Supernatural: It's a Sin with a Name
Title: It’s a Sin with a Name
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean, some Sam/OMC
Genre: What’s the genre where you want to fuck your brother? Oh, yeah. Angst.
Rating: R for Sexual Content, Wee!cest (Sam is 15), Language, and General Baddirtywrongness (lots of this).
Word Count: 4,502
Author’s Note: Written for sparklybee who waited months for me to write this and finally had to dole out cash for me to do so at help_haiti. I would feel sorry for her, were she not so very evil. I will be claiming the middle square in our incestuous fictictactoe battle, “There are two sides to every story.” This also satisfies tamingthemuse prompt # 186 - Idle Hands are the Devil’s Joy. Beta’d by the incomparable wutendeskind. Title stolen from the Jekyll & Hyde song “Dangerous Game,” because I want to have dirty, shameful sex to it all day, err day. HERE’S TO WINCEST’S INEVITABLE TRIUMPH OVER TWINCEST, FOR TRULY IT IS THE GREATEST INCESTUOUS SHIP OF ALL TIME!! Tag, you’re it, devil bug. ETA 5/7/2013: Thanks to eos_rose, you can now read this in epub format here.
Summary: Sam was twelve the first time he realized he wanted his brother. Dean was done for the night he carried Sam out of that nursery.
Sam was twelve the first time it happened. It didn’t even seem that strange. Well, the experience, yes. Waking up hot and sweaty and hard and not really knowing what it all meant, that was pretty weird. But the fact that it was Dean…well, who else would it be? Dean was the only sexual being in Sam’s life and his brother had never really been covert about when he was with girls or what he did with them. Not that he’d given Sam details, but Sam caught his jokes and knew what they meant before he really understood them.
So at first, Sam dismissed it. Waited for it to start being him in the dreams instead of his brother. Only…the more time passed the more obvious it became. Sam wasn’t taking Dean’s place. He was seeing Dean from the girl’s point of view and what Dean was doing-he was doing it to Sam. Sam was begging him to.
Messed up as Sam’s family life had always been, even Sam knew that wasn’t right. He tried to push it away as long as he could, tried to look at the girls in his classes, or the ones in movies-even other boys, as long as it wasn’t Dean. But at the end of the day, Dean would be waiting outside of his school to pick him up and whoever he may have deluded himself into thinking he liked over the day passed entirely from his mind. Dean was it.
It was an awkward year after that. Sam and Dean had always been physically affectionate and Dean didn’t stop just because suddenly Sam enjoyed it too much. Of course, this was because Dean didn’t know. If he did, he would probably have cut his hands off before he’d touch Sam again. Sam knew it was wrong, but there wasn’t a single part of him that wanted Dean to stop.
Dean sat Sam down only a month or so after the dreams began and gave him the Talk-he didn’t tell Sam how he knew, but Sam wasn’t surprised. Dean had always been able to read him. He was just glad Dean was far enough in denial not to understand all of Sam’s new feelings, and that whatever observations had convinced Dean that Sam needed to know about that stuff, he hadn’t noticed the starving looks Sam passed over every inch of his brother’s body.
It got easier when he started high school. One of the first things he read was Oedipus Rex and his teacher told them about that crazy Freud guy and his theories. Sam took refuge in them. Ever since the Christmas that he’d realized how things had always been-that Dean had been there for him every day of his life when his father hadn’t, Sam had learned to appreciate his brother properly. He grew to Love Dean as much as Dean had always Loved him and the awed respect he’d had for his father twisted into a bitter taste just at the thought of the man. So if Freud was right and Dean was the closest thing Sam had to a mother and he really did despise his dad just as often as he respected him-then this was perfectly normal. It happened to everyone. He happily ignored the fact that it was supposed to all take place in infancy and be long forgotten by the time he actually got to puberty and comfortably filed his desire for Dean away. It was still there, always still there, but he didn’t have to obsess over it or let it ruin his life. And anyway, Dean wasn’t the only person in Sam’s world anymore. He was the only one that mattered, sure, but he wasn’t the only one.
Everywhere they went, Sam made friends. Not particularly close ones-how close can you get in a month? But people to talk to or think about so that every moment of his life didn’t have to be Dean. Sam started to look at other kids and he really did like what he saw. He kissed some of the girls in his grade, sometimes he even did more than that. He never acted on it, but he lusted after boys, more often than girls, and most of them only because they had some major feature in common with his brother. Which, okay, weird. But was it Sam’s fault Dean happened to possess every attractive feature a man could have? His entire sexual realization had been centered on Dean, after all, so there were traces of it bound to linger. All this while, he was sure that his relationship with his brother was still as close to normal as it had ever been (not terribly close, but not jerking off to the thought of him multiple times every day, either). Just in case, he put some space between them, stopped things that probably should have stopped years earlier anyway. Dean was hurt by it and Sam could see it, but he knew his brother would have thanked him for it had he known the truth.
This didn’t last for long. By the time Sam’s fifteenth birthday was approaching, things were starting to go wrong again. Sam was cursed with this thing called intelligence and the more he learned about Freud, the more obvious it became that the guy was wrong about pretty much everything and the Oedipus complex was no exception. It wasn’t normal and however much Sam had been able to distract himself, it wasn’t going away. In fact, it was starting to get worse all over again-even worse than when Dean was the only fantasy Sam knew. Because now Sam knew more, imagined more vividly.
He was beginning to really see how much Dean meant, how much he always would Love his brother, and how poor any substitute would be. He was beginning to be okay with it. He’d hoped when he’d realized he was getting smarter and thinking more like an adult that it would lead him to the obvious answer to the question he’d been asking himself since he’d woken up with his first boner and wondered why the hell he shouldn’t be with Dean. The reverse was true. Sam now had five hundred logical reasons why it was okay stacked up in his brain and only one to refute it. One good one, enough to keep him from throwing himself at his brother’s feet and begging-for a touch, a kiss, anything. Dean would never forgive you.
Sam would agonize as Dean went out with his usual parade of girls and when Dean got home late, mussed and smug, Sam was never sure if he should punch Dean or cry. He usually went with a third option, the one that kept him up sweating and panting half the night. It was a little too real to be the average fantasy. Sam knew-not guessed or was pretty sure-he knew what his brother was like with those women. He was all Dean really cared about and those girls would never be more than fucks. Usually he took pride in where he stood with his brother, usually he felt sorry for those girls. They would never really know just how gentle and affectionate Dean could be, they would never get to see the Dean he’d had his entire life. But late at night when Sam was hot and flustered, he envied those girls. They got that part of Dean that he would never, ever get to touch. Sam had to depend on fantasies; they were uncomfortably vivid. He didn’t have to wonder how Dean would fuck him-he knew his brother entirely too well. He wouldn’t be casual with Sam like he was with the women-he would spoil Sam like he always had, trust Sam to fuck him, give that part of himself up to his little brother. Sam wanted that, wanted to sink into his Dean-fast, slow, tender, rough-and hear Dean praise him and beg for more. He wanted to make Love to his brother until every awful thing they’d ever seen was erased from both of their memories. And when that was done, when they were both okay and Sam had his fill-he wanted to turn over and let Dean fuck him just for fun.
He was growing fast, physically as well as mentally. Every morning, Sam woke up bigger. He fell asleep at night to the crushing thought that in the morning he would have one more inch of skin for Dean to touch and that Dean would never put all that skin to use. It burnt without him-Sam couldn’t cool it. No matter how many times a day he gave his mind over to frustration or boredom and fucked his hand, wondering if it was as big as Dean’s yet or bigger, how different his brother’s stroke would feel-he couldn’t stop hurting for it. The things he’d wanted but hid from became impossible to ignore and he finally decided that if he couldn’t have Dean, he would have the next best thing.
__________
“Sammy, are you alright?”
Sam snapped out of his revelries and fixed Dean with a confused looked. “Yeah, why?”
“You’ve seemed…weird lately. A little…” Dean swallowed as if the idea hurt him, “sadder.”
He must have really been out of it if Dean was concerned enough to actually want to talk about it. Unfortunately, this was the one thing he couldn’t really say to his brother.
“I’m fine,” he lied. “No, I’m not. Dean, if I tell you something, do you promise not to hate me?”
“Come on; don’t pretend you’re that stupid.”
Sam opened his mouth, but what came out was only half of the world-altering confession he’d been on the verge of making. It was enough, though; something Sam had been keeping inside out of fear of his brother’s reaction, something he would have to tell Dean at some point.
“I think I’m gay.”
“Yeah,” Dean said softly. “You are.”
“You knew?”
“I know everything about you.” Sam almost scoffed at the idea. There was one thing Dean definitely did not know, one thing Sam had been able to hide for years, because even Dean didn’t want to know his brother that well.
“You aren’t mad?”
“Why would I be mad?”
“I’ve heard you talking to dad. He’ll say something about fags and you agree with him. You always do.”
Dean took Sam’s hand and pulled his brother into a little hug. Sam wanted to push him away, but now he knew for sure that his hand was bigger than Dean’s and yet, somehow, he still fit into Dean’s embrace better than he’d ever fit anywhere else. Details like that made it impossible to willingly leave the spot he was resting in.
“Sam, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know yet that you were. I just, I figured if dad was saying it, it was true. I stopped when I noticed about you. It’s not wrong, okay? There’s nothing wrong about it. Not if you-I would never hate a part of you, Sam. Never think I would.”
“Dad would. If he knew I was gay. I’m not even all the way gay. I like girls, too. But mostly…I’ve never acted on it. But. Well, anyway, dad would kill me.”
“He’s wrong, Sammy.” It was the first time he’d ever heard Dean say it. Dean pulled him closer and promised he would be okay, that he wouldn’t let dad know, that he would protect him from John’s wrath if he ever did find out. Sam Loved his brother more than ever and it was finally too much to handle. Dean stroked his hair gently and Sam let himself cry into his shoulder, taking comfort in the fact that Dean didn’t know the real reason, but that he could finally let all of the emotion he’d been bottling up since he was twelve pour out on to the only person who had ever been able to calm him. After that, he felt a little better.
__________
The guy pushed Sam against the wall and Sam did his best to shove the instinct to fight back away. He was hard wired to meet physical force with physical force, but this wasn’t a hunt and if he responded to the roughness with only a margin of what he was capable of, the guy would flee. Sam didn’t want this to stop, even if he wasn’t quite used to it yet. Messing around with a guy was so different from messing with girls, and the bossy almost violent energy of this guy’s touches went straight to his dick. Light stubble pushed against his lips, Sam opened his mouth to take in more.
“Sam?”
Both men froze. The guy pulled away from Sam, but Sam held onto his jacket where he’d been pulling him closer.
“Umm, hi.”
Dean’s face was terrifying-in full hunter mode. He looked at the guy and Sam was a little surprised the daggers his brother was glaring didn’t actually cut the poor boy.
“Out.” Sam’s “friend” didn’t have to be told twice. He gathered his discarded jacket from the floor and fled without even a goodbye glance in Sam’s direction.
Dean went to bed directly, didn’t say a word to Sam all night. Sam had trusted his brother’s assurances and his heart was broken by the disappointment he felt for the only person he’d still admired.
“How was school?” Dean asked first thing when he got home from work the next day. Sam couldn’t even believe he was pretending nothing had happened.
“Fucking miserable, Dean, how do you think?”
“I guess I didn’t-“
“I don’t fucking care. Whatever you’re going to say? Save it. I don’t fucking care.”
“Sammy…” Sam managed to hold onto his indignation instead of giving in to the broken tone his brother suddenly spoke with.
“I trusted you, Dean. I believed you when you said you were okay with me.”
“Sam, I am okay with you. I just…I don’t want you kissing him.”
“Why not?”
“He’s too old for you.”
“Bullshit. He’s a senior, that’s hardly more than two years. You were parading girls around way younger than I am, Dean. You just hate that it’s a guy. I guess that whole accepting every part of me thing was easier said than in practice, huh?”
Sam had rounded on Dean and gotten in his face to yell, but he wavered as soon as he saw how sorry and hurt Dean’s face was.
“I’m sorry, Sammy, I’m so sorry.” Dean licked his lips and looked sick. “You’re right. It was an awful thing to do. I didn’t think about it. But I have no right to…God, I’m sorry.”
Dean left the room and Sam suddenly got it. He understood Dean pretty well himself and the whole thing made sense in an instant. At twelve years old, Sam had fallen in Love with his brother. Somewhere between then and fifteen, Dean had fallen for him, too.
______________________________________________________________
This was always going to happen. Dean had been a goner the moment he carried his baby brother out of that burning house. He looked down at the bundle in his arms once he was out the door, but it wasn’t just his little brother anymore. It was the only thing he had in the world. The one thing he took care of and cared about and the one thing that cared about him. He was going to fall in Love with Sam from that moment on; he just didn’t know until it was staring him in the face, making his blood pound and his skin crawl.
It was a new low, even for Dean. He’d done a lot of fucked up shit, but this took the cake and then some. Dean knew better than to try to pretend it didn’t exist. As soon as the idea occurred to him, he understood that it wasn’t ever going to go away. He didn’t have to make it go away; he was used to living with that kind of self-loathing. He just had to devote his energy to controlling it, to making sure Sam didn’t see it. It shouldn’t have been that difficult. God, but Sam wasn’t doing him any favors.
When Sam had been little, he used to sleep in Dean’s bed. Not so little after he found out about the monsters. Dean allowed it, hell, Dean encouraged it. It was the only thing that helped Sam sleep and Dean slept better just knowing Sam felt safe with him. John hated it, of course, Dean heard at least a thousand lectures on how soft he was making Sam, but Dean wasn’t going to push his brother away while he still needed him.
Every night, Sam would get in bed and tell him he was scared, ask if it was okay or if he was too old. Dean would promise, “You’ll never be too old.” And back then, it hadn’t really occurred to him that Sam would be. He’d been too eager to ignore the fact that Sam was going to grow up. When Sam started to pull away, when he stopped sleeping tucked into Dean and eventually stopped crawling into his bed altogether…John, at least, had been relieved. Dean figured it was time and convinced himself he didn’t hate it. So from twelve to fourteen, Sam and Dean slept in their separate beds like normal brothers.
About now Dean really longed for that uncomplicated relationship. Loving Sam had been so easy when he was still a kid. There had been nothing dirty about the fact that he gave Sam everything he could to make him happy. But one day Sam woke up as a sexual being and…Sam had new needs now. Dean still wanted to give his brother everything he could desire-to be the only person Sam had to look to for anything. That meant that what had started as a casual observation (“I think my little brother likes guys”) had changed into “one day, he’s going to act on it,” and eventually the thought crept up on him, the one that was eating away at Dean from the inside. Sam was going to fuck guys and Dean hated them before they were more than theoretical. If Sam had to go to someone else for something Dean couldn’t give him, maybe he would love one of them someday. Maybe Dean would be replaced altogether. Or maybe…maybe Dean could be that person.
Sick and twisted as Dean knew that was, he’d Loved Sam in every way possible since Sam was a baby and, now that there was a new way to Love him, Dean’s instinct was to wish for it before he even grasped what he was thinking. It shouldn’t have been so terrible; it came straight from the heart. But Dean’s eyes couldn’t stay off Sam, his hands ached to touch him…it didn’t end at the heart.
Dean was strong. He’d been suffering in silence for his entire life-self-denial was not a new concept. He didn’t know why this was so much harder. In fact, he’d been doing a perfectly respectable job of ignoring the problem until he’d seen that stranger pinning his brother against the wall and Sam letting him. The jealous fit had thrown itself, Dean had been a bystander, and by the time it was over, he’d been sure Sam would never forgive him. But what Sam was doing to punish him…that was much worse.
__________
“Dean, move over.”
“What the hell? It’s the middle of the night. You have school tomorrow. Go to bed.”
“I am,” Sam insisted, sliding under Dean’s sheets.
“I’m not moving. You already took the good mattress, so go sleep on it.”
“I don’t want you to move.”
“Then get to bed and stop hogging my covers.”
Sam didn’t listen. Not that night, not for nights after. Dean didn’t even bother to say anything after the first night, not until Sam had pushed it even further.
He curled up against Dean, head resting on his chest, and pulled one of Dean’s arms around him. Dean froze.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“Sleeping,” Sam replied innocently.
“Like this? I don’t think so.”
“Why not? It’s nice.”
“It’s shit is what it is. Go away, Sam. Go sleep in your own bed.”
“I like it here.”
“You’re too old for this, man.”
“I’m not. You promised I wouldn’t ever be.”
“Yeah, well you were twelve then.”
“But Dean, I’m still scared.”
Dean had swallowed hard at that and had drawn his arms closer around his little brother subconsciously.
“Of what?”
“Of this. Of dad. Of our lives. Everything, Dean.”
He didn’t make Sam go.
__________
This went on for weeks before Dean couldn’t stand it anymore. Having Sam that close was torture and Sam only got more comfortable as time passed. Sam waited until they heard John leave to sneak into Dean’s bed and he wrapped himself around Dean. Sam rested his forehead in the crook of Dean’s neck and Dean realized with a jolt that his brother was hard.
“Sam, get out.”
Sam ignored him.
Dean tried to get up, but Sam pulled him back onto the mattress, pinned him down, and claimed his mouth in one liquid movement. Dean should have been able to move faster, but he was too weighed down by shock and the instinct to lie under Sam being kissed forever.
“Kiss me back, Dean. Like you want to.”
Dean shook his head.
“Please get away from me, Sammy. Please.”
Sam bent down and kissed Dean one more time before pulling away, getting out of bed, and going to his own. Dean tried to pretend he didn’t hear Sam jerking off and nearly killed himself refusing to acknowledge his own hard cock.
__________
Sam started a crusade after that, one Dean was doomed to lose. Sam’s kisses and touches would come at him when he wasn’t expecting it and Dean refused them about as often as he didn’t know how to. Slowly, he gave in more and more until Sam was back in bed with him every night and Dean was sucking his brother off more often than not. He understood finally why this had been so hard to ignore. It wasn’t just him; this made Sam happy, too. That seemed more important. It was hard to convince himself that it was such a terrible thing to do to his brother.
“Stop it, Sammy,” Dean gasped. Sam’s hands had strayed too far again and he was almost touching Dean’s cock.
“Want my mouth instead?” Sam offered, sounding like it was Christmas.
“No. God, no. Just let me take care of you, okay?”
“But you do that all the time,” Sam whined. Dean didn’t really appreciate the reminder. “I wanna do it for you; I wanna taste your come.”
“Shut up, Sam. The answer is no.”
“But you-“
“It doesn’t matter what I do for you. It’s not the same. I’ll worry about myself. You don’t have to be like me.”
“I want to.”
“I can’t let you, Sam.”
“Why’s it okay for you to eat your brother’s cock and not-?“
“God dammit, Sam. Watch your mouth.”
“You watch my mouth.” Sam immediately moved down Dean’s body, rubbing his face against the fabric of his boxers as he worked Dean’s cock out. Sam’s tongue teased at his head before Dean let out the little whimper. “No.”
Sam froze immediately and pulled away. Dean caught only a glimpse of the stung expression on Sam’s face.
“I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to, Dean. You know that. At least, I hope you know that.”
Dean tried to pull his brother back in, but Sam bat his hand away with too much force. Dean slept on his own that night and despite months of hating feeling Sam in his bed, it was the worst night he had in years.
__________
“I want to talk about it.”
“No way are we having this conversation.”
“You can’t fuck your brother and not talk about it.”
“I never did that, Sam.”
“You could.”
“Is that what’s wrong? Do you wanna…I’ll let you do that to me, Sammy.”
“That’s exactly the problem. You’ll let me fuck you, but you won’t fuck me. You’ll suck me off, but you won’t even let me touch you. You either really don’t want this, which is a huge problem, or it’s something else. But we can’t do this if we’re not going to be equal and, Dean, I know we both need it.”
“I’m not going to talk to you about this.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Sam, I can’t let you do those things. You’re my brother.”
“Which goes both ways, it turns out.”
“It’s not the same. You won’t understand.”
“Try me.”
How was Dean supposed to tell his brother about the things that took hold of his mind when he was on the verge of letting Sam get him off? The first word out of that mouth had been Dean’s name; he’d whispered it for weeks over Sam’s crib so he could hear it echoed back. Sam’s little hands used to sneak the food off Dean’s plate when he thought his brother wasn’t looking and now he wanted them inside of him. He could still see the kid he’d raised sometimes in the way Sam pouted; those memories hadn’t disappeared when this new Sam arrived. If he broke down and begged Sam to fuck him, all of those beautiful things would be poisoned and Dean didn’t have anything else to remember fondly.
“You’re my baby brother.”
“You think I’ve forgotten everything that happened before two weeks ago, Dean?”
“What?”
“I don’t want you even though you’re my brother, moron. I want you because you’re my brother.”
“Sam, that’s-“
“I haven’t forgotten what it’s like to be that kid, Dean. How many times you let me win, how many times you took the blame, how much you Loved me. I wouldn’t trade you being my big brother for the world-and that doesn’t mean I regret this. I like it. I can finally do something for you, Dean. Something I’ve wanted to do much longer than you’ve wanted it.”
“Sammy.”
Sam approached Dean and wrapped one massive hand around Dean’s neck, drawing him close-but not close enough.
“I’m not a kid anymore. I know what we’re getting ourselves into. But if we can’t have this, Dean, we won’t have anything.”
Dean mimicked his brother’s gesture, slid his hand into the tangled hair he’d been cutting for as long as he could remember. It was Dean who drew Sam into that kiss, Dean who decided when to deepen it. It was the first time he’d ever kissed his brother. Sam kissed him back and Dean finally knew for sure that whatever his weaknesses were, he’d definitely done something right.
[5]
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters/Pairings: Sam/Dean, some Sam/OMC
Genre: What’s the genre where you want to fuck your brother? Oh, yeah. Angst.
Rating: R for Sexual Content, Wee!cest (Sam is 15), Language, and General Baddirtywrongness (lots of this).
Word Count: 4,502
Author’s Note: Written for sparklybee who waited months for me to write this and finally had to dole out cash for me to do so at help_haiti. I would feel sorry for her, were she not so very evil. I will be claiming the middle square in our incestuous fictictactoe battle, “There are two sides to every story.” This also satisfies tamingthemuse prompt # 186 - Idle Hands are the Devil’s Joy. Beta’d by the incomparable wutendeskind. Title stolen from the Jekyll & Hyde song “Dangerous Game,” because I want to have dirty, shameful sex to it all day, err day. HERE’S TO WINCEST’S INEVITABLE TRIUMPH OVER TWINCEST, FOR TRULY IT IS THE GREATEST INCESTUOUS SHIP OF ALL TIME!! Tag, you’re it, devil bug. ETA 5/7/2013: Thanks to eos_rose, you can now read this in epub format here.
Summary: Sam was twelve the first time he realized he wanted his brother. Dean was done for the night he carried Sam out of that nursery.
Sam was twelve the first time it happened. It didn’t even seem that strange. Well, the experience, yes. Waking up hot and sweaty and hard and not really knowing what it all meant, that was pretty weird. But the fact that it was Dean…well, who else would it be? Dean was the only sexual being in Sam’s life and his brother had never really been covert about when he was with girls or what he did with them. Not that he’d given Sam details, but Sam caught his jokes and knew what they meant before he really understood them.
So at first, Sam dismissed it. Waited for it to start being him in the dreams instead of his brother. Only…the more time passed the more obvious it became. Sam wasn’t taking Dean’s place. He was seeing Dean from the girl’s point of view and what Dean was doing-he was doing it to Sam. Sam was begging him to.
Messed up as Sam’s family life had always been, even Sam knew that wasn’t right. He tried to push it away as long as he could, tried to look at the girls in his classes, or the ones in movies-even other boys, as long as it wasn’t Dean. But at the end of the day, Dean would be waiting outside of his school to pick him up and whoever he may have deluded himself into thinking he liked over the day passed entirely from his mind. Dean was it.
It was an awkward year after that. Sam and Dean had always been physically affectionate and Dean didn’t stop just because suddenly Sam enjoyed it too much. Of course, this was because Dean didn’t know. If he did, he would probably have cut his hands off before he’d touch Sam again. Sam knew it was wrong, but there wasn’t a single part of him that wanted Dean to stop.
Dean sat Sam down only a month or so after the dreams began and gave him the Talk-he didn’t tell Sam how he knew, but Sam wasn’t surprised. Dean had always been able to read him. He was just glad Dean was far enough in denial not to understand all of Sam’s new feelings, and that whatever observations had convinced Dean that Sam needed to know about that stuff, he hadn’t noticed the starving looks Sam passed over every inch of his brother’s body.
It got easier when he started high school. One of the first things he read was Oedipus Rex and his teacher told them about that crazy Freud guy and his theories. Sam took refuge in them. Ever since the Christmas that he’d realized how things had always been-that Dean had been there for him every day of his life when his father hadn’t, Sam had learned to appreciate his brother properly. He grew to Love Dean as much as Dean had always Loved him and the awed respect he’d had for his father twisted into a bitter taste just at the thought of the man. So if Freud was right and Dean was the closest thing Sam had to a mother and he really did despise his dad just as often as he respected him-then this was perfectly normal. It happened to everyone. He happily ignored the fact that it was supposed to all take place in infancy and be long forgotten by the time he actually got to puberty and comfortably filed his desire for Dean away. It was still there, always still there, but he didn’t have to obsess over it or let it ruin his life. And anyway, Dean wasn’t the only person in Sam’s world anymore. He was the only one that mattered, sure, but he wasn’t the only one.
Everywhere they went, Sam made friends. Not particularly close ones-how close can you get in a month? But people to talk to or think about so that every moment of his life didn’t have to be Dean. Sam started to look at other kids and he really did like what he saw. He kissed some of the girls in his grade, sometimes he even did more than that. He never acted on it, but he lusted after boys, more often than girls, and most of them only because they had some major feature in common with his brother. Which, okay, weird. But was it Sam’s fault Dean happened to possess every attractive feature a man could have? His entire sexual realization had been centered on Dean, after all, so there were traces of it bound to linger. All this while, he was sure that his relationship with his brother was still as close to normal as it had ever been (not terribly close, but not jerking off to the thought of him multiple times every day, either). Just in case, he put some space between them, stopped things that probably should have stopped years earlier anyway. Dean was hurt by it and Sam could see it, but he knew his brother would have thanked him for it had he known the truth.
This didn’t last for long. By the time Sam’s fifteenth birthday was approaching, things were starting to go wrong again. Sam was cursed with this thing called intelligence and the more he learned about Freud, the more obvious it became that the guy was wrong about pretty much everything and the Oedipus complex was no exception. It wasn’t normal and however much Sam had been able to distract himself, it wasn’t going away. In fact, it was starting to get worse all over again-even worse than when Dean was the only fantasy Sam knew. Because now Sam knew more, imagined more vividly.
He was beginning to really see how much Dean meant, how much he always would Love his brother, and how poor any substitute would be. He was beginning to be okay with it. He’d hoped when he’d realized he was getting smarter and thinking more like an adult that it would lead him to the obvious answer to the question he’d been asking himself since he’d woken up with his first boner and wondered why the hell he shouldn’t be with Dean. The reverse was true. Sam now had five hundred logical reasons why it was okay stacked up in his brain and only one to refute it. One good one, enough to keep him from throwing himself at his brother’s feet and begging-for a touch, a kiss, anything. Dean would never forgive you.
Sam would agonize as Dean went out with his usual parade of girls and when Dean got home late, mussed and smug, Sam was never sure if he should punch Dean or cry. He usually went with a third option, the one that kept him up sweating and panting half the night. It was a little too real to be the average fantasy. Sam knew-not guessed or was pretty sure-he knew what his brother was like with those women. He was all Dean really cared about and those girls would never be more than fucks. Usually he took pride in where he stood with his brother, usually he felt sorry for those girls. They would never really know just how gentle and affectionate Dean could be, they would never get to see the Dean he’d had his entire life. But late at night when Sam was hot and flustered, he envied those girls. They got that part of Dean that he would never, ever get to touch. Sam had to depend on fantasies; they were uncomfortably vivid. He didn’t have to wonder how Dean would fuck him-he knew his brother entirely too well. He wouldn’t be casual with Sam like he was with the women-he would spoil Sam like he always had, trust Sam to fuck him, give that part of himself up to his little brother. Sam wanted that, wanted to sink into his Dean-fast, slow, tender, rough-and hear Dean praise him and beg for more. He wanted to make Love to his brother until every awful thing they’d ever seen was erased from both of their memories. And when that was done, when they were both okay and Sam had his fill-he wanted to turn over and let Dean fuck him just for fun.
He was growing fast, physically as well as mentally. Every morning, Sam woke up bigger. He fell asleep at night to the crushing thought that in the morning he would have one more inch of skin for Dean to touch and that Dean would never put all that skin to use. It burnt without him-Sam couldn’t cool it. No matter how many times a day he gave his mind over to frustration or boredom and fucked his hand, wondering if it was as big as Dean’s yet or bigger, how different his brother’s stroke would feel-he couldn’t stop hurting for it. The things he’d wanted but hid from became impossible to ignore and he finally decided that if he couldn’t have Dean, he would have the next best thing.
__________
“Sammy, are you alright?”
Sam snapped out of his revelries and fixed Dean with a confused looked. “Yeah, why?”
“You’ve seemed…weird lately. A little…” Dean swallowed as if the idea hurt him, “sadder.”
He must have really been out of it if Dean was concerned enough to actually want to talk about it. Unfortunately, this was the one thing he couldn’t really say to his brother.
“I’m fine,” he lied. “No, I’m not. Dean, if I tell you something, do you promise not to hate me?”
“Come on; don’t pretend you’re that stupid.”
Sam opened his mouth, but what came out was only half of the world-altering confession he’d been on the verge of making. It was enough, though; something Sam had been keeping inside out of fear of his brother’s reaction, something he would have to tell Dean at some point.
“I think I’m gay.”
“Yeah,” Dean said softly. “You are.”
“You knew?”
“I know everything about you.” Sam almost scoffed at the idea. There was one thing Dean definitely did not know, one thing Sam had been able to hide for years, because even Dean didn’t want to know his brother that well.
“You aren’t mad?”
“Why would I be mad?”
“I’ve heard you talking to dad. He’ll say something about fags and you agree with him. You always do.”
Dean took Sam’s hand and pulled his brother into a little hug. Sam wanted to push him away, but now he knew for sure that his hand was bigger than Dean’s and yet, somehow, he still fit into Dean’s embrace better than he’d ever fit anywhere else. Details like that made it impossible to willingly leave the spot he was resting in.
“Sam, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know yet that you were. I just, I figured if dad was saying it, it was true. I stopped when I noticed about you. It’s not wrong, okay? There’s nothing wrong about it. Not if you-I would never hate a part of you, Sam. Never think I would.”
“Dad would. If he knew I was gay. I’m not even all the way gay. I like girls, too. But mostly…I’ve never acted on it. But. Well, anyway, dad would kill me.”
“He’s wrong, Sammy.” It was the first time he’d ever heard Dean say it. Dean pulled him closer and promised he would be okay, that he wouldn’t let dad know, that he would protect him from John’s wrath if he ever did find out. Sam Loved his brother more than ever and it was finally too much to handle. Dean stroked his hair gently and Sam let himself cry into his shoulder, taking comfort in the fact that Dean didn’t know the real reason, but that he could finally let all of the emotion he’d been bottling up since he was twelve pour out on to the only person who had ever been able to calm him. After that, he felt a little better.
__________
The guy pushed Sam against the wall and Sam did his best to shove the instinct to fight back away. He was hard wired to meet physical force with physical force, but this wasn’t a hunt and if he responded to the roughness with only a margin of what he was capable of, the guy would flee. Sam didn’t want this to stop, even if he wasn’t quite used to it yet. Messing around with a guy was so different from messing with girls, and the bossy almost violent energy of this guy’s touches went straight to his dick. Light stubble pushed against his lips, Sam opened his mouth to take in more.
“Sam?”
Both men froze. The guy pulled away from Sam, but Sam held onto his jacket where he’d been pulling him closer.
“Umm, hi.”
Dean’s face was terrifying-in full hunter mode. He looked at the guy and Sam was a little surprised the daggers his brother was glaring didn’t actually cut the poor boy.
“Out.” Sam’s “friend” didn’t have to be told twice. He gathered his discarded jacket from the floor and fled without even a goodbye glance in Sam’s direction.
Dean went to bed directly, didn’t say a word to Sam all night. Sam had trusted his brother’s assurances and his heart was broken by the disappointment he felt for the only person he’d still admired.
“How was school?” Dean asked first thing when he got home from work the next day. Sam couldn’t even believe he was pretending nothing had happened.
“Fucking miserable, Dean, how do you think?”
“I guess I didn’t-“
“I don’t fucking care. Whatever you’re going to say? Save it. I don’t fucking care.”
“Sammy…” Sam managed to hold onto his indignation instead of giving in to the broken tone his brother suddenly spoke with.
“I trusted you, Dean. I believed you when you said you were okay with me.”
“Sam, I am okay with you. I just…I don’t want you kissing him.”
“Why not?”
“He’s too old for you.”
“Bullshit. He’s a senior, that’s hardly more than two years. You were parading girls around way younger than I am, Dean. You just hate that it’s a guy. I guess that whole accepting every part of me thing was easier said than in practice, huh?”
Sam had rounded on Dean and gotten in his face to yell, but he wavered as soon as he saw how sorry and hurt Dean’s face was.
“I’m sorry, Sammy, I’m so sorry.” Dean licked his lips and looked sick. “You’re right. It was an awful thing to do. I didn’t think about it. But I have no right to…God, I’m sorry.”
Dean left the room and Sam suddenly got it. He understood Dean pretty well himself and the whole thing made sense in an instant. At twelve years old, Sam had fallen in Love with his brother. Somewhere between then and fifteen, Dean had fallen for him, too.
______________________________________________________________
This was always going to happen. Dean had been a goner the moment he carried his baby brother out of that burning house. He looked down at the bundle in his arms once he was out the door, but it wasn’t just his little brother anymore. It was the only thing he had in the world. The one thing he took care of and cared about and the one thing that cared about him. He was going to fall in Love with Sam from that moment on; he just didn’t know until it was staring him in the face, making his blood pound and his skin crawl.
It was a new low, even for Dean. He’d done a lot of fucked up shit, but this took the cake and then some. Dean knew better than to try to pretend it didn’t exist. As soon as the idea occurred to him, he understood that it wasn’t ever going to go away. He didn’t have to make it go away; he was used to living with that kind of self-loathing. He just had to devote his energy to controlling it, to making sure Sam didn’t see it. It shouldn’t have been that difficult. God, but Sam wasn’t doing him any favors.
When Sam had been little, he used to sleep in Dean’s bed. Not so little after he found out about the monsters. Dean allowed it, hell, Dean encouraged it. It was the only thing that helped Sam sleep and Dean slept better just knowing Sam felt safe with him. John hated it, of course, Dean heard at least a thousand lectures on how soft he was making Sam, but Dean wasn’t going to push his brother away while he still needed him.
Every night, Sam would get in bed and tell him he was scared, ask if it was okay or if he was too old. Dean would promise, “You’ll never be too old.” And back then, it hadn’t really occurred to him that Sam would be. He’d been too eager to ignore the fact that Sam was going to grow up. When Sam started to pull away, when he stopped sleeping tucked into Dean and eventually stopped crawling into his bed altogether…John, at least, had been relieved. Dean figured it was time and convinced himself he didn’t hate it. So from twelve to fourteen, Sam and Dean slept in their separate beds like normal brothers.
About now Dean really longed for that uncomplicated relationship. Loving Sam had been so easy when he was still a kid. There had been nothing dirty about the fact that he gave Sam everything he could to make him happy. But one day Sam woke up as a sexual being and…Sam had new needs now. Dean still wanted to give his brother everything he could desire-to be the only person Sam had to look to for anything. That meant that what had started as a casual observation (“I think my little brother likes guys”) had changed into “one day, he’s going to act on it,” and eventually the thought crept up on him, the one that was eating away at Dean from the inside. Sam was going to fuck guys and Dean hated them before they were more than theoretical. If Sam had to go to someone else for something Dean couldn’t give him, maybe he would love one of them someday. Maybe Dean would be replaced altogether. Or maybe…maybe Dean could be that person.
Sick and twisted as Dean knew that was, he’d Loved Sam in every way possible since Sam was a baby and, now that there was a new way to Love him, Dean’s instinct was to wish for it before he even grasped what he was thinking. It shouldn’t have been so terrible; it came straight from the heart. But Dean’s eyes couldn’t stay off Sam, his hands ached to touch him…it didn’t end at the heart.
Dean was strong. He’d been suffering in silence for his entire life-self-denial was not a new concept. He didn’t know why this was so much harder. In fact, he’d been doing a perfectly respectable job of ignoring the problem until he’d seen that stranger pinning his brother against the wall and Sam letting him. The jealous fit had thrown itself, Dean had been a bystander, and by the time it was over, he’d been sure Sam would never forgive him. But what Sam was doing to punish him…that was much worse.
__________
“Dean, move over.”
“What the hell? It’s the middle of the night. You have school tomorrow. Go to bed.”
“I am,” Sam insisted, sliding under Dean’s sheets.
“I’m not moving. You already took the good mattress, so go sleep on it.”
“I don’t want you to move.”
“Then get to bed and stop hogging my covers.”
Sam didn’t listen. Not that night, not for nights after. Dean didn’t even bother to say anything after the first night, not until Sam had pushed it even further.
He curled up against Dean, head resting on his chest, and pulled one of Dean’s arms around him. Dean froze.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“Sleeping,” Sam replied innocently.
“Like this? I don’t think so.”
“Why not? It’s nice.”
“It’s shit is what it is. Go away, Sam. Go sleep in your own bed.”
“I like it here.”
“You’re too old for this, man.”
“I’m not. You promised I wouldn’t ever be.”
“Yeah, well you were twelve then.”
“But Dean, I’m still scared.”
Dean had swallowed hard at that and had drawn his arms closer around his little brother subconsciously.
“Of what?”
“Of this. Of dad. Of our lives. Everything, Dean.”
He didn’t make Sam go.
__________
This went on for weeks before Dean couldn’t stand it anymore. Having Sam that close was torture and Sam only got more comfortable as time passed. Sam waited until they heard John leave to sneak into Dean’s bed and he wrapped himself around Dean. Sam rested his forehead in the crook of Dean’s neck and Dean realized with a jolt that his brother was hard.
“Sam, get out.”
Sam ignored him.
Dean tried to get up, but Sam pulled him back onto the mattress, pinned him down, and claimed his mouth in one liquid movement. Dean should have been able to move faster, but he was too weighed down by shock and the instinct to lie under Sam being kissed forever.
“Kiss me back, Dean. Like you want to.”
Dean shook his head.
“Please get away from me, Sammy. Please.”
Sam bent down and kissed Dean one more time before pulling away, getting out of bed, and going to his own. Dean tried to pretend he didn’t hear Sam jerking off and nearly killed himself refusing to acknowledge his own hard cock.
__________
Sam started a crusade after that, one Dean was doomed to lose. Sam’s kisses and touches would come at him when he wasn’t expecting it and Dean refused them about as often as he didn’t know how to. Slowly, he gave in more and more until Sam was back in bed with him every night and Dean was sucking his brother off more often than not. He understood finally why this had been so hard to ignore. It wasn’t just him; this made Sam happy, too. That seemed more important. It was hard to convince himself that it was such a terrible thing to do to his brother.
“Stop it, Sammy,” Dean gasped. Sam’s hands had strayed too far again and he was almost touching Dean’s cock.
“Want my mouth instead?” Sam offered, sounding like it was Christmas.
“No. God, no. Just let me take care of you, okay?”
“But you do that all the time,” Sam whined. Dean didn’t really appreciate the reminder. “I wanna do it for you; I wanna taste your come.”
“Shut up, Sam. The answer is no.”
“But you-“
“It doesn’t matter what I do for you. It’s not the same. I’ll worry about myself. You don’t have to be like me.”
“I want to.”
“I can’t let you, Sam.”
“Why’s it okay for you to eat your brother’s cock and not-?“
“God dammit, Sam. Watch your mouth.”
“You watch my mouth.” Sam immediately moved down Dean’s body, rubbing his face against the fabric of his boxers as he worked Dean’s cock out. Sam’s tongue teased at his head before Dean let out the little whimper. “No.”
Sam froze immediately and pulled away. Dean caught only a glimpse of the stung expression on Sam’s face.
“I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to, Dean. You know that. At least, I hope you know that.”
Dean tried to pull his brother back in, but Sam bat his hand away with too much force. Dean slept on his own that night and despite months of hating feeling Sam in his bed, it was the worst night he had in years.
__________
“I want to talk about it.”
“No way are we having this conversation.”
“You can’t fuck your brother and not talk about it.”
“I never did that, Sam.”
“You could.”
“Is that what’s wrong? Do you wanna…I’ll let you do that to me, Sammy.”
“That’s exactly the problem. You’ll let me fuck you, but you won’t fuck me. You’ll suck me off, but you won’t even let me touch you. You either really don’t want this, which is a huge problem, or it’s something else. But we can’t do this if we’re not going to be equal and, Dean, I know we both need it.”
“I’m not going to talk to you about this.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Sam, I can’t let you do those things. You’re my brother.”
“Which goes both ways, it turns out.”
“It’s not the same. You won’t understand.”
“Try me.”
How was Dean supposed to tell his brother about the things that took hold of his mind when he was on the verge of letting Sam get him off? The first word out of that mouth had been Dean’s name; he’d whispered it for weeks over Sam’s crib so he could hear it echoed back. Sam’s little hands used to sneak the food off Dean’s plate when he thought his brother wasn’t looking and now he wanted them inside of him. He could still see the kid he’d raised sometimes in the way Sam pouted; those memories hadn’t disappeared when this new Sam arrived. If he broke down and begged Sam to fuck him, all of those beautiful things would be poisoned and Dean didn’t have anything else to remember fondly.
“You’re my baby brother.”
“You think I’ve forgotten everything that happened before two weeks ago, Dean?”
“What?”
“I don’t want you even though you’re my brother, moron. I want you because you’re my brother.”
“Sam, that’s-“
“I haven’t forgotten what it’s like to be that kid, Dean. How many times you let me win, how many times you took the blame, how much you Loved me. I wouldn’t trade you being my big brother for the world-and that doesn’t mean I regret this. I like it. I can finally do something for you, Dean. Something I’ve wanted to do much longer than you’ve wanted it.”
“Sammy.”
Sam approached Dean and wrapped one massive hand around Dean’s neck, drawing him close-but not close enough.
“I’m not a kid anymore. I know what we’re getting ourselves into. But if we can’t have this, Dean, we won’t have anything.”
Dean mimicked his brother’s gesture, slid his hand into the tangled hair he’d been cutting for as long as he could remember. It was Dean who drew Sam into that kiss, Dean who decided when to deepen it. It was the first time he’d ever kissed his brother. Sam kissed him back and Dean finally knew for sure that whatever his weaknesses were, he’d definitely done something right.
[5]