A Life of Days
folder
Supernatural › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
2,965
Reviews:
4
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Supernatural › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
2,965
Reviews:
4
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Supernatural, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
A Life of Days
A Life of Days
Word count:5580
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Warning: adult incest
Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue
Summary: A series of vignettes in Dean's life, from four years old to present day
When Dean was four and Sam was six months old, their mother was killed, pinned to the ceiling and set on fire. Their father managed to save both boys, but blamed himself for Mary's death. He took the boys to stay with their grandmother and disappeared for a week.
Sammy was inconsolable, crying nonstop. Dean wanted to cry like his brother, but the last thing that Daddy had said was for him to be a brave little man and help his grandmother, so he did. He didn't understand what had happened, no matter how many times grandma told him that mommy was with Jesus in heaven and that Daddy would be back for them in a little while. All he knew was that his safe life had foundered.
Grandma only had the one room for the two of them to share. Sammy had a little portable crib, and Dean had a small twin bed, just like at home. At night, Sammy would quiet down and sleep fitfully, and it made Dean feel better to look over and see him sleeping.
Just when Dean had despaired of ever seeing Daddy again, there he was. More serious - though that was a word he didn't know - than he remembered, he nonetheless picked up Dean and hugged him tight. When he put him back down, he turned and picked up Sammy, who for the first time in what seemed like forever, quieted. Still holding Sammy, he asked Dean if he'd been good for his grandmother.
When Dean told him he had and told him all the things he'd done to help out, Daddy smiled and held out his hand. "Are you ready to go with me?"
"Yes, Daddy. Are we going to see mommy?" Dean still didn't understand why mommy wasn't there, but now that Daddy was back, everything was going to be all right.
"No, son. But we have a new place to live, so let's go see it, okay?"
Dean smiled and took Daddy's hand, walking out of grandma's house and into a new life.
***
When Dean was eight and Sammy was four, he got his first gun. A little twenty-two caliber pistol, it was one of the smallest made, and had almost no recoil. The noise scared him at first, but after he'd manage to hit the target twice in a row, Daddy clapped him on the shoulder and told him that he was growing into a fine man. Dean felt like he could walk on air.
Daddy had given him his own gun lockbox, and cleaning the pistol and putting it away became a ritual of sorts. The first time Daddy had left to go hunting after he got it, the one thing that he'd been upset about leaving at home was his pistol. But Daddy said that grandma didn't like guns in her house, so he'd been a good boy and left it at home without arguing.
His brother wasn't interested in guns, instead wanting to spend his Saturdays watching cartoons and trying to pick out words in the big books that Daddy was always reading. But that was okay, because he was too little to even lift the gun, much less fire it.
No matter where they lived, Daddy found them a martial arts school to attend, and both boys dutifully went every day after school. Sammy was in a class with the littlest kids, but Dean was in a much wider group. He'd started to find out about the things that Daddy hunted, and he wanted to be a good enough fighter to be able to go along and help instead of being left behind with grandma. That gave him a level of determination that advanced him much faster than older, bigger kids, and he was proud of that as well.
Sammy eventually got interested just because he wanted to practice with Dean. While Dean scoffed and told him that he was still a baby, Sammy became determined to prove he could do it. When Sammy was advanced out of the baby classes, Dean was proud of him, though he didn't say it. He just agreed with Daddy that Sammy was becoming a man.
Over time, Daddy taught him to fire other guns, and as he got bigger, so did they. But again and again, he returned to that twenty-two. In a world that got bigger and scarier by the day, it was a basis of stability that didn't change.
The other thing that never changed was sharing a room with Sammy. Unlike the big house that they'd had with Mommy, now they lived in apartments that more often than not only had two bedrooms. Sometimes the rooms were small enough that he could reach out from his bed and be able to touch Sammy's hand. On really bad nights, when he couldn't sleep because the dark was too scary, he'd spend the night holding Sam's hand, and that made him feel better.
***
The day that Dad gave Dean his very own Glock, he was flabbergasted. This was a serious gun. Dad looked him in the eye and said, "I think it may be time to retire that old pistol, don't you? Sammy's big enough to handle it now." He was twelve and Sammy was eight.
Another little boy might have refused. It had been his for four years, and why should his brother get it? But after fourteen moves in eight years, he'd learned well that possessions weren't something to get upset over, and even though Sammy was sometimes a brat, he was still his brother. So, he called Sammy into the kitchen and handed over the old lockbox.
Sammy looked confused, but he took it. "What's this?"
"Dad's given me a real gun. You can have that one, now. It'll be fun - we can all go to the range together!"
It took a moment, but then Sammy smiled, wide enough to brighten the dingy kitchen. "Wow! Can we go today?"
Dean looked to their father, who smiled and went to get their jackets.
School was a struggle for Dean. Sammy had an easy time of it, but neither of them had anything more than acquaintances. It was hard to make friends when they never knew if they were going to move the next day. It would have been a very lonely life except for the fact that they had each other.
Not long after the present of the gun, they moved again. The first day at school, Dean came home with a black eye and a notice suspending him from school for two days. Dad sat him down in the living room and explained that there was a time and place for fighting, and that school was not it.
Dean swore that he'd never get into another fight.
It turned out to be a difficult promise to keep. While Sammy was shy, Dean had a mouth on him that could turn a tease into a battle. But when Dad took away Dean's gun for a week, Dean learned to let the other kids' insults roll off his back. Instead, he spent more time with Sammy, the two of them studying together or cleaning their respective guns or just watching stuff on TV.
Sammy started having nightmares shortly after, and he would climb into bed with Dean. He got used to it, to the point where he'd barely wake, just turning over and wrapping an arm around Sammy to help him feel safe and going right back to his own dreams.
***
When Dean was fourteen and Sammy was ten, Dad took him on his first hunt. It was for a ghost that was haunting a school building in Maryland. She was mostly harmless, but she was still walking the world when she should be at rest.
It turned out to be much less exciting than Dean had expected - long days of research, trying to find out everything they could about who she was and where she was buried. A long night of digging up the bones in an old graveyard, and burning them to set her free.
She appeared as Dad lit the match, and watched the bones turn to ash with a spooky half smile on her face. As the fire burned down, she turned to look at them. Giving a little wave, she faded from view.
When they got home, they were met by Sammy who wanted to know everything. Dean was almost embarrassed to tell him how easy it had been - tempted to make it about gun battles and struggling to light a fire while being attacked, but he knew that Dad would never back it up. So he just shrugged and told Sammy, "It was no big. She's gone now."
It didn't seem to matter. Sammy looked at him like he'd hung the moon and the stars. Dean knew that he idolized him - telling him at every opportunity that he was going to grow up to be just like him. It made Dean feel very grown up, even as he went back to school and lied about being sick to explain why he'd missed three days of class.
After that, he joined Dad on most of his hunts while Sammy still went to stay at grandma's. He always hated leaving his brother behind, but he agreed with Dad that Sammy was still too young to face what they fought almost every weekend. Poltergeists, shapeshifters, firestarters, every weekend brought some new danger.
Privacy was something that Dean was learning to value, as teenage randiness led to him becoming good friends with his right hand. Sometimes he'd take a chance on waiting for Sammy to go to sleep, but more often he'd use the shower. Occasionally he'd take longer than usual, and on those days, Dad would grin at him and snark about hormones, leaving Dean blushing and embarrassed.
***
When Dean was fifteen and Sammy was eleven, their grandmother died. The funeral was something of a blur for Dean, as the last bit of stability from before mom's death slipped away.
Dad had told him how mom had died, and Dean had nightmares about it for a week. Mom was kind of a blonde blur in his imagination - unable to picture her face clearly, no matter how many pictures he looked at - and Dad had trouble talking about her for more than a few minutes. But grandma had always been willing to tell him stories about her, and now that was gone.
Two days after the funeral, they moved again. This time they moved out of Kansas completely, relocating to Denver. While Sammy slept on the back seat, Dad and Dean discussed what they should do with him while they were hunting. It was decided that while he was young, he was good enough that he'd be useful, and that he should just come with and stand guard or something.
It worked well, for a while, but then the night came when the demon they were hunting slipped past Dean and headed straight for Sammy. Dean only knew that he'd gotten past when they heard the report of the gun, and both Dad and Dean had sprinted for the door at a dead run.
When they got outside, they found Sammy in a crouch, gun still at the ready, out of reach of the demon that was dead on the grass. When he saw them, he slowly stood up, but never took his eyes off the thing until Dad had gotten there and told him he could put his weapon down. When he did, he slid it into the holster, took two steps and started throwing up.
Dean beat Dad there, and held his hair back as he emptied his stomach of everything. Once Sammy was done, he'd wiped his face and then held him as he cried.
Dad looked confused and more than a little upset by Sammy's reaction, and ultimately left it in Dean's hands as he cleaned up the demon, dousing it with lighter fluid and setting the ugly thing on fire.
He was solicitous of Sammy for a few days, until he seemed to be feeling better. Then he razzed him unmercifully, till Sammy finally broke and tried to wrestle him to the ground. He still won easily, but he could see a day when it might not be something he could do without breaking a sweat anymore.
***
When Dean was seventeen and Sammy was thirteen, he went on his first real date with a girl. He knew he was cute, but it was hard to date when every Friday and Saturday was spent traveling from one corner of the midwest to the other, finding evil things and killing them.
But Kathy was sweet, and good looking, and when he begged off from a hunting trip to take her to the movies, Dad had smiled and slipped him twenty bucks. He'd had to be home by midnight, but that was okay.
She'd been impressed to find out that he had his own car that he'd rebuilt in what little spare time he had. The '65 Impala had wide, comfortable seats, and when she let him take her into the back seat and slip trembling hands under her shirt; he'd nearly come in his pants.
He was floating on air when he got home, and told the story of his date in whispers to Sammy, who grimaced and got an "eww, girls" look on his face. Dean had laughed and told him that when he got a little older he wouldn't feel that way anymore.
He'd wanted to take her out again the next Friday, but she told him that she had a date with the captain of the football team, and his heart fell.
He devoted more energy into his martial arts classes, managing to win his black belt. Sammy got his brown belt, and Dad attended the award ceremony. Dean was proud of what he'd done, and it made for an interesting dinner that night.
***
When Dean was nineteen and Sam was fifteen, Sam and Dean had their first real fight. It came about because Sam had informed him that, no; he actually wasn't going hunting with them this weekend because he had a science project he needed to finish.
Neither Dad nor Dean could understand Sam and took turns arguing with him, but Sam had been adamant, and as Dean and Dad drove off on Friday afternoon, Sam stayed in his room and worked.
When they returned home on Tuesday, tired, sore, and banged up from fighting a spirit that was killing teenage girls, it was like Sam had been possessed before. This Sam was eager to hear about the hunt, and helped clean weapons and restock the Impala's trunk.
But Dad was still upset, and walked off as Sam had tried, once again, to explain why it was so important that he stayed home. He already had a perfect grade point average, so Dean didn't understand the problem either. What was the point?
After that, Sam stayed home more and more often, and when he did go, he was a pain in the ass. He and Dad fought constantly, distracting both Dean and Dad from the matter at hand. When it came right down to the wire, though, Dean still depended on Sam, and Sam always came through.
Dean had managed to find ways to fit dating in, and was going out with an older girl named Heather. She was in college, and willing to go out on weeknights.
The night that Dean lost his virginity, he stayed out all night. The next morning, Dad didn't say anything about a curfew when he came home. He just smiled and asked Dean if he'd used protection. Dean had blushed so hard that he thought he could have set the apartment on fire.
As he went into the room that he and Sam shared, Sam glanced over from his desk. "Did you get lucky last night?"
"Is it all over my face or something?" Dean had demanded.
"Yep." Sam carefully set aside the book he'd been reading and came over to try and tickle Dean. It turned into a brief wrestling match that left them both limp from laughter.
Dean fell backwards on his bed, and grinned over at Sammy, still sitting on the floor. It seemed like everything was perfect.
***
When Dean was twenty-two and Sam was eighteen, things at home were going to hell. Sam and Dad were fighting all the time, and no matter what Dean said, he was accused of taking the other's side.
So Dean stopped talking to either of them and turned his attention to learning to hustle pool and play poker. Pretty soon, he was bringing in enough money to be able to supplement the rent money that Dad earned, and that meant the two of them spent even more time on the road, cruising from the site of one mystical battle to another.
Sam was enrolled in the local community college, taking as many classes as they'd let him. It meant that he traveled with them even less, but as much as Dean missed him, he was glad to let him stay at home. It meant a hell of a lot less fighting and arguing in the car.
One night, Dean asked him what he thought he was doing with the college work. It turned out that he had his whole life mapped out. He was going to transfer to a big school and do pre-law, and then law school, and then he was going to stop hunting monsters and live a normal life.
Dean stared at him in confusion. How could he want that? Didn't he want to find the thing that had killed Mom? But Sam said that Dean just wouldn't understand and refused to talk about it anymore.
He blinked, and then turned his back and went to sleep. Sam would figure out what was important eventually.
***
When Dean was twenty-four and Sam was twenty, Sam left home after a huge fight with Dad.
Sam had gotten into that four-year school - Stanford of all places! - and had earned himself a full ride. Dean was proud of him, had long since accepted that the life that he led wasn't what Sam wanted, but Sam wouldn't hear him. He was too busy trying to defend himself from Dad's accusations to hear anything else.
Dean knew that Dad wasn't really angry. Knew that he was proud of Sam, too. But he was hurt, and confused, and so he lashed back at Sam.
The day that Sam left home was the second worst day of Dean's life. It turned his life topsy turvy all over again. Sam and Dean had always been together, and now that was over.
Not long after, Dad started letting Dean go hunting on his own. Since neither of them were home for more than a day or two at a time, he let the lease on the apartment run out, and the two of them started living out of boarding houses and hotel rooms.
Occasionally, when Dean was alone in an anonymous hotel room, he'd have to swallow down tears. It was lonely, and dangerous, and he lived for those days when the two of them would meet back up for a few days or a few weeks.
Sometimes, when the work took him to California, he'd swing by the Stanford campus, driving through slowly and looking for Sam. He was never quite sure what he would have done if he'd found him, but that didn't stop him from going. He knew that Dad did the same thing, but they never talked about it.
***
When Dean was twenty-six and Sam was twenty-two, Dad disappeared.
Not knowing what else to do, Dean went to Stanford. A day of hacking into records, and he had Sam's address. Finding the apartment building, he debated waiting till morning, but decided that he couldn't risk missing Sam.
Some quick work with a credit card, and he slipped through the unlocked door. Sam agreed to go with him, and they fruitlessly searched for dad in Jericho. He'd hoped that once back on the road, Sam would change his mind, but the pull of normalcy still had Sam in its grasp and reluctantly he delivered him back to his apartment.
He was rearranging things in the trunk when the sound of screaming and a fire alarm broke his attention. This time, he didn't bother with the subtlety of unlocking the door, just kicking it in, and dragging a sobbing, hysterical Sam back out.
Whatever had killed Mom all those years ago had struck again, this time taking Sam's girlfriend as its prize.
The hold that normalcy had held over Sam evaporated in the same way that the water from the fireman's hoses evaporated in the morning light. Now his focus was all on finding their father.
Nightmares again haunted Sam's sleep, but now they were worse. Instead of waking up screaming, he'd stay asleep, whimpering and crying. Occasionally, he'd say a name. Sometimes it was Jess, sometimes Mom, sometimes Dad.
Sometimes Dean.
When Sam said his name, Dean would get up and slide into the bed with him, spooning him loosely and talk to him. He'd tell him that he was there, that nothing could take Dean away from Sam. Nothing.
On those nights, Sam would quiet, and get what looked like restful sleep. Emboldened by his success, Dean started doing the same thing when other dreams hunted Sam. Like when he was a kid, Dean's presence would help him settle, and finally Sam lost the dark circles around his eyes.
***
After their trip back to the old house and the appearance of Mom, the nightmares got bad again, to the point where Dean gave up on sleeping by himself. Sam blushed and stammered, trying to get him to sleep in his own bed, but Dean would just tell him to shut up and shove over, and Sam would stop.
Gradually, the lack of privacy and time to himself started to tell on Dean. He couldn't pick up a girl when he had nowhere to take them, and he couldn't bring himself to leave Sam alone at night anyway. And it was embarrassing to jerk off in the shower with your little brother in the same room.
So it wasn't surprising when he woke up one night to realize that he was pressing a very hard dick against Sam's ass. Hoping that Sam was still asleep, Dean tried to move back, to turn over, but as he scooted towards the other side of the bed, Sam turned and looked at him with eyes that shone in the dark room.
Trying to cover up his embarrassment, Dean reached out and placed a hand on Sam's shoulder. "You okay, Sammy?"
Sammy nodded, eyes still wide. Slowly, he leaned forward into Dean's personal space, and kissed him.
Dean shifted backwards, trying to get some space, trying to deny how that simple kiss made his cock jerk inside his boxer shorts. "What the hell?"
"Shut up, Dean." Sam tried to lean forward again, to be stopped by the simple method of grabbing his shoulder.
"You're my little brother, Sammy. Why the hell are you kissing me?"
Sam sat up and crossed his legs, looking at Dean with a look of fond exasperation. "Because I wanted to?"
Dean mirrored his position. "Still wrong, though."
"Is it? Really, is it? We're both adults, we aren't going to be having kids with each other, and I'm willing, at least. Is it wrong?"
"What the hell kind of things did they teach you at that school of yours? Of course it's wrong!"
Sam's mouth formed a stubborn line. "Why? I mean, if you aren't interested, tell me that, but don't tell me it's because it's wrong."
"Of course I'm not interested, you perv!" But Dean ignored the fact that his body was saying, yes, it could get interested very easily. "Let's just go back to sleep, okay?"
Sam looked like he was going to argue, but he just turned and laid back down. Dean contemplated getting up and going to the other bed, but even as upset and frustrated as he was, he couldn't sentence Sam to a night of nightmares. So he quietly, laid down, telling his dick firmly that now was not the time. Closing his eyes, he sought sleep for a long, long time.
***
Dean hadn't been so happy to see Sam in well, forever, as when he appeared in the orchard before the creepy scarecrow thing could get to him. Hopping into Sam's stolen car, they bypassed the town and went to pick up the Impala from the college.
It was still where he'd parked it, and he breathed a silent prayer of thanks. Abandoning the other car, the three of them found a run down motel in the middle of nowhere, but no one slept. Emily sat rigid at the head of her bed, while the two men talked in soft voices about the plans for the next morning.
After burning the tree, they put Emily on a bus. They had originally planned to get the hell out of Indiana, but after a night of no sleep, they decided that maybe it would be better to try and rest before heading out. It wasn't like they had a firm plan of where to go, anyway.
Returning to the same crappy motel, they took a room, and found a small diner for dinner. Dean laid down while Sam set up his laptop and started going through obits.
He woke up briefly when Sam climbed into bed, but for the most part, he slept soundly. He woke up spooned up behind Sam and hard again. He wanted to pull away, but wasn't up for the fight. The light leaking in around the curtain was faded, and Dean was surprised to find that both of them had slept through the day. "Sammy?"
"Yeah, Dean."
Dean swallowed hard. "This is still wrong."
Sam pressed back into the curve of Dean's body. "No, it's not."
Groaning, he reached around Sam's chest and snugged him back firmly. Sam twisted his head around, and Dean kissed him awkwardly.
When their lips broke apart, he sighed softly. "Are you sure?"
"As sure as I am about anything else that I know." The answer was immediate, even though Sam's voice was soft.
Dean felt like he should be grossed out. This was his brother that was rubbing against him, that he was kissing, but all he felt was a rising sense of need and want. He encouraged Sam to turn over and face him, and forcing his eyes to stay open, kissed him again.
As Sam slid his tongue into Dean's mouth, he moaned and his eyes sagged shut against his will. Sam tasted good - soft and familiar, finding all the points that made Dean pant harshly. When the kiss ended, he clutched at Sam's shoulders, making him chuckle. "It's okay, Dean, I'm not going anywhere." But he still pulled away a little, and Dean groaned at the loss.
Only to gasp when Sam slid his hands under the back of his shorts, sliding them over the curve of his buttocks. When they slid to the front of his body, his eyes shot open and he looked at Sam. He wasn't sure what he expected to see, but the warm good humor there reassured him. Carefully, Sam worked his boxers down without hooking them on his dick, and Dean gasped as the cool air brushed over him.
Sam pressed him back into the bed, and kissed Dean's shoulder. "Tell me if you want me to stop." Dean knew he should say something, should tell Sam again that this was wrong, but he couldn't get his mouth to form the words. As Sam kissed a blazing trail over his chest, he panted, moving restlessly.
Lips on his belly made him flinch, and Sam sought out his ticklish spots to bite. Dean's eyes flew open and his hands found Sam's hair. He looked up at Dean, wicked amusement glittering in his eyes. "Something wrong?"
Besides this whole situation? is what he didn't say. Instead he grunted and dropped his head back down. Sam chuckled against his belly, but didn't try to tickle him again. Instead that wicked, hot mouth worked its way further down.
When his cock was engulfed, Dean couldn't bite back the cry. Sam obviously knew what he was doing, and there was no hesitation, just wet and heat and oh, my fucking god. Dean's hands tightened in Sam's hair. "Oh, god..."
Sam was playing him like a fucking violin, pushing him higher and higher every moment. When he finally tongued the spot below the head of Dean's cock and gently squeezed his balls, he couldn't take anymore and came with a loud cry.
When Sam released his cock, he was wheezing, trying to catch his breath, but he couldn't help but watch as Sam rose to his knees, shoving his own boxers out of the way carelessly and taking his own cock in hand, stroking it roughly.
Dean watched for a moment, and then said, "You can fuck me if you want." He wasn't sure why, just that he wanted to give something back to Sam. Sam stared at him with wide eyes, frozen in place.
"Are you sure, Dean?"
He nodded. He did mean it - it wasn't like it was any more wrong than what they'd already done, and he somehow knew that Sam wouldn't let it hurt.
Sam stayed frozen for a moment, and then practically dove off the bed for his bag. When he came back up, he was holding a small bottle of astroglide, and Dean bit his lip. He was surprised when Sam laid down next to him and started by kissing him again.
The kissing went on till he was dizzy and lost, floating on lust and the heat from Sam's body next to his. Hands rubbed a slow path over his chest, his thighs, and when they dipped between to fondle his nuts he couldn't help but spread his legs wider for more of that touch.
Sam chuckled against his mouth, and his fingers drifted back to press on his perineum. Then they disappeared, and he whimpered at the loss. When they came back, they were wet and slick.
Back further, and they circled around his entrance. Sam murmured soft words into his mouth, about relaxing and that he wasn't going to hurt him, just make him feel good. As the tip of one finger dipped inside, he moaned. He'd had no idea that this could feel so good.
Slowly, Sam prepared him, stretching out his hole so he could take first one finger, then two. His cock, unbelievably, was standing up again, more interested in what was going on than he could believe. What had started as something to do for Sam was becoming something that was all about him.
Finally, Sam kissed his neck and whispered, "You think you're ready?"
Dean nodded, unable to keep from wondering if two fingers felt this good, what was going to happen when he was being fucked. He'd gotten a good look at Sam's cock, and while it wasn't any longer than his, it was a lot thicker - definitely more than two fingers worth, anyway.
Sam pushed and pulled until Dean was lying on his side, his knee practically pulled up to his chest. There was a broad, blunt pressure, and now Dean was having second thoughts. "Wait! Sammy, are you -"
The pressure didn't move, but Sam wrapped an arm around his chest, holding him tight. "It's okay, Dean. I've got you."
Dean bowed his head and took a deep breath. Slowly, he nodded, and Sam kissed the back of his neck and then the pressure increased. Steadily, Dean was filled, leaving him shaking and wrung out. The pain was dull, but there, and he could feel his cock wilting. Then a hand wrapped around it, and Sam moved, and sparks flared behind his eyes.
"Christ, Sam! Do that again." Sam chuckled and started to move a little faster. Dean moaned, unbelieving that he was already getting close to coming. Again.
Every stroke filled him, pressing on that place that made him see stars. Sam panted harshly in his ear, body pressed close. His hand was tight around his cock, and stroked him in rhythm to the movement of his hips.
Somehow, he managed to hold on until Sam's tempo broke, a guttural moan spilling from his lips. The sound was the last thing that Dean needed, and he came over Sam's hand.
The room was filled with the smell of sex, the sounds of them trying to catch their breaths. Sam slid slowly out of Dean, leaving him feeling empty. Gently, he was urged to lower his leg, and Sam wrapped his arms around his chest, pressing his forehead into the spot where Dean's neck met his shoulder.
"You okay?"
Dean couldn't do more than murmur an affirmative, as his eyes drifted shut. When he woke, they'd have to deal with the consequences of what they'd done, but for right now, he was home.
Word count:5580
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Warning: adult incest
Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue
Summary: A series of vignettes in Dean's life, from four years old to present day
When Dean was four and Sam was six months old, their mother was killed, pinned to the ceiling and set on fire. Their father managed to save both boys, but blamed himself for Mary's death. He took the boys to stay with their grandmother and disappeared for a week.
Sammy was inconsolable, crying nonstop. Dean wanted to cry like his brother, but the last thing that Daddy had said was for him to be a brave little man and help his grandmother, so he did. He didn't understand what had happened, no matter how many times grandma told him that mommy was with Jesus in heaven and that Daddy would be back for them in a little while. All he knew was that his safe life had foundered.
Grandma only had the one room for the two of them to share. Sammy had a little portable crib, and Dean had a small twin bed, just like at home. At night, Sammy would quiet down and sleep fitfully, and it made Dean feel better to look over and see him sleeping.
Just when Dean had despaired of ever seeing Daddy again, there he was. More serious - though that was a word he didn't know - than he remembered, he nonetheless picked up Dean and hugged him tight. When he put him back down, he turned and picked up Sammy, who for the first time in what seemed like forever, quieted. Still holding Sammy, he asked Dean if he'd been good for his grandmother.
When Dean told him he had and told him all the things he'd done to help out, Daddy smiled and held out his hand. "Are you ready to go with me?"
"Yes, Daddy. Are we going to see mommy?" Dean still didn't understand why mommy wasn't there, but now that Daddy was back, everything was going to be all right.
"No, son. But we have a new place to live, so let's go see it, okay?"
Dean smiled and took Daddy's hand, walking out of grandma's house and into a new life.
***
When Dean was eight and Sammy was four, he got his first gun. A little twenty-two caliber pistol, it was one of the smallest made, and had almost no recoil. The noise scared him at first, but after he'd manage to hit the target twice in a row, Daddy clapped him on the shoulder and told him that he was growing into a fine man. Dean felt like he could walk on air.
Daddy had given him his own gun lockbox, and cleaning the pistol and putting it away became a ritual of sorts. The first time Daddy had left to go hunting after he got it, the one thing that he'd been upset about leaving at home was his pistol. But Daddy said that grandma didn't like guns in her house, so he'd been a good boy and left it at home without arguing.
His brother wasn't interested in guns, instead wanting to spend his Saturdays watching cartoons and trying to pick out words in the big books that Daddy was always reading. But that was okay, because he was too little to even lift the gun, much less fire it.
No matter where they lived, Daddy found them a martial arts school to attend, and both boys dutifully went every day after school. Sammy was in a class with the littlest kids, but Dean was in a much wider group. He'd started to find out about the things that Daddy hunted, and he wanted to be a good enough fighter to be able to go along and help instead of being left behind with grandma. That gave him a level of determination that advanced him much faster than older, bigger kids, and he was proud of that as well.
Sammy eventually got interested just because he wanted to practice with Dean. While Dean scoffed and told him that he was still a baby, Sammy became determined to prove he could do it. When Sammy was advanced out of the baby classes, Dean was proud of him, though he didn't say it. He just agreed with Daddy that Sammy was becoming a man.
Over time, Daddy taught him to fire other guns, and as he got bigger, so did they. But again and again, he returned to that twenty-two. In a world that got bigger and scarier by the day, it was a basis of stability that didn't change.
The other thing that never changed was sharing a room with Sammy. Unlike the big house that they'd had with Mommy, now they lived in apartments that more often than not only had two bedrooms. Sometimes the rooms were small enough that he could reach out from his bed and be able to touch Sammy's hand. On really bad nights, when he couldn't sleep because the dark was too scary, he'd spend the night holding Sam's hand, and that made him feel better.
***
The day that Dad gave Dean his very own Glock, he was flabbergasted. This was a serious gun. Dad looked him in the eye and said, "I think it may be time to retire that old pistol, don't you? Sammy's big enough to handle it now." He was twelve and Sammy was eight.
Another little boy might have refused. It had been his for four years, and why should his brother get it? But after fourteen moves in eight years, he'd learned well that possessions weren't something to get upset over, and even though Sammy was sometimes a brat, he was still his brother. So, he called Sammy into the kitchen and handed over the old lockbox.
Sammy looked confused, but he took it. "What's this?"
"Dad's given me a real gun. You can have that one, now. It'll be fun - we can all go to the range together!"
It took a moment, but then Sammy smiled, wide enough to brighten the dingy kitchen. "Wow! Can we go today?"
Dean looked to their father, who smiled and went to get their jackets.
School was a struggle for Dean. Sammy had an easy time of it, but neither of them had anything more than acquaintances. It was hard to make friends when they never knew if they were going to move the next day. It would have been a very lonely life except for the fact that they had each other.
Not long after the present of the gun, they moved again. The first day at school, Dean came home with a black eye and a notice suspending him from school for two days. Dad sat him down in the living room and explained that there was a time and place for fighting, and that school was not it.
Dean swore that he'd never get into another fight.
It turned out to be a difficult promise to keep. While Sammy was shy, Dean had a mouth on him that could turn a tease into a battle. But when Dad took away Dean's gun for a week, Dean learned to let the other kids' insults roll off his back. Instead, he spent more time with Sammy, the two of them studying together or cleaning their respective guns or just watching stuff on TV.
Sammy started having nightmares shortly after, and he would climb into bed with Dean. He got used to it, to the point where he'd barely wake, just turning over and wrapping an arm around Sammy to help him feel safe and going right back to his own dreams.
***
When Dean was fourteen and Sammy was ten, Dad took him on his first hunt. It was for a ghost that was haunting a school building in Maryland. She was mostly harmless, but she was still walking the world when she should be at rest.
It turned out to be much less exciting than Dean had expected - long days of research, trying to find out everything they could about who she was and where she was buried. A long night of digging up the bones in an old graveyard, and burning them to set her free.
She appeared as Dad lit the match, and watched the bones turn to ash with a spooky half smile on her face. As the fire burned down, she turned to look at them. Giving a little wave, she faded from view.
When they got home, they were met by Sammy who wanted to know everything. Dean was almost embarrassed to tell him how easy it had been - tempted to make it about gun battles and struggling to light a fire while being attacked, but he knew that Dad would never back it up. So he just shrugged and told Sammy, "It was no big. She's gone now."
It didn't seem to matter. Sammy looked at him like he'd hung the moon and the stars. Dean knew that he idolized him - telling him at every opportunity that he was going to grow up to be just like him. It made Dean feel very grown up, even as he went back to school and lied about being sick to explain why he'd missed three days of class.
After that, he joined Dad on most of his hunts while Sammy still went to stay at grandma's. He always hated leaving his brother behind, but he agreed with Dad that Sammy was still too young to face what they fought almost every weekend. Poltergeists, shapeshifters, firestarters, every weekend brought some new danger.
Privacy was something that Dean was learning to value, as teenage randiness led to him becoming good friends with his right hand. Sometimes he'd take a chance on waiting for Sammy to go to sleep, but more often he'd use the shower. Occasionally he'd take longer than usual, and on those days, Dad would grin at him and snark about hormones, leaving Dean blushing and embarrassed.
***
When Dean was fifteen and Sammy was eleven, their grandmother died. The funeral was something of a blur for Dean, as the last bit of stability from before mom's death slipped away.
Dad had told him how mom had died, and Dean had nightmares about it for a week. Mom was kind of a blonde blur in his imagination - unable to picture her face clearly, no matter how many pictures he looked at - and Dad had trouble talking about her for more than a few minutes. But grandma had always been willing to tell him stories about her, and now that was gone.
Two days after the funeral, they moved again. This time they moved out of Kansas completely, relocating to Denver. While Sammy slept on the back seat, Dad and Dean discussed what they should do with him while they were hunting. It was decided that while he was young, he was good enough that he'd be useful, and that he should just come with and stand guard or something.
It worked well, for a while, but then the night came when the demon they were hunting slipped past Dean and headed straight for Sammy. Dean only knew that he'd gotten past when they heard the report of the gun, and both Dad and Dean had sprinted for the door at a dead run.
When they got outside, they found Sammy in a crouch, gun still at the ready, out of reach of the demon that was dead on the grass. When he saw them, he slowly stood up, but never took his eyes off the thing until Dad had gotten there and told him he could put his weapon down. When he did, he slid it into the holster, took two steps and started throwing up.
Dean beat Dad there, and held his hair back as he emptied his stomach of everything. Once Sammy was done, he'd wiped his face and then held him as he cried.
Dad looked confused and more than a little upset by Sammy's reaction, and ultimately left it in Dean's hands as he cleaned up the demon, dousing it with lighter fluid and setting the ugly thing on fire.
He was solicitous of Sammy for a few days, until he seemed to be feeling better. Then he razzed him unmercifully, till Sammy finally broke and tried to wrestle him to the ground. He still won easily, but he could see a day when it might not be something he could do without breaking a sweat anymore.
***
When Dean was seventeen and Sammy was thirteen, he went on his first real date with a girl. He knew he was cute, but it was hard to date when every Friday and Saturday was spent traveling from one corner of the midwest to the other, finding evil things and killing them.
But Kathy was sweet, and good looking, and when he begged off from a hunting trip to take her to the movies, Dad had smiled and slipped him twenty bucks. He'd had to be home by midnight, but that was okay.
She'd been impressed to find out that he had his own car that he'd rebuilt in what little spare time he had. The '65 Impala had wide, comfortable seats, and when she let him take her into the back seat and slip trembling hands under her shirt; he'd nearly come in his pants.
He was floating on air when he got home, and told the story of his date in whispers to Sammy, who grimaced and got an "eww, girls" look on his face. Dean had laughed and told him that when he got a little older he wouldn't feel that way anymore.
He'd wanted to take her out again the next Friday, but she told him that she had a date with the captain of the football team, and his heart fell.
He devoted more energy into his martial arts classes, managing to win his black belt. Sammy got his brown belt, and Dad attended the award ceremony. Dean was proud of what he'd done, and it made for an interesting dinner that night.
***
When Dean was nineteen and Sam was fifteen, Sam and Dean had their first real fight. It came about because Sam had informed him that, no; he actually wasn't going hunting with them this weekend because he had a science project he needed to finish.
Neither Dad nor Dean could understand Sam and took turns arguing with him, but Sam had been adamant, and as Dean and Dad drove off on Friday afternoon, Sam stayed in his room and worked.
When they returned home on Tuesday, tired, sore, and banged up from fighting a spirit that was killing teenage girls, it was like Sam had been possessed before. This Sam was eager to hear about the hunt, and helped clean weapons and restock the Impala's trunk.
But Dad was still upset, and walked off as Sam had tried, once again, to explain why it was so important that he stayed home. He already had a perfect grade point average, so Dean didn't understand the problem either. What was the point?
After that, Sam stayed home more and more often, and when he did go, he was a pain in the ass. He and Dad fought constantly, distracting both Dean and Dad from the matter at hand. When it came right down to the wire, though, Dean still depended on Sam, and Sam always came through.
Dean had managed to find ways to fit dating in, and was going out with an older girl named Heather. She was in college, and willing to go out on weeknights.
The night that Dean lost his virginity, he stayed out all night. The next morning, Dad didn't say anything about a curfew when he came home. He just smiled and asked Dean if he'd used protection. Dean had blushed so hard that he thought he could have set the apartment on fire.
As he went into the room that he and Sam shared, Sam glanced over from his desk. "Did you get lucky last night?"
"Is it all over my face or something?" Dean had demanded.
"Yep." Sam carefully set aside the book he'd been reading and came over to try and tickle Dean. It turned into a brief wrestling match that left them both limp from laughter.
Dean fell backwards on his bed, and grinned over at Sammy, still sitting on the floor. It seemed like everything was perfect.
***
When Dean was twenty-two and Sam was eighteen, things at home were going to hell. Sam and Dad were fighting all the time, and no matter what Dean said, he was accused of taking the other's side.
So Dean stopped talking to either of them and turned his attention to learning to hustle pool and play poker. Pretty soon, he was bringing in enough money to be able to supplement the rent money that Dad earned, and that meant the two of them spent even more time on the road, cruising from the site of one mystical battle to another.
Sam was enrolled in the local community college, taking as many classes as they'd let him. It meant that he traveled with them even less, but as much as Dean missed him, he was glad to let him stay at home. It meant a hell of a lot less fighting and arguing in the car.
One night, Dean asked him what he thought he was doing with the college work. It turned out that he had his whole life mapped out. He was going to transfer to a big school and do pre-law, and then law school, and then he was going to stop hunting monsters and live a normal life.
Dean stared at him in confusion. How could he want that? Didn't he want to find the thing that had killed Mom? But Sam said that Dean just wouldn't understand and refused to talk about it anymore.
He blinked, and then turned his back and went to sleep. Sam would figure out what was important eventually.
***
When Dean was twenty-four and Sam was twenty, Sam left home after a huge fight with Dad.
Sam had gotten into that four-year school - Stanford of all places! - and had earned himself a full ride. Dean was proud of him, had long since accepted that the life that he led wasn't what Sam wanted, but Sam wouldn't hear him. He was too busy trying to defend himself from Dad's accusations to hear anything else.
Dean knew that Dad wasn't really angry. Knew that he was proud of Sam, too. But he was hurt, and confused, and so he lashed back at Sam.
The day that Sam left home was the second worst day of Dean's life. It turned his life topsy turvy all over again. Sam and Dean had always been together, and now that was over.
Not long after, Dad started letting Dean go hunting on his own. Since neither of them were home for more than a day or two at a time, he let the lease on the apartment run out, and the two of them started living out of boarding houses and hotel rooms.
Occasionally, when Dean was alone in an anonymous hotel room, he'd have to swallow down tears. It was lonely, and dangerous, and he lived for those days when the two of them would meet back up for a few days or a few weeks.
Sometimes, when the work took him to California, he'd swing by the Stanford campus, driving through slowly and looking for Sam. He was never quite sure what he would have done if he'd found him, but that didn't stop him from going. He knew that Dad did the same thing, but they never talked about it.
***
When Dean was twenty-six and Sam was twenty-two, Dad disappeared.
Not knowing what else to do, Dean went to Stanford. A day of hacking into records, and he had Sam's address. Finding the apartment building, he debated waiting till morning, but decided that he couldn't risk missing Sam.
Some quick work with a credit card, and he slipped through the unlocked door. Sam agreed to go with him, and they fruitlessly searched for dad in Jericho. He'd hoped that once back on the road, Sam would change his mind, but the pull of normalcy still had Sam in its grasp and reluctantly he delivered him back to his apartment.
He was rearranging things in the trunk when the sound of screaming and a fire alarm broke his attention. This time, he didn't bother with the subtlety of unlocking the door, just kicking it in, and dragging a sobbing, hysterical Sam back out.
Whatever had killed Mom all those years ago had struck again, this time taking Sam's girlfriend as its prize.
The hold that normalcy had held over Sam evaporated in the same way that the water from the fireman's hoses evaporated in the morning light. Now his focus was all on finding their father.
Nightmares again haunted Sam's sleep, but now they were worse. Instead of waking up screaming, he'd stay asleep, whimpering and crying. Occasionally, he'd say a name. Sometimes it was Jess, sometimes Mom, sometimes Dad.
Sometimes Dean.
When Sam said his name, Dean would get up and slide into the bed with him, spooning him loosely and talk to him. He'd tell him that he was there, that nothing could take Dean away from Sam. Nothing.
On those nights, Sam would quiet, and get what looked like restful sleep. Emboldened by his success, Dean started doing the same thing when other dreams hunted Sam. Like when he was a kid, Dean's presence would help him settle, and finally Sam lost the dark circles around his eyes.
***
After their trip back to the old house and the appearance of Mom, the nightmares got bad again, to the point where Dean gave up on sleeping by himself. Sam blushed and stammered, trying to get him to sleep in his own bed, but Dean would just tell him to shut up and shove over, and Sam would stop.
Gradually, the lack of privacy and time to himself started to tell on Dean. He couldn't pick up a girl when he had nowhere to take them, and he couldn't bring himself to leave Sam alone at night anyway. And it was embarrassing to jerk off in the shower with your little brother in the same room.
So it wasn't surprising when he woke up one night to realize that he was pressing a very hard dick against Sam's ass. Hoping that Sam was still asleep, Dean tried to move back, to turn over, but as he scooted towards the other side of the bed, Sam turned and looked at him with eyes that shone in the dark room.
Trying to cover up his embarrassment, Dean reached out and placed a hand on Sam's shoulder. "You okay, Sammy?"
Sammy nodded, eyes still wide. Slowly, he leaned forward into Dean's personal space, and kissed him.
Dean shifted backwards, trying to get some space, trying to deny how that simple kiss made his cock jerk inside his boxer shorts. "What the hell?"
"Shut up, Dean." Sam tried to lean forward again, to be stopped by the simple method of grabbing his shoulder.
"You're my little brother, Sammy. Why the hell are you kissing me?"
Sam sat up and crossed his legs, looking at Dean with a look of fond exasperation. "Because I wanted to?"
Dean mirrored his position. "Still wrong, though."
"Is it? Really, is it? We're both adults, we aren't going to be having kids with each other, and I'm willing, at least. Is it wrong?"
"What the hell kind of things did they teach you at that school of yours? Of course it's wrong!"
Sam's mouth formed a stubborn line. "Why? I mean, if you aren't interested, tell me that, but don't tell me it's because it's wrong."
"Of course I'm not interested, you perv!" But Dean ignored the fact that his body was saying, yes, it could get interested very easily. "Let's just go back to sleep, okay?"
Sam looked like he was going to argue, but he just turned and laid back down. Dean contemplated getting up and going to the other bed, but even as upset and frustrated as he was, he couldn't sentence Sam to a night of nightmares. So he quietly, laid down, telling his dick firmly that now was not the time. Closing his eyes, he sought sleep for a long, long time.
***
Dean hadn't been so happy to see Sam in well, forever, as when he appeared in the orchard before the creepy scarecrow thing could get to him. Hopping into Sam's stolen car, they bypassed the town and went to pick up the Impala from the college.
It was still where he'd parked it, and he breathed a silent prayer of thanks. Abandoning the other car, the three of them found a run down motel in the middle of nowhere, but no one slept. Emily sat rigid at the head of her bed, while the two men talked in soft voices about the plans for the next morning.
After burning the tree, they put Emily on a bus. They had originally planned to get the hell out of Indiana, but after a night of no sleep, they decided that maybe it would be better to try and rest before heading out. It wasn't like they had a firm plan of where to go, anyway.
Returning to the same crappy motel, they took a room, and found a small diner for dinner. Dean laid down while Sam set up his laptop and started going through obits.
He woke up briefly when Sam climbed into bed, but for the most part, he slept soundly. He woke up spooned up behind Sam and hard again. He wanted to pull away, but wasn't up for the fight. The light leaking in around the curtain was faded, and Dean was surprised to find that both of them had slept through the day. "Sammy?"
"Yeah, Dean."
Dean swallowed hard. "This is still wrong."
Sam pressed back into the curve of Dean's body. "No, it's not."
Groaning, he reached around Sam's chest and snugged him back firmly. Sam twisted his head around, and Dean kissed him awkwardly.
When their lips broke apart, he sighed softly. "Are you sure?"
"As sure as I am about anything else that I know." The answer was immediate, even though Sam's voice was soft.
Dean felt like he should be grossed out. This was his brother that was rubbing against him, that he was kissing, but all he felt was a rising sense of need and want. He encouraged Sam to turn over and face him, and forcing his eyes to stay open, kissed him again.
As Sam slid his tongue into Dean's mouth, he moaned and his eyes sagged shut against his will. Sam tasted good - soft and familiar, finding all the points that made Dean pant harshly. When the kiss ended, he clutched at Sam's shoulders, making him chuckle. "It's okay, Dean, I'm not going anywhere." But he still pulled away a little, and Dean groaned at the loss.
Only to gasp when Sam slid his hands under the back of his shorts, sliding them over the curve of his buttocks. When they slid to the front of his body, his eyes shot open and he looked at Sam. He wasn't sure what he expected to see, but the warm good humor there reassured him. Carefully, Sam worked his boxers down without hooking them on his dick, and Dean gasped as the cool air brushed over him.
Sam pressed him back into the bed, and kissed Dean's shoulder. "Tell me if you want me to stop." Dean knew he should say something, should tell Sam again that this was wrong, but he couldn't get his mouth to form the words. As Sam kissed a blazing trail over his chest, he panted, moving restlessly.
Lips on his belly made him flinch, and Sam sought out his ticklish spots to bite. Dean's eyes flew open and his hands found Sam's hair. He looked up at Dean, wicked amusement glittering in his eyes. "Something wrong?"
Besides this whole situation? is what he didn't say. Instead he grunted and dropped his head back down. Sam chuckled against his belly, but didn't try to tickle him again. Instead that wicked, hot mouth worked its way further down.
When his cock was engulfed, Dean couldn't bite back the cry. Sam obviously knew what he was doing, and there was no hesitation, just wet and heat and oh, my fucking god. Dean's hands tightened in Sam's hair. "Oh, god..."
Sam was playing him like a fucking violin, pushing him higher and higher every moment. When he finally tongued the spot below the head of Dean's cock and gently squeezed his balls, he couldn't take anymore and came with a loud cry.
When Sam released his cock, he was wheezing, trying to catch his breath, but he couldn't help but watch as Sam rose to his knees, shoving his own boxers out of the way carelessly and taking his own cock in hand, stroking it roughly.
Dean watched for a moment, and then said, "You can fuck me if you want." He wasn't sure why, just that he wanted to give something back to Sam. Sam stared at him with wide eyes, frozen in place.
"Are you sure, Dean?"
He nodded. He did mean it - it wasn't like it was any more wrong than what they'd already done, and he somehow knew that Sam wouldn't let it hurt.
Sam stayed frozen for a moment, and then practically dove off the bed for his bag. When he came back up, he was holding a small bottle of astroglide, and Dean bit his lip. He was surprised when Sam laid down next to him and started by kissing him again.
The kissing went on till he was dizzy and lost, floating on lust and the heat from Sam's body next to his. Hands rubbed a slow path over his chest, his thighs, and when they dipped between to fondle his nuts he couldn't help but spread his legs wider for more of that touch.
Sam chuckled against his mouth, and his fingers drifted back to press on his perineum. Then they disappeared, and he whimpered at the loss. When they came back, they were wet and slick.
Back further, and they circled around his entrance. Sam murmured soft words into his mouth, about relaxing and that he wasn't going to hurt him, just make him feel good. As the tip of one finger dipped inside, he moaned. He'd had no idea that this could feel so good.
Slowly, Sam prepared him, stretching out his hole so he could take first one finger, then two. His cock, unbelievably, was standing up again, more interested in what was going on than he could believe. What had started as something to do for Sam was becoming something that was all about him.
Finally, Sam kissed his neck and whispered, "You think you're ready?"
Dean nodded, unable to keep from wondering if two fingers felt this good, what was going to happen when he was being fucked. He'd gotten a good look at Sam's cock, and while it wasn't any longer than his, it was a lot thicker - definitely more than two fingers worth, anyway.
Sam pushed and pulled until Dean was lying on his side, his knee practically pulled up to his chest. There was a broad, blunt pressure, and now Dean was having second thoughts. "Wait! Sammy, are you -"
The pressure didn't move, but Sam wrapped an arm around his chest, holding him tight. "It's okay, Dean. I've got you."
Dean bowed his head and took a deep breath. Slowly, he nodded, and Sam kissed the back of his neck and then the pressure increased. Steadily, Dean was filled, leaving him shaking and wrung out. The pain was dull, but there, and he could feel his cock wilting. Then a hand wrapped around it, and Sam moved, and sparks flared behind his eyes.
"Christ, Sam! Do that again." Sam chuckled and started to move a little faster. Dean moaned, unbelieving that he was already getting close to coming. Again.
Every stroke filled him, pressing on that place that made him see stars. Sam panted harshly in his ear, body pressed close. His hand was tight around his cock, and stroked him in rhythm to the movement of his hips.
Somehow, he managed to hold on until Sam's tempo broke, a guttural moan spilling from his lips. The sound was the last thing that Dean needed, and he came over Sam's hand.
The room was filled with the smell of sex, the sounds of them trying to catch their breaths. Sam slid slowly out of Dean, leaving him feeling empty. Gently, he was urged to lower his leg, and Sam wrapped his arms around his chest, pressing his forehead into the spot where Dean's neck met his shoulder.
"You okay?"
Dean couldn't do more than murmur an affirmative, as his eyes drifted shut. When he woke, they'd have to deal with the consequences of what they'd done, but for right now, he was home.