Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/737857.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-03-27 Words: 1243
****** Understanding This ******
by Cazsuane
Summary
     Dean doesn't understand much, but he understands how to be with Sam.
Notes
     This was my first story in 2 years (wrote this in 2006) and it's the
     least smutty thing I have ever written. It's in a style I've never
     tried before, either. But it works.
     The underage warning is for very very very minor stuff. It might not
     even really be there.
Dean doesn’t know much about women. Doesn’t understand them. He never really
had much to do with them, growing up. But then, neither did Sam, and look how
he turned out. Dean thinks it’s easier for Sam, because he has that whole new
age sensitive guy thing going for him. Women respond to that. Hell, everyone
responds to Sam when he’s turning on the sensitive charm. Only Dean knows the
real Sam, behind the puppy eyes.
All Dean has is a megawatt smile and a devil-may-care attitude. Women seem to
think it’s a façade, an act they want to look under to find the Sam in him.
They don’t seem to understand it’s the only way he knows how to be around them.
Women make him uncomfortable. He’s never known how to respond to them, never
really interacted with them. Of course, there were the odd occasions when girls
in school would lean over, blouse drooping to reveal shadowed valleys and
gentle curves, to ask him for a pencil. He’d stutter and mumble, and feel like
a real tool.
Dean doesn’t know anything about what women are thinking, and he never had
anyone to learn from. When his mother had died, his life became all harsh
orders and lessons hard learned, more often than not by trial and error. His
father was still trying to come to grips with it all, at the start, and then he
was teaching his boys as he learned too. John never brought a woman home,
wherever home was at any given time. In fact, he barely spoke to them unless he
needed to for a job or wanted a psychic reading.
Around women, everything Dean is comes from things he has observed. His father
had taught him to always be on the look out, to always know what is going on
around him at any given time. So Dean watched, and he learnt. He saw how it was
the jocks at school that the prettiest girls hung around. He observed how the
girls worshiped James Dean, and he thought he shouldn’t let that irony pass. He
saw how his father never really indulged in any real emotion; that kind of
stuff seemed to be for girls. And Sam.
Dean watched Sam. He always watched Sam. Their father may have been the
influence in his life, but Sam was his world. They were told stories by their
father, about their mother, John’s beloved wife. About the way she smiled and
how much she had loved them. As time went by, those stories became all Dean
remembered of her. About that fateful night, that set the boys on this path,
Dean mostly remembered Sam and the faith his father put in him to look after
his younger brother.
So that’s what Dean did. He looked after Sam. He made sure Sam was doing his
homework and whatever exercises Dad set for them. When the bullies at school
started hassling Sam, Dean took care of them. Dean stood up for Sam when he
wasn’t learning weapons skills fast enough for their father’s liking. He
treated Sam’s injuries, whether they be from falling off a bike or the result
of some paranormal bastard that had dared hurt Sam. Dean took care of Sam when
he had his first erection, calming him down and welcoming him to the world of
adolescence. And from that moment on Sam seemed to turn to him for help in more
things.
Dean had always known that Sam looked up to him, turned to him for guidance.
Their father was too busy with his crusade to teach his growing sons everything
society expected them to know. And they never really stayed settled in one
place long enough to be able to trust anyone enough to ask. Problem was, Dean
didn’t have all the answers Sam thought he did. When it came to demon and
spirit hunting, Dean understood. He knew how to fight and how his weapons were
best utilised. But Sam had questions Dean didn’t have a clue how to answer.
Dean had been brought up to never question his father. But he questioned
everything else. It was the only way to truly understand everything that was
going on, to get to the bottom of a story and find out the truth. According to
Sam that was Dean’s greatest failing. Sam had taken questioning the world he
wasn’t really a part of to questioning the man who had stopped him from having
the chance to be. Dean admires Sam for that, but it was hard for him to tell
Sam so.
There are many things Dean doesn’t understand. And when he comes across
something that makes him uncomfortable in his lack of knowledge he puts on this
outer skin that he’s formed from his observations of the people around him. He
watched how other people reacted in such situations and so reacted in kind.
There was never anyone telling him that he was picking up these observations in
all the wrong places.
Until the day Sam was back in his life. But Sam was another thing Dean didn’t
always understand.
Dean may not understand women, or this normal, safe life Sam often speaks
about. He may not know how to respond when females start getting emotional
around him or when Sam’s emotional vulnerability plays on him and Dean isn’t
sure he knows how to help.
But he knows this.
This, the feel of Sam’s skin under his fingertips, his lips. The rasp as their
flesh doesn’t quite slip-slide against each other. The burning tight heat of
Sam’s body around his own flesh, the way it grasps to keep him in whenever he
tries to pull out. As though Sam, too, cannot bear to be parted from this, the
deepest of connections. Dean can feel Sam’s heart beating strongly against his
chest, pushing the life blood around his body, letting Dean know that right
now, Sam’s alive. And nothing else matters, but this.
This, the sound of Sam’s breathing, harsh and rapid, fluttering against Dean’s
neck. The way their combined air mingles between them, their lips scant
millimetres apart. The sound of Sam’s whimpers and groans in Dean’s ear, urging
him on, faster, slower, deeper, more. Sounds communicating that this, this,
could be understood.
This, the taste of Sam, bitter and salty and so very real. Dean doesn’t have
words to describe how Sam tastes, this essence bursting upon his tongue as he
licks, nibbles, bites, sucks and teases. He isn’t one for fancy words and sweet
nothings. Dean thinks that maybe Sam could describe it, because Sam understands
words. But Dean also thinks that Sam understands Dean and what Dean doesn’t
say. Because of this.
These moments, Dean just is. He’s with his Sammy, giving him everything he
could never give a woman, giving up parts of himself, being everything he never
is. Not for anyone else. Dean knows Sam can see everything in his eyes, because
Dean is letting him. Sam stares at him with eyes that barely blink, as though
afraid to miss even a second of this. Sam is always looking for answers, always
questioning, but it is in these moments, when Sam isn’t asking, that Dean is
telling him the things he never thought to ask.
Dean doesn't have all the answers to all the questions Sam has. Dean doesn’t
even understand everything. But right now, Dean understands all he needs to.
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