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Love and Duty	By : rae_roberts Category: Supernatural > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 3443 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural and make no profit from this story. Just borrowing Papa Winchester and his boys for fun.

Chapter List
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Dean stormed out of the house and across the yard with Sam right behind him. With his longer stride, the younger boy easily kept pace, and the two quickly left the main house and its outbuildings behind. Dean didn’t stop until they’d reached a stand of trees, striding between the neat rows to the center of the orchard.
“Argh!” Dean let out a wordless yell of anger and kicked at a rock.
Sam wandered over to one of the trees, leaning over a low, spreading branch and watching with amusement as his fiance vented his frustration. Dean’s shoulders were tense, muscles bunched under the tight fabric of his t-shirt, his hands fisted at his sides. It occurred to Sam that Dean’s pride had taken nearly as much of a bruising as his own during the horrible breakfast hour.
“Your father’s a real piece of work,” he offered.
“You shut up about my dad!”
Sam shrugged and turned his attention to the trees, which were full grown but short, maybe thirty feet tall at most, with spreading branches that met overhead, dappling the grassy ground beneath with shade. Some were in bloom with pink and white blossoms, while others had already dropped their flowers, and still others were just starting to bud, pale green leaves just beginning to unfurl. Bees buzzed from flower to flower, filling the air with a faint, droning hum. It was pretty, Sam decided.   Soothing. He folded his arms on the branch, rested his chin on his hands, and watched the progress of a particularly big, fat bumblebee busily collecting pollen.
“You don’t know anything about us.” Dean had turned to glare at Sam. “I’m not a rapist,”—his upper lip curled with disgust as he spat the word at Sam—”and my father… You don’t know him. He’s not a bad guy, he just…”
“...Wants kids to carry on the family name.” Sam sighed. “I know.”
Dean seemed to deflate at Sam’s agreement. He kicked the rock again, sending it rolling over the grass, avoiding Sam’s gaze. Sam felt a flash of sympathy for him in spite of himself. At least, he thought, his fiance was good-looking. Sam took advantage of Dean’s sulk to assess him, clinically studying the play of muscles under worn denim and soft spun cotton. Nothing to complain about there, he thought wryly, and Dean’s face was attractive even when twisted with fury. He’d be gorgeous, Sam thought, if he ever smiled.
Marriage, to a young and handsome man who hadn’t immediately asserted his right to use Sam’s body for his duty and pleasure with no thought for Sam’s feelings. It was a better fate than many child-bearing males could look forward to. Sam sighed again and ducked under the branch to step closer to his fiance.
“Look, I spoke out of turn yesterday. We may not be totally crazy about the situation, but it’s not like either of us has a choice. We might as well make the best of it and try to get along.”
“You’re just saying that because you’re worried my dad will send you back to St. Louis,” Dean scoffed.
“You wish. But your father isn’t going to send me anywhere,” Sam scoffed right back. “He’s too proud. Too stubborn...I could tell that within thirty seconds of meeting him. The only way you get out of the marriage contract is if I miscarry.”
“I wouldn’t wish that on anybody!” Dean looked genuinely disturbed at the idea.
“I know. So do we have a deal?” Sam offered his hand.
Dean shrugged. “Yeah. May as well.”
He clasped Sam’s hand in his and Sam felt a faint, electric tingle run up his arm. It had happened yesterday, when he and Dean shook hands at the train station in Lawrence, but this time he could see Dean’s mark flash, the faint, swirling pattern that ran along his inner arm from just above his wrist to the crook of his elbow glowing for an instant.
“Do you even own any work clothes?” Dean’s green eyes were focused on the part of Sam’s mark revealed by the rolled-back cuff of his white button-up shirt. The faint glow emanating from beneath the skin faded as they loosed their hands.
“These are my work clothes,” Sam countered, defensive. He’d left off his suit jacket and tie, knowing he was over-dressed for the rural estate, but apparently his fiance was still going to find fault.
“What, there’s a uniform for breeders? You all wear suits?”
“Don’t call me that,” Sam gritted out between clenched teeth, whatever empathy he’d started to feel for the other young man vanishing at Dean’s casual use of the slur.
“What, breeder?   It’s what you are,” Dean pointed out, maddeningly repeating Jo’s argument from earlier that morning. The corners of his mouth twitched up. “Would you rather I called you bitch?” he asked, sarcastic, but Sam was in no mood to see the humor in the query.
“Go to hell!” he growled, and gave Dean a hard shove, sending him stumbling back a step.
“I’d knock you on your ass if you weren’t—”
“A breeder? Go ahead and try,” Sam spat, and pushed him again, but this time Dean was prepared and stood his ground.
“I was going to say if you weren’t such a whiny little bitch,” he smirked.
Sam punched him in the stomach then, hard, and felt a thrill of satisfaction when Dean’s green eyes widened in shock. Unfortunately for Sam, the victory was short-lived. Dean hit back just as hard and knocked the wind out of him. Gasping for breath, Sam aimed another clumsy punch but Dean drove a shoulder into his solar plexus and knocked him to the ground. Sam had always been calm and even-tempered, not to mention bigger than everyone else in his grade at school. He’d never really had to learn to fight. Dean clearly had.
He dropped down on the petal-strewn grass next to Sam and continued the conversation as if nothing untoward had happened. “For what it’s worth, I hate being called a stud,” he offered.
“Oh, you poor thing. My heart bleeds for you.”
“Bitch.”
“Jerk,” Sam drawled.
“So what was your job in St. Louis, that you had to dress so fine for?” Dean asked, seeming to accept the exchange of insults as a normal part of conversation.
If the talk around the breakfast table was any indicator of the level of discourse in ‘Winchester Territory’, Sam thought, it probably was. “I taught school.”
“Did not.”
“Did too.”
“Did not. You’re only sixteen,” Dean pointed out.
“Well, I finished the eighth grade when I was fourteen,” Sam proudly recounted the highest level of education most people could claim to have achieved, “and started teaching the younger kids the next year.”
“So you’re a brainiac. That explains the hundred pounds of books.”
Sam felt his face heat up. “I like to read,” he said defensively. “Didn’t figure there’d be a library way out here in the boondocks.”
“Hey. We have a library,” Dean insisted, equally defensive. “And our own school.”
“And you graduated?” Sam asked, skeptical.
“‘Course I did, and not just because I’m John Winchester’s son,” Dean added quickly. “Ms. Mosely doesn’t play favorites.”
“Eighth grade?” Sam was having trouble believing the rustic estate had its own school.
“Sixth. We’re smarter than you folks back east, so it doesn’t take us as long,” Dean boasted.
Sam rolled his eyes. “What grows on these trees?” he asked next, lying back on the grass and looking up at the interlaced branches.
“Oh, this is our watermelon orchard,” Dean said innocently.
“Jerk. I might be a city slicker, but I’m not an idiot,” Sam scoffed. “We had a garden at the academy. Watermelons grow on vines.”
Dean grinned. “These are peach trees, mostly.   Some apricots, too.”
“Are not!” Sam sat up, looking indignant.   The city slicker jokes were growing old.
“Are too. For real,” Dean insisted when Sam continued to frown at him.
“Peaches. Like, peach preserves?”
“Yeah, peaches…You’ve never had a fresh peach,” Dean realized. “Ha! Just wait until you try a slice of Ellen’s peach pie.”
“How long before they’re ready for harvest?”
“The early ones’ll ripen in late June.”
“Oh.” They were to be married at the end of June. Sam’s shoulders slumped at the reminder.
“Yeah.” Dean flopped back on the grass with a sigh. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered.
- 4
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- 6
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Love and Duty