Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3327482.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Character:
      Dean_Winchester, Sam_Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      Episode:_s10e12_About_A_Boy, Underage_Sex, Weecest, Wincest_-_Freeform,
      Masturbation, Blow_Jobs, Incest, deaged_dean, momentary_angst
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-02-10 Words: 1881
****** Still My Big Brother ******
by awabubbles
Summary
     Dean's trying to figure out this newer, younger, body of his and Sam
     takes a moment to remind Dean that he still thinks of him as his big
     brother, no matter what.
Dean shuts his eyes as he jerks off. Winces as he tugs at himself, desperate to
get rid of the strain in his cock, and the tightness in his balls. Figures if
he cranks one out real quick, he can get some goddamn relief for the night. Up,
down, and up again: this puberty thing was ridiculous. Killing a witch is
routine for a Winchester but this, how did he ever survive this?
Dean moans and it comes out as a choked whine. He hates this body. It’s too
small, too thin, zero muscle control. He doesn’t even enjoy the feel of his own
cock in his hand. It’s smaller than it should be, and he’s ashamed to admit how
much that fucks with his head.  But even if his dick is smaller it acts like
its fucking possessed!
Dean bites his lip so he doesn’t have hear his pimply teenage-self groaning as
he comes, mattress creaking under him as his hips push into his balled fist. He
finishes quickly, one more embarrassment added to his list. Sighs as his orgasm
pulses through him, more intense than he ever remembered. Maybe just this body
rewarding him for finally figuring out what else his cock is for. Yippee
skippee, Dean thinks.
“You know you…could have been less obvious about that.”
Dean freezes. His throat suddenly knots. He’s been caught with his pants below
his knees and his boy-dick in his hands. He can feel his brother’s eyes on him
and silently curses.
Dean had forgotten about Sam, sleeping quietly in the bed next to his. He’d
forgotten about his younger brother the way you forget about a hole in your
favorite jacket: you wear it so much you forget it’s there, take it for
granted.
“Don’t act like it’s the first time I’ve spanked the monkey while you were in
the same room, Sammy.” He says, hating the way his voice can’t decide on an
octave.
“Yeah,” Sam agrees easily. “But, it’s a um, it’s a little different this time.
Don’t you think?”
“Not used to a hot fourteen-year-old jerking off in the bed next you, Sammy?”
Dean teases. He tucks his hands behind his head and doesn’t bother pulling up
his pants. Defiant for no particular reason. He realizes he’s using ‘Sammy’ way
too much, but he doesn’t care, clings to some part of him he can still
recognize, quantify. Old man inside a tiny kid and nothing makes sense the way
it used to.
“No. Not for a long time,” Sam admits, but there’s a dark edge to it that stirs
something in Dean’s gut. He resists the urge to pull the blankets over his
dick, just in case.
“But, I remember you like this,” Sam continues softly. “At least, I remember
me, remembering you.”
Dean sneers, he doesn’t understand the difference. And honestly he doesn’t
enjoy thinking back on what an idiot he was at that age. Stupid and fresh-
faced, stumbling through target practice and girls’ panties all at once. 
He dares to glance at his little brother’s face, just to bark at him, tell him
to leave the past be. But he’s surprised by the stupid, sentimental look he’s
met with. Sam is largely in the shadows but he can feel the puppy-dog eyes
staring at him like a disturbance in the force.
“What?” Dean asks, careful and even a little bit scared.
Sam is stretched out flat, still. He’s trying to look as disarming as a six
foot plus giant can. Dean knows his brother spends most of his life trying to
shrink into himself like an apology.
“You were everything to me when we were kids,” Sam says candidly. “You brought
me to school, you nagged me about homework, you made breakfast, lunch, and
dinner. You even let me fall asleep watching late-night cartoons. I know I took
you for granted sometimes. I know I could be a pain in the ass,” Sam laughs
quietly. “But you were my big brother. I really thought you were a hero, Dean.”
Sam’s words rip through Dean like a bullet. He’s left more bare, more exposed,
than his soft dick and the hardening come on his stomach. A hole in him now the
size of Kansas, guts and entrails trailing from the exit wound: four simple
words from his little brother who is currently twice the size of him.
“What changed?” Dean asks bitterly. Besides the obvious, he thinks, shrinking
five feet into munchkinland. Besides the obvious, shrinking into munchkinland
because he took on the Mark of Cain and turned into a ruthless murdering
machine. Besides the obvious, he was built to be a murdering machine.
Sam sighs through his nose at him, that sort of disappointed-impatient huff
that Dean’s so goddamn familiar with. Dean closes his eyes and wraps himself in
the momentary comfort of it. Stupid and small like saying Sammy too many times.
“Honestly?” Sam says. “Nothing. I don’t mean super heroes, Dean. Or even
hunting. Especially not hunting. I just mean you. Always being there. Always
taking care of me. And I just want you to know that, no matter what, you’re
still my big brother.”
There was a time (especially when he was fourteen) when Dean would have
interrupted Sam in the middle of his diatribe with some snarky, dumbass joke.
Because he was young and stupid and whatever code of machismo he’d been taught
didn’t allow him to accept what Sam was offering right now. But he wasn’t young
anymore. Well, technically. But inside this little kid was still the old Dean
Winchester, the man who had said yes to the Mark of Cain and had been drowning
ever since.
“Say that again,” Dean whispers. Can barely make his throat work and it has
nothing to do with puberty.
Sam is silent for a beat, trying to register what Dean wants from him. “You’re
still my big brother,” he repeats.
Sam’s voice rough, like the stubble on his cheeks. Dark. Deep. Adult. Sam. His
little brother. Like a giant now. Still his little brother. Still.
Dean’s cock jumps up again in interest. Fucking hormonal mess.
“Again.”
Sam sits up slowly, warily. “You’re my big brother, Dean.  And I-I always look
up to you-“
Dean laughs at that because logistically it stopped happening when Sam was 16
and now it’s just ridiculous.
“Whenever I’m on a hunt I always think: how would Dean do this?” Sam continues,
undeterred. And Dean notices from the corner of his eye that Sam is sliding off
the bed and on to his knees.  “Because you always…do this thing, at the last
second, like a MacGyver or something you come out of nowhere and you fix
things. Cause it’s just what you do.”
Dean’s hands are twined in his One Direction-reject hair, his cock is flushed,
and his little brother is kneeling in front of him, all six foot and four
inches of him.
“Sammy,” Dean says, practically breathless.
“I can help,” Sam says, matter-of-fact, but his eyes are dark and hungry. “I
can help…fix this, big brother.”
Dean grits his teeth and groans because jesus fuck his cock is already leaking.
He hides his face, draping one arm over himself and just nods.
Sam smiles and then his massive hands are on Dean’s pale thighs, applying
pressure as he leans in and wraps his lips around Dean’s cock. Dean feels the
stubble of his younger brother scraping against his fresh teenager-skin and
bites the arm of his hoodie to keep from crying out. This body acts like it’s
never even been touched before and under Sam’s fucking tongue Dean knows he’s
 just going to embarrass himself yet again.
“Oh god, Sammy,” Dean whines. “You can’t do that I’m, I’m on a short leash here
man.”
Sam chuckles. Dean can feel it vibrate straight into his balls.
“Don’t know if I can be gentle,” Sam admits, pulling back to kiss Dean’s
thighs.
Dean smiles wryly at the sight of his brother, long hair, stubble, and bags
around his eyes, kneeling in front of his naked torso. “Sick old man,” he
accuses with a twist of his lips. And Sammy, god bless him, actually blushes.
“It’s not like you’re actually fourteen,” Sam says, like anyone needs
reminding.
“No shit,” Dean huffs and pulls his arm away from his face, wrapping his hand
around his cock. “But I uh…I want to do it like this, okay?” And he starts to
stroke himself slowly. He has more control like this, and with everything else
going haywire that’s the one thing he’s desperate for. “With you, right there.
You like that?”
Sam licks his dry lips and nods, watches as his big brother touches himself
slowly, precome leaking from the tip. Dean’s eyes fluttering shut as he keeps
going.
“I watched you like this. Once.” Sam blurts out of nowhere and Dean slows down,
just for a moment, just to hear. “Through the bedroom door,” Sam continues.
“You were fourteen, maybe fifteen. I was ten. I was coming back from a friend’s
place. I was an hour or two early and I thought you had taken off long before.
To some girl’s house or something, I don’t know. But then. You hadn’t.”
“What happened?” Dean asks.
“I saw you, kind of like this,” Sam admits. “On your back, on our bed. I
couldn’t see your face really just your hips and….what you were doing.”
Dean smiles through his pleasure, hums low. “Scare you off, Sammy?”
“No,” Sam says in a rough growl that makes Dean’s hips twitch. “In fact I
stayed…and I watched.”
Dean laughs. “Fucked you up good, didn’t I baby brother?” He sighs. Lifetimes
of regret.
“Maybe,” Sam admits, careless. “I was shocked at first. But I never thought it
was gross. I guess I just…wanted to know how it was done.”
Dean inhales and doesn’t let go. He grabs his dick and pulls at it anxiously.
His soul’s already been to hell recently so why not tack on thoughts of his
underage brother for a deluxe round trip.
“I wanted to learn from my big brother,” Sam admits, swallows.  “Even if
I…didn’t really understand what I was learning, exactly. But you looked like
this. I remember. Like this.”
Sam touches his leg and Dean sees the want all over his little brother’s face.
Then he’s coming hard with a grunt that his older self might actually be proud
of. He comes, leaning forward. Sam’s right there, head dipping below his knees,
mouth open and waiting. Dean jerks off, onto his little brother, painting him
with streaks of white.
Dean shakes when it’s over, feels like there jelly in his arms and legs. But
he’s hungry for the sight of Sam. His little brother. Technically older, but
still here between his knees licking Dean’s cum off his face.
Dean smiles, satisfied, and collapses back on to the bed.
“Oh, and before you ask,” Dean says, like the cheeky little snot that he
suddenly is. “I can’t drink for another seven years, and we also can’t, you
know, for another two. Maybe five, depending on the state.”
He hears Sam makes a frustrated noise. “Not funny, Dean.”
Dean smirks. “C’mon. It’s a little funny.”
 
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