Summary: All Sam had ever done wrong was show Dean he wanted him.
Evil Seeds by frostgossamer
PoV: Sam Winchester, hormonal and emotionally damaged teenager
It was a warm late April evening in 1999. Dean was polishing Dad's car and I was sitting in the open doorway, writing a book report for school and watching him. Watching my brother polish the Chevy. Watching his shoulder muscles working under his T-shirt. Watching his ass flex as he reached to buff up the sleek paintwork in long slow sweeps. Watching his strong hands choke the life outa that shammy. Oh yeah, I was busy writing that book report. And Dean was totally unaware that I was watching, sure he was.
I stood up and stretched. I went inside and, a minute later, came back out with a can of cold beer. Dean was finishing the crome-work meticulously. I slouched silently beside him, holding the beer out toward Dean, between thumb and forefinger, until he deigned to look up. Dean took the can and rolled it slowly over his sweating brow, closing his eyes and emitting a low "fhew". I chuckled. God, he so was hot.
Dean pulled the ring off of the can and glugged down a greedy gulp. Then he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Beautiful", he said. I reached out my hand and wiped off the drops of moisture threatening to run into his eyes.
Dean grabbed my wrist. "Don't", he snapped. I looked down at my shoes. I had to quit doing that sorta thing. He was wise to it.
"It's OK", Dean apologized. "Just...", he trailed off.
"Look. Go find yourself a girl, Sam", he sighed. "Hell, I'll give you the money for a pro."
I screwed up my face. "That's not what I want, Dean", I said. "You know that."
Dean crushed the empty can and tossed it in the trash.
"What you want, Sam. That's never gonna happen", he growled. "You know it. I'm not on the menu. You're gonna have to deal, babe."
I really liked that word, "babe". I smiled, "I can wait."
Then I turned and went back indoors.
PoV: Dean Winchester, big brother and defective moral compass
I sat on the hood of the Impala and sighed.
Did other families have problems like this? Normal families?
Sam was just a kid. A regular kid. It was just the life we led. It fucked you up, living in each other's pockets 24/7. Never staying anyplace too long. Never able to come clean to anyone about your life. It was like living on a desert island, like Tom Hanks and his freakin' volleyball. Alone in the ocean with only each other, values get distorted.
Pretty soon I was gonna have to get my little brother straightened out. Or else I was gonna have to hurt him.
I stood up and went inside. Sam was sullenly making himself a sandwich on the kitchen counter. I sat on the counter beside him.
"Look", I said. "You're probably just feelin' kinda antsy in this shitty place. Dad will be home in a day or two and then we can get outa here and move on to someplace else, someplace with nice girls."
"Dad's not gonna be home for my birthday", he griped, stabbing the butter. "Again."
"Sure he will", I assured him, punching him on the arm.
He winced, even though it was nothing. "He's not gonna make it home, Dean. He never does."
I sighed. There was nothing else to say.
After a minute I broke the silence. "It's OK", I said. "Sammy, about before, it's not your fault."
Sam shot me a look. "I think it's your fault, Dean", he said flatly.
I asked, "How'd you figure that?"
"Because you're always too close", Sam answered.
I looked down at the counter. Maybe I was a little close. I scooched along a few inches.
Sam laughed, "That's not the sort of close I mean."
"Well, I'm not gonna start getting all cold and distant, bro", I smiled.
Sam looked at me. "You could start looking a little less... fuckable", he suggested.
I wasn't as shocked as I should have been, but I did feel a little offended.
"You saying I look gay?", I asked defensively.
"Hell no, Dean. You're 'muy macho'", he said. "Just a little too macho for me to ignore."
And with that he stepped in front of me and began to unbuckle my belt.
"Hey, Sam!", I protested, grabbing my brother's wrists.
He stared me right in the face, then leaned real close and breathed hot against my cheek.
"Let me", he hissed. God damn me, I let go his hands.
And I found myself unable to move. Unable to move when my baby brother unzipped the fly of my jeans. Unable to move when he slowly slid his hand down my belly into my shorts. And rigid when my Sammy wrapped his long fingers around me.
Sam's lips were on mine, and I suddenly wanted them there way too much. But I pushed him away just the same.
"No!", I said firmly. "I said it's not gonna happen."
"It's too late", Sam replied, shrugging. "Now you know. It's not just me."
And he picked up his sandwich and wandered outside to finish his report.
Five days later it was Sam's birthday. Dad still hadn't shown. And that night I should have locked my door.
I didn't.
The End