Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/8689384.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Character:
      Sam_Winchester, Original_Female_Character(s), Dean_Winchester, John
      Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      Angst, First_Time, Alternate_Universe, Hurt/Comfort
  Collections:
      Sinful_Desire
  Stats:
      Published: 2011-11-14 Chapters: 17/17 Words: 22940
****** Snips & Snails & Puppy Dog Tails ******
by Sam1Dean [archived by sinfuldesire_archivist]
Summary
     Prequel to Stars, Strays & Saddle Oil. Just a couple snapshots of
     their lives growing up.
Notes
     Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally
     archived at Sinful-Desire.org. To preserve the archive, we began
     importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in
     November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted
     announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or
     know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on
     Sinful_Desire_collection_profile.
     Author's notes: There's no real underage in this story, but some
     implied feelings so if you're really sensitive beware.
***** The End Is The Beginning *****
Dean’s daddy is dead?
 
This is bad.
 
Sam’s dad had come in to tell him he was leaving the house to go and get Dean
because he was alone; because his dad was gone.
 
Dean had no mom either.
 
What was going to happen to Dean?
 
John had brought Dean in and laid him on the spare bed in Sam’s room and he
just lay there all curled up in a ball. Crying.
 
Sam sat in his bed hugging his knees to his chest. Freaking out just a little
bit.
 
Dean was a big boy, Sam had thought. Big boys don’t cry. Dean had taught him
that. Sam tried to imagine his daddy not being there and he could sort of do
it. Of course there was still a ranch and Mrs. Gooding still made oatmeal every
morning and there was still all his stuff, so he wasn’t sure if his daddy was
gone or just in the den not looking at him. This was a stupid game, Sam
thought.
 
He watched Dean shaking and heard him snuffling and something moved in his
little tummy and he felt himself unfold off his bed and his feet hit the floor.
Mrs. Gooding hadn’t washed his pjs yet and all he had left were the silly ones
with the feet. He hated the silly ones with the feet.
 
Silly woman.
 
He made his way quietly across the room.
 
* * *
 
Alone.
 
Dean was alone.
 
John came to his house and woke him up just to tell him he was alone.
 
What is a kid supposed to do with that? Dean had curled himself into a ball
making it easy for John to carry him all that way from their cottage to the big
house. “It’s okay boy.” John had soothed, but it wasn’t okay. No mommy, never a
mommy, but now no daddy. How could that be okay?
 
Dean only barely registered John carrying him up the staircase to Sammy’s room.
Not Sammy, not tonight. Dean just stayed in the little ball when John laid him
in the bed. Just stayed safe in his little cocoon and hoped that Sammy wouldn’t
wake up. When Dean didn’t hear anything he felt safe enough to let it go and he
cried. Great heaving sobs til he thought he would be sick or he would die
himself.
 
No daddy.
 
He never heard Sam come and was a little surprised when the bed dipped behind
him. He almost smiled to himself. Sammy hated those silly pajamas with the
feet. He was about to roll over and tell Sam to leave him alone when the little
hand just reached out and pet his hair. Over and over the little hand stroked
through Dean’s short hair. Soothing, comforting, not needy or annoying, just .
. . right.
 
It didn’t take long, Dean had cried so hard and had already been asleep, but
with Sam stroking his hair and his little voice saying, “Shhh.” over and over,
Dean felt himself drifting and finally he was asleep.
 
The rhythm was disturbing.
 
“Shhh.”
“Alone.”
“Shhh.”
“Alone.”
“Shhh.”
“Alone. . .”
***** Sleep Well Daddy *****
God, Dean thought, Sammy was so weird.
 
In all the time Dean had lived here on this ranch Sam was this needy little
kid, always with, “Dean help me.” or “Dean play with me.” But the next four
days Sam was just there. There’s no way the kid could know that it made Dean
feel better with him just being there.
 
Could he?
 
There were lawyers and the doctors who came to get daddy and then the men in
black suits to talk to John about funerals and Dean just sitting somewhere
quietly, all dressed in his good clothes. Mrs. Gooding would go by him in the
kitchen and rub his head, bring him juice, but she was helping with all the
adult stuff. She mostly talked to people on the phone; it rang a lot, and then
she would talk to John, quiet whispers that they didn’t think Dean was paying
attention to.
 
But little Sammy never left his side.
 
He didn’t whine about being bored or ask silly questions or even ask for his
own juice. Somehow Sammy set himself aside for all those days and focused on
Dean and what he was feeling. Little Sammy who had no ‘feelings’ of his own.
Suddenly Dean felt angry. All those people who thought Sam was just a selfish
brat, called him nasty and superior should just see him now. He was four, for
Pete’s sake, Dean thought. He should be bored and asking for his own damn
juice, not sitting quietly in a funeral home for a wake.
 
Then there was a weird twist in Dean’s tummy and suddenly he knew; Sammy was
special.
 
Special to him anyway and then another horrible thought struck him. What was
going to happen now?
 
* * *
 
Sam couldn’t go. He was afraid to go.
 
Afraid that if he went away, one of these men would come and take Dean away. He
had to go away, didn’t he? Isn’t that what happened to kids with no mommy or
daddy? Weren’t there special places for them to go? Why were Daddy and Mrs.
Gooding always whispering like Dean and Sam couldn’t see them? Sam couldn’t
understand them. That’s what he needed Dean for, one of the many things he
needed Dean for.
 
Selfish.
 
People always called him selfish. He didn’t know if he was. Didn’t really know
what selfish was, just knew how to be Sam. But how could he be Sam? How could
he be a better Sam without Dean there to tell him how?
 
* * *
 
No one likes a funeral, but John was pretty sure that this one was even worse
than Mary’s. Having to explain all of this stuff to Dean had probably been the
worst thing he had done so far in his life. Dean was such a brave little
soldier though and just listened to everything that John had to tell him
somehow processing it in his own way.
 
The real surprise was Sam.
 
John remembered the night that it happened, one of his first thoughts was
hoping that Sam could just behave for a few days. But this, this was more than
he had hoped and he felt a pang of guilt for thinking less of his son. He saw
something in Sam during those days, in a four year old boy that spoke of a . .
. strength to come, maybe even a greatness that John hoped he would actually
get to see.
 
When he had told Sam that he could stay home from the funeral home on the night
of the wake he stood to his full height. “No. Be with Dean.”
 
His father didn’t argue just got him dressed in his suit and expected the
worst. Mrs. Gooding sat between Dean and the coffin and Dean on her right, but
few people spoke to him. It was one thing to pay your respects to a man you
knew, liked, respected, but to see the beautiful sad eight year old boy he left
behind was more than most of them could bear. The hands from the ranch all
stopped and spoke to him since they’d ‘worked’ with him, but the women from the
village would all just look at him and start to weep.
 
Sam sat on his right silently waiting, somehow, until he was needed. When the
weeping women would really start to upset Dean, Sam would reach out for his
hand and hold it until Dean pulled it together. Dean wouldn’t hold his hand all
the time though, that was girl stuff.
 
John watched with a swelling pride as he saw Sam comfort his friend. Something
so foreign to Sam, yet he looked so comfortable doing it.
 
* * *
 
The funeral was quiet, mostly just the hands from the ranch and a few of the
ladies from the village. Sam rubbed Dean’s back as John and five of the hands
carried the casket to the graveside and then it was lowered into the grave.
John and Mrs. Gooding each took a rose from the arrangement that had been on
the casket and dropped it in. They all waited for Dean to do the same, but he
passed the flowers and from inside his jacket he pulled his bear; the one he
slept with, the symbol of his childhood, and dropped it in the hole. John
couldn’t blame the women for their tears as the breath hitched in his chest.
 
“Sleep well Daddy.” John could swear his little voice would be heard for miles.
“I love you.”
***** Drop The Other Shoe *****
Waiting.
 
What for? The boys didn’t know, but it seemed like the adults were waiting for
something.
 
Dean’s clothes and things were moved from the cottage to Sam’s room and he
tried not to notice Mrs. Gooding packing up his Daddy’s things. Dean tried to
get back to normal things and true to the things his father had taught him and
in his own boy way worked to earn his keep. He went up to the barns every
morning to put out water and feed for the horses. The hands started leaving
little chore lists for Dean along with the ones that John left for them. He
fetched the slop for the pig and fed the chickens and came to the kitchen for
more chores when he was done. Every time Mrs. Gooding would tell him that he
didn’t have to do anything, but he would insist. She would smile and pat his
head. “Okay honey.” And give him another job to do. She understood something
about boys after all.
 
Dean didn’t mind being at the big house. Mrs. Gooding was a better cook than
Daddy, after all, and they all ate together so he had company. He went back to
school the week after the funeral and John would ask him about it and if it was
going well. He would make sure Dean did all his homework checking it and
helping him if he needed it.
 
It was about two weeks later and Dean was feeling pretty good, considering, so
he was confused when one night he came out of their room to get a glass of milk
for Sammy. He stopped at the top of the stairs when he could hear John and Mrs.
Gooding arguing quietly in the kitchen below him.
 
“You’re getting too close to the boy John.”
 
“What do you want me to do Carol? Put him in the bunk house?”
 
“John you’re just setting yourselves up. Think about what it will do to Dean if
. . ?”
 
“So I’m supposed to let him turn into another Sam while we wait for the other
shoe to drop.”
 
“Why don’t you try pouring some of this affection on Sam instead?”
 
“Are we back to that?” Dean could hear frustration there.
 
“Sam is your son, John. He won’t respond to anyone but you or that boy and what
happens to Sam if . . ?” It seemed she couldn’t finish that thought.
 
“Don’t worry; I’m sure Sam will tell us what he needs.” And now he sounded
tired. “I’ll call the lawyers again tomorrow and see how long we need to wait
on this thing.”
 
Dean went back to their room totally distracted and not realizing he had failed
in his mission until Sam asked for his milk.
 
“Shut up Sam.” Dean snapped harshly, the conversation from downstairs muddling
things all up again. “Think about what it will do to Dean if . . ?” If what?
“What happens to Sam if . . ?” If WHAT? Dean found himself crawling into Sam’s
bed, Dean’s back to him.
 
“Dean, what matters?” Sam asked messing up the grammar of his grown up
question.
 
“Shut up Sammy.” This time sad and tired. He reached back for Sam’s tiny hand,
placing it in his hair. This Sam understood and started stroking Dean’s head.
 
“Shhh.”
 
* * *
 
Everyone was on edge and no one seemed to want to talk about it with anyone
else so no one knew why. Mrs. Gooding didn’t like that John seemed more attuned
to what was going on with Dean than his own son. Dean seemed more withdrawn
than at any time since the funeral. Sam was so tuned to Dean right now that he
just seemed to feed off that, but uncharacteristically had turned it inside and
wasn’t acting out. John, well Carol did know why John was on edge, but she
didn’t think he was giving enough credit to the two boys. She thought they
could handle it, but John just didn’t, and no one argued with John.
 
John had answered the phone in the kitchen while Dean was reading in the living
room for a history assignment. Sammy played quietly at his feet, never more
than ten feet from Dean anymore when he wasn’t at school. Somehow Dean knew
this call was important, he felt it in the room.
 
“Come on Silas, it’s been a month, how much longer?”
“Because this isn’t about me.”
“Well I’m not waiting anymore.”
“If that happens then you’ll earn your keep for an entirely different fight.”
“You do what you have to do Silas, but this ends here tonight.”
 
John disconnected the call and Carol looked at him with a bit of shock and more
than enough awe. “Does that mean what I think it means?” She smiled
tentatively.
 
“When’s dinner?” He didn’t answer her.
 
“About five minutes, why?”
 
“I need to collect my thoughts.” He mumbled as he walked out the back door.
 
She watched him go, her face now covered with annoyance. “Boys go wash up for
supper.”
 
* * *
 
“What does it mean Dean?”
 
“I don’t know Sammy.”
 
Sam’s eyes filled up and his tiny voice cracked. “Are you going away?”
 
“I don’t know Sammy.” Dean ground out.
 
“No!” Sam smacked his hand on the vanity hard enough that Dean knew it would
hurt later and he finally looked at the little boy. “Dean stays!”
 
Dean saw then what at least one of the questions meant. “What happens to Sam if
. . ?” With sudden clarity beyond his years, Dean saw what Sam had been doing
for the last month, his good behavior, his support, keeping under everyone’s
radar. All of it engineered to make sure Dean wanted to stay, that they weren’t
a problem so everyone else wanted Dean to stay. As much as this horrible
experience had shown Dean that Sam was special to him, he now saw how special
he was to Sam.
 
“It’s okay Sammy.” Dean wiped his tears with a cool cloth which took most of
the red from his cheeks too. “It’s going to be okay.”
 
* * *
 
“Come on boys.” John called from the bottom of the stairs. “Supper’s ready.”
 
John noted that there wasn’t the usual bounding for food that he had come to
expect and then he took in Sam’s appearance. “What’s the matter son?”
 
“He’s okay.” Dean answered. “He hit his hand and I think it smarts.”
 
John watched them walk to the table, Dean’s hand on Sam’s shoulder, guiding him
along and a shiver ran through him. Another feeling he couldn’t shake or put a
name on.
 
Mrs. Gooding had all their plates set up for them, her mouth still drawn in a
grim line.
 
Sam was still too upset to remember that he was trying to be perfect and let
out a little whine of despair when he saw his plate. “Green beans touching
potatoes. No beans and potatoes!”
 
Without prompting or even thinking about it, Dean reached over with his fork
separating the offending vegetables, even taking the beans covered in potato to
his own plate. The boys didn’t see the adult’s eyes meet across the table, but
even if they did, they might not have understood the unspoken.
 
“Boys, we have to talk about something.” John started but not meeting either
pair of eyes that looked at him. Dean’s soulful green eyes were steely ready
once more for bad news, Sam’s hazels full of fear. “Dean, you know that you’re
not actually related to me.”
 
“Yes sir.”
 
“So you understand I had to have my lawyer search for any relatives you might
have who might want to take you.”
 
At this point it became painfully obvious to John that he should have taken
longer to collect those thoughts. “No! No! No!” Sam started screaming slamming
the same small hand down on the big oak dining table. “Dean can’t go.” Tears
poured out of the little eyes blown wide as saucers. “Need Dean.” Mrs. Gooding
stepped over to comfort Sam but he threw her off pretty easily. “No! Need
Dean!”
 
“Sam!” Dean’s voice stilled the boy. “You apologize to Mrs. Gooding and then
you let your dad finish.”
 
“B-b-but. . .” The little one stammered.
 
“No buts Sam. Do it.”
 
His bottom lip quivered almost comically. “Sorry Mrs. Gooding.”
 
“It’s okay Sam.” She smiled. “Now let’s hear what your dad has to say.”
 
John couldn’t bring himself to be angry at his son’s out burst; it only
confirmed his own decision. “Bobby’s only listed next of kin was you, son, so
we had to publish a notice in all fifty states weekly for the last month.” Dean
nodded his understanding. Sam still sniffed audibly, not quite following this
bit. “Silas thinks that we shouldn’t be making any decisions for at least six
months, but I can’t do that to you Dean.” Dean’s head was spinning; he could
hear the blood in his ears. “I’ve decided you’re going to stay here with us
son.”
 
There was a pregnant pause at the table as it all sunk in for everyone. It was
finally Sam who broke the silence. Eyes wide in comprehension now. “Dean
stays?”
 
John chuckled. “Yes Sammy, Dean stays.”
 
And then there were smiles all around because rare as it was, happy Sammy was
infectious.
***** Growing Pains *****

Author's notes: About two years later. They boys are still working on
boundaries.
===============================================================================
“Why don’t you just go away?”
 
Dean sighed. Sam was becoming a major league pain in his ten year old ass. “You
need to do your chores the same as everyone else, Sam. Why do you have to fight
with me every day about this?”
 
“You’re not the boss of me.” Sam tried. At six he was becoming more and more
willful and sometimes just a little too hurtful.
 
“Since you’re such a little jerk, no one else wants to deal with you so I kind
of am.” Dean answered with just a bit too much weariness.
 
“I hate chickens.” Sam grumbled but picked up the feed bucket and started
throwing it around for them as Dean poured the slops into the trough for
Myrtle, the big pig. He gave her a pat on her big head as she came over for her
supper. “Why do you pet that big ugly thing?”
 
Dean sighed again, this argument too, one they had constantly. “Because
everything wants a nice pat on the head once in a while.”
 
“It’s just a pig.”
 
When Sam got in these moods there was no reasoning with him, so Dean didn’t
know why he tried. “Get Myrtle her water Sam; I’ll finish up the rest after I
churn the butter for Mrs. Gooding.”
 
“If she wants butter why don’t you tell that useless woman to churn her own . .
.” Sam coiled back from the sting of Dean’s slap across his face. He didn’t
cry, neither of them spoke they just stared, hard glares between children older
than their years.
 
* * *
 
“You need to slow down a bit Dean; you’re just going to make a big batch of
whipped cream if you’re not careful.” She smiled. Dean slowed his pace, but she
looked at the grim set of his usually cheerful little face. “What’s wrong
honey?”
 
“Nothing.” He snapped.
 
“Dean, it’s one thing to be angry, but don’t take it out on me or the butter.”
 
“Yes ma’am.” He softened.
 
Then Sam came into the house stopping in the powder room to wash his hands.
“Did you finish your chores Sam?” The housekeeper called out to him.
 
“Yes ma’am.” He clipped the words bitterly.
 
“Well do you want your snack?” She sighed heavily turning to him for his answer
noticing the hot red mark across his cheek. “Sam honey, what happened?” She ran
her hand down his cheek.
 
He shook off her attention answering tersely. “Boys at school.”
 
Dean’s stomach churned without anymore help. Bad enough he had hit Sammy, but
then Sam lied for him. Dean really didn’t want to get in trouble, but Sam lying
made him feel awful.
 
“Dean.” Mrs. Gooding was talking to him. “Did you know Sam was having trouble
at school?”
 
Dean wanted to tell her the truth, nothing he wanted to do more, but what came
out was, “No ma’am.”
 
* * *
 
Dean bounced the basketball across the court looking for someone to play a pick
up game at lunch period when he noticed the scuffle down in the south corner of
the school yard. He looked around for the yard monitor but when he didn’t
immediately see one, he didn’t go looking just dropped the ball and ran to the
fray. He notice a few of his class mates among the group cheering the fight on.
 
“What’s going on?” He asked one of the boys.
 
The boy suddenly looked uncomfortable when he realized that it was Dean which
automatically made Dean suspicious and he started pushing his way through the
crowd. Dean’s worst fears were confirmed when he got to the center and there
was little Sammy on the ground with two boys from Dean’s year punching and
kicking at him. Dean pulled the first one back and punched him square across
the face. He noticed that the boy already had the beginnings of a shiner and
not from the smack Dean had just given him.
 
“On your feet Sam!” Sam was still outmatched, but Dean’s commanding tone got
through and the next time the foot swung towards him, Sam caught the shoe and
twisted putting the older, bigger boy off balance long enough for Sam to get
his feet under him. Sam was big for his age so that the older boy wasn’t that
much bigger so with the odds closer to his favor, Sam started giving it back.
Before Sam could get too many shots in though, the yard monitor was finally
found and the fight was broken up.
 
* * *
 
When John Winchester arrived at the school, it was with equal measures of
annoyance and pride that he met his boys in the principal’s office. He did not
encourage them to fight at any time since it only led to principals’ offices or
jail, but he was glad that the boys were standing up for each other. He
listened patiently while he was told that Sam did not technically start the
fight, but had apparently been wise to the other boys so since no one was
really hurt, did John mind if they boys only did detentions. No he didn’t and
he would deal with Sam at home.
 
The lecture from John all the way home about Sam’s mouth getting him in worse
and worse trouble the older he would get droned on so that Dean was feeling
sorry for the kid.
 
“Even if Sammy was mouthy, it shouldn’t take two of them to teach him a
lesson.” Dean defended quietly.
 
“No Dean, you’re right. And they were older and the principal is going to talk
to their parents, but I’m not going to put them out of school for this.”
 
“But Sam’s just a little kid. They were my age.” There was a tremor in Dean’s
voice. “He held his own pretty well I think.”
 
“Come on Dean.” John said sternly. “Fighting isn’t the way to do it even if you
do it well.”
 
Sam sat in the back seat quietly. Were they both proud of him? He thought so,
but he didn’t dare ask or they’d just start yelling at him again. They made it
home and Mrs. Gooding cleaned them up, tears welling in her eyes, but saying
nothing.
 
They ate quietly and then the boys did their homework and bath time before
going to bed early; part of their punishment.
 
Early bed time only meant laying in bed awake.
 
“Dean?”
 
“Yea Sam.”
 
“Why did you stand up for me today?”
 
“What are you talking about Sam?” Dean asked, a bit shocked. “I’m always going
to stand up for you.”
 
“But last week it was you hitting me.”
 
 
Even in the dark, Dean felt the shame color his cheeks. “Yea, about that. Sam
I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, but you just made me so angry.”
 
Sam shrugged though Dean couldn’t see. “That’s all that happened today.”
Sniffle? “I say stuff and people get angry at me.”
 
Dean was suddenly sad. “Sam don’t you know when you’re going to piss someone
off?”
 
“Sometimes, but not til I’ve already started.”
 
“Maybe you should work on that.”
 
There was a long silence during which Dean thought he might have drifted off
but then out of the dark came Sam’s tiny voice sounding suddenly no more than
his six years.
 
“Dean?”
 
“Yea Sammy.” Dean smiled.
 
“Will you help?”
***** One Bridge At A Time *****
The hall from the principal’s office to the door of the school through the
gauntlet of staring wide eyes and deafening silence had nothing on The Green
Mile.
 
“I thought we talked about fighting.”
 
“Yes sir.”
 
“You promised that there wouldn’t be anymore.”
 
“No sir.”
 
“Do you want to tell me why this time?”
 
“Not really, no sir.”
 
“Stop calling me sir.” He said as they cleared the front door of the school.
 
“Sorry John.”
 
“No more Dean, really.” John faced him over the hood of the truck.
 
Dean could hear the veiled threat that John was trying to make there and could
barely contain the smile that threatened to break from him since he knew that
veil or no, John would never do anything to him. He wasn’t his dad, and he
wasn’t his son, but in some ways John and Dean were even closer. Certainly
closer than John was with Sam. That made Dean sad on a lot of levels, but damn
it, if Sam would just not be so Sam all the time then they could probably put
it all right.
 
“How was practice?” John asked leaving all attempts at threats behind.
 
“I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be playing.” Dean tried.
 
“Why? You love football.”
 
“I’m just not that good.” He lied. Sports were like falling off the proverbial
log to Dean. “I’d rather be riding.” Might be easier.
 
“That’s crap. You’re a great player and you can’t spend all your time riding.
You’re not going to give your whole life to the ranch like I did.”
 
And suddenly Dean wondered if there weren’t as much veil on that threat as he
had just thought. Maybe Dean had misunderstood what his place was here. Maybe
the ranch was just for Sam and once John felt that his obligation to Dean was
fulfilled he would be sent to make his own place in the world.
 
Maybe this day could get worse, but Dean just couldn’t see how.
 
* * *
 
“Nancy Purvis just called.”
 
That’s how.
 
Mrs. Gooding smiled her best motherly smile until she noticed that her
revelation that the prettiest girl in school calling for him had the opposite
effect on Dean than she had expected. His eyes rolled up a bit before his head
dropped, his chest heaving in a world weary sigh. “Dean, what’s wrong?”
 
“I just wish she wouldn’t call here.”
 
“Why?”
 
“I don’t want to go out with her.”
 
“I don’t think John would let you anyway, you’re only thirteen.”
 
“Yea, okay.” Not the reason. He turned to the powder room to wash up.
 
“Dean?” She called back to him.
 
“Yes ma’am.”
 
“What was the fight about?”
 
“Nothing.”
 
“Don’t lie to me son.” She spoke quietly. “Was it football?”
 
“No.” No matter how badly he didn’t want to talk about it, he couldn’t keep
anything from her. She was the only mother he’d ever known, the only mother
that really mattered. She was the housekeeper. She got paid to cook and clean
and wash their clothes. She didn’t get paid to read them bed time stories or
make Halloween costumes or listen to them bitch, but she did all those things
too. It was why Dean always felt that she genuinely cared about him; because
she didn’t have to.
 
That was it right there though, how could he tell his ‘mom’ that he got hard
every time he saw Blake Larder coming out of the showers after practice? How
could he tell her that the boys had caught him again as he tried to think about
anything but how amazing Blake’s skin looked rosy pink from the heat and the
rivulets of water rolling down his chest and arms? How could he tell her that
he felt all wrong and just oh so right all at the same time.
 
“Showers?” She suggested.
 
One more reason she was the mom he always wished he had . . . she never needed
him to tell her the really hard stuff, she just knew.
 
“Is it just the one boy?”
 
He nodded.
 
“Is it always?”
 
He nodded again.
 
She pursed her lips nodding, processing what he was telling her. She knew what
he was telling her but she didn’t like it. Didn’t like that he would be plagued
by ignorant bullies or spend a lot more days in the principal’s office. Didn’t
like that she would have to talk to John Winchester about this because, God
love him, he was not going to take this well.
 
“I’ll talk to John.” She smiled. The look of abject terror on the young man’s
face was heartbreaking. “Don’t worry. I’m just going to get you off the
football team.” Dean’s shoulders relaxed even though he hadn’t realized how
tense they’d been. “But I think you’d better go call Nancy back to go out with
the group Friday night.” Under other circumstances she might have laughed at
how much more terrified he looked at that prospect. She smiled encouragement
again. “One bridge at a time Dean, one bridge at a time.”
 
Dean made the phone call.
 
* * *
 
Dean made his way up to their room after supper looking like a man bound for
the gallows. And then as if he couldn’t possibly feel any lower, Sam’s lilting
soprano followed him up the stairs.
 
“Dean and Nancy sitting in a tree. K-i-s-s-i-n-g.”
 
Dean replied too quiet for Sam to hear and without much venom. “Shut up Sam."
***** Not Another Dumb Cowboy *****

Author's notes: Mostly Sam's POV around age 10 and Dean's angst regarding the
realizations about his sexuality.
===============================================================================
Sam watched his dad’s truck pull up to the yard to the back door. “Who’s this
fucking guy?” Sam muttered to himself as he the six foot youth got out. Sam
watched as John laughed, slapping the new arrival on the back. “Now he’s
importing big dumb cowboys.”
 
* * *
 
It was one thing Dean couldn’t seem to make Sam understand and maybe that was
because Dean didn’t understand it himself. Dean could tell all the fancy
counselors what Sam needed, but couldn’t imagine how he could get it for him.
All Sam really wanted was for someone to cuddle him. Mrs. Gooding was more than
willing, but Sam wouldn’t let her in, maybe couldn’t let her in. When he was
really little, he snuggled with Dean, but Dean had to put an end to that, just
had to. Sam just really needed John to cuddle him, snuggle on a cold winter’s
night, stories by the fire, play wrestling, tickle fights, anything. Anything
that brought them closer than arms length. It would be years before any of them
bothered to talk it over, hash it out, but between the three of them eventually
they got to the simple truth of it.
 
Sam had Mary’s eyes.
 
Those many years later, John confessed that when Sam got too close to him and
all John could focus on was his eyes he got lost in them. Lost in time, back to
when Mary was with him, part of him, part of their lives. With Sam at arms
length, John could forget, could put aside his lost love.
 
So, the closeness Sam needed most, John could not provide and the bit of
distance that John needed just pushed Sam farther away so that Sam became even
colder and more distant, believing that it was something he had done that made
his father hate him. Sam watched John laugh and smile with countless other
people but never seemed to be able to make his father smile. It was one thing
when it was hands or people his father worked with or Dean, because who
couldn’t love Dean, but who was this fucking guy?
 
* * *
 
John led Jeremiah in through the back door right into the kitchen. Dean got
right up from his seat at the table to shake his hand and everything, but Sam
stayed in his seat giving a cursory nod in Jer’s direction. Sam couldn’t
believe that Dean was so happy to see this guy. From Sam’s point of view, it
was another Dean, tall, blonde, well built . . .
 
“John says you ride?” Dean asked.
 
“I love to.” Jeremiah answered.
 
. . . Well that answers that. Sam thought. Another one of these horse people.
Dumb people who wanted nothing more than to spend their time with their dumb
animals. God!! Sam couldn’t wait to get out of this house.
 
* * *
 
Sam watched them all and how they all milled around each other like the stock
they so loved. Sam didn’t think that Dean noticed him until one night about
three months after Jer had come to the ranch he spoke to Sam in the quiet of
their room. It had been suggested that Dean move out now that he was older,
take the other room, but the boys never got around to moving his stuff, always
too busy with other things. And honestly, neither of them was ready for that
change.
 
“Sam, why do you hate Jer so bad?”
 
“I don’t hate him.” Sam didn’t even seem surprised that this question would be
asked, as if he’d been waiting for it. “I just don’t know why you love him so
much.”
 
“I don’t love him.” Did Dean sound uncomfortable? No, just sleep clouding Sam’s
head. “I do think we have to give him a shot.”
 
“As what Dean? He’s here to work for my father.”
 
“Well I’m just here to work for your father.”
 
“Dean, you know you’re more than that.”
 
“Why Sam? Why am I different than Jer?”
 
Sam, for all his older-than-his-years vocabulary and sensibilities couldn’t
come up with words that didn’t sound like he’d stolen them from a movie of the
week. Phrases like ‘soul mate’ and ‘complete me’ ran through his head but then
he came up with. “You’ve been here always. You belong here.”
 
“So do you just have no more room in your life for anyone else? Is that it?”
 
Not another big dumb cowboy, Sam thought but didn’t dare say out loud. “Why do
you care if I like him?” Sam huffed out.
 
“I just hate to see you shut yourself off from people Sam.” Dean sighed in the
night. “I can’t be everything for you Sam.”
 
And Sam was glad that it was dark and Dean couldn’t see how horrified he
looked. Sam couldn’t imagine a world where Dean wasn’t a part of his every day,
everything. Sure he wanted to go away to school, but always pictured calling
home to Dean whenever he wanted. Dean’s statement just sounded really final and
Sam didn’t like it. Not at all.
 
* * *
 
“I can’t be everything for you Sam.” Even as he said the words, Dean somehow
knew that they were a lie. That there was nothing he could imagine that would
keep him from doing anything and everything he could to make Sam happy in any
way that he could. Dean was just afraid that he was going to be disappointing
Sam sometime in the next few years, that Sam wasn’t going to understand who
Dean was. Dean couldn’t keep seeing Nancy, she was driving him crazy, and he
couldn’t see him going through life with a series of girlfriends who would just
end up figuring out who he was anyway.
 
Dean realized that he could no longer lie to himself. Mrs. Gooding had worked
her magic on John and Dean had been allowed to quit the football team, but he
couldn’t deny that it just meant he got wood in history and English when Blake
showed up instead of in the showers. When it happened he prayed very hard not
to be called on and stand to give an answer to the class.
 
But how was Sam going to take this when he figured it out. That’s why Dean
wanted Sam to take to Jer, so when Sam realized that Dean wasn’t the role model
he had always been he would have Jeremiah to look up to. But of course he
couldn’t tell him that. This might well have been the Winchester Monastery for
the vow of silence they all lived under. No one, not one of them ever talked;
not about the things that mattered.
***** What Matter Wounds? *****

Author's notes: Another mostly Sam chapter. Sorry, not a lot of answers. He's
still an enigma wrapped in a riddle wrapped in a soft tortilla.
===============================================================================
Wednesdays Sam went to therapy after school. Sam didn’t really see how it was
accomplishing anything since he never really told the counselor the right
answers to his father’s questions so they would never get anywhere. Sam didn’t
like to be touched so they tested him for Autism and Asperger’s, both of which
were negative, of course. If they had only asked him why he didn’t like to be
touched he would have told them. He really wanted his dad to hug him, but he
wouldn’t. Mrs. Gooding always wanted to hug him but it felt too much like pity
and that made him angry. Dean used to touch him and that was fine, but recently
Dean was getting too grown up for that, Sam assumed as he had stopped with no
other real explanation. And really, who else was there?
 
By the time Sam was twelve, there were girls in his class that really seemed to
like what puberty was doing for Sam Winchester, but Sam wasn’t ready for them
yet. He knew that there were a few of them who liked him simply because biology
saw fit that girls grew faster than boys at this age and he was fortunately
tall enough for them to dance with, while many of his classmates were still
inches short of their female counterparts. One of those boys was Dave Clark and
while they would never go down in history as the bestest best friends ever,
Dave said ‘Hi’ to Sam everyday when most of the other kids went out of their
way to avoid him. Dave would be Sam’s partner for projects and sports and
whatever else needed a partner because, for some reason, Dave saw something in
Sam that the others didn’t.
 
The most upsetting thing about being twelve, Sam thought, was that Dean was
sixteen and outgrowing Sam at the most alarming rate. As soon as the school bus
dropped them off at the gate, Dean was pealing down to the barn to work or ride
or whatever, as long as it kept him away from Sam. Or so it seemed to Sam. Sam
for his part did his homework quickly so he could read. He read books to escape
what he saw as the banality of his day to day life and he read everything. From
fantasy like ‘The Chronicles of Narnia’ to spy novels like the entire James
Bond collection; from pulp novels like Mike Hammer to the classics like
Chaucer, Sam read it all. He really longed for someone to talk about his books
to, but his teachers didn’t have the time, his classmates didn’t have the
reading ability and no one in his house read books.
 
He was in a particularly foul mood one day and decided to go looking for Dean
to see if he could cheer him up. He got down to the barns and checked the
chores lists for the hands and all of them were out to fences except Jeremiah
who was assigned to sweeping the barns. Sam still didn’t like that his father
had the soft spot for this guy; hell he was an ex-con for God’s sake. What kind
of man brings an ex con into the lives of the young boys in his charge? At that
point it didn’t matter to Sam that he had not seen Jeremiah exhibit any of the
behavior that he would have expected from an ‘ex-con’, and Jer never made him
nervous, it was just something he liked to throw at his father occasionally.
Usually around four o’clock on Sunday afternoons when John announced that Jer
would be up for Sunday dinner. Every Sunday. No other hand was ever brought
into the main house for dinners. Nor did John’s explanation that Jer didn’t
have anywhere else to go on his day off ever dissuade Sam’s ire.
 
So it was that a particularly sour Sam arrived at the barn to find Jeremiah
tidying up.
 
“The men are all riding out checking fences.” Sam had read the chore list as
written in his father’s own hand, but saw no reason not to question. “Why are
you in here?”
 
“Got thrown off a horse t’other day and your dad wants me to stay in for a
couple days.”
 
“Not well? What is illness to the body of a knight-errant? What matter wounds?”
Sam smirked. Six years ago when Dean had pulled him out of fights that his big
mouth got him into, he had told Dean that he didn’t know people would be mad at
him until the words had left him. Not so anymore. Sam knew full well that he
would use his words and his brain to pull this big dumb cowboy into something
and show his dad just what he had done.
 
“For each time he falls, he shall rise again; and woe to the wicked.” Jeremiah
smiled back and Sam’s jaw dropped. “Good try little man, but I’d rather tilt at
windmills than defy your daddy when he sets his mind.”
 
WHAT? Sam’s brain shouted at him. What the hell had the dumb cowboy just said?
“You know Cervantes?”
 
“If you mean did I read Don Quixote, then yea, but I was never brave enough to
tackle any of the rest of his plays or stuff.”
 
“Unbelievable.” Sam’s breath rushed out of him. Who was this guy? Clearly not
really a dumb anything after all. “What else?”
 
Jer frowned. “What else have I read?” He whistled. “Well it’s a pretty long
list Sam but I have read a few books that folks like you consider classics.” He
named off a few.
 
Wordlessly Sam ran back to the house. He went to his room first and then the
other room. While it was apparent that Dean would never move in there to sleep,
(they’d been talking about it for three years, after all), it was now home to
the clothes and other junk that two teen aged boys accumulate. For Sam that
meant books and there were piles of them. By the time Sam returned to the barn
with his arm full of books, clearly well read, his friends, his treasures after
all, Jer had returned to his chores.
 
“Try these.” Sam’s request came out in his usual bark; almost an order but then
Jeremiah gave him a dirty look. Sam checked himself and made his tone of voice
more civil. “And let me know what you think.”
 
Jeremiah smiled. “All right Sam. I’ll let you know when I’m done.”
 
* * *
 
That Sunday Jer came to the house early to talk to Sam about his books. Nearly
two hours they sat in the front den talking. Dean walked through almost
tripping over an end table which hadn’t moved since before Dean moved in. Mrs.
Gooding and John were talking in the kitchen and chuckled at Dean’s reaction.
“What the hell?”
 
“Language Dean.” John admonished, never happy when the boys cursed at all in
front of Mrs. Gooding.
 
“Sorry sir?” Dean shrugged. “What’s with them?”
 
John explained to a gaping Dean. “Who knew Jer was an egghead?”
 
“I did.” Both John and Mrs. Gooding said together a smile passing between them.
 
“Why didn’t you tell Sam before now?” Dean asked, exasperated, knowing that one
of the things that bothered Sam was that he had no one to talk about his books
with. He was always trying to tell Dean about them, but listen as he might,
Dean just didn’t get it. Here was Jer who could have been helping Sam with this
all this time and no one thought to mention it.
 
Both of the elders looked at Dean with doubtful looks on their faces. “And when
has Sam ever taken any advice we’ve ever given him?” John finally asked.
 
“He’s uncovered it himself, so now it will all be his discovery and he will
accept it.” Mrs. Gooding added.
 
“Is that why he’s come for dinner every Sunday? You’ve been trying to engineer
one of them letting this book thing out?”
 
“Pretty much.” John agreed. “When Rob McCoy called me about him, you don’t
think I checked this kid out? You think I just brought some felon into our home
with you boys and Carol without knowing who he was and what he was capable of?”
 
Dean thought about that for a moment. “Sammy sure does.”
 
“Hopefully if Sam takes nothing else from this, he’ll collect more data before
putting his big brain into gear.” John smiled fondly, but somehow sadly too.
His boy, still a mystery to them all.
***** Sugar & Spice & Everything Nice *****

Author's notes: Okay, stop googling. It's not really Anasazi, I just made that
up. Sue me.
===============================================================================
Girls!
 
John Winchester was an attractive man and had been an attractive youth, but try
as he might, he couldn’t remember as many girls chasing him when he was
fourteen as presented themselves to Sam.
 
Calling on the phone. Dropping by? Their ranch was on the end of the road; no
one passed through on their way to anything else. Did they really think he was
a fool?
 
“Do they really think I’m a fool?” He asked Carol one morning, passing through
the kitchen for coffee.
 
“Let me check,” She grinned. “Yup, you’re over thirty, they think we’re all
fools.”
 
“You’re awfully calm about this.”
 
“What would you have me do John?” She quirked an eyebrow at him. “Let me go
tell Sam what I think and see what he says.”
 
John looked apologetic. “I see your point.”
 
“It’s fine John.” She poured him his coffee. Strong, black and sweet, just as
he liked it. “Boys his age aren’t nearly so interested as girls his age. Sam’s
still hooked on his books so if you’re lucky, he’ll have his nose in one and
won’t even notice the pretty young things batting their eyelashes at him.”
 
John chuckled his agreement with her assessment. “But I don’t remember all
these girls chasing Dean.”
 
If John noticed the shadow that passed over Carol’s eyes, he gave no
indication. “There were plenty, don’t worry.” She answered quickly. “Maybe you
were just busier and didn’t notice.”
 
He shrugged. “Maybe. I didn’t really notice how much work I was doing until
Dean took it all away.” He took another sip of his coffee. “Now all I have to
do is sit around and mind my son’s business for him.”
 
She poured her own mug and gestured him to the big oak dining table. “You don’t
think you’re putting too much on Dean, do you?”
 
“Dean?” John laughed at that one. “Dean thinks he still owes me for the last
ten years.”
 
“John!”
 
“I didn’t say it woman.” He grinned as she bristled at that one. “You know I
love that boy like a son.”
 
She looked at him thoughtfully. “John, if you don’t mind me asking; why didn’t
you ever adopt him?”
 
He refused to meet her eyes, choosing instead to stare into the china mug in
his hand. “I was fixing to, I would have fought to if any relations had showed
up, but I loved Bobby . . . hell, we all loved Bobby.” He finally looked up at
her. “I couldn’t take that away from him, from the boy.”
 
She blinked her misty eyes sealing the bittersweet tears in. “Not much of a boy
anymore.” She smiled. “He’ll be a man soon enough. Do you have anything special
planned?”
 
“You could say.”
 
* * *
 
“Hey Dean.” Lucky called into the barn.
 
“Yea.” Dean called back getting up from his seat at the desk. Why couldn’t
anyone just walk over and talk to anyone else, he thought. “What is it?”
 
“Horse van coming in.” The wrangler noted. “You didn’t tell me anything about a
delivery.”
 
“I didn’t know anything about it.”
 
“Old man still keeping some secrets then?”
 
“John can keep whatever secrets he wants.” Dean agreed. Lucky was brilliant
with horses, not quite like Dean’s dad had been, but when they needed training,
Lucky was your man. He could be pleasant, but he also carried a boulder sized
chip on his shoulder.
 
The horse van pulled to a stop by the barn door and Dean walked up to the
window. “You got any paper for me?”
 
“Nope.” The driver deadpanned at Dean’s double take. “Winchester has the
paperwork already. I’m told to make sure Dean opens the truck though.”
 
Dean frowned, but walked to the back of the van where there was a red ribbon
tied around the handle and an envelope taped to the door with only his name on
it. He scrambled to open the envelope.
 
 
Dear Dean:
I know you’ve always thought that we kept you here out of an obligationto your
dad or because we felt bad about what happened. That was never the case. Your
home was always here, you’ve always been a part of this place. Sometimes when I
watch you, I don’t think it was your dad’s gifts that brought you to us, but
your soul returning to this land.
You’re eighteen and any perceived obligation on either of our parts has come to
an end. Please know that this is no invitation to leave; this may just be a
bribe to stay. You are always welcome in our home, in our hearts.
John, Sam and Carol
 
P.S. The name’s Chempala; it’s Anasazi for Old Soul.
 
Dean could hardly read the end through the mist that covered his vision. He
didn’t dare show that to the gathering hoarde. He untied the bow, pulled open
the door and dropped the ramp.
 
The shiny black tail swished over jet black hind quarters and the equine tossed
his big head around and then looked back over his shoulder as much as he could
against the collar securing him into the van. Dean’s boots made a racket
against the metal ramp as he walked up it with . . . trepidation. Dean wasn’t
afraid but something made him think that this was a moment he was going to
remember. As soon as he reached the top of the ramp he started speaking
nothings to the stallion hoping to calm, to acquaint. Chempala began tossing
his head again, but lower as if to say, ‘that’s right, get me out of here’.
When Dean reached the end of the trailer and proceeded to undo all the straps
and buckles he finally took a look at the face of the massive creature. The
dark eyes were warm and . . . friendly? Dean didn’t know if he’d ever sensed
such benevolence from a horse before, but he felt security here.
 
Horses are usually wary of backing out of the trailer as each successive step
back leaves that foot out over open air. Not so, Chempala. He stepped back and
down with so much confidence that he was making the right step that Dean could
hardly believe that he was dealing with an animal. Chempala looked around at
the gathering finally laying eyes on Dean. It was as if he knew where he
belonged.
 
One of the hands had gone to fetch Dean’s tack and returned with a fresh
blanket and the saddle. Dean took it from him as a knight might retrieve his
armor from his squire. As Dean fastened all the straps he listened to all the
appreciative comments from around him, but barely registered any of them.
Chempala dipped his head into the bridle without much encouragement and Dean
sighed his appreciation, already fairly certain he was in love with his horse.
“Good boy.” Dean spoke quietly into one ear as he stroked his hand reverently
down the silver blaze that was the only snatch of color on the otherwise ebony
creature. “We’re going to have a good time.”
 
* * *
 
Carol was rinsing out their coffee mugs when she heard the thunder of hooves
pounding on the dry earth. “What the . . ?”
 
“Carol, you might want to come out here.”
 
She followed the sound of John’s voice out the back door and the thunder grew
louder. The screen door only barely shut behind her when Dean galloped through
the gate reining up and sliding from the saddle in one fluid motion. She would
never have thought of Dean as a sad boy, his easy grin nearly always present,
but today she saw real unfettered joy in him. He stood in front of John for a
moment, just considering and then threw his arms around the elder.
 
“Thank you John.” There was a hitch in his voice as he spoke quietly into the
older man’s ear. “You’re going to have to drive me away.”
 
“That’s good,” John said aloud. “I’d hate to have to hire a new foreman
already.”
 
The comment almost passed but then Dean and Carol chorused. “What?”
 
“I’m giving you the job you were born to do boy. Truth is, I don’t want to have
to get up every day and work all day and I shouldn’t have to. But I want my
best man on the job to let me know how everything’s working out.” He let that
lay for a minute. “Happen to know anyone who might fit the bill.”
 
Dean was speechless for a long time. “I don’t know what to say Sir.”
 
“Son, I’m not going anywhere. I’m not giving you this whole ranch and then
jetting off to the south of somewhere. Not today. But I’m getting tired and
you’re practically doing the job already so what do you say?”
 
Dean looked at Carol who had been standing there all wrapped up in this
Hallmark movie of the week moment; who looked back at Dean now and nodded.
 
“Yes sir.” Dean smiled. “I’d love to.”
 
“Wow, that’s a beautiful horse.” And the best day of Dean’s life suddenly took
on a different hue as Sam came around the corner of the house . . . wrapped
around Missy Trainor.
***** Self Discovery *****
Carol was fairly certain that she could hear Dean’s heart break as she
remembered back to an afternoon six months ago in the kitchen.
 
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
 
“Mrs. Gooding, can I talk to you?”
 
“Dean, honey, why don’t you just call me Carol?” He gave a little shrug like he
would think about it, but they both knew that he wouldn’t. “Of course we can
talk.” She sat down with the cup of tea she had just poured herself. “What is
it?”
 
“I think I’m in love with Sam.”
 
Spit takes are funny if they’re not happening to you.
 
She recovered fairly quickly grabbing a napkin to wipe her mouth. “Go ahead
Dean. Don’t sugar coat it.”
 
“Sorry.” He gave that little shrug again. “I don’t know how else to say it.”
 
“No, it’s okay.” She sighed. “How long have you been having these feelings?”
 
“A couple months now.”
 
“And have you talked to Sam?”
 
She didn’t think she’d ever seen Dean blush before but the seven shades of
scarlet made up for it. “No!” He got to his feet so fast he nearly knocked his
chair over.
 
“Okay.” She held up her hands to try and calm him. “If you can’t talk to Sam
about it though, what are you going to do?”
 
There were frustrated tears in his eyes, but it was as if he willed him not to
fall. “That’s what I want you to tell me.”
 
A little snort escaped her against her will. “Dean, I can’t tell you what to do
with what you’re feeling.” He looked stricken. She had always been able to tell
him the answers before and now when he really needed some; needed the important
answers she was going to have to let him down.
 
\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/
And now she stood here watching his dream shattered into a million pieces by an
unknowing Sam.
 
* * *
 
Sam didn’t really care for it when Missy hung off him like this, but if he let
her do this, then usually she did it quietly and he didn’t have to talk to her.
Man, he couldn’t wait until he got Dean alone and he could ask him how he kept
Nancy from hanging off him all the time.
 
Sam didn’t really even like Missy all that much, but Mrs. Gooding sure seemed
to hate her so that was enough, wasn’t it. As usual, Dad made no comments at
all. It wasn’t like she was a bad person. Her father was something in town and
her mother worked part time in the bank. Mrs. Gooding just seemed to think she
was after things she wasn’t old enough to be after yet. No need to worry
whether it was Missy or any of the other girls, there was no way Sam was doing
any of that. He let her kiss him a bit; that was okay, wasn’t it? Kissing was
okay too, but she always tasted of some kind of fruity lip gloss which bothered
Sam a bit; it was just a bit phony.
 
“Wow, that’s a beautiful horse.” Sam knew that John was buying Dean the horse
for his birthday, but hadn’t been able to go help pick him out.
 
“Ooooh. He’s pretty.”
 
Sam caught something in the look from Dean which he couldn’t define, but he
knew he didn’t like it. “Shut up Missy.” He shrugged out from her grasp. She
pouted a bit, but thankfully obeyed.
 
* * *
 
Dean couldn’t say for sure when it started, but sometime in this last year, he
had started to notice Sam differently. Dean had started forcing himself up even
earlier than usual to avoid seeing Sam going to and from the bathroom in boxers
or towel. Felt himself getting uncomfortable watching Sam got dressed in front
of him and then somehow sad when he didn’t watch. What truly confused Dean was
that it wasn’t the reaction he had always had in the shower at school; this was
different. This was warm milk in his tummy, this was standing by the fireplace
warm, and this was home, this was love.
 
It wasn’t that he didn’t think about Sam that other way, because God help him,
he did. He thought about how it might feel to kiss Sam; his lips always looked
really good. He thought about touching Sam other ways too, but mostly he
thought about holding Sam, about running his fingers through that mess of
chestnut curls at the base of Sam’s neck. He thought about hugging and cuddling
and a hundred other un-macho things he’d like to do with Sam. So seriously,
Missy Trainor? She was such a little slut. She was nearly a year older than Sam
and everyone knew she was one of the easy girls. Why would Sam fall for that?
Mrs. Gooding always said that girls like that were the ones that boys with
money should stay away from. Then it hit him. Sam was dating Missy to piss
somebody off. And right now that somebody was Dean. He didn’t realize that he
had been so obvious until he met Sam’s eyes and heard him snap at her. “Shut up
Missy.” He shook her off like something he really didn’t want on his shoe.
 
Missy did not stay for supper. She wouldn’t be the last girl in Sam’s life, but
she would be the last one Dean would ever see.
 
* * *
 
Dinner was enjoyable, just the four of them. Rib eyes, Dean’s favorite, with
baked potatoes, green beans with slivered almonds and chocolate cake with
French Vanilla ice cream for desert. Dean smiled; Mrs. Gooding always made them
their favorites on their birthdays. Of course she made them their favorites at
least once a week. He gave her one of his best smiles.
 
Dean would not remember any of the conversations that went on over that meal,
but he would always remember it as the night that his feelings for Sam had
truly solidified. He had sat at this table and told Mrs. Gooding months ago
that he loved Sam, but he had been having doubts about it until today. Watching
that skank hang off Sam had only made Dean realize that he wanted that to be
him. As he watched Sam eat he realized that he wanted to sit across the table
from him always. He wanted to grow old watching Sam push his green beans away
from his potatoes.
 
But watching Sam with Missy also made another thing painfully clear for Dean.
Sam didn’t feel the same way.
 
* * *
 
After dinner Sam asked if he could go with Dean when he walked Chempala back to
the barn. Dean accepted easily, happy to spend any time with Sam, but certainly
more wary now in light of his recent self discovery. They walked in silence
most of the way with only Chempala’s puffs of breath and the clinks of his tack
as he tossed his big head restlessly.
 
“Tomorrow big fella.” Dean assured. “We’ll go for a big run tomorrow.”
 
“Dean, why do you always talk to them as if they know what you’re saying?”
 
“Because somehow he does.” Dean smiled but Sam still looked disbelieving. “Like
when he throws his head around like that means he wants to get out and run.”
 
They were quiet again for a moment and then Sam spoke quietly. “Dean?”
 
“Yea kid.”
 
“Do you ever wish you could just look at people and know what they’re thinking
about you?”
 
Dean looked across Chempala at Sam who was busy looking at his feet. “Everyday
Sam, everyday.”
***** Defiance *****
Dean was in crisis.
 
Well not really crisis, but come on, he needed something to do for a hobby
besides wondering what it would feel like to run his tongue up Sam’s long neck.
He wasn’t exactly a big reader and he didn’t do puzzles; rather go camping than
video games but too old for boy scouts. He played baseball all summer, but that
was usually only three nights a week and then there was always that horrible
long Sunday off. Sometimes he spent them with Sam, but that just usually made
things worse.
 
He sort of missed Jer; they had always had a good time together. He hadn’t ever
really explained why he didn’t feel so comfortable with him after Belle came
around; he supposed that he didn’t really know. But even when he was hanging
around with Jer, he was older. He played ball with Steve Randall who was in his
year at school and they went out for beers frequently, but he was going away to
college to be a cop or something. Dean had never seemed to have a friend his
own age.
 
And then Dean saw the poster at the feed store and at supper brought it up to
John.
 
“No way in hell.”
 
“John. . .” Carol warned.
 
“No Carol. He doesn’t need me to sign any permission slips or anything; I have
no hold here, but he asked my opinion and I’m giving it.” John turned his eyes
back to Dean. “No. Way. In. Hell.”
 
Dean pursed his lips and nodded, accepting John’s opinion as the final answer.
It was Sam who spoke up for him. “Why not Dad?”
 
John shot a look at his son that was meant to end the conversation and would
have with anyone else, but Sam held his ground. “Do you know how many of those
guys have unbroken collarbones? Legs? Arms?” He waited for Dean to look him in
the eye. “Backs?”
 
“I get it sir.” Dean nodded, chewing down the disappointment that felt like
brine on his tongue. “Don’t worry, I get it.”
 
And for the first time in his life Dean Singer defied authority; defied John’s
authority and signed up for the rodeo.
 
* * *
 
“I want to come too.” Sam was at the door of the truck with his full back pack
and that Sammy determination in his eyes.
 
“No Sam.” Dean tried. “I don’t want you to get in trouble with your dad.”
 
Sam climbed up into the cab of the truck. “My dad doesn’t care if I’m here or
not as long as I’m not complaining.”
 
“Sam that’s not true.”
 
“Oh sure it is Dean. They’ll find my note and know that I’m with you and it’ll
be fine.” Sam smiled his big dimpled smile and Dean found it very difficult to
argue anymore.
 
So much for getting his mind off Sam.
 
* * *
 
Sam didn’t exactly know why anymore, only that he knew he wanted to be wherever
Dean was. For some reason though, it seemed like Dean wanted to be wherever Sam
wasn’t. If Sam pushed it, like today just getting in the truck or when he
insisted he ride out with Dean on Sundays then Dean wouldn’t say no; couldn’t
say no, but Sam was noticing a distinctly cool vibe. It did no good to ask Dean
because he only said there was nothing wrong; that Sam was imagining it. Sam
was fourteen though, not stupid.
 
“So.” Dean began after about forty minutes of silence. “Are you still dating
Missy?”
 
“Dating?” Sam chuckled. “If you could call it that. No. I broke up with her.”
 
“You did?” Dean tried to keep the note of relief from his voice but he could
hear it there. Thankfully it didn’t seem that Sam noticed.
 
Sam looked out the window. “I could see you didn’t like her. It made me look at
her again.”
 
“Mrs. Gooding never liked her, why didn’t you listen then?”
 
“Mrs. Gooding doesn’t like anything I do.”
 
“Sheesh kid, you sure got a chip on your shoulder about who does and doesn’t
care about you, don’t you?”
 
“She’s not my mother Dean.”
 
“I know Sam, and so does she, but someone had to tell you to eat your green
beans, covered in potatoes or not.”
 
“So why didn’t my dad just do that stuff?”
 
“Do you mean to tell me you would have picked up your share of the laundry or
do your chores without bitching if your dad had told you to instead of Mrs.
Gooding?” Dean chuckled. “I find that hard to believe. I think you would still
have been a little jerk about it.”
 
“Thanks Dean.” There was a note of something different in Sam’s voice this time
but Dean couldn’t quite place it. Regret? Humility? “Dean?”
 
“Yea kid.”
 
“Do you remember your mom?”
 
Wow! He’d known Sam for over twelve years, eleven of which he could talk, but
he’d never brought up the mom question before. “A little bit.” He refused to
meet Sam’s eyes even though Dean could feel him staring. “Why?”
 
“I don’t know. I just . . . well I have photos.” Much to Dean’s relief, Sam
turned his attention back to the road. “I have pictures instead of real
memories.”
 
“Yea. It sucks, I know.”
 
“Do you think she would have liked me?”
 
Where does this kid get this shit?
 
“What are you talking about Sam? Of course. She’d love you.”
 
“Oh I know she’d love me, she was my mom, but do you think she would like me?”
He turned those eyes back to Dean. “A lot of people don’t like me you know.”
 
Like you had to tell Dean, he was the one breaking up fights and smoothing
things over with the boys at the feed store and the girls at the general store
and the crusty old witch at the post office and the hands and . . . well, they
just didn’t understand Sam, did they. But he was fourteen and not stupid so
there was no point in sugar coating. “I know Sam.” Dean chanced a glance at his
companion and wished he hadn’t. Sam earnestly wanted answers and Dean really
didn’t have any. “We could drive ourselves nuts wondering what if. Things would
have been different, sure; if my mom hadn’t died, maybe Dad and I wouldn’t have
come here. For sure if Dad hadn’t died, we wouldn’t have been together so much;
might not be as close as we are. If your mom was here, you might be different
than you are, but maybe you’re just wired different from other folks.”
 
“But you like me, right Dean?” Dean was thankful for driving at that moment
that he didn’t have to look into those soulful eyes. ‘Like you? Damn it Sammy I
love you.’ Not exactly what the kid needed right now.
 
“Yea Sam, don’t worry, you’re my best friend, man.”
***** Eight Seconds *****

Author's notes: A little rodeo, a little pre-slash. Who knew?
===============================================================================
What rancher doesn’t want a thousand pounds of beef?
 
Dean pondered this question briefly as he looked at the big bull carefully
restrained in the pen in front of him. Not one. He answered himself, but
usually on the way to the sale room, not bucking like there was no tomorrow
between his thighs. Then he began to contemplate why he chose to make a stand
against John on this. In ten years of blind obedience to everything John
Winchester asked of him, this was how he chose to assert his independence. This
was also the wrong time to be second guessing that decision.
 
“Singer?” Dean nodded that he was. “You’re up.”
 
Dean had ridden the machine a hundred times, ridden the tamer bulls at the
ranch, could break a horse like nobody’s business, but this was a professional
rodeo bull. This was big leagues.
 
This was crazy!
 
Sammy was watching, Dean thought. This was a done deal.
 
* * *
 
Sam couldn’t quite label what he was feeling. Dean had never called him his
best friend before. Come to think of it, Sam couldn’t remember Dean calling him
his friend, to anyone. It made Sam feel . . . something. And now, watching Dean
climb in to the chute with the bull; that huge bull, Sam felt something else .
. . concern? Excitement? Panic? Sam really wanted Dean to do well, wanted Dean
to win if he was honest, but couldn’t keep his father’s warning about all those
broken things out of his mind.
 
“What am I worried about?” Sam chuckled to himself. “It’s only eight seconds,
right?”
 
* * *
 
Eight seconds. Dean repeated as he climbed the gate to the chute. Eight seconds
as he got himself straddled across the massive back. Eight seconds as he
wrapped the rope around his gloved hand tightly. Eight seconds as he took one
last deep breath settling down and nodding his readiness to the gate keeper.
 
There was no sound save for the pounding of his own blood in his ears and the
metallic clank of the door’s mechanism as the gate flew open and the bull
jumped and bucked on it’s bid for freedom or unseating Dean . . . either way.
 
Dean discovered something on the back of eleven hundred pounds of beef. There
was no control, only the illusion of it. This beast was not going to stop
because Dean was there; hell, Dean could argue if the animal even really knew
he was there or was just reacting to the uncomfortable rope around him. The
bull bucked and twisted beneath him threatening to rip his shoulder from it’s
socket and just as Dean was beginning to think that he had made a respectable
showing for the rookie class and it was time to give up, the buzzer sounded the
end of his eight seconds and he unwrapped his hand from the rope and let go
sliding free and jumping clear.
 
“Whoooot!” Was all Dean could vocalize once he knew he was safe straddling the
plank fence around the ring. He searched the stands where Sam was watching, his
eyes finally lighting on the young man and he waved his hat in true cowboy
fashion.
 
The rodeo official who had called Dean to the chute noticed the exchange,
catching Dean’s eye. “Kid brother?”
 
“No man,” And then Dean wasn’t quite sure how to answer and then it just rolled
out. “He’s my friend.” He smiled and then amended. “My best friend.”
 
* * *
 
All those feelings that Sam had before were gone now, replaced with great
beaming pride. He was so proud to be here with Dean, to be his friend, hell, he
was proud to know him. He had watched as total strangers took to Dean like he
was the second coming. People just loved him. There were times when Sam was
envious of Dean’s ability to just walk into a room and meet people and suddenly
be the most popular guy there. But not today, not here. Here it all made
perfect sense. These were Dean’s people, they all spoke his language, he fit
here.
 
The only thing Sam felt about that was a fervent wish to find out where he fit.
 
* * *
 
Dean’s score in the first go round was 53; pretty damned respectable for a
first ever and good enough to take him to the second go round tomorrow. He
easily stayed in the saddle through two rounds of bronc riding before Chempala
proved himself a great working horse as they did the calf roping in just under
nine minutes. Chempala went over very well actually, with Dean receiving no
less than five offers to buy him. Dean refused, of course, just beamed with
pride every time.
 
Dean was fairly satisfied with his first performance, hell his times and scores
got him back for the second day, what’s not to be proud of. They returned to
the hotel room though and as the adrenaline of the day started to drain away
Dean really started to feel that shoulder. Even though the rider follows the
rhythm of the animal, it takes a few of those seconds to figure out that rhythm
and between the one bull and two horses he had got a couple nasty yanks on
those muscles. He heard Sam gasp as he removed his shirt.
 
“Looks painful.” Sam answered Dean’s look of surprise.
 
His shoulder was an angry red from the mid tricep up and across to his spine.
“No worries, I’m going to take a shower and loosen it up.”
 
“Yea, good idea.” Sam settled himself down with the remote to see if there was
anything to watch. “Don’t use all the hot water.” He called absently as he
pulled off his t-shirt and threw it after Dean.
 
* * *
 
He stayed under the hot water for what didn’t seem like a really long time but,
(Sammy was going to be pissed), the water started getting cold. He walked out
with the towel tied tightly around his waist, heading for his bed to get
dressed.
 
“How can that possibly look worse?” Sam called across. “Come over here.” He
beckoned. “Sit.” He directed Dean to sit on the edge of his bed.
 
“Uh, no Sam, I’m good.”
 
“Get over here you big baby.”
 
What was that about never being able to refuse Sammy? He sat on the edge of the
bed while Sam scooted up tight behind him placing those impossibly long hands
around the tricep and starting to squeeze gently.
 
“Good?” Sam asked carefully.
 
“Mmmmm.” Was Dean’s only reply. Sam massaged the muscles up and down, over and
back applying a bit more pressure at intervals, asking Dean every time if it
was okay.
 
Truth is, Sam actually hurt him a couple times, but Dean wasn’t going to say
anything for fear that Sam might remove his hands; might just stop touching
him. Sure it was kind of a dirty trick to let his mind imagine all kinds of
other ways for Sam to touch him, but what Sam didn’t know was going to fuel his
fantasies for a long time. Dean was getting uncomfortably hard under the towel
that was not going to conceal that fact for much longer when he felt something
at his lower back. Was that . . . Sammy?
 
Dean got up from his spot so quickly that he almost lost his towel but
recovered quickly. “Thanks Sam, that feels so much better. Uh, but I think we
better get some sleep. I pulled an early draw tomorrow so if you’re coming to
watch. . .”
 
Sam seemed cooler than Dean would have expected. Dean thought maybe it hadn’t
been what he thought when Sam turned his earnest childlike eyes towards him. “I
wouldn’t miss it Dean.”
***** Fall Out *****
Well he didn’t win, but he didn’t break anything and he spent a great week-end
with Sam, so Dean had to put the experience in the win column.
 
That was until they walked through the back door of the ranch house Sunday
night.
 
John sat at the kitchen table, with a whiskey in his hand, looking for all the
world like he’d been sitting there for three whole days.
 
“Go to your room Sam.” He spoke quietly.
 
“Dad, don’t take this out . . .”
 
“Go to your room Sam.” The usually mild mannered John roared at his only son.
 
Sam looked at Dean who nodded that this really wasn’t unexpected and that Sam
should obey his father.
 
Once Sam’s foot falls were heard across the hallway upstairs, John turned his
eyes to Dean. “If you were going to do it anyway, why did you bother to ask
me?”
 
“I don’t even know Sir.” Dean used the hated name and knew that John was truly
angry when he didn’t correct him. “There was just something about the way you
talked to me about it.” Dean shook his head thoughtfully. “You talked to me
more like an adult when I was ten than you did that night.”
 
John pursed his lips considering that but made no response. “And taking Sam?
That seemed like a good idea to you?”
 
“He jumped in the truck and then he just made all those rational Sam arguments
. . .” Dean sighed. “I don’t know. It was wrong, John, what do you want me to
say?”
 
“I don’t know Dean." John sighed and ran a hand down his tired features. "I
guess what I really want to know is what’s caused this lapse in your respect
for me?”
 
Dean really hadn’t thought of it that way and never intended to show John any
disrespect so he was caught off guard by the question. “John I . . . it’s not .
. .”
 
“Like I said Dean, you’re eighteen now, I can’t stop you, but you need to
understand that I didn’t just say no to be a prick.” John pulled another glass
from his side and poured a shot gesturing Dean to sit down. He waited for the
younger man to sit before continuing. “You’re like a son to me Dean, you’re a
big part of this family and I don’t know what it would do to me if anything
happened to you.” Dean couldn’t help the lump that filled his throat though the
whiskey tried to dislodge it. “I can’t stop you and part of me doesn’t want to.
I missed out on those kinds of boy things because I had to take over the ranch
when I was your age.” John finally gave him a wistful smile. “Hell, what cowboy
doesn’t want to ride rodeo?” The serious John poured them each another shot
before speaking again. “So while I’m not giving my all out blessing here, I’m
not going to stand in your way either. But I can’t let you take Sam again.”
 
“What? John . . .”
 
“Sam thinks he runs too much around here already Dean. I have to draw some
lines and what else can I take away from him? What else do I have to teach a
lesson with?”
 
Dean canted his head considering and came up with nothing. Sam didn’t ‘care’
about anything, didn’t own anything that he would miss. John was right; not
allowing Sam to travel with Dean might actually get through to Sam.
 
So why did it feel like a punishment for Dean?
 
“All right, John.” Dean spoke quietly. “Sam won’t go again.”
 
“Thanks Dean.”
 
Dean rose from his seat at the table and moved on his aching legs toward the
stairs but almost as quickly he turned back. “I really didn’t mean any
disrespect sir, I just . . . I had to try.”
 
“And I’ll bet you were great.” He smiled and Dean felt his heart fill back up a
little as he turned back for bed. “But Dean . . .” The younger man stopped with
a sigh, just really wanting to lay down now. “Don’t call me sir.”
 
* * *
 
Carol worried that John’s plan did little more than just further splinter his
fragile little family. Between ball tournaments and rodeo, Dean was gone most
week-ends. Sam’s disposition didn’t improve any from his ‘punishment’ but
neither did it worsen, so no one seemed at all inclined to engage him at all
and he merely drew more in on himself. He still hung around a bit with Dave,
but Dave had other healthier relationships that he couldn’t talk Sam into
participating in. Sam still had girls, but Carol didn’t approve of any of them,
all shallow girls who were convinced that Sam could pay for a good time or who
were just content with his pretty shell.
 
And by God they were beautiful boys, she would muse. Sam was tall and so lean
that folks in town used to ask if he was the slow one getting to the dinner
table. He ate like a horse. He kept his chestnut hair longer than she would
have liked, but the one time he did cut it, it just didn’t look right either so
long it was. Everything about Sam seemed long or lithe, his neck, his hands; he
had pianist’s hand she had always thought. The beautiful hazel eyes over a
straight aquiline nose always looked so sad. When he smiled though, those
infrequent smiles lit up a room and showed off the dimples that made him blush.
 
Dean was not quite as tall and as fair as Sam was dark. He had piercing green
eyes over a strong nose, dappled by ample freckles, and a solid jaw, but it was
his cupid bow lips that set the women a flutter. He was broad across the chest
and shoulder, but it was his big hands that spoke most to his working man’s
sensibilities. Unlike his broody counterpart, Dean had an easy smile and used
it to his advantage on occasion.
 
Carol spent far too much of her time fending off phone calls for Dean and
taking messages for Sam; every time informing her young charge that she was not
his secretary. He often muttered after her, but since he seemed to be giving
her less attitude as time wore on, she didn’t push it.
 
She always asked after Dean and how he was doing with . . . you know, but he
would always assure that he was fine, not to worry, but of course she did.
 
And Dean, well Dean had his rodeo.
***** The Things We Do *****
Dean emerged from a hot shower washing the dirt and grime of three spins around
the ring down the drain. His skin glowed golden as the embers of a dying sun
filtered through the hotel room curtains. He could feel the eyes of his
companion raking over him appreciatively and while he felt a little heat rising
in his cheeks, he was pleased as well.
 
The gravelly baritone rumbled out of the shadows. “You’re beautiful.”
 
He gave a little smile. “I don’t think anyone drew the short straw here today.”
 
A chuckle from the shadows. “Are you going to stand there all night?”
 
Dean gave a little shrug. “Uh, no. Do we need anything from over here before I
come over there?”
 
“Just you.”
 
Dean approached the bed with no great speed, dropping the towel as he went. He
crawled up on to the bed running a hand up that long leg on his way. At the hip
his thumb took a detour into the beginning of that V where he was rewarded with
a sharp intake of breath.
 
“You like that?” He laid whisper kisses across the collarbone. A little nod of
the head and soft moan were his only answer. He kissed and nibbled up the long
neck to the ear taking the lobe in his teeth before breathing along the shell.
“Roll over.” Reluctantly the larger man complied. Dean ran his hands along
those impossibly long legs kneading into the muscles along the way, finally
resting on the beautifully rounded cheeks of an incredible ass.
 
He pushed the right leg up to have better access as his hands caressed the baby
smooth bottom. His lips and teeth kissed and nibbled the soft flesh, marking it
along the way. He gently pushed the cheeks apart seeking the prize. When his
tongue first passed over the sweet pucker it set fire to every nerve ending
Dean never knew he had. Apparently it was good for both of them because his
hips started bouncing a bit on the bed.
 
“Easy Baby, we haven’t even gotten started yet.” He soothed as his index finger
pushed past the first ring of resistance. Not much resistance, mind you, and
Dean continued the gentle exploration, massaging, stretching his tongue
reaching out occasionally, soothing. By the time he added the second digit the
vocalizations from beneath him were aphrodisiac to his ears. Dean’s cock
brushed against the edge of the bed, seemingly of its own accord, seeking the
friction that Dean was so stubbornly not providing.
 
Dean didn’t even seem to realize when their positions had changed and the
younger man was no longer laying beneath him, but rising up on his knees. “Come
on Dean, please.”
 
Dean let out a shuddering breath as he lubed up his cock, the pressure at this
point almost too much. He positioned himself with his left as his right hand
rubbed slow soothing circles at the small of the back. “Don’t worry Baby. I’m
going to take care of you.”
 
Dean continued the slow steady circles as he pushed into the oh so tight, oh so
hot center of his lover. When he was fully enveloped he stilled as his right
hand trailed up the mile long spine to tangle in the trailing curls at the nape
of the neck. He pulled back and started a slow sensual rhythm that had them
both moaning in minutes.
 
“God Dean, faster.”
 
No one ever had to ask Dean Singer anything twice. As he began to thrust faster
and harder he reached down to take hold of his lover’s heavy member. Dean knew
he was hitting all the right spots by the shattered breathing from beneath him.
 
“Dean, I’m gonna . . .”
 
“Let’s go Baby.”
 
And just as Dean stroked his companion through his shuddering climax he shot
his load deep inside. He lay out across that mile of spine now as they
collapsed onto the bed, their sweat slick bodies tight together. Dean buried
his face in the curls now, breathing deeply.
 
“Mmmm, Dean, that was . . .”
 
“I know. . .” He said quietly, and then before he could stop himself. “Sammy.”
 
. . .
 
“Sammy?!”
 
And as every other time, the illusion was over.
 
* * *
 
If there truly was a shortage of gay cowboys, there was no shortage of gay men
trolling for one.
 
Usually at least one of them was tall. Or dark. Or some combination that Dean’s
imagination could make work. As long as he could keep them in shadow or under
him and hopefully they didn’t talk too much he could usually make it work for
him. At least until he made the unfortunate mistake of going one step too far.
 
Or maybe he did it subconsciously so he wouldn’t have to cuddle and try to make
small talk when he really just wanted them gone.
 
* * *
 
Now it was Dean sitting in the shadows watching as his companion quickly got
dressed. Fuck! He couldn’t even remember his real name now. Dean really hated
being the dick, but clearly that’s what he was here tonight.
 
“I’m . . .” Dean started.
 
“You’re going to say you’re sorry.” He chuckled without any humor reaching the
blue eyes. “No. Don’t bother.” He stood to his full height; he really was nice
looking. “I’m a big boy. I didn’t come here looking for anything more than one
night,” He stopped with his hand on the door knob. “But I at least wanted that
one night to be with you.”
 
And then he was gone.
 
And Dean felt like shit.
 
And he knew that he would probably do it again.
***** Misery *****
Things between John and Sam didn’t get better after that week-end.
 
There was no bridging the gap. Nothing Dean or Jer or Mrs. Gooding could say
would keep John and his willful teen from fights that would rattle the rafters.
Sam had always been a brat; always behaved as if his name entitled him to
people’s respect whether he earned it or not. John was determined to drum that
out of the boy one way or another. He just didn’t really know how.
 
When he had been a boy he’d been much more like Dean. In love with the land for
the sake of the land; happy to just ride a horse out and herd cattle for fun,
not just because it was a job. Sam had people to do that for him and was more
content at the barns barking orders at people who didn’t follow them anyway.
John started making Sam do every crappy, dirty, menial job on the ranch, no
matter that he only ever half assed it and someone else had to either follow
behind and re-do it or put up with things being thrown or broken if he was
asked to do it again. John tried grounding Sam, but from what? The boy had no
social life. John stripped his room of any creature comfort other than his
books and how could he take books away? So it was that Sam was content to sit
on his bed in his empty room reading. John was at his wit’s end. He had taken
the only thing that Sam seemed to care about in not letting him follow Dean on
his foolish rodeo dream, but that only seemed to punish Dean and strip away the
one really healthy relationship that Sam seemed to have.
 
“I don’t know what to do with him Carol.” He sighed to her after Sam had left
the dinner table one night.
 
“Don’t look at me John. I’ve tried everything I can think of too, but he just
doesn’t seem to want to be helped.”
 
“Where did I go wrong?” John chuckled humorlessly to himself. “How did I raise
such an asshole?”
 
“John!” The housekeeper admonished.
 
“Well tell me he’s better than that. He treats us all like shit off his boot.
Present company especially.” He nodded to her. “Some days I don’t know why you
never quit. I don’t pay anyone enough to take his crap.”
 
She looked at him hard. “I have to believe that somewhere in there is just a
scared, broken little boy and one of these days, one of us is going to make him
better.”
 
“God Carol, I hope you’re right, but I can’t see what you see.”
 
“What do you see when you look at him John?”
 
“Misery.”
 
* * *
 
So that’s what it felt like to have someone else’s hand on your cock.
 
Sam had always wondered why he needed to put up with these girls and their
vapid conversation and giggling and head games. Now he knew.
 
Her name was Tammy Hill. She was a senior, she was head cheerleader, ‘dating’
the quarterback and an A student. She had jet black hair and big blue eyes,
stood about five ten and was built like the proverbial brick shithouse. Tammy
should have had it all, but her daddy left her mom for a much younger, thinner,
prettier girl, and left Tammy with self esteem issues. She had built herself a
reputation for collecting all the best looking boys in the school. She was even
hand picking a few out of the freshman year.
 
Was Sam really a bad guy for taking advantage of Tammy’s need to acquire
‘pretty’ things? Probably, but he’d held out for almost a year. She’d first
started after him in his sophomore year, but she was on Mrs. Gooding’s slut
list so he had tried to avoid her.
 
But this morning Mrs. Gooding had taken the keys to the car and grounded him
for the week end because he got Jer to split the wood for him. So fuck her! He
was going to fuck Tammy. He wouldn’t throw it in Mrs. Gooding’s face or
anything, but it was going to make him feel better.
 
Sam had to wonder if the young custodian’s assistant qualified as pretty or who
else might have been the one to provide Tammy with the key to the music room.
He also noted that there was a workout mat folded up behind the upright piano
but she didn’t go for that right away. She stood tall in front of him and
unbuttoned his shirt, but said nothing.
 
Sam wasn’t sure what to expect, but Tammy was different from the beginning. She
didn’t seem to want all the kissing. She was kissing his neck and his chest,
which was okay with Sam, but she never once kissed his face and deflected him
when he tried to kiss her. Then she tickled her nails along his hip, just above
his jeans and he didn’t care what the fuck anymore just so long as she didn’t
stop.
 
Then she undid his pants, pushed him back to sit on the end of the piano bench
and dropped to her knees and Sam didn’t think he really cared to know. If her
hand on his cock was good, her mouth was inspired. She licked a flat wet strip
up the underside and Sam thought he could volunteer to be her fuck toy any time
she wanted. Her small hand reached up, tracing up his torso to gently push him
back to lie down on the bench. He didn’t know why since he was kind of enjoying
watching her do her thing but then she took his balls in her mouth and again he
couldn’t bring himself to care enough to protest. Sam was just starting to feel
a heat building in the base of his tummy when the door of the music room burst
in and he was pulled up from the bench in a not very nice way.
 
Quarterback: Chad Miller
 
Center: James Sutter
 
Linebacker: Billy who gives a fuck, I’m dead.
 
Oh Fuck!
 
Thank God dad was making him do all those chores lately and he was getting a
muscle or two, but there was no way he was going to hold his own against the
three of them.
 
Lucky for Sam he only got the center and the linebacker.
 
“Did you think I wouldn’t notice that you weren’t at practice?” Chad slapped
Tammy.
 
“Did you think I didn’t know about your little collection?” Chad sneered at
Sam, but slapped Tammy again.
 
“Fuck you Chad.”
 
This time Chad didn’t raise his hand but pulled her roughly to him. “You’re
gonna watch this and then you’re on your own.” He gave the briefest nod to
James and Billy and they started working Sam over. Never a head shot, all body
and while Sam struggled as much as he could there was little he could do to
protect himself. They were there to teach him a lesson though, not kill him so
it was over sooner than Sam expected, but much, much longer than he would have
liked.
 
They dropped Sam in a pile, his pants and boxers still around his ankles,
gasping for breath. “You’re a good looking kid Winchester.” Chad spoke quietly.
“You don’t need to fuck another man’s girl.”
 
For a smart guy Sam really needed learn to keep his mouth shut. “Maybe your
girl just needs to fuck a better man.”
 
Chad actually chuckled before kicking Sam in the stomach and turning on his
heel to leave.
 
When the door shut Sam just lay there as the tears of pain and waves of nausea
rolled over him. It wasn’t until she spoke that he realized Tammy was still
there.
 
“Are you going to be okay?”
 
“Yes.” He looked up at her tear streaked face where Chad’s hand print blossomed
on her cheek. “You?”
 
“Yea.” She looked at him uncomfortably. “I’m going to go now.”
 
“Yea.”
 
“Do you want me to get someone?”
 
“If you see Dave Clark, you could send him by.”
 
“I’ll see you around Sam.”
 
He chuckled which hurt like a bitch. “Yea, see you around.”
 
* * *
 
It took Dave three days to find him. Okay, not really, but it sure felt that
way. Sam had somehow managed to get his pants back up and his shirt pulled
around him but not done up.
 
“What the fuck?” Was Dave’s shocked greeting.
 
Sam explained as Dave started checking him out.
 
“Jesus. You’ve got to tell someone.”
 
“I’m telling you.”
 
“You know what I mean.”
 
“Come on, it’s not . . .” Sam winced as Dave gently prodded the nasty red welt
up his side. “that bad.”
 
“Really? You know I think you’ve got a cracked rib or two here.”
 
“All right.” Sam winced again as he buttoned his shirt back up. “If it gets
worse I’ll go.”
 
“Jesus, Sam. The quarterback’s girlfriend? Really?” Dave shook his head. “That
seemed like a smart idea to you.”
 
“You said I should get a social life.”
 
* * *
 
Sam had always wanted college. John agreed to Dallas U. Sam wanted more than
that but John couldn’t see past his own need to keep the boy close. For all
that John had never been able to be affectionate with his son, neither could he
face letting him go.
 
But then the letter came from Harvard.
 
Who could deny early admission to one of the most prestigious business schools
in the country?
 
“It’s a long way from home.” John said quietly when Sam handed him the letter
at the dinner table one night.
 
“It might be good for all of us.”
 
But as far as Dean was concerned, all the oxygen had just been sucked from the
room.
***** Separation *****
Cambridge Fucking Massachusetts
 
Dean couldn’t even think about it without the invective.
 
For Dean, the next year was like slowly ripping a band aid off of an open
wound, scab and all, only to let it heal again.
 
Over and over.
 
Even if he didn’t love Sam that way, he sure loved him all the other ways too.
What was he going to do without his best friend? What was he going to do
without that persistent little pain in the ass?
 
But Sam couldn’t help but be so excited. Every stage in the process, every
purchase for his place, buying his place, all of it served to put a big grin on
Sam’s face. Dean tried so hard to put a happy face on for Sam, but other times
he found himself desperate to get away.
 
Carol watched every time that Dean’s heart broke just that little bit more and
she quietly grieved for him. She longed to make it better, but she couldn’t
just dive in there and say anything or do anything without Dean asking. She
knew Sam wasn’t the same as Dean; had never shown any of the signs, but she
just had a feeling, if Dean talked to Sam . . . but that was crazy, that’s just
not how it worked.
 
* * *
 
Sam chose to fast track going to school through the summer semesters to be home
a year earlier. He couldn’t one hundred per cent decide if he wanted to do his
Master’s or not, he sure had time to decide.
 
They had weighed all the options for housing. While the dorms or a fraternity
would serve to break Sam into the social life his family believed he so
desperately needed, Sam lost the lottery for the dorms and no one could really
see him pledging a frat. There were about a million apartments in the area that
Sam could have rented, but John had never rented anything in his life. “A man
of the land owns his own land” or some blabity blah speech later and they
decided to buy Sam a house. It could only appreciate in value and if Sam
decided to stay another year they wouldn’t have to go looking for apartments
again.
 
Sam moved by himself. It was a busy time at the ranch so his dad couldn’t go,
he didn’t really want Mrs. Gooding to go and Dean . . . well Dean just seemed
to find his self too busy to go along. Too busy to say good-bye.
 
Sam was packing the last of his stuff into the truck for his dad to drive him
to the airport and having a hell of a time since he couldn’t keep his eyes on
the task at hand while looking everywhere for Dean.
 
“I’m sorry son.” John came out of the house. “Jeremiah says he went out to ride
the circuit this morning.” He checked his watch. “Did you want to go see if we
can find him?”
 
Sam sighed. “No Dad. I’m guessing he did that on purpose so he won’t be found.”
 
“He must have forgotten.” John tried again.
 
“Yea.” Sam agreed, but John was not convinced by either one of them. Sam was
not okay with this, but Dean just didn’t forget anything. “Let’s just go Dad.”
 
* * *
 
Chempala was covered in sweat, his chest heaving slightly from the long
exertion. Dean didn’t like the angle of the sun in the sky but he kept pushing
the horse on anyway. He realized about three hours out that he was being a
selfish shit. Just because he didn’t want Sam to go was no reason to behave
like a child and throw a tantrum. Sam had to find his own way and he wasn’t
going to be able to do that here. How had he been making Sam feel? He’d been a
big old wet blanket over all of Sam’s preparations and taking just a little bit
of the joy out of this for Sam.
 
Well damn it, Dean didn’t want Sam to go away for three years thinking Dean was
mad, jealous, hated him, God knows what. He could see the dots of the barns on
the horizon and leaned down to Chempala’s ear. “Come on boy. Just a bit more.
We have to get to Sammy.” And as usual, it was like the horse understood and he
went just a bit faster.
 
* * *
 
As the truck got to the top of their road Sam looked back across what he could
see of the ranch. He might want everyone to think that he didn’t really care,
but it was his home, it was a huge part of him and he was leaving it for the
first time. The big ranch house and it’s two smaller companions, the barns full
of horses, cattle, tack, pigs and chickens. All the things that a part of Sam
wanted to run away from, deny to his last breath, but he knew the bigger,
better part of him would return to with open arms.
 
He was really torn about Dean not coming to say good-bye. Part of him knew why,
knew that after being the only real constant friend for each other for fifteen
years they were tied together in ways most people couldn’t understand. Knew
that they were each going to feel the missing piece for the next three years or
so, but wasn’t that also the reason to see him off? Honestly, Sam knew Dean,
better than anyone else and he knew the reasons Dean wasn’t here were less to
do with Sam than they were to do with Dean. Dean would have a hard time keeping
his feelings out of the ‘so long’ and it might threaten his macho image. He
snorted a little laugh that his father miss-interpreted.
 
“You okay son?”
 
“Yea Dad.” He looked back at the road and then his father. “Thanks Dad, you
know . . . for everything.”
 
For the first time in Sam’s life, John Winchester was speechless and then he
managed a weak, “Sure son.”
 
Sam looked back out the window with a smile on his face. This time was going to
be good for everyone. And then he saw it, or thought he did. Something on the
back rise, something small and dark in the distance. He almost stopped John to
go back and see if it was Dean, but he didn’t think he could deal with it if it
wasn’t, like it would feel like new rejection if it wasn’t. He was just going
to carry on, believing that Dean had come, that in the end, he couldn’t stay
away.
 
* * *
 
Dean got to the top of the rise just in time to see the tell tale plume of dust
up on the far rise telling him that a vehicle was on its way. There was no way
he would make it, no way would he even ask Chempala to try any harder. “Thanks
boy.” He patted the big neck.
 
Dean slowed to a trot on into the barn and washed his companion down and then
wandered aimlessly up to the house. He walked in the back kitchen door and made
a bee line for Mrs. Gooding's soft shoulder where he didn’t care about macho
and she held him while he cried.
***** Between Then And Now *****
Sam loved Harvard. He loved the intellectual challenge that he didn’t get at
home. The years that Jer had shared the books with him had helped, but the high
schools in the area didn’t have any resources to deal with an intellect like
Sam’s. Luckily the libraries had fair collections and John never argued with
books that Sam had wanted to buy so Sam had explored his interests that way.
 
But at school there were actual people to discuss his thoughts and feelings and
theories with. He joined a math club, a philosophy group and a basketball
league. Between the three activities, his heavy course load and very late
nights dancing at clubs in the city, it all kept him pretty busy.
 
Not busy enough though.
 
He thought about Dean at least once a day if not way more. The more he tried to
shake it off, the more it tickled at his brain.
 
Third semester was even harder because he actually started business school and
so the courses were easier for Sam than the Psych, Anthro and Geology courses
he had taken his first year. So he took an extra elective in chemistry and
started writing the dissertation for his research Masters which would take him
probably about ten years to complete.
 
And then he met Jessica. She was blonde, beautiful and Mrs. Gooding would love
her. They became constant companions choosing quiet activities over Sam’s clubs
most of the time. She spent a great deal of time at Sam’s place, but never
quite moving in.
 
Jessica was awesome. She was smart, she was funny, she reminded him of Dean and
when she finally said “I love you.” Sam packed all her stuff in a box and had
it delivered to her. Within the year, Maddison, Sarah and Cara followed and all
fell to the same fate.
 
Then Sam came home for his third Christmas and something was different.
Something about Sam was different. Once he was home it was like he was four
year old Sammy again and couldn’t let Dean out of his sight. If he left the
room, Sam felt like it was colder, he couldn’t breath right. It was all he
could do to stay in a chair and wait for Dean to come back and not follow him
to find him. Sam had tried analyzing his feelings, but couldn’t bring himself
to believe what the voice in his head was telling him.
 
Sam went back to school after New Year’s and met Brady. Their short, tumultuous
relationship made Sam realize that the only one who could ever make him happy
was Dean, not all the pretty girls, not the pretty boys, just Dean. After all
these years, to have it come in so clear was like a bell ringing in his head.
 
He called his father.
 
* * *
 
Dean managed to avoid Sam for most of his first semester, but when Sam came
home for Christmas after deciding he was sick and tired of chasing Dean around
the house, he confronted Dean about it.
 
“Dean, seriously, what’s going on with you?”
 
“I don’t know Sam.” Now that he was here, Dean thought he might say his piece,
but that didn’t mean he could actually look at Sam. “I got used to you not
being here, and now you come back just so I get to go through you leaving
again. I’m sorry Sam I . . . I just don’t want to.”
 
Sam watched his friend; his . . . best friend trying to walk away from him
again. “Dean do you think it was easy for me? Do you know how many times I
almost came home? Just to see you, hear from you.” It was Sam’s turn to look at
the floor. “You never even said good-bye.”
 
“And I won’t Sam. I can’t ever say those words so don’t come to me to say it or
I’ll just keep walking away.”
 
So Sam didn’t bother trying to see Dean on his way back, but they did talk more
for his second week home and Sam started calling him from school at least once
a week.
 
* * *
 
When Sam left for school, the happy go lucky cowboy that Dean had been, went
with him. There was no joy in Dean without Sam there.
 
Most people never even noticed, but Carol did. She noticed and she knew why.
For almost three miserable years she watched Dean struggle with a love that
wasn’t going away no matter how many random strangers he tried to hide behind.
Carol tried all that time to be supportive as she always had but there was
something unsavory about it. Something really wrong, not with who and what he
was, but with how and where he chose to deal with it; horrible bars, never
having someone the next morning or to share anything with. (Not that Sam was
much better with his revolving door of girls.)
 
Then one night John got a phone call.
 
Dad?”
 
Did John Winchester hear a hitch of tears in the voice? “Sam?”
 
“I’m coming home for the summer.”
 
“Anything you need son.”
 
* * *
 
“What?” Dean heard Mrs. Gooding’s incredulous question from the kitchen
 
Dean smiled as he came around the corner. “What’s going on?” He asked as he
poured himself a coffee.
 
“Do you think you can find a position to put Sam in for the summer?” John
asked.
 
Dean nearly choked on his coffee at the implications he could take from that
question. “Excuse me, what?”
 
“Sam called and he wants to come home for the summer.”
 
“Really?” Did he just sound like a teen aged girl? He tried again. “Really?”
Yea, much more macho. “Isn’t that going to delay his graduation?”
 
“Dean, you know as well as I do that it doesn’t make sense to question Sam.”
 
“Well, yea, I can find work for him. It’s not like we have to pay him, is it?”
Dean grinned.
 
“Funny.” John couldn’t help but return it. “How’s two hundred thousand dollars
for the education that he hardly needs.”
 
“Well then I’d say he owes you a few chores.”
 
* * *
 
Sam seemed different.
 
Not that anyone but Dean might notice since everyone was still avoiding him
like he was radioactive. Dean didn’t totally mind. Having Sam all to himself
after being without him for nearly three solid years was bliss. Even if it
wasn’t the way Dean really wanted them to be, it was like he felt whole again
without having known that there was a hole there in the first place.
 
For the end of April and most of May, they were just guys, hanging around,
working together, having a few beers, but then Dean started to notice subtle
changes. Sam would wink at him or give him a nudge that lasted almost long
enough to be a touch. Looks that lingered longer than might be considered
natural, statements that could be taken more than one way. For instance when
Dean told Sam that he was taking one last shot at the prize for the rodeo
circuit; he asked if Sam wanted to come along.
 
“Are you kidding? I can’t wait to watch you straddle that bull again.”
 
And it’s not so much what he said, but the way he said it, and by the time Dean
looks again, Sam’s looked away.
 
There were a lot of little moments like that and Dean was just starting to
wonder . . .
 
* * *
 
John had no problems with Sam going along to watch Dean anymore. He smiled when
he even thought about trying to stop him.
 
When Sam had called to ask if he could come home, obviously John had agreed but
pictured the kid who had left home; barely able to get through a day’s chores.
It was certainly not the man who had returned. Sam had grown probably another
three or four inches since he left home and even without ‘real’ work he’d put
on at least forty pounds of solid muscle. Physically he was much more capable
of running the business, but he still seemed awkward around people.
 
But something was different.
 
Although he spent most of his time with Dean, which was not entirely
unexpected, he was . . . trying with everyone else.
 
There had been no miracle, Sam was still a bit of a jerk to the guys who
dropped off the feed order, still cold to Carol, though more polite for sure.
But John couldn’t deny he was trying.
 
So he sent them off on their rodeo week-end with the same anxious feeling in
his gut that something would happen to Dean, but with another feeling too. A
feeling that something was going to change . . . or maybe it already had.
***** Summer Of Love *****
Sam watched Dean’s first go round on the bull from his place in the stands
where he was drawn taut like a bow string with his own version of nerves. The
first time he’d watched he had been filled with the exhilaration, but this time
he really was afraid of those broken bones his dad had mentioned all those
years ago. Dean had made it through three seasons of riding with no incidents;
but it didn’t make Sam worry any less.
 
Sam had come home this summer to find out things about Dean, about himself;
thing he needed to know to decide about his future. He wouldn’t be able to do
any of that if Dean were laid up in a hospital. He smiled to himself though,
just imagining trying to stop Dean.
 
At day’s end, Sam was so proud of Dean that he could hardly contain it. He had
the best scores of his short amateur career and he was beaming. But after
watching the pain course across Dean’s face as his friends slap their
congratulations across his back and shoulders Sam signaled to Dean that they
should decline the invites to go out to the bar.
 
* * *
 
Dean felt so good about his day that he wasn’t sure he should give it up, but
then he got back to the hotel and once he’d sat down for twenty seconds his
aging muscles told him to hang it up today . . . like right now.
 
Sam watched the aches cross Dean’s face and smiled a tiny smile. “Go take a hot
shower to break those cramps up and I’ll run grab us some dinner.”
 
“You sure you don’t want to go out?”
 
“Do you really want to go sit in some restaurant?”
 
Just then an angry twinge ran down Dean’s neck. “Uh, no, I guess you’re right,
thanks.”
 
“Take your time.” Sam smiled. “Use all the hot water.”
 
Dean grinned back over his well tanned shoulder. “I was going to anyway.”
 
Sam laughed out loud as he grabbed the hotel and car keys. Sam had been waiting
for a moment and now he couldn’t believe this one was going to present itself.
It was so much more than perfect. He was back within the half hour with a
bucket of chicken with all the trimmings and a plan. As he walked through the
door into the steaming heat of the South Pacific he had his jacket and jeans
off before Dean came out of the bathroom.
 
“Wow, you are fast.”
 
“Only when I want to be.”
 
So there was another of those what-does-he-really-mean statements and damned if
it didn’t go straight to Dean’s cock.
 
Dean unconsciously rolled and flexed the sore shoulder.
 
“Come over here.” Sam beckoned, trying his best to reflect the last time he’d
done this. “Sit.” He directed Dean to sit on the edge of his bed.
 
“No thanks Sam, I’m good.” Dean frowned, the flush in his cheeks from the hot
shower. Right?
 
“Come on over here you big baby.”
 
Dean couldn’t help but remember the last time he did this, sat here like this
but this was totally different right? Right? Had Sam grown that much since that
time? Really? That his legs would be this much more impossibly long.
 
“This time will you promise to tell me if I’m hurting you?”
 
“What?”
 
“Last time I’m pretty sure I hurt you a couple times, but you never said
anything.”
 
“You were trying to help.”
 
“I just don’t like that you’ve kept things from me all these years Dean.”
 
What the hell was he talking about? Sam started the gentle, soothing massage
and Dean more or less melted. Dean sank into the sensations of Sam’s big,
strong hands kneading the tight, painful muscles of his shoulder. Just having
Sam’s hands on his skin, any skin was enough to send chills through him. And
then he felt it; nestling against the cheeks of his ass. Sammy! Dean felt his
skin heating up and knew that it had nothing to do with the shower and he had
to get out of there. But almost as soon as he formed the thought Sam’s arms
encircled his chest.
 
“Oh, no you don’t.” Sam smiled and those legs pulled him in and locked around
him. “Not this time Dean.”
 
“Sam.” Dean’s voice felt a little shaky to him. This couldn’t be happening;
this was all out of Dean’s dreams, Sam’s legs holding him gently in place,
those hands exploring his skin, those lips brushing along his neck. “What are
you doing?”
 
Sam was nestled into Dean’s shoulder, breathing deep, solidifying his decision.
He kissed a line across the shoulder and up the neck to his ear. “I’m just
doing what I should have been doing all along.” His left hand across Dean’s
belly could feel the muscles tighten and flip. “There’s always been something
between us Dean but it’s like we’ve been afraid of it.” His right hand caressed
up along Dean’s chest, brushing his nipples along the way. He took Dean’s chin
in his hand tilting it to him to finally steal a kiss. “Or was I wrong?”
 
It felt like every nerve in Dean’s body was firing at once. Wrong? Hell no! But
why? Why now? What the hell was happening? Did Dean really care? Dean had been
waiting and wanting this for years, but could it be real? What if it wasn’t?
What if Sam changed his mind? Dean tried to imagine the implications of what
could . . . would happen if this wasn’t right. Was it worth the chance of
losing Sam all together just to satisfy his need, his dream? But then he
realized if he stopped this now, he would never know what could have been.
 
“No Sam, you’re not wrong.”
 
“So do you want this Dean? Do you want us?” Sam suddenly stopped, somehow
unsure. So quietly he asked. “Do you want me?” Sam couldn’t believe he’d
finally had the nerve to ask the question. From the day that he left three
years ago, the moment that they pulled away from the ranch and he thought he
saw the shadow of a horse and rider on the top of the rise, from that day to
this, Sam had wanted to ask Dean the question and now that it was done he was
afraid of the answer. Not just afraid that Dean would say no, but at least as
afraid that he would say yes. If he says no then Sam knows he’ll be shattered,
just knows that it would be the end of anything good that Sam had ever had. But
if he says yes, then what? Where do they go, what do they do? Dealing with yes
might just be harder.
 
Dean pulled himself away from the younger man only to turn and pin Sam down on
the bed. Dean’s first instinct was to attack; to kiss Sam hard, to claim,
devour. But looking into Sam’s eyes, something in him made him stop, their
first kiss; he was going to want to remember this. He leaned in gently kissing
Sam full on the lips, his tongue teasing along the line feeling Sam’s smile,
tasting Sam’s joy. Sam eagerly opened for him, deepening the kiss, but
continuing to let Dean drive. Their tongues slid and licked, tasting and
exploring and neither of them seemed inclined to step back. And Dean knew that
it was real; that every thing he’d been hoping for, waiting for, praying for
was real and had been worth every lonely night. In that moment he could see a
thousand futures and they all included Sam. Finally Dean pulled back, gasping
for breath, but not forgetting that there was a question hanging in the room.
“I want you Sam, with everything that I am.”
 
Dean stroked the face in front of him, his thumb caressing the high cheek bone,
gathering up the single tear that escaped the younger man. He stroked through
the silky mane of Sam’s too long hair and smiled. “Always and forever, I’ve
only wanted you.”
 
The words filled Sam up in a way that he hadn’t thought possible, filled cracks
and crevices in his heart that he hadn’t even known were there. It filled him
up so much that he felt the tears that filled his eyes, but couldn’t deny the
happiness in them. “Then come here cowboy.” Sam smiled up at Dean and Dean’s
heart felt liquefied. Sam’s hands roamed all over Dean’s naked chest and back,
exploring, feeling, memorizing territory that he would gladly take years to map
with kisses. He leaned up getting started on Dean’s collarbone and neck,
reveling in the taste and scent of Dean which couldn’t be covered up by cheap
motel soap. His tongue traced a line up to Dean’s ear. “Why didn’t you ever
tell me?”
 
Dean was swirling in the sensations of Sam’s hands and lips on him and hardly
had room in his brain for thought, let alone conversation. “Sam, it was always
. . . complicated.”
 
It was Sam’s turn to take over and he easily flipped the smaller Dean over on
to the bed. “Then let’s just un complicate things.” The hands that had explored
earlier were now replaced by Sam’s soft lips and not so soft teeth as he nipped
and kissed and licked his way across the expanse of Dean’s chest. Dean cried
out when Sam’s tongue licked his stiff nipples, the sound of Dean’s pleasure
drawing a moan from Sam. In that instant Sam knew that discovery was going to
be more fun than a week at Disney. His fingers tickled down Dean’s ribs,
settling finally at Dean’s hips in an attempt to hold him down. “Easy cowboy.
I’ll take care of you, don’t worry.”
 
“Oh, but Sam, it’s been forever.”
 
“No Dean, forever starts now.”
 
Dean couldn’t believe how glorious it felt to be here with Sam. To look up into
Sam’s eyes, not some stranger that forced him to pretend. How great it was to
feel Sam’s hands on him, his lips, to wrap his hands in that hair. Dean just
felt warm all over, content, happy; Dean felt complete. He knew there was still
a long way to go. Sam was different, sure, but there was still a lot of the old
Sam still in there. Emotionally there was a ways to go.
 
Dean felt the cool air as Sam finally removed the towel from him and he
shivered. There was a small gasp from Sam when Dean’s cock sprang free. Dean
couldn’t help the little smile of pride on his lips. Sam’s fingers tickled down
his thighs to pull his knees apart and then Dean’s smile was replaced with a
groan of pleasure as Sam’s breath ghosted across his sack. Sam took each of
them into his mouth in turn and Dean could swear there was lightning in the
room.
 
Sam knew there was no where else that he would rather be, knew that he should
never have denied that little voice in his head all those years that just kept
chanting Dean’s name. But when he opened that towel his breath caught just a
bit. Length was one thing, but girth was something all together different.
Slow, he told himself, just take it slow. He couldn’t believe how much his
mouth started watering. He licked a big wet stripe up the palm of his hand
before wrapping it around Dean and taking a big sloppy lick around the perfect
head lapping up the ample pre-come oozing from the slit. Dean sucked in his
breath before exhaling a low moan. That was all it took, Sam was hooked;
addicted to Dean’s taste, his sounds; his scent. Sam was lost to the power of
Dean and he couldn’t be happier.
 
Dean was concentrating on tomorrow’s ride, the feed order, Chempala’s lineage,
any random thought other than the amazing feeling of Sammy’s mouth on his dick.
After watching and wanting all this time, Dean was pretty proud of himself for
lasting this long. Sam was taking more and more of him in, his nose nearly to
Dean’s groin when he shot a hole in his staying power. He looked down at Sam
licking and sucking his cock just as Sam glanced up at him through the veil of
his bangs and it was so absolutely sexy that Dean was lost.
 
“Sammy.” He gasped as his orgasm ripped through him. Sam managed to take every
drop Dean had to give and continued to lick and nuzzle him through all the
shivers that followed before Dean pushed his mouth away. Dean gestured him up
the bed, quite past words at this point. He took Sam’s face in his hands
kissing him long and slow, tasting himself on his lover’s tongue.
 
“Okay?” Sam asked.
 
“Oh yea, Sammy.” Dean replied as Sam lay his head on Dean’s chest, snuggled
into the crook of his shoulder. “More than okay.” He felt Sam smile against his
skin and sigh a contented sigh. “Were you worried?”
 
“A little.”
 
“How long have you known . . . about me?”
 
Sam chuckled. “Since Nancy Purvis.”
 
“Really?” Dean smiled. “Why?”
 
“Dude, that girl was hot.”
 
Dean laughed out loud. “She was kind of pretty, wasn’t she?”
 
They fell back into a comfortable silence, Dean stroking Sam’s side with one
hand while his other started lazy strokes on his still hard prick. A breath
escaped Dean as chills ran up and down Sam’s spine. “I think we have something
to take care of here Sammy.”
 
“Mmmm.” Sam hummed into Dean’s neck pretty much satisfied to let Dean do
whatever he pleased.
 
Dean rubbed and petted Sam for a long moment, his thumb rubbing across the
swollen head on every other stroke gathering up the drops of pre-come there. He
brought the thumb to his lips and his ravenous slurping drew a groan from Sam.
“Oh Baby,” Dean moaned. “I’ve got to taste you.” Dean pulled himself out from
under Sam which wasn’t all that difficult since Sam had pretty much turned to
jelly on that statement alone.
 
Sam rolled over to lay on his back and watched virtually the same show he had
just given Dean. The elder bit, licked and kissed a path down Sam’s well
muscled chest, but unlike Sam, Dean left welts behind. Sam didn’t care; loved
every minute of it, would gladly wear a badge that said ‘Hands off! Property of
Dean.’ But the love bruises would have to do. He watched and waited, every
minute a symphony of sensations that went straight to making his dick even
harder and pulling sounds from him that he didn’t even recognize as his own.
 
Dean made his way down, agonizingly slowly. He licked and sucked the big angry
red marks onto Sam’s ribs like tattoos of desire. He wanted, no needed to make
this so special for Sam; to make sure Sam would never want to go anywhere, be
anywhere; be with anyone but him. Dean wrapped his hand around Sam’s wanting
cock and was rewarded with a distressed gasp from his partner. What Sam lacked
in width he more than made up for in length. More than! Dean smiled to himself;
no one ever said Dean Singer backed down from a challenge.
 
Sam was strung as tight as a bow string and really just hoping that he didn’t
have to resort to begging. He heard his own desperate whimpers, though and so
it didn’t look good. He felt his knuckles start to ache from how tight he was
grasping the sheets when he felt Dean’s mouth over half of his length. “Oh my
God!!” He cried out.
 
Dean smiled; Sam’s exclamation music to his ears. He kitten licked and lapped
every drop, every glorious inch. Dean wasn’t sure if he would ever find a more
perfect moment. He had Sam! He was even starting to sound like a broke record
to himself, but damn it, he was going to enjoy this. Everything about him was
amazing; the taste, the smell, those girly noises telling him he just hit a
really good spot, all of it. Dean sure couldn’t see any down side here. He
hummed and sighed working his way further and further down Sam’s shaft until
his nose was buried in soft curls.
 
“Oh-my-fucking, son-of-a-bitch, Dean!!” Sam’s hips bucked up to meet the most
amazing sensation he had ever felt. Dean would have laughed if his mouth wasn’t
so fucking full. As it was, Dean had to consciously think about breathing as
his throat worked on Sam and holding the big bastard down. “Oh Jesus, Dean,
what are you doing?” Dean stilled, afraid he had somehow hurt him. “Well don’t
fucking stop.” And Dean almost did choke. Dean started moving again then, up
and down, his hand cork screwing around the base; the sound f the slurping and
sucking absolutely pornographic. “Oh Baby! Oh Dean, fuck. I’m gonna come Dean.”
 
But Dean already knew that swallowing every drop offered. He crawled up the bed
to lay kisses up Sam’s neck and finally steal another kiss. “Wow Sammy. Who has
a dirty mouth when he wants to come?”
 
Sam’s breathing was still ragged and a bit uneven. “Dean, just shut up and fuck
me already.”
 
“Whoa, whoa, wow, woah.” Dean was a bit overwhelmed by the request. “I know we
have time to make up for Sam, but are you sure you want to go there? It’s not
going to be easy your first time.”
 
Sam looked up at Dean, eyes half lidded and his bottom lip all red and puffed
up from the kissing. “Nothing worth having ever is.”
 
Dean sighed, his eyes closing for a second. If he wasn’t already head over
fucking heels in love with this man before he sure was now. He jumped up and
ran to his back pack for a bottle of lube and was already coating his fingers
before he got back. He stood above Sam with a smile on his lips that danced all
the way up to his bright green eyes. “Now, you’ll tell me if I hurt you.”
 
Sam smiled back. “If you don’t get moving, I am going to hurt you.”
 
“Next time, big fella.” Dean smirked lifting Sam’s impossibly long leg over his
shoulder as he pushed his middle finger rapidly to the second knuckle making
Sam jump involuntarily. They shared a smile that spoke volumes as Dean started
rubbing and caressing the tight muscles, coaxing them to open up for him. He
added the second and then third fingers which made Sam squirm a little
uncomfortably before Dean hit the best place on earth.
 
Sam had to smile when Dean quickly shoved the first finger in since he had
pretty much been asking for that. But then he slowed down and started to work
Sam open and Sam started to dissolve into the sensations. He felt like his
whole body was heating up from within, a slow gentle heat that threatened to
consume him and then it happened. Dean hit that spot . . . THE spot and Sam's
eyes rolled back in his head.
 
“Jesus! Dean do that again.”
 
Never one to refuse a politely worded request Dean did it again.
 
Sam moaned low in his throat and it seemed to rumble all the way through him.
“Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me! Now Dean! Please!”
 
Dean closed his eyes. He wasn’t going to last too long if Sam didn’t stop
talking like that. He gently lubed up his engorged cock, careful not to
stimulate himself too much at this stage. He rubbed the head against Sammy’s
slick opening and met his eyes. “Last chance Sam.”
 
The only answer Dean got was Sam thrusting his hips upward pushing Dean’s head
past that first ridge. Both of them gasped as Sam flexed his muscles and Dean
could swear he was being pulled in. He breathed out and started pushing forward
slowly but steadily until he felt Sam resist closing his eyes. He stopped
pulling back a bit as Sam bit his lower lip. “Breath out Sammy.” Sam pushed his
breath out as Dean pushed in and before long Dean was flush with Sam’s body and
he realized that he might never feel anything so perfect again. Sam was nothing
but tight heat around him and then Sam opened his eyes and smiled up at him and
Dean realized he was everything else too.
 
When Sam thrust his hips up and the head of Dean’s cock penetrated him, Sam
almost cried out. Everyone who says it’s better to do things fast is full of
crap. He couldn’t even say the worst was over because there was a whole lot
more of Dean to go. Dean began pushing in and it was all right for a minute and
then that gentle heat started burning from that point out. Sam knew he was
tensing up; he couldn’t help it but when Dean told him to breath he did and it
was better.
 
Dean stilled, waiting for Sam, reaching down and taking Sam’s beautiful prick
in hand to give him a few lazy strokes. “Okay Sammy?” Dean asked and Sam
nodded. “Ready?” And Sam nodded again.
 
Dean pulled out slowly and then thrust back in hitting that spot on his first
try and Sam cried out. “That is fucking incredible.” He rasped, his throat gone
dry.
 
Dean repeated the slow process a few more times until the sounds coming from
Sam sounded more like whimpers than pleasure and he quickened the pace.
 
“Oh fuck Dean, harder.” Dean moaned and slammed into Sam as he took his big
prick in hand again and matched pace. “Dean . . .”
 
It was a plea and Dean couldn’t refuse. “You wanna come Sammy?”
 
“Mmmm. Please Dean.”
 
Dean used Sam’s leg for leverage as he added a twist to the hand on Sam’s cock
and that was all it took. Sam came all over Dean’s hand and his own hard belly
screaming a litany of “GodDeanGodDeanGodDean” over and over as the tremors from
his orgasm ripped Dean’s from him. Dean managed to gently lay Sam’s leg back on
the bed before he collapsed down beside him.
 
There was silence for a long moment and then Sam’s voice came quiet and small.
 
“Dean.”
 
“Yea.” Dean exhaled.
 
“With all the things you’ve taught me in the last fifteen years, you’d think
you could have found some time to teach me that.”
 
Dean chuckled. “Bitch.”
 
“Jerk.”
 
* * *
 
Nine months later Sam moved home and discovered a few new merits of Saddle Oil.
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