Title – He had Always Known
Rating – PG15
Fandom - Supernatural
Characters – Sam/Dean Winchester
Warnings – Wincest, Major schoompage
Summary – Sam has always known Dean loves him
Authors Note – Written for tragicamente who bought me at Sweet Charity. I'm so sorry this is late. I hope it's not to far from what you had in mind.
Disclaimer – Sadly nothing in the Supernatural fandom belongs to me. Kripke, CW and others that are not me own the boys. I only borrow them to play with.
Beta - sailorhathor who makes all my messes pretty. All mistakes left are mine
All constructive criticism welcomed.
EDIT! I am sorry for some reason it's not showing my break marks, so whenever you see ddddddd we've changed moments and are on to a new one.
He had always Known
The first indication that Sam Winchester gave about being in love with his older brother came when he was four and was two-and-a-half weeks into an "I'm only going to wear this shirt forever and ever" phase. The shirt in question was Dean's black Ghostbusters t-shirt. The short sleeves were practically full length on Sammy and the hem of the shirt went down far enough to hide dirt and grass-stained knees. As big and clumsy as the shirt was, Sam would not budge from it; in fact, he only took it off once since the whole phase started, and that was because Dean had promised, pinky-promised, that as soon as the shirt was washed and dried, Sam could put it right back on. Sam spent forty-five minutes watching the shirt flip and flop through the dryer window.
He was still wearing Dean's shirt when he marched into the kitchen with a determined look etched on his face. He pulled out the wooden chair next to his father and climbed up. When Bobby and his father quit talking to eye him suspiciously, he decided it was time to state his mind.
"Something wrong, Sammy?"
Sam shook his head, causing his shaggy hair to flop around.
"No, I just wanted to tell you I made a decision." And decision comes out slightly mispronounced, but the meaning gets across.
"What about, son?"
He held his father's gaze and didn't blink as he spoke. "When I grow up, I'm gonna marry Dean." He said it with conviction and a stubbornness that didn't make its way back into his everyday speech until he was a teenager.
"Told you, Squirt," Dean interrupted as he entered the room and ruffled Sam's hair as he walked by to check what was in the fridge, "we can't get married."
"Don't call me Squirt," Sam warned as his mouth turned down in a pout. "And why not?" he asked as he folded his arms over his chest, finishing off the pouting look.
Dean pulled a carton of orange juice out of the fridge and grabbed two plastic cups from the dish rack, then set them down, one in front of him and one in front of Sammy.
"'Cause we're brothers."
"So?" And it was clear from the tone in Sam's voice that he thought that had to be the stupidest reason he had ever heard.
"You can't marry your brother, Sammy, it's just not done."
The stubborn pout remained on Sam's face as he looked down and pulled his knees up to his chest, pulling Dean's shirt over his legs to cover them completely. A small sniffle sounded as Sammy bent his head to rest on his knees as he quickly wiped away a tear.
"Hey…" Dean crouched down beside the chair so that he had to look up to see Sam's face; he rested a hand on one of Sam's bare feet. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Sam answered back, barely over a whisper.
"Sammy, come on." Dean looked to his father and Bobby for backup, but it was clear he would have to handle this one on his own.
"Don't you love me?" The question was asked as soft as the denial that something was wrong only moments before, the only difference being a small hiccup in the middle from crying.
"You know I do, Sammy."
"Then why don't you wanna marry me when we get old?"
Dean really hoped that his father would jump in with the explanation that boys don't marry other boys, especially their brothers, but as Dean looked to his father for advice, he noticed that John and Bobby were back to talking about whatever they were talking about before. Dean was on his own.
"You sure you don't want to marry somebody better? Maybe a pretty girl?"
Sam shook his head. "Nobody is better than you, Dean, nobody. And girls are icky."
Dean couldn't argue with that kind of logic. "OK, I'll marry you, but only if you stop crying. I can't be marrying a crybaby."
"Really?" Sam asked hopefully.
"Promise?" A smile started spreading over Sam's face.
Sam untangled his legs from the shirt and jumped down off the chair, huge smile and pronounced dimples securely in place. Dean couldn't help but smile back. Sam was happy and that's what mattered. He just hoped Sam would forget about this conversation by the time they were twenty because marrying your brother? Not cool.
"Now grab your orange juice and let's go. We have to finish our game of Candyland, Squirt."
"Dean," Sam said as he walked into the small room they had been sharing since the first of April.
"Yeah, Sammy?" Dean answered back without looking up from the novel he had been reading for school.
"I need to talk to you," Sam told him as he sat on the foot of Dean's bed, curling his legs in so that he was seated completely in the middle of the foot of the bed.
Dean looked up and saw that Sam needed to talk about something serious, so he folded down the ear of the page and closed the book, then sat down beside him. "Sammy, what's wrong?"
"I'm six today, right?"
Dean nodded and smiled. "Yeah, Sammy, you're six today, and I told you that you'll get your presents just as soon as Dad gets home with the pizza."
"No, it's not that… he should be home by now, shouldn't he?"
"He's only been gone for twenty minutes."
"Oh, well it's not that anyway."
"Then what is it? What's bothering you?"
"I'm a big boy now. Six years old. That's older than five, when I was still a little boy, right?"
Dean nodded, not sure where this conversation was heading.
"So I think since I am a big boy now, I don't need you to hold my hand anymore, not when we're walking to school or crossing the street, and not when we're shopping. I can take care of myself now, Dean. Bryan's mom doesn't make him hold her hand on the way to school and he's only five and a half." Dean probably should have been offended and put up a fuss on how it was his job to protect his little brother, that no matter how old Sam got, that if Dean thought holding Sam's hand in the middle of a grocery store was going to keep him safe then he'd darn well do it, but Dean took a good look at his little brother, could see the courage it took to even suggest such a thing to him. Dean could see by the obvious defiance in Sam's eyes that even if he told him no, Sam was going to argue about it, list off all of his reasons until Dean saw things his way. Dean would have to warn their father that Sam might very well be a problem when he was older.
"But Dean I'm six…" Sam trailed off as he realized Dean had given in already, stunned and a little disappointed he didn't get to argue his side of the case. "okay?"
"Okay, but you still have to listen to me, Sammy; you stay close. No running off or wandering around. Got it?"
"Promise, Dean." Sam smiled and jumped off the bed. "You'll see I'm old enough now, that you don't need to hold my hand."
It lasted a little over two weeks.
Sam was waiting outside of the school for Dean like he did every day. A big smile spread over his face when he finally saw the bob of familiar blond hair in the middle of the bunch of kids descending the school steps. Sam had been waiting patiently so he could show Dean the painting he made for him during art class, but his smile soon disappeared when he saw that Dean was holding a girl's hand. A girl certainly old enough to not need any handholding.
"Hey, Sammy." Dean greeted him with a smile of his own. "What did you do today?"
Sam scowled, "Nothing." He bent down and shoved his painting into his backpack when he noticed the girl was still holding Dean's hand and didn't look like she had any plans of letting go.
Dean frowned. Sam was always more than eager to share a minute-by-minute recap of what happened during school, anything from the class pet peeing on Michelle's hand to the teacher sneezing during lunch.
"Sammy, this is Carol. She's new."
Sammy looked at the girl holding the hand that had always been reserved for him and said nothing.
"Hi Sammy," she offered.
"It's Sam," he replied coldly as he grabbed Dean's free hand and gave it a tug. "Come on, Dean, we have to go," he said, thankful that the girl let go and said good-bye when he tugged Dean harder and began to walk. He didn't know what he would have done if she would have started following them.
"That was rude," Dean lectured on the way to the crosswalk. Sam didn't reply. "I thought you were too big for hand holding now," Dean mentioned when he noticed that Sammy wouldn't let his hand go after he had tried to pull it away.
"Tyler's mom still holds his hand, and he's in grade three."
Dean gave Sam a knowing smile when Sam tightened his grip on Dean's hand.
"Good point, Sam."
"It's Sammy" Sam corrected as they continued to walk home, hand in hand.
It was a cold spring morning, most of the snow gone, but the puddles had frozen over as winter tried to hold on for just one more day. The boys were wrapped up in blankets, cuddled close to keep warm. There was no noise in the room except for the wheezing sound of the floor heater trying to work. That morning, Sammy opened his eyes for a peek, seeing that it was clearly too early to be up by the faint light shining through the curtains.
He felt a tickle by his nose, something soft and light. He opened his eyes further to investigate and let out a gasp as he noticed the large, pure white wing that covered his body. The length of the wing stretched out to his toes. The feathers were silky smooth and almost glistened in the pale light of dawn. He lightly ran his hand over the curve of the wing to investigate further. When the edge of the wing led to Dean's back, Sam panicked.
"Dean, Dean, wake up!"
"Mmmm? What is it, Sammy?"
"Dean, you have wings!"
"Just a dream, Sam, now go back to sleep, okay?" Dean turned his head, facing in the other direction in an attempt to ignore Sam's early morning ramblings.
"Sammy, what? Are you cold? Come here." Dean reached out to pull his brother closer when his arm brushed against something soft that wasn't in bed when they had fallen asleep.
"Holy shit!" Dean sat up quickly.
"Dean, you said a bad word." Sam's eyes widened even more at Dean's language, the strangeness of the wings temporarily forgotten. "You're lucky Dad's not here."
"Sam, I have wings!"
"I know, Dean. That's what I woke you up to tell you."
"Why do I have wings?"
Sam's only response was to shrug and reach for Dean's wing again. "Can I play with them?"
"Because wings are not something to be played with, Sam."
Sam's eyes narrowed. "How do you know? You've never had wings before."
"I just know, OK?"
"I'm telling Dad you're not sharing."
"Sammy…" Dean tried to be stern.
"Please, Dean." He turned his head toward Dean, giving him that pleading look that had been getting him his own way since he could crawl. Dean wondered on many occasions if he'd ever grow immune to those eyes, like his father seemed to be.
When Dean had tried to get out of bed to get away from the puppy eyes so he could stick to his guns, he accidentally brushed one of his newly acquired wings against Sammy's face. The boy giggled, soft and happy. So Dean did it again, flicking the tip under Sam's chin, causing another giggle. Before long it had turned into a full-fledged tickling session, Dean clearly having the upper hand, or wing in this case. Sammy squirmed on the bed, laughing until tears were leaking out of his eyes and his stomach muscles were sore. Sam had refused to call uncle until Dean used the tips of the wings to tickle at his feet.
When the laughing had stopped and their breathing slowed back to normal, Dean had decided it was too early to be up and that they should both go back to bed and figure out what to do with his wings later, when the sun was fully up. Maybe then they could call their father, since he wasn't due back for another day or two. Dean settled back into the bed, trying his best to pull the thick hotel blankets over his body, but figured out that with the wings it wasn't really possible, so he lifted up his wings and pulled the blanket as far up as he could, allowing Sammy to snuggle in close. Then he settled his right wing over Sam's smaller body, making sure he was covered where the blanket couldn't reach.
"Warm enough, Sammy?"
"Yeah?" Sleep etched its way into Dean's voice.
"You think they'll stay?"
"I want them to."
Sam wiggled around a bit more until his back was against Dean's chest, his wing still draped over him. He fell asleep running his hand along the hard edge of the wing, petting Dean.
Dean didn't complain.
Dean sat down on the couch and bumped his shoulder against Sam's.
Sam ignored him and kept staring at that TV, apparently a Jell-O commercial being more important than what was bothering him.
"Something happen while I was away? Need me to beat somebody up?"
Sam just snorted as he looked at his brother. "Everything's fine."
"Fine, whatever, be a moody little bitch."
Dean got up and picked up the duffle bag he had left by the couch before heading off to his bedroom.
Dean hadn't even had a chance to throw his bag onto the floor before Sam burst into the room behind him.
"You have the nerve to call me a bitch? You're the one being a jerk!"
Dean ran his hand through his dusty hair. "Sam, in case you haven't noticed, you're not exactly a kid anymore. You want to talk then talk, if you don't then shut up and leave because I'm tired."
"You'd like that, wouldn't you? For me to just leave so you could go and help Bobby or Dad more often, all out on your own and not have to put up with me, right?"
Dean sat down on his bed, pulling off his boots. "Sam, what is this about?"
"Yeah I kinda figured that out with your ranting and yelling, so besides nothing, what else is wrong?"
Sam didn't answer, and Dean thought the conversation was officially over. It wasn't until Dean went to leave the room to wash up for bed that Sam said something again.
Dean stopped and turned back around, looking at Sam sitting on the side of his bed, head bent down, paying close attention to a loose piece of thread at the hem of his shirt.
"You just picked up and left, Dean." Sam still wasn't looking at him, voice barely audible, but Dean had heard every word. "You're not supposed to leave me. It's supposed to be where you go, I go. Just like always."
"Is that what this is all about?" Dean set down his towel and face cloth and sat down on the bed beside his brother. "You're mad because I left? Sam, Bobby needed help. It was only for a week. Dad was here."
"You're sixteen now, Dean."
Dean raised an eyebrow, silently asking what that meant.
"You're going to leave me behind one of these days, Dean. You're gonna go and you're going to decide not to come back."
"Never going to happen, Sammy, you know that. Dean and Sam, just like always."
Sam looked up and met Dean's eyes. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." Dean smiled and bumped his shoulder against Sam's, promising himself that from that moment on, wherever he went, Sam would be able to follow.
Five years later, Sam wasn't as courteous when he boarded a Greyhound and headed west.
"Hey Sam, why don't you come help me try on these jeans in the change….room?" Dean finished as he turned around and noticed that it wasn't Sam that was standing behind him, but a little old couple easily in their 80's instead. Dean gave the most charming smile he could muster before nodding his head, and mumbling, "Awkward…" before he turned and left.
He walked quickly down the next aisle and looked around, trying to find where he had lost Sam. Thankfully, it wasn't hard to find a giant Sasquatch standing in the middle of the boys section of the second-hand store.
"Sam," Dean hissed. "What are you doing over here? I just came on to some old guy," Dean continued as he made hand gestures towards the direction.
Sam didn't notice Dean's irritability, or at least he didn't pay it any attention as he lifted the shirt he had been looking at to Dean's eye level.
"Dean, I used to have one just like this, remember?" he asked with a big, dimpled smile.
Dean noticed the white ghost and red writing. "You didn't have a shirt like that."
"Yes I did."
"No, you didn't. I had a shirt just like that and you stole it."
"Did not. And if it was your shirt, why don't I remember you wearing it? Huh?" Sam asked with a smug smile in place, thinking he had proven Dean wrong.
"What are you, five?" Dean asked out loud, wondering why his brother needed to win this argument "Because you wouldn't give it back. You wore that thing until it rotted off of you."
"Whatever." Sam rolled his eyes as he threw the shirt into Dean's basket.
Dean raised a questioning eyebrow.
Sam shrugged. "I want it."
Now Dean rolled his eyes before turning and walking down the aisle, heading for the change room.
Sam smiled; the shirt hadn't rotted off of him, it fell apart in the washing machine. He had been sad for a whole week before Dean gave him another shirt of his to wear.
Dean gave a polite smile to Ben as he excused himself. "Sorry, man. Little brothers, they don't outgrow that pain in the ass thing they have going for them."
Ben laughed, "Yeah, I have one myself."
Dean smiled wider. "Yeah, I remember. Great seeing you again, man. I'll call you." He finished by shaking his old friend's hand and pulling him into a hug, slapping him once on the back before pulling away.
"You better. I don't want to wait another five years before I hear from you again, got it?"
Dean's face grew serious and sincerity flashed in his eyes. "Hey man it works both ways, any time you need anything just call me."
"I know where to find you, Winchester, don't worry about that."
Dean followed Sam out of the bar, smiling wide. It had been ages since he had talked to Ben, but yet, it was like no time had passed at all. They immediately fell into that comfortable compatibility they used to share.
"Who was he?"
Dean looked across the seat to Sam as Sam slammed the door of the Impala.
"Ben? An old buddy of mine."
"I don't remember him."
"Met him while you were away."
Sam nodded, not saying anything more until they reached the hotel room.
"So what? You guys use to fuck or something?"
"You haven't introduced me as your brother in months, Dean, and suddenly this Ben shows up and you remember to introduce me as your little brother? So in other words, he's not somebody you need to worry about, Ben, I'm still available to hook up later, right?"
"Sam, how much did you have to drink tonight?"
Sam snarled -- that was the only way Dean could think of to describe it -- as he threw his jacket down on the bed before whipping around to face Dean.
"I'm not drunk, Dean. He was all over you and you did nothing to discourage him."
Dean didn't know if he should be angry or find Sam's jealousy amusing.
"In case you didn't notice, I'm here with you."
Sam seemed to have walked the width of the room in two giant strides because Dean was quickly pressed against the door, Sam's hand on his chest holding him still. "Like you should be. You're mine, Dean. I don't share."
"Never would ask you to, Sammy."
Sam's lips crashed hard into Dean's, tongue pushing past his lips in an effort to find his. Sam's hands began to pull at Dean's shirt causing buttons to pop off. Dean would try to remember to complain about it later, but right now he had more important things to address as Sam grabbed him, turned him and pushed him down onto the bed, straddling him. He left bite marks and bruises all over Dean's skin, marking him. Making sure that if anybody saw them they would know Dean belonged to him.
Dean tilted his head to the side, giving Sam better access to his neck to leave another mark. As he reached for the buckle of Sam's belt, he said, "You've always been a jealous little bitch, Sammy."
"And you've always been a jerk." Sam bit down, causing Dean to flinch.
Sam pushed Dean's hand away as it slipped past the waistband of his jeans. "You don't get to touch tonight, Dean. I'm gonna remind you that you're mine." Sam bit at Dean's bottom lip, enforcing his point. "Gonna make you feel so good Dean, you're not going to want anybody else."
Dean loved it when Sam got possessive, but he needed to make sure Sam understood something.
"Hey…" He held Sam's face in his hands. "You know you have nothing to worry about, right? There's never going to be anybody else, Sam."
Sam's nodded. "I know, Dean, just sometimes, when I see the way others look at you, hear what they have to offer you… I…"
Dean cut him off with, "They got nothing on you, Sammy." He pulled him down for a kiss.
Sam laughed against Dean's lips, "Dean Winchester, always the romantic."
Dean pouted. "You want romance? I'll show you romance. But first, you're gonna have to fuck me, Sammy. Make me forget my own name."
"I think I can manage that," Sam said as he kissed his way down Dean's bare chest and his hand fumbled with the button of Dean's jeans.
Dean grinned. "That's my boy."
The next morning, Sam woke up to breakfast in bed and a deep red rose resting beside him.
"You feeling any better?" Sam asked as he wrapped his arms around Dean from behind, his hands settling on Dean's stomach, rubbing is slow, soothing circles.
Dean squirmed as Sam rested his chin on his shoulder. "Get off of me, Sammy."
Sam ignored Dean's orders. "Did the Pepto-Bismol do any good?"
Dean gave up trying to dislodge Sam from his person and pouted, "No."
Sam smiled as he started steering them toward the couch. "How about my hoodie, did that help?"
Dean tensed. "Didn't think you'd mind."
"It's just it's comfortable and warm, and it's freakin huge and-"
"And it smells like me?" Sam asked, and Dean blushed.
Sam smiled and lay down on the couch, his back against the cushions, leaving Dean lots of room. "Come on, lie down. You'll feel better."
"Move ahead some, so I can get in behind you."
"Because you're likely to push me off with those giant limbs of yours. Just move up."
Sam rolled his eyes and let out a sigh, but did what he was told. Dean slid in behind him and shifted until he was comfortable.
Sam settled back, snuggling into Dean, sighing happily as the weight of Dean's arm rested cross his waist. He couldn't stop the smile that spread across his face as Dean pulled him a little closer; even as sick as Dean was, he wouldn't let Sam baby him. He still had to be the one to be holding Sam instead of the other way around. Sam had his own theories why Dean insisted on being the one to be the big spoon, even if it would probably be more comfortable on him to allow Sam to wrap him up in his arms instead. But the theory Sam was willing to bet money on was older brother instinct. So Sam never argued, wasn't like he didn't love the feeling of Dean holding him close, protecting him, keeping him. It was home. It didn't matter where they had traveled or settled down for the night. Being in the circle of Dean's arms was home.
Sam tangled his fingers with Dean's, thumb running along the top Dean's thumb. "Dean?"
"Feel better now?"
"Hmmhmm," Dean answered, almost asleep.
"Do you love me?"
Sam felt Dean's smile along the back of his neck as Dean nuzzled his nose into the curls of Sam's hair.
"You know I do, Sammy. You know I do."
Sam smiled. Yeah he knew, he had always known.