Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/191558.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Character:
      Dean_Winchester, Sam_Winchester, Original_Female_Characters
  Additional Tags:
      Angst, Drama, Comment_Fic, Prompt_Fic, Underage_Sex, Wincest_-_Freeform
  Collections:
      Sinful_Desire
  Stats:
      Published: 2011-04-26 Words: 15210
****** ... then I found myself ******
by Sonny
Summary
     Sam wants to lose his virginity, but because he's so shy, he can't
     really pick up girls. Dean convinces a girl to have sex with Sam, but
     his brother is so nervous he asks Dean to stay and make sure
     everything goes okay. Everything's going fine until Dean notices Sam
     isn't really enjoying himself. Dean then gets jealous and insists the
     girl isn't doing it right. He takes over. Hot sex ensues. Bonus
     points for the girl leaving. More bonus points for Dean trying to
     instruct Sam through the het sex. Cookies for if he notices Sam's
     getting off on his voice, not the girl.
Notes
     For the spn_harcore Comment Fic Meme – Virginity/First Time - Sam/
     OFC, Dean/Sam, Virgin!Sam, Teenchesters : Sam wants to lose his
     virginity, but because he's so shy, he can't really pick up girls.
     Dean convinces a girl to have sex with Sam, but his brother is so
     nervous he asks Dean to stay and make sure everything goes okay.
     Everything's going fine until Dean notices Sam isn't really enjoying
     himself. Dean then gets jealous and insists the girl isn't doing it
     right. He takes over. Hot sex ensues. Bonus points for the girl
     leaving. More bonus points for Dean trying to instruct Sam through
     the het sex. Cookies for if he notices Sam's getting off on his
     voice, not the girl.
[Photobucket]
... then I found myself
The freshmen students at Alan P. Kensmore Senior High School don't get much
appreciation from upperclassmen. But to the junior high, they are near gods.
This is why they don't mind using their study halls to help tutor the younger
kids. Not only does it reflect well on them, but they receive extra credit
toward their graduation. It's a nifty idea, but often abused so that once
they're seniors they can cut at least one class—-one hour—-from either their
morning or afternoon schedules.
Sam Winchester is the unluckiest of the freshmen class—-not only does he enjoy
tutoring, but he probably won't last long at the school to reach his senior
year. While his friends are working with their peer students, the young girl
who Sam helps sits patiently, alone, trying to figure out the schoolwork she
desperately needs tutoring with. Her name is Abbey Reigart, and, sadly, she has
a crush on Sam. She knows the older boy doesn't “see” her because he's already
questioned her about her older sister, Kendra, who is even older than Sam and a
junior. Abbey knows Sam outside of school—-well, she knows of his older
brother, Dean... who she's heard uttered from her sister's lips.
Abbey is nervous today because she has something to give Sam—-almost a “thank
you/early birthday” gift all-in-one. She hopes he shows up soon or else she'll
talk herself out of handing him the present, like she's done seven other times
this morning.
It's not Sam's fault he's running late—-well, maybe it is since he's too
curious in his own right and knows he can't ask his Dad or talk to Dean about
this kind of personal stuff. It's too embarrassing. It's why he has stayed
after his Health class, wanting to talk to his teacher—-a perfect stranger who
knows next to nothing about him.
“Tell me, Sam...” Mr. Mooney leans back on the edge of his desk, almost
grateful for Sam pulling him aside to ask him a question. He'd been concerned
about the young man for a few weeks. “... are you feeling peer pressure from
anyone?” One arm is crossed over his chest while the other dangles down his
side.
“No. Not really.” Sam is slouched in one of the desks at the front of the
class, his feet are propped on the desk in front of him. “It's—-it's been tough
to fit in around here as I go farther in school.” He's hooked his hands at the
sides of his wooden seat, almost sitting on his thumbs. He's moving his bent
arms around as he talks. “I don't wanna move again, but I know we will. I just
feel like I miss out on so much.”
“Like what?”
“uh, like getting to know someone. A girl I might like.” Sam untucks one hand
to use as he talks. “Building that 'connection' that other kids get to do
because they've lived here all their lives—-in a house, not a motel room, like
me.”
“Have you told any of this to your father?” Mr. Mooney curls a hand around his
chin in deep thought as Sam goes on.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I don't know. It's kind of dumb, you know. Compared to the other things
that're important.”
Mr. Mooney retucked his hand into the arm across his chest. “Nothing should be
more important than you, Sam.”
“mmm... yeah, that sounds like it's plausible, but with the family I have—” Sam
gives his teacher a fleeting glance, then drops his gaze again as he shakes his
head. “—it's just not an option.”
“Look, I'm not gonna sit here an' preach to you about finding your own way,
digging for you own happiness... but what I will say is—-you gotta deal with it
in some way before what was once a simple issue is now a huge problem. Don't
allow it to spiral into other things you need to deal with, getting lost in a
big-ole jumbled mess.”
“Was it important to you, when you were in school?”
The teacher laughs, shaking his head. “Surprisingly, it hasn't been that long
ago for me. School, that is. I went for twelve years, then—-whammo!—-I get into
college. Suddenly I'm, like, awed and stunned by how many of my classmates
weren't virgins. And not only where they not virgins, they were sexually active
and often promiscuous.”
“So what did you do?” Sam likes what Mr. Mooney is saying, because it's what he
wants to hear—-what's been whirling around in his own head that makes him think
he's weird. Wanting to lose his virginity, but not wanting to lose his
virginity too soon and ruin the future of his social sexual life.
“I was social, but awkward. I spent a lot of time on my own or just hanging out
with groups of friends. I tried not to feel like a weirdo, but it was tough.
Every girl I met—-every girl I liked—-seemed to have more experience than me.”
Sam nods his head, looking down. “Same here. It's exactly how I feel.”
“But you're fourteen...” Mr. Mooney is stunned by Sam's admission. There aren't
that many students his age speaking about these kinds of situations before they
make a choice and possibly make the mistake of their lives.
Sam hates hearing that as an excuse that he can't have dilemmas like this at
his age—-like he's an anomaly. “—-an' I'll turn fifteen in two months.” He
brings up both arms, hands on the desk and shrugs both shoulders; he doesn't
understand why age is such a big deal.
“Still...” Mr. Mooney shakes his head in awe. “... man, you're so young to be
thinking of this kind of thing. You have a whole life ahead of you. Don't rush
it.”
“What happened to you?”
“I waited a while. I didn't 'date' anyone until my senior year. And then I met
her.”
Sam loves hearing these kind of anecdotal stories about people he's know for a
long time, because it adds a bit of nuance to their regular, cookie-cutter
character. He wrinkles he forehead in wonder. “Who?”
“Certainly not the woman of my dreams, but she was just like me—-a virgin.” Mr.
Mooney grins secretly to himself as his memories pass through his mind. “She
was a junior—-a transfer student and dedicated to her school life. She never
dated in high school. Had planned to make it through four years of college into
her PH.D.”
“That's sweet.”
“yeah... we were each others' firsts. I was a stupid idiot and let her slip
through my fingers, but...” Mr. Mooney wipes a hand down his face, not
believing that a kid in his Health class caused him to rewind his past. He
clamps his hands on the edges of his desk, moving to sit further on the desk
surface. “... jesus, that's a whole 'nother can of worms to address.”
“So...” Sam's starting to understand that he may have been thinking this very
thing the whole time. He worried for nothing, but he's still not sure what he
should do. “... you stopped worrying about it, then it—-was like fate stepped
in an rewarded you?”
“Sure, if you want to look at it that way. She was my best friend. We got one
another through school and about two-to-three years after graduation.
Basically, it really isn't that big of a deal.” Mr. Mooney looks at Sam with a
directness to his gaze that means he should pay attention closely. “Don't make
it what keeps you from living, just enjoy being a kid. Simply being happy with
your life. For some people—-like you or I—-sex isn't what attracts us to
people. It's interest that draws us in, but it's what keeps us coming back.”
“... human connection...” Sam slowly nods his head; he had it right all this
time.
“Exactly. Sharing stories, finding similar likes and dislikes... making jokes
that only you two understand. I know the pressure can be unbearable—-from other
students... your family... even your own body betrays you. But there's no
written rule your life has to begin at this age.”
Sam feels a bit shy about who exactly crossed his mind when his teacher said
those things, so he averts his gaze and flushes a little. “Thanks, Mr. Mooney.”
He moves around to start getting out of the desk.
“Did I confuse you more or did I make you feel slightly better?” Mr. Mooney
can't believe it was that easy to solve a student's personal issue. He's pretty
sure this means the next time I kid pulls him aside it'll be for something he
can't just assuage with a short talk and answering a few questions about his
own background.
“Slightly better. I should get going.” Sam stands and lifts his bag off the
floor to set on the desk. “I'm keepin' someone waiting on me.”
“Thank you for trusting me, Sam.” Mr. Mooney had planned on occupying himself
with grading tests, but when Sam asked to speak to him, he changed his
schedule. Now he wishes Sam wouldn't get up and leave so soon; he wonders if
there's anything else Sam would like to discuss. “You can come to me anytime,
I'll try to alleviate a bit of your worry.”
“Thanks again.” Sam gathers his things, packing his book-bag. “See ya.” As he
walks down the hall, a ways to the stairwell, he double-times it to the first
floor and makes a hard left outdoors where he walks along an extended sidewalk
under an awning to get to the attached junior high school. He makes it to the
classroom they use for these tutoring sessions and spots Abbey's blonde head
bent over her spiral notebook. Though she has a calculator out, and blank
paper, she still uses her fingers to count out.
It's kind of an adorable thing because she wears the most horrendous nail
polishes that often wipe away over several days; she won't repaint them, just
bite the nails to nubs and scrape off the paint in the process. Instead of her
hair being in its usual ponytail, today she has it in a thick French braid
starting from the center of the top of her head. The hair wraps around neck and
shoulders as she twirls and twists the ends in her left hand as she does her
schoolwork. These could be seen as flaws—-making her less appealing, but they
fascinate Sam. Probably because most girls leave his head spinning when they
don't act like how he imagines they should—-at least the ones who frequent
Dean's personal space.
He sets his bag strap on the hook, pulling out pencil and a blank spiral
notebook. He would've taken out his own calculator, but he's going to use
Abbey's, since she abandons it so much. He nears the table where she sits,
waving “hi” to his fellow classmates and their peer students. Abbey spins to
catch sight of Sam sitting down in the chair beside her. She averts her head,
blushing and secretly smiling. Sam has intense eyes. They're just several
shades of brown, nothing fancy, but the way he looks at a person with them
makes her act shy and giggle, biting at her thumbnail. At that point, she knows
she's the center of his world, which she knows is impossible.
“I worried you wouldn't make it.”
“Sorry... I almost didn't.” Sam pulls the chair legs closer to the table. “Math
again?”
Abbey nods, then gestures to another book she pulled out of her knapsack. “I
have an English paper due, but... well, we don't have enough time to work on
that.”
“Let's work on the math, then...” Sam holds out his hand for the paper she's
been jotting down her problem solving on.
As Abbey gives over her work, she leans her head on her right hand. “Is
everything okay?” Earlier this week, Sam acted a bit off—-like he was
preoccupied with something.
“huh?”
“You're not in trouble, are you? They said you stayed after your class.”
Sam's dumbfounded, because it actually sounds like she genuinely cares about
his welfare. “Did they say anything more?”
“About?”
“I don't know. The class. Why I might have stayed after.”
“uh, no. Why? Is it important?”
“No. Not really.” Sam looks over the work, rather impressed he hasn't had to
correct much. “wow... pretty soon you won't even need me anymore.”
“Seriously? I actually got them right? All of them?”
“One of two mistakes, but they're fixable and you can spot them right away.
Want me to show you a different and faster way to solve them?”
“Please, because I think my brain will explode if I have to keep using that
dumb long solution to figure these out.”
“Cool. Okay... first problem is Number 4...”
~~&&~~
Sam has his bag strap slung across his chest, his eyes are already locked on
where the Impala sits—-Dean is waiting inside. He is almost there when he hears
his name being called. He turns to find Abbey running toward him. He's actually
quite excited to see her.
“Sam... wait...” Breathless, Abbey reaches out to lay a hand on his arm. She
unhooks her bag strap from over her shoulder and drops it at her feet. She
bends down to unzip, pulling out a card and a small wrapped gift. It's apparent
the box has been in her bag for awhile as the once-springy ribbon is now
squished and limp. “Here—-before I lose courage again.” Abbey pushes the box
into his chest, watching as he places and arm over it so she can pull away.
“Wha—?” In sudden shock, Sam flips the present over and over in his hands. “I
don't even—”
“I know it's your birthday soon, but this is really a 'thank you' for all the
help you've been for me.” A few wisps of blonde hair have escaped her braid
throughout the day, Abbey keeps having to tuck the stands behind an ear as the
wind whips around them. “Not just... you know, with the work, but just being
there and sticking by me. Being patient and funny, even when I know I make you
mad.”
“oh, wow... Abbey, I...” Sam is totally speechless and unable to take a next
breath.
“I don't expect anything back. Really, I don't.” Abbey shakes her head as if to
add more “umph” to her comment. “Even when I know my nosy, creepy sister keeps
wondering why I did this for you...” She looks over her shoulder to where she
knows her sister is at her car in the student parking lot. “—and why I ran over
to let you have the present, instead of hording it for years in shame.”
Sam wants to touch her—-a natural reaction from him; actually, he really wants
to wrap an arm around her and give her a hug. “I don't know what to say.”
“Right now? Nothing. Nothing is good...” Abbey picks up her backpack to slide
her arms through to hook each strap over her shoulders again. “... please don't
say a word, because I'm a dweeb an' a loser...” Then she nervously tucks her
thumbs under the straps and holds on tight. “—an' I'm an 8th grader who likes a
boy in high school. I'm sure there's a cooler, prettier girl to fawn over more
than m—”
Abbey never gets to finish her comment as Sam brings her hand up to kiss the
top—-right in front of the whole school, in the parking lot. He steps closer,
tilting his head—-just so—-and leans over, then down to kiss the rounded
(flushed) part of her cheek gently. Then he draws her in for a hug—-one arm
hooking around her shoulder and neck, the other around her waist. Sam bends to
an ear and says, “best birthday surprise ever”, then pulls backward.
Abbey swears he kissed behind her ear or on her neck because his lips were so
close. She's on cloud 9, she can't stop smiling or blushing her shyness. She's
pretty sure she actually loves Sam Winchester this minute and he's the most
beautiful, perfect boy she's ever seen. She's going to have good dreams tonight
on her pillow.
While Sam and Abbey part, several people watch on in deep interest. Kendra,
Abbey's older sister, catches sight of the good-looking boy, then her eyes
follow toward Dean Winchester standing at the driver's side of a sleek black
car. Dean is wondering what could be keeping his little brother; he pours
himself out of the Impala and manages to catch the subtle kiss on the cheek. He
was about to call Sam over, before he kicks his ass, but he'll wait a little
longer. And over in the Teacher's parking slots, Mr Mooney watches that sweet
display of young romance between Sam and a cute young girl who he's never seen
at the high school.
~~&&~~
“Dude...” Dean can't help but toss around a smirky smile as he furtively
glances at Sam as he drives. “... what the hell was that?”
“I think she likes me.” It's simply a statement Sam admits he's just realized,
with no inflection of his voice
“You think?” Dean snorts out a laugh, throwing his arm up along the back of the
bench-seat. “Sammy, if she didn't, she sure as hell does now.” He looks to the
left and right to check traffic before he makes his turn. “I thought I saw a
ton of panties drop with that Rico Suave move.”
“Shut up. You're just jealous. Your caveman tactics don't draw respectable
ladies.”
“Most of 'em ain't respectable to begin with. But, please...” Dean rolls his
eyes and raises both eyebrows. “—I'm dyin' to get sex advice from you.”
Sam swivels his head to look at Dean. “Why is it always 'sex' advice and not
'relationship' advice?”
“You got a problem there, Sammy?'
“No, I don't got no problem, Dean.” Sam looks down at the card and gift, then
sighs heavily in contemplation.
“What?”
“huh?”
“You got kinda quiet there, then you sigh like your heart's aflutter and a pile
o'goo.” Dean dips his head once he stops at the red light, then tries to see
what's in Sam's face as Sam averts his head to look out the windshield. “You
okay?”
“I don't know. I'm... struggling.” Sam doesn't know what to call what he's been
feeling; he's unsure if Dean will even want to know what's he's learned today.
Dean would probably laugh in his face, which is why he keeps quiet. His brother
has enough ammunition on him to joke and tease.
“In school? With girls? What?”
“With myself, mostly.”
Dean doesn't know what that means for Sam, because his mind just dipped into
the gutter. “Eh, then I can't help ya there, little bro'.”
“yeah... that's what I figured.”
“You figured—-what?” Dean's a bit outrage that Sam already knows exactly how
he'd react. “That I wouldn't care or that I wouldn't be able to help?”
“Oh, I know you'd care. I do know that, but your method of 'helping' is not
what I need.”
“How do you know that when you haven't even asked me.”
“It's not a question you simply ask.” Sam shakes his head to turn and look out
the passenger window. “Don't worry, I already know the solution because there's
only one possible answer.”
“Oh, dude... your mind is just a maze of confusion. Why do you oversimplify and
complicate things?”
“Because that's me. That's how I work everything out and get them to stop
weighing heavy on my mind.”
“An' that's why I'm here to take care of you so I can smack some sense into
your head.” Dean can almost reach Sam's head to give him an actual swat, but
Sam's reflexes are quicker to catch his wrist, throwing the arm backward.
“Stop talking. Don't ruin this for me.”
“Okay... fine. But I'll get it outta you, 'cuz I know it'll eat at your gut
before you eventually solve it.”
“Be quiet, Dean... please...”
“... whatever...” Dean can't ever hold silence for too long. “Dad's home, but
he's leaving again later tonight.”
Sam slouches in the seat now, settling down for the ride. “—how late?”
“Around ten or eleven. Depends on how Dad feels once he wakes up.”
“You going with him this time?” Sam rolls his head around on the leather
cushion to peek at Dean's profile.
“uh, no...” Dean briefly looked down at his watch or his feet, but then he's
back to concentrating on the road. “... not this time.”
Sam's suspicious of Dean's vagueness. He thought for sure Dean would die to go
on a hunt with Dad, the next time a job came up. “He asleep now?”
“Yes. I'm taking you out to dinner, then we'll think of something else to
occupy our time—-an arcade... a movie or whatever.”
“All right, but I have homework to finish.”
“Save it until later tonight.” Dean's mind is disturbed by the silence in the
Impala's cab; he needs the radio pronto. He starts to mess with knobs and
buttons. “We'll punch it out in record time once Dad leaves.” Dean sees the way
Sam averts his head in disbelief. “I'll help you out.”
“oh-kay.” Sam likes that idea because it means one of two things: Dean will
either sit close to him at their tiny dinette table or Dean will lay with him
on his bed—-either on their backs or on their stomachs. Usually, when the
homework reaches it's end, Dean'll wanna play cards or watch TV with him until
they fall asleep on the same bed together.
~~&&~~
Sam doesn't want to go out, he simply wants to stay in. But he doesn't want to
piss off Dad. Sam wishes he had a home with his own bedroom, four walls and a
door he can lock. He really doesn't want to be around people. Not now, not
today.
Dinner had gone fine. They spent a good solid hour at the local arcade after
ice cream sundaes for dessert. Sam began to feel restless, so Dean thought it
was a good time to head on out.
In the Impala, on a stretch of familiar road, Dean misses the turn to head back
to their motel room.
“Dean, you missed our turn.”
“I know. I'm taking you... somewhere.”
“Where? The next town? Look, I just want to go back to the room. I'll be as
quiet as a church mouse.”
“Nope. Sorry. Someone's already waiting on us.”
“Who? We don't know anybody from town?”
“Well, leave that to me.” Dean reaches out to pat Sam's knee.
Sam notices they're coming up on a house—-on the left—-that sits off from the
road, back a good distance from a long driveway. “Wha—? Who lives here?”
“You'll see.”
“Dean...”
Dean parks the Impala in complete silence, a smirk playing over his lips. They
both get out—-Sam a bit more reluctantly—-and walk across the gravel driveway,
down a sidewalk toward a few steps to a porch that leads to a front door. Dean
rings the doorbell and then the paneling opens wide as if the person living
here was aware of his arrival.
“Hey, han'some...” A scantily-clad young brunette sculpts her body along the
edge of the door-frame, her eyes intent on only Dean. It takes her longer to
realize he's not alone, then she turns completely professional.
Dean lays the charm on thick. “Hey, yourself.” He looks at the young woman
through the screen door. “May we enter?”
The door pops open and Sam is immediately startled, and uncomfortable, with how
the young woman is dressed. “uhm... I'm gonna wait in the car, Dean.”
Dean's already got a foot over the threshold, taking a step indoors. “Git in
here, Sam.” When Sam doesn't budge off the porch, Dean cajoles with some
softness to his tone. “C'mon, Sammy... don't be rude.” He takes a stance next
to the young woman as she hides herself behind the door paneling.
“I don't wanna be here, Dean.”
“Too bad.” Dean watches the brunette wander off, in another part of the house.
Like she had other things to do than drag a stubborn kid into her home. “I'm
tired of you moping around—-all sad and gloomy—-thinking this kind of thing'll
be the end of you.” He holds out his hands. “What better way to face it than
head on?”
Tucking his hands into his pants pockets, Sam shakes his head. “See, this is
why I didn't want you solving my problems.” He still unsure of how safe this
strange house is for them.
“It's not a 'problem', Sam, unless you make it one. I wanted you to know how
big of a deal it isn't.”
“Well, actually, Dean...” An older blonde woman walks up to Dean's side,
looking curiously beyond the open front door to where there stands another
younger man. She smiles broadly as her eyes drink in the two brothers she had
known were on their way over tonight. She's as scantily-dressed as the
brunette, but at least she's wearing a long silk robe.
“Please...” Dean holds up a hand, palm outward. “I don't need any help with
this.”
“No? Really?” She teases with Dean as if she can tell he hasn't got much of a
“handle” on anything. “I wasn't going to say much except...” She crosses her
arms at her back, which opens her silk robe lapels to reveal she's unclothed
underneath. “—sex is a pretty big deal, but keeping or giving away your
virginity isn't.”
“Thanks for that clarity, Miss Manners.” Dean gives a sarcastic wink toward the
blonde woman as she pats his cheek then pinches it.
“No need to be an asshole, Dean. I don't normally take clients his age.”
Sam had known this house felt odd, but had no idea that he'd been brought to a
a whorehouse, or a brothel. “Dean! You bought me a prostitute?!”
The blonde proprietor clears her throat, backing up. “Obviously, you two need
to hash this out. I'll see if one of the girls is available. You can follow me
into the parlor whenever you're ready.” She nods at Dean as she walks back a
few steps on her stiletto heels and then turns to sweep aside the curtains
blocking a doorway and disappears behind the velvet folds.
“Could you be a bit more rude!?” Dean barks at Sam as he catches him stepping
inside—-finally—-shutting the huge wooden door closed to keep out the cold air
of the night.
Sam folds his arms over his chest. “Could you be more of a jerk about my
feelings?!” It's a typical whisper-yell they do at one another when they think
they might be heard by other ears in the room. “You don't even ask me if I want
any of this? You simply assume I do?”
“Maybe I wanna scare you away from—-I don't know—-trying to get rid of it
yourself.”
“I wasn't.” Sam lowers his arms to lay hands on his hips. The action causes his
jacket to open, showing how erratic his breathing is. “Had you bothered to ask
me about this—-I would've told you I was fine. I'm not as... concerned as I was
before.”
“You're kidding, right? One day—-one single fucking day at school and your
misery is wiped clean? The whole year you've been tying me up in knots. The one
day you'll turn to me and say, 'oh, hey, yeah... about that whole virginity-
thing?'—” He wipes his palms together. “—'remember Bumfuck, Iowa? Well, I
finally fucked a girl and—-meh, it was okay.'” Dean mimics how Sam shrugs
nonchalantly. “—'no big deal'.”
“Are you worried for me or for yourself?” Sam cranes his head back in shock,
his forehead wrinkling in confusion. “So what if I found a girl to have sex
with. It's none of your business.”
Dean approaches Sam, grabbing one side of his jacket lapel. “It's every bit of
my business because that means you got away from me long enough to spend time
romancing some chick, wooing her with flowers and stuff, then you—-she tells
you she's 'ready' for you. So one night you decide to sneak into her room while
her parents aren't there and you two start foreplay then she's even more ready
and then you—-what?” He frowns when he catches Sam smirk.
“That's an awfully detailed scenario about me. How do you know that's how I'd
be?”
Dean hates that he got caught thinking about Sam while he wasn't around. He
shoves him away gently, letting go of the jacket. “It's how you always are—-
sweet and romantic. I wouldn't put it past you to plan the perfect night for
yourself only to have it collapse on you, possibly sour your idea of sex and...
uh, women.”
“I do like girls, Dean, but I don't look at them the way you do.”
“That little girl in the parking lot...”
“What?”
“Is she who you like?” Dean doesn't know why he sounds so angry asking that.
He's unsure how he's been feeling once knowing Sam had this preoccupation with
his virginity, thinking he had to “pop his cherry” or else.
“Abbey? Uh, yeah... I like her. The more I'm with her, the more I like
everything about her. But I'm not even at a point where I think about any girl
sexually.”
“But I thought—”
“No, you 'assumed'. Only because all my classmates had become sexually active
that I wanted to join in.”
“What does turn you on?” Dean not sure why he asked the question that way and
with such a desperation of knowing.
“Excuse me?”
“What... arouses you... what do you dream about that makes you wake up with a
hard-on?”
“—sheesh, that's kind of personal, Dean... I can't say.”
“You won't say because you think I'll make fun of you.”
“Do you blame me? You completely read me wrong and—-look where we are now.” Sam
throws arms up in the air to showcase the house of ill-repute they're in.
“Well, you better play along. I'm not letting good money go to waste.”
“Play along?!”
“What?!”
“I'm not—-she's not going to, like, attack me if I show disinterest, is she?”
Dean snorts out a laugh, shaking his head. “You'll be fine, Sammy.”
“mmm... said the spider to the fly.”
Dean is the first to walk through the curtained doorway. The blonde woman
wasn't anywhere around. In fact, no one seemed to be around; the parlor
appeared to be empty of everyone. Dean spots a wet bar and tugs on Sam's
sleeve.
“Come on... I'll give you a taste of some liquid courage...”
“No thanks.” Sam frowns at the various alcohol bottles. “But I'll have a beer,
if you spot one. I'll sip at it.”
“How 'bout this—?” Dean picks up a glass decanter of red liquid; he removes the
stopper and sniffs. “I think it's red wine. You had some at that one Christmas
at Bobby's. You said you liked it.”
“uhm, sure... but only a little. I wanna stay as sober as I can.”
“Sometimes when you go into these places, it's better to be as drunk as you can
get.”
“Not me, but you can have as much as you want.”
Dean shakes his head in strong disagreement. “Appreciate it. I'm not letting
you drive the Impala, though, just because I'm drunk.”
“Damn...” Sam takes a tentative sip of the drink he's handed, immediately
liking the taste. “... you found me out.”
Dean takes a sip of his own drink, looking around the large, extravagant room.
It looks like something out of a bygone era; like from a western movie where
brothels and saloons meshed together. “Maybe we should sit down... an' wait.”
He's no good at waiting, especially in this situation.
“Maybe...” Sam pours more “red wine” into his glass, but only an inch thick.
“Is this a real, uhm... brothel?” He says it on a hushed voice as he takes a
seat next to Dean on the opulent sofa, arm going up along the back curve of the
sculpted wood.
“Nah, a lot of towns we visit, the women work out of their own homes. Some have
husbands and children, boyfriends or fiancées. They supplement their incomes
for out-of-towners and temporary residents.” Dean crosses an ankle over his
knee, then rests his short glass on his thigh as it butts up against his boot.
“They have a madame—-the older blonde who came up to us after the brunette
chick—-and she has women who work under her who she takes care of.”
Sam raises an eyebrow, averting his head from Dean to stare into his glass.
“Dad?”
Dean clears his throat. No sense in beating around the bush, so to speak.
“yeah... I think we thought he was keeping himself pure for Mom, but he's got
urges like every red-blooded American male. He'll find some of these places on
a hunt—-word gets passed around which houses are safe for hunters to come in
off the streets on. They can be boarding-room houses or, uhm... short-term
apartments.”
“Hunters who don't have families, you mean.”
“uh, yeah...” Dean tugs on the cuff of his jeans. “... one would hope if a
hunter did have a family—-wife, 2.5kids and a home—-he wouldn't drop-trough so
easily. There's a lot—-I mean AY-LOT—-of testosterone and hormones, adrenaline
and stress... plus tensions... and they need to vent it all out. Release, I
mean.” He leans his head back to turn his head toward Sam, who hasn't looked at
him in a long time. Or at least Dean hasn't felt that hard concentration of a
hazel-eyed stare on him, which can be nerve-wracking.
“Did he do this with you?”
“No, but he tried. I was around your age—-15 or 16. He took me in but wanted me
to sit outside. One of the girls took a liking to me... I almost caved, but I—-
”
“What?” Sam doesn't want Dean to quit there.
“She kept touching me as she talked. The combination of her voice in my ear, my
crazed libido, where she placed her hands or traced her fingers... I ejaculated
prematurely.” Dean laughs along with Sam—-he hadn't then, he'd been mortified.
“She thought it was sweet. I was... well, yeah—-she offered to get the stains
outta my jeans, then Dad catches us an' about throws a fit-n-a-half. I'm not
sure why he was pissed, nothing happened and the poor girl apologized because
she hadn't known I wasthatyoung. I think Dad was embarrassed, never took me
with him again. He didn't care if I had sex, who I had it with—-he didn't want
to be there knowing I was having sex. He always told me to take condoms—-'act
responsibly, son'—-eh, like I'd do something different.”
As they sat there chuckling and snickering, sharing smiles toward one another,
the blonde proprietor returns by opening a door and holding the paneling open
for the “girl” she thought would be right for Dean's—-or Sam's—-wants. As the
heavy door was shut, the younger blonde, with browns of varying colors threaded
through her swept-up hair-do, caught sight of the two young men on the couch
lost in one another. She doesn't mind doing either of them, or both... and it
isn't too odd for her to watch them together, thinking how they would look
being intimate in bed together. Whatever their fancy, her job was to follow.
“All right, boys... there's a room available. Several, in fact. Or, if you
wish... we can do whatever you want out here.” She gave a light shrug. “Your
money, your time.” She had a nice, curvy frame encased in a similar silk robe
like her boss, parts of the material hung open, showing off the ample bosom and
giving a show of the barely-there panties.
Dean downs the rest of his drink. “This is my cue to haul ass.” He reaches out
to set the glass down on the coffee table to rise off the cushions and stand.
Sam looks at Dean in fright, eyes darting over to the beautiful woman making
her way over to him. “What?”
“I paid for one hour, Sam—-one person.” Dean holds up a finger, then directs it
toward Sam. “I can't stay.
Sam puts down his own glass on a side table, then stands as well. “Then I'm
not—-I'm not staying.” He shuffles to Dean's side.
“Oh, honey...” She stops at the halfway-point on her approach to Sam. As she
nears, he scurries behind Dean.
Dean watches in fascination as Sam actually tries to use him as a shield. He
glances over his shoulder at the dark head tucked away on his back. Sam used to
be so tiny—-so pocket-sized—-now he grows almost every month since he hurdled
over puberty. There was no awkward voice, no bad acne, not even a weird body
change. It's like Sammy at twelve went to sleep and woke up this soon-to-be
fifteen year old handsome young male, towering over his older brother. Well,
Dean thinks Sam is good-looking, but not many women see past Dean to even
notice Sam.
… like now.
Dean has paid for Sam to have time, but now it looks like if Sam is
unwilling... she'll take Dean since he's here too. “He's skittish,” he offers
as an explanation to why Sam is acting this way.
“He's something. Is he all right?”
“He's—-Sam.” Dean feels Sam's right hand at his waist, then the left hand
across his torso bumping against his back. He senses warmth radiating to near
scalding.
“Look... I don't mind both of you, if the kid just wants to watch both of
us...” She gestures with her thumb between her and Dean.
“I wanted this for him.”
“Baby, you can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him drink.”
“Sam, please... I'm not really...” Dean's head is turned, looking over his
shoulder, about to speak to Sam when hands hit his chest—-manicured
fingernails, actually—-and she dips in to press a soft kiss to his neck; one of
his killer erogenous zones. “... dammit...” He's, literally, weak in the knees.
“You okay, Dean.” Sam's not watching any of this, only listening. He can still
feel what Dean's does through his body's reactions.
“—gah... jusss' peeeachyyy...”
Elegantly long nimble fingers slowly unbutton Dean's shirt to find more layers
beneath. “God, hon... what are you packin' under here...” She's admiring the
fine, fit torso hiding under the clothing.
Dean hangs his head, already feeling his body want this—-like Sam had said,
besides eating and hunting, there was only one other thing that entered his
head as often—-sex (and women)... the hotter, the better.
“What's she doin', Dean?”
“Right now, she wants to undress me, uh... I'm gonna need you to move back or,
uhm... help us.” Dean feels Sam move away, the cool air of the room hits his
neck. He sends his arms backward to pull at the sleeves, then quick fingers
brush over his to slide the coat off. “Keep going.” Dean orders Sam to complete
the motion for him.
“The shirt?”
“uh... yeah...” Dean's a little immobile at the moment as he looks at the young
woman. “I'm sorry... we didn't even bother to ask what your name was.”
“Roxanne... but here I go by Roxy.” Roxanne unties her belt, letting the robe
lapels fall open to show her naked form, the the material slides easily to pool
at her feet—-feet in uncomfortable-looking stiletto heels.
Dean's transfixed by her breasts, the large nipples with perky tips. “uhm...
I'm Dean.”
“I kinda figured that.”
“He's Sam.” Dean smirks, trying to stare at her blue eyes and not at those
perfectly firm knockers he wouldn't mind motorboating.
“Hey, Sammy.” Roxanne calls out over Dean's shoulder, but only gets a slow nod
from Sam's bowed head.
Her flub almost throws Dean. He never lets anyone but Dad and him call Sam
“Sammy”, but he lets her slide this one time.
“Hi, Roxanne.” Sam can't help but be polite, even to a prostitute. When Dean
moves his arms back, Sam rolls the sleeves down from the elbow joint, then
unbuttons the cuffs. “Do you need me to—-?oh!” He almost twists to face Dean as
he sees Roxanne get to her knees, then he double backs and spins so he's now
back-to-back with Dean. “oh... god...” Sam can hear the sound of the zipper
lowering.
“—-hey, hey, hey...” Dean reaches backward to snag Sam's wrist. “I'll probably
'thank you' for this later, but for now... you're welcome.” He gives Sam's hand
a reassuring squeeze that everything is all right and will be fine even later
on tomorrow.
Sam squeezes back. “I'm sorry I'm such a coward.”
“No, uh... no-ah!... you're not...”
“Excuse me...” Roxanne loudly interrupts the private discussion between the
brothers. “... sorry to butt in—-how do you like it, sweetie? My hand on the
stalk with only sucking the head... or do you like me to lick first... or,
uhm...” She's been dragging the denim past Dean's hips to expose the bulge
under the tight cotton. Her eyes go wide at the shape and stiffness. “... oh,
honey... mmm, so you like hearin' me talk 'bout what I'll do to you?” Roxanne
likes to watch men get-off on her voice alone—-it gets her properly wet.
Dean lifts one side of his mouth in a quirky, charming smirk. “Don't take it
the wrong way, but I'm a little nervous—-performance anxiety. I've never had an
audience or, uh... I never thought my little brother would be with me when I
got a—-uh, blowjob...”
“So you want a blowjob only or a handjob too?”
“Hey, whatever works, huh. I didn't know my hour would involve a survey.”
Roxanne smacks hard at Dean's flat abs, almost playfully shoving him to behave
and stop being a smart-ass. “It's not for you as much as it's for him. If he's
not gonna look, only listen... an' he's never seen what sex really entails or
knows what it's like between two people—-think of it kind of like an oral
demonstration.”
Sam snorts behind Dean, hanging his head as he starts to feel less nervous.
“... hehehe...” Dean laughs along with Sam. “I had no idea you were a
comedienne too.”
“Oh, honey, I am lots of things, you've no idea.”
Sam turns to face Dean, a bit of a distance between them as he keeps his chin
bowed to chest to see Dean's booted feet wide apart, the bottom hems of his
jeans are scrunched at the ankles as the denim's been lowered past his hips.
There's a splash of color from the tight boxer shorts, the upper curves of his
rounded backside pop out. Sam's gaze travels up the trim waist to see the
dangling bottom hem of the dusty gray t-shirt that never touches the body.
There's a gorgeous sculpted slope of a lower back shadowed under the t-shirt
that tempts Sam to touch. He doesn't know why, but he moves toward Dean,
stretching out his left arm to have the back of his hand brush over the bare
skin, then roll up the spine.
Dean doesn't expect the touch or for it to be Sam—-turned to face him. He looks
over his right shoulder. “... gimme your hands.”
Sam catches Dean placing his own hands at the sides of his hips. Once Sam lays
his fingers over Dean's, Dean quickly snatches his fingers and—-with his own
hand guiding—-they tuck under his briefs and lower them gradually. As Sam leans
over a shoulder, his eyes watching the play of their hands in tandem, Dean
frees his cock and watches it spring forth from under the elastic and pliable
cotton. Sam feels the tightness of Dean's hands, so he shuffles his head, lips
brushing the t-shirt-covered shoulder. He flips his head around to brush the
collar, the knotted string of the amulet necklace and then he leans his brow at
the base of Dean's nape. Sam moves forward, big shoes on either side of Dean's
boots, his whole front is aligned with Dean's back—-Sam's groin fits nicely
around the shape of Dean's ass.
Dean moans, moving his body. It was confusing to feel the hand on his cock and
Sam at is back, but now he's adjusting to the combination of sensations. Each
time he thrust forward into the warm cavity of Roxanne's mouth, he feels Sam
butt against him—-almost keeping him imprisoned in a tight space. “—stay with
me.”
“—always.”
Dean guides their hands around his waist. “Feel this... it's my body thrusting,
because of what she makes me feel.” He flattens Sam's hands at his pelvis. “My
thighs too.” Dean gently caresses his thighs with Sam's hands. He starts to
feel Sam tug away, wanting to explore on his own. Dean quietly agrees, resting
a loose grip on Sam's forearms. Blunt fingers fall into his pubic curls.
“—ughh, sammy...” Then they gingerly rest on the root connected to his body.
Sam presses lips to Dean's nape, opening them and licking the skin. He comes
around to kiss down the shoulder, then back up to the neck, sucking and biting
up to an earlobe. “You're, like, on fire...” He finds himself turned on by
Dean's reactions, but he's a little heartbroken he's not the one responsible.
“I'm about to come.”
“Really?” Sam not ready for this moment to be over so quickly.
“Don't be shocked...” Dean sputters out a choked laugh. “—you know this is
exactly who I am.”
“—but...” There was much more Sam wanted to do with Dean. He glances over
Dean's shoulder, down at Roxanne as she keeps stroking steadily. “Slow down...
a bit...” He softens his tone because doesn't want to sound bossy.
Roxanne smirks, winking up at Sam as he leans against his brother's blond head.
“You're gettin' the hang of this, Sammy. You must be the Romantic of this
relationship.”
“No... this is—-it isn't...” Sam can't explain what this is, but he knows it's
what he needs. “I don't know why I'm feeling this way. I don't even want to
engage in any sex. I was—-gawd... I was worried I wouldn't feel the urges
others my age did.” Now he is feeling those urges but it's toward his own
brother; he feels like it should seem wrong or disgusting, but it's not. At
least not to him.
Roxanne stood, her hand now simply slowly caressing, fingernails tickling. “The
heart wants what it wants, when it wants. Who are we to deny it?” She lifts her
chin toward Sam. “Finish what you started, sweetie.... I can get him to hold
off a bit longer.”
Dean rolls his eyes, lolling his head, then shifting to bump Sam's face. “I
hope one of you knows CPR.”
“mmm... you'll be fine, darlin'... I think little Sammy here will take good
care of you...”
“... his name's 'Sam'...”
“... oh-kay... sorry...” Roxanne holds up both hands as if she's being held at
gunpoint. “... please don't shoot me...”
Sam lets his hands roam over Dean's abs. He hugs him, presses a chaste kiss to
his neck, then his fingers walk up under the t-shirt and find the pert nipples
he was looking for. Sam recalls times seeing them, dark and erect, as a kid
whenever Dean would undress in front of him. He was always fascinated, wanting
to touch them, play with them... pull them to watch Dean moan with pleasure or
giggle if they tickled.
Dean arcs against Sam which causes him to thrust forward into Roxanne's hand.
“oh... fuuuckkk me... tha's the spot... woo!...”
“Gimme your hand, Sam.” Roxanne requests of Sam.
“huh?” Sam's distracted by wanting to watch Dean.
“The fact I'm here is obsolete.” Roxanne is clearly aware she is only a
catalyst to what is between the two brothers. “I could've been anyone with an
expert stroke. He's aroused this much because you're here.”
“Is that true, Dean?” Sam hides his face, wishing for Dean to reply with the
answer he hopes he'll hear.
“... maybe... possibly... I don't know—-fuck... someone better finish me
off...”
Roxanne holds out her hands; Sam brings out his right to give her his fingers.
“The importance of a good handjob is grip—-tightness. I realize, as a young man
yourself, you've masturbated a few times.”
“... yeah...”
“Good... because another male can duplicate his own actions better than a
woman, though some men would differ with me. Too many grip too tight, it's like
pulling; others use their teeth and often bite, which isn't preferred unless
your client likes being bitten. If a man knows himself well enough, he can
often tell you what he likes.” Roxanne is impressed by the size of Sam's hand,
which tells of other things on his person that could be of equal standing. She
clears her throat to continue, “Same goes for a young lady, if that's your
preferred sexual partner.”
“I'm not gay.”
“He's just here to learn.”
Roxanne had to back up a bit by the force of their words uttered. “whoa-whoa...
all right... message received—-I'm not here to judge. I've seen and done it
all.”
“Sorry.”
“... uh, yeah... sorry, Roxanne.”
“yee-gods... you're both too sweet...” Roxanne rubs a hand over Sam's shoulder.
“Are you sure you won't change your mind? I say five more minutes for Dean to
shoot his load, then you and I can have the rest of the what's left of the
hour...”
“I don't know.” Sam actually wouldn't mind just going somewhere—-private—-with
Dean. Or maybe leave and go back to their motel room; Dad should be on his way
out the door. “I'm starting to rethink a few things.”
“Good... well, that's a start... okay, now... I'll leave you two alone...”
Roxanne moves over to pick up her robe and slip off her heels as she comes back
to take a nearby chair to patiently watch. She crosses a leg over a knee,
relaxing back on the cushion and thinking she can safely watch from afar.
Sam tries to do exactly as Roxanne suggested. He closes his eyes, picturing his
own body and then takes the length in hand. Slow and steady, at first, fingers
riding the skin to test elasticity. Then as he focuses on this being Dean—-he
has his brother's cock in his head—-the touch was more exploration. As Dean
leans back on Sam's front, with his head on a shoulder, he tires to hold back
his need to release early—-Sam has a huge hand, the skin feels softer than he
imagined and the steady strength isn't in any way rough. Next was Sam's
intrigue at what he could do to get Dean off—-cupping the whole length, a
finger over the bulbous head and just some simple caresses that cause Dean to
thrust along with his hand. Sam turns his head to nudge the side of Dean's face
then nuzzle the neck, kiss and nip at the sweaty skin. He was lavishing the
taste of Dean, fantasizing what tasting his cock might be like. As sexual as
his brother appeared, it was a rare thing to feel joy that he, alone, could
bring Dean pleasure—-Sam felt humbled by that fact because he was naïve about
both men and women.
Overcome with the sensations of curious fingers stroking him to completion,
Dean weakens, falls forward and catches a hand in a death-like grip on the arm
of a chair nearby. As his fingers turn pale red, he looks over his shoulder at
Sam and utters a small gasp of a request into the biceps he's pushed his face
against.
Sam can't hear it but he knows something was said. He glances at Roxanne for
help.
“Don't deny him a full pleasurable experience.”
“What does he want?”
“Oh...” Roxanne realizes with the way Dean is leaning over, Sam can't properly
hear anything. She moves to stand closer to them. “... he wants you to 'finger'
him.”
“He—-what? Are you sur—-?” Immediately, Sam had felt strange, because—-ewww...
but then there's just something different about being with your own sex as a
male where you probably would do a lot of questionable things. It's like he
throws his mind in reverse and now wants to learn how to give pleasure to a
man—-well, to Dean. “That's where I—?”
“—you slick up a finger and play around his anus and inside rectum.” Roxanne
had been able to tell early on that Sam had a brilliant mind; she didn't have
to dumb down her language.
“—that's what I thought.” Sam smiles a little nervously.
Roxanne taps her nail on her front teeth, then keeps gently biting on the
finger. “Like I told you, don't deny your partner or he won't reach proper
fulfillment.”
“He knows his body, so he knows his own pleasure.” Sam is slowly learning; he
wants to take everything in so he doesn't make a mistake.
“... exactly. Sometimes you take the 'meh' with the 'good'.”
Sam brings up his left hand, but Roxanne snatches it, mouth suckling on his
first three fingers.
“Give him the middle one. It's the longest and thickest.”
“Do I just stick it inside?”
“No, sweetheart...” Roxanne will demonstrate with her own hand, then let Sam
follow suit. “... here—-brush down his back, play with him, tempt and tease.
Then palm him, the whole ass, soothe over the split—-give a little swat to
those who like a bit of adventure—-but never simply 'stick it in'. By now—-uh-
huh, see... he's widening his opening, spreading his legs for you. He's giving
you silent permission to continue. Cup him again, but only right here—-if you
can, touch the testicles underneath—-give 'em a tickle or tug them,whatever...
then pet over this—-it's the perineum—-the skin between the anus and ball
sac.... it's as highly-sensitized as the sphincter, itself. Rest your three
fingers—-uhhh-yup... right there. Now, if you had claw-like nails, like me, you
tease and you skim the nail-beds, then you draw back and sink in. Dean's
probably done this before—-to himself or had someone else finger him.”
“This feels good to him?”
“Oh, hon'...” Roxanne gives a soft chuckle, with a lifting of her dark
eyebrows. “... it'll feel glorious to you, as well, once you get beyond that
disgusting image of a finger in a butt-hole. Your prostate is located inside—-
you know, why a doctor, during routine physical exam, asks an older male to
bend over, drop trough while he sticks a finger in him—-well-lubed and in
latex. He fingers around that entrance for the prostate—-the male G-spot. Women
have on inside, as well. It's why anal sex can be so pleasurable for some
folks.”
“... sorry...” Sam gives Roxanne a small grin. “Health class only takes you so
far.”
“Oh, sweetie... it's usually why I get so many first-timers or people who want
to explore their sexual perversions.”
Sam's been continuing to stroke as he talked. He leans over to kiss Dean's
nape, then moves his hand down Dean's back, he massages the lumbar spine,
shapes the rounded bottom. He follows Roxanne's instructions to a “t” and is
now at the point of insertion. He draws back his middle finger and feels the
taut puckered skin; it opens and closes on its own, in wait. The second he's
anywhere near it, Dean thrusts back and cries out. As he inches in more, Sam
watches Dean start to shake from the inside out. His finger is hot and the
tightness around him is almost painful... but yet not that much. He tries to
pull out, but it's difficult. He soon realizes Dean's senses are heightened by
him pulling out then sticking in at quicker speeds. Pretty soon Dean's hand is
helping with the steady stroking, but then the signal is given for Sam to drop
his hand.
“... fuck me-fuck, yeah-fuck me...” Dean mumbles incoherently as he jerks
frantically on his cock. He props himself upright on the chair arm, then makes
an announcement, “I'm coming—-I'm coming” and then he's shooting. As he comes
in a series of stringy, white semen, his anal walls tighten around Sam's
finger.
Sam stares on in fascination and awe. Though partly disgusting, and messy, it
was a beautiful sight to watch Dean come—-to watch that cock-tip squirt semen
from inside his brother's body. The release he helped to bring about. Sam pulls
out his finger and stands straighter, Dean wavers on his feet, weakness in his
knees. Roxanne comes over to help Sam sit him on the sofa and she hands Dean
some type of bottled juice and Sam a cold water, with a pre-moistened wipe to
wash off his finger—-in case he's a clean freak.
“Drink up, darlin'... that was one intense session you gave yourself.” Roxanne
kneels on the floor, a clean cloth in her hand to wash Dean off. She leaves the
carpet and furniture alone as if she'll let it dry and deal with it later. She
stands, taking the near empty bottle Dean gives back. “Gatorade. A little trick
I learned to keep my rougher clients re-hydrated.” She eyes Sam now. “You
ready, honey?”
At the last swallow, Sam tilts his head back. His growing Adam's apple working
along his throat. “Maybe.” He glances around the room. “But not here.”
“I got a hidden room we can go to—-just you and me.”
“yeah... please...”
“Oh, sweetie... stop that. It's what I do.” Roxanne turns back to Dean. “Can
you stand, soldier?”
“I think so.” As Dean stands he slowly pulls up his clothing, being very
careful of his sensitive cock.
“How long has it been since you last...?”
Dean averts his head as if he knows what she's asking. “Almost a full week.
I've been able to take care of myself, but... taking care of Sam, watching
him—-I don't get a lot of time to socialize.”
“I'm in school all day, Dean.” Sam is a bit embarrassed because it sounds like
Dean's blaming him for not having an active sex life—-as if that's what Dean
wants.
“No bars open at that hour. I could come to a place like here, but—-”
Roxanne nods her head in understanding. “Oh, I know... even this can get old.
And there's such a different feel at night, on the prowl, picking your prey and
taking her home to fuck her brains out then either do the walk of shame or
staying for bacon and eggs.”
Dean smiles bittersweetly; he would love for Roxanne's scenario to be that easy
to perform. “It's not as easy for me, Sam.”
“All right...” Roxanne is ready—-she has been for quite awhile. “... while I’d
love to stay here longer with you, beautiful, seems like Sammy's found a his
stride.”
“I told you—-his name is 'Sam'...” Dean spares a quick look at Sam. “Is this
true? You want to do this now?”
Sam shrugs one shoulder at a time. “I feel the urge.” It's pretty plain that
he's still semi-hard under his pants as there's a prominent bulge.
Roxanne saunters over, reaching down to cup the crotch. She watches Sam close
his eyes and flush. “mmm... if this is you only at half-mast, I can’t wait to
see you fully hard.”
“Wait!” Dean's hesitant to let Sam go off alone with Roxanne now.
“I'll be fine, Dean. This is what you wanted for me, wasn't it?” Sam allows
himself to be led through a doorway, then shut-in as if Dean wasn't allowed to
trail behind.
Dean takes a seat, attempting to remain calm and cool. Every time he closes his
eyes, he sees Sam, but not the confident one he'd seen earlier—-one who was
scared and freaked out, needing a hand to hold or a tight bear-hug to alleviate
fears. He could see Roxanne as being relentless and unforgiving—-probably safer
to view her as villainous to make it seem like nobody but Dean can take care
of, or watch over, Sam.
It was five, then ten minutes later, but... it was too-too quiet. Not a muffled
sob, nor a cry of pleasure. There was no creak of a bed frame or a bang of a
headboard on a wall. Nothing.
Dean pushes out of a chair, starting to pace; he contemplates stepping outdoors
for fresh air, even sitting in the Impala. If only he could bring Sam with him;
he wouldn't leave this house. He was standing near a window, looking out
through the sheer drapes, when the door opens...
“Dean?” Roxanne sniffles out, wiping her nose with a clump of tissues.
“Yo!” Dean walks over and catches Roxanne's red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained
face. “Christ! What's wrong? What did you do to him?”
“Nothin'. He won't let me touch him.” Roxanne seemed upset over this, like she
was used to being someone who comforted people in distress, using sex as her
key to unlock their problems.
“Jesus... not again...”
“—-no, no, no...” Roxanne's blue eyes begin to pool again with moisture. “...
this is deeper, Dean. This is mental-psychological. I can see his body react...
he wants to want this—-so badly... he's just not ready...” She shook her head
sadly, blowing her nose.
“He's not ready for sex? Or he's not ready to lose his virginity? Not ready
for—-what?”
“What? You think I don't know.” Roxanne pushes Dean lightly on the shoulder,
because he's being such a bastard. “That I don't know your father, John... or
the story of how you all lost your mother...”
“—-shit!” Dean combs his fingers through his hair, mussing the locks.
Roxanne crosses her arms over her bosom. She looks a bit more conservative now
as her robe is completely closed, she's in bare feet and her hair is down.
“He's still so young and—-and—-and loving... it's tough to imagine he's still
able to walk upright. He's starting to block her out—-to move on from her. But
he misses her too.” Fresh tears begin to build. “He's a boy crying out for a
mother and—-for right now...”
“—-he can't separate the two.” Dean's beginning to realize he's been going
about this the wrong way. “See you as someone different.”
“It's a lovely and bittersweet sentiment, except no amount of money is worth
watching that boy's heart break.”
“I know.” Dean genuinely feels terrible for putting Roxanne in this position.
“I'm sorry. He told me my idea of 'help' wouldn't be what he needed.”
“Don't be sorry, Dean. You really never know these things until you're in the
moment. You should go to him. Room's still yours for—-” Roxanne looks at the
clock, then shakes her head. “—-for however long you need. No extra charge.”
“Thank you. I appreciative this.”
“Don't be surprised if you can't find me when you're ready to leave.” Roxanne
is already heading toward the velvet draped doorway. “I feel the urge to call
my mother.”
“All right, Roxy...” Dean goes through the doorway to see the short hall with
the alternating doors along the walls. “He's in—-which one?”
Roxanne calls over her shoulder as she slips quietly through the folds. “The
last bedroom on the right.”
Dean wanders down the hall, stopping at the exact door, then knocks. He turns
the knob, popping his head in and calls out, “I's jus' me, Sammy.”
“—dean?” Sam rolls over in the dark, surprise on his face. He tries to wipe
away tears without Dean seeing. “Roxanne said I could lay here, until I
stopped—-uh...”
“Don't hide it from me. I know.”
“She sent you here, didn't she?”
“I'd've come back here to get you even if she had told me to leave you alone.”
Dean sits on the empty side of the bed, reaching out to clamp a hand on Sam's
arm. “I am so fuckin' sorry, man...”
“It's not your fault. I didn’t even know it ran so deep that old shit 'bout Mom
would tie me in knots.”
“Dude... please don't tell me Roxy looks like Mom, c'uz—-well, you know... she
gave me a BJ... an' I'd like to not have that imagery in my brain.”
Sam punches Dean gently, then opens his hand to lay fingers over Dean's hand on
the mattress. “My body still wants—-something. I thought she could—-at least—-
do the same for me that she did for you, but I didn’t even let her come near
me.”
Dean doesn't know why, but this makes him even happier. “You naked under
there?”
“—nope... just shy... an' cold...”
“Well, shove over, tiger...” Dean takes off his t-shirt, then slides out of his
boots. He stands to lower the denim, then tugs off socks with the legs of the
jeans coming next. He lays back and crawls under the soft linens of a real bed.
“wow... feels different than our motel beds.” He sits a little higher on the
pillows, then stretches out his left arm, inviting Sam over.
Sam doesn't cuddle, just settles extremely close to Dean, head on his arm. The
hand connected to that arm starts to play in the brown locks, massaging the
scalp, then twirling curls around fingers. Sam rolls to his right side, curved
along Dean's left, then throws a left leg to tuck between Dean's legs. He shuts
his eyes to work through sensations to his body, but then opens his lids to see
the amulet resting in the center of Dean's chest. He extends a hand to lay
under it, then pokes out an index finger to bop it, like a small punching bag.
The little movement causes the string to move and tickle Dean's neck and nape.
He snatches Sam's hand, bringing it to meet his mouth like he's going to take a
chunk out of the loosely formed fist. From there, Sam opens his hand to trace
over Dean's hand and fingers, then lays on the shape. Dean opens his hand to
lay flat on his chest, carrying Sam's hand with him. He can't help staring at
their bond—-the contrast of memories shows him the evolution of their hands and
how Sam's are now almost larger than his own.
Sam turns to look at Dean, catching him in profile as Dean stares at their
hands. Once on an elbow, Sam leans over to press a kiss to Dean's cheek, but
lands on a rough jawline. It's a different sensation than soft skin, because
there's extra tickle from the stubble. He kisses the spot again, catching Dean
closing his eyes as if to savor the feeling. Sam moves down from the jaw along
the throat, burying his face in the crevice of neck and shoulder. He shifts his
body to now lay on Dean, the bulge of his underwear squished against Dean's
left thigh
The hand once in Sam's hair slides out to cup his nape and, as Dean trickles
fingertips down Sam's back, Sam grinds his crotch against Dean. A soft “oh” is
expelled as Sam finds the sensation arousing. Dean lets his hand continue
exploring and plays at the elastic band of Sam's underwear. Already against
Sam's thigh, Dean's own cock has come back to life. Sam lowers his hand along
Dean's chest, over the abdomen and his fingers slip to expertly dive under the
cotton to what's beneath, then flits through coarse pubic hair and touches the
hardening length. Dean rolls them, sending Sam onto his back and his own body
fits perfectly between Sam's thighs. He braces himself on his hands, planting
on either side of Sam's shoulders. Sam calmly lays there, smiling at him. Dean
can never help but return that smile, but with a ghost of a smirk.
“Stupid question, but... is this what you want?”
“—yes...” Sam nods his head to stress his answer.
“Do you know whatit is you want?”
“I want what we had out there, but only—-us.”
“—gawh... me too... me too...” Dean strokes a finger along Sam's face. He keeps
his finger playing over Sam's lips. “Keep your virginity as long as you want.
I'll never force the issue on you again.”
“If you wanted to—-uhm... you know—” Sam's ready and willing for anything right
now, but only with Dean.
“God, yes.” Dean bumps his brow with Sam's. “I do know.”
“—-we'd still, technically, lose our virginities—-just, the other way.”
“You can say it.” Dean smiles, skimming his nose-tip over Sam's face, cheek-to-
cheek. “—-say it... please...”
“—-fuck in the ass—-is that what you want to hear me say?”
“mmm-hmm... say it again.” Dean whispers the request against Sam's mouth,
tempting him to respond.
“What? Ass?”
“No—fuck.”
Sam ends up stressing the word by his upper teeth clamping on his bottom lip.
“fffuuuck!” It vibrates from his mouth as Dean kisses him hard, a bit rough as
he bites and munches.
“Whenever you choose to be with a girl... this is the position you'll most
likely start in.”
“Yup.” Sam decides he'll play along if Dean wants to teach him about straight
sex. It's nice to hear Dean's bedroom voice come out only for him. “Missionary,
right?”
“Good for you. Stealing scrambled porn has paid off.”
“Eh, I hear things.”
“What else do you hear?”
“Sexual positions? Or—-everything?'
“Both.”
“Which do you like?'
“Positions?”
“uh-yeah...”
“This one, for the most part. Doggie, if I'm just needing a release and in a
hurry. I'm also good with, uh... cowgirl/reverse cowgirl. The last one more,
especially if the chick likes some anal play.”
Sam doesn't know if he wants to admit this soon that he actually liked the
“fingering” he did for Dean. “Is it as good for them like it was for you?”
“Geez... don’t you dare tell anyone that about me.”
“Who would I tell? Dad? Bobby?”
Dean grabs Sam's chin in an under-grip, keeping his head steady to kiss
smirking lips like a punishment that turns into a pleasure. He has to pull away
before he loses his mind. “It's not—-I only just started doing it, when I
masturbate. But when I let my partner do it—-uhmm, god... well, you saw...”
“Yes, I did. I'd like to watch it again.”
“You would?”
“mmm-hmm...”
“Well, then... let me not keep you waiting.” Dean's hands go to Sam's elastic
waistband and Sam lifts off the mattress; Sam finishes undressing himself. Dean
yanks down his own briefs, getting them around his calves, untucking one leg
and kicking them off. He's back in between Sam's thighs in no time; their cocks
bumping and brushing. He skims the backs of his fingers along the underside of
Sam's length, watching the sticky clear pre-come leak out. “You close?”
“I don't know. I might be.” Sam doesn't know how to cordially ask for a
handjob; he certainly knows he doesn't want a blowjob or he'll really embarrass
himself.
Dean tucks his own solid erection alongside Sam's cock, thrusting slowly and
feeling Sam counter-thrust on instinct and reach up to take hold of his waist.
“Tell me what you want.”
“—ungh... you... I don’t care, Dean...” One hand slides up Dean’s torso to lay
on his chest. “I just want you.”
“... all right... think I can work with that.” Dean settles his forearms under
Sam's legs, raising him off the bed, causing him to curl into his body. Dean
bucks against Sam, feeling their shared pulsating heat. He starts to kiss Sam's
face—-brow, temple, cheek—-and bites along the jaw to chin... skims nose over
lips (letting Sam bite the tip), then licks the collarbone as he slides up the
neck. He picks up more speed with his hips, feeling Sam's hands palm his
backside. “Spread them apart—-ungh... yeah—-yes!” He nearly chokes on a yelp,
then he's pounding pelvis to pelvis. He doesn't even notice Sam's licking the
fingers of one hand in his mouth until that set of three plays over his
bottom.”—-give me two...”
“... dean... are you sure?...” Sam's willing to do anything for Dean if he
makes requests in that desperate, almost-begging tone. He doubts Dean's this
way with girls in bed.
“—-yes—-please—-now...” Dean hides his face against Sam's neck and niches
safely there to take the brunt of the initial pain—-but it's sinful pleasure.
He bites down on his bottom lip, containing his cries and he's complete bedlam
in rutting against Sam. He doesn't know which to do more of—-thrust forward or
cant backward onto the fingers.
Sam feels it intensely now—-the build to the intense release which helps him
gauge his own orgasm—-he's held off to keep pace with Dean. Arms tighten about
him and the body tenses above as Dean comes between their bodies. Sam closes
his eyes and leans his head against the soft bed of blond hair laying to his
right. Dean still moves, just slower, and he starts to touch and caress, which
causes Sam to spin out of control and thrust up in a wild frenzy hip to hip
with Dean. He feels the spurt of hot semen along his chest, then starts to
sense Dean's semen running down his skin to pool on the sheets. He slowly eases
fingers out of Dean as Dean shudders with the sensation of loss in the
aftermath of his second orgasm of the night.
Sam lowers his legs as Dean hooks hands around Sam's broad shoulders from
underneath. As huge wet kisses are smacked on neck and down chest, Dean shapes
his hand along Sam's torso. Then he rolls off Sam but manages to stay connected
by the arms that touch as they lay side-by-side. Dean throws an arm—-the right
one—-over his eyes, hitting Sam's face with his fingers. “Dude... we're gonna
need to pace ourselves with this.”
“I know... but...”
“But—-what?”
“I feel differently than I would after I masturbate.”
“nnngh...—-like how different?”
“No shame or embarrassment... no guilt that I hurried while in the shower, 'cuz
that's the only personal time I have to touch my body. uhm—-let's see...” Sam
shuts his lids, hearing Dean move his head around on the pillowcase to look
over at him. Sam soothes a hand over his own chest, his hands smearing sweat
and leftover, drying come. He flips his head to look at Dean across the pillow.
“I feel love, like, immensely... like my heart will beat right outta my chest.”
Dean sends his left arm over, backward, to feel. Sam grabs the curling fingers
of the hand. “mmm... yeah, that's pretty fast, but I don't think it'll fall out
today.”
Sam slides fingers along Dean's forearm. “You can stop teaching me how to have
sex with girls now. I think I got the idea.”
“Okay, but—-you know you can talk to me 'bout anything, right? I can’t promise
I won't laugh at first, but always let me know you're serious an' tell me to
'knock it off'. I can be a genuine a-hole at times.”
“A jerk, but never an asshole.”
“mmm—-yeah...” Dean closes his own lids, feeling sleepy. “—-jus' like you're a
bitch...”
“Yeah... like that's always great to hear.”
“But... you're 'my' bitch, Sammy... always...”
“yes... I know... got to sleep, jerk...”
“I will, bitch.”
They chuckle in their silly exchange of words.
Dean pulls his left arm away, trading for his right as he rolls over to lay
against Sam's side on his stomach. The arm tightens across Sam's upper chest,
hugging him close. Sam tilts his head to lean on Dean's head, moist hair
brushing his cheek. “I think we used the 'brothel experience' all wrong.”
“You paid her for the hour—-you get what you want...” Sam goes uncomfortably
quiet, contemplative. “Did you? Get what you wanted?”
“mmm—-nah, but tha's cool 'cuz I got somethin' much-much better.”
Sam untucks and squeezes his arm around Dean, bringing him closer. “awww, thank
you... tha's sweet...”
“—only for you, Sammy... only for you...”
Sam feels Dean go slack in his arms and, at one point, he manages to work the
bed linens up his legs—-using his feet—-and then covers their bodies as he
waits out the half-hour he plans on giving Dean to sleep.
It's nearing eleven at night and Dad has to be out of the motel by now. Sam
smirks to himself because he's actually—-for once—-looking forward to going
back to their room—-either picking up where they left off or sleeping away a
few hours to wake each other up to have another go-around.
~~&&~~
Sam was standing out front on the grounds of Alan P. Kensmore High waiting for
the arrival of Abbey Reigart. He has kind of adopted her “unofficially” in a
promise to be there if she needs any “muscle” to “bust some heads”. A week ago
he had
told her as much of the truth as he knew himself. He had opened up to her about
the worry over being a “virgin” and had told her he really couldn't get
involved with anyone at the school because there was always a possibility his
family would pick up and leave at any time. But he had let Abbey know that she
was first on his list for a girlfriend if there was any chance of staying. It
was like Sam confessed undying love for her and she still thought he was the
sweetest and most beautiful boy she'd ever met.
For the past week, Sam and Abbey had met up as much as they could on school
grounds, which was why Sam was waiting for her at the front entrance. She would
usually arrive with Kendra and then Sam would walk her to her homeroom. Dean
had teased Sam that he had a “little girlfriend” and when Sam nodded his head
in complete agreement, Dean was flummoxed and slightly worried—-their new
intimacy was still so fresh and exciting, neither could define it or explain
it. So they hid their secret and kept it to themselves. Sam had found out that
Dean was easily jealous of his life away from him. Today was turning out to be
a bit different than typical. Kendra had to have taken a “sick day” because Sam
watched Abbey pull-up in the passenger seat of a different car—-a huge SUV with
black-tinted windows.
Sam wanders over just as Abbey climbs out. As she shuts the door, she moves to
the back passenger seat to pull out her backpack and the extra bag she'll carry
today for a class project.
“Come on, Mom... I want you to meet him.” Abbey turns to Sam as he leans on the
bodywork, smiling down at her. “I think it's time you two meet. She hears about
you constantly and I talk your ear off 'bout her.”
There was a distant car door slam, then as Abbey's mother rounds the rear
bumper in her custom-made shades, she speaks, “Abbey, make this quick. I really
need to get to the office.”
Sam spins around, wide grin on his face as he finds himself looking at the
older blonde from the other night—-the madame at the brothel Dean had taken him
to. “Ma'am...” Sam is used to surprises and shocks by now, but this one
disquiets him a little. “... Mrs. Reigart...” He holds out his hand. “—pleasure
to finally meet you...” Sam sticks his tongue in the side of his cheek, his
back to Abbey.
Mrs. Reigart takes off her shades, easily sliding her hand into Sam's with a
wiry smile. “So... you're the 'Sam' I hear Abbey going on about.”
“... yup...” Sam feels himself go flush with light embarrassment.
Abbey suddenly sucks in a shock of air, stunning both Sam and her mother to
stare at her as if Abbey knows how they really met. They watch as Abbey hands
Sam her bags. “Oh, no she didn't!... Kimberly Marie!...” She's yelling over at
a classmate of hers in the near distance. “—please tell me you did NOT forget
half of our science project today!” Abbey taps Sam on the flat of his chest
while sparing a glance at her mother. “You two good here? All good here?”
“uh-yeah, Abbs... go...” Sam directs Abbey to walk over to her best friend.
“Bye Mom!” Abbey kisses her mother's cheek as she bends down for one, then
Abbey spins around to start screeching again across the campus. “Kimmie
Marie!... don't you dare turn you back and ignore me!” Ever since this newfound
friendship with Sam Winchester, Abbey has become more confident and self-
assured in herself.
Sam can't help but laugh as he watches Mrs. Reigart shake her head at how much
Abbey has changed—-looking like her mother's exact twin. “Don't worry. I know
what it's like to keep secrets. Abbey will never hear a peep out of me.”
Mrs. Reigart folds her arms and leans against the car like Sam is doing. “You
lost me my best girl, Sam Winchester.”
“Roxy?” Sam's startled by the news. “... uh, Roxanne—-what? what happened?”
He's unsettled that he genuinely cares to know. “Is she okay?”
“Rox is moving back home to live with her mother.” Mrs. Reigart was looking
over at her daughter, but talking to Sam to make it seem as if they were
conversing about nothing of importance. “Turns out if she hadn't made that call
home, the night you showed up, she never would've known how ill her grandmother
was. Or made it in time before she passed on.”
“So Roxanne's all right?” Sam flipped to his right side to lean on the SUV,
facing Mrs. Reigart.
“She's fine, boy.” Mrs. Reigart smiles, patting Sam on the shoulder. “I didn't
mean to make you think I was really angry. Rox was my best girl 'cuz she had
heart. But the minute you shed a tear, she realized how broken she still was.”
She clears her throat and breaks away from watching Abbey. “Her mother's not
taking the loss too well and Rox doesn't know how she'd be if her mother went,
being thousands of miles away.”
Sam stares at Abbey's mother, hoping she'd look up at him soon. “I like your
daughter, Mrs. Reigart, but Abbey knows this can't be anything more than a deep
friendship.”
“I know...” Mrs. Reigart nods her head, finally lifting her head to look at
Sam. “... and I hate that because you're just the kind of 'boyfriend' a parent
like me dreams about.”
“Really?” Sam smirks, shaking his head in bewilderment. “Even after Dean and I
were at your, uh...house?” It seems cruel to call it anything else, even though
such sinful and decadent things go on inside.
“All I know is that you were there, then you left. Rox never told me what her
clients asked of her.”
Sam heaves a sigh, then clears his throat of the nervous lump. “Do you know my
father?”
“Oh, yeah... and I know Bobby Singer... and Bill Harvelle... all the good
ones.”
“Thank you.”
Mrs. Reigart is dumbfounded why Sam would be saying this to her. “huh?”
“For keeping all the hunters a little bit saner. Especially whatever you do for
my Dad.”
“Oh, jesus...” Mrs. Reigart dons her shades again to hide her eyes. “Now you're
gonna start me to tearing-up.”
“I'm serious, ma'am. Before... I had this warped idea of a place like yours and
that was unfair of me. You sacrifice a lot and deserve more than you get credit
for, with the services you provide.” Sam is as honest as he knows he can be,
because he knows Mrs. Reigart understands so much more than what he's willing
to admit.
“Go on. Git.” Mrs. Reigart sniffles, then gently pats Sam's shoulder to get him
off her car and on his way. “Go pull my daughter off that poor girl before
Abbey gets detention.”
“Bye... Mrs. Reigart.”
“G'bye, Sam.” Mrs. Reigart's phone rings but she picks up the line on her
Bluetooth ear-piece. “Hello, Steward... Maureen Reigart...” She has to take a
second or two to contain herself so no one realizes she actually has feelings
and emotions. It's the only way she can deal in this cutthroat business of
corporate real estate. “—what's this I hear you're trying to outbid Lansing
Ltd.—huh?... are you kidding me? For how much?” Mrs. Reigart gives one final
glance toward Sam's retreating back as he makes his way toward Abbey, then
catches Abbey near melting as Sam settles a supportive arm about her shoulders.
Damn...
~~&&~~
Abbey sits down on a bench, shaking her head. “I can't believe she'd do this to
me, after I told her not to forget it was due today.”
“Is your Science teacher a reasonable guy?... talk to him, see if you can get
an extension.” Sam notices that this isn't alleviating much of Abbey's worry.
“Want me to talk to him? Tell him how hard I saw you work?”
“That's sweet of you, Sam, but I'm ready to go to-day. Not tomorrow. Not three
days from now.”
“Okay, okay... jus' calm down.” Sam holds up one hand, palm out to assuage more
venting in his direction. Kimberly Marie owes him after this. “Yelling at Kim
won't suddenly bring that half of your project here.”
“I know, I know. I'll apologize at lunch—-maybe. But she's not only screwin'
with her grades... she's screwin' with mine.” Abbey sighs heavily then looks at
Sam. “So, wasIright? Do I have the coolest Mom or what?”
“Or what?” Sam moves when the soft punch lands on his arm. “Ow-ch!” As he rubs
his pretend sore arm, he glances around the school campus, stopping his gaze on
a car that looks exactly like the Impala and someone leaning on said car that
looks a helluva-lot like Dean, arms and ankles crossed as he waits patiently.
Foolishly, Sam has this fantasy that Dean missed him badly enough to not stand
one more minute away from him—-kind of creepy, stalker-ish.
But soon it dawns on him what this moment really is—-oh, god... oh, jesus...
not again...
Sam grabs for his satchel to sling the strap over his head to rest across his
chest. “C'mon, Abbs...” He picks up Abbey's backpack. “... first bell'll ring
soon. Don't be late an' mess with the rest of your day.”
“All right... if you say so.” Abbey smiles as she puts away her papers and
swings the extra bag over her shoulder.
As Abbey and Sam walk side-by-side, Sam does this thing where he intentionally
brushes his hand or fingers on Abbey's arm or he bumps his body against hers.
It often made Abbey feel happy to feel such... affection in public, getting
this unwavering attention that causes her female classmates to wish they were
her. Walking with Abbey, knowing he wasn't ever going to see her again, Sam
keeps having to turn away to use his shoulder to wipe this one tear that wants
to escape out of his left eye.
Abbey goes on oblivious, acting and gabbing the usual manner she does on their
way to her school's building. She's telling Sam about the rest of the week and
some of the days this coming month, what they would all entail. Abbey even off-
handedly mentions wanting to do something on Sam's birthday—-maybe a private
celebration just between them.
Sam gets her safely to her classroom and he can't help himself—-he panics... he
wants to tell Abbey everything: his mother, the demons, the ghosts and ghouls,
monsters and creatures born of the night. He hugs her hard, burying his face in
her hair and tells her a truth he knows he can utter, “I'll never forget you,
Abbey Reigart.”
Abbey isn't weirded out by Sam's genuine affection—-it's simply who Sam is.
“You. Are officially weirder than me, Sam Winchester.” As she lets him go,
taking her bags back, she pats his chest wall and smiles widely.
“Don't ever change.” Sam wants to give her every piece of advice he's learned
over the years, just to leave enough of a footprint on her life to make an
impact.
“I won't.” Abbey throws flippantly over her shoulder as she begins to turn and
walk away, safe in the knowledge she'll see Sam in two more hours.
“Have a good life.” Sam nearly chokes on that last part, but Abbey is too far
away to catch it. He backs out of the doorway a little so other students can
by-pass him.
Abbey gives him a small wave “goodbye”. “I'll see you at peer group.”
When Abbey is finally in the room, at her desk and chattering with her
classmates, Sam watches her a little longer with tears building in his eyes. “I
could've loved you, Abbey Reigart.” He turns around and keeps his head down as
he walks faster and faster back across the front of the school yard. He makes
sure to pause for passing cars of parents leaving the grounds, but was already
making his way to the huge lawn...
… and Dean meets him halfway in a tight bear-hug they were known to do now. Sam
immediately starts sobbing into Dean's shoulder, muffling the sound. Dean tries
to comfort him, patting and rubbing his back, sending a hand into his hair.
Unfortunately, nothing works as Dean is about to crack around the edges himself
as he can't stand Sam's uncontrollable non-stop tears. Now Sam is just sputter-
hiccuping and Dean guides him to the passenger seat and opens the door to help
Sam inside. Dean runs around the hood, opens the door to climb behind the wheel
and he takes off driving. He puts his arm up along the top of the back seat,
tugging on Sam's clothing to have him scoot over. Sam does and simply collapses
against Dean.
“When did he call?” Sam stares off in the distance, his gaze blank and empty.
“As soon as I got back to the room.”
“What does he want us to do?”
“Pack up everything and stay at Bobby's for a week.”
Sam turns his face into Dean's shoulder and neck, never knowing how much he
needed his brother until thisvery moment. “I'm glad I still have you.” He
brings his right arm around to hook his hand on Dean's opposite shoulder, his
hand making a fist in the jacket material.
Dean attempts to keep his composure but there's a power in Sam's sadness that
rips at the soul. “—me too, kid... me too...” He manages to drive with watery
eyes as he scratches at Sam's brown locks and presses a quick kiss to the
softness as he soothes Sam into calm.
Winchesters may not have much, but at least they will always have each other.
Dean's got Sam, Sam's got Dean...
~*~the end
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