Chapter 1-
The blaring of the unnecessarily loud alarm clock sitting on the bedside table woke Dean from his restless sleep. Slipping a lethargic arm from under the warm comforter, the dirty blonde twenty year old slammed his loose fist on the large black button, effectively shutting the damn thing off. Dean groaned and rolled over on his other side, pulling the blankets over his head. The heavy arm around his waist tightened, and the familiar mop of unruly brown bed head nuzzled closer into the warmth of his chest.
Like a switch, Dean's older-brother/mama bird persona flipped on and reminded him of Sammy's big test today, and if they wanted to get him to school on time—with breakfast, of course—he needed to wake his sasquatch of a brother now, rather than later.
With reluctant determination, the green-eyed man fought the temptation to ignore his conscience and give in to the sinful delights of memory foam and fluffy blankets. He poked the sleeping bear on his chest, then shook his shoulder gently when that didn't work. A small grunt was the only reply he earned for his graciousness. Well, patience had a limit, and as much as he'd love to stay in bed with him, Sammy needed to get up and ready right the fuck now.
"SAMMYYY!"
Flying out of the sheets with wild eyes and even wilder hair, the moose finally joined the world of the living.
"Jerk," he grumbled, running a hand through his hair and glaring through a mighty bitch face at his older brother.
"Rise and shine, Sammy! Big test today, first period. Mr. Future Bigshot Lawyer can't afford to miss that," Dean retorted with a wink, chuckling when sleepy hazel eyes shot open and Sam flew out from under the covers to get ready.
Yes, the brothers slept together, and woke up like this almost every morning (Sam was a bitch in life, and an even bigger bitch in the morning) except weekends. Yes, they were fully dressed—well, in boxers and t-shirts—under those blankets every night, and no, there was no hanky panky of any kind going on between them. Nothing but good, old-fashioned brotherly love. And hell no, neither of them wanted anything more or even thought that about each other. As much as anyone in their small town would love to accuse the Winchesters of incest, everyone knew well enough that it wasn't true.
All throughout their horrible childhood, Dean and Sam Winchester had only had each other. Their drunken father was good for nothing and rarely ever put food on the table. Dean had been supporting the family since he was six, two years after their mother died in a fire, one week after their father lost his shit and walked out on his sons for the first—but definitely not last—time. Dean was only two years older than his baby brother, but he placed the weight of the world on his own shoulders so that Sammy wouldn't have to. Dean raised Sam, fed him, clothed him, sent him to school, stayed strong for him; Dean was everything Sam needed and more…but who would comfort and take care of Dean?
Things went from bad to worse after their father returned after two months and uprooted their whole lives. Dean had been scrounging up money to keep the small apartment their dad bought when Mary Winchester died in the house fire. One day, Dean and Sam walked in the door, back from preschool (Dean had insisted on staying in preschool with Sammy even though he was old enough to go to kindergarten) to find the dead beat sipping whiskey from the intimidating bottle, parking his sorry ass on the living room couch.
John had sold the apartment and packed their bags—which were waiting for them in his beat up pick-up truck—and dragged them out of the building, kicking and screaming, then drove them out of town and away from their lives in Lawrence.
Dean finally broke when his father shoved him into a separate motel room than his brother, only telling him to 'make some use of himself for once and get some damn money.' The scared and confused seven year old soon found out about real monsters, and knew for a fact that his 'dad'—he was sure as hell never calling the dirty old man who had sold him to a 'hunting buddy' that name ever again—was the worst of them all.
Dean had dragged his bloody and utterly broken body and soul back to the motel room his baby brother was in, fueled only by the thought that his Sammy was stuck in a room with a horrible monster and he had to protect him. When he climbed into bed, Sam had woken up and rubbed his sleepy eyes, smiling happily that 'Dee' was back by his side, until he opened his eyes to see the tear-stained, bloody remains of his beautiful big brother. Their young eyes met, and for the first time, Dean gave up the task of staying strong and comforting to someone else; for the first time, he let someone take care of him. The broken, beautiful child collapsed in his brother's arms and sobbed silently, so as not to wake the drunken monster in the next bed.
From then on, Sam and Dean communicated through knowing touches: Sam took away some of Dean's pain and Dean let him. They slept in the same bed every night, often times only lying down well after two or three in the morning, after Sam cleaned his bloody brother up in the motel shower. Dean became more closed-off and shy, mistrustful of everything and leaving only the smallest chink in his armor for Sam—and only Sam—to slip through and heal his broken pieces. Dean never willingly let anyone else touch him, and only talked to his brother. He was sold for countless nights over the span of three long years, until he found an ad for their old house in Lawrence, that has apparently been renovated and put for sale at a relatively cheap price for the modest home.
Hope came flooding in for the first time since John Winchester had dug his filthy claws back into their lives. Luckily, Dean had been stashing some of the money he stole from his 'customers' and John (who was often too drunk to notice or count right).
The moment John closed the motel door on his way to the nearest dive bar, Dean pulled his hidden plastic bag from its position: tucked under a pipe beneath the sink, where he had stashed it when they first checked in a couple days ago. Crawling on the bed, he called out to Sammy who'd been watching cartoons on the couch in front of the bed, and the two counted the money together. They had just enough to make it to Lawrence from where they were in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. Dean pulled the crinkled newspaper clipping from his back pocket, and within five minutes, he and Sam were making their way toward the nearest bus stop, heading south.
Sam was too young to remember at the time, but Dean could never forget the kind old man that Mary had made their godfather, Bobby Singer. The elder Winchester boy could only pray the gruff geezer still lived in their hometown. He was their only chance at survival.
After five bus changes, being gifted a generous one hundred dollar bill from a wealthy elderly couple, and treating Sam to three full healthy, real meals (not gas station factory-made crap), Dean carried his sleepy brother piggy-back, down the dirt road in Lawrence, Kansas that led to Singer Salvage Auto Shop: an old junkyard/mechanic/home kind of place.
By the time he reached the door, he barely had the strength to ring the doorbell before collapsing face-first, making sure Sammy never hit the ground.
Bobby Singer had never been more glad to see two dirty, exhausted, raggamuffins passed out on his doorstep. He would recognize his boys anywhere, and was more than happy to finally have them safe after disappearing so many years ago after their mother died. He cleaned them up, fed them, and tucked them into the spare bedroom he used to keep tidy for them when their mother brought them over.
Finally free of the monster, Dean was able to really begin healing. He would always be scarred and broken, but now that him and Sammy were safe, he could become the big brother again and take the burden of comforting off of Sam's shoulders and let him just be a kid.
When Sam told Bobby the morning after he found them of their plans to buy back their old house, he walked straight to his safe and pulled out all of the money they would need. The next day, they all went to the realtor and bought the house in Bobby's name. Then they went over to the nearest elementary school and enrolled the boys in second and their grade.
The boys insisted they could take care of themselves at their new/old house, so Bobby left them to their devices, knowing they had to heal more before letting anyone in. Dean still hadn't spoken a word to anyone except Sam, so Sam had the honors of telling their sad tale to Bobby, starting with their father kidnapping them and dragging them all over the country. Bobby left them alone in understanding, but came over everyday to make them at least one meal, and sent one of the neighbors if he ever got tied up with work and couldn't make it. He warned the others to give them space.
Many of the residents in the small town—like Ellen Harvelle and Jody Mills—remembered the Winchesters, even if the boys didn't remember them, so they put aside their curiosities and desire for gossip for the comfort of the poor children who used to shine so bright and laugh so loud, giving them a chance to breathe and adjust before choosing to trust them.
Dean refused to talk for a year, to anyone other than his brother, and only let Bobby in for a few months after that, until he finally began speaking at least one sentence to every kind non-stranger. Only his brother could touch him, and everyone respected that. Their town might've been small, but it had to be the most liberating and accepting community in the world (or at least anywhere the Winchester boys had ever seen), and they really appreciated it, because God knows they needed it more than anything at that time. Sammy was especially grateful, on behalf of his older brother, because he hated to see him in so much pain.
With the help of the friendly community, Dean and Sam finally had a place to call home, and a life to call their own; a real, normal life. Sam still slept with Dean, and the two continued to communicate through touches (and only Sam was allowed to touch Dean) , until Dean was around fifteen, and he no longer needed to be held through the nightmares at night. Sam continued with his healing and comforting touches, hugs and cuddles, but knew without speaking that Dean was better: thus he took a left turn into a previously untouched bedroom one night instead of the usual right, into their previously shared room across the hall.
Sam never stopped touching Dean, though, because Dean never stopped needing it. Whenever someone would mention how unusual it was, someone else would let them know it was for comfort, and nothing more was said. That was the benefit of living in a small town where everyone knows everything about everyone. The boys were extra lucky to live in a small town where the people's kindness allowed them to keep the privacy of their situation, no matter how much their small-town know-it-all hearts wanted to pry, because each and every one of them also knew when it was time to stop asking questions, and how far it was okay to pry. At first glance, everyone thought that Dean was the one comforting and protecting Sam, but upon closer inspection, it was obvious that Sam was really comforting Dean.
With the exception of a couple natural-born jerks, the kids at school were as understanding as their parents, and even Dean was able to make some really great friends eventually.
After almost seven years, Dean and Sam had finally grown fully accustomed to Lawrence and its people. Dean was still a bit shy and quiet, but he had a small circle of really close friends who were able to draw some of the old fire out from his beautiful green eyes, especially his best friends Charlie and Jo, who happened to be girlfriends. Sam had made a ton of friends, and was a fairly popular member of the basketball team and countless other clubs. He was incredibly smart—of which Dean was extremely proud and had been saving up for Sammy's college funds since he was eleven—and had a beautiful, smart, and kind girlfriend Jessica, who he couldn't get enough of. She was also more than understanding of how close the brothers were, and didn't mind in the slightest when Sam had to cancel their dates when Dean was having a bad day. In fact, she grew quite fond of Sam's older brother and even invited him on a few of their dates, which Sam was often grateful for.
Life was finally coming together for the brothers, and everything was looking up. Dean had a job at Bobby's auto shop (and had even found and fixed up an old 1967 Chevy Impala to brand-spanking-new condition. Bobby still had the keys and gave her to Dean for his sixteenth birthday; he hadn't been a day without his 'Baby' since) and he had been able to go back to being what he was best: an older brother. He finally got to relieve Sam of his duties; finally got to feel more than a pathetic, useless excuse of a brother who couldn't do anything for his baby brother. He took care of Sam better than ever, yet never closed himself off to Sam—he still needed his help, and Sam absolutely hated the one time Dean tried to put on a mask around Sam and be the perfect, protective older brother who never shares his feelings or burdens. The Winchester brothers became equals, and each helped the other in different ways. Their relationship benefited the both of them, and made them into the best people they could've hoped to be: Dean was able to protect and take care of his Sammy and never have to hold back his emotions, and Sam was let in by his Dean and able to help, and never felt treated like a 'kid brother' who couldn't do anything himself.
They lived their lives happily…right up until the day after Dean's seventeenth birthday, when the incident happened.
John came back, guns blazing, and their life fell to shit again. Or, it would have if they hadn't lived in Lawrence, surrounded by friends and family, and their next-door neighbor, Sheriff Jody Mills. The majority of the crisis was averted, but Dean fell apart again.
After coming home from the hospital, after being shot in the shoulder by his father, Dean crawled back into his shell, leaving only enough space for Sam to crawl through with him. Sam had sensed the change in his older brother the moment the monster burst through the door, so he laid in the hospital bed, curled up next to Dean the entire week he was there. They denied all visitors, except for one visit from Bobby. No flowers were allowed to be delivered to the hospital, all per Sam's orders.
The Winchesters regressed to their early days, and Sam slid under the covers with Dean and held him every night without being asked. The blonde wouldn't see anyone or leave the house, although he made Sam go back to school. Dean dropped out, and spent his senior year at home, sitting in front of the TV while Sam was away. The tall brunette would race home as soon as the bell rang and the two would curl up in bed together for the rest of the day, until they got hungry and Sam would reheat the dishes the neighbors would leave on their doorstep. Sam would hold his shaking brother wordlessly, stroking large, soothing hands through his short, sandy blonde hair, and let his arms and legs encompass Dean's smaller form—made smaller by the childlike state he was reduced to after his trauma.
They stayed like that for about a year, before Dean slowly started poking his head out of his shell, sharing a few words with his brother only, and going for long walks (in which everyone kept their distance with sad, knowing smiles) while Sam was away. A couple months after his eighteenth birthday, Dean returned to work, speaking few words only to Bobby at first, then eventually the rest of the crew (including two of his closest friends Ash and Benny). Sam still held his brother every night, and every moment they were together, but he was able to see Jess more often and take her out a few times; she was more than understanding—the whole town was—especially since they had all witnessed what cause Dean's personal retreat this time. The townsfolk still never knew what had happened during their childhood, but the insane father that showed up on their doorstep more than made up for a mental picture.
Luckily, the Winchester boys had gained the full love and support from the whole town, and this time around they already had their friends backing them up. Dean recovered far quicker than the last time. He came out of his shell long enough each day to hang out with his five closest friends for a while and go to work. He still needed the comforting touches of his brother, he still wouldn't let anyone else touch him, and he still needed Sammy's warm hands in his hair and strong arms holding him through the nightmares.
At twenty years old, Dean was almost back to whatever semblance of normal he had achieved before the incident.
Walking to the conjoined bathroom where Sam was already trying to simultaneously brush his teeth and put on his clothes, Dean grabbed his toothbrush from the holder and bumped his moose of a brother's hip with his. He still couldn't believe how high his baby brother had shot up. Sammy was 6'4" and only eighteen years old! Who the hell's damn genetics made Dean a good three inches shorter than his younger brother?!
With a mouth full of foamy mint toothpaste, Dean garbled, "'en mi'utes 'oo 'et yur assh down foh brea'fass, 'ot i', Shammy?"
"Yeah, yeah, jerk."
"'isch."
Dean spit the white bubbles down the sink drain, turned on the water and splashed some in his mouth and on his face, then toweled off and headed for his closet to pull on some clean clothes.
After changing, the blonde trudged down the carpeted steps to the quaint kitchen where he spent most of his time at home. As much as Dean liked fixing cars, he loved fixing up a mean meal. Especially breakfast. He might not have been the brightest sunshine on the block at six am, but he'd never miss a good breakfast.
The smell of eggs, pancakes and crispy bacon wafted through the charming little house, bringing a drooling Sam down the stairs in his flannel and jeans.
Sam set his backpack on the floor by the front door and his shoes before striding to the kitchen. He took his usual place behind Dean and wrapped his long arms around the smaller man, who leaned back against his chest and sighed in relief. Dean always felt better when Sam was physically connected to him, and although he'd never admit it to anyone but Sam, hugs were his favorite.
Dean pushed around the sizzling bacon and flipped a couple pancakes onto their plates before piping up, "It'll be done in a sec. What are you doing today besides the big math test?"
"I've got a quiz in anatomy in third period, and a presentation in fourth, which is Latin Studies," Sam replied.
Smiling broadly, Dean looked up at his brother with pride gleaming in his eyes, "You're so smart, Sammy," he stated gently. Only Sam could get his older brother to open up so completely and speak his mind, even when he's thinking 'girly stuff' (as Dean likes to put it), and that constantly kept a warm fire of pride and a little bit of selfish delight burning in Sam's chest. He liked to be the only one his brother could truly and completely open up to and rely on.
Turning off the stovetop burners, Dean lifted the pans of breakfast goods—careful to avoid Sam's enormous hands where they were still wrapped securely around his waist—and divided the food into their usual portions.
Sam lifted the plates when Dean had finished putting the eggs, bacon and pancakes on them, and took them to the small table in the dining room and set them in their usual spots. He headed back into the kitchen to grab two tall glasses and fill them with orange juice from the fridge, then walked around his brother to grab forks for both of them and set the table while Dean cleaned the kitchen, as per usual. Dean went straight to work after dropping Sam off at school, so he always cleaned while the taller brother got the table ready for them to eat.
Wiping his wet hands on a rag, Dean set the last pan on the drying rack beside the sink and went into the dining room where Sam was seated patiently. As soon as Dean sat, they both tucked in to the delicious homemade breakfast. If there was one quality Sam would praise the heavens for bestowing on Dean, it was definitely his innate culinary skills. The man was a natural-born chef! Sam often encouraged his brother to pursue a higher career in the field, but Dean was content with his quaint kitchen in the small house in Lawrence.
Once finished, Dean collected the plates and silverware and rinsed them before placing them in the small white dishwasher, while Sam got his shoes on and hopped in the car. Dean grabbed the keys to his baby and headed out, locking the door behind him.
Loud 80's rock music poured out from the open windows of the Impala as the autumn wind blew in.
"Dean!" Sam complained, frantically trying to calm his wild wind-hair, "Close the damn window! You know how hard I work on taming this mess when I get out of bed!"
The blonde only three his head back and laughed into the wind, reaching out to turn the volume up and stepping on the gas pedal. He drove seventy miles per hour in a fifty zone for about ten seconds before taking pity on his brother and slowing down, rolling the windows up.
Dean turned the music back down, still chuckling, and looked over to a very disgruntled Sam with mirth bubbling out of his sparkling green eyes.
"Not my fault you insist on having L'Oreal locks, Bitch!"
"You fucking jerk! You're lucky I stashed a hairbrush in your glove compartment."
"What?! Who said you could keep that girly crap in Baby?"
"Dean!" Sam cried exasperatedly, "It's a hairbrush! Boys use those too, ya know."
"Yeah, boys! Men use combs or the fucking sweat off their manly bodies and the bones of their manly enemies to keep their manly hair in check!"
Sam scoffed, "What would you know about being manly? You're gay!"
"I know enough…and I'm bi."
Shooting Dean an incredulous look, Sam shook his head and chuckled, "Dean I know you, you're definitely hot under the collar for guys. I haven't seen you check out a girl's ass once, but every decent-looking man gets at least a twice-over."
Dean just stuck his tongue out and grinned cheekily, reaching over to punch his moose in the arm.
Before they pulled into the school parking lot, Dean turned the music down even further, knowing the drill. He loved teasing Sammy but he would never embarrass him at school; they drew an invisible line after all the towns they blew through with horrible bullies. Although nobody in Lawrence was like that, you never know.
Dean drove through the drop-off curve and slowed to a stop.
"Oh!" Sam exclaimed while reaching in the backseat for his backpack, "I'm taking Jessica on a date tonight, mind if I borrow the car? We're leaving right after school."
Knowing he had nothing else to do besides work, Dean nodded. "Yeah, sure. I'll park her in the student parking lot and call Benny for a ride to work. Have fun, be safe, wear a condom." He winked, smirking at his lovestruck puppy of a brother.
Sam rolled his eyes and thanked his brother, kissing Dean on the cheek before hopping out and strolling into school.
Dean did as promised and parked Baby in the school lot, then called his work partner and good friend Benny. The Cajun man came to his rescue as always, and the two headed to work with cheerful chatter and playful banter. Dean had a little reciprocated crush on the larger redhead, but neither had made any moves: Dean due to his traumatic past, and Benny due to the understanding that Dean needed a friend, not a boyfriend.
After a long day of sweating in the September sun, up to his elbows in grease and car oil—only taking a two hour break for lunch and friends—, Dean texted Sammy to let him know he was done with work and ask if he was done with his date. Sam had finished the successful date with Jess and had been home studying and doing work for a couple hours, so he hopped in the car to go pick Dean up from the auto shop.
As Dean waited on Bobby's front porch sipping a cold bottle of water, he looked into the sunset and thought about how far he and Sammy'd come. How much better their lives were, and how grateful he was for the friends that surrounded them. For the first time in his life, he was truly content, and he wouldn't change their situation for the world.