Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1778017.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      Creature_Sam, tentacle_dp, Tentacle_Sex, Hurt_Sam, Drowning, Loss_of
      Virginity
  Collections:
      Supernatural_and_J2_Big_Bang_2014
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-06-11 Chapters: 4/4 Words: 26550
****** Surface Tension ******
by Ephermeralk
Summary
     Being stuck in a lakefront cabin in Central Oregon is not Sam’s
     picture of an ideal summer. There’s not much to do in the middle of
     nowhere besides spend countless hours with Dean or go swimming in the
     mountain lake. But unknown to them, something lurks underneath the
     surface of the placid water, almost drowning Sam after their arrival.
     And just when he thinks his summer can’t get any worse—Sam grows
     tentacles out of his back. His new limbs seem to like Dean as much as
     Sam does, seeking out any excuse to wrap themselves around his
     brother’s body, divulging without a doubt--Sam’s long harbored crush.
     As the brothers’ discover their new relationship they must also race
     against the clock to find both the source and a cure for Sam’s
     tentacles before their dad returns.
Notes
     Endless thanks to my lovely ladies who beta’d and all brought new
     insights into this fic to make it better: sleepypercy, kinkyheels,
     skeletoncloset, to dear_tiger for the invaluable summary help, and to
     wendy for being an amazing mod and running this challenge. Also, to
     everyone who has helped cheerlead me along the way, and of course to
     my brain twin, the ridiculously talented artist for choosing my fic
     to illustrate! LJ would not be the same without all of you!!
     To the (NSFW) art: ALL_THE_PRETTY_IS_HERE!
***** Chapter 1 *****

                                  [chapter 1]
Surface tension—noun: the force that causes the molecules on the surface of a
liquid to be pushed together and form a layer.
                          –Merriam-Webster Dictionary
 
It’s exactly two weeks past Sam’s fifteenth birthday, and the start of an
unusually hot summer is already in full swing. School had ended for the year
with a shrill bell signaling early release at lunch, and since then, Sam has
spent the afternoon with his soccer team—the Centennial Bulldogs—playing one
final pickup game before they leave behind the long days of classes for three
months of vacation.
Living in the northern district of Las Vegas long enough to make the varsity
team (even though he’s only a freshman) has made Sam feel like he fits in for
once. That he has something more to his name than being the new kid. Sam likes
feeling normal, despite the fact that his brother’s always telling him that
normal is for boring people who can’t handle the truth. People who aren’t Sam
and Dean Winchester.
The sound of squealing tires cuts sharply through the air, bringing the car of
Sam’s childhood—the Impala—into the parking lot at exactly 5 P.M.
“Hey guys,” Sam yells, slightly out of breath, “I gotta go, my brother’s here.”
One of his teammates, a blonde all-American looking boy named Danny shoves him.
“Big brother’s always got you on a tight leash, huh?”
Those kind of statements always rile Sam up, make him want to defend Dean until
the offender goes down bloody and unable to speak. It takes all of his
willpower to resist clocking Danny in the face. It’s not worth it, Sam tells
himself.
“Actually, we’re heading out for a road trip. And I still have to pack, so…”
“Yeah, yeah. Just make sure you’re back in time for cross-country in fall,
Winchester. With legs like yours we’re totally winning state.”
“Of course,” he answers non-committedly, not wanting to disclose that he’s got
a better chance of winning the lottery than of being here when school starts
back up in the fall. Hell, if he’s unlucky they won’t even be here through the
weekend.
Jogging down the field Sam dribbles the ball, making one last goal before
heading off the grass. After he hits the edge of the pavement, Sam strips the
cleats and sweaty socks from his feet, trading them for a pair of flip flops
that he stashed in his backpack before he left home in the morning. He takes
off his shirt as an afterthought, baring his tanned torso for Dean to take in;
his brother can’t tan to save his life. Dean burns on repeat.
“Hey,” Sam says, giving his brother a small smile. Even on his worst days he
can scrounge up a little bit extra of himself for his brother. It’s always
worth the effort to see his smile echoed on Dean’s face.
“Hey, kid. How was your last day of school? Ace all your finals this year?”
Dean’s leaning against the car, full jeans and a tee-shirt covering his body
even though the temperature’s hovering near a hundred. Sam readjusts himself
subtly. Over the last two years or so he’s gotten used to the way his body
reacts to Dean’s. How it screams for Sam to lean in close and press his lips
against his brother’s. Rationally, Sam’s brain knows that incest is wrong, but
ever since his hormones kicked into overdrive, his body’s taken control. And it
wants Dean. Bad.
“Sammy?” Dean asks, “You with me here?”
“Sorry. Spacing out I guess. Yeah. School was fine. Everyone’s glad to be
done.”
“Let me guess, everyone but you?”
Sam shrugs. “Means we’ll probably be moving sooner rather than later.”
“Yeah. Probably,” Dean responds passively.
Sam hasn’t asked their dad when the next time they’re splitting town is. Dad,
of course hasn’t offered any information either. Avoiding family time in
general has been their father’s main tactic since Sam turned thirteen and
learned he had a knack for making Dad livid.
“We ready to go?” he asks Dean, who’s staring at Sam with an unusual look on
his face. One that Sam can’t quite place. It makes Sam want to take his brother
apart piece by piece until Dean lets him in and tells him what he’s thinking.
For now, Sam catalogs the look and lets it go.
“Just waiting for your slow ass. I brought back pancakes for you. They’re in
the fridge for when we get home.”
Ugh. Pancakes. Ever since Dean got a minimum wage job working at the IHOP
kitchen, all they’ve been eating—Dad included—is pancakes, French toast, and
waffles. Sam learned the hard way that biscuits and gravy don’t keep well.
Sam groans as he squeezes his long body into the passenger seat of the Impala.
His muscles burn with the strain of having run for almost ninety-minutes
straight, and maybe tonight, if he smiles until his dimples pop and he
compliments Dean, his brother will massage the strain out of them.
“Got plans for the afternoon?” Deans asks. It’s the same question that Dean
asks him every day after school. Predictability and Dean are practically
synonymous.
“Shower.”
“Good idea. You reek.”
His hand connects with Dean’s shoulder as he shoves him to the side, making the
car swerve on the empty road.
“Fuck you, Dean.”
“You wish.”
It’s meant to be a joke. Something to lighten the mood. The thing is, Sam
really does want to fuck Dean. Silence hangs awkwardly in the air when he
doesn’t laugh.
“You’re an asshole,” he says, angling his body away from his brother’s. Houses
blur by until they finally pull into the driveway of a rickety, one story
house.
“Hm, looks like Dad’s home,” Dean observes as they get out of the car. “Maybe
he brought something for dinner.”
“If you count a new six pack of Pabst as food,” Sam snarks, even though he
can’t help but hope for something else to eat besides breakfast leftovers.
“Dude. Chill it.” Dean always protects Dad, even though he fights tooth and
nail for Sam. It makes Sam’s insides bubble with anger that he has to share
Dean’s loyalty. Someday, Sam tells himself, Dean’s devotion will be reserved
for only him.
Although he’s still seething, Sam secretly hopes that Dad might have remembered
by now that he’d forgotten Sam’s birthday the Wednesday before last. Of course,
hoping only ruins reality.
He knows that something’s wrong after they step over the salt line that marks
the entrance to their current home. Sam looks over Dean’s shoulder and down the
hall to see his dad cleaning guns at the table. The way the ice cube in his
dad’s tumbler of whiskey hasn’t melted, even though the alcohol is almost gone
tells Sam that he can throw out any idea of a belated birthday present. His
hackles start to rise as their dad downs the remaining whiskey.
Sam lets his backpack fall to the floor with a thud, making both Dad and Dean
jump as the reverberation breaks through the silence.
“Boys,” Dad says, his voice rough with liquor, lack of sleep, and mixed with
the sharp edge of authority. “Take a seat.”
Dean walks to the table and drops into a chair, following Dad’s words to the
second hand of the clock. Sam smiles challengingly instead. “No.”
“Sammy—“ Dean says, his voice tainted with weariness at what’s obviously the
start of yet another argument.
“It’s okay Dean, I’ll handle this,” Dad says, in a soft voice that’s reserved
for his brother. Dean’s mouth closes without finishing his sentence.
“What the fuck, Dad?” Sam spits out.
“Language, Sam,” Dad states. Sam rolls his eyes in response.
“It’s a free country, I can say what I want.” It’s aimed to make his dad lose
his cool. He’s not disappointed.
“Not under my roof, son. You’ll show me a little respect. Now put your shirt on
and sit down.”
His father’s voice has already lost the quiet edge. Sam smirks at the
challenge.
Sam hold his ground. He doesn’t move. “No.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. I said no. No, I’m not going to show you respect just because I
share half of your genes. You have to earn that, and while being a drunken,
absentee Dad might do it for Dean, it sure as hell doesn’t cut it for me.”
Dad makes a move to grab him by the arm, to physically force him to sit down,
when Dean’s there, as always, right between the two of them.
“Whoa there, Sam, Dad. Let’s not get hasty.”
Dean smiles, looking back and forth between the two of them. His brother’s grin
is infectious, and even though Sam knows from experience that it’s forced, he
still struggles not to smile back at Dean. Sam’s got every right to be angry.
Dean pushes on Dad’s shirt-covered chest until their father’s sitting back down
in the wooden chair and pours him another glass of alcohol.
“Here Dad, drink this. Sam, you go take a shower and get dressed. Then we’re
all going to sit down and have a civil family meeting afterwards.”
Sam doesn’t really want to leave, but it’s his brother, and Dean’s looking at
him through his long black eyelashes, eyes pleading with him to agree.
He nods. For as much as he wants to argue with his dad, Sam doesn’t want trade
words with Dean. As always, the thought of disappointing his brother sends
butterflies flapping to the pit of his stomach.
He lets out a breath that he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding.
“Ok,” he says.
Dean slaps Sam’s shoulder in gratitude. The sound of Dean’s palm hitting Sam’s
sweaty shoulder makes a squelching noise.
“Good man, Sam,” his brother states. Sam can sense the careful calculation Dean
makes in leaving the extra-syllable off of his name. “Now go shower that man-
juice off of your scrawny-ass.”
Dad chokes on his whiskey, and Sam pushes his brother away from him. “God,
you’re so gross.”
Dean flashes Sam the same winning smile he uses to charm every dinner waitress
across the country.
“And that’s why you love me.”
Sam rolls his eyes and heads down the hallway. It’s only after he’s gotten
under the cold water and his brain has shrugged off its heat induced fog that
he realizes his brother had once again managed to defuse a near-apocalyptic
fight. Only a trace of anger is left lingering across his frontal lobe.
--
Once he’s showered and cooled off, Sam feels infinitely better about the whole
situation. He comes back to the table, where Dad’s polished off his second
glass of whiskey, and Dean’s nervously tapping his foot against the floor,
probably hoping to avoid another shouting match. Sam can’t guarantee that won’t
happen.
Neither of them are talking, so Sam takes the initiative.
“So what’s up?”
Dad leans forward, but Sam can see Dean shaking his head, only the slightest
movement out of the corner of his eye. Dad slumps back down with a sigh, and
plays with the empty glass in front of him. What remains of the ice cube clinks
around in the glass loudly.
Dean takes a deep breath, and says all in one go, “We’re leaving town
tomorrow.”
It takes Sam a moment for the words to process through his head. They’ve been
here for so long—four whole months—that Sam had almost forgotten his family’s
propensity for vanishing overnight. Leave no trace could be their fucking
family motto.
Sam huffs an unamused sound, and raises his eyebrows. “What?”
“Tomorrow morning, Sam. We’re leaving at five.”
“But I haven’t said goodbye, I haven’t packed...”
Dean shrugs and looks away. Sam knows that Dean probably has some loose ends
that he’s not getting to tie up as well.
“Dad, that’s not fair. It’s only Wednesday. How about we leave on Friday,
instead? What difference would it make to stay an extra day and a half?” he
practically whines. Dad shakes his head.
“No Sam, we’ve stayed too long anyways. Don’t want to put another two weeks of
rent down, and I’ve been hearing reports that the Oregon Vortex is starting to
act up again. You willing to let people to die because you wanted to spend a
few extra days with your friends?”
Sam bites his lip, drawing a tinge of blood to prevent spitting out that he
doesn’t care about all the people he doesn’t know who might die. He’s fourteen
dammit, and he should be busy trying to get high off rubber cement and jacking
off in his bedroom, not deciding whether someone lives or dies. He stays silent
for another few moments before saying, “No, sir.”
The tension in the room drains after Sam agrees to leave, and Dean suggests
that they order pizza to celebrate the end of Sam’s freshman year. Dad hands
over a twenty-dollar bill and splits, because there’s no way that he’s sticking
around to eat cheese and tomato covered bread on the couch, watching the newest
episode of Buffy on the television that Dean rigged to get cable. Sam’s
unabashedly happy that it’s only Dean and him tonight.
--
The pizza arrives, and it’s exactly the type that Sam wanted, with all the
vegetables and none of the creepy meat that Dean usually enjoys. Dean goes into
the kitchen and pops open a beer for him.
“Cheers, kiddo, you deserve it,” he says while taking a bite into the pepper
and olive covered pizza. Dean shudders as the toppings come in contact with his
tongue. “God you’ve got disgusting taste buds, Sam. Don’t know where you got
‘em from but it sure as hell wasn’t from me. I raised you right on Spaghetti-
o’s and Lucky Charms.”
“You could have ordered half-and-half,” Sam remarks. He’s secretly pleased that
Dean hadn’t though. It makes him feel special, knowing that Dean will sacrifice
his own needs in order to fill his—even if this time it feels like a reward for
not fighting with Dad.
Dean just laughs. “Like you wouldn’t have eaten it all anyways. Nah, it’s your
treat.”
Sam nods, because those are both true statements, and he always appreciates
that with Dean, there’s no crap. It’s always straight to the point. He tips his
head back and takes his first real drink of beer, because Dean has let him have
sips before, but never a whole can. The bitter taste of hops dances across his
tongue, and Sam almost spits it out, swallowing at the last minute to save
face.
Dean pats his back. “It’s okay Sammy. I can always drink it if you don’t want
to.”
He reaches for Sam’s can, but Sam knocks his hand away. “No. I want it, Dean.
And for the last time, it’s S-A-M.”
“Sure thing,” his brother says absentmindedly. He’s settled down into the
couch, enjoying Buffy turning vampires to dust with a stake through the heart,
all the while saying cheesy puns. They’ve never encountered vampires before.
Dean says they’re not real, but Sam imagines that even if they were, they’d be
harder to kill. And in real life, the cleanup’s always a bitch.
Out of nowhere, Dean asks, “D’you think she’s hot?”
Sam blushes. He’s drank through most of his beer, and clearly he’s a bit of a
lightweight, because all of a sudden telling Dean his innermost thoughts seems
like a good idea. Something about serotonin receptors and impaired judgment
flits through his head, advanced reading from his biology class. It’s enough to
make him pause.
“I dunno, never really thought about it. Why?”
“You didn’t answer the question, Sam. And I asked mine first.”
He knows that Dean is going to pester him until he gives an adequate response
so he says, “She’s okay.” It’s better than, I’ve never thought about anyone but
you since I learned what my dick could do. At least, that’s what part of his
brain is telling him. His dick, however, is clearly rooting for him to tell
Dean on the off chance that it might get a little attention that’s not from his
own right hand.
“You gonna answer my question now?” Sam asks.
“Hmm?”
“My question. Geez Dean, were you even listening?”
“Uh, not really. Kinda thinking about everything we need to pack for tomorrow.
What was it again?”
Sam sighs. Now that Dean’s brought up leaving, he feels sober again. Playing
twenty-questions about his brother’s sex life doesn’t seem quite as much fun
anymore.
“Never mind.”
When Dean doesn’t respond, Sam makes the move to get off the couch. He’s got
shit to pack too. However, his quadriceps and hamstrings both shout loudly
through his spinal tract what their feelings are on the situation of Sam
moving, and he groans in pain before falling back down.
Dean reaches over and ruffles his hair. “Rough day, kiddo?”
“Mmm,” Sam responds, trying to formulate his next sentence. “I’m like, super
sore from soccer practice this week. Any chance you could work on loosening my
leg muscles, before we sit in the car for sixteen hours tomorrow?”
He specifically avoids using the term massage because that word shuts down his
brother in under a second.
“Yeah, sure,” Dean says, but gets off the couch. Sam groans.
“Hold on, Sammy, I’ll be right back,” Dean shouts from the bathroom.
It feels like forever by the time he returns, and Sam can’t help but say,
“Liar. That wasn’t right back.”
Dean ignores his snark, and tells him to hold out his hand. A tiny pill drops
inside of his large palm.
“Tramadol,” Dean states, “Best muscle relaxant we’ve got here at the house.”
Sam sighs. “I know what it is, but I was really hoping that you’d use your
hands tonight, Dean. They always works better.”
“Fine,” Dean agrees, and then pauses to finish the rest of his beer. “Legs up,”
he says as makes himself comfortable on the couch, pulling Sam’s thighs into
his lap. Once Sam’s thoroughly settled, Dean’s thumbs start to dig into inside
of his thigh, moving upward, far past the hem of his shorts before dragging
back down. The rest of his fingers work in tandem to rub his overused
quadriceps back and forth until the muscles give in to Dean’s touch, releasing
tension in the process.
It feels so good that Sam’s about to drift off when Dean states softly, “You
know, Dad’s been done with this job for two weeks. The only reason we’ve stayed
around is because he wanted to let you finish up the school year.”
“You should have told me,” Sam says back to him. “He should have told me.”
Dean shrugs. “Didn’t want to upset you. You really seemed to be enjoying it
here. I wanted that to last as long as possible. And Dad wanted to avoid a few
weeks’ worth of fighting.”
Sam doesn’t say anything. He knows that what Dean’s saying is the truth.
“On the positive side, it should be a little cooler in Oregon. Now move your
long ass legs, bitch, I’ve got work to do.”
He reluctantly removes his legs and lets Dean go. Then he pops the pill,
finishes off his beer, and devours the last slice of pizza before stumbling off
into his bedroom. He knows that Dad will need the couch whenever he returns
from the bar.
--
Sam doesn’t sleep well. He dreams of drowning, of gasping for air. The water
that he’s inhaled turns to black smoke which funnels in a tornado-like fashion
down into his mouth. He awakens with a start, drenched with sweat. Thump,
thump, thud. It’s his own heartbeat echoing loudly in the darkness. The red
lines that light up his clock tell him it’s 3:07 in the morning, and Sam knows
that he’ll have to wake up within the hour. He lays back down on his bed,
trying to calm his nervous limbs, but it’s no use. His body’s too amped up. So
he does what he’s done his entire life, and pads down the hall to Dean’s room.
No matter that the door barely makes a noise when he opens it, when he enters,
Dean’s sleep-soaked voice asks, “Sam?”
“Yeah, Dean. I had a nightmare. Can I come in?”
Answering with his body instead of with words, Dean scoots over and turns onto
his right side, so that Sam can slide right in next to him. It’s still hot in
the house, Sam guesses around ninety, and his bare back sticks to Dean’s chest.
Dean’s left arm reaches around him, hooking onto his hip bone, and pulls him
until he’s aligned with Dean’s body, from his ankles up to his shoulders. Soft
puffs of warm air slide over Sam’s neck.
“Better?” Dean asks, his breath tickling Sam’s spine. Sam wiggles in response
to the sensation, which moves his ass further into Dean’s crotch.
Dean groans, and Sam can tell that his brother’s turned on by what little
stimulation Sam had given him. He can feel the evidence pressing against his
back, which in turn makes his own dick jump in response. It takes all of his
concentration to will it back down. Now’s not the time. Although with the look
Dean had given him earlier, Sam can’t help but think, maybe soon. He pushes
back again, teasing Dean a little bit more. Waiting for his reaction.
“Dude, you’ve got to keep still if you want to stay here.”
“Sorry, just trying to get comfortable,” he lies.
Dean doesn’t respond, and soon Sam’s lulled by his brother’s soft snores and
the feel of his lips against the knobby protrusion of one of his vertebra.
--
When Dean wakes him up, barely under an hour later, Sam’s fucking grumpy. He
turns over and tries to pin Dean down to the bed so that they won’t have to get
up and leave. Sam hasn’t slept this well since the last time that Dean let him
into his bed. Which was probably a month ago now. Sam’s been too busy with
soccer, finals, and growing to bother moving to Dean’s room after the lights
have been out for a few hours.
Dad’s rule since the first set of bed sheets were changed in the middle of the
night after Sam went through puberty had been that Sam needed to sleep in his
own bed unless he had nightmares. Sometimes Sam fakes them. His brother’s bad
at denying him, even when he knows that Sam’s lying, and that he’s directly
violating Dad’s orders. Deep down, Sam knows that Dean sleeps better when he’s
tucked into his side too. Even if he won’t admit it. Even if he never seeks out
Sam in the early hours of the morning.
Easily rolling Sam off of him, Dean does his best to placate Sam’s clearly
less-than-stellar mood by sitting up against the headboard and pulling Sam’s
head into his lap. He runs his hands through Sam’s hair in just the right way,
and Sam can’t help but lean into the touch, nosing into his brother’s happy
trail. He exhales through his nose and watches as the wiry hairs rustle with
the air current that he’s created.
Dean pokes Sam in his side. “Dude. Stop it—that tickles.”
“I’ve got to breathe, Dean. Necessity of life and all that,” Sam mumbles, his
lips moving against his brother’s flat, but soft stomach. It gurgles, loud
enough that Sam could hear the noise even if his ear wasn’t pressed up right
against Dean’s skin.
“Shuddup. I’m hungry,” Dean says before Sam can think to tease him. His
brother’s voice is rough from sleep, and Sam knows from experience that it
won’t lose the gravely undertones until after he’s had at least two cups of
coffee.
Sam smiles into Dean’s body and his brother flicks his ear. It stings.
Sometimes Sam forgets that his brother can be a full-on douche when he wants.
“Ow. That hurts, jackass,” he vocalizes.
“Well, wake up already, then. You know how mad Dad’ll be if we’re not on time.”
“Maybe he’ll still be too drunk to notice.”
“You know, you could actually try being pleasant for once. It’d be nice to have
one freaking day where I’m not trying to defuse both of you.”
“I am pleasant. He’s just too busy to notice.”
If Dean disagrees he doesn’t say it out loud. He does, however, flick his
middle finger against Sam’s upper ear cartilage again.
“Dammit, Dean.”
“Rise and shine, Sammy.”
His brother gives him another few minutes of snuggling before he climbs out of
the bed. “Ok. I’m gonna go make us some eggs and sausage for breakfast. You
work on getting your ass out of bed, and put everything you didn’t get around
to packing last night into your duffle, got it?”
“Mmm,” Sam mumbles into the pillow. It smells like Dean, and Sam doesn’t want
to let it go. Especially when he’s going to have to spend the entire day just
out of reach on the passenger side of the car.
“I’m serious. You’re either up in ten minutes or I’m coming back in,” Dean
says. He turns on the light as he pulls on a pair of threadbare sweatpants,
leaving Sam alone in the room.
“Yeah, yeah,” Sam says, mostly to himself as he opens his eyes, and tries not
to think about how Dean and him won’t sleep in this particular bed ever again.
That it’s their last meal in this house, and his friends won’t even miss him
until next September when they realize that a “road trip” for Sam meant never
coming back. For all the times that they’ve done this, moved under the cover of
darkness, it should be routine by now. To Sam, leaving a freshly and carefully
cultivated life never seems to get any easier.
By the time that he makes it out to the dining room, dressed in jeans and a
white wife beater, Dean’s already got coffee made and breakfast on the table.
Dad’s nowhere to be seen.
“Too drunk to stumble home?” he asks Dean. He really wants to throw it in Dad’s
face when he walks through the door.
Dean gives him a glare. “No. He’s out putting gas in the Impala and the truck.”
“Hm,” Sam says around a mouthful of eggs.
“Got your toothbrush?” Dean asks him, alternating in between slurping his
coffee and loudly chewing bites of sausage with his mouth open.
Sam tries to ignore it, and settles for answering only when he’s swallowed his
bite of food.
“Yup.”
“Deodorant?”
Sam nods.
“Socks, underwear, and pajamas?”
Sam glares. “I’m not eight anymore. I can take care of myself.”
He kicks Dean underneath the table for good measure.
Dean grunts in a moment of fleeting pain, but then gets back at Sam by
laughing. Bits of egg and pork spew across the table; a few chunks fly onto
Sam’s plate. He pushes the remains of his breakfast across the table to his
brother.
“Here. You spit on it, it’s yours.”
Dean smiles. “You’re too nice to me, Sammy. Makes me get all tingly on the
inside.”
Sam narrows his eyes at Dean and stalks over to the kitchen, grabbing the last
box of Lucky Charms from the cabinet. He wraps his arms around the box of
sugary cereal, holding it close against his sleeveless shirt.
“Ahh, I see what’s really important to you. Not your brother, but a box of
cereal. Classy man.”
“At least it doesn’t put itching powder in my clothes, or spit on my food.”
“Touché.”
They sit in silence, Dean finishing his breakfast, and Sam watching him shovel
food into his mouth until Dad walks through the door.
“Ready to go, boys?” It’s not really a question.
Sam notes that Dad’s already got a cup of to-go coffee in his hand. Most likely
from the gas station. Sam hopes that it’s not half as good as what Dean had
made for him.
Dean nods. “Just got to pee, then we’ll be ready, sir.”
“Sam?” Dad asks, wanting a response out of him as well.
“Yes,” he says, not looking up from the floor.
“Yes…?”
Sam grits his teeth, but manages to spit out, “Yes, sir,” before he stalks down
the hall and waits for Dean to finish up in the bathroom.
Sam empties his bladder, covets Dean’s pillow as his own, and leaves the house
without another word. He throws his duffle in the trunk, but keeps his box of
cereal with him. They leave the dishes dirty on the counter. It’s not like
they’ll be around to claim the measly deposit anyways.
Dean starts the engine and pulls out after Dad.
--
As the Impala hits a pothole in the road, Sam’s body jerks, his head banging
against the glass window on the passenger side.
“Careful, Sammy,” his brother says, and then reaches out to run his hand over
the smooth, black dashboard of his car. Dad had given the keys to Dean last
year on his eighteenth birthday and Sam’s been riding shotgun ever since.
Although at times like these, when Dean’s bitching about not wanting a scratch
on his baby, Sam’s not entirely sure that it’s any better than driving with
Dad.
“Hey, can we turn on the air-conditioning?” Sam asks for the third time in an
hour, practically shouting over the noise of Black Sabbath that emanates from
the stereo.
“Nope.” Dean says in a matter of fact voice. “If anything we’ll be turning on
the heat soon. Suck it up, little bro.”
Sam knows the reason for not turning on the air conditioning. All of Dean’s car
lessons haven’t gone straight through his head after all. But at this moment he
doesn’t care if the engine overheats. He feels the sweltering temperature in
his bones, and it’s torturing him.
“I’ll do anything, just turn it on for a few minutes.”
Dean raises his eyebrows, wagging them up and down. “Anything?”
Sam shouldn’t say yes, because clearly Dean’s got something up his sleeve, and
it’s probably not anything that Sam will enjoy. Like, for example, daring Sam
to give him road head. Because Sam would be across the bench seat in two
seconds if Dean asked. But Sam won’t be that lucky. He never is.
He realizes he didn’t reply when his brother looks directly at him, one hand
holding the car steady.
“Whadd’ya say? You still wanna make a trade?”
Sam leans forward, peeling his back from the leather seats, and Dean groans at
the sound of moisture.
“Dude. You are so wiping down Baby when we get to Oregon until all of your
perspiration stains are gone. And she better be fucking perfect when you’re
done.”
“Could you try to pretend for two seconds that you’re not romantically involved
with this stupid hunk of metal?”
Sam can’t keep the tinge of jealousy out of his mouth, but his brother doesn’t
seem to notice. He’s too busy stroking the Impala’s dashboard and muttering,
“He didn’t mean it sweetie, he just doesn’t understand our love.”
“You’re right. I’ve got no idea why you like this gas-guzzling old thing,
besides the fact that Dad gave it to you.”
Dean grasps the left-side of his chest, clutching at his heart that’s buried
deep beneath muscle and ribs.
“Wounded, right where it hurts,” Dean gasps out. “Alright. Just for that here’s
the deal. Five minutes of air-conditioning followed by ten minutes off. It’s no
use being cool if we get stuck on the side of the road from an overheated
engine.”
He nods. It’s not perfect, but considering Dean can be as bull-headed as him,
especially when it comes to his car, he’s willing to play.
“Fine. What do I have to do?”
“It’s simple, Sam. Nothing bad, I promise. Just be nice to Dad for the next
twenty-four hours. No bickering, no questioning his motives, and no being
disrespectful. Now, if I can follow those rules, a rhesus monkey could, too. So
I know that you, as a capable, straight A-student and member of the homo-sapien
species can manage that.”
Sam wants to state that it’s not him, it’s always Dad who starts the fights,
but deep down, he knows that’s not entirely true. He also really wants to feel
the cool air against his overheated skin. It doesn’t make agreeing to Dean’s
conditions any easier. He grinds his teeth.
“Clocks ticking… the offer’s only on the floor for another five… four… three…”
Dean doesn’t make it to two.
“Ok,” Sam says, narrowing his eyes and staring down Dean, until Dean’s forced
to break eye contact and look back at the road.
“Ok,” Dean repeats, before adding on, “but if you don’t hold up your end of the
bargain, you’re on bathroom cleaning duty for the whole summer.”
Sam’s lip twitches, but he’s not going to back down now. “Deal. Now turn on the
damn A.C., Dean.”
He lets out a sigh of relief when Dean’s fingers push the small button located
next to the volume controls. After the residual warm air is pushed out, the
vents start exhaling cold air, and Sam breathes a sigh of relief.
“How long ‘till we hit Reno?” he questions Dean, once his body has self-
regulated to a comfortable temperature again.
Dean checks out the time on the dash. “Well, we’ve been on the road for three
hours already, so that leaves another four to Reno. And then we’ve got another
six to the cabin that Dad’s rented us for the summer.”
“Where’s that, again?” Sam asks. He can never keep track of the endless towns
and cities that they pass through in a year.
“Central Oregon. A few hours south of the supposed vortex that Dad’s checking
out. Plus, one of his old marine buddies who lives close by said that I could
get a job no problem if we stuck around for the tourist season.”
Sam grunts in understanding.
“Why don’t you take a nap kid,” Dean says to him. “We’ve got a long drive
ahead, and you had a rough go of it last night.”
Looking at Dean from underneath his bangs, Sam asks, “Can I rest my head on
your lap while you drive?”
Dean’s body makes an infinitely more comfortable pillow than the window, and
Sam might actually get a few hours of sleep if Dean lets him. His brother scans
his face, reading Sam’s widened, begging eyes with dark circles marring the
undersides.
“Yeah, alright,” he says. “Grab your pillow, though. Don’t want your bony jaw
smashing my junk if we hit a pothole.”
He smiles then, knowing that his brother’s a sucker for his dimples. “Thanks,
you’re the best big brother ever.”
“Don’t you forget it,” Dean returns, and Sam lets him pretend that he isn’t
preening under Sam’s flattery.
Then he places Dean’s pillow across his legs, curls his body into as much of a
fetal position as the car allows, and lets Dean’s singing, along with the
vibrating motion of the car, lull him to sleep.
--
Dean wakes him up when they pull into a gas station outside of Reno to fill up
and grab some food.
“No beans,” Dean reminds him as he checks out the small section of pre-heated
food.
“But—” Sam starts out, trying to argue that the bean and cheese burritos are
literally the only half-edible looking food.
“No buts,” Dean interrupts him, “you’re toxic after you eat those. Go ride with
Dad if you want one.”
Sam sneers, but passes up the burrito for a bottle of Gatorade, a couple of
power bars, and the biggest bag of sunflower seeds that he can find.
“Could you get anything less healthy?” he asks Dean, when he sees that his
brother’s only chosen three sugar-covered donuts and a bag of peanut M&M’s.
“Maybe later,” Dean dismisses Sam’s last dig about finding better quality food,
and scrambles to hold onto all of his purchases as they each try to walk out of
the door first. Sam wins by virtue of a well-placed elbow.
Sam slides back into the passenger seat and watches as Dean maneuvers his body
into the Impala. The way that his surprisingly delicate fingers wrap around the
circle of the steering wheel makes Sam’s breath hitch. He knows for a fact that
Dean’s hands would look better wrapped around him.
Once they’re back on the road, Dean reaches into the small paper bag and pulls
out one of his donuts. White powder covers Dean’s lips after he takes his first
bite into the jelly-filled pastry. Sam desperately wants to lick it off.
When Dean makes a pornographic groan to accompany his demolition of the pastry,
running his tongue over the outside of his lips to pick up the stray sugar, Sam
can’t help but pop a boner in his jeans. He’s so hard it that physically hurts.
Sam tries to cover it up with his newly acquired bag of sunflower seeds, but he
can see the evidence of his erection pushing up, causing strain against both
his jeans and the plastic. Luckily for him, Dean doesn’t seem to notice. He
holds out the donut to Sam.
“Dude, this is like pure heaven. Want a bite?”
Sam doesn’t, but Dean shoves it against Sam’s lips until he’s forced to take a
bite. It tastes slightly stale and way too sweet. Disgusting. Nothing like how
he imagines that Dean would taste.
“Best thing besides pie,” Dean concludes after he finishes the first one, and
starts into his second.
“Hmm…” Sam says back, not really wanting to argue with Dean’s poor taste in
food. He crunches every sunflower seed hard enough to be heard; it helps him to
slowly coerce the blood out of his dick and back up to his brain. By the time
that he’s reached his two-hundredth crack, Dean’s the one on edge, tapping his
fingers agitatedly against the steering wheel. He twitches every time another
crack resounds through the Impala’s interior.
When Sam suggests for the second time in the day that he take a nap on Dean,
his brother agrees without any hesitation.
--
Sam’s drowning. He’s underwater, and he feels certain that he’s going to die.
He wonders where Dean is, where Dad is. They’re supposed to protect him, to
keep him safe. Instead, he’s dying. If he only had gills, he could breathe. But
Sam doesn’t, and he recognizes that he’s only a few minutes away from death. Or
at least, from blacking out. His lungs will fill with water, his brain won’t
get any oxygen, and as a result his heart will stop. No heartbeat, no Sam. He
starts fighting then, kicking as hard as he can, arms thrashing, trying to get
to the surface, where he can see the light making its way through the water.
His feet work harder and he just needs to make it a little bit further until he
can take a breath. He’s so, so close now. He feels the tips of his fingers
surge forward, but his head doesn’t break the surface. When he looks up he can
see clearly now that it’s Dean holding him down. He can make out Dean saying I
love you through the opaque water, and it doesn’t make sense. If Dean loves
him, then why is he killing him? Sam twists harder, trying to get out of Dean’s
grasp…
Sam wakes up with Dean’s hands alternating in-between shaking him and feeling
for the pulse in his carotid artery. He takes gasping breaths, like a fish out
of water, and then not only Dean, but Dad as well comes into focus.
“Sam, you ok?”
“It was just a bad dream, you’re fine, Sammy.”
“God, I’m glad to see your eyes.”
“Geez, Son, you gave us a fright there. Are your nightmares getting worse?”
Everything’s a jumbled mess, and Sam can’t quite wrap his head around who’s
saying what, and if they’re expecting answers to their questions.
“Nightmare?” he asks. It had seemed so real. Sam had been sure that he wasn’t
going to make it. Dean’s grasp had been too tight.
“Yeah, Sammy,” Dean runs his hands through Sam’s hair, trying to calm him.
“You’re ok now. You’re safe.”
Sam nods. “Thanks, Dean,” he says, before remembering their earlier deal. “And
thanks, Dad. I know this must have slowed our time.”
Dad smiles gruffly, and as much as Sam hates to admit it, it makes him want to
please his dad more often.
“No worries, son. I’m just glad you’re safe. Here. Drink some Gatorade and keep
yourself hydrated. You’ll be fine in no time.”
Dad ruffles his hair affectionately, before climbing back into his truck.
“You’ll be alright?” Dean questions seriously.
“Yeah, Dean, as long as I got you by my side.”
Dean smiles. “You always got that. Always.
Sam doesn’t have the guts to tell Dean that in his dream, it’d been Dean who
was killing him.
--
They stop twice more, both times after they’ve crossed the border into Oregon.
Sam notices how there’s already a noticeable difference in the amount of trees,
and that the clouds have moved in, dropping the temperature down into the 60’s.
It feels cold, and Sam reaches back to put on a hoodie over his wife beater.
When Dean asks Dad if they can stop to pick up some new clothes for Sam because
he’d outgrown all of Dean’s hand-me-downs, Dad surprisingly says yes. Although
he only gives them half an hour. It’s more than either of them expected.
They part ways for a while in the southern town of Klamath Falls. Dad heads to
one of the local bars to see if any news on the vortex has made it this far
down in the state, while Sam and Dean hit up the local Goodwill.
After walking through the glass sliding doors, Dean disappears with a clap to
Sam’s shoulder, and a semi-serious joke about Sam picking him up a copy of the
Kama Sutra if he finds one amidst all the boring books. Sam’s thumbing through
Kafka’s The Metamorphosis, having already picked out The Underground by
Dostoyevsky, and A People’s History of the United States by Howard Zimmerman,
when Dean accosts him with a pile of clothes.
“You. In the dressing room. Now.”
Sam follows his brother to the back of the store and dutifully tries on every
pair of jeans and shorts that Dean picked out for him. He tries to draw the
line at putting on the bright blue tee-shirt that Dean picked out, on which two
male my little ponies are touching hoofs. It says ‘Bro Hoof’.
“No,” he says, throwing the shirt at Dean’s face. “I’m not even sure why they’d
make it in my size. Aren’t these like, for little girls?”
Dean shrugs. “I think you’d look good in it. Actually, I’ll pay for it with my
own money if you’ll wear it.”
Sam sneers at Dean and changes back into his own, ill-fitting clothes before
they leave to meet up with their dad, who’s already waiting in front of the
store, shoulders against the back of the car.
“You boys find everything you need?” he asks, as if he’s genuinely concerned
about the state of Sam’s jeans.
“Yes, sir,” Dean responds. When Sam doesn’t immediately join in, Dean places a
well-aimed elbow into Sam’s ribs.
“Ow, Dean, what the hel—“and then he remembers his deal. Air-conditioning in
return for respecting and obeying Dad. It’s easier said than done.
“Yes, sir,” Sam says in a flat voice.
“Alright then,” Dad concludes. “Next stop, Odell Lake. 100 miles north."
After they get back into the car, Sam riffles through his new clothes and
books. He’s annoyed but not surprised to see a bright blue shirt at the bottom.
“Find anything you like?” Dean asks with a shit-eating grin on his face.
Sam decides to completely ignore his brother and stare out the window for the
next hour and a half.
***** Chapter 2 *****
                                  [chapter 2]
The cabin turns out to be a double-wide manufactured home on the lake front,
and despite the boring outward appearance, it’s probably one of the nicer
places the Winchesters have ever stayed in. Aside from the owner’s taste in
couches. The ginormous piece of furniture takes up half the living room and
it’s fucking fuchsia. With dark purple cushions. Sam hopes that the guy was
color-blind. There are two bedrooms, and Dean, like always, lets Sam pick his
room out first. Dean’s a little taken aback when Sam chooses the smaller one.
Sam’s got his reasons though. He plans to be spending most of his nights in
Dean’s room, so really, he’s only looking out for himself. Not that he tells
Dean.
 
Dad’s long gone by the time Sam wakes up in the morning with his usual note to
call Caleb or Pastor Jim if something goes seriously wrong. They’re both more
likely to answer the phone.
 
As Sam sits down to the table, Dean starts working on cooking in the kitchen,
barefoot with only his boxers and a tee-shirt on. The smell of eggs and coffee
perk Sam up, despite the fact that he’s fifteen and stuck in the woods for an
entire summer.
 
“Sunny-side up or over easy?” Deans asks. He still sounds a little groggy.
 
“Over easy,” Sam responds, putting his head between his arms and watching
Dean’s ass as he moves around the kitchen gathering salt and Tabasco sauce. He
wonders what Dean’s muscles would feel like under his hands. If both sides of
his ass would have the same amount of give if he squeezed them. Dean moves his
hips then, in tiny, gyrating movements, and Sam can telling that he’s singing
underneath his breath. He watches silently until Dean’s finished in the
kitchen. Sam doesn’t mind. Looking at his brother’s front side is equally as
impressive.
 
Once he’s got food on the table Dean asks Sam, “So, what’re your plans for the
summer?”
 
“Sleep.”
 
“And…?”
 
“I dunno. More sleep? Reading? What the hell else am I supposed to do out in
the middle of nowhere?”
 
“Figured you might want to take some time to work on your sparring, or hone
your shooting skills.”
 
“How long are we here for? A week? A month?” Sam carefully dodges the
conversation about hunting. It’s not one Sam had wants to have first thing in
the morning. Fuck hunting. He’d rather be studying so that he can place into
advanced calculus next year. Doing anything he can to avoid ending up like his
dad. He doesn’t want kids that he never sees, no history of a permanent job,
and a drinking problem. One of these days he’ll make Dean see that he doesn’t
want that either.
 
“Probably a couple of weeks. Dad said he’d call if he was going to be back
before three or longer than six.”
 
“Hm.” Vague. The John Winchester way.
 
Sam finishes his breakfast without another word and dumps the empty dish in the
sink before heading back to his room, slamming his door in the process. He
hears Dean calling from the dining room, “I’m not doing your goddamn dishes all
summer, Sam. Fucking learn how to wash a plate.”
 
--
 
By the time the afternoon rolls around, Sam’s bored and starting to get antsy
sitting in his room.
 
Dean’s unsurprisingly still at the table. Cleaning his gun. Again.
 
“I’m bored,” he says, dropping into the wooden chair in a slouch, knees spread
wide, hands crossed over his chest and tucked into his armpits.
 
“I’m not your personal entertainment, Sam. Go amuse yourself.”
 
Sam grunts, and then asks, “Want to go swimming with me?”
 
Looking out of the window at the lake, Dean sighs. The midday sun is shining
brightly over the calm water. “Will you do the dishes tonight if I swim with
you now?”
 
Washing dishes is totally worth having a wet, almost naked Dean next to him all
afternoon. “Yup,” he says, taking the extra time to pop the ‘p’. His brother
really hates that.
 
“Fine,” Dean says, “get your swim trunks on and head down to the lake. I’ll
meet you when I’m done.”
 
Nodding, Sam heads back into his room, sheds his clothing and steps into his
black speedo shorts, the type that come down almost to his knees. To be honest,
Sam loves the way his dick fills out crotch of his suit. When Sam had first
tried it on, back in a Las Vegas strip mall, Dean had whistled. The same low
pitched tone he used to signify a particular hot girl. Packin’ some serious
heat there, huh Sammy? Dean had questioned rhetorically. Sam had blushed down
to his toes until Dean had clapped him across the back. Good to know you’re a
Winchester after all. Sam didn’t have a comeback. The excitement that Dean had
noticed his dick, thought it was a decent sized even, made him forgive his
brother’s trespasses. For the next day or so, anyway.
 
He saunters back out to the kitchen, making sure to jut his hip bone in front
of Dean’s face.
 
“Dude. Personal space. Get some.”
 
“Sunscreen my back?”
 
Dean’s eyes narrow. “I know I taught you better manners than that.”
 
Sam rolls his eyes in return, but asks, “Please sunscreen my back?
 
“Well, now that you asked so nicely, sure thing, little bro. Take a seat.”
 
Turning his chair around, Sam sits down, presenting his back to Dean. The sound
of spluttering hits Sam’s ears the minute before cold gel spurts onto his back.
 
“Ack! That’s fucking cold, jerk.”
 
“Deal with it, bitch.”
 
Dean’s fingers rub the lotion into Sam’s back, soothing out his muscles at the
same time. He’s practically drooling onto the hard wood of the chair by the
time his brother finishes with a slap to Sam’s skin.
 
“Go, on, then.”
 
Sam reluctantly leaves his brother inside and travels down the wooded path to
the dock. It’s quiet, silent out here compared to the constant hustle of Las
Vegas. His own feet seem loud, flip flops reverberating as they smack against
the soles of his feet with every step that he takes. Now that he thinks about
it, the air seems a bit… too quiet. Forests are supposed to be alive—humming
with mammals and birds, and insects. Sam stops dead in his tracks, listening.
He can’t hear anything besides the harsh sound of his breathing, and he’s about
turn back and call for Dean, when a shrill bird cry pierces the air. A bald
eagle soars above him, and then circles across the lake, disappearing into the
forest on the other side. Once it’s gone, life seems to return to normal. Sam
looks down and laughs to himself, rubbing his hand over the back of his grown
out hair. Living with Dad and Dean has apparently made him a paranoid freak. He
jogs the last couple of yards, and then dives off the dock and into the lake.
 
The cold of the water penetrates every pore of Sam’s skin. It’s fucking
freezing. He swims up to the surface, using his recently elongated arms to help
him glide through the water. Once Sam’s far enough out that the shore starts to
look small, he turns around. He dives down, swimming underneath the lake until
he can’t hold his breath any more, and then makes his way back up to the top.
Breaking through the surface with a gasp for air, Sam starts freestyle swimming
back towards the wooden dock where Dean’s now sitting, only his legs hidden in
the water.
 
As he heads towards his brother, Sam gets a tingling in his spine, the type
where it feels as if something’s not quite right. He’d call it a sixth sense
but Sam knows that it’s simply his brain processing information subconsciously.
Just like it had back in the forest. It’s silent now, too. And calm. Not a
ripple on the surface of the lake. He looks up towards the sky for a sign of an
osprey, hoping that the stillness is the lake’s reaction to a predator. He’s
met with only baby blue sky and a few hints of cirrus clouds, high up in the
atmosphere.
 
“Dean!” he shouts, accidentally inhaling a mouthful of lake water through his
nose. It tastes horrible. Not that he’d expected lake water to taste amazing,
but he didn't think that it would taste like rot. He tries his best to spit it
out while dog-paddling towards his brother. Taking extra care to keep his head
above the water this time.
 
“Heya, Sammy,” Dean responds, like there’s nothing wrong. Like he hasn’t
noticed the absolute quiet besides the sound of Sam’s arms and legs hitting the
water. It’s odd that Sam’s hunting instincts have kicked in when Dean’s
haven’t. He’s leaning back on his arms, throat bared to the sky. Completely and
utterly relaxed.
 
“Dean,” he tries again, slowing down his stride so that he doesn’t get any
putrid lake water into his mouth. “I think there’s something wrong—“
 
Sam doesn’t get to finish his sentence because something soft but firm wraps
around his ankles and drags him underneath the surface. Water fills his mouth
immediately, and Sam struggles to spit it back into the lake without letting
any more inside. Unfortunately he’d been in the middle of talking and there’s
not much air left in his lungs. Sam knows that he can’t last long in this this
state. He thrashes his legs, kicking hard against whatever is binding him. His
arms stretch towards the top of the lake, but for all of his strength he can’t
seem to make any headway. Once it’s clear that he’s not going anywhere, Sam
doesn’t get pulled further into the murky depths. Whatever it is, it seems
content to just hold him there and watch as the fight leaves his body.
 
Despite his best judgment, which his brainstem overrides, his nose tries to
breathe. Frigid water pours down the back of his throat, and Sam can taste the
foulness going down into his lungs. He fights harder, knowing it’s only a
matter of time before he’s unconscious, and shortly after that he’ll be brain-
damaged, even if Dean manages to resurrect him. Living out his days in a
minimally conscious state is not in Sam’s plans. At least not in this life.
 
He breathes down another mouthful of lake water, shivering as it slides into
his lungs, filling him up from the inside. It burns, more than Sam could ever
imagine, and his head is starting to hurt now, too. Suddenly, he feels whatever
was holding him down release his foot, but Sam can’t think enough to remember
which way is up, so he drifts aimlessly with the current until he feels
something—a hand—grasp onto his wrist and pull him out of the water.
 
--
 
When Sam comes to, it’s with a resounding snap followed by excruciating pain in
his chest.
 
“Ow!” he coughs, bringing up lake water in the process. Or what he thought was
lake water. Spilled out over the dock it looks black and tar-like.
 
“Sam! Oh God, Sammy, I thought you were dead,” he hears his brother say before
he opens his eyes to see Dean straddling him, hands pressed together over his
heart.
 
“Hey Dean…” he croaks out, “I hurt like hell,” before he feels Dean picking him
up in his arms, like he’s five again and a small mess of chicken bones rather
than the well-muscled fifteen year old that he’s become.
 
“C’mon, Sammy, let’s get you home,” Dean says, pressing a kiss to the top of
Sam’s forehead.
 
“…saved me…” he manages whisper as his world slowly turns to black.
 
“I’ll always save you, Sammy. Always. Don’t you ever doubt that,” is the last
thing he hears.
 
--
 
When he wakes up again later that night, the first thing Sam notices is that
his mouth tastes like something died in it. Gross.
 
“Dean…” he murmurs, because when in doubt, Dean’s name should always be spoken.
It’s Sam’s own personal prayer.
 
“Hey buddy, glad you’re finally awake,” Dean says. Sam smiles then, albeit
weakly, because Dean’s voice is coming from behind him. Dean’s got him propped
up, and pressed against the front of his own body. He can’t feel his brother’s
skin on his own.
 
“You dressed me?” he asks slowly, testing out whether his mouth can still form
words.
 
“Well, you weren’t going to dress yourself,” Dean replies. “You’ve been out for
about five hours now. If you hadn’t woken up soon I would have taken you to the
hospital.”
 
“Good thing I woke up, huh?”
 
“Yeah,” Dean says, stroking his hair.
 
He tries to move then, to get out of bed, but Dean hugs him back to his chest,
“Oh no, big boy. You’re not going anywhere.”
 
“I’ve got to piss,” he states, unamused now that Dean’s trying to tell him what
to do.
 
“You stay here,” Dean says, “I’ll get a bottle.”
 
“Fuck no, Dean. I’m going to use the bathroom.”
 
“You’re not getting up.”
 
“Really? What am I? Seven and in the back of the Impala with Dad who won’t stop
until the next rest area?”
 
“Old enough to stop bitching, and pee in a fucking container without
questioning my every request.”
 
Dean gets up from behind him then, straddling his legs to look him directly in
the eyes. Sam really hopes that Dean can’t feel his boner. He wills it down,
otherwise it’s going to be fucking hard to piss.
 
“Sam,” Dean starts off, “you gotta listen to me man. You’ve got lungs full of
water, your heart fucking stopped earlier, and now you’ve got a broken rib
because that shit happens when performing CPR correctly. So if I tell you that
you’re not getting out of bed tonight, I mean, you’re not getting out of bed
tonight.
 
He really wants to thrust his hips forward and throw Dean off of him, but Sam
knows instinctively that what Dean’s telling him is the truth. If he were to
move, excruciating pain would follow. And self-inflicting pain has never really
been Sam’s thing.
 
Sam looks up at Dean sullenly but with his anger extinguished and says, “I
still need to pee.”
 
“Be right back.”
 
Dean clambers off of the bed and returns shortly with a large, empty bottle.
 
“Ugh. I hate you,” Sam says, but grabs the plastic out of Dean’s hand anyway.
He doesn’t bother warning Dean, just shoves his hands into the boxers—Dean’s
boxers, he notes—that his brother must have wrangled him into while he was
unconscious, and pulls out his penis. If Dean doesn’t want him to walk to the
bathroom, he’ll have to deal.
 
“A little warning would be nice there, cowboy,” Dean says, trying to look
anywhere but at Sam. He notes the tinge of red touching Dean’s cheeks, and more
tellingly, the tips of his ears.
 
Dean’s uncomfortableness makes Sam’s mood lighten. He laughs, which, of course,
he immediately regrets, having a broken rib and all.
 
“Why? You jealous?” Sam asks, a little out of breath but with a hint of pride
coming into his voice. Since his last growth spurt he’s definitely out grown
Dean…at least where it counts.
 
“No,” Dean huffs, without any real confidence behind his statement.
 
Once Sam’s done, and Dean’s taken care of the container, he sits on the edge of
the bed and rubs his hand over Sam’s thigh in slow, torturous movements.
 
“You almost died today, Sammy,” he says looking anywhere but at Sam’s face. “I
thought I was going to have to call Dad…and tell him that I couldn’t save you.
That you had drowned under my watch.”
 
Sam watches as a single tear runs down his brother’s face. Dean, who doesn’t
cry. Dean, who wears leather jackets, fights almost better than Dad, and
somehow manages to make wearing jewelry look cool. Dean is crying. “Sammy,
don’t you ever do that to me again, ok? How would I live without you? I
wouldn’t even know where to begin. I wouldn’t want to know.”
 
Sam doesn’t know what to say. So he lets his body take over, and leaning
forward with a grimace, presses his lips against Dean’s. For a moment, Dean
doesn’t move. The tear running down his cheek makes its way to their joined
lips and Sam pokes his tongue out of his mouth, seeking to taste the salty
fluid. Dean, however, seems to think that Sam’s licking his way into his mouth,
and miraculously opens up, letting Sam inside. He doesn’t hesitate once Dean’s
physically agreed, sliding his tongue against Dean’s with all the force he can
muster.
 
It’s Sam’s first real kiss. Despite the fact that he feels like hell minus the
warmed over part, it’s perfect. Dean knows exactly what to do with Sam’s
tongue, letting him explore the confines of his mouth at his own pace. Sam goes
slowly at first, feeling out each bump on his brother’s tongue. Licking around
his teeth. Tasting Dean the way he’s always wanted to, but never sure that his
brother would allow. It seems like having a death experience is enough to
kindle the fire of whatever's always laid beneath the surface between them;
somehow it's convinced Dean that what they have isn't simply the result of a
fucked up attachment disorder. Pulling back to bite at Dean’s lower lip, Sam
brings his arm up to cup Dean’s head, urging him in closer. He groans in pain
as his rib cage shifts yet again, which causes Dean to pull back from his
mouth, leaving only a thin strand of spit connecting them together.
 
Dean’s eyes are blown black, glazed over with desire, and Sam can see the edge
of his brother’s erection pressing against his pair of grey sweatpants.
 
“Can’t be doing this, Sammy. You gotta rest. Get better.”
 
“But I want it,” he practically whines, “I need to feel that I’m alive. That
you saved me, and I’m still here.” He looks up at Dean from under his bangs,
only the faintest hint of his dimples showing. Sam knows that he’s not playing
fair; his brother’s never been able to refuse him anything that he really
wants.
 
“Please, Dean. Let me have this,” he says softly. “Rock, Paper, Scissors?” he
asks, knowing that Dean can’t help but throw scissors every single time.
 
Dean ruffles his hair, “Nah, you’re too goddamn cute for your own good, you
know that?” He props Sam up with even more pillows and then straddles his
thighs yet again. Sam could get used to having Dean in this position. It’d feel
even better with less clothes between them, but Sam knows he won’t be able to
push Dean that far tonight. His brother needs time to adjust. Sometimes Dean
spooks easily; Sam’s seen it happen countless times in the lower forty-eight.
 
“Only kissing, and you don’t move an inch or this ends, got it, little bro?”
 
“Yeah. I hear you.”
 
He’s waits for Dean to lean forward and press his lips chastely against his
own. Then Dean moves his mouth away from Sam’s lips in order to pepper his
cheeks up to the tip of his pointed nose with kisses. Sam takes the time to
inhale the thick scent of his brother who clearly never made it around to
showering earlier. Dean’s stubble scratches against his soft, still hairless
cheek. Tomorrow, he’ll have burning red scrapes across his skin, but he can’t
bring himself to care. When Dean brings his mouth back to Sam’s, licking and
biting at his lips, Sam can’t help but thrust his pelvis up, seeking friction
for his cock.
 
“Uh-huh,” Dean says, moving back from Sam’s face. “No moving.”
 
Sam whimpers then, tongue flicking out of his mouth to lick the remains of spit
that his brother left behind.
 
“Fine,” he agrees, even though all he wants to do is grind Dean against him
until he comes in his shorts.
 
Dean narrows his eyes, judging if Sam’s serious, before leaning back down, this
time to lick at Sam’s collar bone. His fingers brushing up against Sam’s
throat. It’s almost enough to make Sam come.
 
They make out until Dean decides that Sam needs to eat and then get some sleep.
No amount of whining is able to change Dean’s mind. The soup’s okay; it doesn’t
taste nearly as good as Dean, but afterwards Dean slides into the bed behind
him. Right where Sam wants him.
 
“You gotta sleep upright so you don’t catch pneumonia from inhaling all that
water,” Dean says softly while stroking down Sam’s torso that he had bound
tightly after dinner.
 
“You’ll hold me?” Sam asks, already knowing the answer.
 
“Wouldn’t let go for the world,” is his brother’s response.
 
--
 
At first Sam thinks that he’s having another nightmare. Only this time, he’s
not drowning, he’s being burned alive. Dean, he yells into the crackling
flames. Just when the fire starts to lick up his pants, leaving behind the
smell of charred cotton, Sam wakes up gasping for air, hoping for relief, only
to realize that he’s still burning. His gaze darts around in the darkness,
searching for the source of the fire. The room is dark, not even a hint of the
orange-yellow glow of flames anywhere. It takes Sam a moment to fully
understand that this particular heat is coming from inside his body. It’s in
his veins, coursing from his lungs into his heart and out to the periphery of
his body, heating up his blood until he’s sure that it must be boiling.
Lighting him on fire from the inside out.
 
“Dean,” he gasps out. “Dean, I’m burning.”
 
He groans in agony as the flames find their way into his head, coaxing his
brain into thinking that it might melt in the presence of searing pain. Sam
screams.
 
The sound of Sam’s yell wakes up his brother in an instant, who immediately
grabs for the gun underneath their pillows. “What’s wrong, Sammy?” Dean asks in
a rough, but alert voice. Sam can feel the unsteady pounding of Dean’s heart
through his back.
 
“Me. I’m too hot,” he groans weakly as he clutches his forehead. “Cold bath…
please?” is all he can say before he’s back to screaming as if someone was
lighting a match to each nerve ending in his body, one by one. He can’t speak
anymore after that, he’s too focused on the pain wracking his entire body.
 
Dean puts his hand to Sam’s brow, and even his brother’s warm touch feels cool.
 
“Jesus, Sam. You’re like an inferno. Stay here and try not to move, I’ll start
the cold water running in the tub.”
 
Sam groans, letting Dean know that he’s listening.
 
Dean returns sometime later, Sam can’t judge when, because he’s busy trying to
avoid focusing on the feeling of knives slicing up his insides. His brother
picks him up gently, and walks him down the hall and into the bathroom, setting
him carefully inside an entire bathtub full of ice cold water that would
normally throw Sam into a hypothermic state. Right now, it’s the best thing
that Sam’s ever felt on his skin. It numbs the heat, quells the fire, and Sam
slides down to submerge his entire face for a minute, removing the pain from
inside of his head. When he returns to the surface he’s finally able to think
again. Although there’s an odd, vaguely unpleasant feeling creeping up his
back. His pelvis twitches a few times, quick bursts of pain accompanying each
movement. It seems like nothing, mere nicks in comparison to the blinding, on
fire sensations that he was experiencing earlier. Sam thinks nothing of it.
 
With his eyes still closed, Sam reaches his hand outside of the white porcelain
tub, searching for Dean’s palm. Dean's hand finds his own, and grasps on
tightly.
 
“Thanks, Dean. I feel much better,” he mutters quietly. His brother only grunts
in response.
 
“Dean?” Sam slowly opens his eyes. The bathroom light is harsh, too bright. He
squints, trying to adjust his vision before looking at his brother.
 
Dean looks bewildered; he’s just staring at Sam, who’s lying almost naked in
the tub, and Sam knows by virtue of his expression that whatever’s going
through his brother’s head isn’t good.
 
“What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice a little on the rough side from screaming
earlier.
 
His brother coughs, and looks away, all the while fixating on the laminate
floor.
 
“Dean!” He says, with more emphasis this time, “Tell me.”
 
“It’s you,” his brother states, despair evident in only those three words.
“You’re not quite…human… anymore.”
 
“What?” Sam asks, slightly incredulous. “What do you mean I’m not quite human,
Dean?”
 
Dean gestures at the tub, and sure enough, when Sam looks down there are four
blue-ish purple tentacles in the tub, floating next to his legs. If he had the
strength he’d be scrambling out of the water as fast as possible. Instead, he
makes a half-assed attempt to pull himself up, to which Dean pushes him back
down almost immediately.
 
“Hold your horses. We don’t know anything about those suckers yet, and I’ve got
no desire to be strangled by your extra appendages.”
 
“Oh God…are those things really coming out of my body?”
 
He wants Dean to let him dive down the dark hole of denial. To tell him that
this isn’t happening. Because every single supernatural creature in Sam’s life
has been associated in his mind with swift, unmerciful death; mostly by the
hand of his brother or his father. And sure, Sam’s not always been a fan of how
his life has turned out so far—with all the moving around and killing
things—but he’s not ready to turn out the lights quite yet. He hasn’t graduated
high school, or gotten his driver’s license, or even had sex. It’s not fair
that this could be the end of the line for him just because he sprouted a few
non-human limbs.
 
“Yeah,” Dean says, breaking off his thoughts, “they really are.”
 
“Are they…?”
 
“Tentacles? I think so…dunno what else they would be.”
 
“You know, I felt something pull me down when I was swimming in the lake. Do
you think there’s some sort of tentacle monster down there?”
 
“It’s possible, but you were under for a while. People hallucinate; see or feel
things that aren’t real.”
 
“Yeah but these—“ Sam dislodges his hand from Dean’s to feel them. The instant
he touches one, the end of the tendril wraps around his palm, squeezing
tightly. It takes a surprising amount of will power to force the new limb to
release his hand. “—these didn’t come from nowhere, Dean.”
 
His brother watches as he slides his hand up the soft muscly appendage. Sam
traces the limb back to its origin, apparently at the base of his spine. The
more he touches his… tentacle, the better it responds and the more accustomed
his brain seems to his new body parts.
 
After a few moments of playing with them, he looks up at Dean, whose ash
colored face betrays his bravado. Sam’s glad they’re in the bathroom and the
toilet is only a few feet away; Dean looks like he might throw up any minute.
 
“Dean?” Sam asks, trying to ignore the way his tentacles are wrapping around
his body protectively. As if they want to shield him from Dean. “What are we
going to do? I can’t stay like this…”
 
“Salt!” his brother exclaims after a moment of thinking, “Everything responds
to salt. That’s it. Got to be.” Dean smiles, that fake-reassuring grin which
makes Sam realize he’s completely fucked. Dean’s got no more ideas about what
gets rid of tentacles than he does. “Hold on, we’ll get you sorted in no time.”
 
As it turns out, salt kind of stings, but that’s about it. He rubs his
tentacle, trying to get the salt out, only to find that stimulation to his new
appendage makes his dick chub up in his briefs. It also seems that a clear,
viscous fluid seeps out of the pores of his tentacle the more he touches it.
Huh. That’s interesting. It definitely makes the slide easier.
 
“Dude. Inappropriate time to get a boner,” Dean states when he returns with a
vial of holy water.
 
“I can’t really help it,” he whines, “it’s not like I’m trying to get off on
this.”
 
“Well, that might be a bit more believable if you’d stop touching yourself. I’m
not a rocket scientist, but I think that’d be a good start.”
 
Sam sighs, and removes his hand from where it had been massaging his tentacle.
He immediately misses the feelings of pleasure which had coursed through his
body. He grabs onto Dean’s forearm, and asks hesitantly, “What if none of it
works?”
 
“Then we keep trying.”
 
Before he’s got another chance to talk Dean splashes holy water across his
nearly dried-off face. Sam blinks it out of his eyes. As it turns out, Sam
can’t tell the difference between bath or blessed water.
 
“A little warning might be nice.”
 
His brother shrugs unapologetically, and then leaves briefly, returning with a
blade in his hand. Sam sinks a little bit lower into the tub.
 
“Do we have to?”
 
Dean chuckles hollowly. “Neither of us want to be here when Dad comes back if
you’ve still got those attached to your scrawny body. Tentacle, please,” Dean
orders, and Sam obliges, unwrapping one of them from around his torso,
presenting it to his brother. The silver knife hurts, sure, but they’re both
more surprised when the tentacle starts oozing black goo after Dean makes the
incision.
 
“Dude, that’s gross,” Dean says as the black liquid starts to spill out into
the water.
 
“You’re gross,” Sam retorts. His brother raises his eyebrow at Sam’s poor
attempt at a comeback. “Fine, you’re the best big brother ever.”
 
“Damn right I am. Now, how about if we just cut them off? That might work for a
quick fix.”
 
“Or I could bleed out in the bathtub,” Sam says, unimpressed. “Besides, what if
I’m like a hydra?”
 
“A what?”
 
“Water monster that grows more heads every time you cut one off.”
 
“Those aren’t heads.”
 
“Do you really want to chance it?”
 
Dean must decide that he doesn’t, because he sits down quietly on the rim of
the tub and starts running his hand through Sam’s water-logged hair.
 
“What’s going to happen?” Sam asks, and he feels like he’s five again, hoping
that Dean will have all the answers for him. Or at least tonight Dean will lie
and tell him that no matter what, it will be the two of them together. Forever.
 
“I dunno, Sammy,” Dean says, tracing the hard lines that have started to form
on the edges of his face, baby fat giving way to the beginnings of a strong jaw
and sharp cheekbones.
 
When he receives no further assurances Sam asks, “Are you going to kill me?”
quietly. He thinks he knows where his earlier dream came from, why Dean would
hold him down in the water until he couldn’t breathe any longer. Although he’s
not quite sure why Dean wouldn’t put a bullet through his head, instead. That
would be quicker, easier. Less painful for him. But maybe Dean doesn’t want to
clean pieces of Sam’s grey matter off of the white walls. He can understand
that.
 
“Kill you?” Dean asks, a bit confused. "Why would I kill you, Sam?”
 
“I’m… a thing. And that’s what we do—we kill… things.”
 
“Dude, we’ll find a cure. Sure, we didn’t tonight, but there’s one out there.”
 
“For tentacles?”
 
“It’s not like you see a bunch of tentacle-people walking around out here, hm?
And yes, we’ll get them off you in no time, just wait and see. Otherwise,
they’ll totally disqualify you for an unfair advantage in the soccer finals in
the spring.”
 
“’M pretty sure tentacles would be a handicap,” Sam says, leaning forward then,
making to get out of the tub, when Dean tries to stop him with, “Sam! Your
rib!”
 
Bending a few different ways to be certain, Sam grins at Dean. “Well, on the
positive side I think my rib’s fixed, and I’m pretty sure my lungs are dry.”
 
“Great…”
 
“Do you think I can live outside of the water? I mean, creatures with tentacles
are known for their propensity for aquatic habitats…”
 
“I don’t know. Dad’s never said anything about people growing tentacles before.
But I’ll call Caleb first thing in the morning, and we’ll get this sorted out.”
 
“No!” Sam says emphatically. “Caleb’s a hunter.”
 
“Yeah, that’s kinda the point, Sam. He’ll know what got you and how to cure
it.”
 
“Or he’ll gank me.”
 
“I won’t let that happen.”
 
“Please don’t call him, Dean, please,” Sam begs. “I mean… they might just go
away on their own, right?”
 
“Go away?” his brother asks. “You really think the fucking tentacles coming out
of your back are going to disappear? Go ‘poof’ like in Cinderella?”
 
“Short term curse?” Sam proposes in a quiet voice. They both know chances of
that are slim to none. Especially with their post-drowning appearance on Sam’s
back. And the fact that they haven’t encountered any witches recently; it
doesn’t add up to anything good.
 
“I might not know where the fuck they came from, but Sammy, those ain’t
natural, and we’ve got to get help.”
 
“Can’t you do the research for us?”
 
Dean shakes his head, “You’re the research geek, remember? And where the fuck
am I supposed to look, anyways? The nearest library is hours away.”
 
“I don’t know. Ask around, maybe? Just... don’t call… please.”
 
Dean sighs, his hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck. It’s one of his
nervous ticks. After a moment of what looks like an internal debate, he softly
says, “Okay.”
 
“Thanks—“ Sam starts saying, before his brother cuts him off.
 
“Oh no. Not so fast. Look. I’ll do my best to solve your…problem… myself,” his
brother agrees, “but if I can’t figure it out soon—like a week—I’m calling in
help. Can’t have you spending half the summer parading as a tentacle monster.”
 
“A week?” Sam says disapprovingly. “You know that it takes Dad more than a week
to solve a case. How ‘bout three?”
 
“One and a half,” Dean negotiates.
 
“Two,” Sam counters.
 
“Fine. If we haven’t gotten rid of your tentacles in two weeks, I’m calling
Caleb with no arguments from you.”
 
“Deal,” Sam says. Because although two weeks isn’t a lot of time, it’s still a
hell of a lot better than one.
 
“Now,” Dean says in a slightly less panicked tone, “how are you feeling about
getting out of the tub? Are we gonna be sharing the shower for the next couple
of weeks?”
 
“I dunno,” Sam says. He carefully pulls himself up with his arms, and then
steps completely out of the water.
 
“Not dead yet, that’s a good sign,” Dean encourages.
 
He stumbles, tripping over the edge of the tub, but as always, Dean’s there to
catch him.
 
“You ok?” his brother asks him seriously.
 
“Yeah, fine. The extra limbs just put a new spin on my balance, that’s all.”
 
His tentacles find holds in the bathroom. Mainly the towel rack, the faucet,
and Dean. His brother slaps one as it tries to wrap around his bicep for the
third time.
 
“Ow! Dean, that’s me!” he squawks, as pain travels up the tentacle to manifest
in his brain.
 
“Keep yourself off me, then.”
 
“It’s not like I’m trying to grope you.”
 
“Dude, you’re always trying to grope me.”
 
Sam doesn’t really have a response to that. He never realized that Dean
recognized his touches for exactly what they were, so he stands awkwardly in
the middle of the bathroom, dripping water onto the floor.
 
“Can you get me a towel and some dry clothes?” he asks.
 
Dean stares at him blankly for a moment, absentmindedly rubbing the amulet
around his neck before saying, “Yeah. Sure.” Then he slides through the door
silently, leaving Sam alone in the bathroom with four new limbs.
 
--
 
By the time that Sam’s finished drying off, and changed—if he wears his sweat
pants low enough they sit right underneath the base of his tentacles—Dean’s
already back in bed with the light off. He left the door open, and Sam’s unsure
if he should return to Dean’s bed, or if tonight he should sleep by himself. He
could really use the comfort of his brother’s steady heartbeat and breathing
about now. After a couple of minutes of standing in the doorway debating what
to do, Dean calls out, “Sammy, are you coming back to bed or do your new
appendages make you want to sleep standing upright?”
 
Sam doesn’t say anything, quietly crossing the carpeted floor and hopping onto
the bed. Usually he sleeps on his side, letting Dean hold him. It’s been their
position in bed for as long as Sam can remember. They’ve slept like that since
before Dean taught him how to make his own peanut butter and jelly sandwiches
or how to tie his shoes. He tries to snuggle in, but soon he finds that the
fetal position is not conducive to sleeping with tentacles. Squirming out of
Dean’s protective embrace, Sam lays flat on his stomach, head sideways against
his pillow. It’s harder to fall asleep like this, without the steady pressure
of Dean’s arms around him.
 
“Dean?” he asks quietly, in case his brother’s already asleep.
 
“Yeah, Sam?”
 
“Will you…touch me?” he asks, needing to feel human skin-to-skin contact.
 
“Just ‘cause we made out earlier doesn’t mean I’m gonna jerk you off Sam. It’s
3:30 in the morning. Go take care of yourself in the bathroom.”
 
“Ugh, not like that Dean,” he says, although, now that the option seems to be
on the table for later, Sam definitely won’t be saying no… “Will you rub my
back until I fall asleep?”
 
“How about ‘til I pass out?”
 
“Yeah, okay.”
 
Dean shifts then, lying so that his arm can run over the bumps of Sam’s ribs.
He notices that his brother avoids travelling any lower than the base of his
ribcage, leaving a few inches of skin between his hand and Sam’s tentacles.
Slowly, the repetitive motion of Dean’s hand soothes Sam into sleep. This time
he doesn’t dream.
 
--
 
“Sam!”
 
Sam ignores his name being yelled and buries his face deeper into the pillow.
 
His ear gets flicked.
 
“Sam, wake up man, I can’t move,” Dean says.
 
Yawning into his pillow Sam turns on his side to find Dean glaring angrily at
him. The gold flecks always seem to stand out when Dean’s pissed.
 
“How’s that my fault?” he asks lazily, drooling lightly onto his pillow in the
process.
 
“Your tentacles have me trapped.”
 
Tentacles? Sam thinks. Oh fuck. Tentacles. He’d really been hoping that those
had been the latest in the long string of nightmares. Unfortunately, he looks
down the length of the bed to find his new limbs wrapped around Dean’s legs,
which look pale in comparison to Sam’s purple-tinged appendages.
 
“Oh,” he says, voice breaking. “Uh, hold on.”
 
He focuses all of the brain power that he has at the ungodly hour of nine in
the morning towards letting go of Dean. It goes against every grain of his
being. Finally, convincing his tentacles that they’ll get a chance to explore
Dean later, they release slowly leaving red pressure marks against Dean’s white
skin.
 
“Thanks. I guess. Just try to keep them off me, ok?”
 
Dean scrambles out of bed then, as if he’s worried that Sam might latch on to
him again if he stays.
 
“I’ll try.”
 
“Try harder.”
 
“Mmm…’k, Dean,” he mumbles into his pillow as he falls back asleep.
 
--
 
Around two, Sam stumbles out of bed and into the shower.
 
Turning the temperature to warm he enjoys the feeling of water running down his
body, beading over his tentacles and dripping into the drain beneath him. Not
really looking, Sam grabs blindly for the bottle of shampoo. When he looks down
he finds that instead of holding the bottle his hand, it’s wrapped securely in
the end of one of his tentacles. Huh. That’s interesting. Sam pours the thick
blue gel into his hair, scrubbing any residual lake particles from his scalp.
 
Before long, the water falling on his tentacles seems to have an arousing
effect on his body, and Sam finds that he’s horny. Like really horny. Which
makes sense, because he hasn’t gotten off in a few days now that he thinks
about it. Reaching down, he touches one of his tentacles, squeezing hard, and
rubbing down its length. His action is met by a mixture of heat and pleasure
skittering through his muscles. Sam’s hips start humping the air, and he’s
forced to place his other hand against the wall to keep his balance. He slides
the fleshy, now slightly slick limb through his hand a few more times before
moving down to play with his dick which has been twitching angrily with the
overwhelming desire to fuck. Knowing that it’s only going to take a few strokes
before he comes all over the wall, Sam grabs the base of his dick, aiming to
prolong his pleasure, even if it's only for another minute.
 
A loud banging on the door, followed by Dean busting in yelling, “Sam, Sammy?!
Are you ok?” interrupts his impending orgasm.
 
Shit. He must have been groaning loudly enough that Dean had heard him out in
the kitchen. Despite having spent the majority of the last year trying to shove
his dick in his brother’s face whenever the opportunity presented itself, Sam’s
embarrassed to be found masturbating in the shower.
 
When he doesn’t answer, Dean rips the shower curtain back in one fluid motion,
exposing Sam completely. He watches as Dean’s attention is drawn to the hand
that’s still holding his cock. He can’t help but run his thumb down the side,
catching against the head on his way back up. The bottoms of his tentacles are
writhing, full of pent-up energy, and waiting for the satisfaction that they
seem to know is coming.
 
“Hey,” Sam says shyly, looking up at his brother from underneath water-logged
bangs.
 
“Jesus, Sam. You were so loud I thought you were dying in here. Thought your
own tentacles might be strangling you.” Dean only meets his eyes for a second
before his gaze travels back down to Sam’s dick.
 
“Nope. I’m fine,” he says, avoiding looking directly at his brother. “Uh, are
you going to keep standing there?” he asks his brother cautiously, when Dean
shows no sign of moving.
 
“Oh. Uh. Right. I’ll get back to making the grocery list.”
 
It’s not until Dean’s almost out of the door that Sam works up the courage to
say, “You can stay, you know.”
 
Dean stops, his hand covering the metal doorknob. “Do you want me to?” he asks,
not turning around.
 
Sam’s dick jumps in his hand and one of his new appendages pokes the back of
his calf muscle. Urging him to respond before his brother walks out the door.
 
“Yes. Do you want to?” he returns the question, a blush spreading up his chest
and throat. Sam’s sure that his face is every bit as red as his dick.
 
“That depends. Were you thinking about me, little brother? About how you’ve
been aching for the last year or two to stick your dick inside of me? Or use my
mouth? I’ve seen you staring while I eat, when I drink my morning coffee, even
when I fucking gargle my mouthwash.”
 
Sam’s certain his cheeks are fire-engine red by now. He’s heard Dean whisper
dirty phrases in the middle of the night before, jacked his cock faster under
the sheets a few feet away while the slap of wet skin masked his own sounds,
but it’s never been directed at him. It renders him completely and utterly
speechless.
 
When Sam doesn’t respond Dean puts his hand on the doorknob once again, and
says, “It’s okay, Sam. You’re obviously not ready if you can’t talk about it.”
 
“No!” Sam practically yells, squeezing onto his dick until he feels pain. “I
mean, yes. Yes, I was thinking about you.”
 
“And…?”
 
“And how I… how I want to fuck you.”
 
“Atta-boy,” Dean says, praise clear in his tone. “Now, I think we could both
use to blow off a little steam before we start getting serious about your
tentacle-issue.”
 
“Yeah,” Sam agrees, a little breathless, even if he wants more than stress
relief. But he’ll take anything that Dean’s willing to give him, and if a quick
shower fuck is all—if it’s the only thing he can have—Sam’s going to take it.
 
“You want me to watch, or to join you?” his brother asks, turning around long
enough to give Sam time to think as the shower continues to dump water over his
naked body.
 
“Join me,” Sam whispers. His brain can’t seem to handle anything more than
mirroring Dean’s exact words.
 
“Hm, I’m not sure I heard the magic word,” Dean says, while bending down slowly
to untie his boots. He kicks them off gracefully and then starts working on the
buttons of his jeans.
 
“Please, Dean.”
 
“Sure thing. You know I like it when you ask nicely.”
 
The image of Dean stripping slowly, clearly for Sam’s benefit makes his hand
work up and down on his dick subconsciously, pre-come oozing out of his slit in
small spurts.
 
“Hands off, otherwise you’re going to come before I even get in the shower,”
Dean says. He proceeds to shimmy out of his jeans, exposing his bowed knees
that leave the perfect amount of space for Sam’s body in between them. Almost
unwillingly, Sam forces his hand off of his dick and grabs on to his tentacles,
squeezing hard.
 
Dean throws his shirt to the floor next, the faintest hint of copper hair
running up the middle of his chest. Then he hooks his thumbs into his
briefs—Sam can already see his brother’s erection bulging out the right—and
pulls them down slowly. Revealing inch by inch Dean’s trimmed ginger pubic
hair, followed by his thick cock that’s already shiny with pre-come and then
finally a pair of taught, full balls. Sam’s breath hitches. Only the amulet,
the one that Sam had given him all those years ago remains on his body.
 
The steps that Dean takes across the floor are silent, obscured by the sound of
falling water, and Sam can only watch as his brother continues to pad his way
forward, his cock bobbing against his stomach with every step.
 
“Breathe,” is Dean’s first instruction once he finally makes it inside of the
shower, backing Sam up against the far wall. He hadn’t even realized that his
lungs had stopped moving. Bracketing his arms around Sam’s shoulders, Dean
places his knees on either side of Sam’s left thigh, slotting their dicks
together.
 
Sam’s never felt anyone besides himself touching his penis—yearly sports
physicals don’t count—and the fact that it’s not only Dean, but Dean’s cock
that’s gently pressing against his own almost makes Sam black out with
pleasure. He’s watched porn, sure, but he never imagined that it would feel
this good. Overtaken with a biological urge to thrust, Sam’s powerless to
resist. Dean pushes back against him harder, with more purpose this time.
Giving them both the friction that their bodies crave.
 
“This what you want, little brother?” he asks, slightly out of breath and into
Sam’s collar bone. “Rubbing off until you come all over us?”
 
Sam knows logically there are other things. Hand jobs, blow jobs, rimming,
actual sex, but right now he can’t be bothered to think about anything other
than rutting against Dean. Sam pushes Dean off of him slightly so that he can
watch their dicks slide against each other; it’s difficult to tell which drops
are water and which are pre-come.
 
“Yeah,” he says, deciding that slotting his dick against Dean’s is definitely
how he wants to come. “But kiss me too?”
 
Dean angles his face slightly down, his carefully spiked hair ruined by the
water. He presses his lips against Sam’s, and mumbles, “Sure thing, little
bro,” into them, before easing his tongue into Sam’s mouth. Sam doesn’t last
long after Dean licks his way inside. Every time the head of Dean’s dick
catches on the edge of his own cock, it makes him think there’s nothing in the
world that’s more important than getting off—not saving people, not hunting
things, not even curing his tentacle problem.
 
Meanwhile, his new appendages have proceeded to wrap around Dean’s hips and
across the backs of his thighs, making sure that his brother can’t put any
space in between the two of them. Dean hasn’t noticed yet, and Sam’s sure as
hell not going to bring them to his attention, especially the one that’s
snaking its way towards Dean’s ass. Sam wonders if Dean’s hole will feel
different if he touches it with his tentacles versus his fingers. If one is
more sensitive than the other. If Dean would trust him enough to explore the
inside of his body with his new limbs.
 
Then Dean moves a hand down from the wall and encases both of their dicks with
his palm. He’s only on the second upstroke when Sam tilts his head back,
breaking their kiss, and shoots off into Dean’s hand and over his pale stomach.
Dean keeps going, keeping both of them locked together until Sam whimpers from
overstimulation. On the first sound of Sam’s whine, Dean lets go of Sam’s cock
and jacks his own at what Sam considers a brutal, skin chaffing pace until he
comes over Sam’s wilting dick and flat, slightly gaunt abdomen.
 
It takes Dean a moment to catch his breath as he leans against Sam, enjoying
the way their naked bodies are pressed against each other. To Sam, it seems
more intimate than rubbing off together in the shower. As if Dean might not
stick around for this part with anyone else.
 
When his brother tries to pull back, he finally notices that Sam’s extra limbs
are wrapped around him.
 
“Dude?” he says, in a slightly annoyed tone.
 
“Er, sorry about that. I think they like you.”
 
“Great. Just great. Your tentacles like me. Call them off. Now.”
 
He closes his eyes and thinks about retracting them, and suddenly they relax
into a relatively limp state.
 
“Thanks,” Dean says grumpily, turning around into the spray and cleaning any
remaining come from his body. “I’m heading out this afternoon to get some
supplies for the week. Needless to say, you’re staying here. If I’m not back
before dark, call Pastor Jim. His number’s on the fridge.”
 
Then Dean steps out of the shower and pulls the curtain back into its place.
Sam listens to the soft sounds of Dean putting his clothes back on and then
closing the door on his way out. He finishes washing himself in a quick,
utilitarian method. The water’s started to go cold.
 
Dean doesn’t come back until late in the evening, and when he arrives he puts
the food away without a word to Sam. Shortly after leaving a pot of cooked
macaroni on the counter, Dean retreats to his room, closing his bedroom door.
It’s his brother’s cue that he’s not letting Sam share his bed tonight.
Sometimes, Sam really wishes that Dean wasn’t such a drama queen.
***** fic: Surface Tension 3/4 *****

                                  [chapter 3]
In the morning, Sam doesn’t even try to speak with Dean. He lets him cook
breakfast without a word and stares angrily at the way Dean’s sweat pants hang
just above the curve of his ass. Taunting him with what Dean’s decided he can’t
have. A loud snap echoes in the small house, and when Sam looks down, his
tentacle has completely broken one leg of the dining room table in half. Dean
glares at him from where he’s standing next to the stove.
“…and that’s why we can’t have nice things, Sammy.”
“Sorry,” Sam says. He’s not though. Not really. If Dean hadn’t shut the door on
him last night they’d both be in a pleasant, post-fucked out state this
morning. Instead, they’re both as grumpy as Dad after a week-long sobriety
stint.
Dean practically throws down a plate of eggs and bacon in front of Sam. If it
wasn’t for the loud rumbling in his stomach, Sam would shove them back in
Dean’s face. Instead, he devours the food while Dean scrounges around the house
and comes up with a bottle of Gorilla Glue that he places next to his empty
breakfast plate.
“I’m heading out to see if I can find any information on the lake. The table
better be fixed by the time I get back.”
“You’re not Dad,” Sam says challengingly. He’s charged and ready for a fight.
“You bet your ass I’m not. So it better get done.” Dean loses a bit of momentum
then, saying, “Please, Sammy? I can’t do this all by myself.”
It’s always been hard for Sam to stay mad at his brother. Especially when Dean
begs. And smiles at him from under long, black eyelashes. He defuses
practically on reflex. “Sure, Dean. It’s not like I was going to be doing much
anyways.”
“Thanks, kiddo,” Dean says, walking by to ruffle his hair.
Dean leaves shortly after, and Sam’s left alone in the house. Life as usual.
Sam sighs. He flexes his tentacles before reaching around and snapping all of
the table’s legs in one easy go. It doesn’t release all of his tension, but
it’s a start.
--
When Dean gets home in the evening he eyes the table that’s obviously been
broken in not only one, but four spots.
“Really, Sam?” he questions in a slightly disbelieving voice. “I asked you to
fix it, not break the whole damn thing.”
Sam snorts and looks purposefully away from Dean. “Did you find anything?” he
finally asks, after it becomes painfully obvious that Dean’s not divulging any
information until Sam asks.
“Yeah. The Miller’s have two dogs along with a parakeet and Jim down at the
diner likes to shoot elk for fun.”
“You know what I meant. Anything about these?” Sam waves around his tentacles
for added effect until a plate crashes off the counter to the floor. Dean looks
at him with a raised eyebrow until he scampers to his feet, taking care of the
mess.
“Nope. According to local knowledge, no one around here has ever had the
pleasure of sprouting tentacles. A few people have disappeared over the last
hundred years or so, but no more than any other lake. All suspected of
drowning, no evidence of foul play.”
“Huh. So maybe something that’s only active every decade or so?” Sam ponders
out loud.
“Maybe. But no missing person’s reports have been filed since 1945. And,
congratulations by the way, being the first mutant in the lake’s history.”
“Great. So I’m our only lead.”
“It would appear so. Anyways, I’m headed to the library tomorrow to get some
books. See if we can dig up anything that the locals don’t know or aren’t
telling us.”
When Dean moves to sit down on the couch he groans with disgust. “Dude. Did you
get glue on the sofa?” he asks, holding up a sticky hand.
“Uhm…no.”
“What is this stuff then?”
“Er…me?”
“What do you mean you?”
Sam watches as it takes his brother a minute to process that by ‘me’, Sam
actually meant the lubrication fluid from his tentacle. The type that only
releases when he gets hard.
“Ugh. You know, I’ve had a lot of gross things on my hands, but I think your
tentacle juice currently tops the list,” Dean grumbles as he gets off the couch
to rinse his hands under steaming hot water.
“Alright, Sam. New rule: no more jerking off on the couch until you lose the
tentacles.”
“Dude, I wasn’t. I swear I only thought about sex for like, a minute at the
most,” Sam whines.
“Fine. Well, even if you can’t control it, you still gotta clean up afterwards,
little bro. I don’t want to be putting my hands in your tentacle spunk again.”
Unfortunately, Dean winds up encountering three more puddles of Sam’s residue
before he calls it a night and retreats to his bedroom, making sure to slam the
door. Sam goes to bed by himself for the second night in a row, and when he
wakes up in the morning, there’s a bottle of Febreeze next to his door with a
note underneath to clean up his mess. Sam makes a statement by not to using it.
--
The next couple of days pass by with steady tension flowing underneath every
line of stilted conversation between Dean and him. The books prove to be
useless. Most of the water spirits seem to be able to take the shape of female
humans, which doesn’t line up with Sam’s tentacle growth. There’s no evidence
of sirens, or mermen, or even enough recent drowning cases to indicate the
presence of a malevolent lake-creature such as a kappa. The most that Dean can
get out of the locals after a few beers is that none of them particularly like
swimming in the lake.
“It feels kind of creepy,” Dean practically yells when he gets home, making
quotation marks with his fingers. “How the hell is that supposed to help get
rid of your goddamn tentacles? God, I’m so fucking sick of this case.”
Sam looks up from the couch where he’s reading another book on Naiads. He
ignores the sticky spot that appeared on the cushion when his brother had
walked into the house fuming. Dean’s been increasingly irritable since he
invaded Sam’s shower a few days ago, and Sam’s trying hard not to force Dean to
confront his feelings. Still, the whole situation makes him pissed off. Fuck
Dean for dangling sex right in front of him and then pulling it away. For
deciding that since he’s not dying after all, he’s not worthy of Dean’s
attention.
Once Dean’s finished banging around the kitchen loudly—clearly he’d had a few
beers while he was out getting information—Sam snaps.
“I don’t want fucking tomato soup, Dean. I hate tomato soup,” Sam says angrily,
pushing the bowl away from him, after they’re both settled at the dinner table.
“Well, there’s chicken and noodle soup in the cupboard and pans under the
stove. Help yourself.”
“I’m not hungry,” he retorts, as his stomach gives a large rumble.
“Yeah, sure you’re not.”
Sam sneers in Dean’s general direction. What he really wants to do is throw the
table over, clock Dean in the face, and use his tentacles to hold him down
while showing his brother what he’s missing. Remind him how good their
respective dicks feel when they’re pressed together. Make Dean beg for Sam to
fuck him. He hates that he can’t do any of this, he has to be the responsible
one. He has to start the conversation that Dean’s been avoiding just as surely
as the lake that lies right outside their backdoor.
Sam sighs, “What’s eating your ass, Dean?”
His brother coughs up his tomato soup through his nose. “Language. And nothing.
Everything’s fine. Except for the fact that you’ve still got tentacles, and
apparently hate tomato soup. Which, by the way, I bought five cans of at the
store. Oh, and while we’re at it, Dad’s not here, the lake’s still got a
monster in it, and you won’t let me call Pastor Jim. So yeah, Sam. Excuse me
for not being Mr. Happy.”
“You know, it’s not like it’s been my life-long dream to have tentacles
attached to my back. I’m the one fucking stuck in the house all day, while
you’re out driving your beloved car and drinking beer. So you know what, I’ve
had it with your crap. If anyone’s entitled to be fucking fed up with the whole
thing it’s me.”
“Whatever. Just eat your goddamn soup. Or don’t. Maybe you’ll stop growing like
a fucking tree then,” Dean says angrily before taking a breath and stating,
“Look, I’m doing the best I can, and I’ll try to get more information in the
morning. But you know, if I can’t figure this out soon, we’re going to have to
call in help.”
“Yeah, I know,” Sam says. “But I still think we can solve this ourselves. We’ve
been raised our whole lives to deal with shit like this.”
Dean snorts into his soup.
Sam decides he’s had enough of talking about his tentacles, so he ventures
towards what he considers to be a more crucial part of their dinner-time
conversation.
“Are you locking me out of your bedroom tonight?”
“There aren’t any locks on the inside doors.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Too bad, Dean. We can’t just pretend that we didn’t have sex in the shower for
the rest of our lives—“
“That wasn’t sex, it was frottage and a hand job.”
“Whatever. We traded orgasms. And I’d really like to continue—“
“So what? I don’t get a say, then? Did you ever think that maybe I don’t want
to have sex with you?”
“Well fine. I don’t want to have sex with you either,” Sam yells angrily. It’s
not true and they both know it, but somehow getting the last word makes Sam
feel better about the whole situation. He storms off to his bedroom, taking
pleasure in slamming the door and throwing himself down onto his mattress. An
old spring jabs into his tentacle on the way down, making Sam huff out a
“fucking hell” before closing his eyes and trying to pretend he’s anywhere else
but here.
Dean not wanting him hurts more than anything Sam’s ever experienced, including
his most recent painful adventure into growing tentacles. That one, simple
thought makes Sam want to disappear, run away where no one in the world can
find him, because if Dean doesn’t want him, who would? Even on the off chance
someone else did, Sam wouldn’t want them anyways. Sam wants his brother, always
has, always will. He’s never, ever going to find someone like Dean. His brother
might as well just forgo finding a cure and shoot him now. He doesn’t want to
live if he doesn’t get Dean, too.
It’s not long before unwanted tears start to build up, and he’s so fucking
angry he doesn’t know what to do with himself besides punch his pillow on
repeat. At some point Dean comes in and Sam feels himself being gathered up in
Dean’s arms. He fights tooth and nail to get away from his brother, not wanting
to be anywhere near Dean right now, except for the fact that he’d sell his soul
to be kissing him.
“Dean get off of me,” he yells, trying to shove Dean’s hands from their hold on
his hip bones.
“No.”
“I’m serious, Dean. Let me go.”
“Or what?”
“Or I’ll be really fucking mad.”
“You’re already mad, Sammy. Look, I’m sorry about what I said earlier. I do
like you, and if you weren’t my brother, I’d let you split me open on that
fucking gigantic horse cock that you’re packing. But—“
The mention of the possibility of Dean actually letting Sam stick his dick into
him takes all the fight out of Sam. Now that Dean’s admitted that he wants Sam,
at least in some sense, Sam knows that he’s won. Even if Dean doesn’t realize
it yet.
“I know what you’re going to say Dean, but it’s ok. I want it. You want it.”
“We’re brothers,” Dean says softly, “and…I gotta take care of you.”
“You still are…I just have…different needs now. And I’m not talking about my
tentacles.”
“I made you macaroni and cheese,” Dean responds, still trying to weasel his way
out of the conversation.
“Thanks,” Sam says, running his hand down his brother’s thigh, “But I think
that can wait, don’t you?”
Sam feels Dean’s heart beat faster, his pulse jumping out from his thigh,
signifying that he’s understood what Sam’s saying. More importantly, what he’s
not saying.
“Can I? Please…?” he whines softly, leaning back to press a kiss into his
brother’s jaw line. When Dean doesn’t shy away, Sam opens his mouth and sucks
on the skin, knowing that soon a red bruise will blossom once he removes his
teeth.
“Yeah, Sam,” Dean tells him, after a minute.
“I don’t want this to be a one-time thing. If we do this, we go all the way.”
“I‘m not taking you out on dates. Or buying you flowers. Or proposing.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“But you’re ok with it? Just you and me?” he asks Dean, already knowing what
his brother’s answer will be.
“Yeah. I’m all yours.”
He lays Sam on the bed then and straddles his waist, leaning down to kiss him.
They make out until Sam can’t help but make slight thrusts up into Dean’s body.
Dean chuckles. “Just waiting to be ridden there, huh Sammy?”
Sam grins back at him, wrapping his tentacles around Dean’s legs and pressing
him as close as physically possible with all of their clothes still on.
“Well, I do know how much you always liked to be the cowboy,” Sam says back,
continuing to hump into his brother.
“Take off your clothes,” Dean orders, already halfway through removing his own
shirt.
Sam sits up, and they both strip separately. Once they’re down to bare skin,
Dean instructs Sam to put a few pillows behind his head and move against the
headboard. It reminds Sam that Dean’s done this before, and that he hasn’t. It
makes Sam nervous, in way he’s not used to feeling.
“Dean?” he hesitates, his voice unsteady for the first time since they started
kissing.
“Yeah?” Dean asks as he perches himself over Sam’s cock so it slides underneath
his balls and up the crack of his ass.
“What if I’m not any good?”
Dean leans forward and nuzzles their noses together.
“It’s your first time, Sam. No one’s good on their first try. That’s why we
have a lifetime to get better at it.”
“We’re hunters. We’ve got half of a normal life-span at the most.”
“Better start early then, huh?”
With that said, Dean presses his lips against Sam’s, and before long they’re
both out of breath. Rocking his hips forward in small thrusts Dean asks him,
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” Sam says, lifting his pelvis off the bed; trying to show his brother
that he’s ready.
“Because you can never get it back you know. Once it’s gone… well, it’s gone
for good.”
“Do you regret it?” he questions.
“Oh hell no. One of the best experiences of my life. You remember Suzie,
right?”
Dean seems like he’s about to go off on a story-telling tangent, one that Sam
has absolutely no desire to hear right now.
“Yeah, I do. But I don’t want this to be about her. I want it to be about us.”
Once he says that his tentacles latch on to Dean’s thighs tighter and one
snakes around to brush over Dean’s balls.
“That so shouldn’t be hot,” Dean moans, looking down to watch as he starts
rubbing his sac against Sam’s tentacle. The more friction he creates, the
wetter becomes, easing the slide even more, until Dean says, “Dude, it might
have been gross before, but it’s fucking awesome right now that your tentacles
lube themselves.”
Sam blushes, because he has definitely enjoyed the benefits of self-lubrication
in the evenings since Dean shut him out of his bedroom. And, if he’s being
honest, in the mornings, too. Also in the middle of the day, when he was bored
of reading.
“Uhh, yeah. ‘s cool,” is about the most coherent response he can come up with
in the moment.
“Fuck, that is so hot. Care to do the honors of prep work, Sammy?” Dean says.
He rubs his ass over the warm fluid that’s excreting out of Sam’s dusky purple
limb.
“Sure. Yeah. Definitely.” Sam says, but honestly he doesn’t really know what
“prep work” entails.
When Dean catches on to that fact he laughs, which of course makes Sam growl.
“Shuddup, Dean,” he grumbles, half-heartedly trying to push his brother off of
him.
“Oooh, no, Sammy-boy.” Dean grins, and it takes up almost his entire face. Sam
kinda wants to punch him, but that would be counterintuitive of his plan to
shortly fuck his brother, so he scrunches his fists in the sheets instead.
They’re already damp, a mess from their combined sweat and the fluid seeping
out of Sam’s four tentacles.
“This is all about learning tonight. And lesson number one is you never fuck
anyone dry. It doesn’t feel good for you, and it sure as hell doesn’t feel good
for them. So usually, we’d slick up your fingers, or if you were feeling
generous you’d stick your tongue up my ass. But, seeing as you’ve got pre-lubed
tentacles here, why don’t you try those out first?”
Sam stares blankly for a minute until Dean raises his eyebrows, a breads width
away from saying really Sam?. Then he realizes that Dean is 100% serious. He’s
actually going to let Sam stick one of his tentacles up his ass. The mere
thought has each of them squirming, vying for their chance to work their way
into Dean’s body. After playing a quick game of ‘catch the tiger by the toe’,
Sam decides on the tentacle on the far right side. Under Sam’s direction it
slides its way over the round, full gluteus maximus muscles that shape his
brother’s ass and into his crack, prodding gently at Dean’s furled hole. He can
feel the end of the tendril start excreting more viscous fluid now that it’s
aroused, and it easily works about five inches up into Dean before his brother
starts rocking back and forth, writhing on his tentacle.
“Are you ready?” Sam asks, because while watching and feeling Dean get off on
one of his limbs is hot, like possibly hotter than hell, his dick is aching to
feel Dean’s heat wrapped around him.
“Yeah, Sammy,” Dean huffs, taking the time to look him in the eye while he
bounces up and down, fucking himself deeper on Sam’s tentacle. “I’m ready.”
Sam really doesn’t know what to do then—does his dick just slide into his
brother by itself? Does he have to guide it in? Does Dean want to hold it so
that he can lower himself onto Sam’s cock at his own pace? Finally, Dean seems
to catch-on to the fact that Sam truly has no clue what the hell he’s doing and
takes it upon himself to line the head of Sam’s penis against his rim.
“You’ve got to pull your tentacle out now, Sam,” Dean states in a matter-of
fact tone. Entirely too clinical for someone who’s just had their head thrown
back and lips parted from riding a non-human appendage.
Sam doesn’t want to take it out though, it feels good inside Dean. Warm, and
wet, and comfortable, and it’s like he found his calling, his one true purpose
in life: being inside of his brother’s body.
“Can’t you just put my dick in too?”
“Uh-huh, your dick is too big for double penetration on the first go,” Dean
says, “take it out, or I’m not sliding down on that lovely cock of yours that’s
waiting all pretty and hard for me.”
“Fine,” Sam huffs, and slowly extracts his disapproving tentacle from Dean’s
ass. When Dean grabs his dick again, pressing it against his hole until his ass
sucks his brother’s cock in, Sam’s glad he chose to take his tendril out.
Although it felt amazing, it’s nothing in comparison to the way Dean’s walls
squeeze against his dick.
“Oh my God,” he gasps, his hips thrusting up on instinct. In one swift movement
Sam’s been reduced to the simple pleasure-reward pathway in his brain, and it’s
overriding everything in his body besides breathing and pumping blood.
“Fuck, you’re even bigger than I thought,” Dean says, eyes gleaming with praise
as he rolls his hips forward.
Sam only lasts for two more of Dean’s thrusts against his pelvis before he’s
coming inside of his brother. A single drop of sweat rolls off his nose and
splashes on his chest.
“Sorry. I just—I couldn’t—“
“Shhh,” Dean breaks off his protestations, “we’ve all been there. And it’s
super-hot that you got off so quick. Means I’m doing my job right.” All the
while Dean’s talking, consoling him, he’s still moving on Sam’s wilting dick,
his balls hitting Sam’s with every movement.
“Do you want—?”
Sam makes a jacking motion with his hand, asking Dean if he wants help when his
dick finally pops out of his brother’s ass, too soft to stay inside.
“Yeah, sure,” Dean says.
Sam almost brings his hand up before deciding that his warm, slippery tentacles
will probably feel better on the sensitive skin of Dean’s cut dick. Raising one
up, he wraps it fully around Dean’s cock, tightly but not squeezing. Dean
starts fucking into the warm hole he created seriously, biting his bottom lip
and leaning in to bury his head into the crook of Sam’s neck. The metal points
of the amulet press sharply into Sam’s skin, but he doesn’t complain. He just
lets Dean fuck his tentacle until he feels Dean’s semen join his own fluid.
Dean thrusts his deflating cock into his tentacle a few more times before
stilling his body, panting harshly into Sam’s neck. Wrapping his arms around
Dean’s body, Sam pulls him in close.
“Don’t ever leave me, Dean.”
“Never. You’d have to leave me first.”
“Even then?” Sam asks into Dean’s sweat soaked hair.
“I’ll always find you, Sammy. Always. It’s my job.”
They stay silent, enjoying the feeling of their limp dicks pressed together as
their hearts struggle to regain a more normal rhythm.
“Can I see?” Sam asks when he works up the courage.
“See what?”
“Uh. You. Your…you know… your ass… with my come in it.”
“Sammy, you kinky bastard,” Dean says happily while slapping his chest.
He doesn’t say anything else, simply turns around and presses his face onto the
bedspread, his ass up in the air. It’s a beautiful sight, the hint of puffed-up
red in the middle of Dean’s round butt, and it starts to get Sam’s dick
stirring all over again.
Leaning forward, Sam rubs the tip of his index finger over Dean’s entrance, and
his voice gets husky when he sticks it inside, watching it go in smoothly with
his come and residual fluid easing the way. “How’s that feel Dean?” he asks,
thoroughly interested.
“Like my ass is going to be sore by the evening without you fucking it twice in
a row.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, oh. Maybe tomorrow.”
Sam withdraws his fingers then, but can’t resist leaning forward and licking at
Dean’s hole, encouraging him to let Sam’s come seep out.
“Fuck, Sammy. Now that feels good, little bro.”
He licks in deeper then, making sure to thoroughly clean his brother up, and
before he knows it, his tentacles have latched on to both of their dicks, and
this time, they come within seconds of each other, all over the bed.
As soon as he regains his breath, Sam hops down from the comforter, making his
move to hit the shower before Dean.
“We’re so sleeping in your room tonight, Dean. My whole bed’s a fucking wet
spot.”
Dean grins. “And that Sammy, is the sign of excellent sex.”
“Lovely,” he quips before leaving his brother by himself to pass out on the
sex-stained sheets.
--
The days pass by quickly once they start fucking regularly, interspersed with
continued research. Sometimes they combine the two, with Dean face-down on the
bed, reading about Scylla and Charybdis, punctuated with breathy grunts when
Sam thrusts in on the painful side of too deep. With Sam’s short refractory
period, they can often fuck four or five times in a day. Sam sometimes doesn’t
stop until Dean starts complaining about his ass being sore. Their routine of
sex, reading, sleeping, more research, sheet-changing, and showering is only
broken up by Dean making food and leaving on information and supply runs. Dean
talks to the locals while he’s out, but no matter how much beer he pumps into
them, no one has any experiences with cold spots, unnatural deaths, or even
something as banal as a fish shortage in the lake.
“It doesn’t make any goddamn sense,” Dean says, his hand in Sam’s hair as Sam
swallows around Dean’s cock, bringing it even further down his throat. His
brother is sitting on the bed, dressed in nothing but a white tee-shirt,
refusing to take it off because he was cold. Sam’s doing his best to keep
Dean’s lower half warm.
Over the last week, Dean’s taught him how to give a good blow job. Cover his
teeth. Don’t suck on the way off. Breathe through his nose. He hums in
response, and Dean can’t seem to decide whether to shove backwards on the
tentacle that’s pressing directly against his prostate, or thrust up into Sam’s
mouth.
“I mean…. you’d think that someone… oh fuck, Sam… would have noticed something
before now…that’s right Sammy… goddamn you look good with your mouth full of my
dick.” If Sam’s mouth wasn’t already occupied, he’d be making the counter
argument that Dean looks even better with his ass stuffed.
Dean stops trying to have a discussion about the complete lack of evidence
aside from Sam’s tentacles as he reaches forward to trace Sam’s stretched lips.
“So fucking pink,” he says, and then buries his hands in Sam’s hair,
encouraging Sam to swallow another inch or two of his cock.
He’s almost ready to come, Sam can tell by the way that his brother’s inner
thighs flex sporadically, when the phone rings.
Dean holds Sam’s head still then, asking him, “Who’s got our number?”
Sam pulls off Dean’s cock long enough to say, “Dude I’m sucking your dick, why
do you care?” before diving back down. He’s ready for Dean to come so that he
can roll over and let Dean ride him. Sam has found he loves to watch his
brother’s cock go from a floppy post-orgasm state to a full erection simply
because Sam’s dick is up his ass. It’s even better when Dean does most of the
work.
The phone quits ringing, and Sam’s about to start ruthlessly pressing against
Dean’s prostate when the phone starts up again.
“Dad!” Dean exclaims, quickly leaning over the bed, dislodging Sam from his
body in order to grab the phone.
“Hello?” Dean says into the phone. Sam can’t hear the other side of the
conversation.
“Yes, sir,” followed by a pause. “Yeah, of course.”
Sam crawls back into the space between his brother’s legs despite Dean trying
to bat him away. He licks a long line up Dean’s dick, tracing the major veins
with his tongue.
“Yes sir. Sam is fine.”
Dean’s hand tangles in his hair as he takes only the head of Dean’s cock into
his mouth and gives a long, wet suck. He’s pleased when Dean can’t help but let
out a grunt.
“No sir, sorry. Me and Sam were kind of in the middle of sparring when you
called.”
Sam laughs around Dean’s dick, which he knows sends vibrations up his brother’s
body. Wrapping the end of a tentacle around the base of Dean’s shaft, Sam
starts licking furiously into the slit, gathering every drop of pre-come that
he can find. Dean fucks up then, his hips arching off the bed, before coming
down Sam’s throat. Sam keeps his tentacle squeezing his brother’s cock, milking
every last bit of come out of him.
“Yes sir. Of course I’ll tell him to stop.” Dean pushes Sam off his body and
stalks out of the room on shaky legs, receiver and cord in hand.
When he returns from the hallway, Sam’s jacking his cock lazily on the bed.
“C’mon Dean, I’m getting cold,” he whines at his brother.
Dean scratches his neck. “Sam, we’ve got a problem.”
“My dick isn’t in your body?”
“No. A real problem. Dad’s coming back in two days.”
Sam sits straight up, his cock all but forgotten.
“I thought he wasn't coming back for at least another few weeks. Fuck. Dean,
I’ve got tentacles, and the closest lead we’ve got is Scylla, whose last known
location was off the coast of Italy!”
“Yeah. I know. But apparently the news on the vortex was faulty. Just a
coincidence of a couple of hikers getting lost in around the same area.”
“So how come he’s not back already?” Sam asks.
“Said he caught wind of a pack of ghouls somewhere in North Portland.”
“Huh.”
“Yeah, he’s finishing up the job before heading back down. He’ll be here by
Sunday, and then it’s off to Louisiana for all of us.”
“Another hunt?”
“Those hoodoo-infested swamp lands are full of jobs. If it weren’t for all the
other hunters down there, we’d probably live there permanently.”
Sam’s about to ask what exactly Dad’s hunting before he remembers that if they
don’t solve his tentacle problem, his father’s going to be ganking him first.
“We can’t go to Louisiana, Dean. We’ve got to run. Somewhere—anywhere. Canada
maybe? How about Panama? I mean, I know there’s malaria, but—“
Dean interrupts his flight of ideas. “Not going anywhere Sam. Ain’t nowhere we
can go that someone won’t find out that you’ve got…” Dean stops in the middle
of his sentence to make a hand motion for tentacles. It kind of looks like
Dean’s trying to mime an elephant using its trunk.
Sam slumps back onto the bed. He’s naked, and cold, and so, so, fucked if Dad
finds out he’s got extra limbs coming off his body. Sensing his distress, Dean
crawls up the bed and over his body. He rolls his hips against Sam’s, and Sam
knows that this is his brother’s way of consoling him. When in doubt, Dean
always goes in for the physical comforts. Right now, Sam can’t help but succumb
to Dean’s ministrations, and he comes quickly but hard over his brother’s
lightly freckled stomach.
Dean leaves him on the bed then with the words "I'm gonna go call Pastor Jim”
hanging in the air.
--
When Sam finally coaxes his brain into getting up off the bed, he puts on a
pair of Dean’s boxers and walks into the hall. Dean’s sitting at the dinner
table, still dressed in nothing but a tee-shirt, and illuminated by the light
from the kitchen. Sam watches as he leans his forehead against the palm of his
hand. From this angle Sam’s brother looks older than his 18 years, weary
almost, and Sam can’t imagine how his brother will look in another 10 or 20
years. How the stress and the drinking will most likely mar his brother’s
beautiful face with permanent wrinkles and grey hair long before he’s due to
age. How he can already see it changing Dean into a spitting image of their
father.
“Yeah, this kid has ‘em. Coughed up a black tar-like substance after he
drowned, wound up with tentacles.”
Dean’s quiet, listening for another minute before breaking out with, “Yeah,
that’s what I thought too, but no, there’s been nothing, and I mean honest to
goodness nothing going on here besides this one case of tentacles.”
“Oh?”
“No, I’ve never heard of that before. No, I didn’t know that Scylla had
children of her own…fucking world travelers, huh?”
Sam watches Dean lick his lips, obviously frustrated. “But there’s a cure
though?...No I don’t care how dangerous it is—tell me anyways!”
Dangerous. Of course it’s fucking dangerous. They’re going to try to remove
actual limbs from his body. There’s no way that this ends well for him. It’s
probably going to hurt like a bitch, too.
“Ashland? And what’s his name?” Dean stops to scribble down some information.
“Great. Thanks Pastor Jim. Of course me and Sammy will come see you soon.” He
pauses. “Yeah, Sammy’s growing like a weed. Almost as tall as me and Dad now,”
he says proudly. There’s one more round of silence before Dean says softly,
“Miss you, too. Thanks again for your help,” before hanging up the phone.
“Heya, Sammy,” Dean says without moving. He must have seen Sam’s shadow in the
hall.
“What is it, Dean? What am I?” he asks quietly, hands palming the tentacles in
his hand. He likes the way they feel, and of course, Dean has come to enjoy
them too. Ever since Dean realized what they could do for his body, he’s been
completely supportive of Sam using them for pleasure-related purposes.
“You’re still you, Sam. Jim thinks it’s a manifestation of residual energy from
some sort of great-grand-child of Syclla.”
“Like…energy from a dead water spirit?”
“Basically. Jim says the residue they leave behind after they die is highly
unpredictable.”
“But why me? I mean, there’s hundreds of people who swim here every year.”
“Dunno. He says they can sense power and kindred spirits. Whatever that means.
But he also thinks if it took up with your body, there isn’t any left in the
lake.”
“…which is great for everyone else, but how do we get it out of me, Dean?”
Dean coughs. “Ah, that’s the tricky part. We’ve gotta force it out, Sam.”
“That doesn’t sound pleasant.”
“Not really. In order for it to come out, it has to think that you’re no longer
a habitable host.”
“Which means…?” Sam really doesn’t want this conversation to go where he’s
assuming that it’s headed.
“We’ve got to drown you. Again. It probably won’t let go until you lose
consciousness, and it can only exit your body if it’s in water.”
“So in the tub.”
“Yeah, that would make the most sense. But we need blessed fireweed to render
it useless, and then we’ve got to burn it.”
“Burn the water?”
“Yeah. Jim says potassium should do the trick.”
“Huh.”
“I’m leaving now. I got the name of a hunter three hours away down in Ashland
who knows I’m coming.” Dean pauses for a moment before saying, “And Sam? I
don’t want you to leave this house for anything.”
“Of course, Dean. I’ll stay right here.”
“I will track you to the end of this world if you disappear, got it?”
“Yup.”
Dean gets dressed then and gathers his supplies. Sam follows him until he’s out
on the front porch, and then Dean turns around, pressing a kiss to his
forehead.
“I love you, kiddo.”
“Love you to, Dean.”
Dean throws his bag into the impala, puts the car in reverse and peels out of
the driveway, into the dark of the night, with a wink.
--
Sam worries his nails down until there’s no trace of a white crescent left on
any of his ten long fingers. There are 67 steps from Sam’s bedroom to the front
door. 55 from Dean’s room. Sam’s footsteps echo through the empty house all
night. Finally, right after dawn, he can’t keep himself awake any longer.
Instead of going to his own room, he makes for Dean’s bed, curling up in the
scent of old-spice, leather and Remington gun-oil. Smells of Sam’s childhood
and home, now associated with sex too. Some people have comfort food or music
or movies. Sam has Dean.
By the time that two in the afternoon rolls around and Dean’s still not back,
Sam starts packing again. Not for Panama, or the Artic, but for the Oregon
woods. They seem as good of a place as any to disappear in, on the off chance
that Dean doesn’t return. The forest stretches on either side into California
or Washington and Sam’s pretty sure that he could go the rest of his life
without being found. It might not be a great living, but being alive trumps the
alternative.
Sam’s trained to be prepared; he’s not without a contingency plan. So he sits,
bag stuffed full of loose shorts, wearing his only shirt that rides high enough
to not irritate the sensitive skin around his tentacles: the blue My Little
Pony one that Dean had bought him. The ends of his tentacles tap on the table,
on the floor and over his packed duffle. Itching to flee as if they too, know
that their time is running out.
Although his stomach growls on and off throughout the afternoon, Sam can’t
bring himself to eat. He feels like anything he consumed would only wind up
coming back up and onto the floor. For the first time in weeks he doesn’t touch
himself; his tentacles stay dry. He can’t do anything besides work on giving
himself a stomach ulcer with all his worrying.
Sam’s been reading the same line in The Underground for about an hour when he
hears the sound of tires on gravel. He listens for a moment, getting ready to
bolt if the engine doesn’t sound quite right but as it gets closer, Sam
recognizes the familiar hum of the Impala.
He’d promised Dean that he would stay inside, he wouldn’t leave, and it takes
all of his self-restraint to not throw himself into Dean’s arms while his
brother takes his time gathering his affects out of the car. It lasts until the
moment that Dean walks over the intact salt threshold, and then Sam tries to
force himself as far into his brother’s body as physically possible without
taking off layers of clothing.
“Woah there, Sammy. I wasn’t even gone for a day.”
“Twenty hours, Dean. And you said it was only a three hour drive. I was so
worried that something had happened…don’t ever want you gone for that long
again.”
“Okay, okay,” Dean says, “just let me get settled here, and then we gotta talk
about what needs to be done before Dad gets here.”
Sam doesn’t let Dean get settled though; he places wet, open mouthed kisses on
every part of Dean’s face that he can access, enjoying the taste of pure Dean
rather than that of the cheap soap his brother uses which burns the sensitive
skin of Sam’s mouth.
Dragging his brother—literally, with his tentacles—to the brightly colored
couch, Sam climbs into Dean’s lap and burrows into his body.
“Are you sure we gotta do this?” he asks. “We could disappear, you and me, if
we wanted to. Head into the woods, not come back.”
Dean laughs hollowly. “You really think that Dad wouldn’t find us?”
Sam shrugs. “He’s so goddamn busy hunting all the time. You think he'd actually
miss us?”
“Are you fucking kidding me, Sam? We’re the last bits of Mom he’s got left. If
you think he wouldn’t track us down, you’re not as smart as I think you are.”
“I still think he’ll kill me when he finds out I’m a monster.”
“Well, it’s my job to make sure that you’re not one by tomorrow.”
Sam’s tentacles wrap around Dean’s arms and biceps lightly. Simply feeling his
brother's smooth skin rather than binding it.
“I don’t want to die.”
Dean runs a soothing hand down his back, tracing gentle patterns underneath his
shirt with the tips of his fingers.
“I know, kiddo,” he says quietly, “I won’t let you. You know I’ll pull you out
the minute that thing leaves your body.”
Sam presses close to Dean, feeling the hard evidence of his brother’s arousal
through his pants.
“You wanna fuck before you drown me in the bathtub?” he says, trying to keep a
casual tone in his voice. Trying not to let his fear seep through the cracks.
For once, Sam’s got to be strong for Dean. His brother is, after all, going to
be the one to almost kill him. It’s going to hurt Dean just as much. Possibly
more.
“Sure,” Dean mutters, but it’s quiet. There’s no force behind it and it’s so
unlike Dean that Sam almost backs out of his offer on principle. Almost.
Dean slowly moves until he’s lying on his back with Sam between his legs.
“You stop and get pie?” he asks Dean, after tasting a hint of cherry flavor on
Dean’s lips.
“Yeah. Brought you back a piece to if you want it.”
“Nah, I got my last meal right here,” he says before licking his way into
Dean’s mouth. He spends his time exploring Dean’s mouth, fucking his tongue in
and out, exactly like he plans on doing to Dean’s ass shortly. His brother
moans and humps up, bringing their cocks together on every thrust. Sam loves
Dean like this, strung out on the need for Sam’s tongue, hands, and dick.
Waiting for Sam to tear him apart; trusting Sam to put him back together when
he’s done.
His fingers work on his brother’s buttons and zipper while his tentacles pull
Dean’s pants all the way off his body. Sam doesn’t bother to take off his own
clothes, simply pulls down the elastic of his shorts until they pool around
where his knees indent the couch cushions.
Using his extra limbs he brings his brother’s legs up until Dean’s knees are
pressed against his chest, all his pink freckled skin exposed for Sam.
“God, Dean, you’re fucking gorgeous,” he says, taking the time to bite into his
brother’s thighs, leaving imprints of his teeth every time he pulls off.
“C’mon, Sam. Fuck me,” Dean says, rolling his hips so that his thick cock slaps
against the light thatch of bright auburn hair.
“Think I’m going to take my time tonight, big brother. Watch you open up for
me. See how pretty you are on the inside.” With that said, he employs both of
his tentacles that are not currently wrapped around Dean’s legs to start
working him open, pulling at his brother’s rim until it stretches wide enough
to fit his dick inside, along with his slick limbs.
Sam reaches down to run a finger lightly up the underside of Dean’s cock, not
really pushing hard enough to give him anywhere near the stimulation he needs.
Dean’s bright eyes meet his own, his lips slightly parted in what looks like
ecstasy. With his shirt slightly bunched around his arm pits, his brother’s as
debauched as Sam’s ever seen him.
Sam skims his index finger over Dean’s slit, spreading his milky-colored pre-
come around the head of his dick, still riding the line of too light a touch.
“Sammy, please, I need it,” Dean whines. Sam leans forward then and presses his
forehead against Dean’s, no longer looking at where his tentacles are feeling
up Dean’s insides, but instead gauging what Dean needs. He spends awhile
gazing, trying to break through the lust filled haze that’s obscuring his
brother’s usually expressive irises. Reassurance, Sam decides. He needs to know
that Sam loves him, that Sam forgives him for the crime he’s going to commit
tomorrow.
“I’ve got you, Dean,” he whispers against his brother’s lips.
He lines himself up then, puts his dick right between his two tentacles, and
Dean pants as Sam starts to push inside.
“Breathe, Dean. Keep breathing,” he says, all too aware that tomorrow Dean will
want him to do the opposite. He’ll hold Sam underneath a few inches of water
until his lungs start to burn.
Dean obeys his order through, breathing out every time Sam inches forward, snug
in between his tentacles and Dean’s warm ass.
“You’re doing great,” Sam mutters; it’s hard to keep a rational stream of
thought when his dick feels so good that he wants to blow his load right now.
It’s not what Dean needs though, so Sam tries to concentrate on non-sexual
thoughts; just enough to keep the edge off without shrinking his dick entirely.
Once he’s regained control, he pushes all the way through, until his balls
touch the crack of Dean’s ass.
“Yeah, I know I’m a fantastic lay. Will you get to the fucking me already
part?” Dean jibes back, and for half a second, Sam almost gives in and fucks
his brother hard and fast so that they both get off quickly. But he smirks
instead, and pulls out most of the way slowly, making Dean groan.
“No. We’re going to do this my way tonight,” he says, and he continues to slide
in and out of his brother at a snail’s pace, enjoying the steady pull of Dean’s
hole and the way his tentacles undulate softly, stimulating both Dean and him
at the same time.
“You know I love you, right?” he asks.
“Yeah,” Dean grunts after a particularly deep thrust. “I love you, too, Sammy.”
“And it doesn’t matter if you drown me, or leave me, or fucking wind up killing
me someday. I forgive you.” Sam keeps up the steady pace, fucking Dean deeply,
trying to make his point that he’s in this for the long run.
“I wouldn’t…” Dean starts to say.
“I’m saying I don’t care. Whatever happens. Whatever choices you make. It’s
okay. I forgive you. I’ll always forgive you.” Sam picks up the pace then,
enjoying the squelch of fluid that resounds through the dark house with every
thrust of his hips. He removes one of his tentacles from Dean’s ass, reaching
forward to wrap it around his brother’s dick, making sure that it rubs against
Dean’s balls. His brother is totally a sucker for having his sac played with.
“Better put ‘em to good use while I got ‘em, huh?” He whispers in Dean’s ear,
and he feels his brother laugh into his neck.
“You know what Sam? I think I might actually miss the suckers. If only for this
reason.”
Sam doesn’t have the breath to laugh. It’s all being taken, used up by Dean’s
warm, willing body. He keeps thrusting until he can no longer hold a rhythm,
overwhelmed by the sheer pleasure created as influx of chemicals floods his
brain. Sam empties himself inside his brother, only to realize as he collapses
his ribcage into Dean’s that Dean had already come.
Dean smirks at him. “Beat you,” he says.
“Sex isn’t race, Dean.”
“Says you.”
Sam starts to pull out, removing his weight from his brother’s body when Dean’s
hands find their way to his tailbone, wrapping around where his tentacles start
and pressing Sam tightly against his body.
“Don’t leave, Sammy,” he pleads, and Sam can’t help but acquiesce. He stays
inside Dean long after they’ve both gone soft, and he’s got to be careful not
to move lest he slip out of his brother. They’ve got nothing left to say
really, so they lay together in silence as their lungs return to a normal
breathing pattern. Synchronized. Perfectly in tune with each other. How they’re
supposed to be, Sam thinks.
Finally, Sam gets cold because they’ve stopped actively creating friction and
his ass is catching the draft from the back window. Pulling out despite Dean’s
protests, Sam gathers the bedspread from Dean’s room and lays back down on top
of Dean.
“This okay?” he asks, because Sam can be polite, even though Dean is his
brother.
“Yeah, Sammy. Go to sleep.”
“Thought we were going to talk about getting this thing out of me?”
“Don’t have the energy right now. You fucked it out of me. We’ll do it first
thing tomorrow.”
“Mmm…k,” Sam mutters as he snuggles deeper into Dean, taking special care to
scrape his face against Dean’s two day old stubble, before falling asleep to
the steady beat of his brother’s heart.
***** fic: Surface Tension 4/4 *****

                              [chapter 4 actual]
“Sam. C’mon, Sammy. ‘S time.”
It’s too early in the morning to be awake is Sam’s first thought when Dean
shakes him softly in the quiet hours before dawn until he groans with
displeasure. Not even the birds are up.
“Nnggh, go ‘way.”
Soft lips press against his forehead.
“Can’t wait any longer, Sammy. I already finished prepping the bathroom.”
Sam snuggles deeper into the bed, rolling his hips softly, trying to entice
Dean to climb back underneath the covers with him so that they can lose
themselves in each other one last time.
“I’m not above getting out the cold water,” Dean states, poking Sam in the
side, right in between his ribs. Exactly where he knows it hurts.
“Ugh, fuck you, Dean. Alright, I’m up,” he says, forcing his body into a
sitting position and rubbing sleep from his eyes.
“K, well everything’s ready to go for de-tentaclization. Only thing missing is
your gorgeous body to complete the bathroom set.”
“Mhmm. I know you’re buttering me up, Dean.”
“Is it working?”
“Only if I live to reap the benefits.”
Dean looks hurt, “You know that I won’t let you die. I’d let the whole world
burn first.”
“Yeah, I know. Doesn’t make me any less nervous though.” Sam shrugs, “I guess
now’s as good of a time as any.”
“Better sooner than later. We don’t have an ETA on when Dad’s coming home.”
“Alright, alright.” Sam stands up and stretches, walking over to the dresser to
put a shirt over his bare torso. Dean raises an eyebrow.
“I’d prefer not to be in only my undies. Deal with it.”
Dean shrugs. “Whatever floats your boat, Sammy-boy.”
Sam walks over and locks hands with his brother. He runs his thumb back and
forth over Dean’s, tracing each joint with care. “You ready to do this?”
“You ready to get rid of your tentacles?”
“It’s not like I’ve developed a sudden longing for raw fish and a desire to
live in an underwater cave. It could have been worse.”
Dean doesn’t have anything to say to that; he’s reaped enough of their
benefits, too. They walk together, Dean leading Sam, and once his brother opens
the door, Sam can see the tub is filled three-quarters full of water. There’s a
CPR kit with paddles on the counter next to a whole stack of syringes;
everything’s been drawn up.
“You rob a hospital?” he asks, already knowing the answer.
“Eh. I may have re-appropriated some of their supplies to those in need.”
“Classy.”
“I thought so.”
There’s an awkward moment where neither of them really know what to say, so Sam
moves in to kiss Dean on the lips.
Dean pulls off first. “Dude, you’ve got morning breath. Seriously disgusting.”
“Whatever, jerk.”
“Bitch.”
Then the silence moves in again until Sam gestures to the tub. “So, uh. Should
I climb in?”
Dean nods. “Yeah, the fireweed’s already inside, so I think that’d be best.”
“You should tie me up so I don’t make a mess splashing water everywhere. I’m
going to flail, you know. I won’t have a choice after my instincts start to
kick in.”
“I’m not tying you up, Sammy. And a bit of water’s nothing after all the
tentacle goo you’ve been leaving over everything. Anyways, the sooner you get
in, the quicker I can get you out. Shouldn’t take more than five minutes.”
“Ok.”
Sam steps in, sinking down until every part of him aside from his head is
submerged. The water’s gone a little bit cold, and Sam shivers in response. He
looks up at Dean who’s smiling sadly at him.
“I love you, Sammy.”
“I know. I love you, too, De—“ Sam doesn’t get all the way through his last
words because Dean’s hand pins his neck and drags his head underneath the clear
water. His immediate reflex is to grab onto something, and he finds a hold on
Dean’s amulet as it hangs off his brother’s body. The cord is stronger than it
seems though, because for how hard Sam pulls on it, it refuses to break.
Refuses to leave Dean. Sam can understand its reluctance.
After about two minutes of holding any residual air in his lungs, Sam kicks up,
legs breaking the surface of the water. His tentacles reach out, wrapping
around Dean’s arms, but even they’ve lost the strength to squeeze with any
amount of force.
Breathing. Sam needs to breathe. He regrets taking for granted all those
moments throughout his life when he’d forgotten how amazing air feels as it
slides down his throat, bringing life into his body. Sam promises whoever is
listening that he wouldn’t forget again. In fact, he'd be eternally grateful,
as long as he could get even a little bit of oxygen into his lungs.
It doesn’t take long before Sam trades bargaining for acceptance, and willingly
opens his mouth to let the bathwater run inside. He knows it’ll be quicker this
way. He’ll be able to get back to Dean, whose hands are still wrapped around
his neck as he struggles less frantically now, but still trying reach the air
which remains tauntingly out of reach.
Some people say that their life flashes before their eyes when they drown. All
Sam can see is Dean. He watches himself rub his wet, runny nose down Dean’s
sleeve. In a cheap motel room Dean’s giving him the last of the Lucky Charms,
letting him keep the toy at the bottom. A larger hand, his brother’s hand,
holds onto his own as Dean walks him to a vaguely familiar school in an unknown
state. Images come and go, faster than Sam would like, but each one holding a
lifetime of meaning. Dean’s face lighting up when Sam had given him the amulet.
Riding the bike that Dean had bought him with money made from mowing lawns.
Dean pulling him close at night, making sure to cover Sam’s body with his own
on cold nights without heat. His mouth on his brother’s, slowly licking inside
for the first time the night after Dean had saved him from drowning. Just like
he’s actually saving Sam now.
Sam loves his brother. Every pore, every freckle, every fiber of his being both
inside and out. And so, as the world—well, Dean mainly—starts to fade away, Sam
stops fighting. It’s only fitting that Dean’s here at the end, holding onto
Sam. Telling Sam on repeat that he loves him.
The last thing that Sam sees is his brother’s salty tears dripping into the
water where he’s drowning. Dean’s always been a pretty crier.
--
When Sam’s eyes flutter open it’s to a familiar pounding—thud, thud, thump—on
his chest, with Dean on top of him moving gracefully up and down.
“Am I dead?” he asks Dean with a voice that’s rough, even to his own ears.
“Sammy! Thank God! You were out for a few minutes there.” The moving stops
then, and Dean’s hands grasp onto his face, pulling him up for a kiss.
Sam’s in a daze, and a fucking lot of pain, but there’s something he needs to
remember, a reason why he’s in this particular predicament…
“Dean?” he asks, only now realizing why he’s shivering in a pool of water on
the bathroom floor.
“Yeah, Sam?”
“…are they gone?”
Dean nuzzles into his neck. “Mhmm. Turned into nasty black stuff when they came
out of your body, too. I pulled you out as fast as I could, dumped the
potassium salt in and watched it go up in flames. Burned the tub too, while I
was at it. I guess we’re not getting our security deposit back, after all.”
“So I’m normal?”
“Hahah. I’m not sure I’d say that, Mr. I’d Rather Study Calculus than Go
Shooting with My Extra Awesome Super-Hot Older Brother.”
Sam wishes he had the strength to push Dean, but he can barely keep his eyes
open. Being alive is fucking exhausting.
“Can I sleep?”
“Yeah, Sammy. After that, you can do whatever the hell you want, dying
excluded.”
“Thanks, Dean.”
“Sure thing, kiddo.”
--
Dad doesn’t wind up returning home for another day, which gives Sam enough time
to not look completely like a zombie. Still, when his father walks through the
door his first words are, “Dean, what happened to your brother?”
“It’s not a big deal, sir,” Sam responds first, “I choked on some lake water
and wound up with pneumonia. ‘M fine now.” He coughs to make his story more
believable.
Dad squints, assessing the validity of his statement but Sam sees Dean shrug in
agreement from the corner of his eye, and Dad lets the matter drop.
“You boys ready to go?”
“Yes, sir,” Dean responds eagerly. Sam stays silent until Dad barks out, “Sam?”
“Yes, sir,” he sighs, rolling his eyes.
“Alright then. We’re leaving in five.”
“What’re you hunting?” Sam can’t help but ask. Dean gives him a pointed look
that says don’t ask questions, which Sam shrugs off.
“Don’t know yet. Something that’s killing people down in the delta. It’s been
filleting its victims. I’m going to need you to take point on research after we
get there. And Dean, you prepared for back-up duty?
“Of course, sir.”
“Alright then, we’re not stopping except for gas and coffee until we hit
Denver, got it?”
This time, they both answer, “Yes, sir,” in unison.
--
When they finally turn in, almost twenty-hours later, Dean tells Dad that if
they’re hard up on cash, Sam and him can share a single. Clearly too tired to
care, Dad forks over the minimum amount of cash possible before stalking off to
his own room with a half-grumbled, “G’night boys. Don’t stay up too late, we’re
hitting the road again in six hours.”
“Got it,” Dean says, shoving Sam vaguely in the direction of their motel room.
Every step Sam takes precedes Dean’s, and for once, he’s leading the way. One
long, carpeted corridor leads to another, and when they finally make it to
their assigned room, Dean throws down his duffle on the floor and calls the
side of the bed closest to the door. He flips on the T.V., and lays down on the
bed, fully clothed. Sam half expects him to turn on porn and pop the buttons on
his fly. Instead he settles for a documentary on B-54 planes.
“Seriously, Dean?” he asks. “We’ve got a whole room with one bed to ourselves
and you’re going to waste it watching television?”
“‘M tired, Sammy. Really fucking tired.” It’s true. Dean looks exhausted. But
Sam knows his brother enough to realize that’s not why there’s a documentary
playing across the small screen.
“Bullshit. What is it? Are you feeling guilty that you nearly killed me? Are
you worried that I don’t want you anymore now that I’m not about to die? Tell
me. I want to know.”
“Maybe I don’t want my ass to be painful while I drive for another goddamn
twenty hours. Did you think about that?”
“That’s a blatant lie, Dean. You’d love it if you could feel my dick all the
way to Louisiana. Now, I’m gonna ask you again: What. Is. Wrong?”
“Dammit, Sammy. You know I hate this crap. Fucking girl talk.”
“I know you do,” Sam says more calmly this time around. Trying to draw his
brother outside of his shell. “But I can’t fix it if I don’t know what’s
wrong.”
He moves over then, uncrossing his brother’s legs and spreading them to make
room for his own body. Using his physical presence to coax a response out of
his brother.
“Gotta tell me, Dean. Let me in here,” he taps the side of Dean’s head softly.
“I want to know what you’re thinking.”
“I’m thinking that I shouldn’t let you do this. You deserve better than your
brother on cheap hotel sheets. I can’t marry you, we can’t have babies, the
goddamn words little brother slip out half the time when you’re fucking me. How
wrong is that, Sammy? You’re only fifteen. You might not be able to help it,
but me—I shouldn’t be allowing it to happen.”
Sam reaches down to grab Dean’s jaw. Forcing his brother to look at him in the
eye.
“I thought we went through this already, Dean. You said you were mine,
remember? And I thought you didn’t want marriage, or dates?”
“Maybe I changed my mind.”
“Look. I don’t care about those things. I didn’t when I had tentacles, and I
sure as fuck don’t now. And, yes, I very much want to fuck you on these cheap
hotel sheets, as well as every goddamn other place on this planet that you’ll
let me. And I love that you call me little brother when I fuck you. It’s
goddamn hot.” Sam pauses for a moment to catch his breath before continuing on,
“You’ve got to get it through your thick skull that I want you. I don’t want
girls, or other guys, or someone who doesn’t share my blood. I would never want
that, because—Dean—I’ve got you. Knowing that you’ll always love me, and take
care of me, no matter what happens. That right there? That’s the best feeling
in the world.”
“Fine.”
“Really? I give you a speech that I’ve been practicing in my head for the last
twenty hours, and you say is ‘fine’?”
Dean shrugs. “Are you going to fuck me sometime this evening or are you just
going to keep talking? Because I wasn’t lying. I’m fucking exhausted, and you
know Dad’s not going to let me sleep until we reach New Orleans.”
“Have I ever told you that you’re ridiculously needy for a brother?”
“Takes one to know one, Sammy.”
Sam leans down to suck a bruise into Dean’s collar bone, right underneath the
line of his brother’s scoop-neck shirts. Just out of Dad’s line of sight.
“Think that’s got something to do with being related?” he asks, pushing his
cock against Dean. Tentacles or not, Sam can’t wait to be back inside of his
brother.
“Yeah, I reckon so. But you know what, Sammy?”
“Hm?”
“I think I’m okay with that.”
“Good,” Sam says, grinding faster against Dean. He’s probably going to come in
his pants, but for now, he can’t care. All that matters is Dean’s body beneath
him, arms around him, taking over Sam’s vision until his whole world is
narrowed down to Dean alone.
Sam knows without a doubt that it isn’t the last time that they’ll have this
conversation. At the core of his being, Sam’s brother is a guilt addict, and it
won’t take long for Dean to relapse again. But Sam’s got the rest of his life
to prove to Dean that he’ll stick around. Through the inevitable drinking and
the guilt spirals, until Dean decides to give up monsters for good, or they
both die bone-tired and bloody. Either way, as long as Sam’s not alone—as long
as he’s got Dean by side—he figures it’ll be alright.
 
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