
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2340023.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean_Winchester/Sam_Winchester
  Character:
      Dean_Winchester, Sam_Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      mentioned_Sam/Brady, older!Sam/younger!Dean, Role-Reversal, Bottom!Sam,
      top!dean, Age_Difference, Rape/Non-con_Elements, (not_between_Sam_and
      Dean), AU, mututal_pining, Slow_Build, Gratuitous_Smut
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-09-21 Updated: 2015-06-23 Chapters: 5/? Words: 23172
****** Weak Spot ******
by BoatsandTrains
Summary
     Dean has been in love with his older brother since he knew how to say
     his name. What he didn't realize was that as he grew, so did the kind
     of love, and it leaves him aching for what he thinks Sam might be
     wanting too. Poking and prodding it out of his brother might be
     working, but will it pay off? And can it last in a town where
     everyone knows their name?
     "Sammy, all I'm saying is you're my weak spot. You are. And I'm
     yours."
Notes
     Warning: Side character death (Mary & John)
See the end of the work for more notes
***** Beginning *****
Sam was nine when the fire took their home. Dean was two.
"Take your brother outside as fast as you can—don't look back. Now, Sam, go!"
Those were the last words John Winchester said to him before handing a
squirming Dean to Sam and running back for Mary. Sam's gangly legs carrying him
down the stairs, the air hot, scorching his lungs as he covered Dean's nose and
mouth with a blanket as he cried, confused and lost and Sam could only mutter
"Gonna be ok, Dean, got you-" through chapped lips. The sound of sirens pierced
the silent night with their wail as he pushed through the front door and ran
across the lawn, gasping. He turned back, waiting, holding Dean tight in his
arms. He waited. Their dad would come out of the house with their mom in tow
and maybe it's a little close, but everyone would be safe as their home
collapsed into cinders.
The siren's wail crescendoed in Sam's ears, seeming to follow the way the
flames climbed, reaching their own peak before the inevitable crash, the roof
collapsing in a burst of sparks. He felt himself cry out, for his mom, for his
dad, but there was no answer, just the pull of large hands as men in
fluorescent jackets rushed past him. Even in his adolescent mind he knew there
was nothing left. He felt like he was watching a movie, someone's house was
burning, someone's parents were trapped inside. Whose house was that? Whose
parents were dead?
He didn't register the blanket around his shoulders and the arms lifting him to
sit on the back of the ambulance until someone tried to take Dean from his arms
and Sam resisted, eyes finally snapping away from the glow of the flames to the
face of a stranger, arms tightening around Dean, refusing to let go. The EMT
conceded and checked Dean over while he sat in Sam's lap, arms secure around
his little brother.
They were all they had left. Dean was all he had left.
"We're gonna be ok, Dean, promise," Sam whispered, tears sliding unbidden down
his cheeks, Dean's little hands finding his neck and sliding back to hug him
tight as Sam held his brother's little body, promising him silently that he
would be sure of it.
 
===============================================================================
  
The funeral was small, held outside as the sun started to set behind the trees
along the cemetery gates, casting long shadows in rows like the rest of the
dead had decided to show up for their parents' burials.
The caskets were closed, Sam and Dean seated closest to the polished wood.
Sam didn't remember most of it, only remembered telling Dean he had to keep his
suit on, just for a couple more minutes.
 
===============================================================================
 
That was the summer they moved in with Bobby and Ellen, all the way from their
hometown of Lawrence, Kansas to Sioux Falls, South Dakota. Sam had never
actually met them, apparently they were their godparents, and when Bobby first
laid eyes on them he had barely said a word but a gruff "You father was a good
friend" before walking back into the house. He had struck Sam as very sad, but
Ellen had apologized for his behavior and had pulled both boys right into her
arms and given them a long hard hug.
"You're family now, boys, Bobby's just doin' some internal reminiscing," she
turned her eyes to Sam with a mix of sadness and something else, "Sees your dad
in you, no doubt."
Sam didn't know what that was supposed to mean, but he followed Ellen into the
house, tugging Dean along behind him into the house.
"This'll be your room, you'll have to share a bed for a little while before we
get another one in here. It was a guest room, so we got a twin, but you're both
growing boys-"
"It's alright," Sam said, and Ellen looked surprised, which made sense, it was
the first thing he had said to her other than a soft greeting when the social
services woman, Naomi or something, had dropped them off at the Singers' house-
slash-junk-yard, "Me n' Dean can share, right Dean?"
"Uh huh, Sam," Dean's small voice piped up from next to him and Sam felt a pang
shoot through him. Dean had lost his parents and he still didn't understand
what that meant. Ellen looked a moment away from crying and nodded wordlessly,
leaving them to their room.
Sam crawled up into the bed, lifting Dean up after him and holding him close.
"Momma?" Dean's small, childish and oh so innocent voice asked, confused eyes
locked on to Sam's face and he couldn't crumble, couldn't cry, but his
shoulders were shaking with the effort.
"She's not coming home, Dean, but you've got me, ok?" Sam said, his voice
choked as he tucked Dean's head under his chin, "And I've got you."
 
===============================================================================
  
Sam is thirteen and Dean is four when the Winchester home was raised from the
grave.
"They finished reconstruction today," Bobby said in greeting as Sam walked into
the house behind Ellen, Dean tottering up to him and smiling big.
"Are we gonna be able to go see it?" Sam asked, kneeling down and letting Dean
climb into his arms, lifting him with a woosh of breath at the exertion, "Dean,
you're kinda big for this."
Dean made a noise of absolute protest and stuck his fingers in Sam's hair,
making him wince slightly, the tiny hand getting gentler when he saw.
"It's your house, kid, we can head out after you get outta school Friday, be
there in at least six hours, be back before nightfall on Saturday," Bobby said
conversationally.
Sam felt a smile spread across his face and he turned to look at Dean, his own
little face splitting into a joyful grin.
"You hear that? We get to go home, Dean, gonna see the house again," he said
softly, his fingers wrapped around Dean's little wrist, dancing with him across
the dining room and into the living room.
 
===============================================================================
 
Sam was eighteen, freshly graduated from high school in Sioux Falls. Dean was
eleven, just out of grade school.
That summer he and Dean moved back into their house, promised to him in his
parents' will, under Bobby's name until Sam reached the legal age of adulthood.
Insurance had covered the house with little to no extra costs. They had been
able to get some furniture, but not one of the members of their family was
versed in interior decorating, so Sam left it at functional, and Ellen promised
to send things from home, brought along the blankets and things they had grown
up with.
Sam always had the intention of coming back here, ever since he learned that
the house was going to be rebuilt, that it was his. He was going to take Dean
back to their home, show him where he was born, let him grow up with a big yard
with the willow in the front, hopefully regrown, and the hidden trails behind
the house in the woods around the town.
Ellen and Bobby had never doubted Sam's resolve, hadn't made fun of him when he
had announced his plan only a half a year after they had moved in with them.
It hadn't stopped Bobby from playing devil's advocate with him for a little
under seven years, asking how he'd take care of Dean, pay for it all.
Sam had taken jobs as soon as someone would hire him, never spent a penny, made
sure he had a job interview set up before he ever even moved in. He hadn't had
to pay a cent for college, full ride to the college close to Lawrence. He had
been accepted to Harvard, but he hid the letter, didn't want Dean to feel bad
that he didn't chose there because he wanted to take Dean back home. He had
everything covered.
He would take care of Dean, he always would.
"You better expect we'll visit, and don't listen to old crotchety, we'll send
you some grocery money, Dean's still technically under our charge, and you're
still our family, Sam."
"Thank you, Ellen," Sam said as the woman pulled him into a tight hug.
"Don't be a stranger, kid," Bobby said from his wheelchair, boxing Sam over the
head affectionately as he gave him a hug.

Sam took a few steps back, suddenly colliding with a shorter body as Dean
wrapped his arms tight around his lean torso, peeking his head from around
Sam's body to look at Bobby and Ellen like they might change their minds and
suddenly decide Dean was too young, he should come back with them.
"Relax Dean," Sam said softly, letting his hand rest on Dean's soft caramel
hair, "They aren't going to take you."
Dean eased visibly before slowly nodding, but he didn't let go of Sam, instead
trading his torso for his hand instead, fingers lacing with his. Dean was a
tactile child, but when it came to him it increased tenfold. Sam indulged too
easily, maybe.
 
===============================================================================
 
Being alone in the house—and by 'alone' he meant 'with Dean' because Dean
wasn't so much another person but an extension of himself—was odd at first. Sam
took the tour, the house was smaller than even the memories he formed when he
was thirteen visiting for the weekend suggested, and it still had the feeling
of being the house he lived in for nine years, yet it was still completely
foreign.
Sam wondered if that was the main reason he was so ok with moving back into
this house, even after the fire that killed his parents had cooled. It wasn't
the same house, the reconstructed figment of his memory, a blank canvas, ready
to start over. So that's what Sam was going to do: start over.
He spend the first week with Dean, going in and out of rooms and out in the
backyard, wandering into the woods and to the creek and back, re-familiarizing
themselves with what had used to be second nature. Dean was able to meet some
of the neighborhood kids he would have been friends with if they would have
stayed, but they didn't last long, Dean ditching them to hang out with his big
brother. Sam couldn't say he minded, only that he was worried about Dean when
he was at work. He had found a decent enough paying job as a secretary and he
knew it would be a good fit on his resume when he applied for internships in
law firms.
They were happy for the most part, for that first summer.
***** The Wrestling Team *****
Chapter Summary
     Dean is eleven and life is confusing.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Dean doesn't remember much of anything that isn't before Sam, his memories of
his mom and dad are restricted to the few pictures he had seen.
As far as Dean is concerned, his family is the Singers and Sam.
Sam being the highest peak and deepest ocean of that tie.

So instead of memories of his mom crossing streets with him and taking him to
picnics or whatever it is people's moms do, for Dean, it's Sam. It's Sam who
teaches him to tie his shoes. It's Sam who makes him macaroni and cheese with
hot dogs (sometimes Sam is sneaky and put broccoli in it and Dean definitely
isn't a fan of that). Dean, for as long as he can remember, has started and
ended his days with his older brother. Bobby and Ellen can tell him what to do,
but nothing comes before Sam.

Uncle Bobby and Auntie Ellen make fun of them for it, he never got it. 
===============================================================================
 
Dean is seven when he decides he's gunna marry Sam. He says as much, flat out,
"Sammy, you can't marry anyone else. Im marrying you, okay? Just you and me."
It's filled with that arrogance only a seven old can use and demand. He got a
25¢ ring from the machine in the grocery store and everything.

Sam looks at him puzzled before only smiling and accepting the ring. Dean
thinks Sam doesn't get it, maybe Dean is too young? Sam doesn't believe him?
The fact Sam takes the ring makes him think he'll just have to try asking again
when he's older. He's pretty sure that machine will still be there when he's
bigger.
By eleven Dean knows the marriage thing was a baby thing to do. For him, all he
cares about is that he and Sam are always going to have each other. He doesn't
really over think it. SAMs his brother and his best friend and his favorite
person. When Sam asks about moving, Dean doesn't think. "No way I'm staying
with Aunt Ellen and Uncle Bobby if you leave. I can't live on dry meat loaf." A
bluff. Mostly it's because he can't imagine Sam not being close, not that Sam
would leave him. 'Sam and Dean' is a title they live up to.
===============================================================================
 
"Sammy." Dean dropped his bag unceremoniously onto the kitchen floor as he got
home, walking through the back door.
Sam, as usual, is studying at the kitchen counter—if he wasn't then he was
making some sort of nasty vegetable slop he'll coerce dean into eating with
dinner.
"Sammmmmyyy--" Dean repeats, getting on his tip toes to lean on the counter.
"Can I join wrestling?"
Before his older brother can kill his fun and oppose, he takes some standard
'Debating with Sammy 101' he's learned from watching Sam practice for his fancy
lawyer classes--
"I promise to be super safe, and the coach said that the high school has a team
so if I'm good I can keep at it," Dean recited.
Sam mouth opens and dean decides to go for the kill, "Plus-- you always tell me
I should put energy or whatever into something- it'll be good for me, Sammy!
And I'll get strong too! Don't worry, I won't beat you up." The younger
Winchester grinned, "Much. I might even let ya win."

Sam groaned internally, he should have known this was going to be something as
soon as he heard Dean use that tone. That tone meant Dean wanted something and
came absolutely prepared to get it. The way Dean leaned eagerly against the
counter next to him belied his intentions, any other day Dean would be
pestering him, generally getting in his way on purpose but he had started out
docile and unassuming. Now, Sam was left a bit shell shocked by the sheer
amount of force and information Dean put into this, blinking a few times and
shaking his head before turning and leaning a hip against the counter.
"Dean, I thought you didn't like school sports? To be honest, I was sure you
hated every other kid at your school," Sam said, running a hand through his
hair to push the stray ones back from his face as he spoke, eyes on Dean's
rather proud looking face, "Not to mention, does the school provide equipment?
I can only afford so much, Dean, we only get by living here because Ellen and
Bobby help pay the taxes, because a secretary can't afford it all."
Sam didn't want to let Dean down, not at all, but if they were going to
survive, he had to be strict with how their finances were run.
"Besides, how do I know this isn't some sort of outlet for you to beat the ever
loving crap out of some other kid," Sam said with a slow sigh, already
remembering the fights Dean got into within weeks of being in Lawrence in order
to exert his dominance over the streets.
"I don't know if it'll be a good idea, is all," Sam said softly, crossing his
arms, eyes tracking over Dean's expression, analyzing how big the resistance
was going to be.
Dean stills, half cocked for a retort till the money point hits him
and immediately he starts to deflate.
He wishes he were old enough so he could help work. He hadn't thought about
much of it, more excited because the coach had pulled him over specifically
after their fitness test. He thinks Coach Sonny mentioned a fee for school
equipment, but maybe this was a dumb idea.
Dean remembers vaguely about what Sam is talking about. Gordon and his choads.
After the trouble they got into, Dean and that kid still aren't allowed alone
in the same room at school anymore.
"That was different, Sammy," Dean can't help the weak cocky smirk he gets, the
memory was something he still thought was funny—how many ten year olds get to
say they trash canned a thirteen year year old? He's awesome!
Sam makes a noise in his throat, shaking his head, sighing. He had been called
in on that one and Dean can't look back at it and be anything but proud. Like
being grounded and getting detention for it were totally worth it. Not a good
way to start the sixth grade.
Deans eyes drop anxiously, "Well, what if I got a job? I could help pay- and
you won't have to? Maybe Ellen and Bobby have chores? I'm good at chores." A
quick glance at the sink and he winces a little, "Man chores anyway, like
painting fences and helping bobby in the yard—not dishes, Sam."

Sam's gut twisted with guilt as Dean started to list things he could do to help
Sam for money, which was the last thing he wanted him to be worried about. Sam
wanted Dean here with him, had promised Ellen and Bobby, swore up and down that
he could take care of his little brother, and that meant finances.

He managed to huff a laugh and shook his head, turning fully to look at his
brother, reaching out to ruffle the short spikes, still puppy soft.

"Ok, little man, I think theres enough in your savings to get you into this, if
that's what you really want," Sam said, knowing Dean had probably well more
than enough, considering Sam rationed Dean's spending money and kept what he
didn't give Dean in a special savings account for things like these. But Dean
needed to be serious about it, because he didn't want to waste it on something
Dean would decide to quit, "You have to promise me though, Dean, that you won't
cause trouble and treat this like the real deal, ok? I really don't want a
repeat of your foray into lacrosse."
"I'm not that little, Sam. I'm going to out grow you, just wait. Uncle Bobby
says I should get a growth spurt," Dean snipped, getting off the counter to
cross to the fridge. He's playing it cool but he can't hide the bounce in his
step.
"Lacrosse was boring anyway." Best excuse he can think of, pulling out the milk
and opening the cap, kicking the door shut.
That it was acceptable to check another player in lacrosse should have been
Sam's indication that it was not a good idea to let Dean near the sport. Green
eyes look up at Sam after he pours himself a glass and puts it back.
"I uh...I really like it. I got to do a little in fitness and Coach Sonny said
he was impressed," Dean mumbles through his milk glass, a little flushed, "Of
course it's because I'm awesome." He plasters on his cocky smirk, far more
comfortable being arrogant than happy.

Sam watched Dean all but strut from the kitchen, lips curling up and snorting a
laugh through his nose.
===============================================================================
Sam had discreetly called the school and spoken with Coach Sonny about the
wrestling team, crunching numbers between classes and figuring out how he could
make this work for Dean. Luckily, he had saved more than enough.
Despite how he sounded, Sam wanted Dean to have this. It would be good for him
and by the way he talked about Sonny's praise, he really looked up to the man.
Dean needed this and Sam was going to make it happen.
"He's a good kid, " Sonny's deep voice rasped through the phone. Sam was pretty
sure he liked this Sonny guy, especially with the way he talked about Dean,
like he saw through the arrogant front as easily as Sam could. Dean needed more
people who could do that.
"Yeah, I know he is," Sam said, looking down at his feet and holding the phone
to his ear, "Listen...thank you, for doing this for Dean, it means a lot to
him, even if he doesn't show it...it means a lot to me, too."
"No problem Sam, besides, the kid has potential," Sonny laugh is low and rich,
"And it's a good outlet for his temper, you might say."
They talk for a few more minutes before Sam has to leave for class, thanking
Sonny again and hanging up. 
===============================================================================
One of the reasons Dean doesn't like having friends over is because he doesn't
like to share. Sam's friends are okay, he guessed. They make Sam happy so Dean
can't complain. He hates having to fight for attention though.
He both likes and dislikes Jessica Moore. She's super cool and nice but she
touches Sam too much. Sam says they're just friends, that Jessica, he and Kevin
are all best friends.
Sam is Dean's only best friend so of course he doesn't get it.
It's probably at eleven that he starts to notice the difference in how Dean
feels strongly about Sam, but Sam doesn't have the same kind of strength.
Sam shares, Dean hates that.
Dean liked to hope it's a grown up thing and when he's older it won't make him
feel itchy and irritable everytime they have a movie night and Dean has to go
to bed.
===============================================================================
 
"Sam is pretty cool," Garth says one day, Sam driving away after dropping them
off. They carpool sometimes, Garth lived a couple streets over. Benny sometimes
got a ride too, but Dean guessed today is a Garth day. Garth is a little weird.
Nice, but weird. He can't punch him because Sam would be mad, but also because
he actually thinks he'd feel bad, the kid is a twig.
"Obviously," Dean snorts, walking through the school gates as Garth keeps up.
"I wish I had a older brother. I bet he knows a lot," Garth chatters away.
"Who knows what?" Benny joins the pack, Dean really doesn't know where he keeps
growing people that talk to him. He doesn't like telling the kids about Sam
because Sam is his.
Adults are different—he tells teachers all the time about how cool Sam is, but
he doesn't like the other kids too much.
"Sam Winchester," Garth pipes.
"Bet he knows a lot about girls," Benny grins and Dean looks at him weird.
"Ooooo-- I bet he does!--"
"No he doesn't," Dean says, defiant, "Girls are gross anyway."
"It's cause you're a little kid still," Benny laughs, "I grew four inches over
break. I'm a man. Trust me, Dean, girls aren't gross."
"What do you do with them? They are total babies," Deans nose wrinkles, Garth
laughing.
"You kiss them and stuff. I see it on TV. Everyone does it." Garth explains.
Dean's not dumb, he knows boys kiss girls but it's weird to think about himself
doing it. Or Sam.
"Ask him," Benny prompts.
===============================================================================
"Sam," Dean gets home, dropping himself into the couch and flicking the tv on.
Sam's drinking tea and wielding a highlighter doing more nerd work. Something
about not being able to score less than a ninety-five on it.
"Do you know how to kiss a girl?" Dean asks, not looking away from the TV.
Sam looked up at the sound of his brother's voice and choked slightly, closing
his eyes and breathing until he could turn his gaze back to his brother who had
dropped himself on the couch next to him, flipping the tv on like he hadn't
just asked what he did. 
"Why... are you asking?" Sam said slowly, eyes narrowing on his brother, "Is
there... some girl you want to kiss?"
Sam knew it was going to happen one day, Dean was handsome even for a kid, and
there was no way he wouldn't charm the girls the minute he stepped into the
middle school's hallways. It was a weird, vaguely uncomfortable thought, if he
was honest with himself. He always had all of Dean's attention, but there was
the chance now that he would want to give it to someone else.
Dean shrugged, more interested in if Sam actually did kiss girls or if Benny
should mind his own business.
"Just curious," he looked over at his brother, "Benny says it's what boys are
suppose to do. Do you? Kiss girls?" To his memory, dean has never seen Sam kiss
anyone, not like the movies.
He went on 'dates' in high school and sometimes on weekends. Dean couldn't
remember the last one, it had been a while. But he can't remember Sam ever
introducing or bringing anyone into the house.
What a great time for Sam to try to explain the birds and the bees and the bees
that only like bees.
"I have kissed girls," Sam said, and it was the truth, he had kissed Sarah
Blake in freshman year of high school. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't anything
exciting. She got her lipstick on his lips and she had been so soft he felt
like he might break her.
And then he started kissing boys instead. Liked how much sturdier they were,
how they could grip him back, firm and insistent and tasted ten time better
than Sarah Blake's lipgloss.
But how do you explain that to your little brother just now asking about girls?
"You know... boys don't always just kiss girls. They don't have to," Sam
explained slowly, measured tone, but he's trying to make it sound casual.
Dean is starring at Sam now. He knows that tone, it's the one Sam uses when
he's saying something he doesn't know if Dean should know yet. Slow and a
little careful, like when he asked him if he wants to go see mom and dad at the
cemetery or when he used to asked what happened.
"-They kiss boys too."
Dean furrowed his brows, knowing he hadn't heard Benny and Kevin really talk
about that.
The furrowed brow was enough of an indicator that Sam had started to tread into
dangerous waters. He was a believer in equality, obviously, and thought
children should be taught the importance of it from a young age, but this was
Dean's first real exposure to it and really it wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't
the fact that they were talking about Sam's own opinions and experiences. He
didn't really want to share his "locker room stories" with his little brother.
"You kiss both? Which ones better?" He doesn't know why he feels a little
annoyed at Sam. When was Sam kissing all these jerk offs and why doesn't dean
know about that? He can't imagine anyone kissing Sam like in the movies, or Sam
kissing someone—it's just- it's Sammy- his Sammy.
And there it was. Sam chewed his lip, trying to gauge Dean's reactions,
slightly perplexed at the way he seemed to have gotten a little testy.
"I.. have kissed both, yes," Sam said, trying to think his way out of the
corner he had backed himself into, "Neither gender is better than the other,
Dean, it's about the person. A girl could be a great kisser but that won't
matter if you personally like boys."
Sam wondered if that would even really appease his brother, because if there
was anyone who had a penchant for finding out his personal life, it was Dean.
He wasn't hiding it from him, but he had never found a reason to reveal it.
Besides, it felt like he was tearing his heart out to watch his brother's face
any time he had to turn him down. So he told him he had something important to
do, and he always made it up to him after, he made sure of it.
"You really don't have to worry about it yet, Dean, you're only eleven," Sam
said, trying to dismiss Dean's worries.
Only eleven. Just like that Dean felt himself bristle.
"I'm not a baby-" he got up from the couch, throwing the remote down not so
gently, "You don't have to treat me like I'm stupid." He didn't get why he was
mad exactly. He hurt a little. Like Sam was off living some secret life on his
own. Was Dean in the way? Of course he was, he was the dumb little baby brother
blocking Sam from making out with strangers.
Who the hell was is that got to touch Sam anyway? Kids in his class? Work? and
Sam just let them? Did he like them?
Sam let out a breath, steeling himself for the outburst. He didn't even
understand what Dean was getting so upset about, but he knew this was about to
snowball.
"Dean- don't throw the remote-"
Dean felt his face flush hot, working himself up.
What if Sam didn't tell him because he did like them? Sam wanted to leave? No
more Sam and Dean.
He knew Sam wasn't going to marry him, he knew that they were brothers and it
didn't work like that- but Sam is his. He can't just let some person come along
and kiss Sam and take him away.
"So who do you like then?" He spat out, "Or am I too little to talk to? Why
don't you just go away with them or something." He turned running up the
stairs, wanting to punch something, "STUPID SAMANTHA-" Dean slammed his door.
He flinched when he heard Dean stomp up the stairs and slam his door with
enough force to be heard clearly through the house. His first reaction was to
yell at Dean for being careless with the house, but he had to take a breath and
think about this.
This wasn't how he envisioned his coming out conversation to his brother at
all, but it had clearly turned into something else entirely. Dean was afraid of
him leaving and the thought of Sam in some sort of relationship turned his
world upside down.
Sam let out a long breath and slid his hands through his hair.
Dean thought he would leave him if he found someone to be with.
He had to fix this, he couldn't let his little brother think something would
pull them apart that easily. After all, didn't they move ally he way here to be
together in their home?
He waited for a little while first, let Dean calm down before heading upstairs
and standing in front of Dean's door.
"Dean?" he called softly, rapping his knuckles against the door softly. When
there was no answer Sam sighed and turned, letting his back slide against the
door until he was sitting on the floor.
"Dean, I don't know what I said that made you think it, but I'm not going to
leave you," Sam said, knowing Dean was probably listening through the door, too
obstinate just open it and talk to him—he was eleven, it was expected—so Sam
kept going, crossing his arms over his knees, "I've dated some people, yeah,
but Dean, you're the most important thing to me, I'm never going to replace
you."
Dean is sitting against his bed staring at the door, sniffling a little as he
glares at it. Like hell he's going to go out there. He'd rather starve. Sam can
still where the sun don't shine- he freezes when Sam's shadow settled under his
door, waiting. He gave himself a good minute before getting up to pull the door
open, looking down at his huge older brother sitting on the floor. He rubbed
his face free of moisture, glaring at him moodily.
It caught Sam off guard, almost falling right back into his little brother. His
tilted his head back and looked up at Dean, seeing the telltale signs of tears
and instantly felt horrible.
"You promise?"
Sam scooted to the doorframe and patted the floor next to him, waiting until
Dean was seated to wrap his arm around his brother's shoulders and pull him
into his side.
"I promise, Dean," Sam said softly, rustling his hair gently, "You're my number
one, aren't you? I need you."
"Yea, right." Dean snorted, but curled into SAMs side," till some girl like
Jessica Moore comes around." He rolled his eyes before cautiously looking up,"
is that....is it Jess?"
Jess was cool. He liked her. She was nice and fun and watched starwars with him
sometimes. Which was weird because he liked Jess just fine but he didn't like
how close she would sit with Sam. He didn't like how close anyone sat by Sam.
Was it always going to be that way? Was he always going to feel sick when Sam
was with dates or whatever?
Sam could have snorted because it felt like he had dropped enough hints that he
had definitely kissed boys, but he had obviously been too subtle.
"What? No- I'm not dating anyone, Dean, and especially not Jess... remember
what we were talking about?" Sam asked, meeting his brother's imploring gaze,
"That boys sometimes liked to kiss other boys instead?"
He was hoping maybe that would be enough for Dean to understand what he was
saying, really hoping he wouldn't have to come out and just say 'Dean I am a
homosexual male and that means I kiss men' because that didn't sound like it
would go over well.
Dean stared up at Sam, "So you think boys are better kissers?" He said slow,
his eyes looking at SAMs mouth for a second, curious.
He hadn't kissed people, it seemed gross. But Sam wasn't gross. Sam was pretty
much good at everything. He probably was the best kisser ever, better then some
random kid at school or those girls in Benny's magazine. He looked back at SAMs
eyes.
Sam was having a hard time trying to answer him. He was just a kid, kids
should't have to worry about sexuality or kissing just because some over
glorified magazine said so. He glanced down at Dean and tried to remember if he
was this way at eleven, but Sam remembered his childhood really only consisting
of Dean, and boys hadn't crossed his mind until at least high school.
"I-" Sam struggled for a minute, trying to find the words before he realized
how long this discussion might go on if he keeps trying to dance around it,
"Yes, I think boy are better kissers."
He had not even the slightest clue as to how Dean would respond to that.
"Oh."
He thought a moment, green eyes studying Sam, "When will I know? How do I know
which one I like better?" He sat up, turning to Sam, "I don't have to kiss a
girl, do I?" He frowned at the thought. "Did you know before or you had to kiss
them first?"
Oh boy, this was really not the conversation Sam wanted to be having.
"Not everyone is the same," Sam said slowly, and what a way to spend an
afternoon, sitting on the ground with your arm around your little brother,
discussing sexuality, "Maybe you'll know before, maybe you'll have to find out.
No specific time either, if you don't want to kiss anyone right now, then you
don't have to."
Dean's face clearly showed he had no interest in kissing a girl, and Sam felt
oddly relieved. He wasn't quite sure what he would think if Dean decided he
wanted to kiss boys, but his general dislike of the subject had him thinking it
wouldn't be a problem for a while.
"Do you want to make s'mores on the stove tonight? I still have some left over
from the last time we did it, and the graham crackers shouldn't be stale... and
it they are we can just make marshmallow chocolate sandwiches anyways," Sam
suggested, offering Dean's troubled mind a reprieve. He was a kid and he should
be able to live like one.
Four s'mores later and some weird stew thing with more carrots in it then Dean
found really necessary, the topic was mostly forgotten. If Sam didn't think it
was important it probably wasn't.
Boys like girls but sometimes they don't. He wondered if girls were the same
but he could always ask Sam some other time.
===============================================================================
"That's weird," Benny frowned at Dean.
"Kissing is weird anyway," Dean said as he bit into his peanut butter sandwich.
"Yea but, boys don't really...I mean I have a cousin, they call it 'gay',"
Benny said thoughtfully, "My parents are okay with it. I think my Uncle Russ is
pretty mad. Lotta people don't like it."
Dean sipped his Hi-C, thinking about if anyone they knew would care. He didn't
think Uncle Bobby or Ellen would care. Dean didn't care. "Why is it a bad
thing?"
"I don't know. Grownups say a lot of things. I guess. I mean, I still think
it's weird. You're my friend and all, but I wouldn't wanna kiss you. Bella in
English though? I'd kiss her," Benny grinned. Dean rolled his eyes, a little
bothered at the idea of kissing Benny. Equally gross.
Maybe he was more of a baby then the other kids.
At least he had Sammy and that's all that mattered.
Chapter End Notes
     Thank you for reading chapter 2! Still working through some more
     growing up fluff, hope you enjoyed it! This is the first time we've
     ever edited together rp responses, and it's definitely hard.
     Thanks again for sticking with!
***** Chapter 3 *****
At thirteen, Dean makes a few more friends. He's very good at the wrestling
team, and next year he'll be in high school. The whole boy and girl thing still
makes very little sense, so he makes up his mind. He kisses a girl.
"Dean, this is stupid. Why don't you kiss one of the girls that's always got a
crush on you?" Charlie, one of his new best friends, besides Garth and Benny,
shook her head, arms crossed.
"Because I want to know, and I don't want everyone and their mom to know," Dean
groaned.
"You know I like girls though," Charlie spoke slow, like he was a idiot.
"Yea, well, kinda the point," Dean said sarcastically, "Look, all I know is if
I do this with you, you won't tell anyone."
"What do I get out of it?"
"Please, Char? Pleeasseeee? I want to know before I get to high school, and no
one knows about this but you," Dean gripped her shoulders, "Please Number 1?"
Charlie thought carefully before groaning, "I hate when you use Trek on me.
Dude, if you think you have it for guys this won't help you."
"I don't know what 'it' is, damn it-"
"Okay okay--"
When they kiss it's soft and pleasant and just a second long enough. It's not
bad. It's pleasant. He doesn't hate it.
"Okay? Happy? What's the verdict?"
He doesn't love it. Not like Benny and the guys talk about making out. It's not
right.
"I don't know."
===============================================================================
Sam is twenty when Dean brings the dreaded topic back up.
"Sam," Dean sets his book at down carefully, uneasy. This is probably the
weirdest thing he's ever done and the chances of it back firing seem pretty
steep.
Sam is sitting with his computer on the couch, beer in his free hand, looking
up at the sound of Dean's tone. The tone that immediately told him Dean wanted
to ask him something. He set his computer down on the coffee table, as Dean
stops in front of him on the couch, looking anxious. He's grown a full six
inches since he started Junior High but he's still no where near Sam's height,
just about Sams chest and still lanky. He was getting taller every day, it
seemed, like his whole body was stretching, but for a middle schooler Dean
packed more muscle than most that he had seen. Wrestling was doing the younger
Winchester wonders, landing the semi-finals when he was only twelve and making
Coach Sonny and himself so proud they could burst.
Yet, right now, Sam was apprehensive.
"Do uh....crap," Dean groans, then catches himself, "I mean darn." He clarifies
at Sam's raised brow, "So you remember when you tried to tell me about kissing
and stuff and you pretty much said you were gay—don't look so surprised, Benny
told me—and we never talked about it again?"
Jesus christ. He didn't know what to expect, but it really wasn't that. Dean
knew he was gay? He hadn't ever really said it out loud and he never brought
home any of the guys he ended up with after Jess's parties. He should have
known this Benny kid would have figured it out, and god damn him for sending
Dean home twice with questions Sam never had good answers for.
"I mean...yes," Sam said slowly, eyebrows furrowed slightly as he leaned
forward and rested his elbows on his knees, "...why?"
"Okay." Dean rolled around in his head with the best course of action here,
because no way was Sam going to just jump up for this, but he needed to know.
Girls were okay, he wanted to try kissing a boy and as far as he can tell the
only guy that he could even think of kissing is Sam. Even if he's only thirteen
he knows that's not normal. Dean's not normal. Maybe he can start out with a
guilt trip—Sam's a sucker for a good sob story. Tell him that he's the older
brother and Dean doesn't want to do this with some creepy random guy. He thinks
that would work, but he doesn't want to go that route. Selfishly, he doesn't
want Sam to feel tricked or guilted into this. Taking it from Sammy he can
do—manipulating him? He can't.
He can't just say it, either, because he's not stupid and he can already tell
this is different from Charlie. With Charlie it was just an act, but at the
moment he can hear his pulse in his ears and feel it in his fingertips and he
hasn't even done anything yet. It's some sort of adrenaline rush or something,
but it's just for Sam.
There are two parts to this, one being that it's just nerves, but the
other—even to thirteen year old dean—can read this as 'because you want it'.
He's not stupid, and he knows being gay is something a lot of people don't
like, but being gay for your brother? He doesn't really know. It feels a little
over whelming and he can't be sure until he does this. One step at a time, deal
with what ever comes after.
"Okay," He says again before leaning down, both his hands on either side of the
chair as he leans into Sam's face.
He doesn't want there to be enough time for him to overthink and react to Dean
before he can get his answer, so he just closes the space, eyes falling closed
as he pressed his mouth to Sam's.
It's not filthy or using tongue, or over powering. It's soft and pressed, Dean
opening his mouth to bite Sam's lip before pulling away.
As far as kisses go, it's innocent. The worst part being the nip before he
pulled away. He doesn't know much about kissing aside from theories and
Charlie, but he knows that wasn't sloppy or terrible. Obviously it wasn't for
brothers either.
"Okay." He repeats in a exhale, pulling away from Sam with green eyes bouncing
between Sam's hazel. He can't explain Sam's face only that he looks like he's
short circuited and Dean doesn't want to be here when he comes back on line.
Solid weight dropped in his stomach, Dean has never known fear like the thought
of Sam lashing out about this—especially when Dean's just starting to figure
this out—so he does what he does best and avoids the 'talking about feelings'
thing.
Dean pulled his hand back, slapping Sam's shoulder, "Awesome. Good talk Sammy.
Good talk." And just like that, he makes a break for it, grabbing his bag and
heading for his room in a perfect act of nonchalance.
===============================================================================
"Okay."
Okay? What was that supposed to mean? He remembered, so this was when Dean was
supposed to ask his deeply invasive question about his personal life or some
complicated sexuality question. What he was not supposed to do was lean down in
front of him and press their lips together.
First. instinct, eyes close, press back. 
Second. Realization, eyes open, frozen.
Third. Blankness, absolute brain shortage.
Dean nipped his bottom lip with his teeth and pulled away, leaving his much
older and yet much less calm brother sitting still in his seat.
"Okay. Awesome. Good talk, Sammy. Good talk."
No. No, not okay. Dean had just kissed him and he was pretty sure that was not
okay. Sam had no words as Dean slapped his shoulder, pushed back and was gone.
What the hell?
No, seriously. What the actual hell? Did Dean just try to see if he was gay or
not by kissing him? It was the only solution he could come up with, considering
that conversation they had the first time. But that was two years ago, had it
really stuck in Dean's head for that long?
Sam let out the long breath he had held the entire time Dean's lips had been on
his and dropped his head into his hands.
What the fuck.
===============================================================================
It's a very vivid sensation in his memory, when he lines up kissing other
people and that one dorky kiss with Sam.
For a small second, initially, he could've swore Sam was going to kiss him back
before he turned rigid. Dean expected the second part. The first part was what
was messing with him. It made his whole body warm and floaty. So many things
happening and all Dean can process as he remembers the feel of Sam's thin, soft
lips against his is that he was royally fucked.
The next day he gets up, complains to Sam about his tofu in the fridge and
demands more bacon in their diet and goes to school his normal grumpy
self. He's determined to not let Sam know how he may feel and more so not talk
about it. He doesn't want to stress Sam out and he doesn't really know what's
wrong with him in the first place.
He does this everyday from then on. Only one real rule: don't_tell_Sammy.
===============================================================================
Benny starts to come over on occasion. Dean gets the feeling Sam isn't so gun-
ho about him. It's one thing to carpool a kid, another to watch him hang around
when you know he's the one teaching Dean the ins and outs of boys and girls.
Fourteen and a freshman, Dean makes it onto the high school's JV wrestling
team, another growth spurt, and puberty is hitting him. He hates how his voice
jumps pitches, he glares at Sam every time his older brother snorts at him.
"Shut up Samantha-" Dean snaps, tone shifting mid yell and only making Sam
buckle more, Kevin and Jess shaking there heads with amused smiles. "I hate you
all, pricks," Dean grumbled, stomping off.
Joke is on Sam though, Dean eats like a viking.
"Vikings need meat, Sam. I have to eat rabbit, not rabbit food. Loads and loads
of rabbit. I plan on breaking the gates of Valhalla. Where's the steak?"
Sam still gives him salad. He still hates it. But he forgives him because Sam
gives him ham slices to put in it, and when he cooks he hums songs to keep
time. And he dances a little. Dean tries not to think about it because he's
been hard core ignoring his hormones over Sam all year, but he's just cute.
It's weird because Sam is older, but Dean doesn't know how else to explain how
Sam sings the Beatles when he makes stew or how he recites law definitions when
he's baking to keep count.
He's a total nerd and he tucks his hair behind his ear even when it won't stay
and Dean wants to touch it all the time. And when Sam bends over, Dean knew he
was going to hell because more than once a day he has to bail on brother stuff
to hide in his room and jerk off.
He hates Sam. Sam shouldn't have been his brother, but at the same time, he
thanks whatever living god made it so he gets a part of Sammy from now till
forever.
He hates Sam, but only because he hates himself for loving Sam too much.
===============================================================================
Dean's half way through freshman year, anxiously awaiting fifteen and sophomore
year.
Jess says he's growing like a weed. He's eating pie and burgers almost
everyday, much to Sam's distaste. He can't stop him though, Dean has needs and
he knows every bakery and diner joint in town—Sam can't control the hunger.
He's also starting to put on muscle, with any luck, by this time next year he
won't be a twig.
===============================================================================
"Dean, I am taking your brother for his customary twenty-first birthday bar
crawl and I shall return him to you promptly when he can't walk anymore," Jess
said with a final nod at the boy sitting next to Sam on the couch.
"Ok, one, when were you planning on telling me?" Sam asked from his spot on the
far end, eyebrow quirked, "And two, why are you telling Dean?"
Sam had spent a majority of his birthday marathoning Indiana Jones movies with
Dean, a large bowl of popcorn on the table next to the pizzookie he bought from
the grocery store and the pie from that one bakery Dean really liked. It wasn't
a custom but that's what it felt like, and it was easy. He had talked to Bobby
and Ellen that morning, gaping when they told him they sent him two hundred
dollars for his birthday—and not to spend it all on Dean.
Jess and Kevin had been unexpected guests, but he should have known they would,
Jess had a penchant for trouble and Kevin had a penchant for Jess.
"Because no one is more your keeper than Dean," Jess said with a roll of her
eyes, hand on her hip, Kevin rummaging through their cabinets for chips or
something, "And, and, aaand...I brought clothes."
"You brought...what?" Sam asked, face deadpan.
"You can't go bar hopping in worn out blue jeans and a flannel, Sam, so I
brought you clothes," she said, looking proud of herself.
It took at least a few more minutes to get Sam up off the couch and forcibly
into the bathroom, Jess thrusting the clothes in after him. Dean stood arms
crossed in the door way of Sam's room, watching like a hawk. His fingers dug
into his crossed arms as he listened to Sam antsily complain from behind his
bathroom door.
This is exactly why he hated Jess.
What was wrong with hanging out with Dean? What was wrong with staying up late
watching stupid TV and eating food and laughing and waking up passed out
together on the couch?
It's wasn't even the worse part. He knew Jess was the one that took Sam out to
parties. Knew why Sam came back flushed like he got caught with his hand in the
cookie jar when Dean asked what they did. It made his skin crawl and mouth dry
and for everything he loved about Jess (considering he has known her a big
chunk of his life since she's Sam's other best friend, aside from Dean) he
hates her.
She routinely takes Sam and let's him get fooled around with and the thought of
it makes his blood boil. Why tonight? Why can't he just have what they always
do on Sam's birthday? Why can't Sam just be his? Just this one stupid night
like it's always been? So what—Sam can drink, big deal. Not like they don't
have beer in the house from Bobby.
Now he's going to be up all night waiting for Sam to get home, pulling his hair
out and making himself sick—alone—while some sleazy guy gets his stupid ugly
damn hands all over Sam in some equally stupid sleazy club or house that
doesn't even play the shitty music Sam likes (look, he loves Sam but he should
just stick to driving and let Dean pick the music) but plays even shittier
screechy dubstep music or something.
So here he is, Jessica Moore sitting excited on the bed calling Dean a moody
teenager and telling Sam to hurry up and come out. He's still pissed, totally
not looking forward to the rest of his night in his room imagining what Sam's
doing like--that one Killers song with the chick getting boned and-
"Jess, why did you buy these all half a size small?" Sam asked in a tight voice
as he walked out, black t-shirt clinging to his body and dark wash jeans
hugging his legs. It was tight all over, not quite uncomfortable but not quite
normal but also completely shutting down all of Dean's higher brain function.
That is not Sam's usual plaid and jeans get up. At all.
His arms are visible, sculpted, formed chest visible under the shirt that's
stretching over him- the thing barely gets to his jeans, meaning any reaching
Sam does tonight will be a teaser for all eyes to see.
"Because you look hot!" Jess exclaimed, nodding her agreement as she walked
around, "Yep, its absolutely perfect. The boys will drool, baby."
Deans half way down Sam's toned tight jeans legs and forgiving Jessica for all
the wrong she's done to him when he stops, eyes snapping back and head racing
back to the storm front. He feels his jaw tighten, immediately sick. Sam is the
cutest fucking thing dressed as the hottest fucking bait and it's just to get
dangled in a bar.
What the hell is Dean over here getting flushed about? This is for other
people, not him. He can't even do anything because he's a kid. Even if he
wasn't, he's Sam's brother, and sure he's starting to get on the 'Interested in
Sexuality' train but no form of this is kosher.
He's just some lusty brat.
"Great, perfect," He hears himself grumble, dropping his arms to escape back to
his fortress of solitude—without saying goodbye or goodnight—where's he's going
to probably get off on images of Sam and then get sick thinking about whoever
gets to do the same.
Dean hates Jessica Moore and he slams his door in emphasis of it.
If he sneaks out later and steals a few of Bobby's beers, no one needs to know.
Not like Sam is there to care.
Happy stupid birthday Samantha.
===============================================================================
Sam's head snapped up to watch Dean basically throw himself out of the room,
stomping down the hall and slamming his door. Was he mad he was leaving? He
didn't really want to go, but when Jess made up her mind there was no stopping
her.
When they were ready to leave, Sam made sure to duck by Dean's room, rapping
his knuckles on the wood.
"Hey, Dean...I'm gonna go now. I'll have my phone, if you need anything—call
me, ok?" He called through the wood, sighing when he got no answer.
They were out of the house in the next couple of minutes in Kevin's car.
===============================================================================
It was almost one by the time Kevin helped Sam stumble into his own house. Jess
was already passed out in the back seat, her makeup smeared and a good amount
of her lipstick was on Kevin's cheek.
"I- I got this Kev-" Sam mumbled, getting his door open and stumbling in.
Somewhere along the line he knew Kevin gave up and left, the sound of a car
engine outside as Sam made his way through the house. Dean's light was still on
under his door, so he walked towards that, one hand on the wall to steady
himself. He thinks he drank something called a "purple nurple" that really
hadn't been necessary and some guy had kissed him after but he just wanted to
go home to Dean.
He pushed the door open and smiled slow when he saw his brother, still awake,
no doubt waiting for him.
"De," Sam mumbled low, kicking his shoes off as he tripped to his bed, all but
crushing Dean where he was sitting, head in his lap, "'M home."
Dean didn't look up, resolute in his sulking. He may have waited up but he
wasn't going to grovel about this. When his bed dipped, one look let's Dean
know Sam is way passed a couple drinks. He's had three beers and he's happy
enough as it is and if Dean is in Happy Land—sulking—Sam is flipping ecstatic.
"You're too big, Sam," he frowns, his resolution to stay upset dissipating.
Sam shifted until his body was stretched out in Dean's small twin bed. He
squirmed, uncomfortable in his clothes, reaching to pull his shirt off and
abandoning it when he could only get it halfway up his chest. Dean's starting
to feel stuffy, his eyes unable to look away from Sam's toned smooth torso as
the shirt gets caught and fails half way off.
"Gonna sleep here, gonna make up- make up for the movie we missed," Sam
mumbled, eyes closing, reaching for Dean.
Seems he forgives Sam really easy, his comic book falling to the floor as he
let's octopus Sam wrap around him.
When's the last time they slept in the same bed? He feels himself flush as his
hands touch Sam's bare skin, suppressing a groan at this torture. He's so soft.
Dean wants to kiss him again, he wonders if drunk Sam will remember. He got off
pretty easy the first time, but he's not brave enough for another shot.
"You better," Dean hums, "You're drunk, gunna make my bed smell like cheap
bar." He frowned, his heart aching, "Did ya have fun, Sammy?" He whispered,
pushing the older's hair out of his face. Sam leaned into Dean's fingers,
humming softly and snuggling closer. His arms circled tighter, pressed against
Dean.
"Was pretty fun, Jess kissed everyone, even Kevin," Sam mumbled softly, getting
Dean somehow laid out next to him, nosing at his cheek, "But you were...always
on my mind, ya know? Wanted to be back, watchin' Monty Python with you-"
He let out a puff of air and slid his legs with Dean's to get closer.
"Didn't want to kiss the guys in the bar, didn't smell good," he whispered,
eyes closed, "You smell good."
Dean stiffened, caught between relief and disgust. Those asshats didn't deserve
Sam. He can feel his breath over his skin, and as warm as he feels, his body
breaks out into goosebumps.
"Yea?" His voice sounds weak, shaky, that day he came home last year in the
forefront, a little braver, "All I gotta do is smell good to get ya to kiss
me?"
The phrase didn't process right in Sam's head, why would Dean just have to
smell good to kiss him? Even if the other guys had smelled good he wouldn't
have wanted to. Dean had nice lips though and he did have a pretty face.
Basically pretty all over. He was sure Dean would have been a better kiss, even
that one time two years ago had been good. He wondered if it would be better if
he was prepared this time.
Through his entire thought process, Sam was staring intently at Dean's lips,
fingers coming up to brush along the bottom lip.
"Always smell nice, all nice," Sam whispered, not truly making any sense
anymore.
He leaned in on impulse and pressed his lips to Dean's, mouth half open and
catching his brother's on an angle. It was warm and Dean seemed to let him just
kiss him for a long moment until Sam was pulling back, blearily eyed and
smiling, eyes closing as he snuggled in, intent for bed.
"Better than the bar," he mumbled, Dean's hand in his own as he fell asleep.
***** Chapter 4 *****
At fifteen, Dean has a reputation. He's made out with half or more of the
cheerleading squad, and he's co-captain of the wrestling team with this guy
named Victor, who's pretty nice. Little mouthy but alright.
The thing is, it doesn't matter how many girls he fools around with or how many
girls he gets his hands on behind the bleachers. He's fifteen and he gets
it. He's in love with his big brother, and no amount of fooling around changes
that. He kisses Anna Milton and he kisses Meg Masters, Lisa Braeden, but all he
sees when he closes his eyes, as his tongue tastes sweet lip gloss and soft
sighs, is Sam. He's infected.
The rules haven't changed, he still won't talk about it.
There has only been two times that Dean can count honestly that he's kissed
Sam: The first time that sealed the deal, and the second time. Sam's twenty-
first birthday, stunning him and making him gasp and kiss back as Sam fell
asleep, soft and wet and drunk and unaware of the course it set Dean on.

That night Sam kissed him, wrecked everything, and passed out in his bed
leaving Dean to lay there as wonder what this meant for them.
At seven, Dean knew he wanted to marry Sam. Even if he didn't know why. At
eleven, he knows it's not going to happen. At twelve, Dean learns what "gay" is
and at fourteen he kisses Sam and he knows he's a freak.
At fifteen, he's in love and he knows he's not suppose to be.
===============================================================================
Dean hit his growth spurt just under six-feet and he's picked up autoshop along
with wrestling, helping Bobby on the weekends.
Mostly he wants to be more independent so Sam isn't his parent. His complex for
Sam is weird enough as it is, he doesn't need Sam to be his mom and dad along
with brother and best friend and sexual fantasy.
Sometimes Sam falls asleep on the couch and Dean comes out and brings a
blanket. Some days are worse then others and all he wants is to run his hands
over Sam's soft, firm skin. He's tucked SAMs bangs back so many times while
he's been asleep that he knows by heart were all his beauty marks are, how
peaceful he looks.
He only counts those two times and real kisses because Sam was awake.
Asleep? Sometimes Dean can't help it, he'll press a soft chase kiss, he's only
done it maybe five times when he needs it most, sneaking into Sam's room when
he feels like he'll die.
Dean's older now so he and Sam hang out more, better balanced and easier
conversation. They still fight, but now when Jess and Kevin come over, Dean can
stay in the room and talk back without being bored.
He doesn't react when Sam goes out on blind dates that Jess sets up or when Sam
gets dressed up for another party. Dean's older so Sam can have a life. Dean
won't take that from him. He plays it cool.
It doesn't stop him from tearing his bed apart and screaming into a pillow.
Still hates and loves Jess. It's good for Sam, he knows it. Dean's the fucked
up one. But his chest goes through a blender every time Sam gets all happy
about hanging out with his friends, with these guys at parties.
Most days are okay though. Most days it's on the back burner like it's always
been.
It's summer, practice has been long and hard and until he fixes the impala up
into working perfect condition, Sam won't let Dean drive. So he walks home from
Benny's—Benny has a pick up his dad gave him—it's only three blocks so it's not
so bad.
Minus the heat.
He's sticky and sweaty and the air is dry and he's going to end up baked with
more freckles then he already thinks is healthy to have by the end of
August. Dean just wants to go home, start the air conditioner, drink lemonade
and have the house cool for Sam when he gets back.
Maybe talk Sam into burgers on the porch, even let Sam make his weird lemon
pepper asparagus thing in the foil that he likes so much.
How did Sam get so tall eating nothing but green stuff?
===============================================================================
Dean hit fifteen and Sam hit a crisis.
It started with the growth spurts, inch after inch Dean grew until Sam could no
longer lean on Dean's head like an armrest—which he hated anyways and was
always swatted away with a "Do I look like furniture to you?".
And it seemed like with his newfound height also came a newfound sense of
purpose. He was more involved with wrestling than ever before, making captain
of the wrestling team with a recommendation from Sonny, not that he needed it
considering the talent Dean had and the amount of times he had won the match
for the school. He picked up auto shop, to Bobby's pleasant surprise, and more
than one weekend had been spend up at Bobby's, Sam driving them back to Sioux
Falls for the weekend so Dean could work with him at the shop, tanned and
sweating in the sun.
That's when Sam's crisis hit.
He was looking at his little brother. Actually looking. He was watching the
sweat drip down the hollow of his throat and slide down that sliver of golden
chest until it hit the tank top he was wearing. God help him if Dean decided to
strip it off completely, leaving Sam on the porch, sweating for an entirely
different reason.
Puberty had treated Dean like a king, sharpening his jaw gently, cheekbones
balancing out the softness of his lip, lean frame made longer, muscles added
from wrestling and skin tanned from working outside.
So yes, Sam was looking and he was going to hell for it.
Of course he isn't the only one who noticed, girls flocked around him when Sam
pulls up to the high school, Dean a god walking among them as he makes his way
to the car. Once Sam caught Dean kissing a girl like his life depended on it,
and she looked dazed by the time he let her go.
He doesn't let it rule his life, for the most part he shoved it into a box
inside another box inside another box and then pushed all the way in the back
corner of his mind.
Dean isn't so much his little brother anymore as he is Sam's best friend. They
had always been close but now he was closer in maturity and intellect and Sam
could talk to him for hours. He wasn't taking care of Dean anymore, not really,
it was more like they were taking care of each other.
Sam is twenty-two and swamped with school and work and most days he blows off
Jess and Kevin in favor of just hanging out with Dean, when Dean wasn't with
his own friends, wasn't out with his girl flavor-of-the-week. He doesn't care
about them, knows he should be telling Dean not to play with their hearts, they
don't know what love is and they're impressionable and young but he can't bring
himself to, feels relieved that Dean doesn't really care about them. He always
came back to him and the thought made Sam's heart soar just for his mind to
whisper "sick" and shoot it down.
He loves his little brother and he's having a hard time figuring out just
exactly how he loves him.
In the face of this problem, Sam starts going on dates that Jess set up. They
never come in, never last more than one date and some stress relief making out
in his car sometimes-leads-to-more but he never brings them home, never stays
the night.
However, he meets Brady and thought that maybe he could see him again. He was
nice, they were in the same major and they had quite a bit in common. This was
safe, this was ok, so he would give it a go. He didn't make out on the first
date, they didn't even kiss other than a kiss on the cheek on Sam's doorstep,
the second date earning Sam a slow chaste kiss. They had already set up another
date a week from Friday.
Dean thinks Sam has been a little weird recently, like a spooked animal. He
pretty much screams 'I have something to ask' and Dean doesn't really know what
or why. Sam could ask him to eat a jar of mayonnaise and as gross as that is,
if he made those puppy dog eyes, he'd do it. So what has had Sam in a bunch the
last week? He's downed his third lemonade and the burger begging actually
worked—almost too easy—when Sam finally seems to pop. Dean's got a mouth full
of cheesy puffs, feet on the Table watching Fifth Element and lemonade in his
hand.
"Dean, do you have a friend's house you could stay at Friday?" Sam asked
casually the next Wednesday, wondering if it was too much to assume they might
come back to the house afterwards.
"Uh....I guess...why?" He licked cheesy powder from his fingers. Why would he
need to be out? Were they tenting the house for the weekend of something? Dean
thought that last time was it, they did that orange oil thing for terminates
and-
Realization dawned on him.
Sam's dates usually were one night only deal—this last guy got a second one but
Sam hadn't talked about keeping him around. His stomach knotted. Third
date. Third date meant sex, doesn't it?
"You're kicking me out to get some tail," Dean hears himself say surprisingly
even toned, if not a little annoyed. He's impressed with himself, because
personally, internally he's having a panic attack crash into a self loathing
fit. But as far as he can tell, Dean's mastered the art of pretending he's
peachy.
Sam couldn't figure our Dean's tone. He sounded a little annoyed, which would
make sense if your older brother asked you to take a hike so he could get
some—which wasn't his plan, it was just a precaution—but for the most part it
wasn't angry or upset, right? That was a good thing? Nothing to feel
disappointed over.
"That- no, I just have a date and you'll be here by yourself," Sam started,
trying to find a way to not spun absolutely lame, like he wanted to call a baby
sitter or something, "Who knows what you could get up to by yourself, Dean, and
I for one would not like to come home to macaroni on the ceiling. However, if
you do it at Benny's house, then I will commend you for your ingenuity."
Dean frowned at Sam. That was one time. When he was eight and it had seemed
funny at the time.
Sam thinks maybe he saved himself but at the same time was completely sure he
had just rambled and let some of his irritation at Dean's southern friend—that
kid was trouble and looked like he should be at least a senior, let alone a
freshman—slip out.
It's starting to become clear what Sam is avoiding coming out in staying. And
to Dean—it hurts. Another reminder that he's just the annoying kid brother. Sam
wants to start getting frisky at home and Dean's an obstacle.
He fights the urge to call Sam out on his bullshit, but he reminds him self he
has no place to be pissy. What could he say? 'Hey I know I'm only fifteen—oh
and heads up incest is cool—I'm in love with you don't kick me out to screw
some dickbag-'
"Yea. Okay. Whatever up want, Sammy," He deflated a little, getting up and
taking his puffs and glass with him, "I'll call Benny."
===============================================================================
Thing is, Dean has a self restraint problem. This is really testing his nerves.
Soon as he's up from school Friday morning, he swipes Sam's keys and stuffs the
glove compartment full of every 'Living with Herpes' and 'STDs-It's Okay!'
brochure he's grabbed from the local awareness counter he could get over the
whole week.
Once he's completely satisfied of the spring effect when that puppy opens, he
leaves the keys in the kitchen and walks to Benny's.
It's the only small rebellious thing he does, leaving before saying good bye to
Sam. It's a little spiteful and he feels both guilty and angry. Jealous. Dean's
been jealous in one shape or form involving Sam his whole life. This changes
nothing really, only that now he's old enough to know why and old enough to
know he's not suppose to be.
So when Benny asks why he's "such a moody bitch" he just punches him in the arm
and tells him he wants to skip algebra for Nikki's Diner.
Another small mark at Sam, not that he'll notice. Dean's positive Sam never
even hears the messages before Dean gets home to delete them.
===============================================================================
Friday morning when Sam wakes up, Dean is already gone. Dean always said
goodbye to him, even when he was in a rush, but Sam tried not to let it bother
him, pours his coffee in silence and tries not to think it was because of what
he asked Dean.
He has work and then just enough time to get home and shower. The closer his
date got the more he was wondering if it was even really worth it. But if he
bowed out now Jess would be on his case for weeks and Sam would have lost the
one best prospect for companionship he'll find aside from Dean, and that was a
path he couldn't go down.
Sam greets Brady at the door, Dean gratefully gone at Benny's house, "Ready? We
can take my car."
Just as predicted, the date goes without a hitch, but this time Brady was a
little more forward, a brush of his hand along Sam's lower back, trailing eyes.
He knows what Brady wants and it's been a long time since he's had anything
more than heavy petting.
So if they leave a little earlier from dinner than expected, neither says
anything. And if Brady runs his hand up Sam's thigh while he's driving, Sam
isn't complaining, biting his lip as he closes the few inches north as Sam
turns onto his street.
It was only expected when they make out over the console, Brady's hands tugging
at him until he's straddling the other male's lap, mouths connected and hands
down the back of his unbuttoned jeans.
"Hold on- I- I have condoms," Sam breathed, Brady's lips stretching against his
before he leaned back to open the glove compartment-
Sam was accosted by at least a hundred flyers for STDs and , the whole
passenger side of the car coated in the brightly colored papers.
Brady looked surprised and more than a little perturbed, somewhere between
amused and confused. Sam was about to die.
"It's- I don't have STDs, my brother... likes to play pranks, I'm sorry, I
promise it's just a joke--" Sam rambled until Brady pulls him back down into
another kiss until he's is moaning again.
"Do you have condoms inside?" Brady asked, a smirk playing on his lips.
"I- yeah, yeah I do."
"Then may I come in?"
"—yeah."
They stumble from the car, Brady's hands on Sam's hips, sliding back and down
into his pants as they make it to the porch. Sam's shoulders get pressed into
the door, his hand releasing Brady's shirt to thump against the door in an
effort to find the door handle, panting and moaning into Brady's mouth.
Brady's got his tongue down his throat and fingers extremely close to where Sam
wants them when his whole world is being uprooted and he's falling, breaking
away from Brady and regaining his balance as he stumbled into the house.
===============================================================================
Dean has no words for how bad he wants to deck this asshole when he sees them
from the window stumbling for the door, fucking dickhead shoving his nasty
hands into the back of Sam's pants-
He's already making it down the stairs, maybe faster then necessary when he
hears the loud thump—fucking hell is this fucker just slamming Sam around for
kicks?
He hurts, it's like the only thing he feels aside from annoyance and rage as he
yanks the door open, Sam and the douche bag almost falling in.
"Sammy!" Dean piped up, grinning, "and you must be Brandy- thanks for getting
Sam home by curfew." He flicked his eyes away from Sam's half stretched out
shirt, soft bite marks on his normally flawless throat-
Fuck he wants to kill this fucker--
Worst fucking part is Sam flushing and wide eyed—he looks like he
needs—underneath what Dean can obviously read as mortification and rising
anger.
"Or was it Brady? Nope. Can't be Brady. Pretty sure it was a hooker's name."
Damage control. Sam needed to work on some damage control ASAP.
"Dean, would you kindly shut up? Brady is a guest, don't be rude," Sam bit out,
each word punctuated by his glare.
"Maybe... I should get going-"
"I- god, sorry Brady, I'll call you?" Sam asked, eyebrows raised as he turned
back to where Brady was shifting awkwardly from foot to foot.
Brandy is everything Dean's going to have grandiose fantasies about torturing
in the pits of hell. He'd probably care more except he and Brady are having a
stare down while Sam is totally losing his cool. God he wishes he had the force
to go dark side on this sorry piece of--
"Yeah, Sam, it's ok, obviously this wasn't planned," Brady said with a slow
shit eating grin at Dean that Sam missed before tugging Sam into a slow kiss,
teeth catching Sam's bottom lip as he pulled back, clearly in Dean's view.
Brady kisses Sam. Full HD. And it's nothing like the kisses Dean remembers with
Sam. Nothing like those first two and nothing like the quiet secret stolen
couple he's got when Sam's asleep. It's deep and sensual and Sam makes this
noise that Dean can't even allow himself to fully enjoy—but it's like angels
singing to his dick, too bad it's for Brandy the hooker. He pulls away, Dean
totally absorbed by how good Sam looks with his lip tugged by teeth and-
Fuck, fuck this is too much emotion—killing someone and wanting to try that
same hooker's trick on Sam this exact second is too much—he's going to
overload. The dick leaves and dean is putting his brain back together after a
forced restart--
"What... the hell, Dean?" Sam asked, turning to Dean with an exasperated
expression, "HIV pamphlets? And weren't you supposed to be at Benny's?"
Oh, shit. Sam's a little pissed. Okay, well, Dean can be pissed too.
"Maybe I didn't feel like  being a piece of meat you toss out over Brandy the
Rent-a-Fuck," Dean snapped, immune to Sam's tone
Sam felt a sharp pang of guilt at that one, mixed with the nauseous was Dean
insulted him. Brady was actually a nice guy, intelligent, it wasn't his fault
Dean had met Brady when they were both incredibly horny with intent of fixing
that. Even he wasn't a perfect role model in the midst of sexual need, so shoot
him.
What hurt the worst was that Dean thought Sam considered him a burden. He
couldn't just come out and say 'Dean, your fifteen year old post-growth spurt
body has awakened dormant feelings of need and is making me question my
familial love for you so I had to try and send you away so I could get some and
ease the tension because shower jerk offs aren't cutting it'. No, that sounded
like a very bad plan.
"You're not meat, Dean, Jesus," Sam said, exasperated, "Did you really think
that's what I thought of you? Some kid in the way of my dates? Damn it, Dean,
it was respect, what kind of asshole would I be if I just did it anyways?"
Deans shoulders tensed, knowing it was so much more then that and he was over
flowing with it.
"How about you just, I don't know—don't—I get it. I'm the kid brother, I'm
totally cock blocking and causing a shit fest, but come on Sammy- the guy's a
total lecherous creep. He didn't even care that he was slipping your pants off
where every one of the neighbors could see- not counting he couldn't wait a
damn second to let you open the door before tossing you around-" he threw his
hands up, trying to keep up the annoyed protective annoying brother act but
it's tipping. He's losing control.
"What's with these guys? They suck- okay- I mean-" tumbling, he ends up
stepping up into Sam's personal space, hand reaching out to flatten against his
chest as he presses Sam firmly against the oak paneling, green eyes looking up
at his giant older sibling. Sam still has a good five-ish inches on him, and
he's so frustrated he can't be enough.
That Brandy McAsswipe made Sam sing sweet sounds and got Sam desperate and pink
and Dean only gets in the way-
There's pressure against Sam's chest and he's pressed firmly into the wall
behind him, and Dean is so much closer than he should be in this situation,
touching much more than they should be. God, but all he could see is Dean, and
if that wasn't a neon sign highlighting the reason they were even having this
problem, then he doesn't know what was.
"You're mine," he grit out, voice growling, deep. He's passed the age of
awkward voice cracking, but he's never heard his voice sound that weathered.
Deans earthy green eyes are stern, looking dead on at Sam as a equal, not as
the younger brother but as someone stating the absolute truth. 
Fucking Christ. All higher brain function shut down, thoughts completely
halted. Dean's voice was gravel deep, the way it ripped from his throat like a
growl, not at all the childish squeaks of his brother's younger years. This was
a different animal, and it was telling Sam that he belonged to him.
The sky is blue, fire is hot, the universe is vast, life is short, and Sam
belongs to Dean, just like Dean belongs to Sam. It's with that vindication that
Dean speaks, only seriousness, not a threat but a complete honest truth he
holds to himself—usually a secret with himself—he's just so far gone right now
it's spilling out of him, his fingers tightening in Sam's shirt.
How was he supposed to respond to that? Because his first reaction is to lean
in and kiss Dean like he wasn't his fifteen year old brother.
Sam is looking at Dean like he's looking at someone else, something he doesn't
recognize. He can't tell if it's good or bad but it shoots through Dean like
he's been burned. Like that was too much, like he's being to transparent about
how he feels about his brother.
So he steels himself and let's go, giving Sam some space and breaking the
weirdly electric moment between them.
"...these guys are just asshats, Sammy. It's suppose to be you and me against
the world, right?" He murmurs looking down, feeling uneasy. His anger has
subsided into the nagging feeling that he's crossing lines he wasn't suppose
to, that he over shared. This is why he hates talking feelings.
This is Sam's gig.
A quick glance and Dean can feel a sort of tension he can't describe between
them.
He told Sam he's his. Brothers don't do that? Right? That's more like a
possessive boyfriend thing, isn't it?
He has to back track—he'd rather have Sam angry then have Sam figure out why
dean is being such a dick about him dating—anything besides Sam figuring out
what Dean feels--
So he just jumps ship and shoves his foot in his mouth post haste.
"—stop going out with these jerks—I don't know—buy a fancy toy or something—"
he spiddles dumbly, trying to shoot for annoyed brother again instead of
obviously pining fucked up brother.
The moment was gone, absolutely crushed under Dean's generally insensitive
comments as his brother moved far enough away that Sam could actually think.
And with his returned senses came his anger, this time bolstered by the easy
way Dean was brushing off what just happened. He was more angry at himself for
reading into it as much as he did. Dean was his brother and it's always been
them, there was just a deeply ingrained sense of codependency, that was all.
Its what he had to repeat to himself, but he couldn't help but feel stupid for
it anyways, and it made him irritable.
"Buy a- what the fuck, Dean, this is not about my sex life!" Sam exclaimed,
like he was going to say he already had toys to his fifteen year old brother.
No way.
He followed when Dean start walking towards the living room, if he thought this
conversation was over with then he had another thing coming.
"Dean! Will you just stop being a child-" Sam all but growled in frustration,
and it was a low blow but he was at wits end.
It stops him on a dime, chest crushing, turning fast to see his brother, mouth
hot and tasting like iron. He's not a child—he just isn't anything but a brat
to Sam—it's not his fault that that's all Sam sees him as- it's not his fault
god is a jackass and made them related- it's not his fault he was born 7 years
late and-
On an impulse Sam reached out and grabbed a pillow from the couch, smacking
Dean in the side of the face with the green throw pillow, panting. Oh, that
felt good.
Dean's thought process ends when his face is side slammed with a throw pillow,
making him stumble at the shock of it. He grabbed his face looking at Sam with
wide eyes, the older breathing heavy and frustrated. It takes a minute to
collect his thoughts.
"Did you just call me a child and hit me with a pillow?" He asked, dumbfounded.
Sam has the nerve to look pleased.
"Bitch!" He hissed, leaning over the couch and grabbed the other pillow,
chucking it back and catching Sam's face.
Dean's provocation was downright dangerous but Sam was in the mood to play with
fire.
He gets a pillow to the face, but it's returned just as quickly, both standing
and panting. It's a lot like a Mexican stand off, face to face wielding the
couch pillows, quick breathing before dean just lunges, knocking them into the
love seat and the floor, pillows being yanked from the furniture and getting
thrown around. There's a lot of growling and frustration. They're holding two
pillows each and Sam is so tempted to say, "There ain't enough room in this
town for two, kid", but movie quoting was Dean's thing.
Dean goes kamikaze and just flies at him, Sam trying valiantly to hit him
before they make contact, knocked right over on to the floor, rough carpet
under his back. There was a flurry of limbs and pillows, noises from both of
them that sounded way more animalistic than the upright homo sapiens they were.
"—call Jody—child abuse—stupid Samantha—treating me—like a kid—" Dean is
breathing hard with each hit, before Sam kicks him off and he's getting his own
face full, Sam beating him down. He's pretty sure he hears a lamp fall, and
neither is caring by the time Sam totally cheats and pulls off a whole couch
cushion.
Sam huffed and got the upper hand, Dean's wrestling technique lost in his own
irritation, giving Sam the opening to flip them over, pinning him to the floor
as he hit him with the couch pillow.
"—won't treat you like one—if you stop- acting like one-"
Another flip and they roll around, Dean's pretty sure they will both have rug
burn but somehow the fighting and yelling and bickering is just starting to
turn into snorts and laughing.
"Ow- FUCK-" Dean bit out batting at Sam, hit across the face as he falls onto
the floor, only for Sam's knee to swing over him, keeping him on the floor as
he gets bombarded. It's mostly laughter and begging and labored breathing at
this point.
The tension is bleeding out of them despite the words, and Sam is laughing more
at the expression Dean gets when he get clocked in the face, like he couldn't
believe Sam actually hit him, nevertheless with a soft pillow—which really
weren't that soft when you were being beaten to death by it.
Sam yet again got the upper hand and got one leg on either side of Dean's
stomach, holding his perch atop his brother.
"SAM- Sammy- Sam stop—can't-breathe—uncle! Yatzi- white flag- I quit-" Dean is
a mess, head falling back as he keeps his arms up to defend his unarmed face.
When the attack slows, his hands drop, longing on SAMs thighs. It takes only a
second to realize SAMs been straddling him.
Dean has to swallow, still laughing a little as he swallows breaths, Sam
doesn't seem much better off, even as the victor he looks winded.
Deans just laying there with Sam sitting on top of him and....he's perfect, his
bangs falling in his pink laughing face, eyes bright and his ugly red flannel
shirt shoved up his arms. Built chest rising and falling-
Sam was laughing when he dropped the pillow to either side of them, chest
heaving but smiling wider than he had all week. He missed Dean like this,
acting like his best friend, wrestling until they were both breathless, too
winded and breathless through laughter to even really say anything.
Dean feels his hands flex and tighten on Sam's thighs, dragging down slow. It's
dangerous how much he wants to lean up and try kissing Sam like that hooker guy
did, but he loves moments like these, so he swallows his want and instead,
relaxes to enjoy the moment, leaving his hands loosely on Sam's thighs, thumb
rubbing ever so small as he tries to breath again.
Sam shouldn't let the hands on his thighs distract him so much. Did Dean even
realize what he was doing? How the way he was holding was with the same
possessive tone as the hand on his chest earlier. How he was making Sam's
stomach tie up in knots and confusing his brain. He was questioning his morals
left and right, and he had to go and straddle his little brother, had to
subject himself to what that might do to him, especially within half an hour of
being almost fully attached to Brady.
Yet through all of that, this moment is what he loved most about living with
Dean, the ease. It didn't always feel like that, but the way they could come
apart and argue, they came back together just as quickly.
"Sorry, Dean," Sam said softly, reaching down to fix Dean's rumpled hair, "I'm
an asshole."
His younger brother's eyes fall closed instinctively, taking a deep breath when
Sam's fingers run through his hair. He has to swallow the lump in his throat,
his heart pounding. Dean's nose was soft and tickled the inside of his wrist,
but Sam didn't move it away, didn't want to.
"You're not all bad..." Dean smiled softly, turning his face into Sam's wrist,
running his nose over it, "Could improve a bit with the cooking...and it
wouldn't kill you to brush up on something besides nerd stuff..." His eyes
opened, looking up at his older brother.
"'Nerd stuff' is my job," Sam protested lightly, any heat the words could have
held was lost when Dean brushed his fingers through his hair. Dean's eyes
softened, reaching up to brush his long hair behind Sam's ear. It's another
strange moment.
"I'm not sorry I screwed your shots of screwing Brandy the hooker," It's clear
he's not. He doesn't regret it. He'll do it again if he can. And again.
Sam could only sigh softly, but he wasn't angry anymore. He was all but certain
his unadressed arousal would come back to haunt him, but right now he was
comfortable and Dean wasn't angry anymore. Brady was forgotten until Dean
brought it back up.
"I guess I'll just go buy a 'fancy toy'."
Dean snorted, "You mean buy another one?" He punched Sam in the arm, pants a
little stiff at the idea. Really inappropriate timing.
Sam snorted but internally panicked because he really hoped that was just a
joke and Dean didn't know about his toy box because that was not a conversation
he needed to have.
He slowly moved to get up, tugging Dean with him.
"Indiana Jones?" he asked, tilting his head towards the couch.
"Actually..." Dean started picking up the destructive mess of the couch, "I'd
really like that...." He smirked, "So long as I get to recite the movie without
you throwing popcorn at me. Oh. And make popcorn," he grinned cheeky.
"Aren't you high maintenance, princess," Sam cocked an eyebrow but turned and
headed towards the kitchen for popcorn, "The popcorn wouldn't hit you so much
if you would just shut your trap!"
===============================================================================
An hour later they were wrapped up in blankets on the couch with Raiders of the
Lost Ark and a large bowl of buttery popcorn, Sam letting Dean get his fill of
"Snakes. Why'd it have to be snakes?" and "Son of a bitch!" in perfect timing
with Indiana on the screen. It was even a little endearing, the way Dean would
scrunch his face up and match the pitch as he delivered the lines.
Two hours later Dean was asleep against his chest as the credits rolled, and
Sam reached over and clicked the TV off and leaving them in darkness. Sam
looked down at his brother, sighing softy as he ran his fingers through the
soft spikes of Dean's hair, eyes tracing over the more grown up features of
Dean's face, still seeming so innocent while he slept. He didn't have the heart
to wake him, didn't want to, so instead he laid back, tugging Dean along with
him and closing his eyes, little brother asleep on his chest.
===============================================================================
"Sammy, welcome home." Dean grinned, shirtless as he jogged up the porch when
Sam got back.
It was another one of those days where Dean is beat to hell. Practice and then
hours at the shop.
He gets home in the cooking sun before Sam, covered in grease and oil and
sweat.
The way, he figures, he had a couple hours before Sam gets back, so he decided
to work on the impala.
"So I think I'll have her mostly put together around Christmas- needs a lot of
body work. And parts- I'll have to save up for the parts-"
Dean goes on his tangent about how beautiful his baby will be when he's done as
he trails into the house after Sam, skin goose bumping a little in the air
conditioner.
Sam may not have been taking as many classes now that it was summer, but for
what he lost in classes he made up for with work. He was exhausted and the heat
was suffocating. He didn't do summer well, that was Dean, and the vice versa
could be said for winter. Sam was fine, but Dean couldn't stop griping about
how he couldn't feel his toes until Sam let him sleep in the same bed and press
his frozen toes to the backs of his legs.
There was one thing Sam was finding he increasingly enjoyed about Summer.
Dean, shirtless, sweating and covered in dirt and oil from working on the car,
skin sun kissed in the light, freckles standing out against his skin. He forced
himself only a casual glance as his brother bounded up the steps after him.
Dean is rambling on about the impala as they both walk in to the house, and
while Sam would have reprimanded Dean for starting the air conditioning
meaninglessly while he was outside, he could only be thankful it had already
been on when he stepped in.
Dean, however, must have been out enjoying the sun, because as soon as Sam
turned around to face his brother after depositing his keys int he bowl and
setting his bag down, all he could focus on was the way Dean's nipples got
pebbly and hard because of the air, goosebumps trailing all over his skin.
Sam had a long moment of absolute blankness and then the very inappropriate
image of wrapping his lips and sucking at Dean's chest until both sides were
just as hard and bright red from the attention.
No. Not ways to think about your shirtless brother and his stupid low hanging
jeans and he could just see the tip of Dean's boxer briefs—and he knew thats
what they were, because he did all of the laundry in the house—above the hem.
What a great reminder that he needed to do laundry.
"I'm done for the day, so lets start some laundry, I just need to get changed,"
Sam said, turning so he wouldn't have to stare at his /little brother/ standing
like some sort of sun god in the living room.
God he was going to hell.
===============================================================================
Laundry days are Dean's favorite days. It's torture, but it's the kind he looks
forward to.
Sam gets out of the shower and puts all the laundry in the washing machine in
nothing but some flimsy jeans cut off into shorts that hang low and tug just
right.
He's knows what he's feeling is wrong, he's been slowly coming to terms with
it, but deans pretty much accepted he's fucked up.
Sam doesn't even wear underwear, he can tell because of how tight those jeans
form over his ass when his older brother bends over—if Sam reaches for
anything, stretches out at all, those low jeans slip over narrow hips. God,
Dean's focus ends up imagining licking over those shaped hip bones and nuzzling
the light trail trail of hair leading down into those jeans and-
Anyway, laundry days are like a reward day. Dean actually busts ass to get all
his homework and shit done so he can afford to casually hang around the living
room all day.
Just to watch Sam move around the house. Benny can call to go see $2 movies or
whoever to hangout and Dean really doesn't care. This is his day. And as
incognito as possible, feigning interest in the TV, he watches Sammy like the
creep he is. Watches him walk around, shirtless and muscled, health freak fit
and perky nipples in the air conditioning and just....perfect. Every laundry
day—every 2 weeks—ends with Dean desperately chasing orgasms into his freshly
cleaned sheets that smell like Sam and detergent and fuel every filthy thought
he's had that day. Ranging from tasting down Sam's spine, to what his brother's
cock might taste like with Dean on his knees pinning Sammy to the cupboard.
Like he's said—he's fucked up and he can't tell anyone else about it.
This time is a little different.
Dean missed the last couple laundry days. He had run late at wrestling and Sam
decided to join the universe in ruining the one good thing for his sexual needs
in his life. (Good may be subjective and dependent on just how liberal you were
to Dean's number one sexual fantasy star...) So when he does actually get the
day—he's pent up way more than normal. It feels 10x hotter and rawer on his
nerves when Sam comes down the stairs with wet hair, balancing the basket of
dirty clothes. God help him, Sam didn't even bother to button his slutty
fucking jean cut offs. Dean may or may not think he should 'prank' Sam by
making them into daisy dukes, though really it's just because he's dying to see
his brothers toned thighs.
What also makes this particular time different is—well, not his fault—because
of his lack of 'laundry day' release, and Dean is unable to look away. He
doesn't ever bother to hide how hungry he looks when Sam's in the room. He's
trying to be slick but all that smooth back is just begging him, and the drips
of water on Sammy's hair—it's like he was set up.
And then it happens. Sam drops the basket and has to pick it all up and Dean's
hit the ceiling in terms of restraint.
He's turned around on the couch, watching Sam pick it all up in the kitchen
having to bite his lip to stop the groan. Everyone says being a teenager is
when you're your horniest and he really hope so because how is he suppose to
hide how hard he got if it's going to be like this for the rest of his adult
life.
By the time Sam gets the laundry back, moved everything to the dryer and has
gone to pull out what he needs for dinner, Dean's palming himself to attempt to
keep it down, unable to turn back forward. He's just...watching. Turned to the
back of the couch watching Sam in nothing but his short jeans (commando) moving
around the kitchen on auto pilot.
He's busy actively thinking about how Sam even has back dimples just above the
perfect ass, still discreetly rubbing when he has to bite his knuckle to stop
from hissing as Sam picks up a dropped bag of carrots.
He's busted, Sam's eyes turning to look at him when the sound escapes him.
He's never been caught, usually by now he's only shooting glances, but he's
never just stared blatantly at Sam like this, never started the party early and
fondled himself with Sam in the room. Not that Sam can see the fondling,
because Sam's on the other side of the couch in the kitchen--
But he knows Sam can see Dean biting his knuckle and looking at Sam like a slab
of expensive high grade meat.
===============================================================================
Sam's theory is that if he can fit two weeks worth of laundry into one load, he
can save a load's worth of detergent and water, thus saving them money. He
hadn't always been so frugal, but he had spent a lot of his time devising
things like this—things that quickly turned to OCD—that would allow him to
prove that he could live with Dean and give him a comfortable standard of
living. It was one of the most important things to him.
So he would chose a day where all of his dirty laundry was consolidated into
one load—and he was anything if not thorough, showering and throwing on his
rattiest, oldest pair of cut off jeans from some time in middle school when he
had hit a growth spurt that left him too tall for his jeans and his hips had
always been too narrow for Dean's stockier, more muscular frame, so hand-me-
downs were out. He was at home anyways, he didn't have to worry what someone
would think about his shorts and/or lack of shirt, or the fact that he went
commando solely for the purpose of cleaning everything he owned. The only
person home was Dean, and Sam didn't have to worry about him, his fucked up
mind was his secret, and to his brother it was probably just weird.
Though today it felt like Dean had been staring, watching his every move. He
pretended not to notice, figuring Dean was just being Dean and couldn't find
anything else to watch or something. It sounded like an excuse he might use,
too. But it made his skin tingle in the tight way that made him repress shivers
and mentally berate himself for thinking filthy things about his brother's eyes
on him. Even when he dropped the laundry basket, it was like he was on display.
But that was stupid, he was delusional.
Yet it feels like maybe he isn't when he hears Dean make this sound from the
living room as Sam was picking up a bag of carrots from the ground—why the hell
was he dropping everything, seriously—and turned to investigate. What he found
was Dean's eyes on him and that expression was one like nothing he had ever
seen on his brother but instinctually recognized as want. But... that
expression didn't belong on his brother's face, not even if it made Sam's jeans
feel tight and his breath catch in his throat.
No, it couldn't be what he's thinking. He's been pent up recently with every
attempt at release sabotaged by his little brother, and it was making him
imaging that his fifteen year old brother could be looking at him in
unadulterated lust.
No, it couldn't be.
"Dean? You ok?" Sam asked, straightening and scratching his fingers through the
light trail of hair under his belly button, in hopes of it soothing his nerves,
"Did you hurt your finger" Yeah, opt the safe route.
Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. Dean's brain is rushing, somehow under all the stress
he still can't stop rubbing himself over his PE sweats.
He's mortified, forcing himself to stop as his heart pounds. Sam doesn't need
to know.
"No I'm good," his voice is a octave lower than normal, eyes watching Sam's
hand as it soothes over the skin he wishes he could taste about now.
He doesn't want busted, so he swallows, "What's for dinner, Sammy?" He still
sounds a little rough but it's more controlled than before, his hand going for
casual and resting on the sofa.
God, to Sam it sounded like Dean just gargled gravel, the way his voice comes
out low, and maybe it was his ears but it sounded almost strained. The tone
alone made that familiar heat pool low in his stomach, leaving him turning and
pressing his hips to the counter to keep himself from twitching into interest
in front of his little brother. He tried to busy himself with peeling the
carrots, anything to keep him from looking back into the living room.
Seriously this was getting a little ridiculous, Sam taking a deep breath with
his back turned.
"I was thinking lasagna? Steamed carrots on the side. Didn't really have time
to make it, but its that pre-made stuff that you just have to cook, I think we
had it before," Sam said, trying to keep his voice casual, turning to check the
oven, bending over to pull the door open before taking the dish and sliding it
in, straightening out and sighing with a slight nod.
Don't look at Dean, don't look at Dean, you freak, seriously, do not look at
him if you can't control yourself. God but he didn't want to and it was killing
him.
Dean can't stop, he's still palming, but suddenly the idea of doing more about
this with Sam in the room chokes him up in heat.
"- that vegetarian one?" He thinks he sounds better, trying to whisper more
than straight out talk so it sounds raspy and soft like maybe he's just
tired. Tired and not seriously pulling his shorts down just enough to spring
his loaded cock free, talking his marble hard shaft in his hand.
Sam could only see shoulders up. Dean in his worn out dark side of the moon
shirt, looking like he's just to tired to talk, arm and hand along the back of
the couch. Sam one hazarded a quick glance, nodding an affirmative as he turned
back to the task of steaming the carrots.
No idea that Dean's other hand is working himself slowly. He doesn't wan to get
caught, never does. But there's a edge—blinding hot and demanding—about doing
this in front of Sam and imagining him knowing and this turning into a fantasy.
It won't. But this has escalated into the best hand job he's ever had.
He listens as Sam speaks without turning. It's okay he doesn't, because Dean
would probably come on spot if it were Sam's front he was staring at through
lidded eyes.
He's not loud, forcing hi breathing calmly through his nose, hand stroking
faster. Sam turns the water on to run over the carrots and it's loud enough you
can't hear the slick channel of his hand being fucked.
God, he lets his eyes eat up Sam's exposed skin, wishing he could slide up
behind his brother and fuck him from behind against the counter-
Something gets on Sam's fingers and Dean comes, biting his lips red as he
watches Sam's tongue dart out to lick around the digit.
Dean has to hold his breath, closing his eyes and his hips jerk, cum sticky
against his belly. Carefully he tucks back in, letting his breath out as
quietly as he can, covering up his mess.
'Sam doesn't know, Sam doesn't know- fuck- I want Sam-'
It's all he can think as he let's his good hand slip into his hair and pull
slightly, eyes falling closed as he tries to come back down, at least enough to
stand and get to his room without notice.
For Sam, it wasn't worth it to waste time washing his hands, so he brought his
finger off to clean up the mess, licking his lips after to make sure nothing
got on his face. It really didn't taste that good, but he was distracted by a
slightly sound from the living room, like a soft intake of breath he wouldn't
have noticed if wasn't so hyperaware of Dean-
Fuck. He was absolutely fucked and immediately hard.
Dean's eyes are closed, hand in his hair with lips parted, red and shiny and
Sam can't remember if they were like that before or if he's just sick but the
image burns so low and hot in his body that he almost feels dizzy with how
quickly the blood rushes south. The carrots have fifteen more minutes at least,
the lasagna has twenty, and he has way less than that, so he mutters something
about the bathroom before rushing through the living room like his ass was on
fire.
Once locked in he leaned against the door, thanking the universe silently that
the bathroom was next to the laundry room, the sound of the drying and washer
going at once drowned out his gasps as he shoved his pants down mid-thigh. His
cock sprung out, smearing against his belly slightly, and when he put a hand on
himself he all but whimpered. He wanted to get off and get over it, but the
image of Dean in his head, eyes closed with those long dark lashes on freckles
cheeks, full pouty lips parted so perfectly, just enough that he could image
them closing around the head of his cock, taking it slowly, looking up through
those lashes at him, had the orgasm he was chasing burn slowly in persistence.
But it was his brother, it was wrong, and the sick twisted part of himself got
hotter at the idea that it was his little brother, was the reason he sucked on
his fingers imagining Dean and brought them around to finger himself as he
imagined those fucking perfect lips stretched wide over him-
He came harder than he had in weeks, so hard the breath was punched out of him
and all he could make was a choked, strangled noise.
It took him at least five minutes to right himself and cool down, walking out
into the kitchen like normal and calling out, "Alright, dinner!"
===============================================================================
Sam leaving gives Dean a chance to run upstairs, getting to his room for new
clothes that Sam sat on the bed.
The room smells like the damn concoction of the older Winchester's skin and
fabric softener.
He strips and jumps in the shower—Sam won't probably even notice—it's summer,
people shower, it happens-
The image of him in the mirror strikes him. Nude and spunk painting him.
He's fit, he knows. Looks pretty good, but he pretty much he knows he's a
teenage twink.
Dean can't help wondering if Sam likes twinks. But it's hard to tell. Since the
only 'date' deans met was Brandy and he just looks like a blow up douche. He
was cute, Dean guessed, but Sam was way out of his league.
Not that Dean can say much. Sam and he aren't even suppose to be in the same
arena, and even that aside, Sam is still way out of his league. Dean's still
too small, not strong enough.
He'd bet though, that what he lacks in body size he can make up for with his
mouth.
"Shit," he curses when he feels himself getting hard with that image. Again.
===============================================================================
When he gets down fifteen minutes later, he's whacked a new one and Sam is
setting plates, perfectly and blissfully naive of his little brother making a
mental porn star of him.
All seems like it's in the clear. He's able to complain about lack of protein
and tease Sam like he's suppose to. He gets a nice hot bite in his mouth just
when Sam leans over him for pepper and successfully blanks out and burns his
mouth.
"FUCK%6€*&--"
All things aside. Laundry day is still his favorite day.
***** Chapter 5 *****
A girl blows him behind the bleachers and they get caught.
 He hasn't done this for a while—the girl thing, since it's frankly a waste of
time—but things are harder to ignore around the house recently and he's
starting to lose control of his hormones. He goes to practice hard, but it's
not taking the edge off. So when a cute blonde with hazel eyes wants to have at
him, he thinks about how Sam’s eyes are hazel, better than her’s. But it'll do.
 Sam is probably going to be pissed, because Dean might not make it home after
practice to beat Sam to the answering machine. He got off with a warning but if
it happens again he'll get benched. Dean may be a fuck up but he won't let
Sonny or Sam down for his own greedy dick. 
===============================================================================
 Sam is juggling a brother-lusting identity crisis and a brother that got into
almost more trouble than he was worth, if he wasn't worth so much.
His hands shake a little when he gets the voicemail, calls back to the office
for details and listens quietly as the principle tells Sam about Dean being
caught in the midst of "unsavory acts" behind the school bleachers. It was so
absurd that Sam wondered vaguely if this man had ever had sex or was possibly a
devout Christian, but as soon as he hung up, the principle’s voice faded away
and the only image he had left was Dean leaning against some pole with a petite
girl between his legs, his hands in her hair, guiding her up and down.
Fucking hell, his brother was fifteen. He knew he was trouble,knew he would
find out about girls, knew this probably wasn't the first, just the one that
got caught, and every thought his mind had repressed surged to the surface.
Dean was letting stupid high school girls touch him, when he doubted they even
knew how to touch themselves, let alone Dean. He felt both overprotective and
possessive, like it was his right to keep Dean—when it certainly was not.
Approaching Dean with it was dangerous, but he deleted the voicemail on the
home phone, leaving it for Dean to find out when he got home to see if he could
erase it. A clever trick on Dean's part, but he wasn't that hard to catch on
to, he just chose not to be overbearing all the time.
So instead he does what he thinks is the dignified version of sulking and
doesn't dig deeper for the reason that it bothers him so much, ignoring the
tiny stupid little horn dog voice in the back of his mind screaming "you could
have done better, shown him what a talented mouth can do-".
So he sets up another date with Brady, who actually sounded like he wanted to
see him, and that was refreshing, and he wouldn't lie if the phone call got a
little heated by the end and left him quietly gasping into the phone speaker.
Phone sex, classy. He hung up and showered, trying out some new shampoo he
grabbed because it was the cheapest at the grocery store that week, marked down
almost criminally, and headed down to study in the living room. 
===============================================================================
Sam’s sulking, Dean thinks. It's not sulking so much as it seems like, yea, Sam
probably heard about what happened at school. And he's probably trying to find
a way to tell Dean he needs to reign in the sexual activity (but really what
brother wants to talk about sex lives? Sammy probably thought the worst Dean
did was cop a feel of 'boobies' from time to time—surprise!! Younger Winchester
is moving on up).
So Dean cautiously tiptoes in, hoping Sam doesn't see him making his way for
the stairs.  He doesn't want to have safe sex talk with Sam. One, he knows, and
two, he's 99% everything Sam says about sex will result in him popping a boner.
He barely makes it passed the couch when he catches a whiff in the air. It's
light, sweet, but not too sweet. A little floral, but not strong. 
He doesn't think, because his body moves for him, leaning into Sam from behind
the couch and pressing his nose into his hair. He must have changed shampoos.
It's nuzzling, obvious and he knows it, doesn’t notice if Sam gets mad because
he's too busy humming,
“Like this one, Sammy....smells like spring.”
Sam doesn't push him away so Dean’s work-rough hands join the mix, tugging
Sam’s hair back as he combs it, letting dean hold him there. If he weren't so
busy feeling his heart jack hammer at how unbrotherly he's being, he'd be
turned on at how almost obedient Sam is to Dean’s will.
He loves touching Sam. Loves it. Never does it. Not like this. Usually he has
to play macho younger brother that bats and punches at Sam—but this is
different. This is good. Dean doesn't know if Sam’s too shocked to resist or if
he's enjoying it too much, but he lets his head move the way Dean wants it, his
fingers joining in to make Sam’s eyes flutter closed at the sensation.
He can't help it. That girl was like all the others and didn't help him. This
is the feeling he's always chasing.
Dean parts his lips, dragging them behind Sammy's ear before letting his teeth
graze the shell. His tongue wants to stick out, to taste just a little. For a
moment dean doesn't feel younger. Doesn't feel like a child. Everything feels
like…Sam is a man, and Dean is too. And it feels a little warm and a little
scary that they are all alone in this big house.
He's so hard, needs so much right now. He wants Sam to do something about it
but...
The logic switch is powered back on and dean becomes very aware of what he's
doing and Sam is very still, obviously felt what Dean just did. Sam can't know.
He wants so bad but Sam can't know. So he pulled away, messing up SAMs clean
hair with a soft laugh, shooting for nonchalance. The ‘fake it ‘till you make
it’ kind.
"You always buy such girly shampoo,” Dean pulled away completely, fighting his
intense want to keep touching Sam like he's Sam, not like they are brothers.
"Shut up, jerk," Sam replied, his voice strange, a little weak, "Some people
care about personal hygiene, not that you would know.”
"Whatever, bitch,” Dean snorted.
Inside though, he was humming. Touching like that was new. It was...it was
amazing. The best feeling he could remember having. Better than that girl
behind the bleachers and it hadn't even been dirty. Just...touching Sam. Really
touching him.
===============================================================================
The thing with the school never gets brought up. Frankly Dean is way cool with
that, and that itch he has he's found can be sedated at least little if he
touches Sam.
So he does. After that, over the course of the next week Dean finds himself
casually touching Sam every chance he gets. 
Sam doing dishes? Dean will walk by and brush by maybe closer than usual. 
Pass dean a glass? He'd over reach to touch Sam’s hand. Even humming happily
when he gets to catch Sam’s shampoo. He likes it, and Sam uses it and somehow
it feels good to him.
None of it was absolutely obvious but Dean had never realized how much he
enjoyed the contact. A part of him was really in denial about that aspect of
him—he never considered himself the type to want to hold hands or, god forbid,
cuddle. But damn, anything from Sam, any of that, he was dying for. The more he
thought about it the more he wanted it. At school he had stopped chasing ass
because his new hunger wasn't being met with petite blondes.
It was Sam. Sam’s body heat, his skin, his smell—the only sensory he missed and
would never have was Sam’s taste.
It was crazy. He thought maybe that's what was so hollow about these girls.
Maybe Dean really did want contact, intimacy or whatever—but it was all the
wrong source. Blow jobs weren’t comparing to just leaning into Sam when he was
close.
For a couple weeks it was great. It even helped take the edge off the tension
he was feeling before. Dean was back to hanging around the house when Sam was
off work- Benny finding it strange that he was skipping video game days to stay
home-- but dean wanted every chance he could get to feel Sam again.
It was a guilty pleasure, a rush. Feeling his heart jack hammer, he could end
up grinning all day if he touched Sam just right. Sometimes he'd imagine seeing
his older brother flush, but mostly he chalked it up to just how bad he wanted
Sam to feel how he felt when he would let his arm rest along the back of the
couch and softly rub SAMs nape with his thumb.
So, when one day he gets home from school and he leans down to spook his nerd
of a brother from some article he's reviewing, he stops realizing Sam smells
different.
"You changed shampoo? Why?" He knows they aren’t out, he saw the whole bottle
on the edge of the bath tub, somehow it makes him frown.
"Yeah, I got tired of it, you know?" Sam tried to brush it off with a shrug,
but his shoulders were stiff, "You were right, it smells girly. People don't
seem to like that on men above six foot.”
People?
"You mean Brady,” Dean said without thinking. It wasn’t a question 
It stings, sets his blood boiling. Why does Brady's opinion matter more than
Dean’s? Deanlikedthat smell on Sam. Brady could go suck a limp dick.
That wasn’t what mattered though, whether Sam meant it or not, Dean sees
priority in that. 
“Whatever," It sounded bitter, but he can't find it in him to give a shit. He's
too busy feeling jilted that sure he can't have Sam the way he wants, but he
can't even have something so insignificantly small as stupid shampoo. He's that
fucked up and low on the totem poll.
So he does what any self respecting teenager does. He doesn't say anything. He
makes himself a crappy bologna and mustard sandwich, tells Sam he doesn't want
dinner and locks himself in his room to stew in his shitty teenage angst over
his shitty fixation on his older brother.
===============================================================================
Sam was in a bit of a panic mode. After their little shampoo escapade, Sam
found himself increasingly aware of how much Dean touched him.
He couldn't avoid it either, it was like Dean found him at every turn, seemed
to smile wider when Sam flushed—something he was trying his hardest to hide,
goddammit it. He couldn't figure out if Dean knew or if he just though Sam was
being a little bitch about it.
He shouldn't be feeling this. He shouldn't feel like the most natural thing to
do when his little brother slides his lips again his ear was to close his eyes
and enjoy it. He shouldn't want to savor each touch, each brush of Dean's
fingers to his waist, his arm, his back, anywhere. There was something
comforting about it, and the ease with which he could accept it scared him.
Drastic times called for drastic measures.
And yet he couldn't just shun Dean, so he did what any sensible perverted older
brother would do and switched shampoos, like that would deter Dean from
touching him. Of course, Dean noticed and now Sam was caught somewhere between
apologetic and relieved.
Then Dean stops talking to him.
Maybe not completely, but it felt like the only time they spoke was when it was
necessary.
Sam figures it would pass, even though it made his stomach churn. He set up a
date with Brady for the next , thinking maybe that might take his mind off of
it. For a moment he wondered why he was even dating him. He was nice enough, he
was sure they could have some good sex, and really was that all he wanted? He
had an inkling that Brady might feel exactly that, because he didn't seem that
into anything about Sam specifically.
Sam didn't care enough to tell him off, considering he was probably just using
him as a distraction from his little brother, so he won in the 'who is more
fucked up?' category.
He goes to Dean's match, genuinely thrilled when Dean wins, heads up to
congratulate him and thank Sonny again. It was good, Dean seemed just as happy
as he did, but as soon as people started to disperse, Dean told him he wasn't
going to come home, he was going with the team. Sam tried not to be hurt, just
smiled and sent him off.
He shouldn't expect Dean to want to come home and celebrate with bad movies and
popcorn every time. He's growing up, maybe he's starting to realize there's
more to hanging out with his older brother all the time.
Sam wishes that didn't sting.
===============================================================================
Dean talk much to Sam the next few days. It's a lot of one word answers and
trying not to be home. He hangs out at Benny's and he stays late for practice.
They have a match and he wins, but he doesn't go home with Sam that night, he
stays with the team and comes back in the morning tired and still upset but
knows he can't say why.
Basically he's moody trash. 
But when he overhears Brandy the rent-a-douche is coming by to pick up Sam for
dinner plans or something equally aggravating, Dean has a plan.
Said plan is: if he can't scare Brady off, he'll seduce him. 
It's a Thursday, and Dean rushed home after practice, barely saying a word to
Sam as he bolted up the stairs full speed to get in the shower. It's all about
entrance, he's decided. Guys are guys, and if this one doesn't consider Dean
after this stunt, then he's not really gay and Sam needs to find a new chump.
He showers and cleans off the filth, making sure to use the expensive shampoo
that makes him smell good. And just because he's still petty and pissed, he
pours out what's left of the other shampoo Sam’s been using, bland smelling
suds washing down the drain.
===============================================================================
"Sam, have you seen my ACDC shirt?"
Sam thought Dean was ignoring him or in a mood or whatever, but the evening his
date arrives, Dean looks more motivated than he's seen in a while. When Dean
walks down the stairs in only a towel after Sam let Brady in with the promise
that they'll leave in a minute, he suddenly knows why. 
The little shit had only a towel wrapped around his waist, and it was one of
their cheap small ones that barely worked to hide anything. Dean could bend
over and-
No, not thinking about that.
"I washed it, it's probably hanging up in your closet," Sam said tersely,
keeping his eyes strictly above collarbone level.
He glances at Brady and freezes. There he was, standing trying not to ogle his
brother while his date does exactly what he was restraining. He knew that look,
Brady was eyeing Dean up like a piece of meat he wanted to devour and a million
little red flags went off in his head.
No, Brady was not staying. At least not where he could get to Dean.
"Ok, we're going now," Sam said tightly, standing and all but pushing Brady out
of the door before he could so much as say a word.
"You make eyes at my little brother again and I'll punch your teeth in," Sam
growled when they were outside, Brady only grinning.
"Protective?" he asked, leaning in the nip at Sam's neck, "What if we just skip
dinner this time. I have food at my place."
"Fine," Sam answered, jaw still set rigid, but it didn't seem to phase Brady as
they got in his car.
So maybe he was going to angrily get laid. Anything to keep the cut of Dean's
hips out of his mind. He leans back in the passenger seat and lets Brady feel
him up across the center console on their way back to his place.
===============================================================================
Sam comes home from Brady's feeling just as high strung as before, maybe worse.
He wants to punch something or make out furiously. It wasn't that Brady was a
lousy lay, but he was a lot more talk then he was worth. And then there was
Dean, sitting on the couch in boxers and that damn AC/DC shirt and all he wants
is to ride his brother in oblivion because he definitely thought about Dean
when he came, except that wasn't socially acceptable, so instead he grunts a
"go to bed" at his brother before stomping up the stairs and taking refuge in
his room.
He locks his door and spends another two hours riding a fake plastic dildo on
his bed, closing his eyes and letting every wrong feeling and image flood his
mind, Dean's voice in his mind, against the shell of his ear when he tells him
he likes how his hair smells.
If he comes entirely from images of Dean then fine, it's the only thing that
left him sated and throbbing.
He showers the rest of the worries away.
===============================================================================
Plan failed.
Plan failed and Sam doesn't come home for more than a few hours.
He's not going to cry, or vomit. His stomach is reeling and head hurting
thinking about all the implications. In true jealous never-going-to-have-a-
chance form, he parks his ass in the living room and waits. Hopes Sam won't
stay all night for whatever.
In the end, Dean throws up and goes to sleep brimmed in tears and shame and
agony. Why can't he be happy for Sam? Why can't he be normal? If they were
normal brothers and dean wasn't fucked up- would he be happy right now? Would
sam be able to get a decent boyfriend instead of some prick that gets to fuck
Sam because he's the only one that isn't scared off by Dean. 
He hates himself more then he ever has before, and his stomach feels sick.
Feels sick unable to sleep, thinking about how they must have kissed like that
day at the door. About how Sam probably turned pink and moaned soft, about how
he doesn't want to think about Sam that way. Not with anyone else. Not Sam
touching his chest, about the slide of his skin- about how he can't unsee with
his imagination as Brady gets Sam to cling to him, taste him, fuck him close
and hot. 
Sam catching a cab back after his hair has been pulled and throat marked.  Sam
coming home, probably pissed at Dean and not Brady.  Brady probably gave Sam
everything he wanted that Dean can only think about.  Because he's just the
stupid kid brother.
"You can stop worrying about, Brady," Sam says the next morning as a form of
greeting, Dean walking down the stairs, sleep deprived. Sam had made breakfast;
bacon, eggs, the whole shebang.
Dean hasn't slept. At first his heart stops, wondering if Sam heard him last
night, if Sam found out about why Dean was interfering. This wasn't the 'Brady
gives me everything I want' that he was expecting.
"I'm not going to see him anymore," Sam added as explanation, too calm, taking
a sip of his coffee and sighing like the only good thing was the caffeinated
liquid in his mug.
He wants to grin, to be happy. He can’t. He's too busy wondering if Sam will
always be alone just because he can't be a good fucking brother. If he'll
always just have casual ass holes not worthy of him touching him because that's
all that can stomach Dean’s crazed dependency on Sam.  Instead, all he does is
nod, not sure if he can lie and say sorry, but not trust that he's happy. He's
not happy.
They sit down and eat in relative silence.
Dean is tired, just so tired, and his stomach aches. He just eats eggs and
toast, unable to hold eye contact with Sam.
===============================================================================
They have an away match—far enough that the team rents motel rooms to stay the
night. They're in tournament brackets now, by the end of the season they may
win state.
Sam has work and class. Dean has been relatively calm and quiet the last week
or so. He knows it's weird but he figures he owes Sam something. But even Benny
is weirded out by his solemn attitude. It’s atypical, to say the least. He
still just can’t really muster up anything else.
The trip is going to blow, he's under no illusion. At least Sam can get a break
from him and maybe he can find a temporary distraction for the next three days.
 
Distraction’s name is ironically Samantha, from the girl’s volleyball team at
the rival school. She’s pretty, tall—which she tells dean isn't so good for
girls. Guys don't like tall girls.
"I like tall," he grins smoothly and watches her turn rosy pink. She has hazel
eyes, more blue in them than his favorite pair but that's not what he's here
for. He's not here to think about Sam.
They hang out the first day. She shows him where the best ice cream is and
where to catch a cheap movie. She likes cheesy, artsy romcoms. Just like Sam.
Samantha’s smart too. She tells dean she's interested in logic and philosophy.
Dean’s seen logic books of Sam’s laying around—like Math and English and
Science had a bastard baby. The stuff isn't fun to look at—but she likes it. 
She likes to kiss, and likes how Dean runs his hands through her hair. He
refuses to think about where that desire is seeded from.
He sneaks out the second night and they end up pressed close. Her parents are
asleep and she helps him through her window.
Samantha is the first girl he ever sleeps with.
She has a small chest, cute breasts, like plums, pert and pink when he kisses
down them. They strip down and he runs his hands over her in the dark, unable
to see much. He slips between her legs and makes her shake with his mouth,
makes her beg.
He's been getting blow jobs and handys since he was fourteen—but this is
different. He’s a teenager, getting hard isn't a problem. The right rub on a
couch was enough friction.
She sounds so soft, everything is so perfect, only it's not. This is to get
over Sam, but when he sinks into her and looks down at her body, legs wrapped
around his waist, it's easy to see her as him. Long, tall and slender, hazel
eyes and small chest. She's not bulky enough, not masculine enough but his mind
runs with it. She's still beautiful but she's not him.
Dean rocks them, hands sliding back into her hair as he bends down, panting.
She's tight and hot around him, and if he just closes his eyes, it's perfect.
"Sam," he whispers into her neck as he fucks harder. It's a guilty accidental
slip, that shouldn't have come out.
"Dean-" she gasps back.
It dawns on him fully that he can say Sam’s name and she won't know, she won't
know where he's at or anything. This is the closest hell ever get.
So he takes.
Dean runs his hands over her moaning low and eyes tight. He'll feel bad later
but for now he needs this.
"Sam, Sam, Sam—” he begs, leaning back and pulling her onto his lap.
Sheis taller than him and has to curl around him and moan and whimper as he
fucks her deep and purposeful. Her hair falls over his shoulder and he wants to
cry.
“Sam—" his voice wavers, arms wrapping tight. She comes that way but he won't
let go, touching her everywhere, licking and kissing her shoulder as his rhythm
stutters, catching her deep. 
His eyes clamp shut as he pretends. Pretends it was love. That it was Sam. Sam
riding him and clawing down his back, writhing on his lap.  His hands fist in
her hair, kissing her with everything he has till they can't breath. Kissing
her like he dreams of kissing his beloved older brother every night. Every
moment.
When he comes, he cries the only word he'll never get sick of. 
“Sam.”
 
End Notes
     This is a modification of an rp we (alyxrush & succulent-sam on
     tumblr) started and decided we liked it so much- why not make it a
     fic??
     So we did, and a lot of it is already written and EVERYTHING is
     planned, so now we're editing our responses into coherent fic-format.
     So stay tuned!
     We'll put warning in the notes in the beginnings of any chapters that
     contain any of the mentioned warning (like the side character death
     at the beginning of this chapter, and the non-con elements, which is
     a part of a much later chapter and not between Sam & Dean).
     Comments and thoughts are appreciated!
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