Summary: It was irrational, but sometimes John was almost jealous of Dean. It seemed as though every one of Sam's firsts belonged to him. That was truer than he knew. From the wee!chesters to wincest.
A/N: …how did this start? I didn't even realize I shipped wincest. /:
Also, fair warning: I switch tenses for no particular reason, from present to past and back. Sorry, but I'm too lazy to edit it.
Warnings: Erm, extreme brotherly love? And not proofread, because my bffl who normally does this stuff A. Doesn't watch Supernatural, and B. Will laugh at me forever when she finds out I wrote this. Fml.
Disclaimer: Owning supernatural would scare me. We're this crey-crey, fan base, you see, and I'd be torn between having Dean make out with Castiel or go make out with Sam or just wander around shirtless with fluffy puppies. So I don't own it.
The motel room was, John admitted, a nasty one. The floor was dirty. There were cracks on the TV screen. The bathroom had a foul smell in it, and he had to remember to tell the boys not to drink the water here. The worst part was the leaking roof.
But it would do. Dean had already put Sammy on the less leaky bed and stacked pillows around him as a makeshift crib. The baby's eyes followed Dean around the apartment as Dean unscrewed a jar of applesauce.
John felt a stir of pride. His boys knew what they were doing.
"I'm heading out tomorrow." Dean blinked and looked up. John could see surprise in those eyes-Mary's eyes. "It's thundering out tonight Dean. Bad visibility is more a problem for humans."
"Oh." Dean returned to the applesauce. John sat down and turned on the television. It had all of two channels, and the picture was terrible. He kept most of his attention on his sons. Dean was cross-legged on one of the pillows, feeding Sam applesauce. John could just hear murmured words.
"That's a boy Sammy. Eat up. I'll find you some peaches soon, and we can go to the store and get them." Dean wiped Sam's chin with the spoon. John watched. Dean didn't seem to need any help. Sam was eerily silent for a baby.
"Is he always so quiet?" John felt guilty asking. It was one of the things he really should have known himself, but how often did he feed Sam?
"No." Dean swiveled around. The applesauce was nearly empty. "He's usually a pain in the butt." John snorted. Dean pushed himself off the bed and padded to the kitchen to toss the can in the sink.
It was disconcerting how Sam's eyes followed him. And how Dean walked so that his back was never fully turned to the baby.
"Don't drink the water here Dean, use the bottled stuff."
"Yes sir." Dean returned to Sam and lay down on his stomach next to Sam. Sam was almost two now. John really needed to check whether or not it was healthy for Sam not to be speaking. "Are there cartoons?"
"Nope." John turned it off entirely. Who was sleeping with whom wasn't interesting enough to warrant upping their bill. "C'mere. I'll teach you how to play poker."
"Alright!" Dean grabbed Sam and trotted over to the couch. There was a crummy foldout table in a corner, which John pulled out. He tossed all of his spare change on the table.
"Poker, Dean, is a great game. It's also a gambling game. Do you have anything to put on the table?" Dean, wide eyed, pulled out his own pile of change. Sam had been put on his lap.
Awhile later, John was trying to remember why he'd thought teaching a five year old poker was a good idea. Dean was mouthing his card numbers as he figured them out. John decided it really wasn't worth it to point that out to him.
"Dean, how about I teach you a different game?" Dean nodded obediently. "The…" John's stomach rumbled. "The dinner game."
If John was hungry, Dean had to be starving. Dean cocked his head.
"How do you play?"
"We…" John fumbled in his pockets for a pair of dice. "See these dice? Each number stands for a different pizza topping. We roll each of them to see which two we get."
Dean watched in fascination as John rolled. Luckily, John was good with sleights of hand. The combination was bacon and sausage.
The rain pattered down harder as they ate. Dean was with Sam on the bed now-rain dribbled through the roof where the couch was. John settled himself on his own bed with his slices of pizza and scribbled down notes on ghosts. Sam was leaning on Dean's knee, half asleep. John couldn't look at them without smiling.
They were adorable.
Dean slipped out from under Sam once he was done with the pizza and put his brother back in the makeshift crib. Sam whimpered.
"I'll be right back Sam." Dean padded into the kitchen to toss the box.
With the incredibly bad timing that plagued all Winchesters, it was then that thunder boomed. Sam shrieked.
"Dean! Dean!" Dean bolted for Sam. "Dean!"
Dean leapt onto the bed and was cradling Sam in his arms before John had even moved. John spent a moment being stunned at Dean's reflexes. That boy was going to be a truly amazing hunter one day.
"Shh, it's fine Sammy. Just thunder. I'm here." Sam buried his face in Dean's chest. John got up and put an arm around Dean. Dean burrowed into his embrace, Sam firmly clutched in his arms. Sam's cries subsided into whimpers.
"Was that his first word?" John felt he shouldn't have had to ask. But maybe Sam's first words hadn't been his brother's name. Maybe they'd been something along the lines of "Daddy".
"Yeah!" Dean smiled at Sam in delight. "Say something else Sammy!"
"Dean." Sam seemed content with repeating his brother's name. John denied any jealousy.
He was exhausted. And disgusting. The hunt hadn't gone well, except that the monster was killed. At point blank range, thus splattering John with blood and guts and bits of fur.
So when he tramped into the house they were renting, he didn't notice it at first. He just headed for the sink to get some of the grime off his face.
"Daddy!" Sam said from somewhere around his knees. John grunted.
Then it occurred to him. Dean was watching the vicinity of his knees with even more hawk eyed precision that usual. And there was a little hand tugging at his jacket.
"Sam! You're walking!" He dropped to one knee and examined Sam. Yes, Sam was wobbling around on two feet. "Congratulations."
He looked over the boy's shoulder at Dean, raising his eyebrows.
"Few hours after you left." That's it. That's all he was going to get of Sam's first steps.
With Dean, it had been different. He'd been with Mary, watching TV and letting their baby boy crawl around, when Dean grabbed a coffee table and pushed himself to his feet. John got to watch his hand let go, watch Dean carry his own weight.
All he has with Sam is this. John watched Sam totter back to Dean. Dean pushed aside the comic book he was pouring over and lifted Sam onto a chair beside him. John went to change his clothes and wonder what Sam's first steps had been like.
He was willing to bet a million dollars they were towards Dean.
First Serious Wound
John arrived at the rendezvous late. He got the monster, and Dean and Sam were under orders to not move. He was totally unprepared to see the space where the impala was supposed to be parked spattered with blood, an enormous puddle with little scraps of clothing mixed in.
He froze for a second then rushed forward. The impala was gone, which meant one of the boys should have been alive. But to leave without him?
That thought didn't occur until later. At the moment, John unfroze himself and looked for clues. One set of footsteps marred the blood. Then…there. He crouched down, the sickly sweet smell in his nostrils.
Dad gone to hospital Dean The note had been traced in blood. Dean must not have had any paper on him, or a pen. John shivered as he imagined his elder son, his son who really wasn't so old, bending down to scratch this message while his brother bled.
Or while he himself was bleeding, but John doubted that. Dean could have been dying and he would have waited at the rendezvous point until John got there.
If Sam was hurt, on the other hand…well Sam was another story.
Dean was also the only one of the two who could drive. Drive like a motherfucker when he wanted to. John sat back on heels and wondered where they would have went. Hospital, probably.
One other thing. What had hurt him? John realized with a surge of horror and disbelief that he'd let himself be distracted. The monster might still be there! He warily looked around.
No, it was gone. John stepped closer to the corpse to make sure it was dead, but only as ingrained hunter caution. It was really no more than a furry pulp. Dean or Sam seemed to have bludgeoned it's head with the blunt end of a gun.
John went to flag down a taxi. It was difficult-the large gun was pretty obvious, even under his coat-but finally one was convinced by John yelling after him that he'd pay double fare. In cash.
The closest hospital was almost fifteen minutes away, even with a maniacal taxi driver. John was thinking Dean could do it in seven minutes, if he was really scared. John paid the guy, who looked quite cheerful to have not gotten shot and actually gotten his double fare, and spotted the Impala in the parking lot.
The passenger seat was soaked in blood, and the gears were sticky to the touch. John stowed the gun in the trunk and hurried into the hospital.
"I'm John Winchester, here for" he took a guess "Sam Winchester?"
"Do you have proof of kin?" John wished he hadn't bothered to stash the gun. No one made you wait to see your own damn son if you had a gun.
"Dad!" Dean plunged down the corridor. His shirt was drenched in blood, and some was smeared over his face. John pushed past the nurse to clutch his son's shoulders.
"Are you and Sam okay?" Dean was also very pale. John shook him. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah. They stitched up Sam's side…I had to give blood, he'd lost so much. The grizzly came on us so suddenly…are you mad that I didn't stay?" If Dean was coherent enough to have fed the hospital a decent cover, neither could be dying.
Fuck that. If Dean wasn't at Sam's side right then, Sam was peacefully sleeping. John shook his head.
"No Dean. You were looking after your brother, that's exactly what you're supposed to do." John let his eyes narrow. "A grizzly caught you unaware?"
"We heard it with you. There must have been two of them." Dean looked ashamed anyways. John wasn't really good at alleviating Dean's guilt, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to. Sam was almost killed.
Let them sort it out. Dean's clearly punished himself enough, Sam could give him one of those eerie half telepathic pep talks. John turned to the nurse.
"Is he okay?" John was sure that Sam wass fine, but no normal parent would be convinced just by Dean. The nurse nodded.
"We had to give him a lot of stitches, but he's going to be fine." She shook her head. "Your sons gave us a fright. He came in with Sam in his arms and both of them just dripping blood…" She shuddered. "Let me tell you, they were moved right up to the front of the ER line."
John really didn't care. But he smiled politely. "Can I see him?"
"Sure. There are just some forms…" John took them. He was familiar with the hospital routine. Just not the Sam hospital routine. While he was signing, Dean disappeared. He found him sitting next to Sam's bed.
"He's not looking too bad." John volunteered. Dean nodded. One of Sam's hands was clasped in his. Sometimes John worried about how close his sons are. But they'd only had each other, so it's to be expected.
Sam woke soon after. He blinked, and mumbled "Dean?"
"I'm here Sammy." Dean rubbed Sam's hand and leaned over the bed. He was careful not to touch the stitches. "How do you feel?"
"Fabulous." Sam said. "Like I could win Olympic gold. Dean, that-"
"Ha ha." Dean squeezed Sam's hands. Hard. "Dad's here."
"Dad?" Sam's gaze slid over to him. "Did you get the monster?"
"Yes Sam." John surveyed his son. Sam looked uncomfortable. Dean looked like he was locking some thoughts away. John only wished he knew what the thoughts were.
But that, it seems, is outside of his fatherly privileges.
The Firsts John knew nothing about:
Sam had shared a bed with Dean most of his life. The hotel rooms with two beds were cheaper than three beds, and easier to find. So having Dean sprawled next to him, always between him and the door, was a fact of life. It was a comforting warmth, a heartbeat to listen to, scars to trace whenever he had a nightmare. Sometimes, Dean would wake up and turn over to talk to him, whispers that were as intimate to Sam as every hug he shared with Dad.
Sam tossed and turned, panting.
Dean. Dean's hands, warm experienced hands, tracing down his hips. Seizing his buttocks. His hands dragging over a toned chest, erections rubbing. Dean's mouth on his, Dean's eyes hot as they surveyed him from under lowered lashes, Dean's cock throbbing on his thigh.
Sam woke with a start. His chest was heaving.
"Sammy?" Dean's voice did nothing to help the enormous hard on. Thank everything that was holy that Dean was sleepy, that the room was dark, that he was wearing pants. "You have a nightmare?"
"Yes-it's-nothing." Sam sputtered out. He didn't have an ordinary family, he was fully aware of that. But having wet dreams about one's older brother even surpassed the Winchester levels of abnormal. "I'm going to go to the bathroom now bye."
Sam hopped out of bed, keeping his back to Dean. Dean sat up (coverings trailing around him like some god of temptation) and frowned. "You okay?"
"Yes-go-back-to-sleep!" Sam bolted into the bathroom and slammed the door. Oh God.
Sexual attraction. To Dean.
Sam knew perfectly well that Dean was everything, his brother, his protector, his world. But fuck was Dean's voice turning him on, and fuck that was a vivid wet dream. Sam stared mournfully at the bulge in his pants, hoping it would go away. He could not masturbate thinking about Dean. No way.
Nor could Dean know about this. Dean would flip. Hell, Dean might tell Dad. Dad would flip harder. Sam would probably get sent to jail! Or to be exorcised-
Hey, that was an idea. Maybe he was possessed. Sam wondered if you could be possessed and not know it. Maybe? No. Probably not. And Dean wouldn't have let him be possessed.
"It would be a demon with a sick sense of humor to do this anyway." Sam muttered. He rubbed his brow. "Never have to tell. Never."
After all, this would go away. Maybe everybody just had a first wet dream about somebody they knew well. He saw more of Dean's chest (and liked it) than that of any girl. His subconscious just pulled out the familiar.
All the same, Sam started demanding his own bed.
First kiss (Immediately following First Serious Wound)
Sam is sort of unsure how this happened. One second he was next to Dean, waiting for Dad, then he's in pain and something has done something awful to his side and now he's lying on the ground.
The sky is pretty today. There's noise off to his right, and it sounds like Dean is dispatching the monster. By the thumps and whimpers, he's hitting it with a blunt weapon.
Sam is okay with that. After all, something just clawed his side, and it's pretty painful. Dean can enact all the righteous vengeance he wants to. Sam is very much cool with that.
The thing dies. Sam knows because he hears Dean feet making little splashy noises in the blood. Dean flings himself down next to Sam.
"Sammy? Sammy?" Dean is sounding really scared. Now Sam is starting to be scared. Especially since he can't seem to talk properly.
"Dean" he gets it out, but it's really hard to. He hears Dean mumble a word under his breath. It's a new one. Dean twists around like he's looking for Dad.
Dad isn't there. Dean curses, again, and wow, Sam's vocabulary is just going up and up today. Dean dabs a message into the blood. Sam thinks morbidly that Dad might have a heart attack when he sees it, and then he'd be found in a pool of blood with no wound. A nice puzzle for the police.
"C'mon, Sammy…" Dean hefts him up. Sam hisses, because the pain just turned white hot and it sinks in that Dean is moving him. Dean is putting him in the Impala. Dean is disobeying Dad.
He might be dying. That's enough to terrify Sam, and as Dean climbs into the Impala, he thinks that he doesn't want to die like this. He wants to die in Dean's arms. Nevermind that it's a selfish desire, Sam is the one dying here and he can choose how he wants to do it!
"Dean" he tried to move an arm to Dean. Dean staunched the blood flow, somehow, Sam thinks Dean's jacket might have been used, but that's not relevant. Only one arm will move. Dean turns to him with a stricken expression.
Sam is relieved to note that dying does not change the power of the puppy dog eyes.
Dean wraps an arm around him. It makes driving more dangerous, especially at the speeds they're going (dying also doesn't impair his vision. He's just getting foggy headed). But it might have occurred to Dean that Sam is dying and maybe he wants to hold Sam?
It's a comforting thought to die on. Then Sam thinks that he's going to die with a horribly unfulfilled life. He'll never have done any of those fantasies with Dean. Granted, he didn't expect to, but he won't even get to try?
Sam mulls over the injustice of the world as Dean drives, and cuddles Dean's arm.
Then another thing occurs-he's actually dying. So really, he can do whatever he wants. No consequences at all. The light headed thing is increasing too. Dean slams on the breaks and grabs Sam to haul him into wherever they're going. Sam can't think where they would be going. It's all a blur.
But he does see Dean's face. And Dean's ever so kissable lips, even if the world wouldn't look favorably on Sam's minor obsession with those lips. Sam tips his head up and manages to kiss Dean.
There. He can die happy now. Sam passes out as Dean picks him up.
He comes to in a hospital bed. First there's a moment of "Holy God, I'm Alive". Then there's "Dean is Holding My Hand". Both are pleasant thoughts.
"Dean?" Dean rubs his hands. It really feels nice.
"Hey Sammy. How do you feel?" He moves so Sam can see his face. Sam is elated-Dean was afraid for him! Then sanity kicks in.
What did he do? Sam's mouth is dry. He kissed his brother. He's dead. His mouth is moving, saying something half sarcastic half drug muddled. He's also trying to figure out a way to apologize for kissing his brother and at the same time justify it and promise to never ever do it again as long as Dean promises not to leave.
"Fabulous. Like I could win Olympic gold. Dean, that-"
"Ha ha." Dean squeezes Sam's hands. Hard. "Dad's here."
Oh. Then the kiss is a very off limits topic. Sam has a suspicion it will stay that way for the rest of their lives. He can live with that if it means Dean will be there for the rest of his life.
"Dad?" Sam's gaze slides over to him. His father looks tired. "Did you get the monster?"
"Yes Sam." Sam can go back to sleep then. Dean still hasn't snatched his hands away. Maybe he thought the kiss was a freaky Sam-is-bleeding-to-death accident.
Dean can believe whatever he wants.
As long as he's still there.
It is quite embarrassing that, at 17, Sam is still having nightmares. They don't come about as often, and normally Sam can just slip a hand to the knife under his pillow and go back to sleep.
This one however, was bad. It wakes Sam up with his heart pounding and breath heaving and being so, so, afraid. Afraid that Dean is gone. That had been the nightmare-Dean was somewhere, somewhere below him, and he couldn't get to his brother. Dean was enduring unspeakable agony.
For a second, as Sam jerks his head towards Dean's bed, he doesn't see him. Sam panics and lunges out of bed, only to realize that Dean is just curled up under the blankets and in the shadows.
Still. Sam is scared and now he isn't in his bed he's standing in the middle of the floor and he feels horribly exposed. He still hasn't been able to throw off the nightmare. Sam does the only thing he can think of and pads towards Dean's bed.
"Dean?" Dean grunts. "Can I sleep here?"
"Dude, what?" Dean's eyes open and he sits up. Sam sort of wishes that he and Dean didn't both sleep shirtless. He feels pitiful. "What's wrong?"
"I had a nightmare. It was really bad…can I please stay with you?" Sam needs to be assured that Dean is with him. Dad isn't here, he's out hunting, and won't be back for at least a day. Sam, in this moment, doesn't even want Dean in the normal hungry and lustful way. He just wants Dean's solid presence, like when they were kids.
"Yeah, sure." Dean doesn't even add an insult, so he probably sees how genuinely upset Sam is. He wiggles over to make room for Sam. Sam gratefully climbs into the bed. At least it's small enough that him being pressed up against Dean isn't obviously by choice.
Sam relaxes, and exhales a puff of air on Dean's back. Dean is here. He noses the back of Dean's neck, inhaling the scent. Dean is completely tense. Sam can feel each muscle clenched.
Great. He's made his relationship with his brother awkward. Fine, as long as Sam isn't kicked out of the bed. He needs to be close to Dean right now. But still, as the nightmare fades, it starts to occur to Sam that he's in bed with Dean.
In bed with Dean. Who he's been lusting after for about five years. Sam shifts and wonders where to put his hands. They would fit perfectly on those curves in Dean's hips that Sam so enjoys looking at, but he can't very well put them there. That isn't brotherly.
Sam also can't think of anywhere else to put them. So, very tentatively and after way to much internal debate, Sam rests a hand on the smooth skin that is Dean's hip. Dean reacts with a violent jerk.
He doesn't say a word though. And he might have gotten even tenser. Sam wonders what the hell is wrong with him. Dean is being even more awkward than Sam is. As Sam exhales onto Dean's neck again, Dean twitches involuntarily.
Wait. Dean is being just as uncomfortable as Sam would be if Dean climbed into bed with him.
His heart starts to pound. Dean can probably hear it. Sam hesitantly moves his hand, stroking it down Dean's leg. Dean shudders. Sam touches his shoulder with the other hand.
"Dean?" Dean groans. "Dude." Sam, because he desperately needs a bit more proof, and hardly dares hope that this weird wrong this might be mutual, presses his lips to Dean's shoulder.
That does it. Dean twists around and grabs both of Sam's wrists, panting. The bed is small enough that Sam feels his erection, and see the wild look in his brother's eyes. Dean holds them there for a moment, then closes his eyes. He releases Sam and rolls over, so his back is to Sam again.
"I'm sorry." Sam's mouth opens and closes. Dean buries his face in the pillow, and his breath is harsh.
"Wait, for what?" Sam runs a hand over Dean's chest. Dean shakes his head.
"I'm not taking advantage of you." Dean says it quietly. The statement is so absurd that it stuns Sam into silence. The only sound is Dean's ragged breathing and Sam's heartbeat, which still pounds.
"…I've been having wet dreams about you since I was thirteen, I've been trying not to watch you change for longer, and I came to you." Sam's voice is incredulous. "Believe me, you are not taking advantage." If anything, Sam thinks it's the opposite.
"Wait, what?" Dean twists and stares at Sam. Sam does absolutely nothing to disguise the pure lust he's feeling right now. "You want…"
"Need." Sam corrects him. His pants are almost painful right now. Dean's panting and twisting is more arousing than any hooker Sam has seen. "Please."
"Oh." Dean is silent, and Sam imagines a massive internal crisis. "Okay."
That's all the warning he gets. Then Dean has pushed him down and is kissing him, kissing him hard, and oh god, this is everything Sam could have wanted. Dean is every bit as good a kisser as Sam imagined.
Then Dean's fingers are yanking at the waistband of his pants, and Sam's mind is blown all over again. He remembers fumbling at Dean's crotch and with Dean's pants, and Dean's hot laugh as he gets them off himself. Sam would be embarrassed about his inexperience, if Dean wasn't biting down his chest and destroying Sam's rather mighty brainpower.
After that, it is frankly indescribable. Sam doesn't know how Dean got that bottle of lube, or when, but it was there and in his hand and Sam is glad because that fucking hurt, for all the pleasure. The pleasure outweighed the pain by a good margin, even though this is rather brutal sex. There are way too many years of pent up tension for it to be playful.
Once they're lying in a haze of sated desire and Sam doesn't even care that he's disgusting and sticky, he thinks that Dean would probably be a very playful lover. But now Dean is being quiet, one hand playing with Sam's hair and the other slung over his stomach.
"Really, thirteen?" Sam should've known the moment was too serene.
"Shut up Dean. I'm enjoying the moment." It's a rather glorious moment. He's comfortable and he's in Dean's arms, and he's had sex with the person he longed for ever since he hit puberty.
"You're such a girl." Dean is smirking as he says it. Sam snorts and shifts his backside. He's feeling pretty damn tender down there, and Dean had better be willing to pander to his will because Dean doesn't sound tender at all. He sounds…outwardly flippant, inwardly amazed.
"Shut up Dean, or this is never happening again." Dean hmpfs but shuts up. He begins idly tracing patterns up and down Sam's chest instead. Sam stretches, feeling lazy, and gets to hear Dean's appreciative sound as his chest muscles flex.
He could get used to this.
First Heart he broke
It took a long time for the weirdness of the fact that he was sleeping with his brother to sink it. At first Sam was caught up in the pure awesomeness, and the hilarity of him being able to withhold sex and Dean instantly submitting to his will. That's how they pick restaurants now. Sam has even mastered a look that he can give Dean when Dad's around, which reminds Dean that Sam will totally not agree to a quickie in the Impala if Dean doesn't shut the hell up.
It's really amazing. But it doesn't last. After all, Sam is smart, and he starts to think about his future.
He wants to be with Dean, yeah. But there are teachers, who hand him packets about college, and school friends who talk excitedly about future careers, and Sam thinks past hunting. Thinks that he's smart, and could do more.
So could Dean. But Dean is very much under the dominance of Dad, who is also very much opposed to Sam doing anything he doesn't permit. After awhile, being with Dean gains an edge because Dad doesn't know and this is something that for once is outside of Dad's control.
That isn't all it is. It really isn't, because Sam was in love with Dean long before he resented Dad to this degree. But it's very possible Dean will think that was all it was to Sam, once his lover is gone.
As Sam gathers college forms and puts in applications, and grimly works his way to a scholarship, and doesn't tell, Dean gets quieter. Sam thinks that Dean knows something is coming.
But Sam wants this. This thing where he doesn't spend his life hunting. This college thing won't work for Dean. For one, Dean won't defy Dad. Sam bitterly wonders whether, if Dad did find about them, Dean would never touch him again. Just so long as he had Dad's approval.
Sam receives his letter with a shock. He's got a full scholarship. He can leave.
This means he's leaving Dean. Leaving Dean. Sam would rather have Dean than go to college. He'd rather have Dean than have a house and a proper job.
But this is Having Dean vs. Not Taking Orders From Dad, Having a Real Job and Having a Normal Life. The first one really, really, appeals to Sam. So does the last one.
Whatever Dean may be, normal he ain't. So Sam swallows and accepts, without telling anyone. He isn't going to be trapped in this hunter's life, he's going to break free and go on to do great things.
When he announces it, the day before he leaves on the bus so that Dad's yelling will be over with quickly, he doesn't look Dean in the face. He focuses on Dad and their screaming match, not Dean who stands silently on the sidelines.
To Sam's shock, Dean speaks up for Sam. Not a lot, but says that he'll drive him down to California. That's more than Sam ever expected.
Sam turns him down. That garners a look of hurt surprise in Dean's eyes. Sam knows full well that being in the Impala, where Dean has fucked Sam a hundred times, is more than he'll be able to take. Hours in the Impala means hours to remember why he loves Dean, and why he shouldn't go.
So Sam shakes off Dean's hand. His wordless stare says quite plainly that Dad and Hunting aren't all that Sam is leaving. That he's cutting ties, and that includes Dean. Dean steps back like's he's been punched.
If Sam didn't turn so quickly he might have seen the shock and hurt in Dean's eyes, something rather akin to heartbreak. But Sam is determined to go, and watching as he breaks his own brother's heart, declares that everything they shared was meaningless, and turns away from the man who loved him unconditionally, would have kept him in place.
Watching that would mean him turning right back around and embracing Dean, because not for anything would he put that look on Dean's face. Sam doesn't turn around though, and he walks away in total silence.
Alternate, wherein First Fuck and First Broken Heart are rendered (more) au.
This is the kind of thing Sam would like to dismiss. Dean doesn't have feelings for the girls he sleeps with. He never has. Sam always rested safe in the knowledge that even if Dean went out and slept with every whore in the Midwest, he would come back to Sam.
So Sam always had his brother. Not in the way he very much wished, but he had him.
And this was all it took to change it. Well, Sam used to pray that his unholy desire for Dean would go away. It hadn't done that, but even the faintest chance of it being consummated had. And because of an angel at that.
Sam hates this. It's selfish, and stupid, and above all not fair, but he hates it. Dean can't be in love. Dean's heart has always belonged to him.
Yet…Dean is grinning at Castiel, and their bubble of love has completely blocked out Sam and Dean's bubble of family. Sam's on the sidelines, watching Cas nab his brother's heart. Every time Dean laughs with Castiel a bitter taste grows in Sam's mouth.
It's selfish. So selfish. So pointless, because it isn't as though Sam had a chance. But still, watching Dean end up with someone he adores, someone who's another man and therefore even more hateful to Sam, someone whose situation is just as strange and forbidden as Sam's, makes bile rise in Sam's throat.
Dean's just so fucking happy. With Castiel. Not with Sam. Sam's even sure they're sleeping together, because he watches Dean with something like longing and so he'd keyed into Dean's life. Dean isn't bringing home prostitutes anymore, and he sure doesn't have any frustrated sexual tension emanating from him.
Nope, Dean's happy. And Sam is screwed.
A/N: I began watching supernatural thinking "nope, not gonna do the wincest thing". I have Dean/Castiel for my OTP.
…you see how that worked out. I think everyone has a tiny wincest shipper in their heart and I hope that, by writing mine out, I can go back to the completely unrelated writing I was doing in another fandom before the "Must. Write. Wincest." compulsion. Oh well. Review and tell me I'm not pathetic for falling prey to the prettiness/sexiness overload that is wincest.
Oh, and a warning: Flame me about this pairing, and I will respond by writing more. I have this nice little idea about Sam figuring out that by withholding sex he can get Dean to do anything and then abusing it and then realizing that he and Dean are for all intents and purposes, married, and he's the wife, and flipping out, and Dean cracking up and calling him "wifeykins", then realizing that he can get away with it because John is under the impression that this is brotherly teasing. I also have an alarming desire to make Sam listen to Taylor Swift and whine about Dean as he does. Fear me.