
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/10447254.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester, Dean_Winchester/Original_Female_Character
      (s)
  Character:
      Dean_Winchester, Sam_Winchester, Original_Female_Character(s)
  Additional Tags:
      Weecest, Consensual_Underage_Sex, Implied/Referenced_Underage
      Prostitution, Established_Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester, Wincest_-
      Freeform, Possessive_Behavior, Eating_Disorders, Feminization,
      Weechesters, Absent_John_Winchester, John_Winchester's_A+_Parenting,
      Jealousy, Child_Neglect, Angst, Incest, Sibling_Incest, Pre-Canon,
      Bulimia, I_live_for_weecest_pet_names, Slight_gender_dysphoria, Coming
      Untouched, Coming_In_Pants, Unresolved_Romantic_Tension
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-03-29 Words: 2306
****** Primadonna Girl ******
by Shameless_Weeb_Lacking_A_Filter
Summary
     Sammy's got a secret and Dean's got a girl. It's 1997 and everything
     that used to make sense doesn't anymore.
     Or; John leaves his boys alone for two months and they do what they
     can to get by.
Notes
     I don't usually gift works to people I don't know personally, but I
     don't know, man. 'Gutless' fucked me up good. It's a present for
     livv, too, because she's my best friend and I promised.
     Also this turned out hella short and I'm sorry.
Her name is Lila Brown.
She wears coral lipstick and flannel shirts with the first four buttons undone.
She likes beanies and her tits are so huge that Sam's surprised she can even
walk without falling on her face. She swears like Dad when he's drunk and
Dean's basically in love with her.
Dean likes tall girls. Willowy brunettes. Big brown doe eyes and dimpled
smiles. Lila is an anomaly, short with blonde hair that shines like expensive
shampoo and blue eyes to match.
It breaks Sam's heart.
 
"Y'know why I pick all those girls, don't you, Sammy?"
Sam doesn't, and says as much as Dean's fingers slip inside him, spit-slick and
searching.
"They look so much like you, baby boy," he angles his hand a funny way and
brushes a spot that makes Sam gasp. His breath is hot, wet puffs by Sam's ear,
tongue swiping a line up Sam's neck. "It's easy to pretend."
 
She's pretty, in a Midwest dime-store kind of way. She doesn't look even a bit
like Sam, and instead of drowning himself in what that could possibly mean, he
decides that her personality must be so similar to his that it doesn't even
matter what she looks like.
It isn't. Or maybe it is and Sam just can't recognize himself in other people.
Either way, Sam hates her guts, and if he had friends he's pretty sure that
they'd hate her bitch ass too.
Ever since she showed up, Dean hasn't touched him once. There used to be at
least promises of touching, filthy words whispered against cherry-balm lips and
traced against the zip of Sam's jeans. Now there's nothing, just rambles about
Lila and her eyes like the ocean and how good she is with her tongue.
 
 
CVS carries razors and lipgloss and a million other tiny little bottles that
Sam's decided he needs desperately, like a painted face will bring his brother
back into his bed. He buys it with money saved up from meeting older men on
street corners and hopes that Dean doesn't notice the missing cash.
There's another store in that same shopping center that sells ladies'
delicates. Sam has a pair hidden in his pocket and he's out the door before the
lady who runs it can even blink.
Dean likes tall girls.
Sam's tall.
He can be a girl if that's what Dean wants.
 
The razor catches a few times on his knees and ankles as he shaves everything
smooth, and he cries in the tub, bleeding and curled up on himself until the
water runs cold. Sometimes it feels like he fucks up everything he tries.
Lila's coming over tomorrow night, to their shitty little motel room, and
Dean's gonna fuck her while Sam sleeps not ten feet away.
The thought's enough to make him shave everywhere, frantic and desperate. Girls
don't have hairy legs and Dean only likes girls.
 
 
The next day, Dean takes Lila to a diner, all gentleman-like to make her put
out, and Sam tags along-- like Hell he's gonna let this bitch-harpie alone with
his brother. No one says anything about the shimmery pink polish on his nails
or the matching gloss on his lips. The sides of his hot pink thong peek over
the top of his jeans, hidden by his shirt, and Sam wriggles in his seat like
he's got a secret.
Dean doesn't ask about the cuts on his arms and legs left by the razor either,
but Lila does, wondering aloud if everything's okay, if he needs to see the
school counselor because she's apparently a very nice woman and wouldn't it be
nice to be listened to for once? 
It takes Sam a minute to realize that she thinks he's cutting himself and when
he does he laughs right in her beautiful fucking face.
"No,"he wants to say, just to see the look on her face."They're cuts from
shaving. Why? Not that it's any of your business, but I was hoping to get
laid."
"No, no, it's nothing like that," he says instead, his smile so plastic that
Dean narrows his eyes. "It was a dare, is all."
Lila isn't satisfied.
"A dare? To cut yourself? Sammy, maybe you should get new friends--"
"My name isn't Sammy," he snaps, and goes to the bathroom to wash his face
because if he spends another second with that girl he'll explode.
 
 
He's splashing water on his face when Dean comes in, creeping up behind him and
grabbing Sam's dick like some kind of pervert.
Sam moans anyway, leaning back into his older brother. He'd missed this so
much. Dean's hard against his ass, grinding himself up and down real slow.
"You like that, you little slut?" Dean growls in his ear, hot and breathy. "All
dolled up like this for me. God, the stuff you do to me, kid."
 
"Fuck, kid, just like that, gonna make me cream my pants like some fucking
teenager." The man doesn't know Sam's name and Sam doesn't know his, only knows
that his pockets are fat and loose and that he'll give it all up to be buried
eight-inch deep in little boy.
 
"Wanted you so bad, Dean," Sam gasps, breath catching as Dean's hand moves up
and down on his cock. "She took you from me and I wanted you so bad."
Dean's hips stutter against his ass and his hand dips inside Sam's jeans.
"Fuck, Sammy, you--" he can't seem to finish, focusing instead on feeling
exactly how bare Sam is down there. His fingers trace over the patterns of
bright pink lace and Sam shivers.  
"I did, so that you can fuck me. God, I want you to fuck me."
"Want me to fuck you right here, Sammy? In a dirty restaurant bathroom?" Dean
gives a low whistle. "That's some kinky shit right there, baby brother."
Not half as kinky as how Sam leaks when Dean calls him 'baby brother'. That's
exactly what Sam wants: for Dean to ruin him, wants to feel him inside for
hours, days, weeks. Wants to soak through his shorts with just Dean's come and
feel like he's owned.
"No," he chokes out. "Not here. Not with her."
"Gotta make a decision, baby," Dean huffs, breathless laughter on the back of
Sam's neck. "Can't go changing your mind every minute." 
He slurs all his words together the way he does when he's mindlessly happy, and
Sam feels a hundred rocks drop into his stomach. 
"Can't do it, De. Can't do it with her in the other room." The look on his
brother's face is innocent puppy confusion, distress setting in on the edges.
It's the first time Sam's denied him. 
Dean makes an affronted noise but doesn't argue, pushing into a stall and
getting himself off, making the same little noises he makes every time he comes
fast and hard. Sam can picture the faces he makes that match those sounds. Can
picture Dean's calloused hand stroking himself to completion and getting come
all on his fingers, less of it than usual 'cause of his new girl's tongue.
Sam slumps down on the counter, a wet spot at the front of his jeans.
Sam hates Lila Brown.
 
 
The thing about Lila isn't how much she talks. It isn't even that she starts
every other sentence with, "I hate to be that girl, but..."(which, admittedly,
pisses him off. If she really hated being 'that girl', then she wouldn't be
'that girl').
The thing is that she acts as if she knows who they are.
She eyes their bruises and scars like she knows their stories, plays up
sympathetic glances, pretends she knows that Dean Winchester is made of broken
stereo systems and car engines and a love for his little brother. That's what
gets Sam the most.
'Cause Lila doesn't know shit.
She doesn't know that in the hour before they picked her up, Sam made Dean come
twice just with his mouth, sucking his dick in their daddy's car on the drive
over.
She doesn't know that in a month John will come back drunk and no closer to
finding Mary's killer than he was this time last year.
She doesn't know that there's a werewolf two towns over that Dean's thinking of
hunting, but Sam won't let him.
She's just some flavor-of-the-week bimbo that thinks she's special, and if
there's one thing Sam hates more than a whore it's an ignorant one.
 
"Ain't nothin' but a stupid whore." It's a deal gone wrong, Sam'd gotten too
cocky, gotten picked up by the wrong guy. A guy involved in far worse things
than child prostitution. "You think you're hot shit, don't ya? Fuckin' bitch
boy." He spits in Sam's face. "You're just a dumb whore who don't know shit
about nothin'."
"You're wrong," Sam croaks, and the guy drives the message home with his fist.
 
 
 
 
Sam gets nightmares, sometimes. 
Monsters and fathers and house fires, the smell of smoke and the sound of
screams, yes sir, no sir, I'm fine. 
 
Qui eripuit nos de potestate tenebrarum, et transtulit in regnum Filii
dilectionis suae, in quo habemus redemptionem per sanguinem ejus, remissionem
peccatorum Takeyourbrotheroutsideasfastasyoucan
straightenupboyyoucallthatapunch ungratefulpieceofshit justafuckingbitchboy
youshouldneverhavebeenborn
 
The worst ones are about Dean's girl. 
The pair of them, Dean and Lila, sharing milkshakes across the counter, Lila's
stupid lipstick staining the straw. Dean makes eyes at her over the glass and
watching it makes Sam sick. 
They back into the bathroom, Dean's hands on Lila's hips, rubbing slow circles
into the bone the way he does for Sam when he's crying. He hikes up her skirt
and Sam can see all of her, Lila's body nothing but skinny girl-shaped
perfection. 
Something about it disrupts Sam's insides, worms its way inside him and presses
on his chest. 
"What's wrong, Sammy doll?" Dean had asked once, when Sam was real little and
crying for no real reason 'cept attention. 
Dream-Dean asks the same question now, head cocked like he doesn't know that
Sam's the one that's messed up. 
"'M all in pieces, De," he mutters, maybe aloud, maybe just in this surreal
nightmare. He pinches the fat on his stomach and pictures it in the same places
Lila has it: chest, ass, thighs, softening around that pretty pink pussy. "All
busted up inside." 
It suits how he feels. A hundred glittering bits of stained-glass window, just
heavy enough not to blow away in the afternoon breeze. 
Dean beams at him, and Lila's tank top rides up enough for Dean to slot his
fingers in the spaces in between her ribs like they were made to fit there.
They're looking at each other, all giggles and secret smiles like love should
be. Even though this is his dream (his nightmare), Sam feels like the intruder
in a private moment. 
School starts tomorrow morning and he already knows how well it's gonna go. 
 
Sam wears Dean's jacket that first day and it nearly swallows him whole,
landing somewhere just above his knees. It probably looks ridiculous, but Sam
doesn't care. Dean'd given him the most heated look in the history of heated
looks when he saw him in it (it had quickly become clear that, if it wasn't
before, the No Touching rule was one-hundred per cent abolished) and being
wrapped up in it feels like love. 
Maybe he'd developed some Pavlovian response to the smell of leather and gun
oil, started associating that smell with Dean and Dean with home. It's kind of
sad when he thinks about it. 
He's wearing the jacket before first period when he's in the bathroom, cramming
his fingers down his throat and puking up his breakfast while everyone's still
in the hall getting ready for class. He shows up late and everyone's whispering
about him, but he gives the teacher his very best puppy dog eyes and he's
forgiven. 
"Tell us about yourself, Mister... Campbell, was it?" 
"Yes'm." 
The teacher, a severe-looking woman with her hair tied back in a strict bun
like in the movies, gestures vaguely with her hand. 
"Go on, then." 
My family hunts monsters, honest-to-God monsters. 
I can name sixteen individual times I wanted to kill a person, and all of them
involved my brother's exes. 
I ruin everything I touch. 
"My name's Sam Campbell. Originally I'm from Kansas, but we move around a lot.
This is the eighth time I've done this this year, and I'll probably be gone
within the month, so," he grins his best Dean-grin, trying for charming but
coming off a bit scary. He always does. "Don't get attached." 
He shoves his stuff into the nearest desk and counts the minutes until he'll
see Dean again. 
 
Lunchtime comes around and Sammy's back behind the plastic door of a bathroom
stall, acid rejection burning his tongue raw. 
 
Dean doesn't know. 
As far as Sam's concerned, Dean never will know. 
Big brother's hands run down bony sides and come to rest on knobby hips. 
I worry about you, Sam-I-Am. Gotta eat more.
Yes sir, Sam spits back in the heat of the moment, spiteful and low. It's an
insult of the highest calibre, to be compared to their father, and Sam hasn't
used it since he was about eight (which, Dean tells him, was the worst year of
both of their lives). 
Dean ignores him and buys him dinner with the last of their money, watching his
every bite and every sip and every step. Sam sneaks into the restroom anyway,
grunting something about needing to piss. 
He doesn't. 
 
 
John shows up unannounced, just like every other time he suddenly remembers he
has kids. 
They're halfway to South Dakota when Sam realizes that Dean never got to say
goodbye to Lila. 
He smiles through the bile in his mouth and thinks that it serves the bitch
right. 
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