Fic: Seven takes of the same old scene
Super dooper later wee!cest fic for keepaofthecheez
Warning: Sam is fourteen. So. You know.
Other warning: Yes. The title is from a Pussycat Dolls song. Stop judging me!
Seven takes of the same old scene | pre-series | Sam/Dean, brief Sam/OFC and Sam/OMC | R | 4060 words
Author's note: Okay. So this fic really got away from me in every sense of the term. I ran out of time and then the characters did stuff that I totally did not expect and I had a family funeral so... uh... I hope this is not as crazy on paper as it is in my head. And I really like that song. And I'm not sorry about it, either.
Seven takes of the same old scene
It’s almost midnight and Sam is stretched across the couch, body angled to avoid the worst of the broken spring coils and a fleece blanket between himself and the rough upholstery. A Cheers rerun is barely discernible through the fuzzy lines climbing the TV screen; Dean’s coat-hanger contraption on the cable box can’t compete with the snowstorm raging on the other side of the bungalow walls. Sam is dozing anyway, half listening to the steady murmur of Dean and Dad in the kitchen. Normally Dad would have sent him to bed an hour ago but the electric radiators haven’t worked since they moved into the house in October and without Dean warm and heavy beside him Sam can’t tolerate moving away from the small wood stove in the living room.
Sam doesn’t remember falling asleep, he starts awake when Dean’s hand touches his shoulder.
“C’mon Smammy,” Dean says, lips curved in a smile that Sam can’t help but return.
“Don’t call me Smammy,” Sam mumbles as Dean helps him find his feet. He gets tripped up in the blanket and feels a momentary lurch in his stomach before Dean’s arm comes around his waist, solid and strong.
“Yeah, sure thing ya klutz,” Dean huffs a laugh against Sam’s ear as he pulls him closer, maneuvering them both around the couch and down the short hall before Sam can make his fuzzy brain come up with a retort. Sam doesn’t bother trying to keep his eyes open, Dean’s got him. Still, he grunts when Dean shoves him down onto the mattress, limbs flailing across the sheets as Dean pushes until he has room to crawl in, too.
“Dean,” he whines out the syllables, subsiding only when he feels Dean’s chest press up against his back.
“Shh,” Dean says. Sam can feel Dean’s ribs expand and contract with each breath, shivers when the exhalations make the hair at his nape flutter. “Go to sleep,” Dean says, and Sam does.
-0-
Sam supposes that he should be grateful that this time he won’t be judged by his ill-fitting clothes, the jeans that don’t quite fall to his sneakers or the plain t-shirts that have old stains, and even though the uniform fits like it was tailored for him Sam still hates it. The maroon jacket and the stupid tie and the scratchy pants and the way Dad smirks when Sam walks out of his room on the first morning.
“Looks good, son,” he says and Sam wants to get mad, wants to say something mean but Dad hasn’t been smiling a lot this winter so Sam just shrugs.
“I feel like an idiot,” he says, trying to loosen the knot of his tie without undoing it in the process. He’s waiting for Dean’s comment, probably something about how now he looks the nerdy part, but when he catches his brother’s gaze Dean flushes and looks away.
Sam’s stomach flutters and he doesn’t know why.
-0-
Janey Peterson leans across his desk during science class, dropping one elbow down and keeping her other shoulder high so that Sam can see the curve of her pale breast against her bra. He looks up at her face and meets the challenge there, slouching back in his chair. Away from her. The corners of her mouth turn down and she straightens with a practiced hair flip.
“Miss Donald said you might tutor me after school,” she says.
“Sorry,” Sam smiles. “I’m busy.”
After that Janey makes a point of being where Sam is, the top two buttons of her uniform shirt undone when the teachers aren’t looking. Sam’s used to attention; being the new kid in a small town at fourteen is better than it was at ten. He’s not interested, he never has been. He’s not curious about Dean’s Playboy magazines and last summer he and Virginia Malloy fooled around and it was nice but she cried when they left town and Sam doesn’t care enough about the kissing and touching to go through that again.
He’s never doesn’t thought it makes him weird, it’s not like his dick doesn’t work or anything, he’s just… busy. But Janey is persistent and the harder she tries the more she makes Sam feel uncomfortable, like she’s offering something Sam should be begging for. By the second week she’s starting to get pissed off, tired of the game and Sam can see something calculating in her gaze now and he wants to tell her to stop, he doesn’t need anyone trying to figure him out but he doesn’t know what to say and he doesn’t want to think about why that scares him. He sees her whispering to her friends when he walks by, a group of assessing eyes on his back and when he slams his locker shut a little too loudly they all smirk like they know everything about Sam Winchester.
Sam might have been able to ignore the itch growing under his skin at school if things hadn’t gotten so weird at home. Ever since they settled in this stupid town with the stupid cold weather and their stupid school uniforms Dean has been avoiding him. Janie’s constant attention at school and the way Dean’s eyes skitter away from Sam every damn time their gaze meets is too much. Sam feels like he’s going to throw up every time he walks in the door and Dean turns away, mumbling excuses and keeping his own company.
“Dean’s an adult now,” Dad says when Sam complains over a supper of tuna casserole. Sam hates tuna casserole and if Dean would come home and stop being everywhere Sam isn’t then he could have suggested Hamburger Helper in that way that always changes Dad’s mind.
On the fourth week Dean buys a portable space heater that plugs into the wall and puts it in their room.
“Now we won’t have to share, you’ll be warm enough by yourself,” Dean says when he moves the extra blankets out onto the couch. Dad grumbles about the electric bill but he doesn’t tell Dean to take the heater back to the store and Sam lies awake feeling every inch of cold empty space on the mattress.
Sam doesn’t think about the thing with Janey. He won’t. But now he wonders if Dean thinks about it. If Dean thinks he’s weird.
On the fifth week Janey asks him to meet her in the equipment room by the gym and they fuck on the stacked exercise mats in the corner. There’s chalk dust in Sam’s nose and Janey leaves fingernail impressions on his back and they don’t look each other in the eye when they get dressed.
Sam wishes Dad would pack them up and leave this place in the rearview mirror. He doesn’t, though. They stay and the space between Sam and Dean keeps on growing.
-0-
Janey moves on to someone new. Sam finds out when the someone new, Joel Pitt, sidles up to him at the bus stop. He and Joel play on the same intramural basketball team and Sam has talked to him maybe twice.
“Hey,” Joel says, hands shoved deep inside his coat pockets. Sam nods an acknowledgment. It’s too cold to bother with actual words. Normally Dean would be picking him up from school but in this town where everything is different he’s too busy and so Sam rides the bus with the other kids on their road.
“So, I’m thinking about asking Janey out, but I know you guys had a thing,” Joel explains.
“There was no thing,” Sam says.
“Yeah, that’s what Janey said,” Joel nods. “Just wanted to make sure.”
Sam stands alone in the cold and can’t believe that he ever thought that meeting Janey in that room would make things better, can’t believe that it didn’t occur to him that it would just make things worse.
-0-
Sam is normally ready for school by the time Dean rolls out of bed for work and its just bad luck that this morning Sam forgot to brush his teeth before Dean got in the shower. Dean is taking forever and Sam is going to miss the bus and in an effort to prove how not weird things are Sam opens the bathroom door and marches right to the sink counter.
“Jesus Christ, Sam,” Dean says and over the sound of water he sounds more resigned than annoyed. Sam clears the moisture and fog from the mirror and reaches for his toothbrush.
“Whatever,” he says. “You take too long in the shower. Asshole.” He can see the outline of Dean’s body through the flimsy shower curtain and he squirts toothpaste on the countertop because he can’t look away from the reflection in the mirror. There’s a gap between the curtain and the wall where Dean didn’t pull it fully closed and Sam can clearly see the showerhead and the steam from the water and when Dean turns around to put his face under the hot spray Sam can see the water streaming down his torso and past his hips and off the tip of his dick. His skin is flushed from the heat of the water and Sam’s eyes are stinging from the steam and he bangs out of the bathroom with his toothbrush still in his hand and his cock hard in his pants.
Dad is still at the kitchen table and he looks up at the noise and Sam feels like the house is about five sizes too small and he grabs his coat in one hand and his bag in the other as he runs for the front door and he doesn’t realized until he’s halfway down the drive that he’s forgotten his gloves.
Sam slouches down in the back seat of the bus until only the top of his head is visible from the other seats and tries very hard not to cry.
-0-
Sam attends every class that day and he copies a few notes from the blackboard but when he looks at his scribbler later he won’t recognize the words, won’t remember hearing or seeing them. He spends the day testing out sentences in his head.
I think I might be gay.
I think Dean already knows.
Sam doesn’t know how Dean figured it out first but it explains the sudden absence of his brother in his life. Dean’s never said anything about not liking gay people but maybe finding out your brother is into dick is different.
After lunch Sam asks for a hall pass so that he can throw up in the bathroom. The floor is cold and damp under his knees and Sam gags over the toilet bowl long after his stomach is empty.
It had taken all of two days to figure out that in this town good boys don’t hang out by the pool hall off Third Street. Dean doesn’t go there, he finds his games at the tavern by the bowling alley and Sam knows that one of the seniors from his school was caught sneaking out the back alleyway and the next week someone had spray painted the word fag on his locker in big pink letters.
On Monday morning Sam tells Dad that he has to do group work on a project after school. Dad nods without looking up from the newspaper and Dean doesn’t notice anything Sam does and when the last bell rings Sam doesn’t bother trying to duck around corners as he makes his way to Third Street, no one is out there watching for him, no one who knows him will see.
Sam walks right by the front door, glances at the shaded windows and tilts his chin up. He has no intention of going inside, knows he wouldn’t last ten seconds before getting tossed out on his ass for being grossly underage. Instead he hangs out at the diner next door, sits in the corner by the window and spreads his books across the table and orders coffee and French fries and rolls his shirtsleeves up to his elbows and makes a point of catching the gaze of every man who goes in and out of the pool hall.
By Wednesday he’s established a small cast of regulars and on Thursday one of them veers for the diner instead of the pool hall.
Sam is flummoxed at first, suddenly doesn’t feel as brazen when the man is staring at him from across the room instead of from across the street. Sam keeps his head down and focuses on the paperback he picked up at the library and tries to still his shaking hand when he lifts the coffee cup to his lips. Up close the man looks to be about Dad’s age, maybe younger. He has big hands that he keeps flat on the table and short blond hair and a crooked smile. The man orders the blue plate special, meatloaf, but he doesn’t eat it. Sam packs up his books and papers in a hurry and almost knocks over his chair when he stands up too quickly. The man watches him leave but doesn’t follow.
The next morning Dad asks what the hell kind of project he’s working on and Sam wets his lips, knows that he could just say the project is done and get on the bus after school and never have to see the man from the pool hall again.
“It’s a big deal, Dad. We have to write a paper and present it and the paper is taking forever and we haven’t even decided who’s going to talk about what and Aaron is already saying he’s too busy with hockey practice and-“
“Yeah, okay. Sounds like you’re pretty busy,” Dad says. Sam looks into his face and sees the lines around his mouth and the weight of his brow and has the overwhelming urge to climb into his father’s lap. Help me, he wants to say.
“Yeah,” Sam nods. “I am.”
-0-
The man’s name is Rodney. His hands are rough when they pull Sam’s shirt up around his armpits and Sam moans when blunt fingertips pinch his nipples. There are lips and teeth on the curve of his neck, sucking and biting and it hurts, and Sam moves to pull away but then the rough hands are on his ass, lifting and pulling until Sam has to wrap his legs around strong hips for purchase and there’s a hard cock grinding against his own and the heat on his throat and the wall at his back fall away.
“Fuck,” he whimpers and when he comes he thinks Dean.
It would never have amounted to anything more than fading bite marks and bruises on Sam’s hips if he hadn’t gotten sick. Just a stupid cold but Dad is gone and Dean has to stay around and the cold turns into a cold and a fever and sometime during the night Sam starts crying and gagging and all he can think about is Rodney’s calloused hands on him and how he wished they were Dean’s hands and he’s stripping off before he even makes it into the bathroom and when Dean finds him he’s half in the tub and half out with scalding hot water beating down on his back and his pajama pants still on.
“What the fuck,” Dean screams, banging his knee against the toilet in his haste to pull Sam clear.
“I did something bad, I did something bad,” Sam mumbles and all he can think is that Dean is here, Dean is here and he curls wriggles until he’s in Dean’s lap and cheek pressed against Dean’s chest.
“Sammy, what are you talking about?” Dean is holding him close, holding him up and Sam breathes deep.
“Don’t let me go,” he says, and falls asleep.
Sam wakes up in his bed and feels a moment of disorientation and the sheets sticky against his skin before he remembers and last night. He only has about five seconds to freak out before he realizes that he’s not alone in the bed. Dean is sitting up against the wall and Sam can tell he hasn’t slept.
“You wanna tell me what the fuck is going on, Sam?” he says.
“What do you mean?” Sam shrugs, pulls the sheets up around his naked shoulders.
“Why don’t we start with these teeth marks,” Dean’s index finger jabs the reddened skin on his neck. “And then we can move on to the bruises.”
“Don’t,” Sam says, voice trembling. “You haven’t had time for me since we got here so why start now?”
Dean inhales loudly, breath sucked in between clenched teeth. “This is my fault?”
“This is none of your business,” Sam says, sitting up and pulling away from Dean. He relents when he sees the look on Dean’s face, something dark and frightened. “Its nothing, I just, the fever made me freak out or something.”
“It doesn’t look like nothing to me,” Dean says.
“Whatever,” Sam scoffs, trying to gather his dignity around him. “Like you never came home with hickeys.”
“Those aren’t fucking hickeys, Sam. It looks like someone hurt you,” Dean growls, leaning forward to grab Sam’s wrist. Sam pulls away, the touch is too much right now.
“No, he didn’t-“
“He?” Dean’s expression just… closes up and Sam feels sick again.
“What?” he whispers.
“You said he didn’t.” Dean says, like he’s reading out the weather forecast to their dad.
“I… did I?” Sam can barely speak his mouth is so dry.
“Who is he?” Dean is up off the bed before the words are out of his mouth. “You better tell me right now Sam, or so help me I’ll…” Dean swallows and Sam can tell his eyes are fixed on the marks on his neck.
“I’m sorry,” Sam whispers. “I thought you knew,”
“Knew? Knew what, exactly? That you’re letting some random dude rough you up? Letting him touch you?”
“That I like guys,” Sam says.
“How the hell did you figure that?” Dean snaps.
“You stopped hanging out with me, moved into the living room…I thought it bothered you.” Sam shrugs and refuses to meet Dean’s eyes. He can still see when Dean’s shoulder drop, when his whole body seems to cave inward.
“What?” Dean says, softer now. “No, no, Sam, that’s not it at all. Its not, the gay thing doesn’t, he hurt you, and I wasn’t there.”
“I swear he didn’t, uh, force me,” Sam can’t stop the blush that spreads across his cheeks. “It was just a little rough,”
“Jesus,” Dean exhales wetly and scrubs a hand across his eyes. “Just tell me who it was, please.”
“You don’t know him,” Sam says. “He’s older.” He winces when Dean’s head snaps up at that admission.
“How much older?”
“I don’t know. A lot, I guess.” Sam feels so stupid, sitting on the bed in his sweaty sheets and stammering and blushing and so ashamed.
“What? Older than me?” Dean pushes, his eyes bright against his pale face.
“Yes, okay? A lot older than you,” Sam yells, fingers twisting in the sheets. “I freaked out because you wouldn’t even be around me and Janey Peterson wouldn’t leave me alone and I was too scared to think about what that meant but everyone was watching me and Janey and I hooked up and I didn’t even care and then I saw you-“ Sam stops suddenly, mouth working uselessly as he tries desperately to recall the words he’d just spoken.
“Saw me what?” Dean moves closer and Sam almost jumps out of his skin when he feels Dean’s palm against his cheek.
“Don’t,” Sam whispers, eyes screwed shut against the tears that threatened to come.
“Where did you see me?” Dean’s voice is soft and gentle and Sam knows that Dean thinks he could forgive anything, but he can’t, he won’t and he’ll be sick every time he looks at Sam because Sam is sick. “Tell me where,” Dean says.
“In the shower,” Sam says. “It was an accident, I didn’t mean to look but I did and I just, I couldn’t… you already didn’t want to be around me and I thought if you really knew…” Sam doesn’t want to look, won’t look and he doesn’t even care when he feels warm tears sliding down his cheeks. Dean is going to hate him, Dean is going to tell Dad and they’re both going to hate him.
“Shh,” Dean says and presses dry lips against the wetness on Sam’s cheekbone. “Don’t cry, Sammy.” Dean moves closer until they’re both on the mattress and pushes until they’re lying face to face. Sam keeps his eyes closed as Dean kisses his face again.
“Dean,” he moans, heart thumping in his chest when Dean’s mouth closes over his. Sam moves closer, needs to feel every warm, solid inch of Dean’s body against his. He tucks his leg between Dean’s thighs and curves his arm around Dean’s ribs and shudders when Dean clutches at him.
“I’ve got you,” Dean murmurs, licking at the edges of his mouth until Sam’s lips part with a sigh. Sam collapses into Dean when he feels the first tentative brush of his brother’s tongue against his own. Dean’s fingers twist in Sam’s hair as he tilts Sam’s face and deftly maps the corners of his mouth with lips and tongue and teeth. Sam can feel the tingling his belly growing as he writhed within the circle of Dean’s arms, whimpering when Dean’s hand smoothed down the curve of his back to settle on his ass, squeezing gently. Sam needs to feel Dean against him and pushes the waistband of his pajama pants down until he can kick free of them.
“Christ, Sam.” Dean gasps as he pulls Sam’s naked body close.
“More,” Sam whispers between kisses, bucking up against Dean’s hip and pushing his thigh against Dean’s cock.
“Easy,” Dean pulls away enough so that he can get a hand between their bodies and Sam jerks when fingers close around his erection
“Dean, I wanna touch you,” Sam pants out the words. He’s been thinking about Dean’s cock for what seems like forever, wants desperately to touch and lick and suck. His pulse thrums just thinking about doing those things to Dean, making Dean come.
“Yeah, yeah do it,” Dean lifts his leg enough for Sam to slip his hand through the slit of his boxers and Sam’s hip bucks when his fingertips brush hot flesh. “Fuck,” Dean groans and starts jacking Sam, quick and hard. Sam can feel how close he is and starts fisting Dean’s cock as best as he can in the close confines, twisting his wrist when he gets to the head. Dean curses and his hands clenches tighter around Sam tugs frantically on Dean’s erection even as he spurts come between them.
“Fuck, yeah,” Dean rolls until Sam is splayed loose limbed beneath him and grinds his cock into the crease of Sam’s thigh.
“Yeah, come on,” Sam slides his hands up Dean’s sweat-slicked back, murmuring encouragements until Dean jerks against him.
Dean is kneeling over Sam, foreheads touching and breath panting back and forth between parted lips and Sam stares up at Dean’s flushed face.
“I didn’t know, Sam,” Dean says finally. “I stayed away because I wanted this,” he trails a finger through the come streaked across Sam’s belly. “You’re mine, Sammy,” he whispers as he presses kisses along Sam’s jaw line. “Mine to look after,”
“Yeah, well, don’t forget it,” Sam laughs, trembling a little at how much he wants Dean to mean it. Dean pulls back, his eyes dark and serious.
“I won’t,” he says. He clambers up from the bed and pads out the door, dick still hanging out of his boxers and Sam just stretches across the mattress, feeling loose and relaxed for the first time in weeks. He barely notices when a wet facecloth slaps across his bare chest, doesn’t have time to move before Dean is next to him, gently scrubbing across his skin until they’re both clean. Dean lifts and pushes until Sam is on his side and he shivers at the cold air on his ass before Dean settles in tight behind him. He smiles to himself when Dean nuzzles the skin behind his ear.
“Go to sleep,” Dean says, and Sam does.
Warning: Sam is fourteen. So. You know.
Other warning: Yes. The title is from a Pussycat Dolls song. Stop judging me!
Seven takes of the same old scene | pre-series | Sam/Dean, brief Sam/OFC and Sam/OMC | R | 4060 words
Author's note: Okay. So this fic really got away from me in every sense of the term. I ran out of time and then the characters did stuff that I totally did not expect and I had a family funeral so... uh... I hope this is not as crazy on paper as it is in my head. And I really like that song. And I'm not sorry about it, either.
Seven takes of the same old scene
It’s almost midnight and Sam is stretched across the couch, body angled to avoid the worst of the broken spring coils and a fleece blanket between himself and the rough upholstery. A Cheers rerun is barely discernible through the fuzzy lines climbing the TV screen; Dean’s coat-hanger contraption on the cable box can’t compete with the snowstorm raging on the other side of the bungalow walls. Sam is dozing anyway, half listening to the steady murmur of Dean and Dad in the kitchen. Normally Dad would have sent him to bed an hour ago but the electric radiators haven’t worked since they moved into the house in October and without Dean warm and heavy beside him Sam can’t tolerate moving away from the small wood stove in the living room.
Sam doesn’t remember falling asleep, he starts awake when Dean’s hand touches his shoulder.
“C’mon Smammy,” Dean says, lips curved in a smile that Sam can’t help but return.
“Don’t call me Smammy,” Sam mumbles as Dean helps him find his feet. He gets tripped up in the blanket and feels a momentary lurch in his stomach before Dean’s arm comes around his waist, solid and strong.
“Yeah, sure thing ya klutz,” Dean huffs a laugh against Sam’s ear as he pulls him closer, maneuvering them both around the couch and down the short hall before Sam can make his fuzzy brain come up with a retort. Sam doesn’t bother trying to keep his eyes open, Dean’s got him. Still, he grunts when Dean shoves him down onto the mattress, limbs flailing across the sheets as Dean pushes until he has room to crawl in, too.
“Dean,” he whines out the syllables, subsiding only when he feels Dean’s chest press up against his back.
“Shh,” Dean says. Sam can feel Dean’s ribs expand and contract with each breath, shivers when the exhalations make the hair at his nape flutter. “Go to sleep,” Dean says, and Sam does.
-0-
Sam supposes that he should be grateful that this time he won’t be judged by his ill-fitting clothes, the jeans that don’t quite fall to his sneakers or the plain t-shirts that have old stains, and even though the uniform fits like it was tailored for him Sam still hates it. The maroon jacket and the stupid tie and the scratchy pants and the way Dad smirks when Sam walks out of his room on the first morning.
“Looks good, son,” he says and Sam wants to get mad, wants to say something mean but Dad hasn’t been smiling a lot this winter so Sam just shrugs.
“I feel like an idiot,” he says, trying to loosen the knot of his tie without undoing it in the process. He’s waiting for Dean’s comment, probably something about how now he looks the nerdy part, but when he catches his brother’s gaze Dean flushes and looks away.
Sam’s stomach flutters and he doesn’t know why.
-0-
Janey Peterson leans across his desk during science class, dropping one elbow down and keeping her other shoulder high so that Sam can see the curve of her pale breast against her bra. He looks up at her face and meets the challenge there, slouching back in his chair. Away from her. The corners of her mouth turn down and she straightens with a practiced hair flip.
“Miss Donald said you might tutor me after school,” she says.
“Sorry,” Sam smiles. “I’m busy.”
After that Janey makes a point of being where Sam is, the top two buttons of her uniform shirt undone when the teachers aren’t looking. Sam’s used to attention; being the new kid in a small town at fourteen is better than it was at ten. He’s not interested, he never has been. He’s not curious about Dean’s Playboy magazines and last summer he and Virginia Malloy fooled around and it was nice but she cried when they left town and Sam doesn’t care enough about the kissing and touching to go through that again.
He’s never doesn’t thought it makes him weird, it’s not like his dick doesn’t work or anything, he’s just… busy. But Janey is persistent and the harder she tries the more she makes Sam feel uncomfortable, like she’s offering something Sam should be begging for. By the second week she’s starting to get pissed off, tired of the game and Sam can see something calculating in her gaze now and he wants to tell her to stop, he doesn’t need anyone trying to figure him out but he doesn’t know what to say and he doesn’t want to think about why that scares him. He sees her whispering to her friends when he walks by, a group of assessing eyes on his back and when he slams his locker shut a little too loudly they all smirk like they know everything about Sam Winchester.
Sam might have been able to ignore the itch growing under his skin at school if things hadn’t gotten so weird at home. Ever since they settled in this stupid town with the stupid cold weather and their stupid school uniforms Dean has been avoiding him. Janie’s constant attention at school and the way Dean’s eyes skitter away from Sam every damn time their gaze meets is too much. Sam feels like he’s going to throw up every time he walks in the door and Dean turns away, mumbling excuses and keeping his own company.
“Dean’s an adult now,” Dad says when Sam complains over a supper of tuna casserole. Sam hates tuna casserole and if Dean would come home and stop being everywhere Sam isn’t then he could have suggested Hamburger Helper in that way that always changes Dad’s mind.
On the fourth week Dean buys a portable space heater that plugs into the wall and puts it in their room.
“Now we won’t have to share, you’ll be warm enough by yourself,” Dean says when he moves the extra blankets out onto the couch. Dad grumbles about the electric bill but he doesn’t tell Dean to take the heater back to the store and Sam lies awake feeling every inch of cold empty space on the mattress.
Sam doesn’t think about the thing with Janey. He won’t. But now he wonders if Dean thinks about it. If Dean thinks he’s weird.
On the fifth week Janey asks him to meet her in the equipment room by the gym and they fuck on the stacked exercise mats in the corner. There’s chalk dust in Sam’s nose and Janey leaves fingernail impressions on his back and they don’t look each other in the eye when they get dressed.
Sam wishes Dad would pack them up and leave this place in the rearview mirror. He doesn’t, though. They stay and the space between Sam and Dean keeps on growing.
-0-
Janey moves on to someone new. Sam finds out when the someone new, Joel Pitt, sidles up to him at the bus stop. He and Joel play on the same intramural basketball team and Sam has talked to him maybe twice.
“Hey,” Joel says, hands shoved deep inside his coat pockets. Sam nods an acknowledgment. It’s too cold to bother with actual words. Normally Dean would be picking him up from school but in this town where everything is different he’s too busy and so Sam rides the bus with the other kids on their road.
“So, I’m thinking about asking Janey out, but I know you guys had a thing,” Joel explains.
“There was no thing,” Sam says.
“Yeah, that’s what Janey said,” Joel nods. “Just wanted to make sure.”
Sam stands alone in the cold and can’t believe that he ever thought that meeting Janey in that room would make things better, can’t believe that it didn’t occur to him that it would just make things worse.
-0-
Sam is normally ready for school by the time Dean rolls out of bed for work and its just bad luck that this morning Sam forgot to brush his teeth before Dean got in the shower. Dean is taking forever and Sam is going to miss the bus and in an effort to prove how not weird things are Sam opens the bathroom door and marches right to the sink counter.
“Jesus Christ, Sam,” Dean says and over the sound of water he sounds more resigned than annoyed. Sam clears the moisture and fog from the mirror and reaches for his toothbrush.
“Whatever,” he says. “You take too long in the shower. Asshole.” He can see the outline of Dean’s body through the flimsy shower curtain and he squirts toothpaste on the countertop because he can’t look away from the reflection in the mirror. There’s a gap between the curtain and the wall where Dean didn’t pull it fully closed and Sam can clearly see the showerhead and the steam from the water and when Dean turns around to put his face under the hot spray Sam can see the water streaming down his torso and past his hips and off the tip of his dick. His skin is flushed from the heat of the water and Sam’s eyes are stinging from the steam and he bangs out of the bathroom with his toothbrush still in his hand and his cock hard in his pants.
Dad is still at the kitchen table and he looks up at the noise and Sam feels like the house is about five sizes too small and he grabs his coat in one hand and his bag in the other as he runs for the front door and he doesn’t realized until he’s halfway down the drive that he’s forgotten his gloves.
Sam slouches down in the back seat of the bus until only the top of his head is visible from the other seats and tries very hard not to cry.
-0-
Sam attends every class that day and he copies a few notes from the blackboard but when he looks at his scribbler later he won’t recognize the words, won’t remember hearing or seeing them. He spends the day testing out sentences in his head.
I think I might be gay.
I think Dean already knows.
Sam doesn’t know how Dean figured it out first but it explains the sudden absence of his brother in his life. Dean’s never said anything about not liking gay people but maybe finding out your brother is into dick is different.
After lunch Sam asks for a hall pass so that he can throw up in the bathroom. The floor is cold and damp under his knees and Sam gags over the toilet bowl long after his stomach is empty.
It had taken all of two days to figure out that in this town good boys don’t hang out by the pool hall off Third Street. Dean doesn’t go there, he finds his games at the tavern by the bowling alley and Sam knows that one of the seniors from his school was caught sneaking out the back alleyway and the next week someone had spray painted the word fag on his locker in big pink letters.
On Monday morning Sam tells Dad that he has to do group work on a project after school. Dad nods without looking up from the newspaper and Dean doesn’t notice anything Sam does and when the last bell rings Sam doesn’t bother trying to duck around corners as he makes his way to Third Street, no one is out there watching for him, no one who knows him will see.
Sam walks right by the front door, glances at the shaded windows and tilts his chin up. He has no intention of going inside, knows he wouldn’t last ten seconds before getting tossed out on his ass for being grossly underage. Instead he hangs out at the diner next door, sits in the corner by the window and spreads his books across the table and orders coffee and French fries and rolls his shirtsleeves up to his elbows and makes a point of catching the gaze of every man who goes in and out of the pool hall.
By Wednesday he’s established a small cast of regulars and on Thursday one of them veers for the diner instead of the pool hall.
Sam is flummoxed at first, suddenly doesn’t feel as brazen when the man is staring at him from across the room instead of from across the street. Sam keeps his head down and focuses on the paperback he picked up at the library and tries to still his shaking hand when he lifts the coffee cup to his lips. Up close the man looks to be about Dad’s age, maybe younger. He has big hands that he keeps flat on the table and short blond hair and a crooked smile. The man orders the blue plate special, meatloaf, but he doesn’t eat it. Sam packs up his books and papers in a hurry and almost knocks over his chair when he stands up too quickly. The man watches him leave but doesn’t follow.
The next morning Dad asks what the hell kind of project he’s working on and Sam wets his lips, knows that he could just say the project is done and get on the bus after school and never have to see the man from the pool hall again.
“It’s a big deal, Dad. We have to write a paper and present it and the paper is taking forever and we haven’t even decided who’s going to talk about what and Aaron is already saying he’s too busy with hockey practice and-“
“Yeah, okay. Sounds like you’re pretty busy,” Dad says. Sam looks into his face and sees the lines around his mouth and the weight of his brow and has the overwhelming urge to climb into his father’s lap. Help me, he wants to say.
“Yeah,” Sam nods. “I am.”
-0-
The man’s name is Rodney. His hands are rough when they pull Sam’s shirt up around his armpits and Sam moans when blunt fingertips pinch his nipples. There are lips and teeth on the curve of his neck, sucking and biting and it hurts, and Sam moves to pull away but then the rough hands are on his ass, lifting and pulling until Sam has to wrap his legs around strong hips for purchase and there’s a hard cock grinding against his own and the heat on his throat and the wall at his back fall away.
“Fuck,” he whimpers and when he comes he thinks Dean.
It would never have amounted to anything more than fading bite marks and bruises on Sam’s hips if he hadn’t gotten sick. Just a stupid cold but Dad is gone and Dean has to stay around and the cold turns into a cold and a fever and sometime during the night Sam starts crying and gagging and all he can think about is Rodney’s calloused hands on him and how he wished they were Dean’s hands and he’s stripping off before he even makes it into the bathroom and when Dean finds him he’s half in the tub and half out with scalding hot water beating down on his back and his pajama pants still on.
“What the fuck,” Dean screams, banging his knee against the toilet in his haste to pull Sam clear.
“I did something bad, I did something bad,” Sam mumbles and all he can think is that Dean is here, Dean is here and he curls wriggles until he’s in Dean’s lap and cheek pressed against Dean’s chest.
“Sammy, what are you talking about?” Dean is holding him close, holding him up and Sam breathes deep.
“Don’t let me go,” he says, and falls asleep.
Sam wakes up in his bed and feels a moment of disorientation and the sheets sticky against his skin before he remembers and last night. He only has about five seconds to freak out before he realizes that he’s not alone in the bed. Dean is sitting up against the wall and Sam can tell he hasn’t slept.
“You wanna tell me what the fuck is going on, Sam?” he says.
“What do you mean?” Sam shrugs, pulls the sheets up around his naked shoulders.
“Why don’t we start with these teeth marks,” Dean’s index finger jabs the reddened skin on his neck. “And then we can move on to the bruises.”
“Don’t,” Sam says, voice trembling. “You haven’t had time for me since we got here so why start now?”
Dean inhales loudly, breath sucked in between clenched teeth. “This is my fault?”
“This is none of your business,” Sam says, sitting up and pulling away from Dean. He relents when he sees the look on Dean’s face, something dark and frightened. “Its nothing, I just, the fever made me freak out or something.”
“It doesn’t look like nothing to me,” Dean says.
“Whatever,” Sam scoffs, trying to gather his dignity around him. “Like you never came home with hickeys.”
“Those aren’t fucking hickeys, Sam. It looks like someone hurt you,” Dean growls, leaning forward to grab Sam’s wrist. Sam pulls away, the touch is too much right now.
“No, he didn’t-“
“He?” Dean’s expression just… closes up and Sam feels sick again.
“What?” he whispers.
“You said he didn’t.” Dean says, like he’s reading out the weather forecast to their dad.
“I… did I?” Sam can barely speak his mouth is so dry.
“Who is he?” Dean is up off the bed before the words are out of his mouth. “You better tell me right now Sam, or so help me I’ll…” Dean swallows and Sam can tell his eyes are fixed on the marks on his neck.
“I’m sorry,” Sam whispers. “I thought you knew,”
“Knew? Knew what, exactly? That you’re letting some random dude rough you up? Letting him touch you?”
“That I like guys,” Sam says.
“How the hell did you figure that?” Dean snaps.
“You stopped hanging out with me, moved into the living room…I thought it bothered you.” Sam shrugs and refuses to meet Dean’s eyes. He can still see when Dean’s shoulder drop, when his whole body seems to cave inward.
“What?” Dean says, softer now. “No, no, Sam, that’s not it at all. Its not, the gay thing doesn’t, he hurt you, and I wasn’t there.”
“I swear he didn’t, uh, force me,” Sam can’t stop the blush that spreads across his cheeks. “It was just a little rough,”
“Jesus,” Dean exhales wetly and scrubs a hand across his eyes. “Just tell me who it was, please.”
“You don’t know him,” Sam says. “He’s older.” He winces when Dean’s head snaps up at that admission.
“How much older?”
“I don’t know. A lot, I guess.” Sam feels so stupid, sitting on the bed in his sweaty sheets and stammering and blushing and so ashamed.
“What? Older than me?” Dean pushes, his eyes bright against his pale face.
“Yes, okay? A lot older than you,” Sam yells, fingers twisting in the sheets. “I freaked out because you wouldn’t even be around me and Janey Peterson wouldn’t leave me alone and I was too scared to think about what that meant but everyone was watching me and Janey and I hooked up and I didn’t even care and then I saw you-“ Sam stops suddenly, mouth working uselessly as he tries desperately to recall the words he’d just spoken.
“Saw me what?” Dean moves closer and Sam almost jumps out of his skin when he feels Dean’s palm against his cheek.
“Don’t,” Sam whispers, eyes screwed shut against the tears that threatened to come.
“Where did you see me?” Dean’s voice is soft and gentle and Sam knows that Dean thinks he could forgive anything, but he can’t, he won’t and he’ll be sick every time he looks at Sam because Sam is sick. “Tell me where,” Dean says.
“In the shower,” Sam says. “It was an accident, I didn’t mean to look but I did and I just, I couldn’t… you already didn’t want to be around me and I thought if you really knew…” Sam doesn’t want to look, won’t look and he doesn’t even care when he feels warm tears sliding down his cheeks. Dean is going to hate him, Dean is going to tell Dad and they’re both going to hate him.
“Shh,” Dean says and presses dry lips against the wetness on Sam’s cheekbone. “Don’t cry, Sammy.” Dean moves closer until they’re both on the mattress and pushes until they’re lying face to face. Sam keeps his eyes closed as Dean kisses his face again.
“Dean,” he moans, heart thumping in his chest when Dean’s mouth closes over his. Sam moves closer, needs to feel every warm, solid inch of Dean’s body against his. He tucks his leg between Dean’s thighs and curves his arm around Dean’s ribs and shudders when Dean clutches at him.
“I’ve got you,” Dean murmurs, licking at the edges of his mouth until Sam’s lips part with a sigh. Sam collapses into Dean when he feels the first tentative brush of his brother’s tongue against his own. Dean’s fingers twist in Sam’s hair as he tilts Sam’s face and deftly maps the corners of his mouth with lips and tongue and teeth. Sam can feel the tingling his belly growing as he writhed within the circle of Dean’s arms, whimpering when Dean’s hand smoothed down the curve of his back to settle on his ass, squeezing gently. Sam needs to feel Dean against him and pushes the waistband of his pajama pants down until he can kick free of them.
“Christ, Sam.” Dean gasps as he pulls Sam’s naked body close.
“More,” Sam whispers between kisses, bucking up against Dean’s hip and pushing his thigh against Dean’s cock.
“Easy,” Dean pulls away enough so that he can get a hand between their bodies and Sam jerks when fingers close around his erection
“Dean, I wanna touch you,” Sam pants out the words. He’s been thinking about Dean’s cock for what seems like forever, wants desperately to touch and lick and suck. His pulse thrums just thinking about doing those things to Dean, making Dean come.
“Yeah, yeah do it,” Dean lifts his leg enough for Sam to slip his hand through the slit of his boxers and Sam’s hip bucks when his fingertips brush hot flesh. “Fuck,” Dean groans and starts jacking Sam, quick and hard. Sam can feel how close he is and starts fisting Dean’s cock as best as he can in the close confines, twisting his wrist when he gets to the head. Dean curses and his hands clenches tighter around Sam tugs frantically on Dean’s erection even as he spurts come between them.
“Fuck, yeah,” Dean rolls until Sam is splayed loose limbed beneath him and grinds his cock into the crease of Sam’s thigh.
“Yeah, come on,” Sam slides his hands up Dean’s sweat-slicked back, murmuring encouragements until Dean jerks against him.
Dean is kneeling over Sam, foreheads touching and breath panting back and forth between parted lips and Sam stares up at Dean’s flushed face.
“I didn’t know, Sam,” Dean says finally. “I stayed away because I wanted this,” he trails a finger through the come streaked across Sam’s belly. “You’re mine, Sammy,” he whispers as he presses kisses along Sam’s jaw line. “Mine to look after,”
“Yeah, well, don’t forget it,” Sam laughs, trembling a little at how much he wants Dean to mean it. Dean pulls back, his eyes dark and serious.
“I won’t,” he says. He clambers up from the bed and pads out the door, dick still hanging out of his boxers and Sam just stretches across the mattress, feeling loose and relaxed for the first time in weeks. He barely notices when a wet facecloth slaps across his bare chest, doesn’t have time to move before Dean is next to him, gently scrubbing across his skin until they’re both clean. Dean lifts and pushes until Sam is on his side and he shivers at the cold air on his ass before Dean settles in tight behind him. He smiles to himself when Dean nuzzles the skin behind his ear.
“Go to sleep,” Dean says, and Sam does.