Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/854113.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Character:
      Dean_Winchester, Sam_Winchester, Bobby_Singer
  Additional Tags:
      Weechesters, Preseries, Underage_Sex, Underage_Drinking, Sibling_Incest,
      Unhealthy_Relationships, POV_Sam_Winchester, Young_Sam_Winchester, First
      Time, One_Shot, Drunken_Confessions, Unhappy_Ending, Weecest, Possessive
      Behavior, Possessive_Dean_Winchester, Protective_Bobby_Singer, Discovery
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-06-23 Words: 5156
****** Years Before Regret ******
by SickBacchus
Summary
     Bobby tries to keep the boys apart after catching teenage Sam and
     Dean in a compromising position.
     Meanwhile the boys have to decide if they themselves really want to
     risk changing the most important relationship they have.
Sam spent his fifteenth birthday at Bobby’s while John was off on a solo hunt.
The day was brisk and the sun shone down gently on all the cars in the Salvage
Yard.
Dean sat hip to hip with Sam on the hood of the Impala, rifling through a
cooler at their feet. He pressed a cold beer bottle into Sam’s hand with a
cocky grin.
Sam held it delicately for a moment. He was used to picking up John and Dean’s
empty glass bottles the morning after a night that was either unusually fun or
unusually tense. But the feel of a cold, wet bottle was unfamiliar and awkward
in his hand. Sam twisted at the cap but only managed to tear at the skin on his
palm.
“Hey! Slow down there kiddo,” Dean said as he sat up, having retrieved his own
bottle. “Give it here.”
Sam handed the bottle over and Dean popped the cap off with a bottle opener.
“Here you go Sammy,” Dean said, returning it. “You’re getting big. It’s time
for me to initiate you into the oldest and most sacred of Winchester
traditions.” He clinked his bottle against Sam’s, splashing Sam’s fingers with
beer.
He watched his older brother take a swig and attempted to mimic the careless
attitude Dean exuded.
At nineteen his brother seemed the epitome of perfection. He was past the
awkwardness of adolescence that consumed Sam, but not yet far enough into
adulthood that he was beyond understanding and interest, like his dad and
Bobby. Dean sat, trim and muscled, though no longer quite so large in
comparison since Sam’s recent growth spurt.
Sam took a sip and immediately grimaced. “Eugh.” He wrinkled his nose and Dean
laughed.
“You’ll get used to it.”
Sam took another hesitant sip, but the taste hadn’t improved. “With how excited
you were when Dad got you your fake I.D. I thought it would at least taste
good.”
Dean rolled his eyes. “Dad gave me the I.D. for networking. Hunters basically
live in bars.” He took another sip. “And you don’t drink it for the taste.”
“What for then?”
“Haven’t you heard of liquid courage?” Dean waggled his eyebrows at Sam
lecherously. Sam elbowed him in the ribs while thinking how much he could use
something, anything, to lessen his nerves.
He chugged his beer determinately, only stopping when the bottle was empty. He
pulled the bottle away to see Dean looking at him, eyebrows raised.
“I don’t feel anything,” Sam said with a frown.
Dean finished his own  beer with a long pull, and reached down to retrieve two
more. He popped off the caps and passed one over to Sam.
Eager to finally feel drunkenness, to know the feeling his brother and father
chased with such determination, Sam drank the next bottle quickly. It didn’t
taste quite so bad this time. At least, it tastes less.
Sam lay back on the hood of the car. The burning warmth of the hood soaked
through the thin material of his shirt and contrasted with the softer heat of
Dean pressed against the side of his leg.
He watched, looking up from below, as Dean finished his own beer more
leisurely. He looked back at Sam with a grin and Sam stretched out on the hood,
back arching, his head buzzing pleasantly.
He looked back up at Dean, who had frozen, the beer bottle inches from his
lips. Dean stared down at Sam as drops of condensation dripped down Dean’s
fingers and snaked over his wrist.
Dean’s eyes flicked down and Sam followed his gaze to where his own shirt had
rucked up, revealing a few brown inches of skin, where his hip bones protruded
before dipping into a smooth belly. He looked back up at Dean, who blanched and
turned away from Sam.
Dean’s back was tense for a few long seconds. Sam could hear his own heart in
his ears. What had Dean read in his face? In his posture? Sam tried to think of
a way to brush over the awkward moment when suddenly Dean twisted back around
and pressed his icy cold bottle to Sam’s exposed navel.
Sam shrieked and pulled his shirt down for protection. “You fucking jerk!” he
choked, grateful Dean had again rescued him from a dangerous situation.
“I wouldn’t be if you weren’t such a bitch,” Dean replied.
Sam pulled the beer from Dean’s hands and swallowed the last few mouthfuls
before tossing the offending bottle out of reach.
Dean opened a third beer. Sam pushed himself up beside Dean and leaned over his
legs to reach the cooler, but Dean grabbed him by the nape of his neck and
pulled him back.
“Slow down there, kid.” Dean said. But he chuckled. Sam reached again and Dean
pushed him away more forcefully, a grin plastered to his face. Sam smiled back
a moment, feigning docility, before diving at Dean and tackling him off the
hood and onto the dirt.
Dean wheezed, the breath knocked from his lungs, and Sam took the moment to
enjoy one it the rare, but increasing, moments he had bested Dean. He sat on
his brother’s chest with a shit-eating grin until an open palm slammed into his
chest and flipped him onto his back.
Sam and Dean rolled around, swatting at each other, soft blows that stung for a
moment before fading away. At one point Dean caught Sam sharply in the ear, and
at his wince Dean backed off, allowing him to recover a few seconds before
pouncing again.
Sam had never won a fight with Dean. Even now, though his body had grown
larger, he was unused to the new length of his limbs and the power of his
muscles and unable to use them to his advantage.
After a few minutes sparring Dean had flipped Sam onto his back, pinning him
down, his hands clenching Sam’s shirt. Out of breath, Sam lay back with his
hands up in submission. The unfamiliar yet pleasant buzz of alcohol did seem to
fill him with courage.
The uncomfortable feelings that had seized his stomach minutes ago, when he
thought Dean had read the desire in his expression, no longer seemed quite so
frightening. Sam pulled his hands down to where Dean’s knees rested on either
side of his waist.
His fingers brushed the worn denim of Dean’s knees. He trailed his fingertips
up along the outside of his thigh. The muscles in Dean’s legs twitched under
his fingers and he stopped, his fear returning.
Dean had tensed, the previous slackness of his muscles gone taut in an instant.
Slowly, awkwardly, the fingers that Dean had clenched into Sam’s shirt opened.
His fingers spread. His fingertips dragged against Sam’s chest.
“What in the Holy Hell is going on here?” came a shout from behind them.
Dean jumped and rolled off Sam. Sam scrambled to a sitting position. Bobby
stood by the car, face red and expression mortified. Sam looked over at Dean.
If it was possible, he looked even more embarrassed then Bobby. Dean and Bobby
stared at each other for a few long seconds.
 “You,” Bobby barked, “back to the house.” He had a finger pointed at Sam, but
he didn’t take his eyes from Dean for a moment.
Sam stood up and made for the house, tripping as he looked back over his
shoulder at Bobby and Dean.
That night Sam slept in the bedroom he and Dean had previously shared, while,
without another word about the day’s events, Bobby exiled Dean to the couch.
 
~
The next day, Bobby was completely underfoot. He was awake when Sam woke up,
bustling loudly. “In here Sam,” Bobby called from the kitchen, in an oddly
cheerful voice. Sam pulled on a shirt and walked in while trying to flatten an
unruly lock of hair.
The kitchen table was stacked high with boxes of off-brand cereal, plates of
burnt eggs, packets of hot pockets, and a jar of pickled… something. Eggs, Sam
hoped.
Bobby stood before the rusty toaster on the counter. He turned at Sam’s
arrival, holding a plate of artfully arranged Eggo waffles, and placed them on
the already full table.
“I know you boys usually like to run off and go do… whatever you boys do all
day. Kid things, I don’t know.” Sam caught sight of Dean, mostly hidden behind
cereal boxes, looking mortified. Bobby continued with forced levity, “But I
thought we could have ourselves a little breakfast, spend some time together
until your dad gets back.”
Sam looked at Dean, but he had begun determinedly shoveling cereal into his
mouth. Sam turned back to Bobby, who was aggressively piling Sam’s plate with
his version of home cooking. Sam pulled his plate away before Bobby could drop
a hot pocket in his eggs.
“Thanks Bobby. But you don’t have to, like, entertain us you know.” Sam
attempted to sound casual, but the voice that escaped sounded as forced and
manically cheery as Bobby’s. “Dean and I can just find something to do and-“
“No!” Bobby sputtered for a moment, before again adopting the cheery voice.
“No, I think I should spend some quality time with you boys today.”
~
Sam and Dean spent the next several days in suffocating proximity to Bobby. He
even followed them on their morning run, trailing a bit behind, but still close
enough that they could make out his gasping curses.
Whenever Sam caught Deans eye, over Bobby’s shoulder or across the room, Dean
would already be watching him, his eyes alert. Even when he wasn’t looking at
Dean, he could feel his eyes on him, making his stomach churn in a mixture of
excitement and fear.
Sam caught Dean staring at him again after dinner, face stern and intimidating,
and Sam dropped his eyes quickly to his plate. He stared at the table for a
moment, feeling stupid. Clenching his teeth Sam looked back up and held Dean’s
gaze.
Dean’s expression faltered for a moment, as if he had not expected Sam to
acknowledge him. Then his mouth stretched into a crooked grin. For a few
seconds his expression looked lecherous, almost feral, until it changed, and
became fond and goofy. Sam grinned back, feeling comfortable for the first time
in days, until Bobby coughed pointedly. Sam and Dean both jumped in their
seats.
“Whew, you boy’s are exhausting,” Bobby said in a falsely casual tone, standing
up and pushing his plate away. “I’m beat. Dean, you clean up tonight. Sam, why
don’t you and I find something on TV?”
Bobby shuffled himself and Sam out of the kitchen. Sam glanced over his
shoulder to see Dean, seething at Bobby’s interruption.
With a shove from Bobby, Sam moved into the living room and sat on the soft,
worn couch. Bobby sat beside him, leaving only the armchair for Dean to sit in.
Bobby turned on a baseball game, Rockies versus the Dodgers. Sam let his eyes
slide in and out of focus, letting the voice of the announcer and the running
water from Dean in the kitchen lull him into a doze.
 “What’s the matter with you, boy?” came from his side, along with an elbow jab
that made him yelp.
“What?” Sam turned to Bobby, who was looking at him in confusion.
“It’s the ninth inning, and you’re fading out. Don’t you like baseball, son?”
Sam gave an apologetic grin and shrugged. “Not really. Dean likes it OK,
but.... I just… I mean, what team would I even support? We never stay anywhere
long enough for me to build up some home team loyalty.” Bobby gaped at him.
“Sammy’s more of a soccer kinda guy.” Dean stood in the doorway to the kitchen,
drying his hands on his jeans. Sam could hear a pained “Jesus Christ,” from
Bobby beside him, but didn’t look. Dean was staring at him, crooked grin back
on his face.
He walked into the living room, but instead of turning and heading for the
armchair, he continued towards Sam until he was in front of him, his knees
bumping into Sam’s.
“Scoot over, dude,” he said, kicking at Sam’s legs.
“There’s no room,” Sam said, but Dean kept kicking at him until Sam scooted
himself the two inches that were available. Dean squeezed himself into the tiny
spot, his thigh half on top of Sam’s.
Sam yanked his leg from under Dean. He settled back, pressed solidly between
Bobby and Dean on the crowded couch. Beside him, Bobby sat stiffly. Sam could
feel Bobby’s fury at Dean so blatantly disregarding the boundaries he was
working tirelessly to build.
However he was still unwilling to accuse, and therefore have to put into words,
to name, what had happened, what was happening, between the boys. Sam knew,
once what was between them was acknowledged it couldn’t be denied or pretended
away, and Bobby was clearly not ready to cross that line. Sam wasn’t sure which
of the three of them were more scared to cross it. And so they continued to
sit, eyes glued to the television.
Sam wriggled a bit between them, until Dean grasped his thigh and squeezed. Sam
stilled under Dean’s hand, and Dean dragged his fingers across the denim of
Sam’s jeans, until his hand was mostly back on his own lap, only a few fingers
still resting delicately on Sam’s leg.
Deans fingers curled slightly, and Sam gulped, glancing at Bobby quickly. Bobby
was still determinedly staring at the television. Sam tried to calm himself by
mimicking Bobby’s slow, calm breathing, but found it impossible as Dean leaned
into him, pressing their sides together from shoulder to knee in a hot line.
Sam longed for the confidence that a few beers had given him. For a few minutes
he had felt so sure of what he wanted, and it had been easy to do what he
needed to get it. Now the idea of doing something as simple as touching Dean
felt terrifying. And more than that, was he sure he even really wanted to?
Sam took a deep breath and forced the surety and the courage he had felt only a
few days ago.
He moved his arm until his hand brushed Deans. When their fingers brushed,
Dean’s leg jerked in surprise and Sam gasped quietly. He resisted the urge to
roll his eyes at himself. Just sitting beside his brother was making him shake.
The baseball game turned to a beer commercial as Dean’s fingers moved. They
brushed against his for a moment before slipping beneath Sam’s palm. Slowly,
Dean began to turn his wrist, until the were palm to palm.
With his free hand Sam clenched his fist, willing himself to be still. He was
afraid to react in any way that might cause Dean to stop, or make it so they
had no choice but to acknowledge the line Dean was inching past so hesitantly.
The pads of Dean’s fingertips tickled across Sam’s palm, trailing delicately up
toward his wrist. Dean’s fingers reached the hem of Sam’s sleeve and paused.
Dean fingered the soft material for a moment, as if hesitant to move further.
Sam bit the inside of his cheek. Dean’s finger, brushing back and forth along
the outside of his sleeve, barely touching his skin, eclipsed every other
sensation.
Deans fingers stilled against his hem, and Sam held his breath. Slowly, Deans
fingers trailed up, pushing up, underneath Sam’s sleeve and rubbed up the
delicate skin of his inner wrist.
Losing his composure completely, Sam gasped and turned to look at Dean. The
flickering light of the television lit his brothers face in blue. Dean turned
his head and their eyes met. Sam knew this was it. They point of no return.
They couldn’t pretend this away any longer.
Until a roar from behind him made Sam yank his hand from Dean’s. Bobby’s
fingers closed painfully on Sam’s arm and pulled him to his feet. Bobby threw
him back, putting himself between Dean and Sam.
Dean stood too, knees apart, fists clenched, ready to fight. “Goddammit Bobby!”
Bobby threw his arms out, as if protecting Sam from a wild animal. “Leave it,
boy.” His voice was low and dangerous.
“You can’t keep him from me, Bobby. He’s my brother.”
“I know what you’re thinking Dean. And you can’t. You’re sick Dean, and I don’t
know how to help you. But you can’t. You can’t do it to Sam.”
“What do you think I’m going to do?” Dean asked, and Sam felt a wave of nausea.
“Don’t make me name it,” Bobby said. “Don’t make me say something that can’t be
unsaid.” Bobby’s voice was so sad. Sam could feel the love Bobby had for Dean
in them.
Dean deflated at his words. He looked back and forth between Sam and Bobby for
a moment. He stepped unsteadily backwards before turning and leaving through
the front door.
Sam made to follow him. Bobby threw out an arm to stop him.
“Leave him, Sam,” Bobby said. He turned to look at him and his face stilled
Sam. He suddenly realized that Bobby hadn’t looked him in the eyes in days.
“You boys are too close... you’ve forgotten how to be brothers.”
Bobby’s expression was so kind and so dissapointed Sam’s stomach twisted
uncomfortably. He headed to the bedroom. As he reached the doorknob he paused.
Not daring to turn and face Bobby again, he pressed his forehead against the
door. “Are you going to tell Dad?” he asked, cursing himself for his
awkwardness. He felt like a child.
“Nothing to tell.”
Sam went into the bedroom and clicked the door shut.. He threw himself into
bed.
~
Sam awoke hours later to the the tinkle of breaking glass. As he kicked off the
blankets that had twisted around him in the night, Dean’s face appeared in the
window.
“Shut up, Sam,” Dean said, and he knocked the rest of the window pane out with
his elbow, protected by their father’s leather jacket. He reached through the
windowpane, unlocked the window and eased it open.
“Dean?” Sam whispered, pulling on his jeans.
“Don’t wake Bobby, come on.”
Sam crawled through the window and landed half on top of Dean, who stumbled and
swore. “Watch it,” Dean groaned. The lights in Bobby’s window flicked on.
Without a word Dean grabbed Sam and dragged him towards the front of the house,
where the Impala was parked diagonally, half off the driveway.
Dean opened the drivers side door, pushed Sam in and shoved at him until he
slid into the passenger's seat. Dean hopped in after, turning on the engine and
peeling out onto the road.
Sam clutched at the seat as Dean accelerated through the empty street. Dean
took a sharp left and Sam slammed into the car door.
“Ow, fuck. Dean, what the hell?”
“Don’t be such a bitch Sammy,” Dean said, grabbing Sam roughly by the scruff of
the neck and shaking him in what he seemed to think was an affectionate way.
Dean turned to look at him, eye’s unfocused.
Dean’s cell phone rang in his pocket. He let go of Sam to check it. Sam was
sure it was Bobby by the way Dean growled as he switched it off and chucked it
into the backseat.
“Are you drunk?” Sam asked.
Dean didn’t answer, but Sam recognized the faint scent of beer.
“Dean, stop the car.”
Dean slowed the car, but didn’t stop. “Shit, I’m sorry Sammy. I just... I need
to get us out of here.”
“Look, Dean. Stop the car. I’ll drive.” Sam hadn’t driven without Dean’s strict
supervision, but he recognized Dean’s need to escape.
Dean pulled over and Sam got out and walked around to the drivers side. Sam put
the car into drive and continued carefully up the street. Dean leaned back and
stretched out in his seat.
“Good job Sammy.” Dean slapped a hand onto Sam’s knee. For a moment Dean
gripped his leg companionably. Then his fingers squeezed, digging sharply into
Sam’s leg. Sam hissed in pain and pulled his knee away.
Dean lolled his head toward Sam, frowning. “You know I would never hurt you.”
He sounded offended.
“I know Dean,” Sam said pacifyingly, quashing his instinct to argue that Dean
had just hurt him a second ago. He added qualifiers to Dean’s statement. You
know I would never hurt you on purpose. I would never hurt you if I could help
it. I would never hurt you very badly.
Dean curled in on himself, putting his head in his hands. Sam glanced at him
nervously while trying to keep his eye on the road. He heard a frustrated groan
coming from Dean. “It’s OK Dean. Calm down.”
When Dean didn’t respond Sam found a gap between the trees and pulled in. He
turned off the engine and regretted the sudden silence that fell, making the
car feel intimate.
Dean muttered into his hands for a moment.
“What? Dude, stop being weird.” Sam gave Dean a shove, and he sat up but didn’t
look at Sam.
Dean took a shaky breath before speaking. “I just... I’m not some sort of...
predator.”
“Jesus, Dean.”
Sam grabbed Dean’s arm and gave it a shake. Dean flinched at his touch. Sam
rubbed the worn leather between his fingers, waiting for Dean to react. When he
didn’t Sam slid his hand down to the cuff of Dean’s jacket.
Following what Dean did to him hours before, Sam took a single finger and
pushed it past cuff. Just as he began to brush it across Deans wrist, he found
his arm twisted against the seat.
“Ow, shit. Let go of me.”
Dean glared at him. “Don’t Sammy.”
Sam wrenched his arm away, and threw himself on Dean, pinning him to the seat.
“You can’t bully me anymore Dean,” he said, feeling high on his new strength.
He pressed his hand harder against Dean’s chest, pinning him down. Dean wrapped
a hand around his wrist. Sam felt a jolt of pleasure seeing his own was larger,
his fingers longer, his wrist thicker. He was filled with adrenaline, and with
it came the surety and confidence that alcohol had given him.
Dean looked up at him, lip bitingly nervous. Dean’s nerves spurred him on, and
Sam leaned down and pressed his face into Dean's neck.
“Is one of us going to do this?” Sam whispered into Dean’s neck.
Dean wrapped his arms around Sam’s back. “I can’t start it Sammy. It’s gotta be
you.”
Sam took a deep breath, his lips brushing against Dean’s neck. Dean gasped and
squeezed Sam tighter. Sam moved his face until their cheeks rubbed together,
Dean’s skin rough with stubble. Sam quickly moved his face up, afraid Dean
would feel the smoothness of his cheeks, too young for stubble, and stop him.
They puffed hot breaths into each other’s hair for a few moments.
“If you’re going to do it, then do it,” Dean whispered. “Buck up.”
Sam forced his mouth against Dean’s hard. He pulled back sputtering. “Don’t
tell me what to do.” He sneered down at Dean, but Dean was grinning at him
goofily.
“Oh Christ.” Sam pushed himself up from Dean’s chest. “Oh God, I can’t believe
I did that. We can’t go back from this...”
The world flipped as Dean twisted on top of him. His breath was knocked out of
him from Dean’s weight.
Before he was able to breathe again, Dean was nipping at his lips. Sam gasped
at a particularly sharp bite, and felt Dean’s tongue slide against his. Sam
made a small squeak and could feel Dean grin in response, ruining the kiss.
Dean pulled back for a moment, his face pink under the freckles, and breathing
heavily. He laughed at what he saw on Sam’s face, brushing his mussed hair back
from his forehead.
“Sammy, god, I was so worried, I...” He broke off as Sam wriggled under him,
and their bodies slid together, a hot, solid press from chest to knees. As
their erections pressed against each other they groaned, and Dean choked out a
weak, “Y’know Sammy...let’s talk later.”
Dean’s hands moved over Sam’s body, pulling his hair, gripping his shoulders,
running down his sides to his hips.
Dean slipped his fingers under Sam’s shirt and pushed it up, kissing and
nipping at Sam’s belly. With a jerk, Dean pushed his shirt all the way up to
his armpits.
Sam goggled at Dean, who loomed over Sam, staring.
“What?” Sam asked nervously.
Dean shook himself out of his reverie. “Look at you Sam. You’re all grown up.”
Sam wasn’t sure he agreed, but he didn’t want to argue with what seemed to be
giving Dean such satisfaction.
Dean dropped his head and pressed a kiss to Sam’s chest. He dragged his lips
across his sternum before moving to Sam’s nipple.
Sam shoved at Dean’s head. “Geez Dean, don’t.”
Dean looked up, surprised. “Don’t you like it?”
“It’s embarrassing.”
Dean twisted his mouth into a pout. “Please, Sammy. I’ve gotten good feedback
in the past.” Sam rolled his eyes.
“Fine, whatever. Just shut up about your old girlfriends, jerk.”
Dean gave him a sleazy smile before dropping his head back down and bit down on
Sam’s nipple.
“Ow, Dean. Careful- Oh!” Sam’s groaned as Dean licked delicately over the spot
he had just brutalized with his teeth. Sam dug his fingers into Dean’s
shoulders.
“Told you.” Dean looked up and waggled his eyebrows at him.
“Shut up,” Sam laughed, breathlessly.
Dean worked his way down Sam’s torso until he met his jeans. “OK, so, cards on
the table, this is something I haven’t done before. But I’m a quick learner.”
He reached for the button of Sam’s pants. Sam caught his breath, his stomach
muscles tensing.
Dean paused and looked up at him. “You OK?”
Sam felt his face grow hot, unable to look at Dean settled between his legs. He
threw an arm over his face. “I don’t want to... I mean...”
“You want me to stop?” Dean pulled his hands away from Sam’s waist like he had
been burned. “Sorry, I-”
“No, no!” Sam reached down to grab Dean’s hand. “Just don’t put anything in
my... you know.” Dean gaped at him. Sam rolled his eyes in frustration. “You
know what I’m talking about.”
“Jesus Sam,” Dean began working unbuttoning Sam’s jeans. “Of course not.”
“Not now anyway.”
Dean dropped his head to Sam’s hip and groaned. “You’re going to kill me,
Sammy.”
Dean pulled down his underwear, and Sam’s erection brushed against Dean’s
cheek. Sam clawed at the leather seat as Dean stared, just breathing short, hot
breaths that made Sam shiver.
Slowly Dean lowered his head. Sam closed his eyes when Dean’s lips brushed
against the head of his erection.
Sam felt Dean shifting around and opened his eyes to see what he was doing.
Dean had opened his his own jeans and was jerking himself off as he closed his
mouth over Sam. His head moved up and down clumsily, and Sam was sure it was
the best thing he’d ever felt in his life.
Sam dropped his hand to Deans hair and gripped tightly. Dean choked for a
second, swallowed around him and Sam came without warning.
When Sam had recovered, he felt Dean coughing. Propping himself up on his
elbows he watched Dean wipe Sam’s cum from his mouth with the back of his hand
as he jerked himself. He wanted to apologize for cumming without warning, but
as he opened his mouth to speak Dean grabbed him by the thigh hard and growled,
cumming onto Sam’s thighs and stomach in spurts.
Dean collapsed onto Sam with a grunt. They lay still for a few minutes without
speaking, Dean panting hot against his neck. Sam wrapped his arms around Dean’s
back as his breath slowed to normal.
Sam stared at the ceiling of the Imala, the moonlight casting ghostly shadows
of the swaying branches and making the familiar space seem frightening. Still,
Dean didn’t move.
Sam moved the hand he had pressed into Dean’s back up, onto his shoulder, and
gave a timid tug. “Dean?”
Dean sat up instantly and retreated to the drivers seat. Sam scooted back to
lean against the passenger door, tugging his pants up and pulling his knees to
his chest. Dean sat slumped for a moment, and Sam was filled with dread.
Then Dean straightened up. He started the ignition and reversed the car back
onto the road without looking at Sam. Sam opened his mouth to remind Dean that
maybe he shouldn’t be driving, but after looking at Dean’s tense face thought
better of it.
Dean drove slowly through the winding street, and Sam thought about what he
should say to break the silence.
“Are you OK?” Sam asked.
Finally Dean turned to him, gaping.
“Am I...? God, I should be asking you that. I should be... god, I should be
dropping you back off at Bobby’s. I should be getting as many miles between
myself and you as I-”
Sam didn’t like the way Dean was white knuckling the steering wheel. He
attempted a soothing voice. “What are you talking about? You didn’t do anything
wrong. I wanted to. You weren’t taking advantage.”
“Stop it Sam. Fucking stop. You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re
fifteen. In your whole life you’ve never really had anyone but me and... if you
regret this tomorrow you’ve got nowhere else to go. You don’t understand what
I’ve just done.” Dean sounded almost hysterical.
“What do you mean, I’ve got nowhere to go?” Sam asked. “I don’t want to go
anywhere.”
“That’s even worse.” Dean whispered, as if speaking to himself. Then he turned
to Sam. “You will. When you get a older and you understand what I’ve done,
you’ll leave. I’ve fucked it up.”
Sam began to protest, but Dean pulled the car over, grabbed him by the back of
the neck and began kissing him, hard and dirty. When he pulled back he wouldn’t
meet Sam’s eye. “I’m not ending it. Don’t you see, I planned this? I’ve been
guiding you into this on purpose.” He kissed Sam again, slower. “And I have
time before you change your mind. Years, maybe. If I was stronger, better, I
wouldn’t take advantage. But I’m not, and I’m going to take everything I can
from you.”
Dean pulled back and looked at Sam in the eye. His face calmed and took on the
familiar big-brother expression Dean had often used to comfort Sam. “Just
remember, when you regret this, it was my fault, OK? I did this. I’m sorry,
Sammy.”
Sam tried to think of something to say, but Dean turned from him, like the
conversation was over. He put the car in drive and they continued down the
road.
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