were two halves that fit into each other at all times.
"Why?!" he repeated, aware of his own trembling and of the one from the limbs
all around him, "If it were pussies you wouldn't give a damn! Shit, you'd
praise me! Would be proud! But if it's dicks, it makes me a slut?! How fucked
up are you!?"
Dean's voice came weak even though he was right next to Sam's ear. "Boys are
different."
"Wow, tell me about it, Captain Obvious! What does it matter who I fuck, who we
fuck, huh?! I never complained about you getting under each and every skirt we
drive past, so what gives you the right t-"
"Girls are not like us!" Dean barked, loud, a bit too loud. It echoed in the
tiny room. "They're no competition, they could never replace what we-" He
stopped himself and tightened his grip around his little brother. They listened
to each other panting, Dean through his nose and Sam through his teeth, their
hearts pounding in unison, pressed so close it was like they shared a single
one.
"You're jealous," Sam muttered into the silence, slowly, felt a sudden rush of
sweat on Dean's palms on his forehead and upper arm. His own words didn't
really make sense to him but what actually did nowadays? Dean didn't answer,
just held him close like in Sam's earliest memories. Close and safe.
"Don't leave," Dean begged into his neck, "Please don't. Please, Sammy."
Hearing his big brother like that wasn't as satisfying as Sam would have
expected it to be. Nevertheless, he relaxed a bit, uncurled, sank back into
Dean's front, let their heats mix with each other. His way of saying 'I won't',
'I'll stay'. He sighed.
"You can't just kiss people, Sammy," Dean told to his hair and Sam's body
jerked once and hard when there suddenly were lips around his neck, teeth, oh
god, what was- Sam wanted to say something, anything. His nails dug into Dean's
forearm without him being aware of that, toes curling in. Dean sucked, nibbled
at his skin and Sam exhaled with wide eyes into the darkness.
Sometime between starting to sweat and kneading his nails into Dean's skin, Sam
found himself pushing back into his brother's lap. For half a second, the mouth
let go of him, just to pant a whimper into it and closing around it again. Sam
kept staring into the pillows and slowly humped backwards, own dick trapped
between his thighs, pulled tight to his abdomen, Dean's knees in the backs of
his own. The heat increased by the second and it wasn't long before Sam could
clearly make out Dean's fattening dick against the crease of his ass, molding
into each other between them perfectly. Another shaky exhale. He felt dizzy.
Maybe a bit sick. He pressed Dean's arm closer to his chest and that made it
better somehow.
Where the back of his neck was dripping with spit when Dean released it for
good, the place they rubbed against each other back down was damp as well.
Sweat, precome, come - Sam whimpered at the thought and ground down harder,
making Dean moan in the process. Several questions occupied his head, the tip
of his tongue - like "Is this okay for you, Dean?" or "Is this awkward to you
too right now?" or "Maybe we should stop?" or "Please bite and suck me all
over, pretty please?" - but it felt too dangerous to speak, too tense, fragile.
If he spoke, this situation would become real, and they'd wake up from their
trance and it would be embarrassing and it would never work, never ever,
they're broken-
"We're going to hell," Dean panted into his little brother's neck. Sam would
have chuckled but it was a sad truth without a hint of sarcasm. He pressed his
eyes shut and craned his neck, Dean's hand helping him by pulling him back.
"We're so fucking fucked up, Sammy, I'm so sorry, god. Fuck. Sam. Sam."
"Yes," Sam answered and now there really weren't any words left in him so he
simply whimpered in sympathy and then whimpered a bit more when Dean sunk his
teeth back into him, a bit lower, around the bump of his spine there.
"C-can I. Is it okay if-"
"Yes." Sam didn't have to hear the full question. It didn't really matter. The
answer would have been the same anyway.
The hand from his forehead let go, pushed its way down their bodies. The snap
of elastic was barely audible through the sheets but Sam knew anyway. Dean
sighed into his raw neck and slid the wet tip of his cock over the strip of
bare skin Sam's lower back offered due to his slipped up shirt. Sam shivered at
the sensation and reached back, pulled his own boxers down. "More, here," he
instructed over his shoulder.
The way Dean touched him was so shy, careful, so different from the roughness
Sam remembered. He would have forgotten about that by now if there wasn't this
one vice-like grip around his chest. Dean held his breath when he guided his
cock lower, poked into the pillow-soft flesh and rubbed up and down,
conveniently slipping along the crack, never close to Sam's hole, no, but this
was just as good, as hot. Sam reached behind and pulled Dean's hips closer
along their rhythm which hit Dean by surprise and he slipped down, past Sam's
dripping hole, over his taint, nudging his balls and Sam didn't really think
when he cursed at the friction.
Dean repeated the movement, slowly, over and over, increasing the pressure with
every stroke. The head caught on Sam's rim more and more dangerously, driving
Sam insane, nervous, impatient. Dean grunted and then solely concentrated on
exactly that dripping spot, pushed against the tight ring of muscle, brushed
silky over raw and pulsing skin. He continued to speak in hoarse whispers,
leaning in to spill them right into Sam's ear: "He told me I came inside you.
Did I? Is that mine leaking from you down here? Huh?"
"Yes." Sam almost choked on his tongue but that one word came so easy tonight,
he'd force it out anytime. Even though it was only half the truth.
"Wow. Fuck." A new glob of precome eased the rubbing. "Fuck. That's so hot.
Shit. Sam. I." It was almost pushing in at this point. But Dean either really
liked to play or he wasn't sure if he was allowed to do it. Both were possible
and Sam hadn't decided which he'd prefer yet. "Never fucked anyone raw before,"
Dean confessed in a moan, "Never. I always keep it safe, I never- Oh fuck, Sam,
't was so hot, felt so good, oh shit-"
"Do it." The words came in a pant, a gasp for air, really. "Just do it alread-"
Dean pushed in and Sam held his breath, mouth wide open. He listened to Dean's
whines and the head slipping in completely had him inhaling again, moaning with
the exhale, whimpering, clutching Dean's hips, still not close enough, more,
closer, deeper, now. The burn didn't matter. He welcomed it, even. His
punishment for letting this happen.
"Shit," Dean managed to mumble, hips stuttering with his cock in a forth,
"Shit, Sam, you're burning up inside, oh, fuck, this is tight-" He shoved in
past half and forced a choking sound from Sam's throat, but both rocked their
hips nevertheless, despise the burn and the pressure and Dean probably was
hurting too, Sam could only guess how it would feel like for him right now,
trapped and strangled inside of him.
"'S tight 'cause the position, t-the position's-," Sam whined, snapping his
hips desperately, trying to motivate Dean to do the same, savored the push and
pull of his rim on and over the smooth, rock-hard shaft. Dean got the idea and
started to really fuck him then, rhythm shallow at first but soon the bedframe
was squeaking softly. Sam arched both his neck and back, meeting Dean's abs
with the dimples on top of his ass. The hand slid from around the base of
Dean's cock up to Sam's neck, spread the palm wide over his chest. His upper
arm let go there and instead was placed on Sam's narrow hips. Still caged. Sam
loved this. Dean gripped his shirt and pulled it up a bit like that, revealing
his flat tummy, no baby fat left there, firm and tight flesh in contrast to
where he buried his own hip bones into, sharp like claws into sensitive skin;
and Sam loved it.
"Make me come," Sam begged, hiccupping a whine when Dean both grunted and
slammed in hard at his words, "L-like last night, wanna come like that again;
only from this, only this, Dean-" Those were the magic words and Sam had to
slap his free hand over his mouth to muffle the blatant screams Dean fucked
right out of him now. Thomas' come dripped from his ass with every thrust and
half of it was shoved right back in, dirty and sloppy sounds making the whole
act even better, and oh were they loud in their ears once Dean ripped and
kicked the covers from them. The heat and sweat had been almost unbearable
until then but now there was newfound energy and Dean used it to plow his
brother's ass like he didn't know how to spell the word 'mercy'.
"Came from this?" The voice was off, strangled, very quiet on purpose. Sam
started to really get an idea of how drunk Dean must had been last night. Not
remembering that, hardly anything... No wonder he let himself go like he had,
that it had escalated as badly as it had. "You called my name," Dean groaned,
angled his hips a little different and yes, this really hit the goal and Sam's
fingers couldn't exactly shut down his cries anymore. "Do it again." It hurt.
It fucking hurt. Like needles and fever and fire but oh, this tingle, this
spasming pulse inside of him, it was the best. "Call my name when you come,
Sammy." Order, not plead.
Sam wondered how close his brother was when those four holy letters bubbled up
in his throat already. It sounded strangled, spit-slick through his fingers.
Perfect. Hot and moist like he felt more south, the word being ripped from him
in waves like the ones that rocked through his bones once more. Sam sobbed,
once, twice, slap from skin on skin sharp and loud like a whip on his eardrums
and then it arrived, heavy and unstoppable from the deepest bottom of his
stomach down his cock.
Dean's name on his lips like a prayer, Sam got stabbed right through his
orgasm, ruining the pretty beddings with thick spurts of his come, whole body
in a constant battle between lax and contracted. He had been sure that he would
miss Dean's orgasm, again, because Dean wasn't the only one with incomplete
memory of last night, but forehead crashed into his neck and Dean cursed,
hissed, grunted, fought through his relief, hips pistoning on and on and on,
unimpressed. It was absurd how clearly Sam felt himself being filled up, it
being too much, spilling out along with the sloppy timed thrusts. It was a lot.
Dean's dick didn't stop jerking inside of him. It was so beautiful, so much,
Sam started trembling in his brother's arms.
When movement finally slowed down, both fell into a litany of curse words in
between gasps for air. Sam mewled from another well-placed bite to his neck,
sloppy and heavy like his brother's come inside of him. All died down and they
just lay there for a while, pressed together, holding each other tight. Sam
thought that it must look pretty awkward, limbs tangled and twisted into
strange positions. Their breathing hadn't returned to normal when Dean slipped
out, completely limp, tired, done. No drop left in him, all given to his little
brother. It all started creaming the sheets and Sam could have been damned but
he didn't care one bit.
 "I'm fucking Thomas," he rasped into the nothingness around them. Lost.
"I know," Dean replied softly.
Sam turned around with the little energy he had left and pushed his face into
Dean's collar bones. Arms surrounded him and his own did the same with his big
brother. Safe. He inhaled deeply, Dean's shirt reeking of sweat and the new
sheets and the steak from earlier. The amulet dug into his throat but he didn't
care. Safe.
"I'm so sorry," Dean breathed into the crown of his hair.
"I know," Sam replied, eyes drifting close.
***** Feels like vacation. *****
Chapter Summary
     The boys make the best out of their curfew.
There were secrets. Lots of secrets. Sam had figured at a young age that they
were there for several reasons. Protection. Love. Egoism. Guilt. Shame.
Tonight, he dreamed of his biggest one so far.
A memory, transferred into a bizarre setting with different people. But Sam
knew this atmosphere. It had been one of the later nights he had sneaked out.
Dean had tried to hold him back then and he had had to wait another few hours
before he could actually leave. He had been furious. There had been some beers.
These excuses didn't seem as noble now.
"Well, little brother, after all." The guy didn't look like Jim in his dream,
but Sam knew it was him, remembered his monologue about his sibling very
clearly, smelled the moldy cellar air, tasted the cheap brew, felt his warm
hand in his own. Only that this was no cellar and this wasn't Jim's body.
"Gotta look after 'em, you know." He looked up from his beer, giving Sam a
sideway glance while scanning the room for another bottle between the other
people. "You got any? Siblings, I mean?"
Sam didn't blink. "No," he said, "No, I don't have any."
It was only when the sentence had been finished that he woke up. Forcefully,
somehow. His body felt heavy.
There were hands, carefully spread on his hips, cautious about the bruises,
maybe. Sam knew these hands. He grunted when he smiled into the pillows, rocked
with a deep-reaching thrust. Drunk on sleep, he reached behind his head until
his skin met short bangs on otherwise stubble-like hair. Another slow motion
and Dean's hips met his back. Dean snickered into Sam's hair. "Mornin'," he
rasped.
'Mornin' indeed,' Sam wanted to add but he still was too tired to do anything
but exhale deeply in time with every of Dean's movements. No lube, again, but
at least spit, lots of it. And the remains of yesterday, of course. It was
enough to leave it pretty enjoyable for Sam. Dean pulled back and Sam arched
his back, chasing the heat between their bodies, pressed tight like when they
had fallen asleep. They were chest to back now again and Sam wondered about who
had turned him around - Dean or himself. At least he did for about one half of
a second before Dean pushed back in and he saw sparks of black and white on the
inside of his eyelids.
They moved in slow tandem, rolling their hips, stretching their muscles,
breathing deep and letting their hands roam over each other. Sam tugged on his
brother's hair a bit before sliding down his ear, jaw, neck, and back down his
own body where he was held. Guiding their hands deeper, on his thigh, he
instructed with a low voice. "Hold my leg up."
And Dean did. And Sam shivered. Exactly there. The angle was perfect. Sam
pushed his hips back out as far as he could to get Dean as far in as possible,
pressing right up into his prostate like this. Perfect.
He whimpered when Dean rocked in even further with just a little jut. "Like
that?" The whisper sent the hair on Sam's neck straight up. He didn't care to
give a proper vocal answer and just moved instead, giving Dean a somewhat
sideways lap dance and himself a good deep massage. "Guess that's a 'yes',"
Dean panted and laughed at Sam's whining when he placed another good thrust,
and another, and another, and just didn't mind stopping.
Gasping, mewling; Sam couldn't quite decide on what to do, head only working
enough for being able to ask himself if he could possibly come again already.
When Dean started to work his mouth on his neck, he was definitely positive
about it. Between thrusts and wet sucking sounds, Sam managed to get out a
troubled "G-gonna…!" while his lower body started tensing up in anticipation.
"Already? Jeez," Dean snorted and fucked his hips harder, resulting in his
brother yelping and then half-mutter and half-whine incoherent sounds while his
hands grabbed for anything of Dean he could get them on. Unfortunately for
Dean, Sam just had dug his fingers into his hair when he grunted a low "Damn
cockslut, Sam" - because shit, that sure did the trick on the boy. Sam gripped
tight and arched deep with every part of his body that could do so, leaving his
brother hissing from pain and bliss at the same time; his hair being yanked at
and his cock getting milked without any control over it whatsoever.
Only a few drops came spilling out; as good as dry, but Sam came hard, the
orgasm somehow lasting longer than the ones he was used to, since Dean didn't
stop moving and his ass didn't stop feeling simply perfect under the heavy
blows. When he was near asking for Dean to stop, just fucking stop, too much,
his brother's hips started to stutter and Dean gasped choking sounds into his
neck before finally stopping.
Coming down took a serious amount of minutes. With the blood slowly rushing
from between his legs back into his brain, Sam started identifying the whole
situation as pretty surreal. Nothing really made sense, none of any of the
things that happened these few past hours. He reached for Dean's wrist and
gripped it softly, index and middle finger casually resting where he could feel
his brother's heartbeat. Dean remained lax against his back, breathing slowly
returning to normal.
They would have to talk. Somebody would have to say something. At some point,
at least. The thought gave Sam the creeps.
"Any chance there'll be breakfast?"
Sam rolled his eyes. Okay. As usually, Dean wasn't overthinking every possible
thing, unlike himself. "Define 'breakfast'," he sighed.
A content sound and stretch of firm muscle against Sam's back had him shiver;
the movement ended in a few drops of come leaking from his ass, which had him
squirm some more. "Coffee, black? Bacon? Eggs?" His voice was rough from
exhaustion and left-over sleep. Sam had never heard it in such a calm tone;
usually it yelled at him for not moving his ass out of bed fast enough. Now,
Sam had a feeling Dean wouldn't mind Sam staying in this particular bed all
day.
"Make it double," Sam grunted.
"Actually, I thought there'd be breakfast-in-bed-service."
"As if, jerk."
"Hey, I earned it. Lost a ton of protein; you owe me. Now move, bitch."
As he pushed himself up on his elbows and then climbed out of the bed, Sam's
lips curled in anger - and maybe a little bit of disgust. "Not your bitch," he
murmured.
Sam didn't even have to look back over his shoulder to know the way Dean's
eyebrows lifted in perfect unison, so instead, he ducked his head and searched
his duffle bag for a new pair of underwear while he blushed a faint shade of
pink. He'd known there'd be a comeback, he just didn't know why he never ever
managed to just keep his stupid loud mouth shut, just one freaking time, to
avoid it.
"Sam, I don't know how you define the term 'bitch', but-"
"Dean."
"What, you're practically dripping with-"
"DEAN."
"Okay. Coffee. Please?"
That damn idiot. Sam grabbed his boxers and stood up, immediately making for
the door without another glance back. "Fuck you."
"Aren't you one giant bag of sunshine, Sammy." His brother's grin burned itself
into his back even though he didn't see it. He concentrated on ignoring the
slick flow of come running down his thighs.
"It isn't exactly polite to lie, Sam."
Unfortunately, there was no noise loud enough Sam could produce with the coffee
machine to overpower the low growl from the table behind him. Maybe if he'd
smash it through the window it'd do it, but that would have been a little bit
exaggerated, he concluded. He prayed for the coffee to never stop running so
he'd never have to turn around and face Thomas. "I don't know what you mean,"
he tried, voice flat.
He heard the chair screech on the floor, but Thomas hadn't gotten up, just
turned towards him a little more, maybe. "I mean you telling me you're not in
for it but then let your brother dick you up all night."
Okay. Window, change in plans - you'll have to go. Sorry, coffee machine.
"Thomas, we-"
"Don't you dare, Sam; I am not dumb, okay? Blond, yes, but not dumb. Oh, and
also not deaf."
Staring-contest results: Sam one, coffee zero. He ran Dean's order over in his
head, tried to decide what would make sense to do next - the eggs or the bacon
or being swallowed by the groundless pit underneath himself?
"Oh, but now you're silent, huh? Nothing to say, Sammy?"
The coffee was almost done. Shit. "I-I'm- I'm sorry, man," Sam tried, hands on
the counter, stepping from naked foot to naked foot.
"Say that to my dick, Sam! … Actually, yes, really do that. Come here."
"Wh-what?!" Spinning around, Sam got to see the last bit of movement that
resulted in a half-naked Thomas on a kitchen chair with his cock in his hand.
Thomas frowned like Sam just asked a really stupid question, which kind of
offended the boy, since he thought of it as quite accurate, actually. "You
heard me," Thomas demanded, carefully starting to slide his palm up and down,
"Come here, now."
Confused, worried, Sam frowned; eyes flickering between Thomas' face and his
slowly filling dick, heart pumping. Oh man. Why did it always have to be him?
"But. Dean really wants his breakfast." Another try. His last.
Thomas grinned, sexy, naughty; Dean's grin. "He can wait. Now lemme feed you my
dick, sweetheart." He nodded towards his lap. "Come. Here."
The sound he made reminded himself of an unwilling kid who was asked to do its
chores. That was a pretty inappropriate comparison and he was ashamed of
himself even before his knees were carefully placed on the floor. He made a
painful grimace, gasped in some air while Thomas's dick pressed into the corner
of his mouth. "M-my knees-," he started but was immediately shushed by Thomas
who pulled down his sweatpants and let them pool around his ankles so Sam could
rest his knees on it.
"Better?" Thomas asked and Sam could only react with as much as the beginning
of a nod before his mouth was stuffed without further wait. His first idea was
to pull back and scold the guy for his boldness, but a firm hand on the back of
his head successfully stopped him from doing so. Mumbling a few curses, Sam
gave up on it and submissively started bobbing his head, eyes sending an angry
glare upwards before slipping shut. "Yeah," Thomas sighed, sinking down into
the chair a bit lower, "way better."
Time went by strangely slow. Maybe due to lack of sleep or still being dizzy
from the constant coming and going of orgasms; Sam didn't feel like exploring
the possibilities. It was unlikely for them to be so lost, without any
schedule. Only one task - wait here until we get back. No rules whatsoever. No
limits. Yes, very unlikely indeed.
Taking his time and without really thinking about it, Sam's mouth worked wonder
after wonder on and around Thomas' cock, sucking and lapping with eyes closed
and lips slack. It was only when he successfully deep-throated the whole thing
without gagging that the process got his full focus. Wow. His dick stirred in
his shorts in interest, his sore ass aching in the best way possible when he
thought about how he must look right now, on his knees and sucking dick like a
professional. Thomas' tiny sounds reached him now and his big hands roaming
over his head and through his hair was more praise than he'd needed to get
really into it. Actually, he was so into it that the sudden clearing of a
throat somewhere behind him had him choke so badly that it ended in a not-too
harmless coughing fit.
"Wondered what took you so long." Dean staring down at him like this somehow
wasn't sexy anymore at all. Sam would have loved to answer, to defend himself,
but he could barely catch his breath right now. "Classy, Sam. Real classy."
"You sure you're in the position to judge?" Thomas' and Dean's glares found
each other and, no, Sam was absolutely sure that last night's peaceful dinner
had only been a very vivid hallucination.
Staring - and totally judging, yes - Dean said nothing for a while, long enough
for Sam to halfway recover. The boy didn't dare to speak though. "I'll take my
coffee," Dean started, slowly, voice flat, eyebrows raised, "and then I'll go
for a run. You two do… whatever. Don't care. Go ahead." He gripped the mug from
the machine and gave the other two a last forced smile, waving the mug into
their general direction. "Knock yourselves out."
Sam didn't watch Dean leave the room or went after him to explain himself.
Whatever lie or fairytale he'd probably had come up with would have only
resulted in even more sour words and looks. His stomach growled and cramped
like the neglected thing it was. He still didn't care.
"Your brother is an ass," Thomas concluded, brows furrowed tight. His fingers
braided themselves into Sam's hair again, scraped the skin underneath for
comfort. Sam didn't react. "Man," he snickered, stroking his by now merely
halfway interested cock, "nothing kills the mood like a jealous bitch like
that, huh?"
Sam's lips curled in anger as he finally glared up. He then swatted the playful
hand from his head. "Shut up."
Guilt cutting through his insides like a razor only helped a little with
distracting Sam from the rough and sudden grip and lift and spin. He had only
blinked once but when he opened his eyes again he lay flat on his back on the
kitchen table; Thomas' hands pressing down on his shoulders, his dick digging
into the crack of his ass through the thin cotton shorts he was wearing. Sam
didn't dare to move.
"I don't mind sharing," the blonde explained, low and calm, "as long as I
actually get my share."
Frozen between wood and flesh, Sam's eyes flickered back and forth between
Thomas' eyes. A short silence followed.
"… If you don't want me to do this anymore, just tell me. I won't be mad."
"N-no," Sam muttered, shrunk and tiny again, like when they had manhandled him,
wrestled down to the floor and on all fours. Sickness could turn into arousal
in the blink of an eye, the sound of a word, the beat of a heart. He knew that
by now. It still scared him.
"'No' what, Sam?"
"No, uhm, I- I don't wanna stop it with you, I mean."
"Your brother will give you shit for it." The guy sounded more and more like a
worried parent. Not that Sam had ever experienced anything but worry in the
form of screaming and yelling very loud the repetition of rules they should be
aware of and mind all the time… but still. He had gotten an idea from what his
various classmates had complained about.
"I know."
"Seriously, I really don't mind your brotherly dicking-around-thingy. I just."
He cleared his throat. "I just really don't want to end up on the wrong side of
some gun's barrel, Sam."
Sam threw him a pitiful look. "I know, I. I'll talk to him." His hand came up
to softly cup Thomas' cheek. The guy looked a bit confused at first but then
clearly had melted when he leaned into the touch. "It'll work… somehow. I'll.
I'll think of something." He offered a tiny smile.
"Man." Even the sigh was so similar to his brother's that it made the whole
situation feel very Skinwalker-gone-wrong. And there was that smile again, just
to top it all off. Of course. "You're really pretty desperate for our cocks,
aren't cha."
Instead of thinking of a halfway working excuse, Sam simply accepted the kiss.
Running in a forest where a Wendigo was hustling in hadn't actually been his
brightest moment… but anything was good enough as long as it got him as far
away from those two as humanly possible in the current situation. Dean had to
put his whole concentration into watching out for the Wendigo and not tripping
over more or less giant stones or roots. In the end, when he arrived back at
the cabin, he had forgotten about any other human being on Earth all together.
Still out of breath, he peaked inside. Nobody to be seen. Faint music playing
in the living room, the smell of tobacco and weed heavy in the air. Dean rolled
his eyes. He knew that CD.
Tired steps into the living room gave him a good view of his little brother
spread out on one of the couches there. And by spread out he meant one naked
leg dangling from the back and the other one from the front, the rest somewhere
in between but in no way any less awkward or relaxed. Sam hummed quietly along
with the song, wearing the same shirt and shorts from earlier.
"Hey." He was close enough to touch, so he did. Fingers brushing through
unbelievable soft waves of hair, he absolutely didn't care about how he must be
smelling or how sticky or tired he was. As long as he had this, he would be
okay.
"Hey," the boy parroted, tilting his head backwards into the cushions. A slow
slide of eyelids offered Dean pupils blown so wide he almost reached for the
holy water. "You back?"
"Yeah," Dean muttered, not mocking his brother for the useless question since
he had the feeling he wouldn't really understand that now. "You havin' fun?"
"Lots!" Other smiles could be this wide but there was only this stupid face
that produced the most perfect dimples along with it. Dean had done research on
that. Nope. No dimples like Sammy's dimples.
He tried to be serious but that stupid smile just bled on him. A stray drop of
sweat found his way down is upper lip and Dean sucked it in greedily. "He
shouldn't give you this much."
"'S not much," came the protest along with a lazy whole-body-stretch that had
Sam's shirt ride up above his belly button. Dean tried not to think about when
he had last seen him arch his back this hard until Sam's arm reached around and
placed itself neatly around his hip.
"Strange, seeing you like that," he muttered, fingers circling along Sam's
hairline like he wasn't human but a dog that without his petting would throw a
big tantrum.
Sam frowned. "Half naked and fucked out?"
"High as the Empire State building," Dean corrected.
"'M not that stoned, Dean." Visibly relaxing under his brother's fingers, Sam
let his head lull to the side and eyes slip closed. The steady rub and roam of
fingers along the line of his boxer briefs Sam could obviously definitely feel
underneath the running shorts wasn't exactly fair to a pulse ragged from
exercise already.
"He gave you the weed in return for earlier?" If being an asshole would get him
somewhere here, he'd take the chance.
And it worked. Sam's eyes blinked open again, tight and serious. "What's your
problem?"
As if the boy didn't know. "He's my fucking problem, Sam," Dean muttered,
taking another step closer so his groin almost touched the back of his
brother's head, fingers still deep in his locks.
The annoyance in Sam's voice reminded of the last weeks and Dean really didn't
like hearing it back. "Dean, what does it matter?"
"Matters a lot."
"No, doesn't. I fuck whoever I want, and you do too, so don't even start to-"
"So you want to do it with him?"
Sam just stared up at him.
"Huh." That was new. His fingers stopped, just grabbed and stayed still. His
stomach had reminded him not too long ago that a run on a cup of coffee wasn't
exactly too nutritious but now it felt like spinning on a whole new level. "So.
What?" At this point, he couldn't have saved his sourness even if it had meant
his survival. "You his boyfriend or what?"
"Dean!" Sam sounded like one really embarrassed teenager feeling uncomfortable
under his mother's nagging. Which was so accurate it was almost painful. "We
just. I just like it with him, okay? 'T feels good with him; great. What do you
care?" The pout was cute but the words were wrong on too many levels. Sam
must've still been conscious enough to know that, keeping in mind how low he
kept his voice. "Not your boyfriend either."
Even without another drop to suck from it, Dean put his bottom lip between his
teeth and bit down hard. He tilted his chin upwards, eyes leaving his brother's
face and hopelessly searching the room for anything but nothing. His fingers
slipped free from the safe grip of Sam's hair and Dean turned his body away
from his hand to make for the stairs.
"If you can't accept that - alright, just stop shoving your dick up my ass!"
Dean halted halfway through his step. Didn't look back yet; not for that, nu-
uh. He heard Sam stir in his position, maybe getting up on one elbow and
throwing real nasty looks into his direction.
"Easy as that, Dean. Easy as fucking that. Isn't it?"
Blink-182. Yeah, that was the name; Sam was blabbering about them and how
"cool" they were all the time but no way dad or him would let the kid let any
motel room's stereo blast with that filth. Their music had class, at least;
yes, it was about love and sex as well but not like that, blatant and just…
just rude. Dean just started getting an idea of how much bad influence that
stuff must have had on his brother the past few months.
He turned again, without really being aware of it; big steps, one, two, three,
and he was back where he had left the kid, stubborn and turned on his back
again, arms stretched out over his head like a giant neon sign spelling "easy
prey". Fist back in his hair, he made sure of Sam's full attention before he
spat his words. "Sure, Sam. Sure. Maybe if you'd stop wiggling it into my
general direction twenty four seven?"
Helpless, Sam could only hold their stare, face tight, both eyes and mouth;
maybe from the pain the grip on his hair left him in. Nostrils flared, cheeks
flushed, Dean didn't exactly know what to expect from his brother.
"I jus- I. Why do you have to make it so complicated?" he muttered.
"How is this anything but complicated?"
"It really isn't," Sam insisted, eyes slowly turning into this damned puppy
version he knew always, always worked, "I like it with him and I-" He
hesitated, like it'd hurt to say the words out loud. Dean knew exactly how that
felt, which was why he never got himself to do it.
He swallowed and that was way drier than he had expected it to be. "Both of
us?" he whispered.
Sam nodded in silence.
"Want both of us?"
"Yeah," Sam huffed, eyes bravely locked upside down with his brother's.
Big words, even bigger meaning. Being "unfamiliar" with something like this was
an understatement for Dean. His fingers in Sam's hair relaxed a bit as he felt
a new wave of sweat building up at the back of his neck.
"'S just as long as we're up here." Whispered like a secret, hands reaching for
his hips and finding them easily, held by warm palms like a promise. Soft,
because he knew about Dean's fragility, how scared he could become, how badly
he needed strict patterns and rules in order not to fall apart in the endless
space in between. Knew so much about him that it shouldn't be possibly real.
"'S long as dad's gone. Okay? Like. Like another reality or something. Like
vacation from real life. Yeah?"
He had Sam blissfully humming in no time as soon as he picked up his scratch of
fingernails on scalp. "Yeah. Okay." Murmured back, other hand reaching forward
to cup his brother's cheek, Dean gave in. Sam smiled, eyes closed, teeth
showing, and he traced the dimple he could get his thumb on with knowing
brushes. "Okay."
"Cool," the boy grinned, leaning in the touch he was given, and flexed his
fingers wide over Dean's hips. His eyes slipped open then. "So. Can I suck you
off or what?"
Blinking way more than necessary, Dean tried to ignore how extremely weird and
hot it was to hear something like that from his kid brother. "Shit. Sam." A
nervous laugh because Sam wouldn't make fun of him for it. "You're gonna kill
me, kiddo." It wasn't an exaggeration and both knew that. Didn't stop Sam's
grin from spreading even wider and even onto Dean.
His shorts and underwear were tugged at before Dean could even form the words
"I should shower first". Sam just kept pulling them down, humming a quiet "I
don't mind" before biting his bottom lip in a way it made Dean's mouth water
and his other hand slip from hair onto other cheek, both together sliding down
neck and along collar bones. "Dude. Filthy."
"'S all your fault." As if he'd done it his whole life, Sam grabbed his dick in
one smooth flick of his wrist. Dean stared down in wonder, both because wow,
how was it even possible to get it up again so soon after last night and this
morning?, and damn, he hadn't even noticed how and when he'd gotten hard enough
to seriously stab Sam's eye out with it. Unimpressed, Sam slowly slid his palm
up and down the twitching shaft and had Dean shudder against his other hand,
still firmly on his hip. The way he glared up at Dean, face halfway covered
with cock, sent another shiver right after the first.
"Since we came back, you two keep messing with me like you fuckin' own me."
Man, there must be a law somewhere that made it illegal for someone to be so
chilled with a pulsing, veiny dick right in front of their face and words like
that on their tongue. Dean just knew. Cause anything else would be just
illogical… not that logic played any role in his life anymore the moment Sam
lapped at his balls, head tilted back as far as he could get, but damn, fuck,
it had Dean's knees go jelly in zero point something seconds.
"Every time I feel like I can think again, you just. Just. Fuck." Another lap
and something like a suckle and Dean's eyes slipped shut while he had troubles
keeping his legs from giving in. Sam spoke again and his breath and lips
carelessly hit Dean's balls as if Sam didn't even care they were there: "Gonna
get my brains pound out or something." In perfect tandem, his fist squeezed and
his mouth sucked and Dean almost fell down on him; steadied his now hunched
over position with his hands flat next to Sam's head on the armrest. He almost
was able to retain his composure until Sam decided to repeat his movements over
and over and over until Dean was struggling for his shallow breath. Eyes
rolling back into his skull so hard it hurt, he wondered what to curse more -
the fact he let this happen or the fact he hadn't let it happen earlier.
Content noises from underneath his groin told him Sam enjoyed this, God knew
why. Dean let his thoughts wander back to their room upstairs and what somehow
happened there in the past hours, the way he had given up control and just had
taken, head empty, sticky baby-brother-hair in his face and baby-brother-ass
around his dick. It wasn't bad, right? Not when both liked it? 'T wasn't like
that night, nah, Sam had consented, right? Offered this, even. But he was on
drugs and still underage and oh God okay yes maybe he should have shoved his
nuts down his little brother's mouth earlier because goddamn the kid was a
natural at it.
The short period between Sam letting go of his sac and going for his cock left
Dean with uncomfortable awareness of surprisingly cold air on wet skin, but oh
was he rewarded for these few seconds. No idea how but Sam took him halfway in
and even managed to bob his head with what looked like incredible effort and
easiness all at once in this position. Dean dared to squint down through his
lashes and groaned something that should have been a "fuck" but didn't quite
make it. Neck, endless, stringy neck, Adam's apple bulging obscenely from the
heavy bend, fat bottom lip framing his cock. Experimentally, Dean rocked his
hips forward, resulting in a gagging noise and whole-body-jerk from Sam, both
his neck and belly convulsing once or twice, then calming down again. He tried
once more. Sam shifted slightly but that was it - maybe except for a soft moan.
The vibration running through his cock like that encouraged Dean to repeat,
slowly slide in and out his brother's mouth and the beginning of his throat,
watched the cockhead become more and more visible where his eyes were glued to;
just another bulge in this thin neck, marked with his very own bites and
hickeys. He shivered at the rush of these young memories and couldn't help but
run his fingers right over their evidence, felt Sam shudder from it and brushed
them again; left the boy moaning.
It was hypnotizing, watching his own movements and their consequences like
that, being one hundred percent conscious about what it fucking did to his
Sammy getting face-fucked like that. A usually so clumsy hand wrapped tight
around the base where his mouth didn't reach yet showed more profession than
Dean would have ever expected it to have to offer. It was only when Dean's gaze
slid lower down Sam's body - because a drop of sweat falling from his nose had
the precious tummy stiffen in surprise - that he got a taste of how much
exactly Sam was enjoying this here. A dick so eager and hard that it strained
the poor old boxers, tip leaving a sticky, wet spot right underneath the hem of
it… yeah, Winchester material. "Touch yourself," Dean ordered without much
thought, voice so raw and quiet that he could still clearly listen to these
wonderful noises he was obviously able to strangle out of the boy.
Sam whined when his own fingers grazed over the impressive tent in his shorts,
thighs twitching dangerously and then falling open just a little bit more, not
caring one single bit how presenting and vulnerable he was like this. Or maybe
knew but trusted Dean so much he didn't fear it, which made it even hotter in
the older one's eyes. Dean's hips worked, his eyes plastered onto where Sam's
fingers shyly tugged and brushed. There never really was enough money and
definitely not for something as trivial as underwear or socks or clothes in
general, so certain objects were worn and washed and handed down until they
literally fell to pieces on their own behalf. The boxers currently being
drenched by Sam's precome were exactly that and in the good middle of the last
stage.
Cotton so worn out it was absolutely see-through once it came in contact with
liquid usually left from Dean's property into Sam's, since Dean was seeing
girls and did care what they saw once he stripped down, didn't want them to see
more holes than fabric; wanted labeled, tight elastic instead of loose seams.
And Sam was just a kid. A kid who didn't need to care about its underwear
because nobody would see it for a few years to come. Proof of innocence,
unconsciousness about sexuality and its actions; and these were white, white,
out of all the possible colors they had at hand - and how the fuck had this
color managed to even survive their endless circles of bad and chaotic
laundries?
Both boys panted, Dean shamelessly through his mouth while Sam could barely get
enough through his nose, mouth stuffed to the hilt and windpipe worried thanks
to the bend. His fingers on his own dick were so careful it soon had Dean's
patience snap, grunting a "Do it right Sammy, come on" that fulfilled its
purpose with a quick grab around clothed but already twitching cock. Sam whined
at the friction of his own palm, bucking his hips and head, sent Dean's dick
deeper and his eyes flutter shut in bliss. "That's it," Dean panted, hips
shoving forward with more force so that Sam gagged again from both the
intrusion and pace. His belly contracting again under the heaving of his
stomach, his hand on Dean's cock became pretty unnecessary pretty quick as Dean
bottomed out after another few thrusts, leaving it searching and then finding
his brother's fingers on his neck blindly. Another handful of thrusts and Sam
stopped heaving, relaxed visibly, body like a pool of water spread out beneath
Dean. Wet fucking noises filled the room along with the stiff tell-tell sound
of cotton in between two layers of skin. And of course that shitty music. Thank
God Dean's brain had stopped listening to that long ago.
"Take it out," Dean demanded, fingers playing with both his brother's Adam's
apple and fingertips, "Jerk it properly. Take off your shorts."
He wasn't exactly happy when Sam fought free from his cock but the desperate
gasp for air made it excusable. Sam coughed a bit before rasping: "Can't. I'll
ruin the couch." The words hadn't even really hung in the air before he nipped
at Dean's cock and swallowed it right back down.
Dean groaned and shoved in to the hilt, welcoming the heat and wetness that
seemed to have been created only for him and his cock and this exact activity.
"Why not, huh? Come on."
At his words, Sam's other hand travelled down his body so he could peel his
dick out of his boxers easily. In both of his fists it looked rather short -
but Sam's hands were huge after all. Dean could totally see where Sam's growth
was going and everything but his jealousy about it was a big fat lie; the
mockery and the teasing and all the ugly lies and pranks Dean had put the boy
through for his own amusement these past few years. That nobody would want him,
lanky and stick-like legs and arms, long like an octopus's and at least as wavy
and bendy and clumsy as that; a kid's dick, prick, wiener, whatever; a kid's,
stupid boy's, tiny whiney freaky Sammy's. But now there it was, veiny and thick
and a steady flow of new and newer pearls of precome beading at and running
down the tip, cut foreskin like his own being pulled back and forth right in
front of his eyes by impatient hands that looked so young and stupid like this,
not at all like when they were holding a gun or knife or were coated in blood.
No. This was Sam, little Sammy, jerking off like nothing else but this here,
the two of them on this couch, existed, lost in pleasure and all the monsters
and horrors of the world and their lives forgotten. His Sammy who swallowed his
cock like a goddamn treat, not caring that he had been sweating like hell
during his run and not showered since yesterday morning and oh fuck he had
fucked him with this cock, without condom or anything, right up his-
"Fingers, up your ass, now." Dean barked the words and, no, didn't care how
much like a savage or, worse yet, John he sounded. He watched Sam's fingers
twitch and felt throat muscles contracting around his cock - but it didn't
happen. His neck snapping back, he felt stupid, ground his teeth and grabbed at
Sam's shirt. "Come on," he hissed, but still nothing, "Jesus fucking Christ!"
The punches he earned were okay, throwing himself halfway over the couch and
his whole body weight on his sore legs was worse. And it all was worth Sam's
body heat underneath his own and especially around two of his fingers. Sam
fought hard to get free, pinned down by Dean's dick up his throat and his chest
on his hips; but Dean liked the feeling it gave away and was too amazed by the
wet- and softness and- 
"Jesus, fuck, Dean; STOP!" The kid got too strong when Dean didn't look,
actually managed to push him off. Still on his knees over him, Dean let him
pull his fingers free as well. "I-I'm- It hurts, just. Can't we just…? God."
Sam's stuttering was enough of an indication of the face he must have made, way
more ashamed and insecure than with his brother's dick in between his lips, and
how fucked up was that anyway?
"Okay," he heard himself say, Thomas' and probably his own come sticky in
between two digits, rubbing them against each other as if this was a test,
"Okay."
Sam's lips returned along with a shy sigh; God knew from which one of them.
Stupid. Stupid to be this possessive. To be this crazy over being replaced,
overshadowed by someone else, to get his brother's attention stolen - and
stolen was what it was, no discussion. His fingers pressed down where they
weren't wanted but he was careful, soft, soaked cotton barely shoved aside
(enough room for everything in these boxers anyway) and, yes, ruining the
leather. Dean had the slight idea that Thomas wouldn't care too much.
Minutes or moments brought heavier suction, deeper rolls of hips, more eager
probes of fingertips. It wasn't like Dean wanted to hurt or punish, no, it
wasn't like that. There just was something in his head, this tiny, damned voice
from two nights ago that told him that he belonged here.
There was no fight when Sam pushed him off once more, softer this time, hand
under the cotton together with Dean's since Dean forgot to think or breathe or
smell anything else but Sam. "At. At least use lube, jerk."
Pushing in deep was allowed after a short climb and search and return, slick
and easy, a bit cool to soothe raw flesh. Both gasped for air but Sam didn't
complain, let Dean stare and finger and ghost his breath over where two hands
were frantically working. A hand on cock worked wonders, yes, yes indeed. Dean
made sure to remember that for later.
He could have put his other set of fingers around Sam's cock instead of
grabbing and pulling his thigh up his body and more open like this, could have,
but didn't. Sam's moans around his dick and the quickened movements of his hand
told him it was a welcomed decision.
He had tried anal before, God, sweet Laura knew (and Stephanie from Toronto;
oh, Stephanie), but it had never been like this, this vulnerable and raw and
soul shattering wrong. With Sam clinging to him like this, his fingers or his
dick, it was like a direct line to his heart or brain or both. It turned off
all sense Sam usually tried so desperately to make of everything, as if this
was a magical button to push in order to make all worries vanish. Addicting.
"Come," Dean muttered, ignoring the hits of knuckles against his chin with each
frantic stroke under thin cotton. With his eyes closed in bliss, he still
managed to crook his fingers just right to draw a whimper from somewhere
underneath his crotch. Of course. He had made this body grow. If somebody knew
how to own it right, it had to be him, him and nobody else. "Come, baby. Come
on."
Surprisingly, it wasn't not embarrassing to shoot first, no, not with this
amazingly sticky body writhing underneath him, especially not with this one
blessed hand somewhere between his balls and taint. Not with Sam.
The kid followed soon, shaken by his convulsing tummy once more with Dean's
come hitting the back of his throat, then by what must have been the millionth
orgasm of these past days; at least that was what it felt like to Dean by now.
Hot liquid shot through boxers that turned completely see-through like in a
cheap wet-t-shirt-contest right past his ear while all Dean could concentrate
on was the painful pull on his fingers, knuckle-deep hidden in angry pink.
It took a lot of strength to somehow land next to the couch and even more to
pull himself away from his brother. Both on their backs, calming down, music
and oxygen and sense slowly returned into Dean.
He stared at the ceiling for another song or two, absolutely aware of the fact
that Sam was doing exactly the same on top of the couch. An absent wipe of
fingers over shorts later, he sat up and left for a shower upstairs without
another word.
He should call dad.
Between scrubbing his armpits cleaner than clean and throwing the last batches
of bacon into the frying pan, Dean remembered that maybe he indeed should. Just
to see if everything was alright, if dad needed help, how much longer it would
take. The longing to do it burned under his fingernails like the note of Sam's
absence in the living room and the knowledge that he wasn't in their room
either.
Dad hadn't allowed him to call. He'd be the one calling or there'd be no call.
What and who Sam was doing was Sam's business. Easy as that. Dean wouldn't be
the jealous girlfriend or something. Girlfriend, pah. Yeah. Right.
The bacon was gone in contrast to soft noises from upstairs, the creak and
movement of a bedframe over wooden floor like nails to a chalkboard. Mixing
together with the image of John being alone and tied up and bloody in some damn
cave about to be served as dinner, this wasn't exactly healthy. No, it was a
rather healthy idea to get away, or better yet, upstairs, the new pair of
sweatpants absolutely not tenting by the time Dean reached the door he and
every forest animal on a three mile radius knew his brother was getting banged
behind.
They didn't even close the door correctly. Dean's throat tightened up at the
thought of John doing something impossibly stupid as not covering his tracks
correctly and his brother holding on to Thomas like he had done last night or
this morning or all these past years. One of his hands found its way to the
front of his pants, and okay, maybe yes, yes, there was something going on
there. Just checking though, no intensions or distraction, just making sure Sam
was okay. He had been sore, right? Man, why did he agree on it then?
With his head and back heavy against the wall behind him, Dean could easily
identify the different noises, tell apart their breathing of course; Sam's
whimpers and Thomas' more or less discreet dirty talk here and there.
He should call dad. But this, the waiting, the absolute meaninglessness of any
effort he was willing to go through to help - this was his punishment.
"Dean? A-are y-you- ah, God, Thomas, I-"
And this punishment, he deserved.
Dean peaked around the doorframe and into the room. It was Thomas', obviously,
curtains pulled closed, smoke heavy in the air and walls plastered with posters
of way too current musicians. Sam didn't belong here, nowhere here. Dean swore
to God he tried not to look too pitiful like an abandoned and sulking dog,
tried not to let his eyes get stuck on the spot of the bed this angle allowed
him to see. He really, really tried.
"Heya, big bro. Wanna join in?"
He hated Thomas. The way he spoke, the way his long strands of blonde hair
stuck to his forehead and neck, the way it was swinging in front of his face
with every thrust. The fact that he had Sam's shoulder wrapped in a tight,
giant hand and that it was Sam's butt his hipbones dug into. Everything.
Dean shook his head, palming the bulge in his pants.
"Huh," the Donnovan laughed, and yes, Dean hated the sound of that, too, "Just
watchin' then? Classy."
A whimper from Sam, something like a hiss, made Dean's cock bump softly against
his fingers. He swallowed before he produced a somewhat grunting noise that
hopefully counted as enough of an answer. There was no further attention paid
to him, so it obviously had worked.
Even in the dim light of the room, the bruises were terribly visible. Sam
really looked bad, his skin a diary of what was done to him by four hands and
two mouths. Hopefully they'd all have faded by the time John would come to pick
them up or there would be a very interesting lie to come up with. It looked
really bad. Really. He'd never wanted him to look like this, to make him look
like this. Bruises and bite marks didn't exactly tickle out memories from the
happy department of Dean's memories. What had gotten into him when he had put
the blue and purple there? 'Your dick,' Sam had said earlier in another context
and maybe it was right in this case here as well, when Dean was being honest
with himself. It certainly liked the view it got right now, after all.
Sam's whines and the rhythm were off, both boys seemed unfocused somehow even
though they were clearly into it. Judging by the smoke here, they weren't
exactly sober at all. The ideas of John finding out about Sam's not so drug-
free definition of "having a good time" and Sam maybe being into the pain he
clearly must be in right now mixed into some not too healthy mind-cocktail
again. Taking another step into the room didn't exactly help but this way it
was easier to look out for Sammy, right?
"Y'all right, Sammy?" he heard himself say.
"H's getting' dicked alright," the unwanted answer came from the unwanted
person in this room, cocky and terrible and so much like himself it made Dean
urge to find a heavy, dumb object to smash Thomas' face in with.
"Sammy?"
"'S- I-I'm, i-it's okay, I- Dean-"
Another jerk on the inside of his pants. He blinked down at his brother who was
bent over on his knees and elbows, his clumsy hands gripping the sheets. All
naked they looked strange, like animals, foreign. Sam was so bony. Had he
always been this bony? Considering these past few growth spurts, it wasn't too
untypical, maybe.
Another step towards the bed. There was no other possibility, really, when Sam
called his name. Being the only one fully clothed and sober in this filthy
room, Dean felt like the awkward one of them.
"Still just observin'?"
"Shut up, Thomas."
"Alright, alright, whatever, man."
His fingers magically found Sam's hair as soon as he was close enough to reach
it. Dean could see the goose bumps the touch created down his brother's neck,
swallowed at the shaky sigh.
When his knee hit the mattress, Thomas' hands got hold of the seam of his
shirt. Dean let him pull it up, hands returning smoothly back on Sam's head and
to the front of his own pants after holding them up so that his shirt could get
ripped off him and thrown halfway across the room along with an excited laugh
from Thomas.
Some two fingers found and pinched his nipple which Dean never thought of as
especially exciting but his teeth started chewing on his bottom lip
nevertheless. Sam got hold of his sweatpants and pulled them down far enough to
let his dick spring free. Not fully hard though, it was just too early after
the last time, but oh, Sam's breath and soft lips on the tip still worked
wonders. Another hand on his other nipple, thumbs pressing them back into his
pecks, along with Sam kissing and lapping his sensitive cockhead made Dean's
eyes flutter shut. A content noise from deep down his tummy with both hands
buried in his brother's hair - yes, this felt alright.
They stayed like this for a while, Sam's slim body rocking heavily with every
bump he got from behind, soft noises around Dean's cock that he was taking care
of as carefully as Dean's fingers scrubbed his scalp. Even though Thomas didn't
slow down his hips, his hands on Dean were following a different pace, didn't
seem connected to the rest of his body. Dean didn't look him in the eye or
looked at anything at all, really, not even when the hands roamed up his chest
and collar bones and neck and pulled him forward like this, big and secure and
sweaty. The kiss was sweet, wet. He tasted the tobacco and pot and Sam, only
thought of Sam when he allowed his tongue to take a dive into the foreign
mouth.
Sam started getting too eager then and an attempt to swallow down his cock made
Dean push off both boys with an unwilling noise that sounded too high for his
own likings. Kicking off his pants entirely, he climbed back on the bed then,
shoving Sam up by his shoulder. There was no need for words, he simply puzzled
and shoved and ground until he was lying on his back, Sam straddling him, their
chests resting against each other, Thomas somewhere behind Sam, legs spread so
that Dean's fit in between. It was smooth, as if they had done this a million
times, not awkward or weird or clumsy. His brother's forearms and elbows
digging into the mattress around Dean's head, his face securely pressed up
tight to his cheek and ear, Dean kissed where he had bitten and sucked before,
light as a feather, along with soft brushes of fingertips over edgy bumps of
his spine and piercing shoulder blades.
Like this, Sam's noises went directly to his eardrums. Each panting or gasp or
the beginning of a word that would never be ended rocked through Dean's body
like a tiny, dirty secret. There was no friction against his dick in this
position but these sounds alone were enough for it to slowly turn slick. But
Dean didn't plan on going to town, not really. It was just too soon and he was
tired, tired from the run and the greasy breakfast and too little sleep these
past few years. Too starved from being this close to Sammy, to just hold him
and feel him breathe and be alive and the peace and comfort that simple fact
could give him. Dean shoved their cheeks against each other, his strong but oh-
so often too useless arms nestling in over his brother's shoulders and neck.
"You like it when it hurts, Sammy?" Just a whisper, just meant for Sam, not
Thomas, not anyone else in this world.
A choking sound from Sam, a sob, high and strange. When Dean held him like
this, Thomas got more leverage to pound into Sam. Dean knew. Sam just learned
it.
It was enough of an answer, really. Thomas' cussing grew stronger, filthier, if
that was even possible, but all Dean concentrated on were the broken syllables
spilling from Sam's mouth. He closed his eyes and shoved Sam back harder onto
Thomas' dick and Sam's mouth slipped open first and around the skin beneath
Dean's ear next. While his breath was punched out of him like this, Sam kissed,
suckled there, and if Dean had thought the blowjob earlier had been amazing,
then how was he supposed to call this here?
He craned his neck, gave access, made his skin tight over the tendons, eyes and
lips pressed closed, dick throbbing against his sticky treasure trail in a
desperate try to get off. But this was not the goal, this was better than any
goal. Without really paying attention to what he was doing, Dean muttered his
brother's name, felt his and Sam's heart stumble then and realized, realized
along with the sharp pain of his amulet digging into his pecs and probably
Sam's as well.
Around him, it got louder then with Thomas speeding up and eventually stilling
after what must have been his climax. But it was not like Dean cared for
anything but Sam's heartbeat he could feel on his lips and his tongue and the
drumming of blood in his ear that was pressed against his cheek.
Some come and lube dribbled down on his balls when Thomas pulled out and
collapsed on their left. Sam didn't move though, rubbed his mouth and nose
along Dean's neck and Dean wondered if it was possible to come from this alone.
"Don't you wanna…? I mean…?" Sam's voice was as destroyed as he looked like.
Dean felt like crying at the sound of it.
"I-I'm. I'm just tired, so. Y-you, you should. You should get some shut-eye as
well. Come on." Exactly like they had done a million times after playing
shortly before bedtime or wrestling or whatever had allowed Sam to climb into
Dean's lap, Dean rolled his brother over onto his side next to himself, poor
body spent and lax. He hadn't come. It was no wonder after such a short
recovery. Dean knew what it felt like.
Sam pushed his hips out so that their slick but slowly flagging cocks touched.
Both twitched and Dean got hold of Sam's hand before it wrapped around both of
them. "Sleep, Sam, seriously. Sleep." He made his annoyed voice, the tired
voice, the "leave me alone, bitch" voice; the only type of rejection he allowed
to himself when it came to Sam.
The thin bones in his fist relaxed, sank to the bed and stayed there. Good.
"'Kay," merely a soft sigh but a word, "Wake me… when… yo…u… w…an…na…" The
words faded into soft breathing, indicating sleep and safety and life.
Dean managed the weakest flash of a smile before he dozed off as well. His
fingers didn't leave Sam's wrist.
"Your daddy says hi."
They had let Sam rest some more. Dean had let Thomas talk him into a beer on
the porch. Sitting on the bench where he had talked with Sam yesterday felt
like a betrayal now with it being Thomas and not him. The mentioning of John
had him snap his attention away from that in an instant.
"He called?" The wind around them felt chillier all of a sudden. "What'd he
say?"
"Nothin', t'was my dad telling me that." Could the guy at least hold his beer
in another manner than him? Geez.
"Your dad? He called?"
"Yes, cause in contrast to yours, mine doesn't suck ass." Thomas cheered in
Dean's direction but earned nothing but gleaming hate. Nevertheless, he took
his sip.
It took some painfully anticipating moments for Dean between hoping that Thomas
would spill on his own or wanted to be asked for it. He should have known from
the start.
"What else did he say?"
"'S great. Awesome. Wonderful. No drunk football team captains to be seen."
"Ha ha."
"'S what he said, man. Wendigo didn't show up again yet, it got precautious.
Maybe three to four more days. He said he'll call again when they're done."
His eyes drawn far away over the forest, Dean's stomach knotted up in that way
it always did when John was out on his own. Of course he was the glorious John
Winchester, head of the family and everybody's hero, but Dean knew he needed
him, needed Dean to be around and help and look out for him. That he was the
only partner his dad really accepted, even appreciated. It was his place to be
- and he wasn't there. Because he had failed. The knots grew tighter.
"So. With the way back, that's, what? Like, maybe nine days max?"
Another sipping noise from where Dean couldn't see. "Guess so."
Dean nodded to himself. Okay. That was a number to work with. A pretty clear
number, even. Clearer than "I gotta check this case out real quick, boys;
here's some money for maybe two weeks", at least.
Beer was singular and plural in one word for a reason. While the sun was slowly
hiding behind far away mountains and the air grew moister and crisp around
them, Thomas loudly added another six-pack or two for the shopping trip he
announced to make tomorrow. The bacon was gone, after all, and they were
generally running out of food. Maybe he'd even stop by his high school friend
who'd get them another bottle of something very clear to drink.
Dean started talking after the third bottle and together they worked out
somewhat of a meal plan for the next days. If he was good at something next to
killing monsters, it was living on a budget and planning ahead. Not that they
needed to think in small patterns; Thomas assured Dean his dad was making
enough in a month with his "side" job as a carpenter to feed a whole football
team on a daily basis.
Thomas showed him around the living room then, presented all the precious
pieces his father made with his own two hands and almost didn't show off with
the countless antlers which, if the information was to be trusted, was at least
one third his contribution to the cabin's interior. In return, Dean introduced
him to the Impala, let him sit in the passenger seat, even.
They talked and swooned over certain techniques or tiny movements that could
make or ruin a whole project, in turns, for several hours. When Dean laughed,
honestly laughed at some very stupid hunting accident Thomas described to him,
it was like a dam collapsing. By the time the six-pack was finished, they were
both respectably drunk and friendly towards each other.
"We sh'ld wake up lil' Sammy, don't cha think?" Thomas' body heat was almost
too much so close next to him on this couch, at least along with the fire place
being lit like this. It was maybe nine by now and completely dark outside.
"God, no, let him sleep. Have you seen the kid? Leave him be."
Thomas smiled at Dean in the way a very stupid, very drunk friend would look at
an as well as drunk but not as stupid friend. Friend. Dean let his head drop
backwards over the back of the couch and watched the roof spin.
"Why not? He likes it. Being used, I mean."
"He's a kid, Thomas, he doesn't know what he wants. At least not what's good
for him. You have been fifteen once, right? Now tell me you knew what you
really wanted back then."
"Well, I wanted to stick my dick into pretty people, and look where I am now."
Dean frowned and gave Thomas a side glance. There was no need for him to sit
this close. On the other hand, maybe having someone not related and on top of
that not female this close was good for a change. It sure as heck didn't happen
that often. "Yo' dick leaves my brother alone, Thomas, or it will get to know
me."
"Are you threatening my reproductive organs or are you flirting with me,
Winchester? 'Cause I'm getting some real mixed up signals here."
Along with a snort of laughter, Dean almost knocked the bottles from the coffee
table. "Knife to balls sounds flirty to you? And I thought I was the one with
the issues."
"We all have our pack'ge to carry, I guess," Thomas sing-songed, almost empty
bottle swaying useless in his hand. "So, what now?" If he looked like this
every time he put on his presumably "sexy smile", then good God, how had he not
absolutely creeped out every girl he had ever dated? "Want me to 'carry your
package'?"
Dean squinted to his side. The alcohol had absolutely nothing to do with his
urge to puke all over himself right now. "Dude. You don'twanna go there."
"Says who?"
"Says I."
"You sure?"
"Surer than the fact that if you move just one inch closer-"
"Alright, alright, alright! Geez!" Thomas held up his hands as a sign of
innocence and slumped back into the couch with a bored expression. "Just tryn'a
be nice here. Romantic with the fire 'n all this shit."
"Dude. Stop."
"And here I was, thinking you were in for fun."
"If there are dicks involved, then no, thanks."
Even though he was totally staring the ceiling down, he felt Thomas' stupid
glare on him. "You do know how ridiculous this sounds coming from your mouth,
right?"
"What? I'm not into guys."
"So Sammy's a girl for you, then?"
Dean blinked. "… That's different."
"Oh I guess it's 'different' alright."
"I don't care if you understand it or not."
Thomas snorted and Dean could hear the beer slosh against the bottle. "'Cause
you're such a pro at understanding it yourself, huh?"
He dropped his head back forward and stared into the flames across the room.
The yellow-orange image was connected to terrible memories Dean didn't want to
think about. When he swallowed, it was too dry to be comfortable. "'S there any
beer left?" he slurred, scanning the room and not seeing any.
"Jup."
As Dean turned his head to see where Thomas was about to draw said magical
bottle from, it wasn't a glassy bottleneck that met his lips. He went fully
awake and sober for a terrible second or two, hands already pushing up against
Thomas' chest to get him off him - until warm, fizzy beer flooded his mouth. It
tasted strange like that, mixed with another dude's spit and his tongue;
absolutely not comparable to a body shot of tequila from some hot chick's
bellybutton. Dean squirmed but Thomas kept insistent despite his own blood
alcohol level, despite his lazy mouth and overall relaxed expression Dean was
forced to stare at.
By the time Thomas withdrew from him, Dean's hands were curled to fists against
the other boy's chest - but didn't punch. He stared and panted, watched Thomas
slowly blink open and flash him a smile, swing the bottle in his fingers like
the smoothest motherfucker that ever walked this planet.
"There's more where this came from," he was told.
Dean licked his lips without noticing.
He never really liked tequila, to be honest.
Sam came to in Thomas' room. He was alone with the sunlight flooding through
the curtains. Wondering how long he had slept, he sat up, absently rubbed his
wrists. Still sore but way better now.
The sound of a vehicle pulled him fully awake; he quickly put on some
sweatpants he found somewhere on the floor and ran downstairs, shoved the front
door open-
"Heya, Sammy!"
His heart made a relieved sound that escaped through his mouth as a sigh at the
sight of Dean and Thomas, joyfully descending the Donnovan's truck.
Dean looked up at him with a faint smile while Thomas opened up the trunk.
Sam's eyes widened at the ridiculously gigantic amount of food. With the two of
them, this was some weeks' worth. They could never afford this much but Thomas
was handling the stuff so easily, was so relaxed around all of it… Sam felt
guilt creep up his throat. Thomas had spent so much just because of the two of
them…!
"I'll help with that!" he shouted down to them and was halfway down the porch
when Dean assured him with a bright smile and bulging biceps' that they could
handle it themselves.
Like mules, they hanged and packed themselves with plastic bags over plastic
bags and it looked so effortlessly how they ascended the stairs. They looked
great, young and healthy in the sunlight like this, both in t-shirts due to the
warm temperatures, jeans and sneakers; just like normal teenagers. Normal.
Sam's heart ached.
Thomas pressed a kiss to his cheek as soon as he was at the door, cooed a
"Mornin', sweetheart" and pushed past Sam.
He stared at his brother in wonder when he was in front of him. "It's so much!"
he whispered.
Dean just smiled, broad and honest. Their elbows touched when Dean made for the
same route as Thomas.
He wanted to say "I've never seen you eat this much" but stayed quiet while his
fingers played with his own hair. Sam was too uncertain to do it with his
brother's even though they were lying on their bed together, cuddled tight and
bathing in the sunlight that fell from the window. Still only in his
sweatpants, Sam was painfully aware of how bulged his stomach looked but Dean
was patting it soothingly. If it didn't feel this good, he would have reminded
his brother that he wasn't, in fact, five years old anymore.
Dean was dozing off, his stomach stretching the t-shirt with his free hand on
top. All Sam could do was lie next to him and take the image in in wonder. The
fact that he had barely (or never?) seen his brother sated like this even
though they had been practically taped onto each other all their lives poked
into his consciousness - and it hurt.
He knew very well that Dean had always given Sam everything - and then some. If
there had been only one meal left, it'd been Sam's. Dean wouldn't even think of
the possibility to keep it to himself, always flashing this carefree expression
when Sam would eat while Dean's stomach had to stay empty. Again. When Sam
thought about it, there barely had been moments he really had been hungry which
became more and more impossible to imagine now that he got older and understood
what was going on.
"You're a good brother," Sam whispered and brushed his fingers through Dean's
hair; soft and without product, a view probably no girl ever had gotten. He
felt stupid for being proud of that fact.
"Can I get that on my CV?" Dean groaned and then sighed at the soft petting he
received on his head.
"I'll put it in the next one."
Another content sound, then a smile. They were close enough for Sam to watch
Dean's pupils move behind his closed eyelids. "C'n I get a 'well hung', too?"
The smile bled onto Sam while he pushed closer to Dean and rested his nose in
his nape of the neck. "Anything. You can get anything, Dean."
Time lost most of its meaning during the following days. The sun's or moon's
level was its only indicator but not even their sleeping patterns obeyed to
those anymore; everyone went to bed or nap and then got up again whenever they
felt like it.
Somebody would always be up at the right time to dish out breakfast, lunch or
dinner and the others would help themselves later. Halfway between being asleep
and awake, Sam could always hear or feel at least one of them; pressed up or
above or inside of him or somewhere around the house where he would go until it
would end in that.
He climbed into Dean's lap when they were having a silent beer on the porch.
Thomas stripped him down while he was lighting a joint for both of them. It was
his favorite when they shared him; the best with what Thomas had told them was
called "spit roasting" where he was trapped in between them, one dick each up
his mouth and ass. Like that, he couldn't really breathe but had to and all he
knew that he came each and every time around the moment they pinned his arms
behind his back to make him practically immobile.
Touches rained down on him as in a constant haze, as if this was just a dream,
a really fucked up but fuzzy and amazing dream. Their skins on his, Thomas'
lips and Dean's hands mapping out every single inch of his body as if it was
for their private collection. Everyone was raw or sore in at least a handful of
places at day two; Sam wondered if his ass would ever recover or if his knees
would carry him through any more hunts after so many times of bearing two
people's body weight at the same time. With time, he stopped worrying about
either problems.
Between day three and four, Sam remembered to ask about John and Matthew. The
idea that this here could end, would end, left his heart pounding in his chest
against his brother's while he whispered his question into the darkness of a
moonless night. The answer of one to three days made him want to cry.
Whispers against Dean's ear that he didn't want to leave, didn't want to just
go back to driving through state after state instead of doing just this, just
being peaceful and happy and not caring about the world's problems for just
once in his life, tightened Dean's grip around his back.
That night, Dean sucked him off for the first time. It was unskilled, stupid,
hasty, and there were teeth. It didn't stop Sam from hyperventilating and
coming into his brother's mouth after a dozen seconds. Dean didn't mock him for
it.
They actually never talked about anything of it. More often than not, Sam
didn't even know what set both of them off like a set of firecrackers, what
drove him into his brother's arms and wrapped his fingers or mouth or ass
around his cock. One second it was like it had always been, then there was just
- just one simple look or a touch or a gust of wind through a nearby pine
outside and they would be all over each other, all silent but so needy it made
it hard to breathe. While Sam's bruises slowly started to fade, the trails his
nails left on Dean's chest or back gleamed at him through the darkness at
night, laughed brightly in the sunlight.
Sam would kiss and lick them while Dean would be deeply asleep, brush his
fingers and nose and lips over his exposed back, all naked and vulnerable, just
for him to see. Inside of his chest, his heart felt big enough to explode.
By the time Dean started rimming him, licked each and every last drop of come
or lube from his ass with so much patience and skill that it turned Sam insane,
he became painfully aware of the fact that they hadn't actually kissed yet. It
didn't change their smooth but increasingly stinging dance of mouths over each
other's skin, over freckles and moles, along hair lines and over earlobes. One
time when Sam had smoked especially much and Thomas was eating him out
especially enthusiastically while Dean was jerking him off especially perfect,
Sam had taken all his insanity and fucked-up-ness and tried to do it; really,
actually, tried, turned his face the right way and they were so close the kiss
was already tingling on his lips - but Dean turned away then.
Awake in between them afterwards, listening to their soft snoring, he tried not
to feel completely out of place but Dean's words that kissing was actually
"worse" than having sex, meaning more intimate, more special… It really fucking
hurt. He had seen Dean kissing girls, which, logically spoken, meant that he
had liked them more than him, right? He even let Thomas kiss him even though he
officially "hated" the guy, gave him nasty looks over plates and bottles and
Sam's shoulder and grabbed or shoved him unnecessarily hard when he had to. But
with Sam, wouldn't it have been different; at least a little more sympathy than
that?
Maybe he was just a pity-fuck. Maybe this here was just an alternate universe
with a time limit in Dean's eyes, meaning that the moment they would hit the
road again after this, everything would turn back to "normal" and the cabin and
all that happened here would never be brought back up again like so many other
terrible memories that lived inside of them. Maybe all this would soon be just
a memory.
He clung to Dean even more then whenever the situation allowed it, held him so
tight it must have hurt, almost left bruises, but Dean never complained. Dean
would look out for him, took the one-too-many joint from his fingers or tucked
him into bed after unhealthy amounts of sleepless hours. When Thomas didn't
stop insisting on trying double penetration, Dean managed to (almost) calmly
talk him out of it; perfectly aware of how terrified Sam was about the idea but
at the same time too shy and maybe dangerously curious to clearly say "no" to
it.
Thomas had never stopped being both absolutely rough and adorable with him,
kissed and licked him everywhere without a hint of shame or reserve while he
rode Sam's ass with so much force that to him it was a miracle how he got out
of their sessions without a single anal prolapse ever. Afterwards, Thomas would
turn into a complete puppy, all cuddly and too clumsy for his grown-up body.
He'd play the guitar or introduce Sam to some musician he adored on his
battery-fueled Walkman, let Sam read to him from some book he was indulging in
that day or told him about his high school years, his countless relationships
or flings and parties he had been to. Being taken in by a stranger like this,
having him open up to him freely like it was okay to talk about things, to
share even those unnecessary details and topics that dad and most of the time
even Dean scrounged his nose at… It was new. It felt right. A short glimpse out
into a halfway normal life with normal problems, memories and experiences Sam
himself had never gotten and would most probably never get. Some were shared
over Dean's snoring body, over kisses on said body from both of them while they
giggled like schoolgirls, halfway due to pot and halfway due to simply being
able to do it without anybody calling them out on it.
As much as he craved this freedom, the possibilities and charms of "normal", he
melted away in the suffocating grip of his brother's arms, the intimacy only
Dean could give him without a single spoken word. The way Dean could lead his
fingertip from scar to scar with exact knowledge about how it got there, how
many tears it had squeezed from Sam's eyes, how many hours of guilt for letting
it happen had burned in Dean's stomach - nothing could ever replace this.
Maybe it was okay if they'd never kiss. Maybe even this, all of this, turning
into some misty brain-fog one would only recall in the darkest and loneliest or
horniest hours, would eventually be okay. Maybe if he would tell himself this
over and over and over, it would eventually work.
At night five they still hadn't been out of food. Dozing with his head in
Thomas' lap, Dean curled up next to him with his face in his armpit, Sam felt
the thought rise in his head that this would, in fact, be the probably most
comfortable death he could ever expect to get.
Thomas' phone rang.
Blinking through the heavy smoke surrounding them, Sam's ears shut down. He
didn't want to listen. A nudge to his cheek didn't change that.
"They got it. Three days for the way back."
"Three," Sam murmured, blind to the colorful posters on the wall, not feeling
Thomas' fingers and lips in his hair, deaf to Dean's even, slow breathing.
He wouldn't cry. He wouldn't.
***** Farewell, stupid cabin. *****
Chapter Summary
     It's time to leave. (Lyrics are from AC/DC's "Problem Child".)
     Special thanks to onlyherefortheslash and raeofthelight for beat-
     services. You saved me!
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
The last blunt burned down too quickly. As Sam watched its ashes fade from
bright orange into grey and black, he didn't dare to imagine the weight of
being sober adding up to everything he was about to turn back to once John
would come back. Despite the respectable amounts of empty bottles, piled up
ashtrays and washing machines after washing machines worth of pillows, curtains
and rugs - cleaning up the house wasn't nearly as hard as joining Dean on the
morning run. Letting training slip for over a week was noticeable after so many
years of sticking to it. Sam cursed, sweated, cursed some more, punched a tree,
needed a harsh slap on his upper back and countless encouraging shouts from his
brother to make it. Throwing up once and tripping a handful of times wasn't
considered "not making it" as long as you reached the finish line, after all.
Yeah. Being sober sucked.
Dad would be raging if he found out how far they had gotten off track. Well,
him, at least - Dean hadn't missed a single run. But the beer and food showed
on him as well, the absence of strength exercises only adding up to that. Dad
would be raging. There would be hard weeks ahead of them.Sam grew restless and
didn't care to hide it, got impatient and whiny and violent with the remaining
time slipping through his fingers like sand. Even the smallest hint of a
thought about the time going tick tick tick without a chance to make it stop
was enough, a stare into one of the other's faces when they got lost in bliss
or their own thoughts. He grabbed them then, dug his nails into their skin just
to have the illusion that this here was real, that it was in fact happening,
and that he could still put his fingerprint on it if only he wanted to. He bit
them where he could reach, pushed his forehead into their necks until he
thought he'd bruise from their Adam's apples. It made him mad that they held
him down even harsher then, madder that he wanted them to. Whatever proof he
could collect, every memory - he would not let it pass him by.
The worst was that he would never get this again, could maybe get high or a
decent gang bang or what not with some random dudes, but could never be as
close as he could be with Thomas and Dean. It was humiliating enough with them
despite them being the only ones seeing him like that; drooling, in complete
loss of control, handing himself over to them. Dean, he wouldn't lose
completely of course - and would this be a curse or a blessing, huh? -, but
Thomas? Uncle Bobby was practically family, and how often did they visit him?
There was no way Sam would get a chance to see Thomas for the next couple of
years… and where was the guaranty that the kid wouldn't be mauled during that
time?
And Dean. Oh, Dean. As soon as dad would appear in the front door, Dean would
be all over him again, stepping into his footsteps, being his shadow, his
partner, soldier. There was no place for clumsy, stupid Sam in their team of
perfection and professionalism, no need for a teenager who would rather find
himself than the cure to a new horrifying spell or haunting. From his
classmates, Sam did understand the coldness, this stomach-twisting fact of
being out of place, not fitting in. But his family? The only two people in the
whole world he had left? They more often than not looked at him like he was a
freak.
Stupid Sammy said something strange again. Stupid Sammy needed X seconds too
many to put the rifle back together. Stupid Sammy stared too long at that skirt
or that book or that dog or that college ad. When would he finally grow up to
be more like Dean, more pliant, better working, harder working, stronger -
useful? Maybe that was the reason for dad's many hours of silence, of his
watching and cold eyes. Maybe he still had the hope for Sam to finally be
worthy of his respect he was oh-so willing to give to his youngest?
Maybe then, Dean would become even better as well. Once he didn't have to wipe
his little brother's ass all the time, hold his hand, give him his share of too
rare food. Maybe that was on Dean's mind all the time when he stared with his
eyes lost far beyond the Impala's windshield, the graveyards, the motel's
fence. When he sighed so heavy that Sam thought his bones would shatter under
another sound like that… maybe that was the sign. The sign that he wanted Sam
gone, have dad for himself, all the praise and love Sam knew his brother needed
and more than deserved.
Dean would ditch him. Not hold him like this anymore, maybe not even touch him
at all anymore; no more bearhugs or a pat to the back, the playful smack to the
back of his head. Make a stupid face and shove him away, call him a "Bitch" and
go to bars to hook up. He'd make Sam sit in a car reeking of some girl's
perfume and lipstick and condoms for thirty hours straight, in slick silence
and all alone on the backseat, lonely and horny and his ass still wet from his
own spit-slick fingers he had pushed inside of him in one spare minute he had
dug for himself in the bathroom, imagining it were someone else's. It would be
over, the feeling of hands on his stomach and thighs and in between his legs
and in all the places Sam's body had been taught it needed to be touched in or
it would burn up in two hours' time.
It wasn't fair.
After separately taken showers, Sam banged Dean more into the mattress than the
other way around, dug his fingers into the other's chest, bit him carelessly
where the amulet had put its mark some time ago. It was stupid, yeah, he was
stupid for imagining being replaced with a random blonde who'd ride his brother
better and wetter and so much more satisfying than he probably ever could.
Maybe that was the reason Dean barely held him back, just grabbed him and
fucked up into him harder. Just to show Sam that he was right, that Dean was
used to this kind of stuff, getting this close with people, that it didn't mean
jack to him. This was usual business. Sam was usual business - replaceable. Sam
bit down harder until Dean yelped and had to pull him off by his hair, just to
have the searing pain numb the agony of that terrifying word.
When both were done, Sam got up and left to search for both Thomas and a
respectable amount of weed to soothe his anger with. He smoked it on his own on
the west porch, knees pulled up tight to his chest. If he would be lonely again
soon, he might as well start getting used to it now.
Thomas had suggested ending it big, with lots of drinks and pot like it had
been during the first night - but Sam had declined. Instead, he was lying on
Thomas' stomach now, totally sober and totally desperate. "I need a beer," Dean
had said, dry and maybe a little bit disgusted. Maybe he had seen the
desperation in Sam's face, the little flick of his fingernails against his
knee. Maybe his brother, after all, couldn't do this here sober. Yeah. Would
make sense. But Sam would take what he could get.
"Fuck, I'll miss you so much," he was told to his mouth. Feather-soft touches
made him rock back into his brother's hands and face. Sam kept his eyes shut.
Maybe like this, he could intensify the sensations, make them stick to the
swirls of his brain a notch more effectively. "Maybe I'll just keep you two,
huh? Lock you up? The cellar is kinda comfy, you know." He kissed the silly
mouth shut, snickered into it, tongue swirling to dig it all up and swallow it
down deep enough to keep, hold on; oh God, yes, how Sam would have loved that
to happen.
Dean's mouth worked slow and with precision. He had this way of sucking and
lapping in a rhythm perfectly matching the contractions it sent Sam's ass into.
Sam wished that they would never have gotten the chance to synchronize this
well. This was addicting and Sam would always search for a comparable thing as
long as he'd live, that much he was sure about. Knew that he'd never find it.
Nowhere he could reach, at least.
It was pathetic how Sam was unable to reach behind and simply grab Dean's hand,
let him know how he was feeling. But there was nothing worth telling, nothing
that could have been put into words. The mere thought of Dean knowing exactly
what he was going through right now left Sam on the edge of tears.
Thomas slipped in first, thick and nice and snug like it was supposed to be,
hot and perfect and oh fuck, Sam was really gonna cry once this was over,
wasn't he. The first few thrusts were always so magical, making him all soft
and pliant inside, forcing him open until he was on fire and out of his mind.
They were so talented with that. It took them a mere handful of seconds to make
Sam forget about it all, all the "what if"'s and "maybe"'s. Maybe there was a
way of finding something remotely comparable. There must have been something,
anything.
Dean's hands were gone, his breath distant, but Sam knew he was watching close
by, maybe touched himself. He had watched him watching them before. Like a
predator, waiting for his turn with the prey, calm and sure, like he always
was. Controlled. A way of being that Sam really hoped he would master one day.
With time and intensity coming and going, Sam could get lost deeper, just swam
along with the stream. Thomas' hands all over him, holding him, brushing
bruises and scars, bumps and flatness spread warmth in all the right places.
Eyes pressed shut, he had buried his face in this nape of the neck in front of
him, big and secure only for him. A too distant and too close sip from a bottle
brought goose bumps down his spine and an ache to his heart.
They went on and on until Sam thought his legs couldn't take one more second in
this position. Thankfully, Thomas finished before that became the case. At this
point, everyone was drained and orgasms weren't as intense as in the beginning
of their strange vacation. Nevertheless, Sam rode Thomas through it, held his
head up to watch him come undone, make that pretty pout and scrounge his nose.
Remember this, remember this, Sam told himself, remember his voice and his face
and the warmth he leaves on you,inyou.
In between the few seconds Thomas pulled out and Dean pushed right in, Sam
could barely take a breath. Surprised, he gasped for air but instead had it
punched right out of him with quick, jabbing slaps of hips. Fingers dug into
his flanks, his hips, matching the fading bruises perfectly. They grabbed hard,
desperate, and it started to sting even before Sam collected enough composure
to move back against his brother. Not once did he turn to take a look over his
shoulder.
Sam let Thomas kiss him until he had no spit or feeling left in his mouth and
tongue, shoved back up against his brother's hips until his ass cheeks were
bright and red.
It wasn't enough. Would never be enough. But this was as good as it would get.
Their fathers expected to return before nightfall. They didn't disappoint.
The sight of John approaching the cabin left Sam grabbing his own elbow for
support. He could sense Dean tremble somewhere in the same room but he didn't
feel like turning to look at him. He didn't get the impression that he was
wanted to do so, anyway.
At the door, Thomas and Matthew hugged in such a loving and heartwarming manner
that Sam felt even shittier under his own father's strict and ice cold eyes.
Their shoulders bumped into each other when John pushed past him through the
door. Behind him, he could hear a faint "Hi, Dad" without a response to it.
There would be hard weeks ahead of them.
Matthew produced a bottle of good whiskey from somewhere Thomas hadn't dared to
pick it from. After the last days, Sam didn't feel like celebrating anymore. At
least not with the two adults around.
They were told how it had gone down, how they had tracked down and finally got
the beast. Sam watched Thomas light up with his father's excitement and cheer
and laugh silly and carefree with him. It looked so easy for him to return to
his father's side, to his normal life, to acting like nothing spectacular had
happened while they had been separated.
John's tumbler emptied and re-filled so fast that it scared Sam.
The only anchor he had in this room where so much had happened, where so many
things had been said for the first and probably last time, was his knee leaning
against Dean's.
They had gone to bed and slept and got up all neat and tidy, without a word or
touch or anything. It had been for the better. It would have been even better
to forbid Dean to climb into the shower with him. He wouldn't have cried if he
had been alone in here. Probably.
But what could he do, really? Who was he to decline this? This was a sick joke,
all of it, and Dean knew that, knew exactly that Sam would be weak and tremble
and fall. No matter how old he was, he would break as soon as his brother would
take him into his arms. Maybe this was just a prank to Dean - luring him in and
then dropping him like that, like his girls, easy and without a matter in this
little world. But at this point, who could judge him for holding his hands out
even for this pitiful guesture?
"I don't want to leave."
Against Dean's chest it didn't matter how boiling or freezing the water from
the shower head was; Sam didn't even feel it against his brother's skin that
had become his second one somehow, had always been somehow, but wouldn't be
anymore once they got out of this room and out of this cabin and into the
Impala.
Dean's hands on his back tried to soak up all the sadness like they always did
in times like this, despite his big brother being probably horribly thrown off
by Sam. Disgusted by what they had done, just like Sam had prophesied. That
road they had headed down seemed, in the end, too slippery to follow. Silence
was the answer to his soundless sobs, the humiliating sniffs accompanied by
soft brushes of palms over his nowhere near muscular back. Sam wondered if he
would ever become strong enough to get through things like this on his own and
wished he never would. Wished that Dean would always be right there by his
side, taking him into a hug like this, where everything else was irrelevant,
where-
"Boys, come on! Breakfast!"
At the sound of John's voice, so clear and low even from downstairs and through
the closed door, some noise slipped from Sam. He had so successfully hidden it
deep inside of himself for so many years now that it rippled through his throat
like barbed wire. A combination of all the pleads and begs and prayers that he
wished would be but never had been heard. Their hug got so tight Sam could feel
Dean trembling deep underneath his skin, deep like Sam's countless secrets, all
the words he never said out loud because they didn't need a mouth spelling
them, not between the two of them. But if it wasn't needed, why did it feel
like tearing him apart then?
It wouldn't be okay. No matter how Sam twisted and turned this, it was over,
done. It wouldn't be okay.
Sam softened his grip and started letting go of Dean, ignoring the splashes of
water hitting his face without the security of his brother's neck around it.
"We. We should-"
He didn't understand at first. It felt strange. So different from anything he'd
ever experienced when it had come to kissing.
There had been kisses that had him stop breathing, kisses that disgusted him so
much he swore to never try it again, kisses that left him so horny he could
have come into his pants untouched with another one, kisses that left him
starving for more for days and weeks to come, kisses that had him melt and
throw up and fly and drop dead.
And this kiss, it was all of it.
The lips against his own were soft, as soft as his body remembered (would
always remember) on his cock, his neck, his feet, his elbows.
Dean tasted sour from restless sleep, just like himself, water and spit between
their lips like silk or lube or oil, generating the most perfect slide of skin
over skin Sam could have ever imagined; or better.
Their movements were soft, careful. More tears built up in Sam's eyes, securely
closed behind his eyelids, kept in secret. He reached for Dean's face, both
hands holding him right there where he needed him to be, had needed for so long
without noticing when and how and why.
A short parting, rub of noses, stuttered breaths before another one. And
another.
Then, Dean was the one to bury his face in Sam's nape of the neck, left Sam
helpless and staring into neat, stupidly perfect white tiles.
"'S gonna be okay, Sammy," he heard, so low and quiet that the shower almost
overpowered it, "We'll. Somehow, I- 'S gonna be alright. Promise."
Sam could swear he smelled the chlorine from that motel pool when too-warm
droplets ran down his shoulder.
Hopefully, the awkwardly long hugs between Thomas and the two of them hadn't
been too obvious. There were no visible hickeys left on any of them; at least
nowhere the shirts and jeans didn't cover them.
"You gotta visit me next summer, okay? There's a great lake nearby. You sh'ld
see it. Topless chicks everywhere."
Everyone laughed politely. "We'd love to," Sam said without the hint of a lie.
It earned him soft eyes and a pat on his back. He avoided Dean's eyes with
determination. Otherwise, maybe, eventually, he would have fainted from
confusion and horror and butterflies. His death would be a pretty good case for
dad to solve, actually.
Of course, he had been too shocked to say anything or even look at Dean after
the shower-thing. Of course, it wouldn't have made any difference. Maybe his
brother's indifference finally started to rub off on him. Fucking finally.
It was a prank, after all. Right? It didn't make an ounce of sense, so it had
to, and Sam was just too stupid to figure it out already. As always.
The Impala's door fell shut with him seated in its loyal back, behind the
passenger's seat. It was not exactly like Sam wanted to be close to Dean right
now, but the chance to sit as far away as from John as possible was a big
factor in his calculation. The cabin looked awfully far away from here already.
Dean climbed into the passenger seat and halfway sniffled and sighed when his
door was closed as well. John claimed the place behind the wheel as if he had
never really left it.
Sam waved back at the Donnovans while Dean searched the glove department for a
map and John maneuvered the car out of its parking spot. Sam stared back over
his shoulder until the cabin was consumed by endless walls of pines.
When he turned back to the front, it was the same old play all over again.
Broad backs in silence, skilled fingers and hands where they were supposed to
be, on the important things in life, thoughts probably deep inside of the next
hunt or hint already.
"If you think I didn't smell the pot in there, you're even bigger idiots than I
thought."
Sam barely managed a tired grunt. Nothing came from the passenger seat.
"We'll talk about this once we're at Bobby's, boys. All of it. And if you think
you're gonna get the chance to think of anything but the burn of your muscles
for the next few weeks, then I have really bad news for you."
 
I'm a problem child
I'm a problem child, yes I am
I'm a problem child
And I'm wild
 
AC/DC roared alive on the same crackling tape as ten years ago. Sam hated the
way he knew all lyrics by heart since he could remember but loved how the loud
music made further talking impossible.
In the corner of his eye, Sam noticed Dean's right hand sneak through the
narrow gap between seat and door.
His heart stopped and tried to beat a thousand times in the same blink of an
eye. He grabbed Dean's hand without really thinking about it. The tremble of
his fingers must have been as absolutely audible in the car as the sound of
blood rushing behind his eardrums.
 
Make my stand
No man's land
On my own
 
It should have been criminal how perfect their fingers fitted into each other,
woven tight and secure. It absolutely was illegal in more than a handful of
states how it made Sam feel.
Dean's sweaty fingers thrummed along with his own wrecked pulse.
 
Man in blue
It's up to you
The seed is sown
 
Sam stared out of the window, slightly hunched over in his seat. The pines
flying by revealed more and more of a cloudy grey sky with every new mile.
Maybe.
Maybe it would work. Some magical, unknown, absolutely ridiculous way… maybe it
would work.
Chapter End Notes
     It was a long journey getting this story done (2014/05/23 - 2015/01/
     29) and I am happy you went down this road with me. Thank you for
     reading!
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!