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agt_spookyTitle: A Shopping Cart of Memories
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
agt_spooky
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 9,390
Warnings: Wincest, underage (Sam is 17 in the flashback)
Spoilers: Pilot, A Very Supernatural Christmas
Disclaimer: I don’t own them, more’s the pity. Just borrowing!
Author’s Notes: This one is fordairwendan, who gave me the prompt of “Dean buys Sam clothes”. It’s taken me forever to write this – I hope it’s worth the wait, sweetie! And many thanks, as always, to my amazing beta, charityflint, for making my stories better.
Summary: Set four days after the end of the Pilot – with grief, guilt, love and hurt wrapped around them, can Sam and Dean find their way back to one another and start the healing process?
A Shopping Cart of Memories
By AgtSpooky
January 5, 2009
Dean Winchester stood at the foot of the motel bed and looked down at the still form of his sleeping younger brother. They’d returned to their room just a few minutes ago, and Sam had collapsed upon the bed, finally succumbing to both physical and emotional exhaustion.
Jessica Moore had been buried today.
The empty coffin had been lowered into the ground four days after Jessica had been killed, pinned to the ceiling of the apartment she shared with Sam, both he and Dean powerless to save her from the same creature that had taken the life of their mother in the same way, twenty-two years ago.
Sam had been an emotionless shell since that night, closed off, barely speaking, eating only when Dean forced him to, and sleep – well, that had been pretty much non-existent, between the nightmares and the endless hours of research slumped over the laptop, Sam’s entire focus on finding any clue as to what had taken the life of his girlfriend.
Dean had poured through John’s journal, scouring the pages for any information his father had collected over the years, but the entries were sometimes so disjointed, thoughts and theories randomly scribbled down, that none of it made any sense.
He and Sam had combed through the wreckage of the apartment, the arson investigator having declared it an electrical fire that started in the bedroom, but the fire had ravaged it, destroying everything. Just like their father, they could find no trace of the creature that was systematically destroying their family, their frustration almost a tangible thing as each day went by.
Two days ago Sam received a phone call from Jessica’s parents, informing him of the funeral plans. Shortly thereafter he left the motel without a word, returning well into the night, smelling of smoke and alcohol. He refused to speak to Dean, instead sitting in one of the motel chairs, staring out the window. Dean found him still sitting there the next morning.
The funeral was held at a small cemetery in Palo Alto, where Sam and Dean stood well away from the rest of the mourners, in the shade of a large tree. Sam’s face was a stone mask, and Dean knew it belied the crushing guilt Sam carried on his shoulders; which is why he wasn’t there with the other mourners – Jessica’s parents, his friends – he blamed himself for Jessica’s death and couldn’t face them.
Nor could he grieve, either. Besides the single tear that fell that night at the trunk of the Impala, Sam had yet to express any emotion regarding Jessica’s death. It wasn’t healthy, and Dean was afraid of the breakdown, when it came, from keeping his grief bottled up for so long.
The moment the graveside service ended, Sam was walking away, back toward the car without a word, a silent presence in the passenger seat the entire way back to the motel. Dean was about to ask if Sam wanted him to run out and get any food when his brother had slumped down onto the bed facing away from him, still fully clothed, and was asleep within minutes.
Dean was going to take advantage of this rare opportunity, needing to do something for his brother because Sam just didn’t seem to care, lost in his world of pain and grief.
Sam had lost everything in the fire. Every single personal possession he had. All he had were the clothes on his back – gym shoes, jeans, a lightweight tan jacket, a thin hoodie, boxers, socks and a blue t-shirt that had five holes in it from where the angry spirit of Constance Welch had tried to rip out Sam’s heart.
His brother was so intent on finding the thing that killed Jessica that things like clean clothes, a toothbrush, a comb – just basic necessities, didn’t even register to him.
Dean had dug around in his duffel bags and come up with a t-shirt of his that was a little too big on him, and also one of John’s that had gotten mixed up with Dean’s things, and Sam had been wearing those, along with borrowed boxers and socks. The jeans Dean could unfortunately do nothing about, as his younger brother had surpassed him in height years before. The motel they were at actually had complementary toiletry items, so Dean had at least gotten him a razor, toothbrush and comb.
But Sam needed things of his own, and Dean had an unused credit card in his wallet and the overwhelming need to take care of his little brother, like he’d been doing his whole life. So with the hope that Sam would at least sleep long enough for Dean to go shopping, he grabbed his keys and headed for the door, stopping just long enough to scribble a note for his brother in case he did wake up and wonder where Dean had gone.
With a last look at Sam’s sleeping form, even now starting to move restlessly after only a few minutes asleep, Dean sighed and opened the door, wishing that he could turn back time and prevent this nightmare. As hard as it was, seeing Sam with Jessica that night, he’d rather be alone and know his brother was happy, than here with him now, in so much pain that Dean’s own heart was breaking.
~~~~~
Dean grabbed a cart inside the local super mart, his boots squeaking on the tile floor, one of the wheels rattling on the cart, as he steered it toward the first section he saw – personal care – dodging a woman with a stroller and a screaming child and a stock boy listlessly refilling the paper towel section.
He thought this would be quick – grab some toiletries and shirts and jeans for Sam and be done, but Dean was thrown off track the minute he turned down the first aisle with the shampoo and soap, and spotted a familiar yellow bottle on the shelf – baby shampoo.
He couldn’t stop himself from reaching out and taking the bottle down, memory flooding through him as he flipped open the cap. He’d been feeling off kilter being around his brother again after so many years, and thoughts of Sam had been at the forefront of Dean’s mind for the last week, so it was no wonder this childhood memory came so easily to him with the scent of baby shampoo…
November 1st, 1983. The last day of normal that four year-old Dean ever knew, before his mother was ripped away from him in blood and fire.
It was lunchtime at the Winchester’s – always an adventure with two young children, and today was no different.
“Do it again, Sammy!” Dean giggled as his tiny younger brother batted at the spoonful of baby food Mary was holding out, splattering the strained peas all over himself and the highchair for the third time.
Dean clapped and Sammy squealed, his hands running through the mess on the highchair before smearing it on his head, a smile on his small face.
Mary looked at Dean in playful exasperation. “Will you stop encouraging him?”
But Dean just smiled at his mother as little Sammy reached out a baby food covered hand toward his big brother.
“He smells, Mommy!”
Mary laughed as she put the lid back on the peas. “You would, too, if you had vegetables all over you. Want to help me give your brother a bath?”
A short time later Dean stood on a small stool next to his mother at the kitchen sink, baby Sammy giggling, hands splashing playfully in the water as Mary rinsed the baby shampoo from his soft, fine hair.
“That better, sweetie?” Mary asked Dean.
Dean leaned in toward his little brother and took a sniff, then turned to his mother, smiling and nodding. “Now he smells good!”
Dean closed his eyes, sighing sadly at childhoods lost, putting the yellow bottle back on the shelf before grabbing another for Sam and putting it in the cart.
The razors were next, and as Dean picked one up, he was again overtaken with a memory, this one making him smile…
Sixteen year-old Dean stood in front of the mirror in the motel bathroom, carefully running the razor across his face, catching a glimpse of his twelve year-old brother lurking in the doorway, watching intently. For the fourth morning in a row.
Dean lowered the razor, swishing it in the water in the sink, cocking his head toward Sammy. “Whatcha doin’, Sam?”
Sam shrugged his thin shoulders. “Nothin’. Just watching.”
Dean’s mouth quirked in a grin, remembering watching John shave when he was about that age. “Just watching, huh? Wanna learn?”
Sam’s eyebrows drew together. “Huh?”
“Well, you’re gonna be sprouting hair all over in another year or so, and while the girls like to look at a guy with stubble, they’d rather you’d be clean shaven when you kiss ‘em,” Dean smirked.
Sam looked horrified. “Eww! Cooties!”
Dean laughed and shook his head. “Trust me when I say you’ll be changing your mind in another couple years. Now c’mere and lemme show you.”
Sam pushed away from the doorframe and went to stand next to his big brother at the sink, taking the washcloth Dean offered him.
“Okay, first thing you do is get the washcloth wet with hot water,” Dean instructed Sam. “Then wash your face off.”
Sam did as he was told, then Dean handed him the can of shaving cream.
“Now squirt just a little bit of that in your hand and start smearing it on your face.”
“Whoa!” Sam exclaimed as he pressed the button and more came out than he was expecting.
Dean chuckled and took the can away. “Yeah, that’s plenty. You’re gonna end up looking like Santa Claus, Sammy.”
As his younger brother covered his face with the white foam, Dean reached into his toiletry bag and took out a razor that hadn’t been used in a long time – the one that John had taught Dean to shave with, the older son just never able to part with it. And now he was glad he hadn’t.
“Good job,” Dean said, removing the blade from the razor as Sam finished soaping his face and rinsed his hand off.
Dean handed his brother the spare razor. “Watch what I do,” he told Sam, slowly running his own razor down his face several times, then upwards under his neck and chin, Sam watching him intently yet again.
Face clean, Dean wiped it off with a towel then gestured at Sam. “Okay, little brother. Now your turn.”
Sam nodded, bringing the harmless razor up to his face and perfectly imitated what Dean had shown him – slow swipe, rinse, repeat, until his face was clean and he was smiling at Dean.
Dean grinned back, nodding his head. “Not bad, Sammy. A little more practice and you’ll be ready for the real thing.”
Sam gave him a small smile and ducked his head. “Thanks, Dean. For showing me.”
Dean shrugged, knocking Sam with his shoulder, trying for nonchalant at the complement that warmed him. “That’s my job, right? Show my little brother the ropes?”
And show him he did. It became their morning ritual for quite sometime after that, standing next to one another at the sink, Sam practicing as Dean shaved for real, talking about school and cars, flicking shaving cream at one another.
Dean came to look forward to those mornings with Sam, who was changing right before his eyes from a kid into a young man, forced to grow up too soon, frequently angry with John and their nomadic lifestyle. He hated to see Sam’s childhood disappearing far more rapidly than it should’ve been because of the life they lived, so goofing around with Sam as they stood at the sink, seeing his brother smile and laugh…he was glad for that time, and thankful that Sam had chosen to watch him shave and not John, who would’ve treated it like a military drill and not the bonding time it should’ve been. He knew from experience.
A year or so later, this time it was Dean lurking in the bathroom doorway, watching as Sam really, truly shaved for the first time – and he did it perfectly. Not a single nick.
Sam gave him a crooked grin in the mirror, lowering the razor as Dean smiled and nodded, murmuring, “That’s my boy.”
Dean’s thumb rubbed over the razor’s handle as he came back to himself, still smiling softly as he put it in the cart, then added a pack of blades as well before turning to leave the personal care section. But as he passed by the next aisle he added something as a joke that he hoped would make his brother smile – bubblegum flavored toothpaste and a bright pink toothbrush.
He had to pass by the sporting goods section on his way to the shoes and couldn’t help but catch a glimpse of boxes of Winchester ammunition on a shelf behind the glass counter, along with several handguns. Dean’s face hardened as he slowed to look at the weapons. This time the memory wasn’t so pleasant…
“Okay, son, now hold your arms out straight, both your hands tight on the grip,” John instructed young Dean, crouched down behind him in an open field.
But the six year-old let the pistol fall to his side. “It’s too heavy, Dad,” Dean complained. “I don’t wanna do this.”
John took his son by the shoulders and turned Dean to face him. “You listen to me, son. You need to learn how to do this. There are bad things out there, Dean. Things that want to hurt people. I’m not here all the time, so I need to know you can protect your brother. Do you understand?”
“Sammy? Something wants to hurt Sammy?” Dean asked, panicked.
“Maybe,” John answered him. “You don’t want that to happen, do you?”
Dean quickly shook his head. “No!”
“Then you need to learn to shoot this gun, Dean. You have to keep Sammy safe,” John told him, voice hard, turning Dean back around to face the rock with the empty soda can on it. “Don’t let me down, son. I’m counting on you.”
Terrified with the knowledge that his baby brother could be taken from him just like his mother if he didn’t do this, Dean lifted the pistol without hesitation, wavering for just a second under the weight before pulling the trigger.
The noise was deafening to small ears, and Dean staggered from the recoil, stumbling into John, who caught him with a hand on his back. Dean was breathing hard, shaking a little, turning back to look at his father when John pointed out in front of him. The soda can was gone.
John’s hand fell heavily on his small shoulder. “You made me proud, son.”
His father’s praise meant everything to Dean, dispelling his nervousness and fear. He could do this. He wouldn’t let his father down. He would protect his brother.
And that had been the moment when his childhood had been truly lost – the moment he pulled that trigger for the first time, propelling him down the road of soldier, hunter…protector.
And protect Sam he did, keeping the darkness of what their life was from him until that fateful Christmas Eve night when Sam was eight years old.
He should’ve known his brother would figure it out. Sam was smarter than any kid his age that Dean knew. Still, it was the hardest thing Dean had done, confirming Sam’s suspicions about what their father did, what he hunted.
Sam’s innocence had suffered a crack that night, when he found out monsters were real, but it had completely shattered one year later, when John put a gun in his youngest son’s hands for the first time.
At least he had been three years older than Dean had been. At least he’d protected his brother’s childhood for longer than he thought he could; gave him years of playing t-ball and soccer and school plays and science fairs. Years of just being a kid without having to worry that evil things were out there in the night, ready to hurt him and his family.
Dean blew out a breath, blinking back the memory, looking at the Winchester ammunition, wondering if their last name had fated them to live the life they did.
Or if they were simply cursed.
With a heavy heart Dean walked away from the weapons, pointing his cart in the direction of the shoe department. All Sam had was a pair of gym shoes, and if they were heading into the Colorado wilderness next, on the trail of their missing father, he’d need something more sturdy.
Dean had to walk through the boys shoes to get to the men’s department, when a small pair of shoes caught his eye. He stopped, picking up the red, white and blue shoe with a small picture of Superman on it, suddenly thinking about heroes…
Young boys grew quickly, and Sam and Dean were always outgrowing something. This time it was six year-old Sam in need of new shoes. So John had left him and ten year-old Dean in the shoe department while he shopped for things elsewhere in the store.
The boys walked up and down the aisle, surveying the choices in Sam’s size. There were shoes that blinked when you walked and shoes with Spiderman, the Hulk and Batman on them as well.
“I need to go get socks, Sammy, so hurry up and pick,” Dean told his little brother impatiently. “Which superhero do you want?”
Little Sammy looked at all the gym shoes and then shook his head, nudging his toe against Dean’s foot. “I want boots like yours, Dean.”
Dean’s forehead furrowed, looking down at his brown, non-descript, scuffed up boots. “Why would you want something boring like these when you can have Batman?” he questioned his brother.
“‘Cause you’re my hero, Dean,” Sam said simply, like it was totally obvious and why didn’t Dean know this?
Taken off guard, Dean could only blink at his little brother. “What – what do you mean? I’m not a hero.”
“Yeah, you are,” Sam told him, then pointed at the cartoon characters on the shoes. “They help people and keep them safe and so do you. You tie my shoes and make me lunch and walk me to school, and if I’m scared you make me feel better. You always do stuff for me. Dad’s never here, but you are.” Sammy smiled, reaching up to take Dean’s hand. “So, can I get boots like yours?”
Dean swallowed hard, never realizing how much his little brother looked up to him. Doing all of those things for Sammy was second nature for him. He squeezed Sam’s hand. “Yeah,” he said quietly, smiling softly at his brother. “Yeah, you can get boots like mine.”
Saddened that he was unable to live up to Sam’s expectations of him, unable to save him from the tragedy of Jessica’s death, Dean quickly found a pair of boots in his brother’s size and added them to the cart, hoping one day he’d be able to earn back his hero’s status in his brother’s eyes.
The men’s clothing department was Dean’s last stop. He rolled the cart down the first aisle, snagging several packs of socks and tossing them into the cart, along with several solid colored boxers, grinning when he saw that one of them was red…
Doing laundry was not something high on the list of priorities for the Winchester men, usually only accomplished when someone complained about the smell of unwashed clothes or if someone was laid up from an injury and they had some downtime.
This time it was seventeen year-old Dean doing the recuperating from a hairline fracture of his ankle, sustained when the werewolf hunt he was on with his father went sideways.
An injured Dean meant a cranky, irritable Dean who hated being cooped up, lying in bed. But worse, it meant a bored Dean. And nothing good ever came out of Dean with too much time on his hands, looking to amuse himself.
Just ask his thirteen year-old brother, who had ended up with Nair in his shampoo yesterday morning.
After that, John decided that if Dean was well enough to have hobbled down to the motel office on his crutches to flirt with the young girl at the desk to get the Nair, he was well enough to help Sam with the laundry, while he went on an ammunition supply run.
So he drove the boys down the street to the laundromat and dropped them off, helping Sam carry in all their dirty clothes, the detergent and the stain remover, which they always bought in the biggest bottle possible.
Dean and Sam started sorting the clothes after John left, Sam pulling out all the whites while Dean tackled the clothes with various dirt, grass and blood stains. He was still going at it when Sam started the wash cycle for the whites, then started putting the clothes in another washer that Dean had doused with the stain remover.
A short time later Sam was humming to himself, with a bit of a smirk on his face as the brothers sat down next to one another on the hard plastic chairs to wait for their wash to finish. Dean’s eyes kept flicking over to him as he tried to concentrate on the car magazine he was reading.
“Dude, what’s up with you?” he finally asked.
“Huh?” Sam stopped humming, an innocent look now on his face. “Nothin’, why?”
Dean gave him a sideways look, not believing him. “Just…stop with the humming, okay?”
Sam smiled and nodded. “Sure, Dean, sorry. You want me to get you a Coke out of the machine?”
Okay, now something was definitely up. Sam had been glaring daggers at him ever since the Nair incident yesterday, pissed as hell at Dean’s idea of a joke that forced him to wear a baseball hat today, not having spoken a word to Dean. Now he was apologizing and offering to get something for him?
“Um, sure, thanks,” Dean said warily, watching as Sam popped up out of the chair with a grin, heading for the vending machines.
As Sam passed their washers he called back over his shoulder at Dean.
“Hey, the whites are done. Help me put them in the dryers?”
“Yeah, okay,” Dean answered, levering himself up out of the chair, forgoing the unwieldy crutches and instead just hopping over to the washing machines.
“I had to split them up into two loads,” Sam explained as he returned with a can of Coke. “Yours are in that one and mine and Dad’s are in this one,” he finished with a barely restrained smile, lifting the lid of his machine.
Again confused at Sam’s odd behavior, Dean shook his head as he lifted the lid of his own machine…then stared, uncomprehending, at what he saw inside.
Pink.
Every single item of white clothing that Dean owned – socks, t-shirts, underwear – was now a startling shade of pink.
“What the…?” Dean reached inside, pulling out a piece of dark red fabric, immediately identifying it as his younger brother’s brand new, never-been-washed-before red boxers, just as Sam started howling with laughter.
“Got you good, Dean!”
Dean reached for his scheming little brother, but Sam danced back out of the way, heading for the door of the laundromat, knowing that Dean couldn’t chase after him, laughing all the way.
“Sam!”
The prank wars had begun.
Dean chuckled to himself as the red boxers joined the pile in the cart, remembering that he and Sam had driven John to exasperation as they tried to one up each other, until finally calling a truce a week later.
Moving out of the socks and underwear section, Dean turned the corner into the main part of the men’s clothing area, racks and shelves spread out before him – and froze, suddenly overwhelmed with all of the choices. Sam needed everything and he realized he didn’t even know where to start, until he spied the soft, chocolate brown hoodie with the black lining, hanging on the end of a rack.
Dean stepped forward, running the material between his fingers, and it reminded him of the soft blue blanket Sam had as a baby, the one he was wrapped in when Dean carried him out of their burning house. God, how Dean wished he could just wrap Sam up in this hoodie and it would make everything better, like he did with little Sammy and the blanket…
The sound of crying pulled four year-old Dean from his fitful sleep and he blinked open his eyes, momentarily disoriented, thinking he was in his own room. But as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he realized that no, he was on a small mattress on the floor of a room in a house of someone he didn’t know.
He glanced up at the big bed, not seeing his daddy, just as he heard voices from the other room. His daddy was speaking to someone, sounding angry. He sounded like that all the time now. Since Mommy went away.
Pushing the blanket off of himself, Dean stood on the mattress and leaned over the portable crib next to him, reaching his hand down to touch his crying little brother.
“Shhh...it’s okay, Sammy,” Dean whispered, voice hoarse from infrequent use.
He hardly spoke anymore, except to his brother and sometimes his daddy, scared and confused by the strange places they were always in, and the people he didn’t know. His mommy had always told him never to speak to strangers, so he kept quiet, withdrawn; except around his brother, of whom he was fiercely protective of, rarely straying from his side. He had already lost his mommy, and his daddy kept leaving for days at a time. So no one was taking his brother from him. Sammy was basically all he had left.
Hoisting himself up over the rail of the crib, Dean carefully dropped down beside his little brother. Picking up the soft blue baby blanket from where Sammy had kicked it off, Dean covered his brother back up, then lay down beside him. He softly rubbed his hand on Sammy’s tummy, like he’d seen Mommy do when Sammy was fussy.
“Don’t cry, Sammy,” Dean whispered. “It’s okay…Don’t be scared…”
Sammy quieted at Dean’s soft, reassuring voice and touch and Dean smiled at his little brother as Sammy’s tears stopped. The infant reached down and grabbed Dean’s small finger, holding tight, smiling back before yawning.
Dean found himself yawning as well, eyes slipping shut shortly after his little brother’s, both of them sleeping through the rest of the night, soothed by the closeness of one another.
For just a little while they felt safe in their scary new life, side by side.
Dean had read John’s thoughts about this in his journal, about always finding Dean in Sammy’s crib. John thought that Dean was trying to protect his brother from whatever was out there in the dark, and once they started sharing a bed, both of them always slept through the night.
Dean put the brown hoodie in the cart, saddened once again that he had failed to protect Sam from whatever was out there in the dark, targeting their family for reasons still unknown.
He began moving through the racks of clothing, selecting several pairs of jeans, plain t-shirts in various colors and long sleeve button down shirts that Sam could mix and match. It felt good to be taking care of his brother again. It’d been four, long years since he’d been able to do this. Four years since he’d even seen Sam, two years since he’d even talked to him – a disastrous drunken phone call Dean had made on his own birthday, mad and hurt and missing his brother.
Dean paused when he passed by a rack of novelty t-shirts, reminding him of the crazy ones he used to buy for Sam as a joke whenever he saw one at a thrift store. He began flipping through them, hoping to find one that would put a smile back on his brother’s face.
He passed by shirts about drinking and sex, nothing jumping out at him as appropriate for Sam until he got almost to the end of the rack, and then he froze for a long heartbeat before pulling the shirt off, holding it up before him.
Marvin the Martian.
His breath catching in his throat, Dean sat down heavily on the shelf behind him, knocking several pairs of jeans to the floor.
God, it looked just like the one…
After 1983, birthdays, and holidays in general, didn’t mean all that much to the Winchester men. On the road, hunting, days blended into days, and turning another year older was sometimes forgotten in the midst of putting a malevolent spirit to rest. Not to mention that when they were kids, it was hard to have a birthday party with your friends when you lived in a motel room, or were renting a run-down piece of crap apartment. Never mind trying to explain why there was no parental supervision, either.
While John was usually too preoccupied to notice, it never escaped Dean’s attention how wistful Sam became when he was invited to a classmate’s party, knowing he’d never have one of his own, so Dean did his best to always give Sam some sort of gift, no matter how small or cheap, on his birthday.
And Sam’s 16th was no exception.
A few days before his younger brother’s birthday, Dean was in a thrift shop looking for boots for himself when he stumbled upon the perfect gift for Sam.
Growing up, Sam was never into Superman or Spiderman like Dean loved Batman. No, his geek brother thought Marvin the Martian was the greatest. Sam even practiced talking like Marvin, making Dean laugh no matter what kind of crappy mood he was in.
So when Dean found the Marvin shirt at the thrift store, he couldn’t wait to see Sam’s face when he gave it to him two days from then.
~~~~
Dean blinked open sleep-heavy eyes in the early morning hours of May 2nd, soft light just beginning to filter in the window of their cramped Nebraska apartment. It was quiet, John having left for Oklahoma two days before, and Sam was still asleep in the bed across from his, bare-chested, long legs tangled in the sheet.
And once again Dean had to look away from his brother’s half-dressed body, trying unsuccessfully to push down thoughts and feelings that he’d been experiencing more frequently lately. Thoughts that left him shaken, but with an underlying current of desire that he was finding harder to ignore.
Needing to distract himself, Dean reached under his bed, fingers searching until they closed around Sam’s birthday gift, wrapped in the comics from Sunday’s paper. He pulled it out, and in one continuous motion, threw it at his brother’s head.
Sam startled awake instantly, body jerking as Dean let out a laugh at his brother’s confused expression.
“What the hell, Dean?” Sam cursed, voice raspy, pinning Dean with a murderous glare.
Dean pointed at the package. “Happy birthday, bitch.”
Sam’s expression softened immediately and he wasted no time in tearing open the gift, a laugh escaping him as soon as he saw Marvin.
“Oh my god, Dean, where did you find this?”
“I have my sources,” Dean joked. “So, um…you like it?”
Sam lowered the black shirt, his smile warm and bright, that certain look he only used when he was around Dean, and Dean felt that flutter in his stomach once again as Sam said softly, “I love it. Thanks, Dean.”
The moment hung there, suspended in the morning light, hazel eyes locked with green, and Dean’s fingers clenched on his blanket before he cleared his throat and looked away, climbing from his bed.
“Get your ass up, Sammy. We got somewhere to be this morning.”
Sam cocked his head. “Where?”
Dean picked up a key off his nightstand and flicked it at Sam, watching as realization crossed his younger brother’s features.
“Time you got your license, dude.”
~~~~
After a breakfast of Sam’s favorite chocolate chip pancakes, they set off in the Impala to the DMV. Sam was in the driver’s seat, learner’s permit tucked in his back pocket, happily wearing his new Marvin the Martian shirt, a smile on his face.
As expected, Sam passed his driver’s test with flying colors, since both he and Dean had been taught to drive by John as soon as their legs reached the pedals. Still, this was a right of passage for Sam, and he came back out into the waiting room beaming, his new license in his hand.
Proud of his brother, Dean threw his arm around Sam’s shoulders as he held up the piece of plastic that made him legal. “Well what are we waiting for? Let’s go for a ride, Sammy!”
The younger Winchester laughed and threw open the door of the sleek, black Chevy, picked the first road heading out of town and hit the gas.
~~~~
The miles flew by under the tires of the Impala as Sam just drove and drove, the wind whipping in through the open windows, the sun shining brightly overhead, music blasting from the speakers. Driver’s choice, of course.
They drove until their stomachs demanded food, Sam stopping at a roadside diner where they sat on the trunk of the car eating greasy burgers, fries and chocolate shakes till they thought they’d burst.
Then it was back on the road until after the sun had set, when Sam pulled off on the side of the road, out in the middle of nowhere, no other cars in sight. They climbed out of the car and up onto the hood to just look at the stars, Sam pointing out the constellations one by one.
As the sound of Sam’s voice washed over him, Dean realized that this was one of the best days of his life, just being able to be with Sam like this, watching him so happy and carefree, the two of them simply brothers for a day, instead of hunters, soldiers. Sam had been so distant lately, unhappy, fighting with John at the drop of a hat, the tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. Dean missed their closeness, and today he’d gotten it back.
He looked over at Sam as his brother looked up at the sky and marveled at how much Sam had changed over the past year. He was taller than Dean now, all traces of baby fat gone with their rigorous training, his body lean with muscle, his hair touching his collar in defiance of their father, his face more serious these days than Dean would like. Sam was no longer a child but truly a young man now.
That feeling stirred within Dean for the third time that day, deep inside, as he looked at his brother’s profile in the moonlight, thoughts and images appearing unbidden in his mind and he swallowed deeply at his body’s sudden reaction to them. Sam picked that moment to turn and look at him, smiling wide and happy and Dean’s chest clenched at the sight, his fingers aching to reach out and touch his brother.
Caught off guard, Dean’s expression must have given something away, and Sam’s smile went soft, almost with understanding, Dean thought, as Sam slid closer to him, their legs touching now. The air suddenly felt charged and Dean could actually sense that something…shifted between the two of them at that moment, that at some point would forever change their relationship. And Dean was both eager and terrified at the thought.
Sam put his arm around Dean’s shoulders and leaned in, whispering against Dean’s ear, “Best birthday ever,” as Dean closed his eyes and wrapped his arm around his brother’s waist.
~~~~
It was exactly one year later, on Sam’s 17th birthday, that they gave in to what had been building between them for 365 days, this forbidden desire.
The desire that had manifested itself in the form of heated looks and touches that spoke of need and want, and the pounding of hearts scared to cross a line they could never return from, but finding themselves powerless to stop. Not wanting to stop.
Sam had worn the Marvin the Martian shirt constantly for the past year, and he had it on the night of his birthday when he pushed Dean up against the wall of their bedroom and claimed his mouth for a burning kiss.
All thoughts of “this is wrong” that Dean had been keeping at the forefront of his mind for the past year fled at the first touch of Sam’s lips against his. He gave in to his brother’s passion, gripping Sam’s shoulders so tightly that the threadbare material of the t-shirt tore at the seam.
It started off frantic, that first time. Noses bumping and teeth clacking. Hands everywhere – pulling at clothes until none remained between them. And that first touch of skin on skin, as Dean blanketed his brother’s body on the bed, was just as electric as their first kiss.
They were like starving men, unable to get enough of exploring one another’s bodies with hands and mouths, until they were both shaking, harsh breaths filling the air.
“Dean…God,” Sam moaned, body arching underneath Dean’s, his hard cock sliding against Dean’s own.
“Sam…Sam…” Dean whispered brokenly, head spinning, unable to comprehend this was actually happening, that Sam wanted this, too. That Sam wanted him.
But all his doubts were erased when Sam pushed against his shoulders, guiding Dean’s head down his long body, pleading for Dean to touch him, God, please just touch him…
And Dean did, moving between Sam’s legs, kissing his way down his brother’s strong body, Sam’s hips trying to arch up from the mattress restlessly.
“Jesus, Sam…I need…God, I need to…” Dean rambled, just before he took the head of his brother’s cock in his mouth.
A harsh, surprised sound escaped from Sam’s lips and one of his hands landed heavily on the back of Dean’s head, fingers gripping the short strands of Dean’s hair as Dean started to suck.
That first, intimate taste of his brother was like nothing Dean had ever experienced, Sam’s cock heavy on his tongue, sucking on the head, drawing more pre-come from the slit and swallowing it down.
“So good, Sam. Fuck, so good,” Dean groaned before opening his mouth again and taking Sam as deeply as he could.
“Dean!” Sam cried out, throwing his head back against the pillow, eyes squeezed shut as Dean began to bob his head. “Don’t stop, don’t stop…”
Dean hollowed his cheeks and sucked harder, a fresh burst of pre-come hitting his tongue, Sam panting and shaking under him. The sight, sound and taste of his brother falling apart, and the knowledge that he was making it happen, made Dean’s own cock throb and he ground his hips down hard into the mattress, seeking friction.
Dean pushed his tongue flat against the bundle of nerves on the underside of Sam’s cock and sucked hard on the head, pulling a deep, wrenching sound from his brother.
Sam strained against the hold Dean had on his hips, his voice raw and gritty. “I want…oh God, Dean…wanna come…want you to make me come…please,” he pleaded.
Feeling his own climax building swiftly, but determined to bring Sam to release first, Dean shifted, releasing one of Sam’s hips to wrap his hand around his brother’s cock. It only took two hard, fast strokes before Sam was crying out, back arching as he came.
Dean let the first stream of Sam’s semen hit his tongue before he pulled off, swallowing down his brother’s taste as he looked up, needing to see Sam as he shattered apart.
And the sight took Dean’s breath away – Sam’s cock pulsing in his hand as his brother’s release painted his chest with streaks of white, Sam’s fists clenched in the blankets as his body trembled through his orgasm, legs spread wide, body sheened with sweat, eyes closed, mouth open as he rode the waves of his intense release.
Watching Sam come was Dean’s undoing. He released his brother’s cock as Sam’s climax subsided, catching the last of the white, thick wetness on his fingers before bringing that hand to his own cock. His eyes drifted closed as he stroked himself hard and fast, his orgasm coiling deep inside, licking up his spine…
But moments before he would’ve come his hand was knocked away and he opened his eyes in surprise to see Sam sitting up, his face flushed, eyes dark with desire.
“No, let me…wanna touch you,” Sam whispered gruffly, sliding his hands up Dean’s bare legs, thumbs just brushing Dean’s balls before Sam’s long fingers curled around his painfully hard cock.
Dean threw his head back with a deep groan as his brother touched him for the first time, a touch he’d been dreaming about for over a year. His hips jerked as Sam stroked him, overwhelming sensation coursing through his body and he clutched one of his brother’s shoulders with one hand while burying the fingers of the other in Sam’s hair.
“Sam,” Dean gritted out, on the precipice of release, the feel of his impending orgasm making him shake, but wanting to hold out, make this first time last forever. “God…God…”
“Let go, let go,” Sam encouraged, thumbing the slit of Dean’s cock with one hand, reaching up to cup Dean’s balls with the other.
And with a noise that was nearly a sob, Dean did, crushing his mouth to his brother’s as he came, letting his climax pulse out from deep within him. He heard Sam gasp into their kiss as Dean’s release covered his hand and chest and Dean kissed him harder, tongues pushing against one another until they couldn’t breathe.
“Sammy…Sammy…” Dean whispered, light-headed from his intense climax, pulling his brother even closer, feeling Sam clutch at his back, blunt nails against his bare skin.
They held on to one another as heartbeats quieted, Sam’s breath soft on his face as Dean opened his eyes, looking down between their bodies at the evidence of the line they had crossed. And a cold bead of fear trickled its way down Dean’s spine.
Jesus Christ…what had they done?
“Don’t.”
Dean blinked at Sam’s hard voice, his brother gripping his arm tightly.
“Don’t you dare regret this, Dean,” Sam told him firmly, reading his thoughts. “I wanted this.” Then Sam’s voice gentled, fingers sweeping across Dean’s skin. “I want you,” he whispered, leaning in, murmuring against Dean’s lips. “Love you, Dean...”
Dean closed his eyes, slipping his fingers into Sam’s soft hair, letting his brother’s words wash away that tendril of fear with a sigh into their slow kiss. Dean took them down to the mattress, never breaking the kiss, letting himself fall into it, into Sam…right where he belonged.
It was long moments later when they finally parted, moving away from each other just enough for Sam to snag his ruined t-shirt to clean off their chests and stomachs before resting their foreheads together and drifting off to sleep in each other’s arms.
~~~~~
The next twelve months were the happiest of Dean’s life, in this new relationship with Sam. Stolen kisses in gas station bathrooms, swallowing each other’s moans as they made love with their father sleeping in the adjoining motel room, fumbling hand jobs in the woods after a successful hunt.
As wrong as society would think it was, taking his brother as his lover, Dean knew without a doubt that this was meant to be. He’d loved Sam all his life, but now it was more than that, deeper than blood ties.
Like Sam had told him back when all this started – “I’ve always loved you, Dean. You’ve always been the one constant in my life.”
And Dean thought that would never change, that nothing could ever come between them, ever tear them apart.
That illusion was shattered during the fourteenth month.
One hot afternoon in late July, as John and Dean sat at the kitchen table, researching a new hunt and sharpening knives, Sam calmly approached them, laying a letter between them and announced he’d been accepted to Stanford with a full scholarship and that he was leaving in three weeks.
Complete silence reigned as shock settled over John and Dean, but then Dean had started to smile, intensely proud of his brother for accomplishing this, but his smile faded and died when he saw the date of the acceptance letter - dated three months prior.
Hurt and anger slammed into Dean at the knowledge that Sam had been keeping this from him for months. They shared everything with one another. Had since they were kids. But something as important as this, his brother had kept from him. Why? He could only sit there mute for long minutes as Sam and John immediately started yelling at one another, before standing so suddenly that he knocked his chair over.
Without a word he strode for the door, snagging the keys to the Impala, ignoring Sam as he called out for him to wait, to let Sam explain.
They were the last words he would hear from his brother for years.
Dean’s phone began ringing minutes after he left but he turned it off and threw it in the backseat, jaw clenched, breathing hard, hands like vises on the steering wheel, Sam’s betrayal reverberating in his head.
He drove all the way to Blue Earth, to Pastor Jim Murphy’s place, where he asked their long time family friend for a place to stay. And to Jim’s credit he asked no questions, simply opened his home to Dean and said if Dean wanted to talk, he’d be there to listen.
But talking about his feelings was never something Dean excelled at, so instead he drowned them in bottles of Jim, Jack and Jose for the first week he was there. He spent the second week sobering up and the third helping out around Jim’s place and the church, as if driving nails into two by four’s could drive out the memory of his brother’s touch and betrayal.
By the time he headed back and turned his phone on there were nearly 40 voice mails, which he deleted without listening to. Sam was gone when Dean arrived at the apartment and he and John never spoke about it again.
And life went on. Without Sam and with an ache in Dean’s chest that never went away.
Without stopping to think or second guess himself, Dean stood and dropped the t-shirt on top of the other clothes and pushed his shopping cart of memories up to the checkout.
~~~~~
Back at the motel, Dean opened the door to discover that Sam’s bed was empty, the sound of the shower running in the bathroom. He took the opportunity and quickly unpacked everything he had bought, laying everything out on Sam’s bed. He’d no more than finished when the bathroom door opened and Sam walked out, dressed only in boxers, his hair still damp.
“Hey, where…” Sam started but stopped as his eyes fell on the pile of items on his bed, then immediately turned and looked at Dean.
Dean shrugged. “I just…picked up some stuff for you…” he trailed off as Sam walked over to the bed and reached out and touched a pair of the jeans.
Dean saw Sam’s jaw tighten as his brother swallowed, trying in vain to hold back a sob that finally broke free at the reminder of all that he had lost, and more. He sank to his knees beside the bed, and Dean immediately dropped down beside him, wrapping an arm around Sam’s shaking shoulders.
Here was the grief that Dean had been waiting for, as Sam turned in the embrace and buried his face in Dean’s shoulder, hands clutching at Dean’s shirt as he cried.
What could Dean say? That it was okay, that everything would be all right? It would just be a lie. So instead he simply held Sam tighter and whispered, “I’m here, I’ve got you, let it out, Sam,” his own eyes filling with tears at the sight and sound of his brother’s grief.
Sam cried himself out but didn’t let go of Dean for a long while, resting his head on Dean’s shoulder as Dean ran his hand slowly up and down the younger man’s back. When Sam finally raised his head, his face streaked with tear tracks, his pain filled eyes stabbed right into Dean’s heart.
“C’mon, Sam,” Dean said quietly, urging his brother to his feet, turning down the blankets on the other bed. “Get some rest. You’re exhausted,” he said, squeezing Sam’s shoulder gently, and without a word the younger man climbed under the blankets and closed his red rimmed eyes.
Dean blew out a long breath as he sat in the chair by the table, exhausted himself, watching his brother until he knew he was asleep, then stood and moved to the other bed. He removed all of the items he’d bought, piling everything on the table, then stripped down to his boxers and crawled gratefully into bed himself.
It was full dark out when he was awakened by the mattress dipping next to him, where he lay on his side. He blinked open sleep heavy eyes to see Sam, illuminated by the neon glow of the hotel sign through the thin curtains, slip under the blankets, laying to face Dean.
There was silence as they looked at one another, the heat of Sam’s body making Dean ache to reach out and touch – four long years since they’d shared a bed and it all came crashing back like it was yesterday – the memories of bare skin and limbs entwined. But all of that was in the past now, so Dean curled his fingers into a fist instead, until he felt the brush of Sam’s fingers against his hand.
“I never meant to hurt you,” Sam whispered brokenly.
It took a moment for Dean to find his voice, but when he did he couldn’t disguise the hurt. “You did.”
“I’m sorry…”
“Why, Sam? Why did you keep that from me?”
Sam took a breath, released it slowly. “I wanted to tell you as soon as I got the letter,” he began. “But then I thought about it. About the two of us, and I decided to turn it down because I wanted to stay with you.”
He looked away from Dean. “But then a couple of weeks went by and my friends at school were all talking about going away to college, about finally getting away from their parents and living their own lives.”
Sam swallowed and met Dean’s gaze again. “And I realized deep down that I wanted that, too. That I hated the hunting and I wanted to choose for myself what I wanted to do with my life, not be forced into one by Dad’s decision. But I was so afraid you’d hate me for wanting to leave that I kept putting off saying anything until I couldn’t any longer.” He paused, dropping his head, voice catching. “And I ended up making you hate me anyway.”
Dean shook his head. “I never hated you, Sam. I was angry and hurt, but I didn’t hate you. Underneath it all I was proud of you.”
Sam’s head came up, brow furrowed. “What?”
“Sam, I knew you hated hunting, the life we lived, that you wanted to do your own thing. And I wanted you to. It wasn’t too late for you. Me, I was the oldest. I had to help Dad. I had to be what he needed me to be. And if that was a soldier to him and a parent to you…well, pretty soon I just embraced it. I was good at hunting and soon I didn’t know how to do anything else.”
Dean did reach out now, resting his hand on Sam’s chest. “But you – you were still young enough to live a different life, and the fact that you’d gotten yourself a full scholarship – I was so fucking proud of you. It would’ve been the hardest thing I’d ever done, letting you go, watching as you left for Stanford, but we could’ve made it work between us. I would’ve visited as often as I could, called you…” Dean trailed off for a moment, dropping his hand from Sam’s chest, hurt creeping back into his voice.
“But the fact that you did it all in secret, like you felt you couldn’t trust me with this – that’s what hurt so bad. And that’s why I never returned your calls or came to see you. If you kept that from me for months, what other secrets would you keep from me? I was laid bare with you, Sam. I’d never been that open or vulnerable with anyone in my life. We shared everything with each other all our lives. You never lied to me. I couldn’t trust you anymore…so I let you go.”
There was anguish in Sam’s voice. “This is all my fault –“
“No, it’s both of ours. You should’ve told me and I should’ve stopped to listen to your explanation. We both made mistakes, made assumptions that were wrong.”
Sam sighed sadly. “And we lost four years because of it.” He reached out and curled his fingers around Dean’s wrist, pinning Dean with intense hazel eyes. “But I never stopped loving you, Dean. I waited for you. At Stanford. For the first six months I was there I kept thinking I’d see you out of the corner of my eye, kept checking my phone for messages, hoping you’d finally call me. But two years went by…and I knew you weren’t coming. That I’d hurt you too badly. Six months later I met Jess…”
Sam’s voice broke and he took a second before he continued, fingers gently squeezing Dean’s wrist.
“But I need you to know that even though I loved her, she only had a small part of my heart. I could never give her anymore than that because you…” Sam pulled on the material of the shirt he was wearing. “…you would always have the rest,” he finished with a ragged whisper.
Dean looked down – to see that Sam was wearing the Marvin shirt.
“Sam, I – I don’t know what I was thinking. I didn’t mean anything by it…”
Sam’s fingers caressed the inside of Dean’s wrist, sending a shiver up Dean’s arm. “I’m hoping it means you still love me,” he whispered hesitantly.
Dean’s breath caught in his chest and his throat threatened to close up. “I never stopped.”
Sam swallowed hard at Dean’s answer. “Seeing you again. Jess’s death. I don’t know how I should be feeling anymore. It’s all mixed up in my head.”
“It’s okay, Sam. I understand,” Dean said softly. “Just…I’m here. Whatever you need, I’m here.”
He saw Sam’s eyes fill with tears. “Could you just – “ he reached for Dean and Dean pulled him close, their bodies fitting together like a familiar jigsaw puzzle.
“God, yeah, Sam, c’mere.”
As Sam moved closer, their faces just inches apart, time seemed to slow down, Dean’s heart clenching at having Sam in his arms again. Their eyes met and without a word they met in the middle, for a soft, lingering kiss.
“I missed you,” Dean breathed when they moved apart.
Sam smiled and laid his head on Dean’s chest, wrapping an arm around him, fingers warm against Dean’s bare skin.
Dean didn’t know what the future held for them, if they could get back to what they had so many years ago, but they were together again, and the healing process had begun for them both – and for now, that was enough.
THE END
Author:
agt_spookyPairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 9,390
Warnings: Wincest, underage (Sam is 17 in the flashback)
Spoilers: Pilot, A Very Supernatural Christmas
Disclaimer: I don’t own them, more’s the pity. Just borrowing!
Author’s Notes: This one is for
dairwendan, who gave me the prompt of “Dean buys Sam clothes”. It’s taken me forever to write this – I hope it’s worth the wait, sweetie! And many thanks, as always, to my amazing beta, charityflint, for making my stories better.Summary: Set four days after the end of the Pilot – with grief, guilt, love and hurt wrapped around them, can Sam and Dean find their way back to one another and start the healing process?
By AgtSpooky
January 5, 2009
Dean Winchester stood at the foot of the motel bed and looked down at the still form of his sleeping younger brother. They’d returned to their room just a few minutes ago, and Sam had collapsed upon the bed, finally succumbing to both physical and emotional exhaustion.
Jessica Moore had been buried today.
The empty coffin had been lowered into the ground four days after Jessica had been killed, pinned to the ceiling of the apartment she shared with Sam, both he and Dean powerless to save her from the same creature that had taken the life of their mother in the same way, twenty-two years ago.
Sam had been an emotionless shell since that night, closed off, barely speaking, eating only when Dean forced him to, and sleep – well, that had been pretty much non-existent, between the nightmares and the endless hours of research slumped over the laptop, Sam’s entire focus on finding any clue as to what had taken the life of his girlfriend.
Dean had poured through John’s journal, scouring the pages for any information his father had collected over the years, but the entries were sometimes so disjointed, thoughts and theories randomly scribbled down, that none of it made any sense.
He and Sam had combed through the wreckage of the apartment, the arson investigator having declared it an electrical fire that started in the bedroom, but the fire had ravaged it, destroying everything. Just like their father, they could find no trace of the creature that was systematically destroying their family, their frustration almost a tangible thing as each day went by.
Two days ago Sam received a phone call from Jessica’s parents, informing him of the funeral plans. Shortly thereafter he left the motel without a word, returning well into the night, smelling of smoke and alcohol. He refused to speak to Dean, instead sitting in one of the motel chairs, staring out the window. Dean found him still sitting there the next morning.
The funeral was held at a small cemetery in Palo Alto, where Sam and Dean stood well away from the rest of the mourners, in the shade of a large tree. Sam’s face was a stone mask, and Dean knew it belied the crushing guilt Sam carried on his shoulders; which is why he wasn’t there with the other mourners – Jessica’s parents, his friends – he blamed himself for Jessica’s death and couldn’t face them.
Nor could he grieve, either. Besides the single tear that fell that night at the trunk of the Impala, Sam had yet to express any emotion regarding Jessica’s death. It wasn’t healthy, and Dean was afraid of the breakdown, when it came, from keeping his grief bottled up for so long.
The moment the graveside service ended, Sam was walking away, back toward the car without a word, a silent presence in the passenger seat the entire way back to the motel. Dean was about to ask if Sam wanted him to run out and get any food when his brother had slumped down onto the bed facing away from him, still fully clothed, and was asleep within minutes.
Dean was going to take advantage of this rare opportunity, needing to do something for his brother because Sam just didn’t seem to care, lost in his world of pain and grief.
Sam had lost everything in the fire. Every single personal possession he had. All he had were the clothes on his back – gym shoes, jeans, a lightweight tan jacket, a thin hoodie, boxers, socks and a blue t-shirt that had five holes in it from where the angry spirit of Constance Welch had tried to rip out Sam’s heart.
His brother was so intent on finding the thing that killed Jessica that things like clean clothes, a toothbrush, a comb – just basic necessities, didn’t even register to him.
Dean had dug around in his duffel bags and come up with a t-shirt of his that was a little too big on him, and also one of John’s that had gotten mixed up with Dean’s things, and Sam had been wearing those, along with borrowed boxers and socks. The jeans Dean could unfortunately do nothing about, as his younger brother had surpassed him in height years before. The motel they were at actually had complementary toiletry items, so Dean had at least gotten him a razor, toothbrush and comb.
But Sam needed things of his own, and Dean had an unused credit card in his wallet and the overwhelming need to take care of his little brother, like he’d been doing his whole life. So with the hope that Sam would at least sleep long enough for Dean to go shopping, he grabbed his keys and headed for the door, stopping just long enough to scribble a note for his brother in case he did wake up and wonder where Dean had gone.
With a last look at Sam’s sleeping form, even now starting to move restlessly after only a few minutes asleep, Dean sighed and opened the door, wishing that he could turn back time and prevent this nightmare. As hard as it was, seeing Sam with Jessica that night, he’d rather be alone and know his brother was happy, than here with him now, in so much pain that Dean’s own heart was breaking.
~~~~~
Dean grabbed a cart inside the local super mart, his boots squeaking on the tile floor, one of the wheels rattling on the cart, as he steered it toward the first section he saw – personal care – dodging a woman with a stroller and a screaming child and a stock boy listlessly refilling the paper towel section.
He thought this would be quick – grab some toiletries and shirts and jeans for Sam and be done, but Dean was thrown off track the minute he turned down the first aisle with the shampoo and soap, and spotted a familiar yellow bottle on the shelf – baby shampoo.
He couldn’t stop himself from reaching out and taking the bottle down, memory flooding through him as he flipped open the cap. He’d been feeling off kilter being around his brother again after so many years, and thoughts of Sam had been at the forefront of Dean’s mind for the last week, so it was no wonder this childhood memory came so easily to him with the scent of baby shampoo…
November 1st, 1983. The last day of normal that four year-old Dean ever knew, before his mother was ripped away from him in blood and fire.
It was lunchtime at the Winchester’s – always an adventure with two young children, and today was no different.
“Do it again, Sammy!” Dean giggled as his tiny younger brother batted at the spoonful of baby food Mary was holding out, splattering the strained peas all over himself and the highchair for the third time.
Dean clapped and Sammy squealed, his hands running through the mess on the highchair before smearing it on his head, a smile on his small face.
Mary looked at Dean in playful exasperation. “Will you stop encouraging him?”
But Dean just smiled at his mother as little Sammy reached out a baby food covered hand toward his big brother.
“He smells, Mommy!”
Mary laughed as she put the lid back on the peas. “You would, too, if you had vegetables all over you. Want to help me give your brother a bath?”
A short time later Dean stood on a small stool next to his mother at the kitchen sink, baby Sammy giggling, hands splashing playfully in the water as Mary rinsed the baby shampoo from his soft, fine hair.
“That better, sweetie?” Mary asked Dean.
Dean leaned in toward his little brother and took a sniff, then turned to his mother, smiling and nodding. “Now he smells good!”
Dean closed his eyes, sighing sadly at childhoods lost, putting the yellow bottle back on the shelf before grabbing another for Sam and putting it in the cart.
The razors were next, and as Dean picked one up, he was again overtaken with a memory, this one making him smile…
Sixteen year-old Dean stood in front of the mirror in the motel bathroom, carefully running the razor across his face, catching a glimpse of his twelve year-old brother lurking in the doorway, watching intently. For the fourth morning in a row.
Dean lowered the razor, swishing it in the water in the sink, cocking his head toward Sammy. “Whatcha doin’, Sam?”
Sam shrugged his thin shoulders. “Nothin’. Just watching.”
Dean’s mouth quirked in a grin, remembering watching John shave when he was about that age. “Just watching, huh? Wanna learn?”
Sam’s eyebrows drew together. “Huh?”
“Well, you’re gonna be sprouting hair all over in another year or so, and while the girls like to look at a guy with stubble, they’d rather you’d be clean shaven when you kiss ‘em,” Dean smirked.
Sam looked horrified. “Eww! Cooties!”
Dean laughed and shook his head. “Trust me when I say you’ll be changing your mind in another couple years. Now c’mere and lemme show you.”
Sam pushed away from the doorframe and went to stand next to his big brother at the sink, taking the washcloth Dean offered him.
“Okay, first thing you do is get the washcloth wet with hot water,” Dean instructed Sam. “Then wash your face off.”
Sam did as he was told, then Dean handed him the can of shaving cream.
“Now squirt just a little bit of that in your hand and start smearing it on your face.”
“Whoa!” Sam exclaimed as he pressed the button and more came out than he was expecting.
Dean chuckled and took the can away. “Yeah, that’s plenty. You’re gonna end up looking like Santa Claus, Sammy.”
As his younger brother covered his face with the white foam, Dean reached into his toiletry bag and took out a razor that hadn’t been used in a long time – the one that John had taught Dean to shave with, the older son just never able to part with it. And now he was glad he hadn’t.
“Good job,” Dean said, removing the blade from the razor as Sam finished soaping his face and rinsed his hand off.
Dean handed his brother the spare razor. “Watch what I do,” he told Sam, slowly running his own razor down his face several times, then upwards under his neck and chin, Sam watching him intently yet again.
Face clean, Dean wiped it off with a towel then gestured at Sam. “Okay, little brother. Now your turn.”
Sam nodded, bringing the harmless razor up to his face and perfectly imitated what Dean had shown him – slow swipe, rinse, repeat, until his face was clean and he was smiling at Dean.
Dean grinned back, nodding his head. “Not bad, Sammy. A little more practice and you’ll be ready for the real thing.”
Sam gave him a small smile and ducked his head. “Thanks, Dean. For showing me.”
Dean shrugged, knocking Sam with his shoulder, trying for nonchalant at the complement that warmed him. “That’s my job, right? Show my little brother the ropes?”
And show him he did. It became their morning ritual for quite sometime after that, standing next to one another at the sink, Sam practicing as Dean shaved for real, talking about school and cars, flicking shaving cream at one another.
Dean came to look forward to those mornings with Sam, who was changing right before his eyes from a kid into a young man, forced to grow up too soon, frequently angry with John and their nomadic lifestyle. He hated to see Sam’s childhood disappearing far more rapidly than it should’ve been because of the life they lived, so goofing around with Sam as they stood at the sink, seeing his brother smile and laugh…he was glad for that time, and thankful that Sam had chosen to watch him shave and not John, who would’ve treated it like a military drill and not the bonding time it should’ve been. He knew from experience.
A year or so later, this time it was Dean lurking in the bathroom doorway, watching as Sam really, truly shaved for the first time – and he did it perfectly. Not a single nick.
Sam gave him a crooked grin in the mirror, lowering the razor as Dean smiled and nodded, murmuring, “That’s my boy.”
Dean’s thumb rubbed over the razor’s handle as he came back to himself, still smiling softly as he put it in the cart, then added a pack of blades as well before turning to leave the personal care section. But as he passed by the next aisle he added something as a joke that he hoped would make his brother smile – bubblegum flavored toothpaste and a bright pink toothbrush.
He had to pass by the sporting goods section on his way to the shoes and couldn’t help but catch a glimpse of boxes of Winchester ammunition on a shelf behind the glass counter, along with several handguns. Dean’s face hardened as he slowed to look at the weapons. This time the memory wasn’t so pleasant…
“Okay, son, now hold your arms out straight, both your hands tight on the grip,” John instructed young Dean, crouched down behind him in an open field.
But the six year-old let the pistol fall to his side. “It’s too heavy, Dad,” Dean complained. “I don’t wanna do this.”
John took his son by the shoulders and turned Dean to face him. “You listen to me, son. You need to learn how to do this. There are bad things out there, Dean. Things that want to hurt people. I’m not here all the time, so I need to know you can protect your brother. Do you understand?”
“Sammy? Something wants to hurt Sammy?” Dean asked, panicked.
“Maybe,” John answered him. “You don’t want that to happen, do you?”
Dean quickly shook his head. “No!”
“Then you need to learn to shoot this gun, Dean. You have to keep Sammy safe,” John told him, voice hard, turning Dean back around to face the rock with the empty soda can on it. “Don’t let me down, son. I’m counting on you.”
Terrified with the knowledge that his baby brother could be taken from him just like his mother if he didn’t do this, Dean lifted the pistol without hesitation, wavering for just a second under the weight before pulling the trigger.
The noise was deafening to small ears, and Dean staggered from the recoil, stumbling into John, who caught him with a hand on his back. Dean was breathing hard, shaking a little, turning back to look at his father when John pointed out in front of him. The soda can was gone.
John’s hand fell heavily on his small shoulder. “You made me proud, son.”
His father’s praise meant everything to Dean, dispelling his nervousness and fear. He could do this. He wouldn’t let his father down. He would protect his brother.
And that had been the moment when his childhood had been truly lost – the moment he pulled that trigger for the first time, propelling him down the road of soldier, hunter…protector.
And protect Sam he did, keeping the darkness of what their life was from him until that fateful Christmas Eve night when Sam was eight years old.
He should’ve known his brother would figure it out. Sam was smarter than any kid his age that Dean knew. Still, it was the hardest thing Dean had done, confirming Sam’s suspicions about what their father did, what he hunted.
Sam’s innocence had suffered a crack that night, when he found out monsters were real, but it had completely shattered one year later, when John put a gun in his youngest son’s hands for the first time.
At least he had been three years older than Dean had been. At least he’d protected his brother’s childhood for longer than he thought he could; gave him years of playing t-ball and soccer and school plays and science fairs. Years of just being a kid without having to worry that evil things were out there in the night, ready to hurt him and his family.
Dean blew out a breath, blinking back the memory, looking at the Winchester ammunition, wondering if their last name had fated them to live the life they did.
Or if they were simply cursed.
With a heavy heart Dean walked away from the weapons, pointing his cart in the direction of the shoe department. All Sam had was a pair of gym shoes, and if they were heading into the Colorado wilderness next, on the trail of their missing father, he’d need something more sturdy.
Dean had to walk through the boys shoes to get to the men’s department, when a small pair of shoes caught his eye. He stopped, picking up the red, white and blue shoe with a small picture of Superman on it, suddenly thinking about heroes…
Young boys grew quickly, and Sam and Dean were always outgrowing something. This time it was six year-old Sam in need of new shoes. So John had left him and ten year-old Dean in the shoe department while he shopped for things elsewhere in the store.
The boys walked up and down the aisle, surveying the choices in Sam’s size. There were shoes that blinked when you walked and shoes with Spiderman, the Hulk and Batman on them as well.
“I need to go get socks, Sammy, so hurry up and pick,” Dean told his little brother impatiently. “Which superhero do you want?”
Little Sammy looked at all the gym shoes and then shook his head, nudging his toe against Dean’s foot. “I want boots like yours, Dean.”
Dean’s forehead furrowed, looking down at his brown, non-descript, scuffed up boots. “Why would you want something boring like these when you can have Batman?” he questioned his brother.
“‘Cause you’re my hero, Dean,” Sam said simply, like it was totally obvious and why didn’t Dean know this?
Taken off guard, Dean could only blink at his little brother. “What – what do you mean? I’m not a hero.”
“Yeah, you are,” Sam told him, then pointed at the cartoon characters on the shoes. “They help people and keep them safe and so do you. You tie my shoes and make me lunch and walk me to school, and if I’m scared you make me feel better. You always do stuff for me. Dad’s never here, but you are.” Sammy smiled, reaching up to take Dean’s hand. “So, can I get boots like yours?”
Dean swallowed hard, never realizing how much his little brother looked up to him. Doing all of those things for Sammy was second nature for him. He squeezed Sam’s hand. “Yeah,” he said quietly, smiling softly at his brother. “Yeah, you can get boots like mine.”
Saddened that he was unable to live up to Sam’s expectations of him, unable to save him from the tragedy of Jessica’s death, Dean quickly found a pair of boots in his brother’s size and added them to the cart, hoping one day he’d be able to earn back his hero’s status in his brother’s eyes.
The men’s clothing department was Dean’s last stop. He rolled the cart down the first aisle, snagging several packs of socks and tossing them into the cart, along with several solid colored boxers, grinning when he saw that one of them was red…
Doing laundry was not something high on the list of priorities for the Winchester men, usually only accomplished when someone complained about the smell of unwashed clothes or if someone was laid up from an injury and they had some downtime.
This time it was seventeen year-old Dean doing the recuperating from a hairline fracture of his ankle, sustained when the werewolf hunt he was on with his father went sideways.
An injured Dean meant a cranky, irritable Dean who hated being cooped up, lying in bed. But worse, it meant a bored Dean. And nothing good ever came out of Dean with too much time on his hands, looking to amuse himself.
Just ask his thirteen year-old brother, who had ended up with Nair in his shampoo yesterday morning.
After that, John decided that if Dean was well enough to have hobbled down to the motel office on his crutches to flirt with the young girl at the desk to get the Nair, he was well enough to help Sam with the laundry, while he went on an ammunition supply run.
So he drove the boys down the street to the laundromat and dropped them off, helping Sam carry in all their dirty clothes, the detergent and the stain remover, which they always bought in the biggest bottle possible.
Dean and Sam started sorting the clothes after John left, Sam pulling out all the whites while Dean tackled the clothes with various dirt, grass and blood stains. He was still going at it when Sam started the wash cycle for the whites, then started putting the clothes in another washer that Dean had doused with the stain remover.
A short time later Sam was humming to himself, with a bit of a smirk on his face as the brothers sat down next to one another on the hard plastic chairs to wait for their wash to finish. Dean’s eyes kept flicking over to him as he tried to concentrate on the car magazine he was reading.
“Dude, what’s up with you?” he finally asked.
“Huh?” Sam stopped humming, an innocent look now on his face. “Nothin’, why?”
Dean gave him a sideways look, not believing him. “Just…stop with the humming, okay?”
Sam smiled and nodded. “Sure, Dean, sorry. You want me to get you a Coke out of the machine?”
Okay, now something was definitely up. Sam had been glaring daggers at him ever since the Nair incident yesterday, pissed as hell at Dean’s idea of a joke that forced him to wear a baseball hat today, not having spoken a word to Dean. Now he was apologizing and offering to get something for him?
“Um, sure, thanks,” Dean said warily, watching as Sam popped up out of the chair with a grin, heading for the vending machines.
As Sam passed their washers he called back over his shoulder at Dean.
“Hey, the whites are done. Help me put them in the dryers?”
“Yeah, okay,” Dean answered, levering himself up out of the chair, forgoing the unwieldy crutches and instead just hopping over to the washing machines.
“I had to split them up into two loads,” Sam explained as he returned with a can of Coke. “Yours are in that one and mine and Dad’s are in this one,” he finished with a barely restrained smile, lifting the lid of his machine.
Again confused at Sam’s odd behavior, Dean shook his head as he lifted the lid of his own machine…then stared, uncomprehending, at what he saw inside.
Pink.
Every single item of white clothing that Dean owned – socks, t-shirts, underwear – was now a startling shade of pink.
“What the…?” Dean reached inside, pulling out a piece of dark red fabric, immediately identifying it as his younger brother’s brand new, never-been-washed-before red boxers, just as Sam started howling with laughter.
“Got you good, Dean!”
Dean reached for his scheming little brother, but Sam danced back out of the way, heading for the door of the laundromat, knowing that Dean couldn’t chase after him, laughing all the way.
“Sam!”
The prank wars had begun.
Dean chuckled to himself as the red boxers joined the pile in the cart, remembering that he and Sam had driven John to exasperation as they tried to one up each other, until finally calling a truce a week later.
Moving out of the socks and underwear section, Dean turned the corner into the main part of the men’s clothing area, racks and shelves spread out before him – and froze, suddenly overwhelmed with all of the choices. Sam needed everything and he realized he didn’t even know where to start, until he spied the soft, chocolate brown hoodie with the black lining, hanging on the end of a rack.
Dean stepped forward, running the material between his fingers, and it reminded him of the soft blue blanket Sam had as a baby, the one he was wrapped in when Dean carried him out of their burning house. God, how Dean wished he could just wrap Sam up in this hoodie and it would make everything better, like he did with little Sammy and the blanket…
The sound of crying pulled four year-old Dean from his fitful sleep and he blinked open his eyes, momentarily disoriented, thinking he was in his own room. But as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he realized that no, he was on a small mattress on the floor of a room in a house of someone he didn’t know.
He glanced up at the big bed, not seeing his daddy, just as he heard voices from the other room. His daddy was speaking to someone, sounding angry. He sounded like that all the time now. Since Mommy went away.
Pushing the blanket off of himself, Dean stood on the mattress and leaned over the portable crib next to him, reaching his hand down to touch his crying little brother.
“Shhh...it’s okay, Sammy,” Dean whispered, voice hoarse from infrequent use.
He hardly spoke anymore, except to his brother and sometimes his daddy, scared and confused by the strange places they were always in, and the people he didn’t know. His mommy had always told him never to speak to strangers, so he kept quiet, withdrawn; except around his brother, of whom he was fiercely protective of, rarely straying from his side. He had already lost his mommy, and his daddy kept leaving for days at a time. So no one was taking his brother from him. Sammy was basically all he had left.
Hoisting himself up over the rail of the crib, Dean carefully dropped down beside his little brother. Picking up the soft blue baby blanket from where Sammy had kicked it off, Dean covered his brother back up, then lay down beside him. He softly rubbed his hand on Sammy’s tummy, like he’d seen Mommy do when Sammy was fussy.
“Don’t cry, Sammy,” Dean whispered. “It’s okay…Don’t be scared…”
Sammy quieted at Dean’s soft, reassuring voice and touch and Dean smiled at his little brother as Sammy’s tears stopped. The infant reached down and grabbed Dean’s small finger, holding tight, smiling back before yawning.
Dean found himself yawning as well, eyes slipping shut shortly after his little brother’s, both of them sleeping through the rest of the night, soothed by the closeness of one another.
For just a little while they felt safe in their scary new life, side by side.
Dean had read John’s thoughts about this in his journal, about always finding Dean in Sammy’s crib. John thought that Dean was trying to protect his brother from whatever was out there in the dark, and once they started sharing a bed, both of them always slept through the night.
Dean put the brown hoodie in the cart, saddened once again that he had failed to protect Sam from whatever was out there in the dark, targeting their family for reasons still unknown.
He began moving through the racks of clothing, selecting several pairs of jeans, plain t-shirts in various colors and long sleeve button down shirts that Sam could mix and match. It felt good to be taking care of his brother again. It’d been four, long years since he’d been able to do this. Four years since he’d even seen Sam, two years since he’d even talked to him – a disastrous drunken phone call Dean had made on his own birthday, mad and hurt and missing his brother.
Dean paused when he passed by a rack of novelty t-shirts, reminding him of the crazy ones he used to buy for Sam as a joke whenever he saw one at a thrift store. He began flipping through them, hoping to find one that would put a smile back on his brother’s face.
He passed by shirts about drinking and sex, nothing jumping out at him as appropriate for Sam until he got almost to the end of the rack, and then he froze for a long heartbeat before pulling the shirt off, holding it up before him.
Marvin the Martian.
His breath catching in his throat, Dean sat down heavily on the shelf behind him, knocking several pairs of jeans to the floor.
God, it looked just like the one…
After 1983, birthdays, and holidays in general, didn’t mean all that much to the Winchester men. On the road, hunting, days blended into days, and turning another year older was sometimes forgotten in the midst of putting a malevolent spirit to rest. Not to mention that when they were kids, it was hard to have a birthday party with your friends when you lived in a motel room, or were renting a run-down piece of crap apartment. Never mind trying to explain why there was no parental supervision, either.
While John was usually too preoccupied to notice, it never escaped Dean’s attention how wistful Sam became when he was invited to a classmate’s party, knowing he’d never have one of his own, so Dean did his best to always give Sam some sort of gift, no matter how small or cheap, on his birthday.
And Sam’s 16th was no exception.
A few days before his younger brother’s birthday, Dean was in a thrift shop looking for boots for himself when he stumbled upon the perfect gift for Sam.
Growing up, Sam was never into Superman or Spiderman like Dean loved Batman. No, his geek brother thought Marvin the Martian was the greatest. Sam even practiced talking like Marvin, making Dean laugh no matter what kind of crappy mood he was in.
So when Dean found the Marvin shirt at the thrift store, he couldn’t wait to see Sam’s face when he gave it to him two days from then.
~~~~
Dean blinked open sleep-heavy eyes in the early morning hours of May 2nd, soft light just beginning to filter in the window of their cramped Nebraska apartment. It was quiet, John having left for Oklahoma two days before, and Sam was still asleep in the bed across from his, bare-chested, long legs tangled in the sheet.
And once again Dean had to look away from his brother’s half-dressed body, trying unsuccessfully to push down thoughts and feelings that he’d been experiencing more frequently lately. Thoughts that left him shaken, but with an underlying current of desire that he was finding harder to ignore.
Needing to distract himself, Dean reached under his bed, fingers searching until they closed around Sam’s birthday gift, wrapped in the comics from Sunday’s paper. He pulled it out, and in one continuous motion, threw it at his brother’s head.
Sam startled awake instantly, body jerking as Dean let out a laugh at his brother’s confused expression.
“What the hell, Dean?” Sam cursed, voice raspy, pinning Dean with a murderous glare.
Dean pointed at the package. “Happy birthday, bitch.”
Sam’s expression softened immediately and he wasted no time in tearing open the gift, a laugh escaping him as soon as he saw Marvin.
“Oh my god, Dean, where did you find this?”
“I have my sources,” Dean joked. “So, um…you like it?”
Sam lowered the black shirt, his smile warm and bright, that certain look he only used when he was around Dean, and Dean felt that flutter in his stomach once again as Sam said softly, “I love it. Thanks, Dean.”
The moment hung there, suspended in the morning light, hazel eyes locked with green, and Dean’s fingers clenched on his blanket before he cleared his throat and looked away, climbing from his bed.
“Get your ass up, Sammy. We got somewhere to be this morning.”
Sam cocked his head. “Where?”
Dean picked up a key off his nightstand and flicked it at Sam, watching as realization crossed his younger brother’s features.
“Time you got your license, dude.”
~~~~
After a breakfast of Sam’s favorite chocolate chip pancakes, they set off in the Impala to the DMV. Sam was in the driver’s seat, learner’s permit tucked in his back pocket, happily wearing his new Marvin the Martian shirt, a smile on his face.
As expected, Sam passed his driver’s test with flying colors, since both he and Dean had been taught to drive by John as soon as their legs reached the pedals. Still, this was a right of passage for Sam, and he came back out into the waiting room beaming, his new license in his hand.
Proud of his brother, Dean threw his arm around Sam’s shoulders as he held up the piece of plastic that made him legal. “Well what are we waiting for? Let’s go for a ride, Sammy!”
The younger Winchester laughed and threw open the door of the sleek, black Chevy, picked the first road heading out of town and hit the gas.
~~~~
The miles flew by under the tires of the Impala as Sam just drove and drove, the wind whipping in through the open windows, the sun shining brightly overhead, music blasting from the speakers. Driver’s choice, of course.
They drove until their stomachs demanded food, Sam stopping at a roadside diner where they sat on the trunk of the car eating greasy burgers, fries and chocolate shakes till they thought they’d burst.
Then it was back on the road until after the sun had set, when Sam pulled off on the side of the road, out in the middle of nowhere, no other cars in sight. They climbed out of the car and up onto the hood to just look at the stars, Sam pointing out the constellations one by one.
As the sound of Sam’s voice washed over him, Dean realized that this was one of the best days of his life, just being able to be with Sam like this, watching him so happy and carefree, the two of them simply brothers for a day, instead of hunters, soldiers. Sam had been so distant lately, unhappy, fighting with John at the drop of a hat, the tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. Dean missed their closeness, and today he’d gotten it back.
He looked over at Sam as his brother looked up at the sky and marveled at how much Sam had changed over the past year. He was taller than Dean now, all traces of baby fat gone with their rigorous training, his body lean with muscle, his hair touching his collar in defiance of their father, his face more serious these days than Dean would like. Sam was no longer a child but truly a young man now.
That feeling stirred within Dean for the third time that day, deep inside, as he looked at his brother’s profile in the moonlight, thoughts and images appearing unbidden in his mind and he swallowed deeply at his body’s sudden reaction to them. Sam picked that moment to turn and look at him, smiling wide and happy and Dean’s chest clenched at the sight, his fingers aching to reach out and touch his brother.
Caught off guard, Dean’s expression must have given something away, and Sam’s smile went soft, almost with understanding, Dean thought, as Sam slid closer to him, their legs touching now. The air suddenly felt charged and Dean could actually sense that something…shifted between the two of them at that moment, that at some point would forever change their relationship. And Dean was both eager and terrified at the thought.
Sam put his arm around Dean’s shoulders and leaned in, whispering against Dean’s ear, “Best birthday ever,” as Dean closed his eyes and wrapped his arm around his brother’s waist.
~~~~
It was exactly one year later, on Sam’s 17th birthday, that they gave in to what had been building between them for 365 days, this forbidden desire.
The desire that had manifested itself in the form of heated looks and touches that spoke of need and want, and the pounding of hearts scared to cross a line they could never return from, but finding themselves powerless to stop. Not wanting to stop.
Sam had worn the Marvin the Martian shirt constantly for the past year, and he had it on the night of his birthday when he pushed Dean up against the wall of their bedroom and claimed his mouth for a burning kiss.
All thoughts of “this is wrong” that Dean had been keeping at the forefront of his mind for the past year fled at the first touch of Sam’s lips against his. He gave in to his brother’s passion, gripping Sam’s shoulders so tightly that the threadbare material of the t-shirt tore at the seam.
It started off frantic, that first time. Noses bumping and teeth clacking. Hands everywhere – pulling at clothes until none remained between them. And that first touch of skin on skin, as Dean blanketed his brother’s body on the bed, was just as electric as their first kiss.
They were like starving men, unable to get enough of exploring one another’s bodies with hands and mouths, until they were both shaking, harsh breaths filling the air.
“Dean…God,” Sam moaned, body arching underneath Dean’s, his hard cock sliding against Dean’s own.
“Sam…Sam…” Dean whispered brokenly, head spinning, unable to comprehend this was actually happening, that Sam wanted this, too. That Sam wanted him.
But all his doubts were erased when Sam pushed against his shoulders, guiding Dean’s head down his long body, pleading for Dean to touch him, God, please just touch him…
And Dean did, moving between Sam’s legs, kissing his way down his brother’s strong body, Sam’s hips trying to arch up from the mattress restlessly.
“Jesus, Sam…I need…God, I need to…” Dean rambled, just before he took the head of his brother’s cock in his mouth.
A harsh, surprised sound escaped from Sam’s lips and one of his hands landed heavily on the back of Dean’s head, fingers gripping the short strands of Dean’s hair as Dean started to suck.
That first, intimate taste of his brother was like nothing Dean had ever experienced, Sam’s cock heavy on his tongue, sucking on the head, drawing more pre-come from the slit and swallowing it down.
“So good, Sam. Fuck, so good,” Dean groaned before opening his mouth again and taking Sam as deeply as he could.
“Dean!” Sam cried out, throwing his head back against the pillow, eyes squeezed shut as Dean began to bob his head. “Don’t stop, don’t stop…”
Dean hollowed his cheeks and sucked harder, a fresh burst of pre-come hitting his tongue, Sam panting and shaking under him. The sight, sound and taste of his brother falling apart, and the knowledge that he was making it happen, made Dean’s own cock throb and he ground his hips down hard into the mattress, seeking friction.
Dean pushed his tongue flat against the bundle of nerves on the underside of Sam’s cock and sucked hard on the head, pulling a deep, wrenching sound from his brother.
Sam strained against the hold Dean had on his hips, his voice raw and gritty. “I want…oh God, Dean…wanna come…want you to make me come…please,” he pleaded.
Feeling his own climax building swiftly, but determined to bring Sam to release first, Dean shifted, releasing one of Sam’s hips to wrap his hand around his brother’s cock. It only took two hard, fast strokes before Sam was crying out, back arching as he came.
Dean let the first stream of Sam’s semen hit his tongue before he pulled off, swallowing down his brother’s taste as he looked up, needing to see Sam as he shattered apart.
And the sight took Dean’s breath away – Sam’s cock pulsing in his hand as his brother’s release painted his chest with streaks of white, Sam’s fists clenched in the blankets as his body trembled through his orgasm, legs spread wide, body sheened with sweat, eyes closed, mouth open as he rode the waves of his intense release.
Watching Sam come was Dean’s undoing. He released his brother’s cock as Sam’s climax subsided, catching the last of the white, thick wetness on his fingers before bringing that hand to his own cock. His eyes drifted closed as he stroked himself hard and fast, his orgasm coiling deep inside, licking up his spine…
But moments before he would’ve come his hand was knocked away and he opened his eyes in surprise to see Sam sitting up, his face flushed, eyes dark with desire.
“No, let me…wanna touch you,” Sam whispered gruffly, sliding his hands up Dean’s bare legs, thumbs just brushing Dean’s balls before Sam’s long fingers curled around his painfully hard cock.
Dean threw his head back with a deep groan as his brother touched him for the first time, a touch he’d been dreaming about for over a year. His hips jerked as Sam stroked him, overwhelming sensation coursing through his body and he clutched one of his brother’s shoulders with one hand while burying the fingers of the other in Sam’s hair.
“Sam,” Dean gritted out, on the precipice of release, the feel of his impending orgasm making him shake, but wanting to hold out, make this first time last forever. “God…God…”
“Let go, let go,” Sam encouraged, thumbing the slit of Dean’s cock with one hand, reaching up to cup Dean’s balls with the other.
And with a noise that was nearly a sob, Dean did, crushing his mouth to his brother’s as he came, letting his climax pulse out from deep within him. He heard Sam gasp into their kiss as Dean’s release covered his hand and chest and Dean kissed him harder, tongues pushing against one another until they couldn’t breathe.
“Sammy…Sammy…” Dean whispered, light-headed from his intense climax, pulling his brother even closer, feeling Sam clutch at his back, blunt nails against his bare skin.
They held on to one another as heartbeats quieted, Sam’s breath soft on his face as Dean opened his eyes, looking down between their bodies at the evidence of the line they had crossed. And a cold bead of fear trickled its way down Dean’s spine.
Jesus Christ…what had they done?
“Don’t.”
Dean blinked at Sam’s hard voice, his brother gripping his arm tightly.
“Don’t you dare regret this, Dean,” Sam told him firmly, reading his thoughts. “I wanted this.” Then Sam’s voice gentled, fingers sweeping across Dean’s skin. “I want you,” he whispered, leaning in, murmuring against Dean’s lips. “Love you, Dean...”
Dean closed his eyes, slipping his fingers into Sam’s soft hair, letting his brother’s words wash away that tendril of fear with a sigh into their slow kiss. Dean took them down to the mattress, never breaking the kiss, letting himself fall into it, into Sam…right where he belonged.
It was long moments later when they finally parted, moving away from each other just enough for Sam to snag his ruined t-shirt to clean off their chests and stomachs before resting their foreheads together and drifting off to sleep in each other’s arms.
~~~~~
The next twelve months were the happiest of Dean’s life, in this new relationship with Sam. Stolen kisses in gas station bathrooms, swallowing each other’s moans as they made love with their father sleeping in the adjoining motel room, fumbling hand jobs in the woods after a successful hunt.
As wrong as society would think it was, taking his brother as his lover, Dean knew without a doubt that this was meant to be. He’d loved Sam all his life, but now it was more than that, deeper than blood ties.
Like Sam had told him back when all this started – “I’ve always loved you, Dean. You’ve always been the one constant in my life.”
And Dean thought that would never change, that nothing could ever come between them, ever tear them apart.
That illusion was shattered during the fourteenth month.
One hot afternoon in late July, as John and Dean sat at the kitchen table, researching a new hunt and sharpening knives, Sam calmly approached them, laying a letter between them and announced he’d been accepted to Stanford with a full scholarship and that he was leaving in three weeks.
Complete silence reigned as shock settled over John and Dean, but then Dean had started to smile, intensely proud of his brother for accomplishing this, but his smile faded and died when he saw the date of the acceptance letter - dated three months prior.
Hurt and anger slammed into Dean at the knowledge that Sam had been keeping this from him for months. They shared everything with one another. Had since they were kids. But something as important as this, his brother had kept from him. Why? He could only sit there mute for long minutes as Sam and John immediately started yelling at one another, before standing so suddenly that he knocked his chair over.
Without a word he strode for the door, snagging the keys to the Impala, ignoring Sam as he called out for him to wait, to let Sam explain.
They were the last words he would hear from his brother for years.
Dean’s phone began ringing minutes after he left but he turned it off and threw it in the backseat, jaw clenched, breathing hard, hands like vises on the steering wheel, Sam’s betrayal reverberating in his head.
He drove all the way to Blue Earth, to Pastor Jim Murphy’s place, where he asked their long time family friend for a place to stay. And to Jim’s credit he asked no questions, simply opened his home to Dean and said if Dean wanted to talk, he’d be there to listen.
But talking about his feelings was never something Dean excelled at, so instead he drowned them in bottles of Jim, Jack and Jose for the first week he was there. He spent the second week sobering up and the third helping out around Jim’s place and the church, as if driving nails into two by four’s could drive out the memory of his brother’s touch and betrayal.
By the time he headed back and turned his phone on there were nearly 40 voice mails, which he deleted without listening to. Sam was gone when Dean arrived at the apartment and he and John never spoke about it again.
And life went on. Without Sam and with an ache in Dean’s chest that never went away.
Without stopping to think or second guess himself, Dean stood and dropped the t-shirt on top of the other clothes and pushed his shopping cart of memories up to the checkout.
~~~~~
Back at the motel, Dean opened the door to discover that Sam’s bed was empty, the sound of the shower running in the bathroom. He took the opportunity and quickly unpacked everything he had bought, laying everything out on Sam’s bed. He’d no more than finished when the bathroom door opened and Sam walked out, dressed only in boxers, his hair still damp.
“Hey, where…” Sam started but stopped as his eyes fell on the pile of items on his bed, then immediately turned and looked at Dean.
Dean shrugged. “I just…picked up some stuff for you…” he trailed off as Sam walked over to the bed and reached out and touched a pair of the jeans.
Dean saw Sam’s jaw tighten as his brother swallowed, trying in vain to hold back a sob that finally broke free at the reminder of all that he had lost, and more. He sank to his knees beside the bed, and Dean immediately dropped down beside him, wrapping an arm around Sam’s shaking shoulders.
Here was the grief that Dean had been waiting for, as Sam turned in the embrace and buried his face in Dean’s shoulder, hands clutching at Dean’s shirt as he cried.
What could Dean say? That it was okay, that everything would be all right? It would just be a lie. So instead he simply held Sam tighter and whispered, “I’m here, I’ve got you, let it out, Sam,” his own eyes filling with tears at the sight and sound of his brother’s grief.
Sam cried himself out but didn’t let go of Dean for a long while, resting his head on Dean’s shoulder as Dean ran his hand slowly up and down the younger man’s back. When Sam finally raised his head, his face streaked with tear tracks, his pain filled eyes stabbed right into Dean’s heart.
“C’mon, Sam,” Dean said quietly, urging his brother to his feet, turning down the blankets on the other bed. “Get some rest. You’re exhausted,” he said, squeezing Sam’s shoulder gently, and without a word the younger man climbed under the blankets and closed his red rimmed eyes.
Dean blew out a long breath as he sat in the chair by the table, exhausted himself, watching his brother until he knew he was asleep, then stood and moved to the other bed. He removed all of the items he’d bought, piling everything on the table, then stripped down to his boxers and crawled gratefully into bed himself.
It was full dark out when he was awakened by the mattress dipping next to him, where he lay on his side. He blinked open sleep heavy eyes to see Sam, illuminated by the neon glow of the hotel sign through the thin curtains, slip under the blankets, laying to face Dean.
There was silence as they looked at one another, the heat of Sam’s body making Dean ache to reach out and touch – four long years since they’d shared a bed and it all came crashing back like it was yesterday – the memories of bare skin and limbs entwined. But all of that was in the past now, so Dean curled his fingers into a fist instead, until he felt the brush of Sam’s fingers against his hand.
“I never meant to hurt you,” Sam whispered brokenly.
It took a moment for Dean to find his voice, but when he did he couldn’t disguise the hurt. “You did.”
“I’m sorry…”
“Why, Sam? Why did you keep that from me?”
Sam took a breath, released it slowly. “I wanted to tell you as soon as I got the letter,” he began. “But then I thought about it. About the two of us, and I decided to turn it down because I wanted to stay with you.”
He looked away from Dean. “But then a couple of weeks went by and my friends at school were all talking about going away to college, about finally getting away from their parents and living their own lives.”
Sam swallowed and met Dean’s gaze again. “And I realized deep down that I wanted that, too. That I hated the hunting and I wanted to choose for myself what I wanted to do with my life, not be forced into one by Dad’s decision. But I was so afraid you’d hate me for wanting to leave that I kept putting off saying anything until I couldn’t any longer.” He paused, dropping his head, voice catching. “And I ended up making you hate me anyway.”
Dean shook his head. “I never hated you, Sam. I was angry and hurt, but I didn’t hate you. Underneath it all I was proud of you.”
Sam’s head came up, brow furrowed. “What?”
“Sam, I knew you hated hunting, the life we lived, that you wanted to do your own thing. And I wanted you to. It wasn’t too late for you. Me, I was the oldest. I had to help Dad. I had to be what he needed me to be. And if that was a soldier to him and a parent to you…well, pretty soon I just embraced it. I was good at hunting and soon I didn’t know how to do anything else.”
Dean did reach out now, resting his hand on Sam’s chest. “But you – you were still young enough to live a different life, and the fact that you’d gotten yourself a full scholarship – I was so fucking proud of you. It would’ve been the hardest thing I’d ever done, letting you go, watching as you left for Stanford, but we could’ve made it work between us. I would’ve visited as often as I could, called you…” Dean trailed off for a moment, dropping his hand from Sam’s chest, hurt creeping back into his voice.
“But the fact that you did it all in secret, like you felt you couldn’t trust me with this – that’s what hurt so bad. And that’s why I never returned your calls or came to see you. If you kept that from me for months, what other secrets would you keep from me? I was laid bare with you, Sam. I’d never been that open or vulnerable with anyone in my life. We shared everything with each other all our lives. You never lied to me. I couldn’t trust you anymore…so I let you go.”
There was anguish in Sam’s voice. “This is all my fault –“
“No, it’s both of ours. You should’ve told me and I should’ve stopped to listen to your explanation. We both made mistakes, made assumptions that were wrong.”
Sam sighed sadly. “And we lost four years because of it.” He reached out and curled his fingers around Dean’s wrist, pinning Dean with intense hazel eyes. “But I never stopped loving you, Dean. I waited for you. At Stanford. For the first six months I was there I kept thinking I’d see you out of the corner of my eye, kept checking my phone for messages, hoping you’d finally call me. But two years went by…and I knew you weren’t coming. That I’d hurt you too badly. Six months later I met Jess…”
Sam’s voice broke and he took a second before he continued, fingers gently squeezing Dean’s wrist.
“But I need you to know that even though I loved her, she only had a small part of my heart. I could never give her anymore than that because you…” Sam pulled on the material of the shirt he was wearing. “…you would always have the rest,” he finished with a ragged whisper.
Dean looked down – to see that Sam was wearing the Marvin shirt.
“Sam, I – I don’t know what I was thinking. I didn’t mean anything by it…”
Sam’s fingers caressed the inside of Dean’s wrist, sending a shiver up Dean’s arm. “I’m hoping it means you still love me,” he whispered hesitantly.
Dean’s breath caught in his chest and his throat threatened to close up. “I never stopped.”
Sam swallowed hard at Dean’s answer. “Seeing you again. Jess’s death. I don’t know how I should be feeling anymore. It’s all mixed up in my head.”
“It’s okay, Sam. I understand,” Dean said softly. “Just…I’m here. Whatever you need, I’m here.”
He saw Sam’s eyes fill with tears. “Could you just – “ he reached for Dean and Dean pulled him close, their bodies fitting together like a familiar jigsaw puzzle.
“God, yeah, Sam, c’mere.”
As Sam moved closer, their faces just inches apart, time seemed to slow down, Dean’s heart clenching at having Sam in his arms again. Their eyes met and without a word they met in the middle, for a soft, lingering kiss.
“I missed you,” Dean breathed when they moved apart.
Sam smiled and laid his head on Dean’s chest, wrapping an arm around him, fingers warm against Dean’s bare skin.
Dean didn’t know what the future held for them, if they could get back to what they had so many years ago, but they were together again, and the healing process had begun for them both – and for now, that was enough.
THE END
