Fic: Some Girls Are Bigger Than Others, 2/2. SPN. Dean/Sam. PG-13
Continued from here
It’s starting to get dark when they leave the diner, and Dean is just about to suggest they blow the rest of the night, spending it watching TV and just chilling, when he feels a big hand slip into his. His first instinct is to jerk away with an appalled “Dude!” but then he looks up at Sam and sees the nervous smile on his face. Uhuh.
“Sam? You alright there?”
“Yeah.” Sam squeezes his hand and leans closer. “This is nice.”
Dean blinks and follows Sam’s gaze. It’s a clear sky and the stars are starting to come out. “Yeah, I guess.” He glances down at their joined hands and then quirks his eyebrow at Sam. “What’s up?”
“Nothing.” Dean can see a blush tinting Sam’s cheeks and he has to admit it’s kinda cute. “I’m just happy you’re here. With me.”
“Uhm...” Damn. “Sam, you’re not…? We’re not on a date, you know?”
Sam’s smile vanishes and he snatches his hand away, then shoves both hands into the pockets of his jacket. “Forget it.”
Oh God. So it is true. As if it isn’t enough to have a perverted thirteen-year-old kleptomanic girl on his hands, now he has to deal with Sam’s teenage crush as well? This just keeps getting better and better. Dean fights down the urge to head for the nearest bar to get really, really drunk and reaches out for Sam instead. “Sam?”
“Leave me alone,” Sam bites off and turns on his heels, heading for the motel. “I’m going to bed.”
“It’s only eight o’clock. Sam!” Dean jogs to catch up with him. Damn those freakishly long legs. “Hey, wait. Sam, c’mon. This isn’t really you. You have to remember who you are.”
“I know! I know I’m not really a girl and I know you… you…”
Dean grabs him by the elbow and turns him around. “I’m your brother, Sam. Brother, ok? Which makes dating ten kinds of illegal, even if you do think you’re a girl. And dude, you think you’re thirteen. Thirteen! I’m not touching that with a ten feet pole!”
“Except I’m not really thirteen, dumbass,” Sam hisses. “I’m twenty three!”
“Well, you’re not acting like it, are you? One minute you’re all teenage-y and the next you’re… you’re…” He glares at Sam, taking in the flushed cheeks and the heat in his eyes and dammit, Sam’s not supposed to look at him like that! “You’re confusing the hell out of me!”
“You think you’re confused?” Sam throws up his hands in frustration. “I look at you and I don’t see a brother, ok? I just see this really cute guy, who’s like my big hero or something and the girl in me can’t handle it, Dean. She’s walking on a pink cloud here. Seriously, man, you know how women react to you. She can’t help it!”
Big hero? “Well, you can! You have to control it! Think of Orli or something!”
Sam rolls his eyes. “Don’t be stupid, I was only saying that to make you jealous,” he snorts and then suddenly his eyes turn sly. “And it worked, didn’t it? You were jealous that I thought Orlando was hotter than you.”
What!?! “Hey! I wasn’t jealous! I was appalled that my brother has such a horrible taste in men but…” He stops abruptly at the smug look on Sam’s face. Damn. “Oh shut up!”
“Whatever.” Sam smirks. “At least I’m not creaming myself over some old guys with mullets.”
“Crea-! Wha-!” He knows he’s sputtering but come on! He’s entitled! “Dude!”
“What? It’s true. It’s always Hetfield this and Ozzy Osbourne that. And don’t think I haven’t heard you je- do stuff, while listening to White Rabbit or that Hot Blooded song. Just because my eyes are closed doesn’t mean I’m dead to the world, Dean.” He scrunches up his face in disgust. “You are really loud.”
Ok, this is way beyond Dean’s comfort level. He grabs Sam by the elbow and steers him toward the motel. “You were right, it’s bed time for little girls.”
“What? No! Dean! You’re not fair! Come on!”
“Save it, princess. You can’t have it both ways. You wanna be a little girl? Fine, be a little girl. But that means I’m in charge and I say this grown-up needs a break from your teenage drama.”
“You can’t make me! I’m not gonna sleep anyway. Dean!”
“Dude, I don’t care. You’re going to bed and that’s final!”
Standing over Sam, making sure he brushes his teeth and washes the lip-gloss off his face before grumpily slipping under the covers, brings back memories of much simpler times when putting Sam to bed used to be his favorite chore of the day. Once Sam was ready they’d snuggle up together under the blankets and Dean would either read Sam a story or just make something up, usually with himself and Sam as the heroes.
Nostalgia is not something Dean allows himself to indulge in often but glancing over at Sam’s scowling face staring up at the ceiling, he can’t help wishing they were back in that time, before Sam and Dad started fighting, before college and Jess. Before stupid ass teenage girl curses started messing with his head.
When Sam huffs for the fifth time, lips pursed tight with his jaw clenched so hard he’s in danger of pulverizing his teeth, Dean gives up and snaps the laptop shut. Not like he was having any luck researching this stupid thing anyway.
“Christ. Ok, ok, we can watch TV. Will you stop sulking then?”
Sam sits up, all smiles and dimples in an instant. “Ok, Dean!”
He scoots over to the edge and pats the vacated space beside him, hopeful eyes glancing at Dean who hesitates for a moment but hey, if they’re gonna share the snack anyway… He toes off his boots, grabs the bag of Doritos and two sodas and settles down with the remote in one hand, his socked feet stretched out in front of him.
They argue over what to watch, Dean flat-out refusing anything resembling a chick-flick and “Yes, Sam, that includes everything with Leonardo DiCaprio, I don’t fucking care if he gets to shoot stuff.”
Finally they settle on an episode of Lost and even Dean has to admit some of the guys are kinda hot. Not as hot as the girls, obviously, but they’re not shit ass ugly or anything. You know, if he swung that way. Doesn’t mean Sam has to ooh and aah every time one of them throws the camera a smile though. If Dean has to hear “God, he’s so cute!” one more time he’s pulling the covers over Sam’s head and switching over to pay-per-view, delicate teenagers be damned.
The episode ends, once again without solving anything, and Dean is flipping from one station to another, dismissing infomercials and weather reports and reality shows, when he feels Sam shift beside him and suddenly he has a lap full of shaggy hair.
“Sam?”
The only answer he gets is a light snore and when he brushes some of the mop away he’s treated to the sight of Sam sleeping peacefully. Mouth slack, eyelashes dusting his flushed cheekbones, warm breath ghosting over Dean’s thigh. Dean sits still for a long time, just watching his Sammy sleeping. He can’t remember the last time Sam slept without a frown on his brow or a downward tip to his lips. If being a thirteen-year-old girl is what it takes to make his brother get some well-deserved rest then it really is worth all the drama.
Dean shuts off the TV and wriggles down until he’s flat on his back, Sam’s head resting on his chest. It’s not exactly comfortable, with Sam’s freakishly big brain weighing about a ton and a half, but for some reason he just doesn’t want to leave. Sam might wake up and freak when he remembers what’s happened. Then Dean will have to move over anyway to calm him down and really, it’s much easier if he’s already there.
Sam snuggles closer and slings one leg over Dean’s knee, a hand curling on his stomach. He’s too warm and too heavy and… Great, now he’s drooling on Dean’s favorite Metallica t-shirt. Dean sighs. The things he will do for his brother, it’s amazing really. It’s not like he’ll ever be able to fall asleep like thi-
----------------
If there’s anything in the world more horrifying than waking up to your brother singing along to Celine Dion’s My Heart Will Go On, Dean really doesn’t want to know. Groaning he buries his head in his pillow and tries to shut out the sound as well as the shame. It’s no good. Sam’s hitting those high notes like Whitney Houston on crack and not even a shot to the head would manage to block that out.
“Sammy! Shut! Up!”
“Oops, sorry. Did I wake you?”
Dean turns grumpily and cracks one eye open. Then wishes he hadn’t because it means he’s gonna have to carve it out. Preferably with a spoon. Anything to make what he’s staring at be erased from his brain forever.
“Dude, what the hell are you wearing?”
Sam gives him a smile and cocks his hip in such an obscene way he puts even Britney to shame. “You don’t mind, do you?” He looks down, running his hands down his chest. “It’s snug and it smells like you.”
“It’s snug because it’s two sizes too small, you freak. And it smells like me because it’s mine!” Dean sits up and rubs his face in exasperation and fatigue. “Seriously, Sam, only hookers and chicks on MTV knot the front like that. And… Are those my jeans?”
“Yeah. My clothes are all so baggy.” Sam turns and palms his ass. “These really show off my butt. They were a bit short though but I fixed that.”
“Huh?” Dean looks down blearily and then his eyes widen in shock. “You cut off my jeans? What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Well, pardon me for not wanting to look like a total loser,” Sam huffs indignantly. “It’s bad enough that I had to shave, like everywhere! We’re out of razorblades, by the way,” Sam complains before adding with a frown, “And I think I clogged the drain.”
“When you say ‘everywhere’…?” Dean closes his eyes and falls back down on the pillows. “No. Don’t tell me. I really, really don’t want to know.”
“You’re such a redneck, Dean,” Sam snorts. “But whatever, fine. I won’t tell you.”
He props one foot up on the bed and starts painting the nails hot pink. Jesus! Did he empty the whole girl section of the store?
“We should pick up some wax strips for next time though. It’s gonna itch like hell when the hairs start growing out and really, you don’t want me scratching myself there. In public, I mean.”
“Oh God.” Dean grabs Sam’s pillow to cover his face. “Kill me. Kill me now.”
“What? I didn’t say anything!”
Are teenage girls really supposed to sound so evil?
Realizing he’s not going to get any more sleep with the image of Sam’s shaved groin in his head Dean throws the pillow in the general direction of Sam’s voice and sits up, ignoring his brother’s yelped “Hey!” He’s still wearing his jeans and the t-shirt he fell asleep in and they’re damp and warm with sweat. Yuck. Dean strips off the t-shirt and is starting to shimmy out of his pants when he hears a small gasp and looks up to find Sam staring at him, two red dots adorning his cheeks.
“Oh, you gotta be shitting me. Sam, stop ogling me!”
His brother quickly looks away, blush spreading up to his ears and down where the hollow of his throat disappears beneath the collar. “Sorry.”
“Yeah, well, you should be. I can’t believe this,” Dean mutters as he pulls his jeans back up and stalks into the bathroom, yelling, “And keep out!” before slamming the door shut.
The seams of his jeans groan in complaint as he rips them off in one angry movement, boxer briefs following shortly after. This is just great. Great! Bet Sammy is sitting there on his bed right now, mouth gaping, eyes glazed over as he fantasizes about his own brother taking a shower! Seriously, how fucked up is that? It’s-
Sam’s razor lies on the small shower shelf, long hairs sticking to the blades. There are more hairs on the bottom of the shower. Fine, golden, straight hairs and coarser, curly ones. Dean stares at them until he can feel his own eyes glazing over, pictures of Sam stooping over to shave those hard-to-reach places popping up like his own private peep show in his head.
Unh…
No! Not going there. Not. Going. There.
Growling he turns on the shower and flushes the last remaining hairs down the drain before stepping under the stream of water. It’s only lukewarm after Sam’s prolonged grooming time - and of course there are hairs sticking to the soap as well, which is just… urgh - so by the time Dean’s lathered up the last of the warm water disappears, proving once again that the myth about cold showers and erections is just that, a myth.
Dean glares at his cock, silently telling it to stop being such a perv and at least try and imagine someone with bigger boobs and… not Sam! It gives an apologetic twitch and conjures an image of that chick on Lost in his head. He takes care of it quickly and quietly and when he comes with a shudder he feels satisfied that at least he’s not totally twisted like his brother. Who probably did imagine Dean when he was in here earlier taking his own shower, stroking away while… Dean’s own cock does an extra twitch, spurting happily, and he groans in defeat.
God, this is so fucked up.
They have to find a solution right the fuck now and get rid off Sam’s girl part. And thank God he’s not talking about the physical kind. Once Sam’s back to normal everything else will sort itself out. It’s just all the girl talk and the pouting lips with the strawberry lip-gloss not to mention the pink nail polish and all the other chick-shit that’s messing with his head. Obviously his brain is starting to think Sam is a girl too, hopefully an unrelated one, and, seeing as his brain belongs to a healthy young male, more specifically Dean, it’s sending his dick the completely wrong signals. Not his fault. At all.
Almost reassured Dean wraps the only remaining towel around his waist and takes a deep breath before cautiously opening the bathroom door and peeping out. The room is empty.
“Sam!”
Dammit! Can’t he take his eyes off the little shit for five freaking minutes without him doing something stupid like leaving the motel room dressed like a goddamn hooker?
Dean throws the wet towel aside and stalks over to his duffel bag. Fuck. Ripped jeans, bloody jeans, smelling-like-a-sewer jeans. Seems like Sam cut up his last good clean pair. Great. That’s just fucking great. Guess it’s back to the now cold and damp ones he slept in. No clean underwear either and with a smirk he steals a pair from Sam’s bag. They’re white and hug him in all the right places while still leaving plenty of room for… growth.
Dean pauses with his hand down the front, in the middle of adjusting his precious family jewels. Seriously, how much room does Sam need? These are just… His brain does that disturbing image flash thing again and he has to blink and shake his head to get rid of them. This is not the time to contemplate the size of Sam’s equipment. Actually there is never the proper time for such thinking but with his brother on the loose, dressed like a gigantic male version of Christina Aguilera singing Candyman, he definitely shouldn’t be wasting valuable minutes fondling his dick in Sam’s underwear.
Grimacing he pulls on his jeans and a more or less clean t-shirt before shoving his bare feet into his boots, grabbing the keys off the table and storming out. The Impala is still faithfully stationed in the parking lot so at least Sam hasn’t gone too far. He’s not at the picnic table or at the small playground to the far right of the motel. He might have decided to go to the library or the ice cream shop or… Where the hell does a thirteen-year-old girl go in a shitty little town like this?
Setting his lips in a straight line Dean stalks to the car and is about to get in and drive to the diner when he hears a loud shriek and he’s across the parking lot, running toward the motel’s reception in a matter of seconds. He slams the door open to find Sam backed into the corner, the jerk from the counter leaning into him. He’s got one hand flattened on the wall beside Sam’s head, the other cupping his groin.
“Stop it! I told you I don’t want…”
“Now don’t be like tha-“
That’s as far as the fucker gets before Dean grabs his shoulder, swings him around and buries a tight fist right in the middle of that butt-ugly face. “You fucking shit!”
The kid stares at him in shock and starts sagging but Dean lands one extra punch in his gut before letting him slide to the floor.
“Dean! Don’t!” Sam grabs his brother by the arms and jerks him back as he’s about to plant his boot in a very special place. “Stop it!”
Dean takes a deep breath and then shakes free. “I’m alright. I’m alright.” He throws the kid’s dazed face a death glare before grabbing Sam’s hand and dragging him out the door. “We’re leaving.”
“Dean, let me go! What’s wrong with you? You can’t just beat up people like that!”
Dean swings around so fast Sam almost falls over in his hurry to step back from his brother’s furious glare.
“I can’t? I can’t!?! Dude, you can’t walk around looking like that! What the hell is wrong with you? You might as well wear a t-shirt that says ‘Rape Me, I’m Yours’ on the front.”
Sam rolls his eyes. “Oh, c’mon. I could have taken him. He’s like five feet ten.”
“Yeah? Then why didn’t you? You just stood there, like a scared little girl, Sam. You just let that sicko paw all over you. What the hell?”
Sam blushes at that and averts his eyes. “I panicked, ok? I forgot for a second that I was Sam too. I was just… her. And she got scared, Dean. She is a little girl.” He raises his head and scowls at his brother. “I would have snapped out of it, Dean. You didn’t need to do that.”
“Like hell I didn’t. No one treats my brother like that, I don’t care if you’re thirteen or twenty-three, dude. It’s my job to look out for you and that includes making sure you’re not molested by some horny little assholes, ok?”
Sam swallows. “Yeah. Ok. Are you…” His lip wobbles. “Are you mad at me, Dean?”
Dean sighs. “No. Yes. Maybe a little. What the hell were you doing in there anyway? You freaked me out, disappearing like that.”
“I was just asking if he could change a five dollar bill. I needed it for the vending machine. I wanted - I wanted a diet Coke.” Sam’s breath hitches and then his eyes fill with tears. “I didn‘t mean to get into trouble. I’m sorry.”
“Oh hell. Please just… don’t start crying again.”
“I’m not crying!” Sam blubbers, wiping angrily at his eyes. “I just hate when you’re mad at me, Dean. I’m trying. I’m trying so hard to be what you want me to be, to make you like me and I can’t… I can’t, Dean!”
He breaks down sobbing and that’s it, Dean can’t take it anymore. He drags Sam into the room and slams the door behind them before pushing him to sit down on the bed. He runs one hand over his face and gazes down at his brother’s shaking form in exasperation. His hand reaches out in comfort before he realizes what he’s doing and he snatches it away, showing both hands into the pockets of his jeans. Don’t. Go. There.
“Sam, I know you’re confused and not sure how to be or act but this? I can’t do this. You have to remember who you are and… just be Sam. I need you to be Sam.”
“I am! I’m just…” The bowed head drops even further.
“Sam, listen to me. You can’t dress like that and you can’t wear lipstick and… And you have to stop crushing on me. Please.”
Sam’s head snaps up, his eyes red from tears and hard with anger. “That’s not fair! You think it’s that easy? I mean, sure I can dress like a guy but… I can’t just turn off all these feelings, just like that. I’m a girl and I want to be pretty and wear nice clothes and I want you to like me and maybe then you’ll kiss me and-”
“Sam, listen to yourself. You’re not a girl. You’re a man. And you’re my brother. My brother, Sam!”
Dean sits down heavily on the other bed, shaking his head. “And seriously, how can you think I don’t like you? I like you, Sam. Hell, I fucking love you but if you don’t stop doing what you’ve been doing I’m gonna start liking you a little too much. You might think you want that now but this spell, or whatever it is, is gonna wear off soon and what then? What then, Sam? What the hell am I supposed to do then?”
His voice is rising and he stands abruptly up and walks to the window, turning his back on Sam. There’s silence for a long time and then Sam whispers, “You think it’s just the spell making me feel this way about you? Is that what you think?”
Dean closes his eyes warily. The world hates him. There is no other explanation for this. “C’mon, Sam. You telling me you used to doodle my name in your notebook before this happened? With the little hearts and butterflies? Chyeah right.”
“Yeah, I did.”
Dean’s eyes snap open and he slowly turns around, staring at Sam who’s gazing at him with a flushed face. “What?”
“Maybe not with hearts and butterflies but my notebooks in college were filled with your name. I would have done it in high school too but I was afraid you’d see it.”
Oh God. “Sam, don’t. You don’t have to…”
“I’m not lying! I’ve been in love with you since I was fourteen years old, Dean. Fourteen!”
He stares at Sam, his mind frozen. This is too much. This… no. No.
Sam is watching him, anger turning into worry that turns into fear and he slowly gets up from the bed. “Please, Dean. Say something. Please.” He starts crying again, stumbling forward until he’s standing in front of Dean, looking impossibly young. “I’m sorry. Please don’t hate me. Dean?”
Dean shakes his head. “Sam… you’re my baby brother. This is wrong. It’s the spell, messing with your memories or something.”
“No. Don’t say that! It’s not the spell, it’s just me. It’s just me, Dean. Don’t you get it? I love you.”
“No.” Dean steps back, still shaking his head in denial. “I would have known. You would have said something.”
Sam’s jaw goes tight, his eyes hardening. “You know what? You’re right. You should have known. Why didn’t you? You never noticed anything. Or maybe you did and you just didn’t care!”
He’s shaking with anger, hands clenched into fists by his side and Dean fights the urge to take another step back. He has a feeling Sam the thirteen year old girl wouldn’t fight fair. Chances are there would be hair pulling and possibly biting. “Sam, calm down.”
“No!” Sam stamps down his foot, which should look ridiculous, but it makes Dean’s heart clench because this is so much not Sam and the kid doesn’t know what he’s saying or doing, it’s all the fucking spell.
“No, I won’t calm down, Dean. You wanted to know why I never said anything? Because I knew you’d do this. That you’d look at me like I was some sick pervert.”
Sam’s eyes fill once again with tears and he turns away and flings himself down on the bed. He buries his face in his pillow, wrapping his long arms around it and clutches it tight. “I knew you’d hate me. I knew it! I never should have said anything. I’m so stupid,” he hiccups and his shoulders start shaking again.
Dean stands frozen, staring at Sam. God, this is all so fucked up. How did they get here? What the hell is he supposed to do? His whole body is screaming at him to walk over to Sam and pull him into his arms. To hold him and comfort him and ‘kiss him until he can’t breathe. Come on, you know you want to.’
And that is exactly why he can’t. It’s not right. It’s not right!
But what if Sam is telling the truth? What if he’s actually had these feelings for the last nine years? Jesus! That’s… God! And why hadn’t Dean noticed? Sure, he’d caught Sam staring at him and following him around but that’s the way he always was. Just the usual hero-worshiping Sam had shown for Dean since he was old enough to say his name.
And yeah, so there had come the time when Sam had turned shy and didn’t want to be hugged or cuddled anymore but Dean attributed that to him becoming a teenager and being uncomfortable in his own skin, the way all teenagers are. Dean read parental columns, he watched Oprah. Hell, he’d gone through the same thing a few years earlier. He knew what it was like and he hadn’t pushed Sam, just respected his need for privacy. Kept away when Sam wanted him to and been there, ready for him, the few times he’d come to Dean for comfort. -It was something that happened less and less as he grew older. And then Sam and Dad started fighting all the time and Dean had pulled himself away, unable to pick sides like they both seemed to expect him to do.
But he’d never even considered… And why should he have? It’s not exactly normal teenage behavior, crushing on your sibling. He can’t remember Oprah ever discussing that in any of her ‘troubled teens’ features and he’s sure he would remember! Nothing in his education, school or street wise, prepared him for how to handle this. What to do if your brother turns into a teenage girl and confesses he/she has loved you in a very un-brotherly way for years? And even more importantly, what to do when you realize that instead of being disgusted you really, really, really want to take him in your arms and kiss the hell out of him?
Which brings Dean to his part in this. Did he do something, when they were growing up, to encourage this? Had he acted in a way that made Sam think he was open to the possibility, that maybe it was ok to want your brother that way? Was this whole thing his fault? And now, what about now? Can he really let Sam suffer like this, thinking he’s the only one struggling when in fact Dean is no better off? So he might not have been pining after Sam for the last nine years but he has a feeling he will be for the next. It’s like a fire in his stomach, this longing he suddenly feels for Sam. Like he can’t breathe if he doesn’t get to touch him. He wants to grab Sam and kiss him and fucking devour him. Feel those hard muscles under his hands, taste the sweat of Sam’s skin, hear him moan his name as they…
Oh God. He’s so screwed.
“Sam. Will you please look at me? Please?”
Sam lifts his head slowly. His face is wet and puffy, eyes red-rimmed and glittering, and he’s biting his lip to keep it from trembling. Dean walks over and sits on the bed opposite, then reaches out to brush the tangles of sweat-damp hair from his brother’s forehead.
“Ok, listen. Listen, Sam. I don’t know if what you’re feeling is from the spell or not but I can’t take that chance. Not just because you’re my brother but because she’s thirteen, Sam. Thirteen years old. Which means that if these are her feelings they’re a child’s feelings and I could never act on that.”
“But…”
“No. Let me finish. Please. We will find a way to break the spell, Sam, and when we do you will be back to your normal self. Well, as normal as you can get,” he adds with a wink, relieved to see Sam scowling in outrage. “And then… if you still feel this way, then we can talk about it. Ok?”
Sam slowly pulls himself up until he’s sitting with his back against the headboard, gazing at Dean with a spark of hope in his eyes. “Really? You mean that?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I do, Sam.”
“Because I will, I will still feel this way, I know I will. And you…” He hesitates. “Does this mean you feel something too? You don’t hate me?”
Dean takes a deep breath and then moves over to sit beside his brother, pulling him into a hug. “No, I don’t hate you, Sam. Dude, you know that.” He swallows before continuing. “And maybe I do feel something but I can’t allow myself to even consider it, not when you’re like this. Ok, Sam? Do you understand why?”
“Yeah, Dean. I’m thirteen. I’m not stupid,” Sam snorts and Dean can’t help smiling.
“You’re anything but stupid. In fact I’m sure you’re the smartest thirteen year old girl I’ve ever met.”
“And prettiest too?”
“Don’t push it.” Sam turns the puppy eyes on him and he relents with a sigh. “Ok, yes. Definitely the prettiest. Happy now?”
“Yes!” Sam throws his arms around Dean’s neck and pulls him into a tight hug. “You’re the best brother in the whole wide world!”
“I know.” Dean allows him to hold on a little longer before pushing him gently away. “Now take off those clothes and wash your face. We’ve got research to do.”
Sam pouts. “Can’t I keep the t-shirt at least?”
“Sam…”
“Please?”
Oh hell. “At least undo the knot. Seriously, Sam, no one wears them like that. Not even thirteen year old girls. Especially not thirteen year old girls. And you owe me a new pair of jeans.”
“Ooh, can we go shopping? The girls at the diner said-”
“No!”
---------------
In the end it’s ridiculously simple. Dean convinces Sam that even though, yes, it is embarrassing, they still should try and see if any of their contacts knows anything. After listening to both Pastor Jim and Joshua just laugh hysterically as Dean explains the situation to them, Bobby finally comes up with a solution. Seems the same thing happened to a friend of his some years back and turns out it was a simple 48 hour spell some disgruntled girl had laid on him for blowing her off. Chances are the spell was meant for Dean, since Sam hasn’t so much as talked to girls unless it’s related to their work, and it somehow misfired. Whoever it was and for whatever reason, the spell should wear off soon enough.
“Just keep him away from any bad boys that might be around. And malls. Poor Johnny boy woke up with plucked eyebrows and wearing nothing but pink.”
“Sure. Thanks, Bobby. I’ll… Wait. When you say Johnny, you don’t mean…?”
“Gotta go, son. You take care off that brother of yours.”
“Bobby?” There’s a click and Dean’s left staring at the phone in his hand.
“What’s wrong?”
Dean jerks out of his daze to find Sam staring at him in worry. No. His life is bizarre enough without adding that to the already disturbing images in his head. “Nothing. Bobby thinks it should wear off tomorrow morning. All we have to do is wait.”
“Ok. Good.” Sam closes the laptop and leans back on the bed. “Dean?” he asks after a moments silence, voice somewhat hesitant.
“Yeah?”
“Do you like her better than me?”
“What?”
“The girl. Do you like her better than me? And I don’t mean in a romantic way,” he adds hastily, cheeks flushing. “Just… you know.”
“Are you kidding me?” Dean shakes his head. “Dude, she listens to Justin Timberlake!”
Sam laughs, his cheeks reddening further. “Yeah. That’s true. Even I’m horrified by that.”
“Must admit though,” Dean says after a while. “I like how happy she makes you. It’s good to hear you laugh, Sam. I’ve missed that.”
Sam looks down, smile slipping away. “Yeah. Guess I’ve not been too good company. Sorry.”
“Sam, don’t. I’m not blaming you, dude. You lost the woman you loved. It’s tough stuff. I just wish… You can talk to me, you know? If you want to.”
“I know. And I will. Some day.” Sam hitches his breath and then looks up with a small smile, blinking his tears away. “Some day when I don’t burst out crying every five minutes.”
Dean smiles back. “Gotta say, man. You are one emotional girl. You know I’m gonna mock you forever once this is over, right?”
“I know. Jackass.”
“Hey, just be glad I didn’t take any pictures of you in that outfit. I bet your friends at Stanford would love to hear what you’ve been up to.”
“Shut up.”
Dean smiles and stands up, stretching to get the kinks out of his back. He catches Sam staring at the sliver of skin showing between his shirt and jeans but he doesn’t comment on it. Not like he hasn’t been checking Sam out at every opportunity. Seriously, how can he not? That t-shirt is really tight, clinging to his brother’s muscular chest like it’s painted on him. He’s just happy he got Sammy to change pants. If only he can ignore the pink nail polish or the strawberry lip-gloss that Sam refuses to take off, stubbornly claiming he has chapped lips, he’ll be fine.
“Come on, little brother. Let’s go see if those puppy eyes can score us another free dessert at the diner.”
“Ok!” Sam jumps up from the bed. “I want spaghetti. Think I can get spaghetti? And a big soda!”
“Whatever you want, Sam. Whatever you want.”
The rest of the day is spent enjoying the rare break from hunting. After they finish off a huge lunch with waffles ‘on the house’ Dean lets Sam drag him to the pond to feed the ducks. He doesn’t even object when Sam slips a hand into his as they sit on a small bench, watching the birds fight over the few crumbs of bread they had saved from the diner. Sam names the ducks after the members of the Backstreet Boys, except for the one that keeps stealing bread from the others. That one he names Dawn, and laughs when Dean shoos it away.
When they walk back to the motel Sam still clings to Dean’s hand like he’s afraid of letting go, and Dean must admit, despite the awkwardness, that it’s kinda nice. Sam has big and warm hands and the contrast to when they were younger, with Sam’s small hand clutched in Dean’s own, makes him feel oddly nostalgic, in a reverse kinda way. He can’t help wondering what it would have been like, growing up as the younger brother, with always someone there to look out for him. Not that Dad didn’t care for him, it’s just…
“You alright?”
He looks up to find Sam watching him and gives him a reassuring smile. “Yeah, I’m cool.”
Sam nods thoughtfully and squeezes his hand. “Everything’s gonna be ok, Dean.”
Dean shakes his head and forces a grin. “That’s my line, kiddo.”
“Yeah, well… I’m a klepto, remember?” Sam elbows him playfully. “I’m stealing it.”
“Talking about that… Is that her or you? Because I don’t remember you being a shoplifter. They teach you that at Stanford?”
Sam blushes and ducks his head. “Yeah, kinda.”
“What?”
“Don’t be mad! I ran out of the money you gave me within three months. It was either that or hustling, and I don’t mean pool. Don’t worry,” he adds at Dean’s shocked look. “I got a job a month later, waiting tables. No more stealing.”
“Huh.” Dean rubs the back of Sam’s hand with his thumb. “You never said anything. I would have sent you more.”
“You never asked,” Sam pouts. “And then you stopped calling.”
“Because you stopped picking up.”
“Because…!” Sam stops and bites his lip. “I’m sorry.” He shakes his head. “Don’t be mad.”
“I’m not mad, Sam. It’s cool, I get it. You wanted a new life and I wasn’t part of that.” Dean shrugs. “It’s no big deal.”
“That’s not why…” Sam stops and tugs at Dean’s hand until he turns to face him. His eyes are heavy with guilt and Dean can hardly remember him looking so young.
“It hurt too much, ok? I missed you too much, Dean. I was alone and you weren’t there and… whenever we hung up I felt like crying and I just wanted to come home. So I stopped picking up because I thought it would be easier. And then you stopped calling and...” He swallows. “It wasn’t. It just hurt more.”
Dean hesitates. However much he wants to he can’t with a good conscience take advantage of Sam’s emotional state. Not when he isn’t really himself. “You could have called me,” he says cautiously, trying to keep the feelings of betrayal out of his voice. “It’s not a one-way street, Sam.”
“I know! But I thought you’d be mad and… The longer I waited the harder it got and then I met Jessica and I just…” Sam looks away. “I let you go. I’m sorry.”
Dean sighs. “I wasn’t the one trying to get away.”
“No, but if you’d known how I felt about you…”
“No. Don’t turn this on me, man. You don’t know what would have happened. Hell, I don’t even know what I would have done.” Dean runs his fingers through his hair, the reality of the situation catching up with him. “I still don’t, I mean now. I don’t know what I’m gonna do, Sam.”
“You’ll figure it out,” Sam says with a confident nod. “I know you will. You’re smart like that. And if you don’t…” He swallows and puts on a brave smile. “It’s ok, Dean. I’ll deal.”
Dean gives him a small smile. “Let’s save this for tomorrow, alright?”
Sam looks like he wants to argue but then he bites his lip and nods. “Alright. We still friends, Dean?”
Dean reaches up and ruffles Sam’s hair, laughing as he tries to duck away. “Always, Sammy. You know that.”
“So…” Sam grins. “Race you to the playground!”
He takes off and is halfway across the street before Dean even realizes what’s happening. Cursing he runs after Sam. The kid’s got legs like a giraffe but Dean has better stamina and by the time they reach the swings he’s cut a couple of feet ahead. Sam laughs happily and tackles him down on the grass where they roll a few rounds before collapsing on their backs, staring up at the darkening sky as they try to catch their breath.
“I miss this,” Sam finally says. “Me and you. Just goofing around.”
“Yeah.” Dean closes his eyes. The grass is soft and the air is still warm enough to make the gentle breeze feel soothing on their hot faces. “Being grown up sucks. Enjoy your girl while you have her.”
There’s a short silence and then they both burst out laughing.
“I did not mean it like that!”
“You so did!”
“Shut up.”
-------------
Sam falls asleep with his head in Dean’s lap again and Dean leaves him be until he feels his own eyes start drooping. Then he slips from under Sam and undresses, making sure the door is locked and his knife is under the pillow before he lies down in his own bed. He stares at the ceiling for a moment before turning on his side, facing Sam. Sam’s eyes glitter in the moonlight, wide open. They gaze at each other in silence for a long time and then Dean throws the covers aside and crosses the space between them, sliding in beside his brother. They don’t say anything, Sam just curls up with one arm across Dean’s chest, his nose nuzzled into Dean’s neck. He’s asleep within minutes. Dean lies awake, breathing in the presence of Sam, feeling his heart beat next to his own.
Tomorrow things will hopefully be back to normal and Sam won’t be a needy little girl any more. And that other thing… It will in all likelihood be gone as well. Whatever Sam says, chances are it’s just the spell messing with his head. Dean should be relieved. And he is, he is.
He will be. Whatever this tension in his gut is trying to tell him, he will be.
------------
For once he’s awake before Sam. Awake and showered and dressed, sipping coffee from the diner as he watches Sam sleep. It’s late when Sam finally wakes up, already an hour past the time limit, and Dean holds his breath while Sam groggily blinks against the morning sun.
“Hey.”
“Hey.” Sam sits up and runs one hand sleepily through his hair. “I had the strangest dream.”
Dean tenses. “Yeah?”
“I don’t remember much. But for some reason I have Justin Timberlake stuck on my brain.”
“Sounds like a nightmare,” Dean says and shifts in his chair. There’s a hollow feeling in his stomach and his throat is dry and hurting. It’s only ten in the morning but he’s suddenly aching for a beer.
“Not really. I felt happy.” Sam pauses in the middle of scratching his nose and stares at his hand. “Dean?”
“Yeah?”
“Why am I wearing pink nail polish?”
“You got drunk,” Dean answers curtly and stands up. “There were girls. I don’t know. It was silly.”
“Huh.” Sam frowns. “I don’t remember. I feel weird though. How come you’re not wearing any?” he adds after a moment.
“I never said I was drunk.” Dean forces on a grin. “In fact I had to carry your drunken ass home.”
“Really?” Sam looks puzzled, like he’s fighting to remember, but then he shrugs and offers Dean a shy smile. “Sorry ‘bout that. Hope I didn’t ruin your evening.”
“Nah, don’t worry about it.” Dean grabs his duffel bag and starts throwing in his clothes. “We should get going.”
“Ok. Just give me a sec.”
Dean keeps his back turned as Sam gets out of bed and sleepily makes his way into the bathroom. He waits until he hears the door close behind him before letting his shoulders sag. So that’s it. They’re back to normal. That’s… good. It’s the way it should be.
He’s so caught up in not letting himself feel anything that he doesn’t hear the bathroom door open again, doesn’t pay any attention until there’s suddenly a palm on his shoulder and he’s being turned around. Big hands cradle his face and then Sam is kissing him. His lips are soft but firm and he waits patiently until Dean parts his lips with a soft sigh, inviting Sam to slip his tongue inside.
Dean hadn’t allowed himself to even imagine what it would feel like but now, when it’s actually happening, it surpasses whatever his brain could have conjured anyway. Sam kisses with the same commitment as he shows to research and by the time he pulls back Dean is panting, his pupils wide-blown and dark as he stares into Sam’s eyes.
“I remember. And it wasn’t the spell,” Sam says, before adding with a hint of anxiety, “Can we talk now?”
Dean draws in a deep breath and as he lets it out it’s like the weight of the world just lifted from his shoulders.
“We can talk later,” he answers and is treated to the sight of Sam’s face splitting into a wide smile, crowfeet dancing at the corners of his eyes, and then they’re kissing again.
At the edge of Sam’s mouth Dean can taste the faintest trace of strawberry.
fin
A/N: Ok, so this whole thing came about because I was grinning to myself about how often the words "When did you turn into a thirteen (or twelve or whatever) year old girl?" come up in fic when suddenly in my head I heard Sam answering "About five minutes ago." Which made me giggle because I'm simple like that. But then I started joking about it with some people on my flist and they were evil enough to encourage me and so this is what happens. Pink crack with a sidedish of glitter. Sam sounds totally schizo at times but remember, he has basically two people in his head, himself and the girl, and even if the girl is emotionally more overwhelming, Sam the guy isn't completely drowned out. Seriously, I hope this made sense. Or that at least it made you laugh.
It’s starting to get dark when they leave the diner, and Dean is just about to suggest they blow the rest of the night, spending it watching TV and just chilling, when he feels a big hand slip into his. His first instinct is to jerk away with an appalled “Dude!” but then he looks up at Sam and sees the nervous smile on his face. Uhuh.
“Sam? You alright there?”
“Yeah.” Sam squeezes his hand and leans closer. “This is nice.”
Dean blinks and follows Sam’s gaze. It’s a clear sky and the stars are starting to come out. “Yeah, I guess.” He glances down at their joined hands and then quirks his eyebrow at Sam. “What’s up?”
“Nothing.” Dean can see a blush tinting Sam’s cheeks and he has to admit it’s kinda cute. “I’m just happy you’re here. With me.”
“Uhm...” Damn. “Sam, you’re not…? We’re not on a date, you know?”
Sam’s smile vanishes and he snatches his hand away, then shoves both hands into the pockets of his jacket. “Forget it.”
Oh God. So it is true. As if it isn’t enough to have a perverted thirteen-year-old kleptomanic girl on his hands, now he has to deal with Sam’s teenage crush as well? This just keeps getting better and better. Dean fights down the urge to head for the nearest bar to get really, really drunk and reaches out for Sam instead. “Sam?”
“Leave me alone,” Sam bites off and turns on his heels, heading for the motel. “I’m going to bed.”
“It’s only eight o’clock. Sam!” Dean jogs to catch up with him. Damn those freakishly long legs. “Hey, wait. Sam, c’mon. This isn’t really you. You have to remember who you are.”
“I know! I know I’m not really a girl and I know you… you…”
Dean grabs him by the elbow and turns him around. “I’m your brother, Sam. Brother, ok? Which makes dating ten kinds of illegal, even if you do think you’re a girl. And dude, you think you’re thirteen. Thirteen! I’m not touching that with a ten feet pole!”
“Except I’m not really thirteen, dumbass,” Sam hisses. “I’m twenty three!”
“Well, you’re not acting like it, are you? One minute you’re all teenage-y and the next you’re… you’re…” He glares at Sam, taking in the flushed cheeks and the heat in his eyes and dammit, Sam’s not supposed to look at him like that! “You’re confusing the hell out of me!”
“You think you’re confused?” Sam throws up his hands in frustration. “I look at you and I don’t see a brother, ok? I just see this really cute guy, who’s like my big hero or something and the girl in me can’t handle it, Dean. She’s walking on a pink cloud here. Seriously, man, you know how women react to you. She can’t help it!”
Big hero? “Well, you can! You have to control it! Think of Orli or something!”
Sam rolls his eyes. “Don’t be stupid, I was only saying that to make you jealous,” he snorts and then suddenly his eyes turn sly. “And it worked, didn’t it? You were jealous that I thought Orlando was hotter than you.”
What!?! “Hey! I wasn’t jealous! I was appalled that my brother has such a horrible taste in men but…” He stops abruptly at the smug look on Sam’s face. Damn. “Oh shut up!”
“Whatever.” Sam smirks. “At least I’m not creaming myself over some old guys with mullets.”
“Crea-! Wha-!” He knows he’s sputtering but come on! He’s entitled! “Dude!”
“What? It’s true. It’s always Hetfield this and Ozzy Osbourne that. And don’t think I haven’t heard you je- do stuff, while listening to White Rabbit or that Hot Blooded song. Just because my eyes are closed doesn’t mean I’m dead to the world, Dean.” He scrunches up his face in disgust. “You are really loud.”
Ok, this is way beyond Dean’s comfort level. He grabs Sam by the elbow and steers him toward the motel. “You were right, it’s bed time for little girls.”
“What? No! Dean! You’re not fair! Come on!”
“Save it, princess. You can’t have it both ways. You wanna be a little girl? Fine, be a little girl. But that means I’m in charge and I say this grown-up needs a break from your teenage drama.”
“You can’t make me! I’m not gonna sleep anyway. Dean!”
“Dude, I don’t care. You’re going to bed and that’s final!”
Standing over Sam, making sure he brushes his teeth and washes the lip-gloss off his face before grumpily slipping under the covers, brings back memories of much simpler times when putting Sam to bed used to be his favorite chore of the day. Once Sam was ready they’d snuggle up together under the blankets and Dean would either read Sam a story or just make something up, usually with himself and Sam as the heroes.
Nostalgia is not something Dean allows himself to indulge in often but glancing over at Sam’s scowling face staring up at the ceiling, he can’t help wishing they were back in that time, before Sam and Dad started fighting, before college and Jess. Before stupid ass teenage girl curses started messing with his head.
When Sam huffs for the fifth time, lips pursed tight with his jaw clenched so hard he’s in danger of pulverizing his teeth, Dean gives up and snaps the laptop shut. Not like he was having any luck researching this stupid thing anyway.
“Christ. Ok, ok, we can watch TV. Will you stop sulking then?”
Sam sits up, all smiles and dimples in an instant. “Ok, Dean!”
He scoots over to the edge and pats the vacated space beside him, hopeful eyes glancing at Dean who hesitates for a moment but hey, if they’re gonna share the snack anyway… He toes off his boots, grabs the bag of Doritos and two sodas and settles down with the remote in one hand, his socked feet stretched out in front of him.
They argue over what to watch, Dean flat-out refusing anything resembling a chick-flick and “Yes, Sam, that includes everything with Leonardo DiCaprio, I don’t fucking care if he gets to shoot stuff.”
Finally they settle on an episode of Lost and even Dean has to admit some of the guys are kinda hot. Not as hot as the girls, obviously, but they’re not shit ass ugly or anything. You know, if he swung that way. Doesn’t mean Sam has to ooh and aah every time one of them throws the camera a smile though. If Dean has to hear “God, he’s so cute!” one more time he’s pulling the covers over Sam’s head and switching over to pay-per-view, delicate teenagers be damned.
The episode ends, once again without solving anything, and Dean is flipping from one station to another, dismissing infomercials and weather reports and reality shows, when he feels Sam shift beside him and suddenly he has a lap full of shaggy hair.
“Sam?”
The only answer he gets is a light snore and when he brushes some of the mop away he’s treated to the sight of Sam sleeping peacefully. Mouth slack, eyelashes dusting his flushed cheekbones, warm breath ghosting over Dean’s thigh. Dean sits still for a long time, just watching his Sammy sleeping. He can’t remember the last time Sam slept without a frown on his brow or a downward tip to his lips. If being a thirteen-year-old girl is what it takes to make his brother get some well-deserved rest then it really is worth all the drama.
Dean shuts off the TV and wriggles down until he’s flat on his back, Sam’s head resting on his chest. It’s not exactly comfortable, with Sam’s freakishly big brain weighing about a ton and a half, but for some reason he just doesn’t want to leave. Sam might wake up and freak when he remembers what’s happened. Then Dean will have to move over anyway to calm him down and really, it’s much easier if he’s already there.
Sam snuggles closer and slings one leg over Dean’s knee, a hand curling on his stomach. He’s too warm and too heavy and… Great, now he’s drooling on Dean’s favorite Metallica t-shirt. Dean sighs. The things he will do for his brother, it’s amazing really. It’s not like he’ll ever be able to fall asleep like thi-
----------------
If there’s anything in the world more horrifying than waking up to your brother singing along to Celine Dion’s My Heart Will Go On, Dean really doesn’t want to know. Groaning he buries his head in his pillow and tries to shut out the sound as well as the shame. It’s no good. Sam’s hitting those high notes like Whitney Houston on crack and not even a shot to the head would manage to block that out.
“Sammy! Shut! Up!”
“Oops, sorry. Did I wake you?”
Dean turns grumpily and cracks one eye open. Then wishes he hadn’t because it means he’s gonna have to carve it out. Preferably with a spoon. Anything to make what he’s staring at be erased from his brain forever.
“Dude, what the hell are you wearing?”
Sam gives him a smile and cocks his hip in such an obscene way he puts even Britney to shame. “You don’t mind, do you?” He looks down, running his hands down his chest. “It’s snug and it smells like you.”
“It’s snug because it’s two sizes too small, you freak. And it smells like me because it’s mine!” Dean sits up and rubs his face in exasperation and fatigue. “Seriously, Sam, only hookers and chicks on MTV knot the front like that. And… Are those my jeans?”
“Yeah. My clothes are all so baggy.” Sam turns and palms his ass. “These really show off my butt. They were a bit short though but I fixed that.”
“Huh?” Dean looks down blearily and then his eyes widen in shock. “You cut off my jeans? What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Well, pardon me for not wanting to look like a total loser,” Sam huffs indignantly. “It’s bad enough that I had to shave, like everywhere! We’re out of razorblades, by the way,” Sam complains before adding with a frown, “And I think I clogged the drain.”
“When you say ‘everywhere’…?” Dean closes his eyes and falls back down on the pillows. “No. Don’t tell me. I really, really don’t want to know.”
“You’re such a redneck, Dean,” Sam snorts. “But whatever, fine. I won’t tell you.”
He props one foot up on the bed and starts painting the nails hot pink. Jesus! Did he empty the whole girl section of the store?
“We should pick up some wax strips for next time though. It’s gonna itch like hell when the hairs start growing out and really, you don’t want me scratching myself there. In public, I mean.”
“Oh God.” Dean grabs Sam’s pillow to cover his face. “Kill me. Kill me now.”
“What? I didn’t say anything!”
Are teenage girls really supposed to sound so evil?
Realizing he’s not going to get any more sleep with the image of Sam’s shaved groin in his head Dean throws the pillow in the general direction of Sam’s voice and sits up, ignoring his brother’s yelped “Hey!” He’s still wearing his jeans and the t-shirt he fell asleep in and they’re damp and warm with sweat. Yuck. Dean strips off the t-shirt and is starting to shimmy out of his pants when he hears a small gasp and looks up to find Sam staring at him, two red dots adorning his cheeks.
“Oh, you gotta be shitting me. Sam, stop ogling me!”
His brother quickly looks away, blush spreading up to his ears and down where the hollow of his throat disappears beneath the collar. “Sorry.”
“Yeah, well, you should be. I can’t believe this,” Dean mutters as he pulls his jeans back up and stalks into the bathroom, yelling, “And keep out!” before slamming the door shut.
The seams of his jeans groan in complaint as he rips them off in one angry movement, boxer briefs following shortly after. This is just great. Great! Bet Sammy is sitting there on his bed right now, mouth gaping, eyes glazed over as he fantasizes about his own brother taking a shower! Seriously, how fucked up is that? It’s-
Sam’s razor lies on the small shower shelf, long hairs sticking to the blades. There are more hairs on the bottom of the shower. Fine, golden, straight hairs and coarser, curly ones. Dean stares at them until he can feel his own eyes glazing over, pictures of Sam stooping over to shave those hard-to-reach places popping up like his own private peep show in his head.
Unh…
No! Not going there. Not. Going. There.
Growling he turns on the shower and flushes the last remaining hairs down the drain before stepping under the stream of water. It’s only lukewarm after Sam’s prolonged grooming time - and of course there are hairs sticking to the soap as well, which is just… urgh - so by the time Dean’s lathered up the last of the warm water disappears, proving once again that the myth about cold showers and erections is just that, a myth.
Dean glares at his cock, silently telling it to stop being such a perv and at least try and imagine someone with bigger boobs and… not Sam! It gives an apologetic twitch and conjures an image of that chick on Lost in his head. He takes care of it quickly and quietly and when he comes with a shudder he feels satisfied that at least he’s not totally twisted like his brother. Who probably did imagine Dean when he was in here earlier taking his own shower, stroking away while… Dean’s own cock does an extra twitch, spurting happily, and he groans in defeat.
God, this is so fucked up.
They have to find a solution right the fuck now and get rid off Sam’s girl part. And thank God he’s not talking about the physical kind. Once Sam’s back to normal everything else will sort itself out. It’s just all the girl talk and the pouting lips with the strawberry lip-gloss not to mention the pink nail polish and all the other chick-shit that’s messing with his head. Obviously his brain is starting to think Sam is a girl too, hopefully an unrelated one, and, seeing as his brain belongs to a healthy young male, more specifically Dean, it’s sending his dick the completely wrong signals. Not his fault. At all.
Almost reassured Dean wraps the only remaining towel around his waist and takes a deep breath before cautiously opening the bathroom door and peeping out. The room is empty.
“Sam!”
Dammit! Can’t he take his eyes off the little shit for five freaking minutes without him doing something stupid like leaving the motel room dressed like a goddamn hooker?
Dean throws the wet towel aside and stalks over to his duffel bag. Fuck. Ripped jeans, bloody jeans, smelling-like-a-sewer jeans. Seems like Sam cut up his last good clean pair. Great. That’s just fucking great. Guess it’s back to the now cold and damp ones he slept in. No clean underwear either and with a smirk he steals a pair from Sam’s bag. They’re white and hug him in all the right places while still leaving plenty of room for… growth.
Dean pauses with his hand down the front, in the middle of adjusting his precious family jewels. Seriously, how much room does Sam need? These are just… His brain does that disturbing image flash thing again and he has to blink and shake his head to get rid of them. This is not the time to contemplate the size of Sam’s equipment. Actually there is never the proper time for such thinking but with his brother on the loose, dressed like a gigantic male version of Christina Aguilera singing Candyman, he definitely shouldn’t be wasting valuable minutes fondling his dick in Sam’s underwear.
Grimacing he pulls on his jeans and a more or less clean t-shirt before shoving his bare feet into his boots, grabbing the keys off the table and storming out. The Impala is still faithfully stationed in the parking lot so at least Sam hasn’t gone too far. He’s not at the picnic table or at the small playground to the far right of the motel. He might have decided to go to the library or the ice cream shop or… Where the hell does a thirteen-year-old girl go in a shitty little town like this?
Setting his lips in a straight line Dean stalks to the car and is about to get in and drive to the diner when he hears a loud shriek and he’s across the parking lot, running toward the motel’s reception in a matter of seconds. He slams the door open to find Sam backed into the corner, the jerk from the counter leaning into him. He’s got one hand flattened on the wall beside Sam’s head, the other cupping his groin.
“Stop it! I told you I don’t want…”
“Now don’t be like tha-“
That’s as far as the fucker gets before Dean grabs his shoulder, swings him around and buries a tight fist right in the middle of that butt-ugly face. “You fucking shit!”
The kid stares at him in shock and starts sagging but Dean lands one extra punch in his gut before letting him slide to the floor.
“Dean! Don’t!” Sam grabs his brother by the arms and jerks him back as he’s about to plant his boot in a very special place. “Stop it!”
Dean takes a deep breath and then shakes free. “I’m alright. I’m alright.” He throws the kid’s dazed face a death glare before grabbing Sam’s hand and dragging him out the door. “We’re leaving.”
“Dean, let me go! What’s wrong with you? You can’t just beat up people like that!”
Dean swings around so fast Sam almost falls over in his hurry to step back from his brother’s furious glare.
“I can’t? I can’t!?! Dude, you can’t walk around looking like that! What the hell is wrong with you? You might as well wear a t-shirt that says ‘Rape Me, I’m Yours’ on the front.”
Sam rolls his eyes. “Oh, c’mon. I could have taken him. He’s like five feet ten.”
“Yeah? Then why didn’t you? You just stood there, like a scared little girl, Sam. You just let that sicko paw all over you. What the hell?”
Sam blushes at that and averts his eyes. “I panicked, ok? I forgot for a second that I was Sam too. I was just… her. And she got scared, Dean. She is a little girl.” He raises his head and scowls at his brother. “I would have snapped out of it, Dean. You didn’t need to do that.”
“Like hell I didn’t. No one treats my brother like that, I don’t care if you’re thirteen or twenty-three, dude. It’s my job to look out for you and that includes making sure you’re not molested by some horny little assholes, ok?”
Sam swallows. “Yeah. Ok. Are you…” His lip wobbles. “Are you mad at me, Dean?”
Dean sighs. “No. Yes. Maybe a little. What the hell were you doing in there anyway? You freaked me out, disappearing like that.”
“I was just asking if he could change a five dollar bill. I needed it for the vending machine. I wanted - I wanted a diet Coke.” Sam’s breath hitches and then his eyes fill with tears. “I didn‘t mean to get into trouble. I’m sorry.”
“Oh hell. Please just… don’t start crying again.”
“I’m not crying!” Sam blubbers, wiping angrily at his eyes. “I just hate when you’re mad at me, Dean. I’m trying. I’m trying so hard to be what you want me to be, to make you like me and I can’t… I can’t, Dean!”
He breaks down sobbing and that’s it, Dean can’t take it anymore. He drags Sam into the room and slams the door behind them before pushing him to sit down on the bed. He runs one hand over his face and gazes down at his brother’s shaking form in exasperation. His hand reaches out in comfort before he realizes what he’s doing and he snatches it away, showing both hands into the pockets of his jeans. Don’t. Go. There.
“Sam, I know you’re confused and not sure how to be or act but this? I can’t do this. You have to remember who you are and… just be Sam. I need you to be Sam.”
“I am! I’m just…” The bowed head drops even further.
“Sam, listen to me. You can’t dress like that and you can’t wear lipstick and… And you have to stop crushing on me. Please.”
Sam’s head snaps up, his eyes red from tears and hard with anger. “That’s not fair! You think it’s that easy? I mean, sure I can dress like a guy but… I can’t just turn off all these feelings, just like that. I’m a girl and I want to be pretty and wear nice clothes and I want you to like me and maybe then you’ll kiss me and-”
“Sam, listen to yourself. You’re not a girl. You’re a man. And you’re my brother. My brother, Sam!”
Dean sits down heavily on the other bed, shaking his head. “And seriously, how can you think I don’t like you? I like you, Sam. Hell, I fucking love you but if you don’t stop doing what you’ve been doing I’m gonna start liking you a little too much. You might think you want that now but this spell, or whatever it is, is gonna wear off soon and what then? What then, Sam? What the hell am I supposed to do then?”
His voice is rising and he stands abruptly up and walks to the window, turning his back on Sam. There’s silence for a long time and then Sam whispers, “You think it’s just the spell making me feel this way about you? Is that what you think?”
Dean closes his eyes warily. The world hates him. There is no other explanation for this. “C’mon, Sam. You telling me you used to doodle my name in your notebook before this happened? With the little hearts and butterflies? Chyeah right.”
“Yeah, I did.”
Dean’s eyes snap open and he slowly turns around, staring at Sam who’s gazing at him with a flushed face. “What?”
“Maybe not with hearts and butterflies but my notebooks in college were filled with your name. I would have done it in high school too but I was afraid you’d see it.”
Oh God. “Sam, don’t. You don’t have to…”
“I’m not lying! I’ve been in love with you since I was fourteen years old, Dean. Fourteen!”
He stares at Sam, his mind frozen. This is too much. This… no. No.
Sam is watching him, anger turning into worry that turns into fear and he slowly gets up from the bed. “Please, Dean. Say something. Please.” He starts crying again, stumbling forward until he’s standing in front of Dean, looking impossibly young. “I’m sorry. Please don’t hate me. Dean?”
Dean shakes his head. “Sam… you’re my baby brother. This is wrong. It’s the spell, messing with your memories or something.”
“No. Don’t say that! It’s not the spell, it’s just me. It’s just me, Dean. Don’t you get it? I love you.”
“No.” Dean steps back, still shaking his head in denial. “I would have known. You would have said something.”
Sam’s jaw goes tight, his eyes hardening. “You know what? You’re right. You should have known. Why didn’t you? You never noticed anything. Or maybe you did and you just didn’t care!”
He’s shaking with anger, hands clenched into fists by his side and Dean fights the urge to take another step back. He has a feeling Sam the thirteen year old girl wouldn’t fight fair. Chances are there would be hair pulling and possibly biting. “Sam, calm down.”
“No!” Sam stamps down his foot, which should look ridiculous, but it makes Dean’s heart clench because this is so much not Sam and the kid doesn’t know what he’s saying or doing, it’s all the fucking spell.
“No, I won’t calm down, Dean. You wanted to know why I never said anything? Because I knew you’d do this. That you’d look at me like I was some sick pervert.”
Sam’s eyes fill once again with tears and he turns away and flings himself down on the bed. He buries his face in his pillow, wrapping his long arms around it and clutches it tight. “I knew you’d hate me. I knew it! I never should have said anything. I’m so stupid,” he hiccups and his shoulders start shaking again.
Dean stands frozen, staring at Sam. God, this is all so fucked up. How did they get here? What the hell is he supposed to do? His whole body is screaming at him to walk over to Sam and pull him into his arms. To hold him and comfort him and ‘kiss him until he can’t breathe. Come on, you know you want to.’
And that is exactly why he can’t. It’s not right. It’s not right!
But what if Sam is telling the truth? What if he’s actually had these feelings for the last nine years? Jesus! That’s… God! And why hadn’t Dean noticed? Sure, he’d caught Sam staring at him and following him around but that’s the way he always was. Just the usual hero-worshiping Sam had shown for Dean since he was old enough to say his name.
And yeah, so there had come the time when Sam had turned shy and didn’t want to be hugged or cuddled anymore but Dean attributed that to him becoming a teenager and being uncomfortable in his own skin, the way all teenagers are. Dean read parental columns, he watched Oprah. Hell, he’d gone through the same thing a few years earlier. He knew what it was like and he hadn’t pushed Sam, just respected his need for privacy. Kept away when Sam wanted him to and been there, ready for him, the few times he’d come to Dean for comfort. -It was something that happened less and less as he grew older. And then Sam and Dad started fighting all the time and Dean had pulled himself away, unable to pick sides like they both seemed to expect him to do.
But he’d never even considered… And why should he have? It’s not exactly normal teenage behavior, crushing on your sibling. He can’t remember Oprah ever discussing that in any of her ‘troubled teens’ features and he’s sure he would remember! Nothing in his education, school or street wise, prepared him for how to handle this. What to do if your brother turns into a teenage girl and confesses he/she has loved you in a very un-brotherly way for years? And even more importantly, what to do when you realize that instead of being disgusted you really, really, really want to take him in your arms and kiss the hell out of him?
Which brings Dean to his part in this. Did he do something, when they were growing up, to encourage this? Had he acted in a way that made Sam think he was open to the possibility, that maybe it was ok to want your brother that way? Was this whole thing his fault? And now, what about now? Can he really let Sam suffer like this, thinking he’s the only one struggling when in fact Dean is no better off? So he might not have been pining after Sam for the last nine years but he has a feeling he will be for the next. It’s like a fire in his stomach, this longing he suddenly feels for Sam. Like he can’t breathe if he doesn’t get to touch him. He wants to grab Sam and kiss him and fucking devour him. Feel those hard muscles under his hands, taste the sweat of Sam’s skin, hear him moan his name as they…
Oh God. He’s so screwed.
“Sam. Will you please look at me? Please?”
Sam lifts his head slowly. His face is wet and puffy, eyes red-rimmed and glittering, and he’s biting his lip to keep it from trembling. Dean walks over and sits on the bed opposite, then reaches out to brush the tangles of sweat-damp hair from his brother’s forehead.
“Ok, listen. Listen, Sam. I don’t know if what you’re feeling is from the spell or not but I can’t take that chance. Not just because you’re my brother but because she’s thirteen, Sam. Thirteen years old. Which means that if these are her feelings they’re a child’s feelings and I could never act on that.”
“But…”
“No. Let me finish. Please. We will find a way to break the spell, Sam, and when we do you will be back to your normal self. Well, as normal as you can get,” he adds with a wink, relieved to see Sam scowling in outrage. “And then… if you still feel this way, then we can talk about it. Ok?”
Sam slowly pulls himself up until he’s sitting with his back against the headboard, gazing at Dean with a spark of hope in his eyes. “Really? You mean that?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I do, Sam.”
“Because I will, I will still feel this way, I know I will. And you…” He hesitates. “Does this mean you feel something too? You don’t hate me?”
Dean takes a deep breath and then moves over to sit beside his brother, pulling him into a hug. “No, I don’t hate you, Sam. Dude, you know that.” He swallows before continuing. “And maybe I do feel something but I can’t allow myself to even consider it, not when you’re like this. Ok, Sam? Do you understand why?”
“Yeah, Dean. I’m thirteen. I’m not stupid,” Sam snorts and Dean can’t help smiling.
“You’re anything but stupid. In fact I’m sure you’re the smartest thirteen year old girl I’ve ever met.”
“And prettiest too?”
“Don’t push it.” Sam turns the puppy eyes on him and he relents with a sigh. “Ok, yes. Definitely the prettiest. Happy now?”
“Yes!” Sam throws his arms around Dean’s neck and pulls him into a tight hug. “You’re the best brother in the whole wide world!”
“I know.” Dean allows him to hold on a little longer before pushing him gently away. “Now take off those clothes and wash your face. We’ve got research to do.”
Sam pouts. “Can’t I keep the t-shirt at least?”
“Sam…”
“Please?”
Oh hell. “At least undo the knot. Seriously, Sam, no one wears them like that. Not even thirteen year old girls. Especially not thirteen year old girls. And you owe me a new pair of jeans.”
“Ooh, can we go shopping? The girls at the diner said-”
“No!”
---------------
In the end it’s ridiculously simple. Dean convinces Sam that even though, yes, it is embarrassing, they still should try and see if any of their contacts knows anything. After listening to both Pastor Jim and Joshua just laugh hysterically as Dean explains the situation to them, Bobby finally comes up with a solution. Seems the same thing happened to a friend of his some years back and turns out it was a simple 48 hour spell some disgruntled girl had laid on him for blowing her off. Chances are the spell was meant for Dean, since Sam hasn’t so much as talked to girls unless it’s related to their work, and it somehow misfired. Whoever it was and for whatever reason, the spell should wear off soon enough.
“Just keep him away from any bad boys that might be around. And malls. Poor Johnny boy woke up with plucked eyebrows and wearing nothing but pink.”
“Sure. Thanks, Bobby. I’ll… Wait. When you say Johnny, you don’t mean…?”
“Gotta go, son. You take care off that brother of yours.”
“Bobby?” There’s a click and Dean’s left staring at the phone in his hand.
“What’s wrong?”
Dean jerks out of his daze to find Sam staring at him in worry. No. His life is bizarre enough without adding that to the already disturbing images in his head. “Nothing. Bobby thinks it should wear off tomorrow morning. All we have to do is wait.”
“Ok. Good.” Sam closes the laptop and leans back on the bed. “Dean?” he asks after a moments silence, voice somewhat hesitant.
“Yeah?”
“Do you like her better than me?”
“What?”
“The girl. Do you like her better than me? And I don’t mean in a romantic way,” he adds hastily, cheeks flushing. “Just… you know.”
“Are you kidding me?” Dean shakes his head. “Dude, she listens to Justin Timberlake!”
Sam laughs, his cheeks reddening further. “Yeah. That’s true. Even I’m horrified by that.”
“Must admit though,” Dean says after a while. “I like how happy she makes you. It’s good to hear you laugh, Sam. I’ve missed that.”
Sam looks down, smile slipping away. “Yeah. Guess I’ve not been too good company. Sorry.”
“Sam, don’t. I’m not blaming you, dude. You lost the woman you loved. It’s tough stuff. I just wish… You can talk to me, you know? If you want to.”
“I know. And I will. Some day.” Sam hitches his breath and then looks up with a small smile, blinking his tears away. “Some day when I don’t burst out crying every five minutes.”
Dean smiles back. “Gotta say, man. You are one emotional girl. You know I’m gonna mock you forever once this is over, right?”
“I know. Jackass.”
“Hey, just be glad I didn’t take any pictures of you in that outfit. I bet your friends at Stanford would love to hear what you’ve been up to.”
“Shut up.”
Dean smiles and stands up, stretching to get the kinks out of his back. He catches Sam staring at the sliver of skin showing between his shirt and jeans but he doesn’t comment on it. Not like he hasn’t been checking Sam out at every opportunity. Seriously, how can he not? That t-shirt is really tight, clinging to his brother’s muscular chest like it’s painted on him. He’s just happy he got Sammy to change pants. If only he can ignore the pink nail polish or the strawberry lip-gloss that Sam refuses to take off, stubbornly claiming he has chapped lips, he’ll be fine.
“Come on, little brother. Let’s go see if those puppy eyes can score us another free dessert at the diner.”
“Ok!” Sam jumps up from the bed. “I want spaghetti. Think I can get spaghetti? And a big soda!”
“Whatever you want, Sam. Whatever you want.”
The rest of the day is spent enjoying the rare break from hunting. After they finish off a huge lunch with waffles ‘on the house’ Dean lets Sam drag him to the pond to feed the ducks. He doesn’t even object when Sam slips a hand into his as they sit on a small bench, watching the birds fight over the few crumbs of bread they had saved from the diner. Sam names the ducks after the members of the Backstreet Boys, except for the one that keeps stealing bread from the others. That one he names Dawn, and laughs when Dean shoos it away.
When they walk back to the motel Sam still clings to Dean’s hand like he’s afraid of letting go, and Dean must admit, despite the awkwardness, that it’s kinda nice. Sam has big and warm hands and the contrast to when they were younger, with Sam’s small hand clutched in Dean’s own, makes him feel oddly nostalgic, in a reverse kinda way. He can’t help wondering what it would have been like, growing up as the younger brother, with always someone there to look out for him. Not that Dad didn’t care for him, it’s just…
“You alright?”
He looks up to find Sam watching him and gives him a reassuring smile. “Yeah, I’m cool.”
Sam nods thoughtfully and squeezes his hand. “Everything’s gonna be ok, Dean.”
Dean shakes his head and forces a grin. “That’s my line, kiddo.”
“Yeah, well… I’m a klepto, remember?” Sam elbows him playfully. “I’m stealing it.”
“Talking about that… Is that her or you? Because I don’t remember you being a shoplifter. They teach you that at Stanford?”
Sam blushes and ducks his head. “Yeah, kinda.”
“What?”
“Don’t be mad! I ran out of the money you gave me within three months. It was either that or hustling, and I don’t mean pool. Don’t worry,” he adds at Dean’s shocked look. “I got a job a month later, waiting tables. No more stealing.”
“Huh.” Dean rubs the back of Sam’s hand with his thumb. “You never said anything. I would have sent you more.”
“You never asked,” Sam pouts. “And then you stopped calling.”
“Because you stopped picking up.”
“Because…!” Sam stops and bites his lip. “I’m sorry.” He shakes his head. “Don’t be mad.”
“I’m not mad, Sam. It’s cool, I get it. You wanted a new life and I wasn’t part of that.” Dean shrugs. “It’s no big deal.”
“That’s not why…” Sam stops and tugs at Dean’s hand until he turns to face him. His eyes are heavy with guilt and Dean can hardly remember him looking so young.
“It hurt too much, ok? I missed you too much, Dean. I was alone and you weren’t there and… whenever we hung up I felt like crying and I just wanted to come home. So I stopped picking up because I thought it would be easier. And then you stopped calling and...” He swallows. “It wasn’t. It just hurt more.”
Dean hesitates. However much he wants to he can’t with a good conscience take advantage of Sam’s emotional state. Not when he isn’t really himself. “You could have called me,” he says cautiously, trying to keep the feelings of betrayal out of his voice. “It’s not a one-way street, Sam.”
“I know! But I thought you’d be mad and… The longer I waited the harder it got and then I met Jessica and I just…” Sam looks away. “I let you go. I’m sorry.”
Dean sighs. “I wasn’t the one trying to get away.”
“No, but if you’d known how I felt about you…”
“No. Don’t turn this on me, man. You don’t know what would have happened. Hell, I don’t even know what I would have done.” Dean runs his fingers through his hair, the reality of the situation catching up with him. “I still don’t, I mean now. I don’t know what I’m gonna do, Sam.”
“You’ll figure it out,” Sam says with a confident nod. “I know you will. You’re smart like that. And if you don’t…” He swallows and puts on a brave smile. “It’s ok, Dean. I’ll deal.”
Dean gives him a small smile. “Let’s save this for tomorrow, alright?”
Sam looks like he wants to argue but then he bites his lip and nods. “Alright. We still friends, Dean?”
Dean reaches up and ruffles Sam’s hair, laughing as he tries to duck away. “Always, Sammy. You know that.”
“So…” Sam grins. “Race you to the playground!”
He takes off and is halfway across the street before Dean even realizes what’s happening. Cursing he runs after Sam. The kid’s got legs like a giraffe but Dean has better stamina and by the time they reach the swings he’s cut a couple of feet ahead. Sam laughs happily and tackles him down on the grass where they roll a few rounds before collapsing on their backs, staring up at the darkening sky as they try to catch their breath.
“I miss this,” Sam finally says. “Me and you. Just goofing around.”
“Yeah.” Dean closes his eyes. The grass is soft and the air is still warm enough to make the gentle breeze feel soothing on their hot faces. “Being grown up sucks. Enjoy your girl while you have her.”
There’s a short silence and then they both burst out laughing.
“I did not mean it like that!”
“You so did!”
“Shut up.”
-------------
Sam falls asleep with his head in Dean’s lap again and Dean leaves him be until he feels his own eyes start drooping. Then he slips from under Sam and undresses, making sure the door is locked and his knife is under the pillow before he lies down in his own bed. He stares at the ceiling for a moment before turning on his side, facing Sam. Sam’s eyes glitter in the moonlight, wide open. They gaze at each other in silence for a long time and then Dean throws the covers aside and crosses the space between them, sliding in beside his brother. They don’t say anything, Sam just curls up with one arm across Dean’s chest, his nose nuzzled into Dean’s neck. He’s asleep within minutes. Dean lies awake, breathing in the presence of Sam, feeling his heart beat next to his own.
Tomorrow things will hopefully be back to normal and Sam won’t be a needy little girl any more. And that other thing… It will in all likelihood be gone as well. Whatever Sam says, chances are it’s just the spell messing with his head. Dean should be relieved. And he is, he is.
He will be. Whatever this tension in his gut is trying to tell him, he will be.
------------
For once he’s awake before Sam. Awake and showered and dressed, sipping coffee from the diner as he watches Sam sleep. It’s late when Sam finally wakes up, already an hour past the time limit, and Dean holds his breath while Sam groggily blinks against the morning sun.
“Hey.”
“Hey.” Sam sits up and runs one hand sleepily through his hair. “I had the strangest dream.”
Dean tenses. “Yeah?”
“I don’t remember much. But for some reason I have Justin Timberlake stuck on my brain.”
“Sounds like a nightmare,” Dean says and shifts in his chair. There’s a hollow feeling in his stomach and his throat is dry and hurting. It’s only ten in the morning but he’s suddenly aching for a beer.
“Not really. I felt happy.” Sam pauses in the middle of scratching his nose and stares at his hand. “Dean?”
“Yeah?”
“Why am I wearing pink nail polish?”
“You got drunk,” Dean answers curtly and stands up. “There were girls. I don’t know. It was silly.”
“Huh.” Sam frowns. “I don’t remember. I feel weird though. How come you’re not wearing any?” he adds after a moment.
“I never said I was drunk.” Dean forces on a grin. “In fact I had to carry your drunken ass home.”
“Really?” Sam looks puzzled, like he’s fighting to remember, but then he shrugs and offers Dean a shy smile. “Sorry ‘bout that. Hope I didn’t ruin your evening.”
“Nah, don’t worry about it.” Dean grabs his duffel bag and starts throwing in his clothes. “We should get going.”
“Ok. Just give me a sec.”
Dean keeps his back turned as Sam gets out of bed and sleepily makes his way into the bathroom. He waits until he hears the door close behind him before letting his shoulders sag. So that’s it. They’re back to normal. That’s… good. It’s the way it should be.
He’s so caught up in not letting himself feel anything that he doesn’t hear the bathroom door open again, doesn’t pay any attention until there’s suddenly a palm on his shoulder and he’s being turned around. Big hands cradle his face and then Sam is kissing him. His lips are soft but firm and he waits patiently until Dean parts his lips with a soft sigh, inviting Sam to slip his tongue inside.
Dean hadn’t allowed himself to even imagine what it would feel like but now, when it’s actually happening, it surpasses whatever his brain could have conjured anyway. Sam kisses with the same commitment as he shows to research and by the time he pulls back Dean is panting, his pupils wide-blown and dark as he stares into Sam’s eyes.
“I remember. And it wasn’t the spell,” Sam says, before adding with a hint of anxiety, “Can we talk now?”
Dean draws in a deep breath and as he lets it out it’s like the weight of the world just lifted from his shoulders.
“We can talk later,” he answers and is treated to the sight of Sam’s face splitting into a wide smile, crowfeet dancing at the corners of his eyes, and then they’re kissing again.
At the edge of Sam’s mouth Dean can taste the faintest trace of strawberry.
fin
A/N: Ok, so this whole thing came about because I was grinning to myself about how often the words "When did you turn into a thirteen (or twelve or whatever) year old girl?" come up in fic when suddenly in my head I heard Sam answering "About five minutes ago." Which made me giggle because I'm simple like that. But then I started joking about it with some people on my flist and they were evil enough to encourage me and so this is what happens. Pink crack with a sidedish of glitter. Sam sounds totally schizo at times but remember, he has basically two people in his head, himself and the girl, and even if the girl is emotionally more overwhelming, Sam the guy isn't completely drowned out. Seriously, I hope this made sense. Or that at least it made you laugh.