Title: White Knuckles (1/1)

Author: Falcon-Rider

Fandom: Supernatural

Characters: Sam/Dean, John, Mary, Missouri, Caleb, Pastor Jim, OFCs

Words: 3901

Rating: R (sex)

Disclaimer: I'm just playing in Kripke's sand box.

Summary: Dean and Sam have always been connected.

Spoilers: Vague spoilers through 5x10.

Prompt: Written for Mystic_Reader on LJ for the SPN_J2_xmas Secret Santa exchange using the likes: outsider!POV, John finding out (kinda), first time, bottom!Dean, bonded!boys, underage relationship but no sexual stuff.

Warnings: This does include wincest Sam/Dean (Slash—MalexMale). Don't like don't read. You've been warned.

White Knuckles

Mary

Dean knew Mary was even pregnant before she did. Every night, Mary and John would tuck their three year old son into bed, pulling a iSesame Street/i comforter- covered with Bert, Ernie, Big Bird and an assortment of other characters- up to his chin and pressing light goodnight kisses to his forehead. John would bid them goodnight then, pausing for a moment to watch them from the door, a smile pulling at his lips, before heading to bed to rest up for a long day of work early the next morning. Mary would settle next to her son then, pulling out a book to read from until her son's bright green eyes disappeared beneath long, golden-brown lashes.

She loved those moments, just before bed, when Dean would cuddle up next to her as she read to him. He loved them too, interrupting the fantastic stories with questions and gasps and short exclamations she barely understood at times. That summer night, oddly cool thanks to summer storms and a breeze coming in through the open window, was different. It started out normal, Mary settling atop the bed next to him, back leaning against the head board, but before she could open tonight's book, Dean rolled over and settled against her, his small ear resting on her stomach. One tiny arm freed itself from the blankets, moving up to grasp into the soft white fabric of her night gown.

She blinked down at him, smile pulling at her lips, one hand settling against his back as the other held the hard cover book up into the air. "Hey buddy," Mary murmured, voice soft and full of love. The hand resting against his back moved in slow, gentle circles, causing the flannel fabric of his pajamas to bunch and then smooth out. "What's wrong?"

It seemed like something was wrong. Dean was a loving little boy, but even he didn't cuddle or hug this much. His little fingers were grasping her nightgown so tightly that his knuckles were starkly pale compared to the pale pink of the rest of his skin.

"Nothin'," He sat slightly, just enough to turn his head and body, settling back against her with his other ear pressed against her stomach where the other one had been just seconds before. "Mama," He twisted his tiny fingers through the fabric, a small pout crossing his small pink lips, "Brother wants green eggs, no monsters!"

A small frown crossed her lips as she adjusted herself, switching the book into her other hand, "You don't want to read about Grover? I thought you loved this book." Grover had been Dean's favorite iSesame Street/i character since he snuck too many cookies a couple months ago and ended up with a tummy ache. His fascination with Cookie Monster had been spectacularly curbed with those events.

"I ido!/i" Dean insisted, head vigorously nodding. "Brother is scared!"

"Brother?"

Dean nodded again, burrowing his face into her nightgown, just above her stomach. "Brother scared."

Mary switched books, opting to read the aforementioned iGreen Eggs and Ham/i over iMonster at the End of the Book/i. She didn't think too much of it, not till later anyway and even then it was just a meandering thought about coincidences. After all, most of the kids at Dean's play group had siblings or pregnant parents and Mrs. Peterson across the street was nearing the end of her pregnancy. Mary had been forced to explain to her son just a few days ago that no, Mrs. Peterson was not ifat/i she was ipregnant/i and just what the difference was between the two. All that discussion had resulted in was a confused little boy who would loudly ask in the supermarket if a lady (and once a man) was pregnant.

All in all, Mary didn't think much of it. Dean was just one of those kids who wanted a little sibling and, nine months later, he was lucky enough to have one.

Missouri

A few months after a mysterious fire in the nursery of their home killed his wife Mary, John met Missouri. Missouri was a psychic. She wasn't the most powerful in her area of expertise- mind reading- but her abilities had been passed down through her family line so she knew a little something about a lot of somethings. She knew enough to tell John the truth about what happened three months ago in his home, or at least the basics. Missouri could also tell that there was something different about his children the first time she met them.

He had two children; a five year old named Dean with freckles and large ears that stuck out from his side beneath a flop of white blond hair that badly needed a cut as it hid his bright green eyes from view and an infant, Sam. When she met them, the oldest was holding onto his little brother, arms wrapped tightly around him, little knuckles white where they grasped securely into worn fabric of second hand baby clothes. Sam in turn griped onto his brother, fingers gripping clothing or hair with a gentle strength. Dean never complained when Sam's fingers tangled into his locks, and Sam never tugged or pulled unless John tried to remove him from his brother's grasp.

Missouri never saw them more than a few feet apart. She could never be sure just how interwoven they were, thoughts and tangles of emotions passing between them. It was difficult to tell where one boy ended and the other began.

She didn't say anything, choosing to stay quiet, sending a prayer up to whoever would listen. Without a doubt, she knew that those two boys would have a difficult road ahead. Their destinies were woven before they had even been born, souls intertwined into the tapestry of life in a manner that few could ever be able to comprehend.

Mrs. Matthewson

Sighing, Mrs. Matthewson stared down at the curled up lumps of little kids strewn through the room on shaggy squares of sample carpeting. It was nap time, a half hour time slot she put aside for her kindergartners to rest their eyes before they finished off the day with other activities. This was the first year that she'd taught the little ones, always preferring to stick to the upper grades- fourth and fifth- in previous years. She enjoyed being able to have the conversations and discussions that the older grades afforded. She also preferred to teach math, history, and grammar over the crafts and activities the five and six year olds delved into.

"Mrs. Matt'son?" A soft voice broke her out of her thoughts. Turning to the side, she noticed Dean Winchester standing to her right, his square of carpet held in a white knuckled grasp in front of him. She blinked, surprised to see him of all the little kids in front of her.

Dean was a quiet little boy, had been since the death of his mother according to his father. She hadn't heard him speak in the two months he'd been in her class. His cheeks were flushed a slight pale pink beneath a scattering of freckles, eyes wide and slightly watery around the edges.

"Yes Dean?" She sat up straighter, one eyebrow rising. "Why aren't you taking your nap?"

"I'm gonna go," Dean bit his lip, exposing the fact that he was missing one tooth to the right of his front teeth. "Dad and Sammy are coming."

Glancing up at the brightly colored, craft supply themed clock across the room, Mrs. Matthewson frowned. "You still have two hours before the end of the day, Dean," She turned back to him and smiled, one hand ruffling his hair as she stood. "Let's get you settled back down. We still have another ten minutes before craft time-" She was cut off by the sound of a knock on the door before it was pushed open. Half her class lifted their heads up from their arms, blinking at the office secretary who stood in the door.

"Mindy?" Mrs. Matthewson paused, her hand settling onto Dean's shoulder.

"Mr. Winchester is here to pick up his son, Dean. There's a family emergency, apparently."

She'd wonder later how Dean knew, but that was the last time she saw the little boy as his father was transferred out of town. His face blurred over time, forgotten amongst a sea of other bright eyed, youthful faces and any questions that might have crossed her mind were forgotten behind a myriad of other, more interesting memories.

Pastor Jim

Jim helped a lot of hunters over the years; some had families, others were alone, but all of them shared knowledge and told stories. He had his favorites, admittedly, men who were better friends and people who were more like family than just people he happened to salt and burn skeletons, bless homes, or perform exorcisms with. Of all the hunters he'd met, John Winchester and his boys were the closest people to family he'd ever had.

They'd stay with him, on occasion. He had a house, large and empty without a family of his own, on the same property as the church he served at. For years, he was the only pastor there, following the death of the former senior pastor. He didn't mind though, explaining his activities tended to be rather difficult when the younger generation, most without a clue about the supernatural, drifted in to learn the ropes. It was very difficult to explain the arsenal downstairs, and that wasn't something he wanted to do often.

When Sam turned five, just two years after Jim met the Winchesters, he invited them to stay in the upper level of his home for the school year. John had been injured on a hunt, leg broken by an unruly poltergeist that the man had attempted to take on by himself. It was difficult for Dean, only nine at the time, to take care of both his little brother and his father. Jim didn't think that it was right for John to put either responsibility on the boy, no matter what type of life they lived.

So he opened his doors to the small, broken family, giving Sam a semi-stable home to start his first year of school at. If Jim had thought the boys had been reliant on each other before, seeing them day in and out was nothing short of shocking.

Dean always knew what Sam wanted, could get it before Sam every said a single word. They always knew where the other was, often finished each other's sentences, and spoke in broken sentences, half formed thoughts, and single words to each other if they even bothered to speak at all.

It was worrying, how wrapped up into each other they were, but John wouldn't hear it and couldn't see it. Jim only tried twice to speak to the other hunter about it before giving up. He prayed about it, lifting his worries up to heaven and hoping that God would see the boys through the tough life that was laid out in front of them. They weren't his sons to try and change, and John wasn't going to listen to the parenting advice of a celibate bachelor or change how he treated his sons.

Jim taught them as much as he could about God, the world, and love. Two months before the end of the school year he watched, sadness and worry gripping his heart, as Dean and Sam grasped hands tightly, knuckles white, as they trudged up the gravel walk to the door of the Impala, already moving on to the next place, John having grown impatient to get a move on and not wanting to leave his family for more than a few days at a time in order to continue the hunt.

Claire

Biting her lip, Claire leaned back against the wall of lockers, eyes trained down the hall. Her fingers nervously slipped over the fabric of her skirt, smoothing out wrinkles and wiping away the slight moisture caused by her nerves. The dance was only a week away and this was probably her only chance to ask Dean to go with her. She'd been worrying over it for days, but she knew through the gossip mill that he hadn't accepted any of the other invitations.

Running her tongue over her teeth, she visibly lit up as she saw Dean finally open the door down the hall. They were lab partners in chemistry during seventh period, so she knew that he walked over to the middle school next door to pick up is little brother every day before going to his locker. She wasn't entirely sure why he did it that way, but she was glad he did. It gave her time to ask him without worrying about crowds of kids whispering and giggling in the background.

Trailing right behind him, one had wrapped around the strap of his backpack was Dean's little brother. The eleven or twelve, Claire wasn't entirely sure which, year old was chatting up a storm, mouth moving a mile a minute as he followed his big brother. Dean, in turn, was nodding, making a show of listening as he opened his locker.

Swallowing hard, Claire pushed herself away from the lockers and gathered herself for the task at hand. Stalking forward she narrowed her attention to Dean's face, painting a smile on her own and hoping that her makeup was still as perfect as it had been just minutes ago when she checked in the mirror hanging up in her own locker. Her shoes, a strappy pair of high heels she'd stolen from her older sister's closet, clicked against the shiny cement floor.

By the time she reached them, both Dean and his little brother's eyes were on her. A blush stained her cheeks as she came to a stop in front of them, only partially due to the intense glare Dean's brother was sending her way.

"H-hey Dean," She fidgeted, fingers tensing and twisting in the fabric of her shirt till her knuckles turned white.

"Hey Claire," Dean smiled at her, flashing perfectly white teeth as his eyes glanced quickly over her. If anything the look caused her blush to worsen. "What's up? Did I forget about a project for Chem?"

"No!" She shook her head, averting her eyes to the side as she steeled herself "I, uh, will-you-go-to-Sadie-Hawkins-with-me?"

She met his eyes then, just in time to see the smile fade from them. He glanced quickly at his little brother, who rolled his eyes, letting out a little huffing sigh. Claire glanced at the preteen before turning her attention back to Dean.

Dean sighed, "I'm sorry Claire, I can't. You should ask Jason, he really wants to go with you."

And really, no one could blame her for only nodding before turning on her heel and disappearing down the hall, eyes flooding with tears. Dean wasn't really sorry; she knew that for a fact. The fact that Jason accepted her invitation and bought her a nice meal and ended up being the most perfect date she could ever imagine didn't stop the sting that occurred when she saw Dean at the arcade with his little brother as she and Jason left the local diner on the way to the dance.

Caleb

Caleb had met a lot of hunters over the years, families, couples, partners, and individuals. All of them had different styles and opinions. Some had hunted together for decades prior to meeting him; none of them had anything on Dean and Sam Winchester.

It shocked him sometimes, how the teens, well Sam was still a teenager, seventeen and still growing, while Dean had just recently turned twenty two, could work so perfectly together. There were no questions, no misses, ever. They were perfectly in sync and always knew where the other was. They had a language all their own, one that he could barely follow and John ignored or didn't notice. It was English, but at best it was as if what they spoke aloud was only half of the conversation.

He liked them, liked John, but the unnatural closeness of the siblings was a bit unnerving. That was something that both Caleb and Pastor Jim agreed on one of the few times they discussed the Winchesters over the years. But, no matter how odd Dean and Sam were, there was no other group of hunters Caleb would rather have watching his back.

John

John ignored it, them, his sons, for years. He ignored it till he could ignore it no longer, and even then he didn't want to admit the possibilities in front of him. Sam was eighteen when it all came to a head; bright eyed, beyond intelligent, and extremely strong willed. He was a lot like John, only his passion was directed entirely at school and the vision of a normal life- something that John had given up on in favor of directing his own passion towards vengeance.

It was late in the spring, not a week after Sam's high school graduation, which John had missed due to a revenant, when it happened. Sam and Dean had entered through the back door, laughing and teasing each other while discussing an action movie they had just gone to see, a treat Dean provided from his earnings as a mechanic at a nearby shop. His earnings paid for everything from the rent to food to ammo. John hadn't earned money in any way that didn't involve cards or pool in years, a fact that he was rather ashamed to admit.

He loved his boys, loved them dearly, but life had taken him away from them. It might have been, was, his fault in many ways, but he couldn't change that now. His sons were grown up, adults, strong and ready to help him full time in fight.

John wouldn't realize till after Sam was gone and come back, just how much he had lost when his youngest walked out that door, heading to college. With Sam's absence Dean had been half a person, attention constantly wandering as he stared off into the distance. It would be two years before Dean's attention was fully at the task at hand. That only happened after a two month disappearance and the news that Sam had a girlfriend reached his ears.

Four years after that, standing in a graveyard as nothing more than a spirit, John saw and understood for the first time his children and how interconnected they were. He saw, smiled, and accepted before finding peace with himself and the life he'd led.

Sam and Dean

Sitting together in a motel room wasn't anything new; it was something they'd done for years hundreds, thousands of times. This time, though, they were naked, kneeling face to face on a single, king size bed. The comforter was worn and soft against their knees and toes, their eyes were locked together, hazel and green. The lights were off in the room, the only light coming from a single candle on the night stand and the occasional headlights from a passing car.

Words weren't needed, to be entirely honest they never had been. Sam reached out with one hand, his long fingers brushed over his older brother's cheek, down his neck and over his shoulder, settling on the curve where a hand print had been burned into the skin.

Dean's eyes slid shut at the feel of Sam's touch, his breath releasing in a long sigh. Words drifted between them, feelings and emotions as Sam's other hand twined with his, fingers slotting together and palms pressing tightly till their knuckles stood out white in the pale light. Since coming back from hell, there had been a tension between them, one that had never existed between them- not even during the years they'd been separated while Sam was at college. The connection between them was frayed and strained, not broken but they hadn't been in sync since Castiel brought him back. Their relationship had fallen apart, the unwavering trust dissipated leaving them torn and broken.

It wasn't until they checked in on Missouri, one of many people they were visiting while searching for some way, any way other than The Colt, to get rid of the devil, that they found out what was wrong. She had been shocked and worried, had set them down immediately to ilecture/i them. Their souls, essence, everything about them were interconnected in ways that words could not begin to express. As she said, "You two are the closest thing to soul mates I've ever seen!" After hours spent listening to her and letting her study their connection, she had come up with some advice on how to fix things; advice that sounded a lot like therapy that would lead to 'chick flick moments' to Dean.

One way or another it worked, slowly, and led them to where they were now, inaked/i and kneeling together on a bed in the dark, relearning each other in the one way they had been unable to since Dean's return: physically. Before, they had been children, growing up side by side without barriers. Dean had known everything about Sam and his body and, in turn, Sam had learned everything about his big brother. They were adults when Dean returned and societal barriers, in part, kept them from learning that which had been second nature to them only months before.

Dean could feel it then, the presence that had been just barely there for the year he'd been back on Earth. It was stronger, finally, but still nowhere near what it had been. As Sam's fingers curled over Castiel's mark, Dean's eyes flickered over, meeting his little brother's intense hazel gaze.

In one motion they moved, pressing together and laying down all at once, thighs brushing thighs, nipples against skin, and dicks sliding against hip bones and over stomach muscles before they settled. Their hands broke apart, moving to slide over skin and explore each other. Heat flushed over cheeks and backs of necks, but neither looked away, both choosing to face this head on. Breath panted out as hands explored and caressed and learned. They could feel each other's embarrassment, anxiety, and excitement. They could feel ieverything/i.

It wasn't a conscious decision that had Sam pressing Dean's hands above his head, their lips crashing together, his body weighing down his older brother's and legs settling between Dean's thighs. Keening up into his brother's kiss, Dean arched his body, a leg rising up to wrap around the back of Sam's thigh. They rocked together, bodies as intimately entwined as their minds and souls. They were thankful then, as one, that Missouri had shoved a small bag with a box of condoms and lube in it towards them- something both of them had been equally embarrassed and startled about.

By the time they came, bodies connected in a manner they never had been before- Sam buried as deeply physically inside Dean as he was mentally- they were once again whole, just as connected as they had been over half a century earlier when Mary was reading Dean the story of Sam-I-am and Green Eggs and Ham.