Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/5602861.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      Porn_What_Plot, Pre-Series, Alternate_Universe_-_Canon, Homophobia,
      Language, Fluff, Schmoop, So_much_schmoop, Slight_Violence, teen!Sam,
      Protective_Dean_Winchester, One_True_Pairing, Barebacking, Established
      Relationship, Incest
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-01-01 Words: 4882
****** you've haunted me all my life ******
by retts
Summary
     Dean skims his mouth along Sam's jaw, pushing his nose under his ear
     to take a lungful of him, that apple-sweet smell Dean knows from when
     he was still a kid himself and he used to give Sam baths in the tub.
     There's a reason why Dean still buys the same shampoo.
     Their shared childhood should sit heavy and wrong in his stomach, but
     it doesn't. Only has him aching because it means that Sam was his
     back then, is his right now, and will still be his in the future.
Notes
     first fic of the year and it's wincest. spn isn't even my fandom but
     wincest is my otp? don't even ask.
     title comes from the song of the same name by dcfc, from their latest
     album. i reckon dean would hate them lol
     unbeta'd, so you know, all my mistakes, but i've done my best to go
     over this with a fine-toothed comb. also, haven't written in ages so
     this one might be kind of rough eep
 
The bar's exactly the kind of dive that Dean knows he shouldn't be doing this
here. This being: his hand located in an area that might be considered
inappropriate on Sam's lower back. Lower than lower. Dean can't help it,
though, especially not when Sam scowls at him over his shoulder.
Dean beams back at him.
'Stop it, Dean,' says Sam as he wriggles away from between Dean and the pool
table. Or tries to, but Dean subtly leans forward to block him. Sam elbows him
in the gut. 'Location, man!'
'I'm blocking you from view,' Dean teases, waits a second or two, and then
pulls back. Sam sidesteps away and heads to the front of the table, his face
set in that moue Dean loves so much. Dean's grin widens as he holds his little
brother's glare.
Eventually, Sam breaks contact with a roll of his eyes. 'You're such a jerk,
Dean,' he snaps but the corners of his mouth quirk up reluctantly.
Pleased with himself, Dean tips him a wink. 'Aw, Sammy, you know I love you
too. Come on, I'm not done beating your ass yet.'
'Cause that doesn't sound dirty or anything,' mutters Sam but he lines up his
cue and takes a shot. His shirt stretches across his ever-broadening shoulders
as he moves. Dean leans on his cue and leers openly at him, enjoying the view
as Sam goes around the table to sink a few more balls in.
The music from the jukebox and the chatter of people fall under his focus as it
narrows down to Sam and whatever space he's in. Sometimes Dean can't believe
that the little brother he's painstakingly looked after has turned into this
tall, moody, headstrong teenager who likes to do research more than the actual
hunting itself. It drives Dad nuts, and Dean too, except he's also fucking
proud whenever Sam comes up with a bit of lore or fact that cracks a case. Like
the one with the nasty poltergeist they just finished tonight with nothing
worse than a bit of bruising to take home to Dad. It's one of the reasons why
Dad trusts them enough to go hunting on their own during summers.
'That was really good work earlier, Sammy,' Dean tells him after Sam misses a
shot and it goes wide, bumping against the far end of the pool table.
Sam brushes the fringe from his eyes and bites down on his smile; his dimples
peek through anyway. 'I know, Dean.'
'You do, dontcha? Too smart for your own good, geek boy.' Dean grins with a
raised eyebrow. 'But I reckon we make a pretty good team.'
'Hmm.' Sam grabs his beer on the table and takes a small sip. He watches Dean
sink the remaining balls into the pockets with a crooked little smile that's
more amused than exasperated. Dean's the one who taught Sam how to play pool,
and Dean can't have his baby brother beating him tonight or anytime soon. The
kid's brilliant at a lot of things, Dean won't deny that -- is usually the
first one to brag about Sammy even without any prompting -- but pool is his
thing. Dean shoots in the last ball with a flourish, and a little bit of hip
action for the crowd, and tosses a triumphant smirk Sam's way.
Sam rolls his eyes for the thousandth time. One of these days his eyes'll pop
out like Dad's always telling him. 'Oh yeah, you're a real humble winner,
Dean,' drawls Sam.
'They should put this in the Olympics and I'd win every time.'
'Sure, right before the werewolf wrestling contest.'
'Man, we'd totally tag team that one. Huntin' Olympics,' says Dean gleefully,
wagging his eyebrows at his brother.
Sam laughs with a shake of his head. 'We could enter as a pair, wipe out the
competition.'
'Winchesters for the gold!' He lifts the cue above his head and mimes a victory
wave for an imaginary audience.
'You're so stupid, Dean.' His sweet smile takes the usual sting out of the
words, though. Usually Sam's snapping them in ways that sound more genuine but
tonight, it's all about fun and affection and Dean can jump right behind that.
Easily.
'Want another one?' Dean points at Sam's nearly empty beer. Sam's just about
tall enough now to get away with being older than he is despite the baby face,
and shithole bars don't really care as long as someone pays. There's a reason
why Dean loves places like these.
Still, Sam's so frustratingly lily-white sometimes, and he just shrugs. 'Nah.
Got a nice buzz already.'
'Suit yourself, wuss. I'm getting 'nother one. Take this, yeah?'
Sam takes the cue and Dean ruffles his hair before Sam can duck away, chuckling
at the indignant yelp Sam lets out.
'Asshole,' he hears Sam call after him.
'Hey, cut it off if you don't want me pulling on it,' Dean tells him, then
throws Sam a look that clearly says he better not do it or else. Sam flips him
off.
Dean orders another beer and leans an elbow on the counter as he waits,
checking out the game on the small TV above the bar. Someone brushes past him
and gets a bit too close, clipping Dean roughly on the shoulder.
'Whoa,' says Dean as he catches his balance, head whipping around to look at
the guy. 'Watch it, bud.'
The guy sneers at him. 'You watch it, fag.'
Dean's eyes narrow. He straightens to his full height, which is just a couple
of inches shorter than the other guy's, but Dean's not even close to being
intimidated. A huge vampire nest? Sure, that'll get him quaking in his boots,
but this guy's all too human and plenty stupid because he steps closer to Dean
and says, 'That's right, you heard me, filthy fucking fag, why don't you get
out of here and take your whore with you. We don't need your kind infectin'
this place.'
'What did you call Sam?' asks Dean, quiet-deadly.
'His name's Sam, huh?' The guy's gaze goes past Dean's shoulder and his smirk
twists into something that has Dean's vision going black at the edges. 'I'm not
touchin' one but I can see why you keep him around. Cocksucking whore by the
looks of them lips. I heard what you said. You pull his hair too when he goes
down on you, call him Sammy -- '
The guy staggers back from the strength of Dean's punch, and he's still
stumbling when Dean lands another solid hit to his nose. There's a loud crack,
followed by a rush of blood, and Dean's just getting started. His face and
chest feel hot, and his blood even hotter, and Dean gets his knee into the
asshole's groin in a viscerally satisfying way. Dimly, he's aware of people
yelling and knocking things over, but he doesn't pay them any attention because
this son of a bitch isn't getting away after insulting Sam, calling him "Sammy"
when only Dean gets to say that name. No one else.
' -- Dean, Dean, stop! Dean!' Strong, insistent hands try to pull him away and
Dean nearly slugs Sam as he's spun around but Sam knows him just as well and
easily blocks it. Sam's eyes are huge and pleading, and the sight of them tugs
on Dean's softer instincts. Sam should never have to look at Dean like that.
Dean blinks and the world comes rushing back again.
The barman is shouting curses at Dean and one of the waitresses has the phone
pressed to her ear. Two guys are trying to help the asshole up to his feet but
he's still clutching his groin and howling. The other patrons are pointing and
staring and muttering, and Dean knows when it's time to make an exit. Now.
'Come on, Sammy,' mutters Dean, grabbing Sam's wrist. They make their way to
the front door, Sam keeping close to him, and the crowd parts easily for them
despite more than a few disgruntled words thrown their way.
The night air outside is bracing and Dean sucks in a deep breath that's more of
a gasp as the adrenaline gives a final surge. His hands ache something fierce
and the knuckles are split and raw-looking. He fumbles with the keys before he
opens the door to the Impala and slips inside. Dean unlocks the passenger door
and Sam hops in without saying a word. They can hear sirens in the distance as
Dean peels out of the driveway and onto the road.
When they've cleared the bar and there's nothing but darkness in the highway
behind them, Dean shakes his head and slams his open palm against the steering
wheel, making Sam jump in his seat. 'Fuck!' he shouts and thumps the wheel
again. Hitting his beloved car only makes him angrier. 
'Dean,' says Sam warily, slowly, 'what happened back there?'
Dean cuts a glare at Sam and Sam flinches. Instantly, Dean feels contrite. He
sucks in a sharp breath and reaches out to grasp Sam by the back of his neck.
Sam leans in closer, eyes dark with worry.
'I'm sorry,' sighs Dean, and out with it goes the rage. He keeps an eye on the
road but his fingers sink into the soft hair on Sam's nape, letting Sam's
warmth and closeness ground him. 'I'm sorry, Sammy.'
'What the hell happened?' Sam asks again, and this time he's more insistent.
'What did that guy do?'
No way is Dean going to repeat what that asshole said to Sam. 'Nothin', he was
just a another jackass. You know guys like that.'
Sam makes a face. 'Uh-huh, you can be one too but nobody's punched you for it.
Yet.'
Dean grits his teeth and squeezes Sam's neck in warning. 'Watch it, Sam.'
Sighing, Sam says, 'Pull over for a minute, Dean.'
'No.'
'Come on, man. I wanna check your hands. They gotta hurt. Please, Dee.'
Dean makes the mistake of glancing at his little brother who's got the whole
puppy-dog look down to a fucking art. Have done since he was a five and learned
that it would make Dean do anything he wanted. Dean curses under his breath and
lets go of Sam. They're already too many miles away from danger but it's still
risky to just park in the highway so Dean turns into a small road when he spies
a sign for some lake.
Sam twists around in his seat to search for the medical kit amongst their bags
scattered in the backseat. Dean parks in a secluded spot by the small lake and
cuts off the engine. The sudden silence around them is staggering and Dean's
fingers twitch on the wheel as he peers out the windshield and into the trees.
Moonlight reflects off the surface of the lake and it's enough light to vaguely
pick out the angles of Sam's face.
'This is a great place to be hacked by a couple of incestuous hillbillies, or
stumble into a werewolf pack,' Dean muses as he puts his gun on the dashboard
where he can easily reach for it if anything does happen.
Sam throws him a dirty look as he opens the kit on his lap. 'Except we're
probably the incestuous hillbillies in your scenario. Hands, please.'
Dean makes a great show of how put off he is as he sticks his hands out to Sam.
He flexes his fingers and hides a wince.
'Don't call yourself a hillbilly, baby brother. We got more class than that.'
Sam rolls his eyes but he's gentle when he takes Dean's right hand and inspects
it under the torch. Dean won't admit it but he loves it when Sam takes care of
him when he's been hurt. It's a role reversal that makes Dean feel like he's
the centre of Sam's attention, makes him almost preen because Sam cares enough
to worry, fucked up as that sounds. One of the irrefutable laws of their lives
is that Dean is always the one who will look after Sam. Even though he knows
Sam can take care of himself, has made sure of it so Dean can rely on him
during hunts, it's still pretty impossible to stop himself from taking hits
away from Sam if Dean can have them. He hates seeing Sam in pain, hates the
sight of bruises and blood on his baby brother, and he'll do anything he can to
protect him. Dean knows he's messed up for his brother but he can't help it.
Sam's everything, forever.
Obviously, Sam knows it too.
'Dean, I'm not an idiot, you know,' Sam tells him as he bends over Dean's hands
to clean them up. 'I can guess at what happened.'
'Bet you can't,' mutters Dean.
Sam glares at him through his overlong hair and Dean knows that Sam's eyebrow
is cocked up even though he can't see it through his fringe. 'Raging asshole
thinks we're fucking and overprotective older brother who thinks it's his job
to defend my virtue?'
'Yeah, well, that is my job, Sammy,' says Dean, flexing his fingers in Sam's
grip. 'What are you gonna do about it?'
'Dean, you don't have to do that stuff. Whatever it was, it wasn't worth it,
okay?'
'It was, too me! Nobody gets away with talking shit 'bout you. Not when they
say it to my face.'
'It was probably true anyway,' Sam says sullenly as he throws the used alcohol
swab back in the kit.
'Sam!' Dean barks, and grabs his brother's wrist. 'Don't fucking say that, you
don't even know what he said!'
'I can guess.' When Dean scowls at him, Sam lets out a frustrated breath and
closes the kit with one hand and tosses it back into the backseat. 'Look, Dean,
I just don't want you to get hurt, okay? Like, pointlessly, when there's no
need for it. Man, if you hate seeing me get hurt, then it's the same thing for
me. You're so stupid sometimes that you don't get that.'
Dean's anger slowly melts away as he looks at his brother. Sam's biting down on
his bottom lip, eyelashes lowered and gaze averted as if embarrassed by what
he's said, and Dean's embarrassed for him too, he really is, but he also feels
lit up in a way that only Sam can do. These days if they're not fucking then
they're fighting because Sam is growing up too fast and Dean thinks Sam wants
to grow up away from their family, away from Dean, and that frightens Dean in a
way that vampires and ghouls and the other things that go bump in the night
can't. So Dean tries too hard with Sam and forgets, sometimes, that Sam loves
him back. They wouldn't be doing what they're doing if Sam doesn't.
'Alright, maybe I do go overboard sometimes,' Dean admits, and gently shoves
Sam's shoulder when Sam lets out an insulting snort. 'I won't go punching
around douchebags who call you names anymore.' Dean stops to think about it.
'Well, unless they tell you directly to your face or mine. Or I hear 'em
whispering it. Or -- '
'Oh my God, shut up, you're so hopeless,' says Sam with a little laugh, 'you're
just going to be, to be so you for the rest of our lives.'
Dean smiles broadly; he likes the sound of that. 'What can I say, I'm awesome.'
'Sure, Dean, it's a free world,' Sam deadpans, and Dean has to punish that with
a bite to the lip. Only it's not punishment because Sam hums in pleasure and
leans into the sensation, and Dean takes the hint and softly sucks Sam's lower
lip between his teeth and pulls.
Sam grabs a fistful of Dean's shirt and drags him closer, his tongue snaking
out to lick slowly at Dean's mouth. It makes Dean's blood boil in a completely
different way from anger but the effects are the same. His vision narrows down
to Sam (nothing new, that) and each touch draws them in like magnets until
they're pressed close together, lips swollen with kisses, hands roaming under
shirts. Dean skims his mouth along Sam's jaw, pushing his nose under his ear to
take a lungful of him, that apple-sweet smell Dean knows from when he was still
a kid himself and he used to give Sam baths in the tub. There's a reason why
Dean still buys the same shampoo.
Their shared childhood should sit heavy and wrong in his stomach, but it
doesn't. Only has him aching because it means that Sam was his back then, is
his right now, and will still be his in the future. He crossed that line where
he should have stayed taking care of Sam like any good brother would a long
time ago. And the miracle is that Sam let him, keeps on letting him; like now,
tilting his head back so Dean can suck a mark on his collarbone that has Sam
whimpering, holding him even closer. They're bruises that Dean doesn't mind Sam
having because they're from him, and they never fail to get him rock hard
whenever he spots them peeking from behind Sam's shirt collar.
'Dean,' Sam gasps as he clambers over Dean's lap. It's a tight fit because
they're not exactly small but Dean slides across the bench seat to where Sam
can straddle him without the wheel or the gear shift digging into his back. The
air in the car quickly turns hot as they rock against each other, breathing
hard through their mouths. Dean has his hands under Sam's shirt, fingertips
dragging up and down smooth skin as he nips his way across Sam's neck.
'This is a bad idea to do this here,' Sam says breathlessly. His own fingers
are busy pinching Dean's nipple through his shirt. Dean moans and Sam's lips
catches the sound, tongue swallowing it right up.
'You wanted to stop here, Sammy.'
'To, to -- ah, Dean! -- check out your hands, not this.' Despite his words, Sam
rubs down on Dean's dick, a rough drag against denim that has Dean thrusting up
sharply.
'Well, you're getting a whole lotta hand here, Sammy.' Dean smirks as he
reaches down and cups Sam's cock through his jeans. Dean stares at Sam devoutly
as Sam braces himself over Dean and grinds down on Dean's palm, a small noise
caught in the back of his throat. Dean's so turned on that he's dizzy with it,
and he just wants to -- 'Jesus, Sammy,' he says, voice rougher than sand,
'wanna fuck you right here, right now.'
Sam bites his lip and watches Dean through half-lidded eyes. His hips move in
an almost lazy motion and Dean rucks Sam's shirt up under his arms and leans
forward to suck on a pretty pink nipple. Dean knows having sex outdoors, in the
car, where anybody -- and anything -- can stumble over them is pretty much the
worst idea ever, but it's impossible to tear himself away from Sam on a good
day and this, Sam shirtless and grinding against him, is fucking Christmas.
It's a struggle to get both their jeans unbuttoned and there are stray elbows
into vulnerable parts before Sam is forced to scoot back onto the passenger
side so he can kick off his pants. His knee jars under the glove compartment
and he gives a tiny pained yelp, and Dean can't help but laugh even as he
reaches out to rub the spot. Sam pushes his hair off his face and pouts at him,
and Dean kisses the side of his lips in apology and sinks a hand into his thick
hair, tugging a little and giving him a knowing smile. Sam gets it and goes
with little protest, just a roll of his eyes in the faint moonlight, but he
eagerly grabs Dean's dick and bends down to suck on the wet head of it. Dean's
had his cock sucked countless times before but the sight of his little
brother's pushy mouth stretched wide around it still feels like a punch in the
gut. His belly clenches and he thrusts up a little carelessly into Sam.
He's panting like a dog in heat, petting Sam's hair and keeping his face right
where Dean wants it. Sam opens his mouth wider, sinking slowly on Dean's cock
before going back up, tongue trailing along the pulsing vein. It's wet and
warm, and Sam fondles Dean's balls as he deliberately chokes himself on his
brother's dick.
The groan rips itself from Dean's throat, and his eyes are clenched so tightly
he's seeing stars in the dark. 'God, Sammy, you're gonna be the death of me,'
he says, vowels slurring together, pleasure-drunk. He thumbs at Sam's hot cheek
and slides it down until he's touching the corner of Sam's occupied mouth. 'You
blow me so well, so pretty on my dick. Love having it in your mouth, Sammy?
'Cause I love it, God, it's so good, you're so good.' Dean stares down hungrily
at where Sam is just nuzzling the head now, honest to God slurping on precome
as he stares back at Dean with this hungry look on his face that has Dean
urging Sam back on his lap so he can slot their mouths and hips together. The
faux-leather creaks under their bodies, and Dean pushes his fingers in between
their tongues, kissing Sam through them.
When his fingers are good and wet, Dean dips them behind Sam's back, down to
where his ass curves invitingly. The first touch on his hole has Sam murmuring
nonsense, pushing his ass into the middle finger pressing lightly against him
until it slips inside to the first knuckle. Sam buries his face into Dean's
neck, panting harshly and whimpering Dean's name over and over in between
hitching breaths that drive sharply into Dean's gut. It takes a while because
they're just using spit but Dean eventually manages to get three fingers and
half a pinky into Sam's rim before Sam bites Dean's shoulder and pushes away,
staring at Dean with wet eyes and parted lips, cheeks so ruddy Dean can feel
the heat of it, like fever.
God, being as beautiful as Sam should be illegal. Dean almost can't stand how
much he loves him.
'You ready, baby?' Dean asks thickly, licking at Sam's jaw and down under it.
He slowly twists his fingers and then shoves up and in, and Sam's belly goes
concave on a sharp inhale. 'You good to take my cock, huh?'
'Fuck, fuck me, uh, please,' Sam says, voice breaking at the end, and Dean
drags his lips wetly back up to Sam's. Dean replaces his fingers with his dick,
sliding in one long, smooth stroke with how loose and warm Sam has gotten, and
Sam throws his head back with a drawn out groan as Dean bottoms out somewhere
in his guts, he's in so deep. It makes Dean a little crazy, and he sets his
teeth on the vulnerable stretch of his baby brother's neck, his lizard brain
purring in satisfaction. Sam clutches at Dean's sweaty shoulders with blunt
fingernails, their breathing harsh in the quiet. They're frozen for an endless
moment, just feeling each other in poignantly close distance, and then Dean
bites down on Sam's neck a little harder.
'D-Dean,' Sam stutters back to life, already wrecked and half-wild as his hips
twitch, and one of his hands slide up to grip Dean's blushing ear, tugging
urgently. 'Dee, please, I need you, Dean, you, Dean -- '
Fucking music to Dean's ears, and he murmurs, 'Yeah, Sammy, you got me, I'm
here, love you,' shushing Sam second nature to him. Dean rolls his hips up and
Sam trips over his words, his brother who prides himself on always having
something to say about anything; who wields words like Dean uses his gun to
strike at him and Dad.
(But there are times when Sam also says things that break Dean's heart in a
fucking spectacular way -- soft and tender things and wild and funny things and
clever and ordinary things.)
Dean lets Sam's throat go so he can look at him as he starts thrusting into Sam
in earnest, using all the strong muscles in his core to really fuck Sam good
and hard. His hands will leave bruises on Sam's hips, and his dick will leave
Sam sore for days, and that never fucking fails to eat away at Dean's sanity.
Sam is past words now, spreading his knees as wide as the space will allow him
so he can tilt his hips in exactly the right angle for Dean to hit his sweet
spot over and over. Little sounds escape his throat with every thrust, and Dean
snarls because he fucking loves those sounds, and he fucking loves his brother
beyond reason, so much that sometimes Dean can't even think around the
SamSamSam resounding in his head and heart and cock, like right now, like every
moment in his life ever since Sam was born. Dean grabs tighter onto Sam's ass,
crushes their mouths together, and it's good, it's so good it's unbelievable.
Sam almost wrenches Dean's ear off as he comes, damn near screaming from it,
his untouched cock jerking and weeping in the tight space between their
bellies. Sam slumps forward into Dean, dead weight, and Dean licks his lips as
he chases after his own orgasm, thrusting into Sam with abandon and Sam letting
him, God, just curling into Dean even more so he can smear lazy kisses all over
Dean's lips and cheek and the ear that Sam's still holding on to.
'Sam, Sam, Sammy,' Dean all but chants, and he knocks his elbow against the
door as he arches up, lost in that perfect physical pleasure before coming back
to himself and finding Sam tucked all around him, their limbs tangled despite
the sweat and the heat and come everywhere.
'Endorphins are fucking brilliant,' Dean mumbles into Sam's slick cheek when
he's found his breath.
'Uh-huh,' Sam agrees with a huff of laughter. 'Even though we're all gross,
it's great.' He stays plastered to his big brother.
'We'll need to air out the car before we get home.'
Sam nods again. 'Shower first, though.'
Dean peels away from Sam with a groan, and kisses Sam on the forehead. 'Food,
too. I'm starvin'.'
Sam winces as he gets off of Dean's softening cock. He snatches Dean's shirt
and wipes at his leaking ass before Dean can even blink.
'Dude, use your own shirt!' Dean says, affronted.
Sam bats his eyelashes at him. 'But yours was the nearer one, Dean.'
Dean pinches Sam's nipple, smirking when Sam's breath catches. 'Sneaky little
bitch.'
Proving that he's still a kid through and through, Sam sticks his tongue out at
Dean and then makes the most hilariously fussy face when more come drips down
the back of his thighs. Dean laughs, absurdly fond, and continues cussing out
Sam for using his shirt. Dean wrestles clean shirts out from their bags and
tosses one at Sam. They put their clothes back on and crank down the windows to
let the thick, musky smell of sex out. Dean turns on the Impala and backs out
of the trail and onto the highway once more. Feeling mellow, Dean rests his arm
on top of the seat, and Sam leans his head against it. The highway stretches
out for miles and miles and more miles, and Dean decides against playing some
hard rock in favour of the peaceful quiet around them.
The silence is only broken once, when Sam clears his throat and says, 'So,
like, what you did back there in the bar? You shoulda not done it, but, you
know, it was, well, not good, but appreciated. I guess.'
'You guess?' asks Dean playfully, and grabs Sam by the scruff to give him a
gentle shake.
'Whatever, Dean, you know what I mean.'
'Real eloquent, baby brother.'
'I taught you that word,' says Sam.
'Fuck you, Mrs. Johnson from third grade totally taught me that word and then I
told you, goddamn nerd.'
Sam sighs with a shake of his head like he's completely fed up with Dean but
his lips are pulled up in a smile, and really, his ever-present dimples are all
the thanks Dean will ever need.
It's pretty late when Dad checks in on them just as they're pulling into the
lot of one more motel in a long chain of them that they've stayed in for most
of their lives.
Sam answers the call and walks Dad through their successful hunt, shoulders
hunched up like they do when he's on the defensive about something but Dean can
hear his voice through the lobby door, almost shy-sounding as he tells Dad that
it was his idea that saved their asses from a poltergeist beating. Dean grins
to himself and goes up to the front desk, tapping the fake plastic surface to
get the attention of the bored guy behind it.
Dean smiles brightly at the poor, pitiful sod whose life can never be as
awesome as Dean's and asks for a room with a single bed.
This is going to be the best summer yet.
 
 
 
 
 
 
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