"You cad!" shouted Boobs, brandishing a plastic butter knife, "You've broken my heart!"
"Ah, fair maiden, how you remind me of my dear mother! She too," said Braceface, grasping her wrist until the knife fell, "Was beautiful in her wrath."
"Ew, did he just call his mom hot?"
"I don't think-"
"Dude's got a Weed-ah-puss complex."
"It's Ed-a-puss, you pinhead." she said, kneeling on the floor.
Boobs hiked up her skirt. "Watch the teeth."
Sam emptied the clip into the target, the bullseye black with lead shot. "Were you...trying to her pregnant?"
The boys stood facing opposite directions, Dean stooping to collect old bullet casings. "She's not gonna get pregnant."
Sam ground his teeth. "Gimme the 12-gauge."
"That's a big gun."
"Give it." Sam said.
"You'll wanna lean it against a tree-" Dean suggested, too late as Sam took a shot and then howled in pain as the kickback wrenched his shoulder.
Dean rolled his eyes. "Told ya that would happen."
Sam crumpled to his knees, clutching his right arm, too embarrassed to look up.
"You gonna let me look at it?"
Wincing, Sam grabbed his collar and yanked it aside to expose the bruise, daring him to say 'I told you so'.
The sun was low on the horizon, so that Sam's face was all soft pinks and shadows, his eyes reproachful under a spray of hair, and Dean hesitated at the sudden resemblance to John.
"Look I didn't plan it," Dean explained, "We were messing around, and we started talking and it just..."
"Do you want a family?" Sam asked, letting go of his shirt.
"Dude, she asked me, I mean try and think what a turn-on that is? To know that you could get a chick pregnant, that she wants it?" And at Sam's look of incomprehension, he added, "Kid, you don't know anything."
Sam raised the gun over his head, like he wanted to hit something, sick and tired of being treated like a baby. "Do you have...any idea how this makes me feel?"
Dean laughed. "Yeah, come back in ten years when you've got real feelings."
He was slow to react. Sam knocked him over and into the nearest tree, his bony fists balled up in Dean's shirt. "Some day you're gonna have to treat me with respect."
Dean looked down at this new creature, this beautiful face bent in anger like a twisted tree root. "Are you gonna go back to her?" Sam demanded, "Next month, next year, five years from now?"
"What, you think I can't have a normal life, that women won't have me?" Dean shot back, and it really felt like Dad all over again.
Sam leaned in. "How much money ya got?"
"Couple hundred? Little more if you sold the guns?"
"I don't...what are you talking about...?" Dean asked, faltering as Sam loosened his grip and began to run a hand down towards his belt.
"None of those girls are waiting for you to come home." he said, running his fingers inside of Dean's shirt along his belly.
Dean pushed against him, but Sam pushed back, his left arm flung against Dean's chest, his teeth bared. "What have you got to offer them?" Sam asked thru his teeth, "You're not the good neighbor. You're not the boy next door. You're not a pair of khakis."
His hand finally made it's made into Dean's pocket, digging down, fingertips scraping his cock thru the fabric. "All you've got...is this," he said, holding up a handful of spent 9mm shells, letting them fall thru his fingers, "And they won't buy you a picket fence."
Dean smacked his hand away, sending the rest of the shells flying, and pushed Sam to the ground. He lay on his elbows, his knees apart, and it took all of Dean's self-control not to jump him right then.
"Please..." Sam pleaded, tears springing to his eyes, looking up at his brother and seeing the parade of ghostly women behind him, all itching for an idea of Dean, a watered-down, cheapened, polluted man, dead to the brother who needed him so desperately.
Dean looked down and saw two possible men in Sam-a good man, with a good woman at his side and a future to be proud of, and on the other hand, John's heir. Too much pushing in one direction would send Sam inevitably from one side to the other.
But he ached for the younger boy, and he lowered himself into Sam's waiting arms, coiling around the older boy until they fell gently to the ground together.
Their kiss was feverish with longing, their bodies moving together gracefully in a dance they'd only been rehearsing with that girl earlier. But Dean restrained himself, not letting himself give in entirely, thinking that, if he could get away with as little as possible, this madness would be over with and they could get back to their normal lives. If he was really good, he could grind Sam to his climax and they wouldn't even have to get naked.
But Sam was way ahead of him. "Make love to me." he whispered in his ear.
Dean would have said no, but the sun had fallen behind the trees, and these sorts of things are always easier in the dark. "Take off your clothes."
Sam began to tear off his shirt, but Dean stopped him. "Stand up."
He did so, his body a burning silhouette against the dusk.
Dean knelt before him, gently took both hands in his, and said, "Here. Hold onto me."
It was right before Dean's fifteenth birthday when Sam had gone to spend the night at a friend's house, and John had come back drunk, having just argued with a local psychic named Lola and deciding to go straight to bed. He smelled like an ashtray, but he moved like a missile, directed and powerful, his back straight beneath his leather jacket. A general never takes off his coat, Dean thought.
Dean had longed for him for years. Not because he admired him (though he certainly did) or because he was gay (which he knew he wasn't). No, rather because John was the only man he'd ever feared, and it sent an electric thrill thru him whenever they worked together.
Dean pretended to be asleep on the couch, the TV glowing with a late-night cop drama, as he waited for John to fall asleep. And when he thought it was safe, he crept into the bedroom.
John had taken the bottle to bed with him, and if he wasn't asleep he certainly wasn't going anywhere. Dean lifted the blanket at the foot of the bed, and crept underneath.
John smiled, purring, "Change your mind Lola?"
He reached for the hair of whoever was unzipping his pants, but two hands reached out and knocked them aside.
"Okay, I can be lazy." he said.
A mouth came down on his cock, warm and sweet. "Fuck..."
He worked his cock with his tongue, his lips closing down like he hadn't eaten for days, savoring the taste.
"Damn baby..." John whispered.
In the next room, the TV detective called his partner on the phone. "Can you see him?" he asked.
"He's getting closer." replied the TV.
Dean took all of John in, running the tip of tongue along the bottom, pushing his cock into the roof of his mouth.
"Closer now..." said the TV.
"Baby you're gonna make me..."
Sam yanked Dean's head away. "Not yet." he said.
Dean had hoped it wouldn't come to this. He didn't want to ruin Sam for another woman, for the good life he was supposed to have.
"Okay, lay down." he said, spitting in his hand. "I don't wanna hurt you," he said, about to give the oldest line in the book, but hoping this little concession would be enough, "So I'm just going to put it in...a little bit."
Sam nodded, biting his lip, wondering if this was how the girl had felt with him earlier today.
They kissed, inhaling together as Dean pushed, and Sam shuddered, smiling at this new victory. "You're...really hard."
Dean grit his teeth, wondering how fast he could do this, and reached down for Sam's cock, swollen and wet.
But Sam had been running on fumes all day, it would take a long time to get him off, and Dean didn't think he had the stamina for it. After a while the younger boy reached around and pressed his hands on his sides
"You're not gonna hurt me." he whispered, and he pushed the older boy all the way, up the hilt, his chest expanding as the older boy filled him.
Dean really didn't want to have be an asshole. He told himself Sam would be better off without him when this all over. Like chucking rocks at the dog who followed you home, sometimes there's nothing for it.
"So you wanna be fucked?"
Sam blinked, at the cruelty in his voice. "What?"
Dean rolled Sam over, grabbing a fistful of hair and pushing him facedown into the dirt. "You want it like this?"
Sam flushed. "Wait, what are you..."
The words dried up as his body was opened again, his mouth salivating at this new pain. Part of him was humiliated as he felt those strong hands grab his hips and drive into him, taking him like some white trash gutterslut, the other part of him crying out in ecstasy as the boy used him, stretched him out, the man to ride him hard and break his spirit.
"Don't...stop." he gasped, a great hand reaching to keep his head down on the ground.
Dean flipped him on his back again, remembering that awful night years ago. When John had discovered who was really was in his bed, he'd sent Dean flying across the room, uninterested in protests or explanations, and given him the beating of a lifetime. And he took it too, didn't open his mouth the whole time, even when the blood began to run into the carpet.
"Dean..." but a hand covered his mouth.
"That's it," he whispered, the other hand reaching for Sam's cock, remembering John's last words before loosening his belt buckle, "Don't...speak."
The hand stifled his cries as he came, so hard and so long he thought he would lose his mind, biting down on Dean's fingers and wishing he had the words to fit fifteen years worth of longing in a single endless moment.
Afterwards, he smiled. This was how it would be from now on, this was how they were meant to spend their lives together...
...and then Dean stood up and spat in his face.
"There," he said, standing up to fasten his belt-buckle, "Now you're fucked."
Sam looked at him, a single tear falling down his cheek. "Dean..."
The older boy walked away, collecting their things. It was true then, it had all been for nothing. They had no future together...
...not unless Sam did something to prove his love.
Something stirred in him, spreading like ink in trouble water, and he reached for the shotgun.
Overhead, clouds gathered, and far away lightning licked at the earth in the distant corn fields.
"Storm's coming," said Dean, searching in the dark for his shirt, "Let's move before-"
He turned, just in time to see the butt of a gun clock him between the eyes.