Title: Sequins and Padded Bras Notwithstanding
Author: AlexJanna
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Series: Sequins Verse
Rating: R
Genre: Pre-Series AU
Word Count: 12,568
Warning: wincest, grew up apart, au from pre-series, semi-graphic m/m sex, cross-dressing (like for real), mentions of drag queens
Summary: All he'd wanted was a beer, but Sam hasn't been able to take his eyes off that smoking hot drag queen that, according to the bartender, can hustle you out of your diaphragm and will beat the stuffing out of you if you dare call him a girl.
A/N: I know little to nothing about the foster care system, so if I have gotten something wrong, bear with me. Likewise, I'm not a drag queen so, you know, grain of salt people. Story cut into two parts for length.
Sam stepped into the bar and looked around. It was a dive, or as much of one as a queer bar could be, but it was the only one on that block that Sam was pretty sure he wouldn't get stabbed for his shoes in. A little rough around the edges compared to anything he'd seen in California, but this place had a strange nostalgic feel to it.
He could almost remember the many and varied times of his childhood when his father and brother made him stay in the car while they hustled the locals out of their pay checks. If he ignored the drag queens and the truly awful 80's women's power ballads on the juke box.
Then again, maybe he just wasn't remembering quite right.
Ten years ago CPS had finally caught up with them while his dad was on a hunt and that was the last time Sam have ever seen either his father or his brother. Thinking about that day still caused a wave of anger, sadness, and panic to well up in his chest so he tried not to think about it too much.
So, he was driving across the country to find himself, or at least that's what he'd told all of his college friends he didn't particularly think he was ever going to see again. And he was now standing in the shittiest queer bar in the south hoping that huge bouncer at the door doesn't decide he isn't gay enough and tosses him out on his ass.
He really wants that damn beer.
Sam had been driving for the last ten hours and he figured he looked it because when he finally made his way up to the bar the drag queen behind it gave him a sympathetic look and wiped his hands on the frilly pink apron that went with his whole Lucille Ball ensemble.
"You look like hell, honey." He said in a voice that was surprisingly smooth considering he looked about the size of a linebacker. "First one's on the house."
Sam flashed him the most thankful, dimpled smile he could and collapsed onto a barstool. "Just a beer please, whatever you drink."
Lucille, as he directed Sam to call him, just threw his head back and let out a deep rumbling laugh. "Oh, honey! I don't drink beer." He flashed Sam an amused smirk before he reached under the bar and pulled out a frosty chilled bottle. "I drink my martinis dry and in abundance."
Sam huffed a small laugh too and just took the bottle from the bartender and twisted the top off. "Thanks, but I think I'll stick to beer."
Lucille just shrugged and went back to tending his other customers while Sam sipped at his beer and looked around himself.
The bar was definitely a dive, but it seemed to be popular with the kind of crowd that didn't much look at décor when there was a good drink in front of them. A mix of blue collar, working class men and glitzed up, high-heel wearing queens were sitting at the bar, the sticky beat up tables, and standing at the pool tables. The place seemed fairly mellow and the music, while still horrible, wasn't ear splittingly loud so Sam was able to tune it out.
He could feel the tenseness in his shoulders from the long drive in his piece of shit Toyota was just starting to ease away and his beer was just about finished when Sam spotted him. Or at least Sam was pretty sure it was a him since the majority of the clientele was male, sequins and padded bras notwithstanding.
The juke box had just flipped over to a song Sam hadn't heard since before he became a ward of the state and his eyes just snagged and stuck on a tall body leaning rather lazily against a pool cue. Sam's breath caught and his eyes were drawn as if by magnets up and then down again, taking in every inch of the guy standing with his back turned and one hip jutted out insolently.
He had brood shoulders built with muscle and confidence, slim, narrow hips, and long slightly bowed legs that looked every inch the powerful muscled legs as the rest of his body would lead you to believe.
Scuffed black combat styled women's boots went up to his knees and from that it was a straight shot of miles of leg all the way to his skin tight, cut-off blue jean skirt that made Sam think more of a tough biker chick than of a young college girl. A worn black leather jacket stretched across his shoulders, the collar popped, and down to touch at the top of his skirt- and Sam really couldn't take his eyes off that skirt.
It was faded and fraying and just barley covered enough of his ass to keep you guessing, but if he were to bend over just an inch more…
Sam made a strangled choking sound in the back of his throat when the guy did just that. He bent over the pool table, lined up his cue and took a shot that must have won him the game because his opponent and his group of construction worker friends all groaned and started emptying their pockets.
He didn't get a view of skin underneath that skirt, but he did get smugly taunting peak of shiny black underwear.
"Oh, honey. You're gonna want to roll your tongue back in your head if you're looking at Deanna."
Startled, Sam flicked a look back at Lucille before turning his attention back on the cross-dressed guy at the pool tables. "Is that his name? Deanna?"
Lucille startled him again with a loud explosive laugh that made Sam think he just missed something rather important. "Don't ever call him that to his face." Lucille said, and it smacked of an inside joke. "We all like to tease him, but if he don't know you he'll skin you just as soon as look at you if you dare call him a girl's name."
Raising an incredulous eyebrow, Sam turned his attention back to the bartender.
He just shrugged and pulled another beer out from under the bar. "Don't ask me." He popped the top this time and snagged the empty out of Sam's loose grip. "Anyway, he's some kind of wiz at pool, poker, darts, anything you can hustle our Deanna over there can hustle you out of your diaphragm if you let him."
Sam just made a half strangled interested noise at that. He didn't particularly want to think about why a bunch of drag queens would have diaphragms, so he just kept his mouth shut and let Lucille ramble. He found that it's the best way to get information out of people, just let them talk.
The guy at the pool tables was still turned away from them, but his laugh rang out over the din and Sam's eyes were once again riveted on his back. He really wanted him to turn around so he could get a look at his face.
A heavy sigh once again divided his attention.
"I don't know why those boys still let him cheat them out of their money every time they come in, but I guess when you've got Deanna right in front of you it's not too difficult to let him grin and charm you out of just about anything." Sam watched Lucille give a little shiver then flick slyly grinning eyes at him. "If he didn't like his men extra tall and extra toppy I'd let him cheat me out of my panties any day."
That surprised a laugh out of Sam before he could stifle it, but Lucille didn't seem offended. He just grinned back at him before flicking his eyes toward the tables with another smirk. "Watch yourself, honey. Deanna's coming over and he's a man eater if ever I saw one."
Sam couldn't help, but think that Lucille didn't regard that as a bad thing. He didn't get time to dwell on that however, because sure enough "Deanna" had just turned around and was swaggering over like a much more graceful and attractive drag version of John Wayne. Sam decided it was the bow legs.
Now that he was turned towards him, Sam could see the rest of him, and he was not disappointed.
The boots tied up the legs and judging by the slight bulge in the leg of the left one, Sam knew he was hiding some kind of knife. His legs were just as smooth and muscular in front as in back and his skirt was just as short. Sam had to force his eyes upward if he ever wanted to get a look at the guy's face.
Underneath his leather jacket, which now that Sam could see the front looked decidedly biker chick, he wore a faded, fitted Metallica t-shirt with the collar cut to swoop across his chest from shoulder to shoulder revealing smooth muscled skin, and sharp strong collarbones. The planes of skin were disrupted by a leather cord hanging from his neck and mostly hidden underneath his shirt. But that wasn't really the part that had Sam well and truly stuck.
It was the guy's face. Strong sharp jaw, full pouty lips painted glossy and dark red, a faint sprinkling of freckles across his cheeks, a nose that must have been broken and reset at some point if the notch on the bridge was anything to go by, and bright green eyes made all the more catching because of his thick curled eyelashes and dark purple eye makeup.
His hair was cropped short, spiked on top of his head and his ears were pierced, brass shells from a forty-five hanging from French wires in his earlobes.
Sam felt his mouth go dry and his throat start to close up. This guy, with his butch hair cut, and his short skirt, and his bowed legs, was so amazingly hot, Sam hadn't realized that he'd suddenly turned into a sweaty palmed fifteen year old again.
He swaggered up to the bar and leaned against it lazily, his low necked shirt gapping just enough to show off his smooth, hard chest.
"Hey, Lucille," he said with a deep rich voice, "get me a whisky double, straight and a round of beers for my friends over there." He nodded his head back the way he'd come to the group of guys he'd just cleaned out.
Hot, butch drag queen he may be, but ungraceful winner he was not.
Lucille fluttered his eye lashes flirtatiously and licked his red lips before he turned around to get the whisky bottle and glass from the shelf with a sultry, "Sure thing, doll."
Deanna, or whatever he preferred to go by, just flashed the bartender a grin that had Sam's heart quickening and his lower belly warming quite appreciatively.
A tumbler full of whisky was slid into Deanna's hand and a tray of beer sent off with a waiter toward the poor fools by the pool tables, then Deanna suddenly turned his bright green eyes on Sam and raised an eyebrow at him.
"Hey sugar." He drawled slowly, a smooth as silk smirk tugging at his full lips. "I ain't never seen you around here before."
Sam's throat was officially dry, but he just took a sip of his beer to cover his lapse and couldn't tear his eyes away from Deanna's. "Yeah, I'm just passing through. Stopped for the night."
"Oh, yeah?" Deanna smirked like he'd said something funny before he put his glass up to his lips and downed it all in one swallow before slamming the glass back down to the bar and gesturing Lucille for another one.
There was a perfect red imprint of his lips on the rim.
"Where you headed to?"
Sam tore his eyes away from the glass as Lucille filled it up, the bartender's eyes knowing and smug on him. "I don't know really. I haven't really planned that far ahead."
Deanna let out a chuckle at that and nodded his thanks to Lucille. "On one of those life altering, soul searching road trips, then."
Snorting, Sam downed the rest of his beer and smirked wryly at his new companion. "That's one way to put it." He shifted on the stool so that his body was turned toward Deanna and let his legs fall open lazily. "I never thought endless miles of highway were much in the way of life altering experiences."
Green eyes slid maddeningly slow down Sam's body sending trills of excitement up his spine till they finally found and settled on his crotch. And Sam's not so unnoticeable bulge therein.
Those pouty flushed lips curved up around the rim of Deanna's glass as he swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing languidly. "Well, now that depends on who's sitting shotgun when you're driving those miles." He said, voice all whisky rough and sly.
Another shiver went up Sam's spine and he leaned closer, his own voice low and just verging on flirtatious. "Maybe that's my problem then. I don't have anybody riding shotgun with me."
A perfectly shaped eyebrow rose and an amused smirk pulled at Deanna's painted lips. His eyes flicked down from Sam's eyes to his lips down over his chest and to his crotch once more. More measuring and calculating than appreciative this time.
There was just something so familiar about him that Sam couldn't help, but feel at ease and comfortable around Deanna. Maybe it was the way he swallowed straight whisky like it was Kool-Aid, or the way he smelled of leather and sweat and gunpowder from his earrings, or the way his freckles scattered over his nose and cheeks in a way that reminded Sam so much of his long lost brother. Either way, Sam knew he had to have to him.
"I reckon you've found yourself a passenger, sugar." Deanna closed the distance between them and grasped Sam's knee with his free hand, its nails painted darkly, before sliding it up his jean clad thigh in a heavy drag that had Sam half hard within a heartbeat. "At least for tonight." He finished with a smirk, setting his glass down on the bar.
Sam couldn't help himself, he grinned and watched his companion's eyes flick down to his dimples with a hint of amusement and something else in them before returning back to his heated gaze.
"You got a name, babe?" Deanna asked as he moved into the space between Sam's legs and slid his hand the rest of the way up his thigh to grasp hot and hard at the bend in his hip.
"Sam." He answered as he gripped Deanna's hips in his big hands and pulled him in closer, their body heat seeping into each other.
A wry chuckle and a huff of breath ghosted over Sam's jaw before he heard Deanna's voice rolling hot over his ear. "Hi, Sam. I'm Dean. Pleasure to meet you."
Sam almost melted in his seat right then. It didn't go unnoticed that this smoking hot drag queen shared a name with his long gone brother, but Sam couldn't bring himself to care. All he wanted was to get back to his motel room and fuck Dean until the cock crowed, in more ways than one.
A shiver raked through his body and Sam's hands tightened almost painfully tight on Dean's hips. "Let's get out of here." He growled into Dean's ear and dropped his feet off the stool rungs to the sticky wooden floor.
"You read my mind." Dean pulled back and flashed Sam a smile that he was sure could charm candy from babies. "But first I gotta tell you that while I may dress like a chick, underneath this skirt I am all man."
Sam just laughed and took one of his hands from Dean's hip to slide it quick and firm up Dean's leg and up under said sorry excuse for a skirt. "God, I should hope so."
He slipped a finger underneath the elastic band of those black panties Sam had gotten a peak at earlier and snapped it back against that silky smooth skin. Dean's smirk just grew and he pulled a wallet out of nowhere and slapped down enough cash to cover Sam's two beers and Dean's two double whiskies.
"Let's get out of here." Dean grasped Sam's hand in a firm grip and tugged him up from his seat and out of the bar. "You got a room somewhere?" He asked as they hit the hot night air.
Sweat immediately broke out on Sam's chest and back, but he couldn't resist tugging Dean back into his chest and slipping his hands up under his faded, mutilated Metallica shirt. It came as a bit of a surprise when he felt the unmistakable impression of a gun against his belly where Dean's lower back should have pressed.
Stilling, Dean just peaked over his shoulder and smirked slyly at him. "Sorry about that. A queen not packing in this neighborhood is a dead queen before too long."
A laugh broke out of Sam and he just splayed his hands out over the smooth expanse of Dean's hard belly, giving him a quick, hard squeeze before letting him go and grabbing his hand once more.
"I got a room at a motel a few blocks away." He answered instead of commenting.
Dean just grinned again and pressed up along Sam's side. "Good. We'll take your car."
Dean's mouth was hot and tasted like spice and whisky and lipstick. Sam couldn't get enough of it. Their tongues twisted around one another and Sam groaned deep in his throat, the sound echoed back at him from Dean.
Sweat was slicking their skin, sticking their shirts to their chests and Sam spared half a thought to wonder how exactly Dean could be walking around in the middle of a southern summer wearing a leather jacket. Then Sam pushed Dean back against the motel door gripping the back of his sweat dampened thighs just under his ass and neither of them were doing much thinking after that.
Dean was tall, over six feet, but even with his jacked up biker boots he was nowhere near the giant Sam was. He breathed deep and ragged as their hard dicks pressed, rubbing torturously together through their respective jean barriers and lifted a leg, throwing it around Sam's hips and tugging him as close as he could get him.
Pleasure and heat spiking up his spine, Sam tightened his grip on the back of Dean's legs, braced his legs apart and hefted all hundred and seventy-five pounds of writhing, thrusting Dean up into the air. Dean made a choked surprised sound when Sam slammed him back against the door for leverage, then wrapped his long smooth legs around Sam's waist , bringing their groins together like puzzle pieces.
"God! You're strong." Dean huffed as they continued grinding their hips together and kissing long and wet and dirty. "It's really fucking hot."
Sam huffed out a breathless chuckle and worked his mouth down Dean's jaw to his neck, scraping his teeth against the slick skin there and laving at the corded muscle. "Thanks. I try."
Laughing out right, Dean threw his head back to give Sam more access even as he continued grinding their hips together.
Sam's hands had slipped up from Dean's thighs to gripping with bruising force at his firm ass, his panties pushed askew and his skirt shoved up somewhere near his ribs. Sinking his teeth into that delicious section of skin at the junction of Dean's neck and shoulder, Sam couldn't stop his fingers from slipping further underneath his panties and skimming teasingly over his quivering, puckered hole.
Gasping suddenly, Dean thrust his painted fingers deep into Sam's hair and wrenched his head away from his neck so he could get to Sam's lipstick smeared lips. Biting at Sam's lips more than kissing them, Dean thrust his tongue hard and deep into his mouth in an imitation of what Sam very much wanted to do with another part of his own body.
Sam moved his mouth with Dean's all the while his finger was thrusting shallowly into Dean's hot, dry hole.
Finally, it seemed Dean's patience for play and teasing was out. Pulling away from Sam's mouth with a wet smack, he clenched his hole hard around Sam's finger and squeezed his legs tight around Sam's hips.
"Enough play." He growled as Sam's finger withdrew and he dropped his feet to the ugly beige carpeting. "Move to the bed. I want you to fuck me."
"Yeah," Sam agreed stupidly, his lips swollen and burning from Dean's rough treatment, his cock hard and aching from anticipation.
Dean pulled away from the door and moved past Sam into the motel room and toward the bed stopping halfway there to bend over and pull at the knotted laces on his boots. A few quick tugs down his legs and the boots were loose enough for him to step out of.
Now barefoot, Dean shed his jacket letting it fall negligently to the floor. Then gripping the bottom of his t-shirt he pulled it over his head in one fluid motion, the muscles rippling over his back and under miles of his tanned, freckled skin. Sam couldn't tear his eyes off of him, and Dean knew it, if the sly look he flashed him over his shoulder was any indication.
Sam's eyes racked over Dean's broad, bare shoulders, over his muscled back barely taking notice of numerous scars in the dim light filtering in from the neon sign out front. The sight of the gleaming, pearl handled semi-automatic sticking up from the back of Dean's skirt caught Sam's gaze and he was surprised that the sight of it resting there in the dip of Dean's lower back was so amazingly hot. He couldn't stop himself from stepping forward and pressing his chest to Dean's back once again.
Dean sighed at the feel of a hundred and ninety pounds and six foot five inches of pure muscled Sam pressed all along his body. Sam's huge callused hands were stroking up his chest, long dexterous fingers flicking at his hard peaked nipples and Dean knew that if he didn't get both of them naked within the next few minutes it was going to be over way too soon.
Reaching back, Dean gripped his gun and pulled it out of his skirt setting it on the nightstand before he reached up with hurried hands and slipped his earrings from his ears dropping them beside it. Next to go was his watch and his well worn bracelets, all thrown down on the nightstand with more haste than care.
Sam pinched one of his nipples hard then licked up his neck in apology and Dean couldn't take it anymore.
He groaned. "God, Sammy. We gotta get you naked." He spared a second to pull the leather cord and amulet that had been hidden beneath his shirt over his head to drop it next to his stuff on the night stand before he was spinning around ripping at Sam's clothes.
Their fervor and excitement reignited, Sam shoved Dean's skirt and panties down his long legs as Dean deftly unbuckled and unfastened his jeans divesting him quickly of all his clothes.
They tumbled down onto the bed so twisted up with one another there was little space for light between them. Dean's dark painted nails scratched up Sam's back, and Sam bit a deep purple love bite into Dean's neck. Arching and writhing and thrusting against each other there was little time for conversation and even less time for procrastination.
A strip of condoms and a small tube of lube appeared out of Dean's jacket pockets and soon all either of them could think about was the drag of Dean's calloused hands along Sam's back, chest, and ass, and the feel of Sam's large, hard cock pounding deliciously into Dean's body with his legs thrown up over Sam's shoulders.
It wasn't long after they'd spent across their bellies and into the condom that Sam had Dean flipped over onto his hands and knees. Sam bit and licked over Dean's shaking, sweat slicked shoulders as he stroked his hands down his sides and over Dean's soft, hairless legs.
Dean snapped out an order and Sam was rolling on a fresh condom and shoving back into that slick, tight heat, Dean arching and moaning underneath him, thrusting back on his cock and into his hand cussing the whole time.
The duvet was sticky and wet with come and another condom was tossed in the estimated direction of the trashcan before Dean flipped them over and decided that he wanted to play for a while.
Sam was straddled and treated to a rather spectacular sucking bite on his left peck right above his nipple before Dean moved lower and spent his time stroking and licked at his once again achingly hard cock. He couldn't stop himself from gripping Dean's head by his short, dark blond hair and thrusting up into his plump lipstick smeared lips while he watched Dean watch him from under dark purple dusted eyelids with bright green eyes.
Then Dean was rolling on another condom on him with his mouth and sliding down onto Sam's dick with his hands braced heavy and hot on Sam's heaving chest. Dean rode Sam hard and rough and neither of them minded a single bit. Especially when they were both coming so spectacularly they didn't even hear the train rolling by not twenty yards behind the motel.
Dean collapsed on the bed next to Sam and waited for Sam to toss the condom away before rolling into his side and throwing an arm and a leg over him. Sam for his part just reveled in the after glow and let the warmth and weight of another person in bed beside him lull him to sleep.
Sam woke up the latest he'd ever been able to get away with since leaving Stanford and he liked it. Stretching languidly on his back, he glanced over to see the broad freckled back of his companion from the night before. Sprawled out on his belly, Dean looked deceptively calm and still. Sam knew, of course, that Dean was really spectacularly loud, always in motion, and larger than life in more ways than one.
But for now he was still quietly asleep, and Sam took the opportunity to study his bedmate in the light of day.
Propping himself up on his elbow, Sam leaned over Dean's back and peered down at the unobscured half of his face. Even without the two beers and the crappy barroom light, Dean was gorgeous.
Light freckles decorated high on his cheek bones and trailed all the way over the bridge of his nose. His lips were still smeared with the remnants of whatever lipstick or gloss he'd been wearing the night before and looked swollen and used. The makeup coloring his eyes must have begun to run sometime in the night, or during the spectacular mini-marathon of sex, leaving smudges of dark purple and black under his eyes and across his temples.
Snorting a quiet laugh, Sam ran his eyes over Dean's hair, pressed flat and messy, whatever hair product he'd used the night before had long outworn its usefulness, and continued on his exploration.
There was a small starburst of a scar behind his ear that made Sam pause suddenly, a flash of a memory wanting to break through his sleep and sex hazed mind, but he brushed it away in favor of more pleasurable pursuits than remembering long buried things from before.
Shaking his head, Sam just leaned down and feathered light teasing kisses down Dean's neck over his darkening love bites and along his shoulders. A grin tugged at his lips when Dean shifted, still mostly asleep, and made a pleased little moan under his breath.
Darker freckles than the ones on Dean's cheeks were sprinkled all across his shoulders and down his back. Sam intended to lick every single one of them. Starting right that second.
It was odd. He'd never been this enthusiastic with any of his other lovers, male or female. Generally, Sam was more of a wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am type of guy unless he was looking for commitment. Then he threw himself into it whole hog. But his one night stands were never like that.
He always preferred to hand them their obligatory coffee and call them a cab.
He never brought home a lover from a bar and expected more than the minimum of satisfactory sexual experiences before they parted ways. But Dean was not like that at all.
With Dean, Sam knew he just wasn't going to be able to get enough. And it wasn't just because Sam had never picked up a drag queen before. It was because Dean himself was absolutely amazing.
He tasted like nothing else Sam had every tasted before. The sounds he made sent fire shooting through Sam's belly. And every time Sam got a whiff of the smell that seemed to naturally waft off of Dean's body, Sam just wanted to press his face into his skin and hold on tight.
Indulging himself in that last one, Sam pressed nose into the dip in Dean's lower back and inhaled. Apparently more awake than when Sam had started his freckle campaign, Dean twitched and chuckled sleepily into his pillow.
"Like what you smell, Sammy?"
The name sent a thrill of warmth and belonging through Sam's body and he didn't even try to deny it. "Yeah. You smell amazing."
Snorting, Dean lifted his head just enough to peak over his shoulder at him. "After a night in a bar and three rounds of hardcore sex and I still smell good?" His sleep cloudy eyes wrinkled at the corners in amusement. "You should get your nose checked, Sammy."
Just grinning in response, Sam pressed his lips to the spot he'd been sniffing and continued on his downward path.
The sheet became an unacceptable obstacle so Sam stroked up Dean's calf, gripped the sheet at the back of his knee and pulled until the firm swell of Dean's ass was exposed to the late morning light.
And a marvelous ass it was. Round and firm and smooth and Sam bit the skin on Dean's left ass cheek causing the other man to yelp and reach back to smack him lightly on the head.
"Be careful with the merchandise." He scolded even as he turned back around and collapsed back onto his front. "I'm delicate."
Sam kissed the reddened skin in apology and was about to give the other cheek the same treatment when a dark, oddly shaped birthmark on Dean's right hip caught his eye.
Frowning slightly, Sam stared at it. It kinda looked like the state of Texas, he mused.
And on the heels of that thought came the sudden staggering memory that Sam's big brother, Dean had that exact same birthmark shaped like Texas on his right hip. The realization of what that meant literally knocked him back on his ass.
Startled by Sam's yelp and the solid thump of his body hitting the floor on the other side of the bed Dean was up and tensed, ready for whatever danger caused his bedmate to jolt.
"What? What happened?" He demanded eyes scanning his surroundings and finding absolutely nothing amiss, except for Sam sprawled out on the floor on the side of the bed staring up at him like he'd seen a ghost. Relaxing minutely, Dean looked down at his lover and frowned worriedly. "Sam?"
And just like that, with one innocuous observation, Sam had a stream of information flooding his brain and shedding light on every dark, mostly forgotten part of his memory.
He looked up at Dean, the drag queen he'd brought back and fucked six ways to Sunday the night before, and finally recognized Dean, the big brother he hasn't seen in over a decade.
"Holy shit." He breathed, eyes still riveted on Dean.
"What?" Dean demanded again, feeling really freaking uneasy now that Sam was just staring up at him with a mixed look of horror, awe, and incredulity. "What is it, Sam?"
Shoved out of his frozen shock by the raw worry and unease on Dean's face and in his voice, Sam was up and clawing at his discarded jeans from last night until they were finally untangled. Pulling them on, Sam spun back around to see that Dean had at least taken the hint and slipped himself back into his small, really rather skimpy black panties.
Sam was suddenly struck with the sheer incomprehension of how Dean fit the entirety of his manhood in those tiny little things. But that was a thought stream and freak-out for another time. Right then he was trying to have a freak-out about finally finding his long lost brother.
"Dean." His voice sounded like gravel so he cleared his throat hoping it would help.
"Yeah?" Dean returned, his arms crossed self consciously across his chest and his eyes wary and cautious on Sam.
Taking a deep breath, Sam gathered all of his courage. "What's your last name?"
Green eyes going suspicious in no time at all, Sam watched Dean, his brother, inch backwards toward the nightstand where his gun was still sitting. But he did answer Sam's question.
"Winchester." He said, voice low and guarded. "My name's Winchester."
A laugh exploded out of Sam and he couldn't tell if it was hysterical or happy. A little of both he expected. "God Dean." He breathed, his chest feeling so full and hot and his belly turning with excitement and sickness. "Oh my God, Dean, I found you!"
Shocked, Dean's arms fell from their position across his chest and Sam could see the moment that he clued in and took a closer look at Sam.
He wasn't really surprised that Dean hadn't recognized him. He'd changed a lot from a five foot two chubby twelve year old to a six foot five muscled, giant at twenty-two. Still, he waited patiently as Dean's eyes scanned him once again from head to toe. This time, instead of looking for sex appeal and chemistry, those gorgeous, familiar green eyes were looking for any resemblance to a kid brother long since thought lost to the system.
A sharp intake of breath signaled the moment everything clicked and between one blink and the next Dean was standing right in front of Sam, his painted fingers reaching out shakily toward his face. Startled, his heart pounding a mile a minute, Sam pursed his lips to force himself to keep still.
Dean's eyes caught on those dimples that just kept popping up and before Sam could protest Dean had his face held tightly in his hot calloused hands, his thumbs stroking gently over dimple and cheek and mouth as Dean took in every inch of his face.
"Jesus Christ, Sammy." Dean breathed and it sounded like a homecoming. Sam would have laughed in pure joy if Dean wasn't suddenly wrapped around him tighter than boa constrictor, their bare chests pressed painfully tight together.
One hand was threaded through the back of his hair and the other was played out between his shoulder blades holding him in place, but Sam didn't care. He wasted a split second on shock before he had his arms wrapped crushingly tight around Dean's chest and his face pressed hard into Dean's neck.
"Fuck." Dean cursed and it sounded shaky and delighted and Sam just squeezed a little tighter, his own breath coming less than steady. "Man, Sam, you got fucking tall."
Laughing weakly, Sam let Dean pull away a bit, but it seemed that neither of them wanted to lose physical contact for more than was absolutely necessary.
"Yeah well, it was hell trying to grow that last foot and a half, let me tell you." Sam shrugged shyly, causing Dean to grin even bigger.
"Man." Dean breathed with a smile seeming permanently stretched over his mouth. "Look at you. Ten years and you grew up, man. I can't believe it."
Sam shifted, uncomfortable with the tenderness, but not really willing or wanting to dispel it. "I know. And look at you. Ten years and you're –wait," he suddenly jolted in shock, "You're a drag queen?" He burst out incredulously.
Shrugging awkwardly, Dean just lifted a hand and rubbed it through his disheveled hair. "Yeah, well, you know."
"Seriously." Sam shook his head still trying to reconcile everything he knew about his brother from that morning, last night, and ten fucking years ago. "Dean, a drag queen? Really?"
Stiffening, Dean pulled away, a frown pinching at his face. His shoulders were tensed and set defensively. It was like flicking a switch, the change happened that quickly. "You didn't seem to mind all that much last night."
Jolting away as if slapped, Sam felt a blush of shame and embarrassment rush up his neck to pool in his face. He coughed awkwardly, but still his mind wouldn't quite move past the fact that his awesome, heroic, bad ass big brother was putting on makeup and dressing up in women's clothing.
"But how did you even get into this, Dean?" He asked, his voice edging high and uncomprehending. "I mean the makeup and the clothes? This isn't you!"
Face suddenly dark like a storm cloud, green eyes flashing beneath the purple eye makeup, Dean's lips tensed, he snapped, "Fuck you, Sam!" Then he spun around and scooped up his clothes from the floor, stomping over to the nightstand he began shoveling his jewelry into the pockets of his jacket.
"I didn't ask you to show up in my bar and look at me with those fucking come hither eyes of yours, Sam!" He gritted as he struggled with his boots while still trying to put away his jewelry. "I didn't fucking ask you to flirt back and invite me to your motel room and fuck me into the mattress, Sam. So, don't you fucking throw dressing like a girl at me when apparently that's exactly what gets you so fucking hot!"
Stunned and not a little bit panicked now that he realized just how badly he'd shoved his foot in his mouth all the way up to his ass, Sam made a strangled protesting sound and jerked forward as if to still his brother's frantic movements.
"Wait, Dean!" He tried as Dean shoved his feet into his boots while he still had something gripped white knuckled in his hand and his clothes were still clutched to his chest. "Wait, don't go! I'm sorry. I'm just shocked, okay." He tried, but though his movements slowed, Dean didn't stop struggling with the tangled laces.
"Fuck, Dean, it's been ten fucking years without hide nor hair of either you or Dad and then suddenly I find you in some dive, dressed in drag, and fucking all night long." Sam spilled out in a rush hoping that since the tactic of inundating his brother with endless rambling had gotten him to give in before, then maybe ten years later the tactic might still work.
"You can't expect me to just understand and be okay with everything right off the bat, man." Sam continued more subdued now that Dean's movements had slowed and looked as if he was at least listening. "Ten years, Dean, is a lot to take in."
Sighing heavily, Dean straightened, both his feet in his boots though neither shoe was tied. "I know, Sam. It's a long fucking time, and after what happened last night…," he huffed out a breath and wouldn't look Sam in the face again. "Maybe it's better if we didn't do this now. If you're still in town tonight we can get a drink, or something."
There it was again. That horrible irrational surety that if he let Dean walked out that door Sam would never see his brother again. But it didn't seem like anything he could say was going to stop Dean from doing exactly what he wanted.
Another heavy sigh escaped Dean when he realized that the air was heavy with loss and loneliness and resignation. He lifted his hand to slip his necklace back around his neck and prepared to walk away from his brother for the second time in his life.
Sam's heart almost stopped when the amulet fell from Dean's hand to land solid and familiar against his chest, it's ugly, horned head swinging lazily back in forth even as its squinted, brass eyes seemed to stare at Sam expectantly.
Breath coming out in a rush, Sam couldn't keep his words to himself. "You kept it."
Paused in his retreat, Dean looked back at his little –not so little anymore- brother and saw that Sam's eyes were riveted on his amulet. The one Sam had given him for Christmas all those years ago, and the only true reminder he had of his bright eyed, amazing little brother.
"Yeah." He answered, his throat tight and his heart beating heavy in his chest. "I never take it off." When Sam raised an eyebrow at him, Dean just rolled his eyes. "Well, almost never. You can't expect me to let some guy fuck me from behind while I've got the only reminder of my lost little brother knocking me in the face with every thrust." He scoffed, and made a face so typical of Dean, Sam almost didn't notice the makeup still smudged over his face. "Have a little class, Sammy."
A weak chuckle broke out of him, and before Sam could stop himself again he stepped in front of his brother and reached up to wrap a shaking hand around the amulet. And Dean let him, his eyes fluttering when Sam's knuckles brushed against his chest.
"Please stay." Sam murmured lowly as he looked down at his brother. "Stay and we can talk. I want to hear about your life. I want to hear about how you came into this. I want to hear whatever you want to tell me." He looked into Dean's searching green eyes. "Please."
Huffing out a breath, Dean shot his brother a wry smile, but he still nodded his. "Alright, Sammy. I'll stay and we can talk." He shifted as if to turn toward the table in the tiny kitchenette then paused and grimaced.
"But can I take a shower first?"
Another more genuine laugh flowed out of him and Sam felt the relief like it was physical being inside him. Releasing Dean's amulet, he took a step back and ran a hand through his hair. "Sure, Dean. Go take your shower."
Grinning with more mischief than Sam had seen previously, Dean stared backing toward the bathroom. "Awesome. And while I'm in there you can go get us some fucking coffee."
"Yeah, alright." Sam rolled his eyes, but a sudden thought made him hesitate. "You will be here when I get back, right?"
Grin softening into a smile, Dean cupped Sam's cheek and stroked a painted thumb over Sam's worry deepened dimple. "Yeah, Sammy. I'll be here when you get back."
Sam watched his brother disappear into the bathroom before he even made a move to finish getting dressed and get them both some much needed coffee.
The diner down the street had a small coffee café down on one end of the counter where Sam ordered their coffee from. Apparently diversification wasn't just a long word in the dictionary to this diner owner.
Coffee in hand and mildly confident that he was in fact going to find his brother still in his motel room when he got back, Sam stepped through the door and stopped dead.
Fresh from his shower, Dean was dressed once more in his scoop necked Metallica t-shirt and his sorry excuse for a skirt, his boots were on his feet as well and laced all the up his leg to end in neat bows. That in and of itself was an odd sight now that Sam knew that Dean was in fact Dean, but it wasn't what held Sam riveted to the spot.
Dean was seated at the tiny, crappy little dressing table and mirror next to the tv. A small, what could be a makeup bag was open and bursting out across the table top and Dean was staring in concentration at his reflection as he carefully and thoroughly rubbed at the makeup that hadn't been washed away in his shower with a what looked like a small moist wipe.
A smooth sweep over the left eye and the wipe came away with purple smeared across its white surface, then again under the eye took away more black than purple. Another sweep over the right eye and the process was repeated until all that was left was Dean. Long, dark blond lashes, bright green eyes and clean golden skin.
God, he still looked just as beautiful as ever. It wasn't the first time Sam had thought that about his brother. Last night he'd thought Dean was hot, gorgeous, and sexy. When he was twelve he'd thought Dean was awesome, amazing, heroic, and beautiful, inside and out.
Now staring at his brother free of makeup, face fixed in an expression of relaxed concentration and half dressed in drag, Sam realized Dean was still very much the brother he had spent the entirety of his childhood looking up to and chasing after. Somehow, he even seemed more beautiful than ever.
Sam watched his brother do some more primping and grooming, letting his eyes run over him one more time before he made his presence unignorable. For the second time that morning his eyes were caught by the pale starburst of a scar just behind Dean's right ear. Now that he knew it was his brother he was looking at Sam remembered exactly how Dean had gotten it.
Dean had been fifteen, Sam eleven, and Dad had been hunting a nasty bitch of poltergeist. Sam was to stay in the car while Dean and Dad went to purify the house by themselves. They would have gotten the whole thing done without a hitch if the poltergeist hadn't picked Dean up like he weighed nothing and thrown him into the house's stone fireplace.
Sam had gotten out of the car and inside the house just in time to see Dean's head bounce off the corner of the solid stone mantel leaving a smear of blood and hair behind.
Three days in the hospital with a comatose Dean, brain swelling, twelve stitches, and serious conversations about brain surgery. Sam remembered never being so scared or so very anger at his father in his life.
Shaking the memories away, Sam looked at his brother once more just in time to watch him bring what looked a pencil up to his eye in preparation for some makeup ritual or other.
"Stop." He said before he could question himself.
Dean paused just before the pencil reached his eyelid and flicked a glance over at his brother, his eyebrow rising questioningly. Sam almost laughed at that. He'd forgotten just how expressive his brother could be with his eyebrows.
"Can you just not wear any yet? Just for now?" He asked suddenly feeling like he was intruding on Dean's routine. "I mean, I kinda just want to see you for a bit."
Sitting stock still for a moment, Dean just studied him before his face softened and his set the pencil back down on the table, capping it as he went. "Yeah, alright, Sammy." He gave his little brother a small understanding smile. "No more makeup for now."
Smiling back with something like gratitude in his eyes, Sam held out one of the cups of coffee. "Black, four sugars, right?"
A smirk pulled at Dean's soft, naturally pink lips before his nodded and took the cup from him. "Perfect. What did you get? Some frou-frou chick drink, I bet."
Sam looked at him, his expression somewhere between incredulous and disbelieving. "You're the pot calling the kettle black."
Scoffing, Dean just waved a hand at him and stood up from the chair at the dressing table to stroll, swagger over to the kitchenette table across the room. "I dress like a chick, Sam. That doesn't mean I gotta drink like one."
Snorting into his coffee, Sam shook his head in amusement, the memory of Dean downing two double whiskies back to back flittering across his mind.
They seated themselves across from each other at the table and drank their coffee in silence for a time, both of them taking the moment to study the other one.
Dean still couldn't get over just how freaking tall his little geek brother had grown. Or how well he'd filled out. Sam had grown into that enormous smile of his and his hands and feet that, last Dean had seen, were just started to surpass his arms and legs in proportion, but now fitted perfectly to his body. His hands, especially, were so big, like the rest of him, that they positively dwarfed the large coffee grasped between them.
Out of all the changes Sam had undergone, his voice deepening, his entire body growing to giant proportions, and his hair getting even longer and messier, there was one thing about him that had stayed exactly the same. Really, Dean should have realized it the moment he'd looked at him.
Sam's beautiful, shifting hazel eyes hadn't changed a bit.
For his part, Sam was still a little caught on the fact that his gorgeous brother was the man he'd spent the night, and had hoped to spend a good portion of time with after that. Besides that, it was the fact that despite everything, Dean really hadn't changed much at all.
He'd grown into his nose, the freckles on his cheeks had lightened with age, but his hair was still cropped short and spiked at the top of his head.
His eyes were still that same bright, piercing green that had always looked at Sam with a wide range of emotions in them from pure delight to raging fury. His eyelashes were still long and now looked more so from the residual effect of whatever Dean had done to them with that makeup the night before.
Before, Dean had been wiry and just coming into his adult body, but now he was a good few inches taller and broader. His body had finally piled on the muscle it had promised him years ago.
Despite the decidedly feminine cut of the t-shirt he was wearing, Sam couldn't deny that Dean's body was still entirely male. His arms were hard and strong and still lightly scarred down the left one from that time with the dirt bikes in Colorado. His chest was built and sculpted with well used muscle. Even his hands were much the same, still big and sure and calloused from work and play.
Though his fingernails, once bitten down to the quick and caked with dirt and grease from working on the Impala, were now filed even, buffed smooth, and painted a dark red-brown almost black color that sparkled in the light.
It was incongruous with near everything Sam remembered about his brother, but even with the oddity of it, it was still completely Dean. From the Metallica t-shirt, to the leather jacket, to the combat boots, to the obvious lack of pink anything on him. Even dressed in drag, Sam should have been able to recognize his brother and his brother's style right away.
Finally growing impatient with the silence, Dean broke. "So…"
"How did you get into this?" Sam asked before Dean could think of something to ask himself.
"What? The dressing in drag?" When Sam nodded, Dean just blew out a breath and looked down at his coffee. "I don't know really. It started kinda like…" He frowned then looked up and started again. "It started after they took me out of that last home we were in together."
Old pain flaring up in his chest, Sam stamped it down and nodded for him to continue.
"Well," Dean went on, rubbed the palm of his hand over his stubbly jaw. "There was this little girl in the next house they took me to. She kinda attached herself to me and kept bugging me and pestering me until I finally gave in and let her paint my nails."
Sam snorted in amusement and Dean met his grin with one of his own. "I think I let her do it mostly because she reminded me a little bit of you, but anyway, the next time the social worker came to check on us, I'd let the girl put sparkly clips in my hair and my nails were this awful bright pink magenta color." He chuckled, his eyes looking off to the side lost in a memory. "I thought that bitch was going to shit a brick. Her fat face got so fucking red, she looked like she was going to explode."
He shrugged and Sam caught a glimmer of vindictive glee in his brother's eyes. "After that I just did it to piss her off. I let the girls at whatever house they shipped me to do my nails or my makeup or whatever they wanted and pretty soon I caught myself saying shit like, 'I don't like that coral color, paint my nails dark burgundy, it'll go better with this plum eye shadow'."
Dean grimaced and made a face like he couldn't believe he'd ever said such a thing and Sam was just trying to wrap his head around the fact that his brother even knew the names for colors like coral and plum. Never mind the fact that he didn't even know what eye shadow was, or what to do with it.
"So it just grew from there?" He asked hesitantly.
Dean looked awkward as he rubbed at the back of his head and leaned back in his chair, the bracelet of wooden skull beads and the leather cords wrapped around his wrist knocked together dully.
"Yeah, I guess." He frowned. "I didn't even realize it wasn't about pissing off the social worker as much as it was about me until it was already over." Dean looked up and met Sam's eyes, his own filled with the hope of understanding and a strange vulnerability that Sam had never seen on his brother before.
"I like it, Sam." He said. "I like doing my nails and putting on makeup and picking out outfits and making my own jewelry." He flicked one of his brass earrings for emphasis then looked down at his hands and picked a bit at a small chip in the paint on his right thumb nail. "I feel pretty when I dress up. I like that."
Sam sat and watched his brother for a moment before he realized that he didn't care. He didn't care if his brother dressed like a girl. He didn't care if his brother painted his nails and put on makeup. He didn't even care if his brother wanted to shave his head and become a damn monk as long as he could still have his brother back in his life.
"You do look pretty, Dean." He said into the thick silence causing Dean's head to jerk up in shock. "You look beautiful and I don't care if you dress like chick." He met his brother's searching gaze and gave him a small genuine smile. "You're my brother, Dean, and I love you. I always will."
Eyes suddenly glassy, Dean opened his mouth to say something then coughed around the lump in his throat. He tried again and smiled back at the little brother that, despite ten years of separation and loneliness, he still loved more than anything in the world.
"Thanks, Sammy." He said, voice rough and deeper than he'd expected. "I love you too, little brother." Reaching across the table Dean grasped Sam's hand in his and squeezed tightly before letting go and pulling back.
Shaking off the emotional air, Dean cleared his throat again and took a large gulp of coffee. "Enough with the chick flick moments." He waved a hand to dispel the last of the atmosphere. "I gotta tell you though, that I don't always dress like a girl."
Previously amused by his brother's words, Sam was now intrigued. "You don't?"
"Nah." Dean drawled like it was silly for Sam to even think that. He got an eye roll for his effort. "I just dress up when I get in the mood. I don't always walk around in short skirts and low cut t-shirts. How the fuck would I hunt dressed like that?" He finished with a broad gesture that was so very much Dean that Sam almost missed that last bit of that sentence.
"Hunt? You hunt?" He asked, more shocked than he knew he should be. Dean had always loved hunting, liked the lifestyle more than Sam had.
"Yeah." Dean answered like it was no big deal at all. "I've been hunting pretty much since I got out of the system. Dad found me when I got out and we hunted together for a couple years before I went off on my own."
"Dad?!" Sam couldn't believe what he was hearing. He'd pretty much resigned himself to the idea that his Dad was most likely dead in some haunted house or eaten by some supernatural creature by then. He never actually thought he'd be alive.
"Uh… yeah." Dean said, finally catching on that Sam and him were on different wavelengths and in possession of some very conflicting information. "Sam, hasn't he found you yet?"
"No!" Something hot like anger and hurt boiled in his belly. "No, he hasn't fucking found me yet. Why the fuck did he look for you and not me?"
"Sammy, Dad's been looking for you since I got out of the system eight years ago. We both have." Dean's words were slow and cautious like he knew Sam was a second away from blowing a gasket.
"Sam, we've been looking for you for eight years, but you were just gone. Disappeared. There wasn't a trace of you anywhere." He said, his face lined with years of worry and disappointed hope.
Suddenly all of his anger and pain was smothered down to a simmer at the look on his brother's face and Sam was able to think clearly; to really think about why his brother and his Dad would have problems finding him for eight years.
"I changed my name."
"What?"
Sam took a breath and repeated himself. "I changed my name. When I turned fourteen these FBI agents kept popping up at every single foster home I was in asking questions about Dad, wanting to know everything about him. From his eating habits to what kind of fucking toothpaste he liked to use." He sneered in disgust then ran a hand through his hair.
"I didn't tell them anything obviously. Seeing as they were particularly interested in if Dad had ever contacted me after getting picked up by CPS I figured it was just safer if the Feds couldn't find me to ask me any more questions incase Dad did try to contact me." He shrugged and looked down at his coffee then back up at his brother.
"I guess it wasn't the greatest idea if Dad ever really did try to find me, but I hacked into the foster care system and changed all my electronic records. Changed my name to Wesson so I'd still be in the same alphabet range and have the same social worker, but other than that I pretty much erased Sam Winchester from the system's memory."
Dean looked like he was torn between pride and utter and complete frustration with his geek brother. It was a familiar expression Sam used to see directed at him a lot in his youth so he didn't mind it all that much.
"That's probably why Dad couldn't find me. Just to be sure I changed by official records to say that I was dropped off as a small child alone, not picked up as a teenager with a sibling. That way they couldn't make the connection between Wesson's sudden appearance and Winchester's sudden disappearance. After that it was easy to steal the hard copies and change them by hand."
"Jesus Christ, Sam." Dean exploded and threw his hands up in the air. "Paranoid much." But the way he said it made it sound more like he was impressed and bemused and proud, so Sam just sipped at his coffee and grinned behind his cup.
"Sorry." He smiled, though they both knew he was more sorry for missing out on them finding him than on actually hacking into the government and changing his own files.
Dean just shook his head, a small amused smile on his lips. "Well, now at least we know why we couldn't find you. Dad will be pleased to know you're alive at least."
"Yeah." Sam smirked. "I'm quite glad to know you're both alive as well." Then a thought occurred to him. "Does Dad know about you…?"
It took a second for Dean to catch onto his meaning, but when he did his face went bright red and morphed into a look of abject horror. "Fuck no! And I'd like to keep it that way. The old man would blow his fucking top."
Letting out a sigh of relief, Sam nodded in agreement. He didn't know if he would have even believed that their father had found out the cross-dressing if Dean was still alive.
They lapsed into silence for a moment again before Dean asked, "So what did you do after you got out of the system?"
"I got a full ride to Stanford for my grades." Sam answered simply. "I went and graduated top five of my class, prelaw."
Dean's jaw could have hit the table when it dropped open, but thankfully it didn't. Once he'd gotten over his shock, Dean couldn't possibly conceal how enormously proud he was. Just the look on his face caused a deep blush to burn up Sam's cheeks as he shifted shyly in his seat.
"It's not that big of a deal." He muttered, embarrassed.
"God, Sammy. Yes. Yes, it's a huge deal." Dean retorted, his voice low and deep, but soaked with just a hint of awe. "I'm so fucking proud of you, dude. I can't even believe it."
Blushing even deeper, Sam coughed and ran his fingers through his hair trying and failing to hide the stain on his cheeks. "Thanks." He murmured quietly, privately soaking up the approval and attention from his big brother that he'd always yearned for and had never been able to get. He knew Dean wasn't fooled, but they both let it pass.
Dean shook his head in amusement then asked, "So, why didn't you go on to get your law degree?"
Sam shifted awkwardly, but sighed, resigned and started talking.
"I was planning on it," he said, "I'd taken the LSAT and everything, but then everything just kinda started to get boring."
Dean snorted at that, but Sam quelled him with a look and continued. "I had never fit in anywhere they shuffled me to and even at Stanford I was the odd man out." Dean stayed quiet then. He knew how that felt. Being shuffled around by their Dad or by the state it didn't matter, there was no chance for them to fit in anywhere.
"I had a girlfriend, Jess." Sam told him, and Dean listened raptly. He'd been starving for information of his brother and now he was getting it. "We lived together and everything was great until I started getting bored, you know."
"Yeah. You always were the most annoying little shit when you got bored." Dean cut in with a mischievous grin trying to lighten that severe look on his brother's face.
Sam frowned at him, but continued on, choosing to ignore that last part. "But that wasn't all that was wrong with us and I figured that when I started wanting to fuck my girlfriend from behind because I wanted to pretend she wasn't a girl that it was time to move on."
Dean winced at that, but thankfully stayed silent.
"We broke up, obviously." Sam said with a roll of his eyes. "I decided that I couldn't stomach another God knows how many years where I was, packed up all my shit and hit the road."
They were quiet for a second, before Dean looked up and asked, "In that piece of shit Toyota? No wonder you stopped in this crappy town. Anything's better than sitting in that little Japanese death box for hours on end."
Laughing felt so good after having to dredge up how even after four years of living, working, and going to school in one place it still never felt like home as much as the black leather of the Impala and open road had.
Dean's wise cracking words, even with his finger nail polish and skimpy skirt, made Sam feel more at home than Jess and her backing cookies and flowery perfume ever did.
God, it felt so good to have his brother back.
Once the laughter had calmed, Sam knew what he needed to do. "Dean, come with me."
Frown wrinkling his brow, Dean looked at him in confusion. "What?"
Pursing his lips in frustration, Sam leaned closer over the table. "Come on the road with me. You're hunting anyway and I know you're not going to be staying here for very long. The bartender sounded like he knew you pretty well. We never stuck around after people started to remember us."
It was true. Dean was already packed and paid out of the shithole apartment he'd rented for this hunt. It'd gone on longer then he'd thought and he'd been low on cash. Six months he'd been here, it was time to move on. But…
"But, Sam, you've always hated hunting." He said, brow still wrinkled, but a furiously growing flame of hope igniting in his chest.
"Well, yeah." Sam scoffed like it was just that simple. "I hated moving around when I wanted to stay in school. I hated being left alone while you and Dad went off to get killed by yourselves. I hated Dad leaving us for weeks on end with little to no money just because he couldn't be cussed to wait a week for a hunt." He spilled it all out with steadily growing ferocity. "I hated Dad's need-to-know bullshit and I hated that you had so much piled on you and still you never complained, but now it wouldn't be like that."
And it wouldn't, he'd make sure of that. Dean wasn't like their Dad. And Sam and Dean had always been partners from the day their mother had died; it had always been them against the world.
Dean looked like he wanted to protest at some points in Sam's speech, but found that he couldn't refute them. Every one of those things he'd disliked and hated as well, but could never bring himself to mention out loud. And Sam was right.
They'd always been different.
"I don't know, Sam." He hedged cautiously.
"Come on, Dean." Sam urged, getting more desperate and excited about the idea of being with his brother again, just the two of them. "It'll be just the two of us. Saving people, hunting things; the family business."
That got a laugh out of Dean and Sam grinned at his success. When in doubt of getting exactly what he wanted, quoting Dean verbatim was a sure way to wear down his resistance no matter what it was.
"Alright, alright, you devious little bitch." Dean said through his laughter. "We'll hit the road together, but be warned," he pointed a stern finger at his brother though his lips were still quirking in a crooked smile, "I plan on putting you through your paces. You, college boy, are bound to be rusty."
Sam just laughed and nodded his acceptance. "Sure, whatever you say… Jerk."
Huffing out a put upon sigh, Dean pushed himself to his feet with a dry, "Bitch," then he reached over to the bed, picked up his leather jacket and slipped it on.
Before Sam could even work up a panic, Dean was already turning back to him and nodding his head toward the door. "Well, come on, Sam. I've got to pick up my stuff from my apartment and find a place to dispose of your junky ass car."
"What?! What's wrong with my car?" Sam protested out of brotherly obligation even as he started packing up what little of his stuff that had migrated out of his duffle before swinging it over his shoulder and following Dean to the door.
"Your car? Nothing." Dean answered with false neutrality. "Absolutely nothing. Except that I'm not riding in that piece of shit if you fucking paid me."
Rolling his eyes, Sam followed Dean out of the room locking the door behind him and walking beside him toward the front desk to return the key. "Well, what else are we going to drive across the country looking for things that want to eat us?" He asked dryly.
Dean just looked at him like he was crazy for even thinking to ask such a question. "Why on God's green earth would you want to drive that," he gestured at the pale blue monstrosity with a hand, "when we could be driving the Impala?"
That stopped Sam in his tracks. He turned wide eyes on his brother's smugly grinning face. "The Impala?"
"Hells yeah, Sammy." He drawled with his hands on his hips, one hip cocked to the side and his legs spread under his skirt in a cocky stance that positively screamed sex and Dean Winchester and Sam's big brother. "You didn't think I'd actually let Dad keep driving her after I got out, did you?"
He made it sound like he'd been in prison, but still he had a point. Dad had never appreciated or fawned over the Impala like Dean did. Sam would hazard a guess that for Dean the hardest part about getting stuck in the system, apart being separated from Sam himself of course, was being separated from the Impala.
She always had been like the other woman in all of the relationships Dean had ever tried to have when they were growing up. Or was it that Dean's girlfriends were the other women?
Still, Sam just shook his head in amazement at his brother. "You're unbelievable."
"I know." Dean said with a superior grin and a quick buff of his nails on his t-shirt for affect.
After that it wasn't a mater of if Sam could keep the joyous, delighted laughter in, it was a matter of how long would he be able to keep laughing without getting the hiccups.
Watching his brother succumb to his giggles, Dean just sighed with a soft smile of love and amusement on his face. "Come on, Sammy. Let's get the key turned in before you get the hiccups and we have to spend the rest of the day trying to scare them out of you."
Apparently, when Dean said apartment, what he really meant was shithole efficiency up a rickety set of stairs on top of the dive queer bar they'd met at last night. Sam wasn't even going to contemplate the irony in that.
The queens from the bar and some Sam hadn't seen the night before all came out to see Dean off and wish him luck.
For obvious reasons, Dean didn't mention that he was going on a road trip to hunt supernatural monsters with his long lost kid brother. He did however tell them that him and Sam were suddenly madly in love and neither of them could stand to be apart for a mere moment than they had to be so they were going to travel together and live out their big gay romance in the front seat of his classic '67 Impala.
Sam didn't think they'd buy that shovel of shit for a moment, but much to his surprise apparently queens were all horribly desperate romantics and they sent Dean off with tears of joy and wishes for their eternal love and happiness.
Even if Sam was still reeling from seeing his brother a part of this almost entirely foreign world from the one they'd been raised it, he had to admit that it was oddly touching the way that the guys that had become Dean's friends over the time he'd spent in this town crowded around him for hugs and kisses goodbye.
Dean had come bounding down the rickety stairs with his two obligatory duffels slung over his shoulders and freshly changed into a pair of men's work boots, old worn in and faded jeans, a dark solid colored t-shirt, and a dark faded flannel shirt unbuttoned in the front and rolled up at the sleeves.
His earrings were gone and he wasn't wearing makeup, but he still had his ambiguously unisex bracelets and his dark fingernail polish. And of course his amulet lay constant and at home against his chest. Sam thought he looked possibly even more gorgeous than he had last night.
"Oh, Dean, honey. Take care of yourself." Lucille told Dean as he pulled him in for a tight hug and two heavily smacking air kisses. "We're going to miss you around here."
Dean smiled at the bartender in his pencil skirt, his light pink satin blouse, and his black size thirteen stilettos. "I'll miss you all too, Lucille. You have my number if you need anything."
Lucille patted his asymmetrically shaped clutch purse to his chest and winked. "Sure do, doll. Now go get to your man."
Throwing his head back in a laugh, Dean threw the other guys a wave and swaggered back over to Sam throwing his duffels into the trunk on top of the false bottom and next to Sam's own duffle.
Sam finished slipping the thousand in cash Lucille had paid him for his car and walked around to the passenger side looking up at Dean over the roof. Dean met his eyes over the shiny black surface and grinned wide and pleased. Like a cat with feathers stuck in his teeth.
"You ready, Sammy?"
"Yeah, Dean." He grinned back. "Let's go."
As they pulled away from the bar, which Sam just realized was named iI Love Lucy's/i, the other drag queens waving them off in the rearview mirror, Sam looked over as Dean popped an old cassette tape in the player and Metallica came blaring over the speakers. He looked at Dean's darkly painted finger nails tapping against the steering wheel, at the happy wrinkles at the corners of his green eyes, and at his full lips mouthing along to every word of every song and realized that finally, finally he was home and just where he wanted to be.
End.