
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1549904.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Character:
      Sam_Winchester, Dean_Winchester, Bobby_Singer
  Additional Tags:
      John_Finds_Out, Underage_Sam, Bobby's_Good_Parenting, I_love_that_that
      was_a_tag, anyway, Established_Relationship, Pre-Canon, Alternate
      Universe_-_Pre-Canon, Community:_salt_burn_porn
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-05-01 Words: 3175
****** Postcards from a Plane Crash ******
by Whreflections
Summary
     On the way to Bobby’s at the end of June, Sam remembered the book of
     Robert Frost he’d read last fall.
     Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take
     you in.
Notes
     Written in 24 hours for salt_burn_porn over at lj. I wanted it to be
     longer, but I ran out of time, lol
On the way to Bobby’s at the end of June, Sam remembered the book of Robert
Frost he’d read last fall.

Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in.

He wanted to believe it, bad enough that he’d agreed that Bobby’s was exactly
where they should go, but hope was one thing and fear another.  By the time the
Impala crossed the South Dakota line, Sam was chewing at his nails, shuffling
his feet in the floorboard, tugging at the collar of his shirt that seemed
suddenly too tight.  Dean had hardly said a word since Nebraska but he rolled
the windows down to give Sam some air and turned the music up, sang along with
Billy Squire.  It helped a little, not enough, but Sam tried to keep his
nervous hands still.  He could let Dean think it worked, even if it mostly
hadn’t.

They reached Singer Salvage after dark, and Dean killed the lights and sat in
the drive, listening to Rumsfeld bark.  They had a minute at least before Bobby
came out, more than that if he glanced out to see the car and waited in the
house.

“Why don’t you stay in the car, Sam?  I’ll just—“

“No.”  If Bobby was going to tell them to turn around, he’d have to tell them
both.  “Can we just get this over with?”

Dean’s only answer was to get out of the car, but he made no argument when Sam
followed.  Out in the yard, they didn’t have far to go; Bobby waited on the
front steps, just outside the screen door.  Dean shifted to stand square in
front of Sam, his shoulder just brushing Sam’s chest as he stepped into place. 
Sam had already grown enough to tower over him but it didn’t matter; it wasn’t
about size or even strength, it was Dean, being his brother.    The truth of
Dean was so often in his details rather than the hand he chose to show and Sam
could see it in him then; he looked stronger than Sam knew he felt, his
shoulders back and his eyes set.  The fear, that was in the too tight jab of
his hands in his pockets, the smile that wasn’t a smile pulling on his mouth.

“So I’m guessing dad called.”

“Yeah.  Heard from John yesterday.  We had a few words; I thought I might be
having company.  Still got dinner, if you’re hungry.”   Bobby leaned against
the house, took a swig from his flask without taking his eyes off either of
them.  Sam’s mouth had gone too dry for speech and besides, he’d promised Dean
about 400 miles back that if they made it to talking here, he’d let Dean do it.

“So he…you talked to dad.  And he told you what exactly?”

Bobby pushed off from the wall, came to the front of the porch to peer out at
them in the dark.  Moths swarmed around his head, drawn to the light, pinging
against the screen.  “Do I know that he caught the two of you going at it in
the back of the car, is that what you’re fishing after?  Cause I’m not gonna
stand here all night while we talk around it.”

Sam’s heart seemed to be beating somewhere near his throat.  Dean had gone
stiff, his neck so tight Sam could see the rigid line of it past his collar. 
His voice when he spoke again was rougher, uncertain.

“You’re not pissed?”  Sam could’ve kissed him, right then.  They’d agreed on
the way here to tell the truth but it would have been easier then to say that
John was wrong, to find a way that it wasn’t what it looked like, what it
sounded like because it hadn’t always been smooth between Bobby and John and he
and his brother were good liars, both of them.  They could have managed it, but
they didn’t want to.  They’d been hiding over a year already; a lie within a
life made out of lies grew exhausting pretty quick.

“I might get there if you don’t pull your shit outta that car and get in the
house before the damn thing’s full of bugs. “

Until Sam slung his bag across his shoulder and stepped across the threshold,
he hadn’t realized exactly how terrified he’d been, how much had hung on their
welcome to these walls.  His knees felt weak and he turned to thank Bobby only
to find he was already right there, slapping a hand to Sam’s back.

“Come on, Sam.  It’s not the best, but we can put the barbeque back in the oven
and get it hot.  I imagine you boys need to sit down.”

********

They went to bed past midnight, but even though Dean feigned exhaustion he left
their room with as much quiet as he could manage a little after three.  Sam let
him go and he listened, from the top of the stairs and then at the vent, a near
direct line from this guest room to the den downstairs.

“—and I didn’t know what to think, Bobby.  Hell, I was half sure you’d kick us
out the minute we pulled up but it’s not like we had anywhere else to go.  I
mean, Sam, he’s gotta finish school and I can manage figuring that out on my
own if I have to but if we could just stay a few months at least—“

“Do you think I took you in as what, long term boarders?  You oughta know by
now; you’ve got a home here as long as you need it.  Hey, you look at me when
I’m talkin’ to you; I mean that.  You know better than to ever think you
couldn’t come to me; I’ve told you better half a dozen times.  What the hell
were you thinkin’?”

There was a shuffle, the scrape of glass.  Most likely, Bobby was pouring for
both of them.  “You know what he said to me, before we left?  ‘You were
supposed to look out for him.’  Like I’ve done something to him, like I’d ever
force Sam into anything he didn’t want.  I would never—“  The words cracked,
Dean’s voice too thick to hold them.  “I would never.  And I’d kill anyone who
tried; you’ve gotta believe me.”

He left out the part where Sam himself had joined that particular
conversation.  It hadn’t exactly helped, but he hadn’t been able to bear
letting that accusation stand, not when he could see in Dean’s eyes how it had
hit him like a shot.

“I already do.  And I told your daddy as much when he called here after you two
left.”

“Yeah?  And what’d he say to that?”

“He needs time, Dean.  Look, I’m with you on this.  Hell, to be honest, I
suspected something was goin’ on with you two a while back but I wasn’t about
to say a damn thing, though maybe if I had you’d have had the sense to keep
your pants on in the friggin’ motel parking lot.”

“You don’t have to tell me it was stupid, Bobby; I’ve got that covered.”

“Well, you’re not wrong.  It was stupid.  Reckless, downright dangerous
besides.  You know if the wrong person had caught you they could’ve hauled Sam
off, put both you and John in jail?”

“I get it, alright?  Trust me, I’ve been over this a million times; I screwed
up.  It won’t happen again.”

“Sure it will; you’re human.  You’re 21.  Mistakes tend to congregate around
those teens and twenties.  I’ve got a few myself.”

In the silence, Sam could picture Dean on the couch, glass of whiskey in his
hands.  He’d had nearly the same look on his face at every moment he thought
Sam wasn’t looking for the past two days, dark and full of guilt.  For all he’d
said about the two of them sticking together, he hadn’t touched Sam since
they’d left Texas.

“You’re really ok with this?”  Incredulous, a little fearful, even now.

“You spend half your time here back helping me with the cars, Dean.  The way he
looks at you ain’t exactly subtle; I’d have to be blind.”

“Yeah, well obviously dad never noticed.”

“Or he didn’t want to.  You’re his babies; I’m not defending him kicking you
out but that’d be a shock for any man.”

“He didn’t kick us out, Bobby.  He told us it had to stop.  Sam said no.  Same
thing I’d have said myself but if he wanted to stay I could’ve managed it.”

He’d said no, and he’d meant it.  Of all he’d sacrificed over the years for
their father’s sake, Dean wasn’t something he was willing to concede.

There were steps across the wooden floor, Bobby’s, a little heavier on the
heel, a little slower.

“So whose bright idea was it to go out to the car?”

“It’s my fault.”

No, it wasn’t.

“So it was Sam?”

“Doesn’t matter.  I knew better, and I should’ve said something, but I didn’t. 
I didn’t want to.”

They’d been four days stuck in that room or trailing after dad between
libraries and public places.  They hadn’t had five minutes alone together since
they’d reached Dallas and it was driving him nuts.  An hour of watching Dean
sit on the edge of their bed and clean the guns was about all he’d been able to
take.  It was easy to make up his mind, so easy to slip out the door and give
the code that meant follow me.

They should’ve gone farther, should’ve started the car and left the parking lot
and Dean probably would have if Sam had let him, but he didn’t give him the
time.  If he’d had the thought of getting them out on some back road, it had
ceased to matter once Sam pulled him down into the backseat.  No matter what
had come after, the first part remained a memory he wanted to keep, the relief
of Dean’s weight on top of him, the sound he’d made against Sam’s neck when he
put his lips to Dean’s ear and pleaded for his mouth.

“John’ll come around, Dean.  He will.  If he has half the sense I give him
credit for, he’ll see what he’s missing, and he’ll come storming in here one of
these days wondering why you two haven’t come back.”

********

Dean didn’t come to bed until after sunrise, but Sam was waiting on him all the
same.  He was a little drunk, Sam could see it in the way he kicked off his
boots, the way he flopped onto the bed like his muscles gave up the minute he
leaned against the mattress.

“You should’ve gotten some sleep.”

“You should’ve come to bed.”  Sam pressed against his brother’s side, cupped
Dean’s jaw in his hand as he leaned down to kiss him.  He hadn’t shaved since
Texas and his stubble scratched against Sam’s palm, a sensation that set his
skin tingling.  Dean kissed him, barely, carefully, but it was acquiescence,
not acceptance.  It stung, even worse when he stopped and Dean didn’t pull him
back.  Dean could kiss for ages, longer still when he was drunk; Sam had more
than enough experience to know.  “You’re pissed at me.”

“No, Sammy.”  He wasn’t; that much was true.  He’d barely been able to get Dean
to glance at him sideways in the car but here, with Dean looking at up at him,
it was clear that was no anger there, just exhaustion and a hurt Sam ached to
soothe.

“Then you’re gonna have to talk to me, Dean, because we left and then we agreed
to come here and ever since you’ll hardly look at me, so what the hell am I
supposed to think?  If you wanted to stay with dad—“

“That’s not what this is about, Sam.”

“But you did, didn’t you?  You wanted to give up and stay?”

“No, I didn’t!  Jesus, Sam, I…”  He sat up, scrubbed his fingers through his
hair, across his face.  “I don’t know, man; I mean what if he has a point?  You
were sixteen.”

“And if I remember, you were 13 when you fucked that girl in Colorado.”

“This isn’t about me.”

“You’re right it isn’t; so don’t make it about you.”  Sam tugged on Dean’s arm,
enough to make his brother face him.  “Look, your choices, those are on you. 
If you don’t want this, say so for yourself, but don’t put words in my mouth,
and don’t think you ever did.  I knew what I was doing.  I still do.  No one
else has a right to speak for me on that; dad sure as hell doesn’t, but you
don’t either.  If I want this, that’s up to me.”  His fire played out, left the
question he hadn’t wanted to ask, not properly.  Still, he had to.  “But if you
don’t want this, Dean—“

“The hell I don’t.”  Dean caught the front of his t-shirt, pulled forward for a
kiss that was initially more awkward than productive though they found their
rhythm fast.  Sam leaned back then, pulled Dean with him until his legs could
spread around Dean’s hips, until there was nothing but the rough drag of their
clothes between them.  Dean kissed like Dean now, all tongue and heat and
deliberation.  Sam clung to him, his hands roving across Dean’s back, down to
slide his hands into the back pockets of his brother’s jeans.

It was last summer right out back behind an old Pontiac that he’d discovered
the sound Dean made when he did that, the way his hips would twitch, torn
between pressing into Sam’s hands or into his cock.  His hands had grown since
then, not too marked to his own eyes but enough that he could palm Dean’s ass
with a little more ease, a little more force.  Sam spread his legs just a
little wider, kneaded with his hands to encourage the way Dean’s hips had
rocked forward at his touch.

Dean’s mouth tore from his with a gasp.  “Oh fuck.”

Even at a whisper, it made Sam flush with heat.  He nuzzled against Dean’s
cheek, his breath catching at the sandpaper scrape of it.  “Yeah.  I want you
to fuck me.”  He was hungry for as much of Dean as he could have, more now than
he had been days ago.  He needed the closeness, the heat, the burn and stretch
of Dean’s cock, the sharp electric jolt he always felt when Dean came inside
him.

“I can’t, Sammy.  Not tonight.”  He sounded wrecked, like he hated it, and Sam
remembered.  The lube was in the floorboard in the back; it had to be.  It had
been in Dean’s pocket, knocked out when he stripped out of his jeans.  He’d
have been willing to take without, would have been willing to try at least but
Dean wouldn’t have gone it for it he knew, and it didn’t matter- before he
could ask, Dean’s fingers were sliding past his lips.  He sucked hard, laved
his tongue at the underside of Dean’s knuckles.  He tasted like sweat and
whiskey.

Sam had stripped down to his boxers before he’d gotten into bed hours ago and
Dean pulled them down with one hand, Sam’s cock coming free to brush against
Dean’s wrist.  He didn’t take it, shifted instead to pull his fingers from
Sam’s mouth and trail them down between his legs.

He didn’t tease, not this time, and the press of even one finger inside without
preamble was such a sweet shock the Sam twisted and moaned, pressing down onto
his brother’s hand.  He hadn’t meant to make a sound, really he hadn’t, though
he was more shocked at the jolt of heat that slammed through him when Dean’s
free hand pressed hot and heavy over his mouth.

“If we’re gonna do this here, you need to keep it down.”

He did, he knew, because sure Bobby knew and he could bear that, but if he
could hear them up here fucking surely that’d be different, that’d be more than
they could ask, more than he could take.  He knew that, but there was something
in Dean’s force, his desperation.  Sam’s neck arched, his whimper muffled
against Dean’s palm.  His cock was leaking; he could feel it slide across his
stomach, wetting his shirt where it had started to slide back down.

“Jesus, you get off on that don’t you?”  For a minute he caught Dean’s eyes,
dark with lust and devotion, and then his head was dipping to whisper against
Sam’s ear.   “We can do that, if it’s what you want.  You can bite down if you
need to, Sammy; go on.”  His second finger slid into Sam beside the first, spit
slick but with a little burn because it’d been a week at least since Dean
fucked him and he was tight but Dean kept the movement of his fingers steady
and slow, crooked them just right until Sam’s hips were jerking, sharp and
beyond his control.  “That’s it, baby, just let it go, let it go, Sammy.”

As he came, he bit down hard on Dean’s palm.  Dean swore, sharp and breathless,
and Sam stored up the words he’d whisper as soon as Dean let him.

If we’re gonna do this here, Dean, you need to keep it down.

********

They spent the summer in the salvage yard.  If not for the constancy of the
stay, it wouldn’t have seemed any different than a dozen other months they’d
spent at this place.  If John called, Bobby never told them.

In the fall Sam started Roosevelt high school, his junior year when he should
have been a senior because of all the moves they’d made, but he couldn’t find
it in him to care.

It was October when Dean took his first hunt alone since they’d moved, a spirit
out in Oregon.  He’d been gone for over a week when Sam came home to find that
Bobby had tossed the mail on the kitchen counter where he’d find it, a postcard
on top with “Greetings from Oregon” sprawled in bright color across a view of
pines overlooking the pacific.

On the back, Dean had written in a sprawling hand, unhurried.

I don’t know if you remember, but you used to always want to buy these when you
were little, said if we had a house they could be there waiting for us to get
back.  I kept a few for a while in the back of the car, but it never worked
out.  

I’ll be here till the next new moon.  After that, give me a day or so and I’ll
be coming home.  See you soon, Sammy.

Sam put it on the fridge, took it down, taped it to the mirror and did the
same.  In the end he taped it to a wall in the bedroom, top corner.  If he was
going to collect the things, he might as well leave room for more.
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