On Saturday I got a request on Tumblr that I couldn't resist. Tumblr user st0nedlucifer drew my attention to attention to a post with a request that I turn the anecdote in the post into a Dean/Jimmy/Cas story. The prompt (originally by Tumblr user makeoutstation) was:

"oh my GOD so i was talking to a buddy in psychology and then this kid came in who looked exactly like him and gave him a book he'd forgotten at home

"and i went 'holy shit you have a twin?!' and he was like 'yeah! his name is jason!' and i was like '! ? i thought YOUR name was jason'

"long story short i have one of them in my math class and another in my psychology class and i've developed a friendship with both of them but i thought they were the same person this entire time"

And this addendum:

"remember this post? not-jason is refusing to tell me his name and everyone's keeping it from me so i'm just calling him not-jason"

So, using that as a prompt, I wrote the below story. I changed a few of the specifics, but the idea remains the same.

The entire first draft is written (it's about 11k words) and I'm hoping to have the whole story posted tonight, but regardless it'll be up soon. :)

Note: This is a Dean/Cas/Jimmy story. Cas and Jimmy are twin brothers - so warning for incest/twincest.

The Butt of the Joke

"Alright, everyone, you know the drill – turn and talk with your neighbor!" said Ms. Bradbury brightly. She was the youngest teacher Dean had ever seen; if she was more than five years older than her high school seniors, Dean would be shocked.

First day of Dean's senior year at a new school, first period, first class, and now he was expected to have some kind of bizarre share and care with the dude sitting next to him as if they were still fifth graders. Sighing, Dean turned, met a steady blue gaze and immediately thought better of his reluctance. Dude was hot: neatly combed dark brown hair, bright blue eyes, a lean body without an ounce of fat. Dude was weird: he wore a button up white shirt, a gray tie, and neatly pressed slacks with perfectly straight lines down the front of each leg. The only hint of teenage rebellion was a single stud through his ear, a plain silver earring looking strangely lonely. Weird but hot. Dean could work with that.

"Yo, I'm Dean."

"Yes, I know," the boy said. "Ms. Bradbury said everyone's names when she took attendance." Restrained by the judging look on the boy's face, Dean barely choked back saying well I wasn't paying any fucking attention so what's your name? "You're a transfer student, correct?"

"My dad got a new job," Dean lied. "We got here like two weeks ago. You from here?"

"Yes, my family moved to the area when I was an infant," said the boy, nodding. "This is a good school. I hope you'll like it here."

"Me too."

So the day went: dull classes, first day homework, awkward small talk with strangers and sitting on the sidelines while the other students reunited with their friends after a summer apart. Everyone knew everyone else, and while everyone was polite and welcoming towards Dean, they were – understandably – too interested in catching up with each other to have any interest in the new transfer student. They had friends already, they didn't need more friends. Stepping into the lunch room, Dean looked around for the boy from math class – he was the only person Dean could even pretend to know and at least he was hot – but the boy was nowhere to be seen. The cafeteria was crowded with vaguely familiar faces, none of whom Dean could assign a name to. One eager wave did catch his eye. Sam sat at a large table of freshmen. At least things would be easier for Sammy, he was starting with everyone else. All of the freshmen were in the same positions and none of them had friends yet. Anyway, Sammy was better at getting to know new people than Dean was, always had been. Sweet idiot; his kid brother was gesturing for Dean to come over as if Dean had the least interest in sitting with a group of squirts. Dean gave an awkward wave back, grabbed himself a tray of crap food and went to sit by himself, making a show of pulling out one of his new text books. If he was doomed to have no friends, he might as well get a jump start on his homework. That way, he wouldn't have to worry about it while he was at work later. Not a single person spoke to Dean through lunch. When it was over, he packed up his things with a sigh, reminded himself he only had to get through a year of this shit and left to face the second half of the day.

His last class was his only elective: Psychology. To his surprise and, he realized with shock, pleasure, the boy from first period was seated next to him again. The change in him from first period to last period was stark – now he was disheveled, his hair a mess, his earring traded out for a spike, his slacks and button up replaced by loose jeans and a t-shirt emblazoned with an AC/DC logo. Dean grinned. His initial read had been spot on, this kid was fuckin' weird, but he was Dean's kind of weird.

"Two outfits in one day? That must make a hell of a lot of laundry," Dean joked as he took his seat. The boy gave him an easy grin and shrugged.

"Swim team," he said. There was a casualness to his words that had been lacking in the morning, too. "We meet during a double period of gym and lunch. This way, I can spend the rest of the day wearing what I want – keep the clothes in my locker here, wash them in the school laundry, change back before I go home. You know how parents are."

"Sure, yeah," Dean lied again. Attempting to explain his home situation was not a good way to make friends. Easier to pretend that he had even one parent who gave a flying fuck what he wore. "I can see why you'd want to change."

"One year, then I can do whatever the fuck I want."

"Amen to that," Dean agreed. "So, you're an AC/DC fan?"

"Oh, this? No, I think they suck," the boy said with a broad grin, flicking at the t-shirt. Dean couldn't stop the scowl from twisting his lips and the boy laughed. "I'm just screwin' with you, I think they're awesome. Last time they came through the area I even got tickets, had a whole cover story planned out so my brother and I could go see them, but our parents got wise and made us sell the tickets on StubHub and donate the money to our damn church."

"One more year," Dean said sagely. The boy nodded fervent agreement.

The teacher rose, wrote "Mr. Crowley" on the board, and harshly called the class to silence, intimidating enough that even though it was last period, no one gave him any sass in return. This time, when attendance was called, Dean listened closely. Crowley called the name "James," the boy had the nerve to call back that his name was Jimmy, Crowley pointedly ignored him and called him James the rest of the period, and Dean had his answer.

His new crush was named Jimmy Novak.

The endless days of school passed. Dean settled into the rhythm of his life in Pontiac. Every morning, he woke up at 6 and headed to their kitchen, so small it didn't even have an oven, to toss together breakfast, a lunch for Sam, and something for dinner that could be finished quickly in the microwave. That done, he woke Sam up and made sure they were both ready for the day. Sam, over-achieving genius that he was, started class at 7:45 every morning. Dean's first class wasn't 'til an hour after that, which guaranteed he had time to get his homework done. Class was an exercise in futility, since Dean was a senior and had no intention of going to college, but he sat through it and made a token effort to appear attentive, keep his grades up, and complete his work. He could hardly lecture Sammy on the importance of school if Dean ignored it himself. Besides, he'd seen the statistics on how much high school graduates earned versus how much those who dropped out earned. He'd finish high school if it fucking killed him; otherwise he didn't have a chance in hell of making enough to support Sammy through college. When school ended, Dean took Sam home or to the library and Dean went at work. Eight hours later he crawled into the house, shoveled some food in his mouth, went to bed and did it again.

The minutes of every day dragged until Dean thought they would drive him crazy yet before he knew it December had come and midterms were upon them. Sam was freaking out; Dean was less worried. He didn't have to do well, he only needed to pass. Psychology was the only class he was in danger of tanking; in retrospect Dean couldn't conceive why he'd let Sam talk him into taking an elective.

Just see if you like it, Dean. If you do, maybe psychology or sociology would make a good field for you to study in college!

Sam had been so enthusiastic that Dean had been swept along. And he did like it, he found it fascinating, but Crowley was an anal retentive douche bag who insisted that his students adhere strictly to the tenants of their bullshit outdated textbook. Try as he might, Dean couldn't force himself to work that way, not when he read the case studies Crowley assigned and saw so many other potential explanations for the behavior of the people involved. Crowley was unimpressed the first time Dean thought outside the box, and his grades got worse each subsequent time. Dean knew was being an obstinate idiot but he flat out fucking refused to grant authority to a book that still talked about the extent to which women were prone to hysteria and declared that spectrum disorders – not called that of course – were figments of the youth's imagination.

Fuck that. Dean would rather fail the class than pretend that shit was accurate.

If he failed the class, he wouldn't graduate.

Grinding his teeth, Dean did his best to apply himself, but it was hard to concentrate. He was so damn tired. Christmas break was still three weeks away, promising Dean the greatest gift of all: two glorious days off, two perfect days when he didn't have to think about school, didn't have to stock shelves, didn't have to do anything but sit on his ass and hang out with his brother. He hadn't had a day off since August.

"Okay there, Winchester?" asked Jimmy.

"Fan-fucking-tastic," Dean muttered. "Does Crowley seriously expecting us to write a case study in which we defend the premise that self-identification as a homosexual or bisexual is a sign of mental illness?"

"That's exactly what he expects," Jimmy nodded. "Sucks that you're a transfer student; all of us in his class except you knew he was an asshole when we signed up and we decided it was worth it anyway. You just made a shit choice."

"If you knew, why did you take the class?"

"Looks good on my college applications," Jimmy shrugged. "Also, supposedly Crowley writes stellar recommendations for students he likes. The AP exam is a bonus. And, when we get to college, we can write an entire dissertation about all the ways this textbook is a piece of garbage. How're your applications going? Mine are a fricken nightmare, I cannot wait to be done."

"Goin' great," Dean said vaguely, not really paying attention. He hated that he kept lying to the few friends he'd managed to make. Well, fuck it, not being able to tell them the truth helped keep from getting too attached. Come summer, all of them would leave for college while Dean looked for a second and third job. It'd be worth it in the end. If for some reason he wanted to, Dean could always go to school once Sam had what he needed.

"Want to meet up for a study session?" Jimmy suggested. Startled, Dean looked up to see Jimmy watching him intensely, those bright blue eyes gorgeous and curious.

"Uh...sure," Dean stuttered. He ran through his schedule for the next few days. "How about after school tomorrow?" On Tuesdays and Thursdays, Dean didn't work until 5, which gave him a couple hours to use has he would.

"Sounds like a date!"

Dean tried not to read into that statement even as his cock twitched with interest. Four months had done nothing to diminish Dean's crush but he'd seen little sign that it was reciprocated. The glimmer in Jimmy's eyes was ubiquitous and didn't mean anything. They'd probably end up bitching about Crowley for two hours.

As Dean's day proceeded, he couldn't stop thinking about his planned study session with Jimmy, couldn't stop thinking about how Jimmy had jokingly called it a date. In the time they'd been friends, Dean had learned that Jimmy had a habit of saying things irreverently that he actually meant. He especially did so during math class, when he would dead-pan jokes that made even Ms. Bradbury laugh out loud. His sense of humor was one of the things that Dean liked best about his friend but now he hated it because it meant he had no idea if Jimmy had been serious or not. No amount of scolding himself for being a 15 year old girl caused the thoughts to stop and what had started as innocuous imaginings had, by the end of his boring-ass work shift, metamorphosed into a full-blown sexual fantasy.

Jimmy's finely honed muscles bunching and stretching as he held himself over Dean's body, their lips meeting and parting, that low voice moaning, their cocks rubbing together, bliss exploding through Dean's mind until...

He'd masturbated in the Impala as soon as finished for the night, windows fogging, vision filled with phantom blue eyes and messy dark hair.

By the next morning, Dean had convinced himself that he was a delusion creeper. He was going to fail Crowley's class one way or the other; maybe he should cancel the plans.

"You good for this afternoon?" Dean asked nervously in math class the next morning.

Looking up and blinking at him steadily, Jimmy shrugged, tie swaying. "Yes, Dean. Everything is fine. I've made the necessary arrangements. Thank you for asking."

Dean had no idea what that meant but it got his imagination roiling again. By the end of the day his nerves were so frayed he couldn't think straight, but Jimmy waited for him after Psych ended, they met in the hallway and there was no escaping.

"I was thinking my place?" Jimmy said. "It's quieter than the library. Unless you wanted us to go to yours instead?"

"God no," Dean said more sharply than he meant to. "It's...tiny. And messy. You don't want to see that. Anyway, sure, your place sounds great." Too great, a little too great, warning, warning! "I just need to grab my brother and take him home first – is that okay?"

"No, you'd better ditch him," Jimmy laughed at Dean's affronted look. "Obviously it's not a problem. I'll need a ride, though. My brother is taking the car today, going to some college tour thing, I don't know what but I'm sure he'll tell me all about it later."

"I don't think I've met your brother," Dean said pensively. From what Jimmy had said and Dean had pieced together, Jimmy's brother was a junior and maybe even more of an over-achiever than Sam was, but Dean hadn't yet figured out which of the juniors at the school was the one. None of them looked anything like Jimmy. Then again, no one looked like Jimmy. Jimmy was fucking gorgeous, easily the best looking guy at school.

"Well, it isn't going to happen today," said Jimmy with a wry smile. "He won't be back 'til late. Shall we?"

Half an hour of driving saw Sam installed at the apartment and Jimmy and Dean sitting on a couch in the most stereotypical living room Dean had ever seen. Everything was so proper and perfect he was surprised there wasn't a plastic cover over the sofa. When Dean said as much, Jimmy laughed. "Only when the family gets here for holidays," Jimmy supplied with a wink. "Uncle Gabriel can't be trusted not to drop candy on the upholstery. It drives our mother crazy. Anyway – shall we?"

"Alright – so – you think I should write Crowley whatever shit he wants, take my B and call it a day?" said Dean, pulling his textbook out and slapping it on the table. Focusing on the task at hand was the only way he was going to keep his head out of the gutter and his hand off of Jimmy's tantalizingly close knee.

"Studious, huh?" snorted Jimmy. "I've got a better idea than talking about that douche bag – what do you say we have a couple beers?"

"You've got beer?" Dean said. Warning! Too tempting, too dangerous...

"Hell yeah. I run a high class establishment here," said Jimmy with a wink. "They're warm, though, have to hide them in my bedroom."

...man up, Winchester, it's one damn beer, that's not even enough to get buzzed on."Sign me up!"

Crowley's class proved much easier to talk about when Dean had the pleasant warmth of alcohol seeping through his veins. "The thing is – the thing is – this whole book is bullshit," Dean smacked the cover of the book to emphasize his point. "Especially this shit about gay people. Really? A mental illness? I've seen mental illnesses, my dad had the whole set, addiction, depression, all that shit, and I don't care what..." He glanced at the cover before whacking it again. "...Smith here says – liking dudes doesn't make me sick."

Beside him, Jimmy started and Dean's brain caught up to his mouth. And that's the story of how I came out to someone for the first time. Well, fuck. Way to go, can't handle one beer after all. And it jut had to be to Jimmy, beautiful, friendly, funny Jimmy who digs AC/DC and who comes to school in a suit and tie and whose parents forced him to donate money to his church and whose idea of rebellion is changing his clothes halfway through the day and changing back before going home. He's never gonna talk to me again—

The rest of the thought was obliterated as Jimmy surged forward, grabbed Dean's shirt and pulled Dean into a sloppy kiss. Too confused to reciprocate, Dean jerked away, bumping their noses, leaving Jimmy kissing air. Jimmy held Dean tightly enough that he couldn't escape more than a few inches, but it was enough for Dean to see the unsteadiness of Jimmy's breathing and the tears swimming in Jimmy's beautiful eyes. The hands holding Dean's shirt shook.

"Sorry," Jimmy gasped, looking away, releasing his grip, smoothing the front of Dean's clothing obsessively. "I'm sorry, that was...that was really inappropriate, wasn't it, I just...aw, fuck, and now I'm like petting you or something and I..." Jimmy gave Dean's shirt one last pat and moved away. Dean reached out and grabbed Jimmy's hands, threaded their fingers together, squeezed reassuringly to try to quell Jimmy's trembling. His friend gasped again, stuttered out, "Dean!" Nothing else won free before Dean leaned forward and locked their lips together again, more calmly, more confidently, remembering to turn his head sideways so that their noses wouldn't hit. It was only a single kiss, a chaste brush of lips with no tongue. Dean retreated again and waited. "Dean?"

"That okay, Jimmy?" Dean asked breathily. Wide-eyed, Jimmy nodded. Dean leaned in and kissed him again, adding a flick of tongue. Jimmy's lips parted, Dean slipped within and heat coursed through Dean so powerfully he felt dizzy. He'd been with girls a bunch of times at his former school. Kissing them had been nice but it had never felt right. It had taken him a year to realize he wanted to kiss boys and two more years before he suspected that he only wanted to kiss boys, but he and Sam had moved before Dean had gotten to explore that desire with his former crush, Benny. As a result, Dean hadn't ever actually kissed a guy before. Part of him had worried that he'd read his feelings wrong.

Judging by his instant erection, by the warmth throbbing through his limbs, by the desire curling in his gut and practically fucking purring through his body as Jimmy relaxed against him, Dean had definitely not been wrong. One kiss with Jimmy completely redefined what a kiss could be.

"Mmm," was the only reply Jimmy made to Dean's question. The sound, half moan, half invitation, shivered through Dean. The way that Jimmy pressed closer to him, dropped a hand to Dean's waist, used the other to cup Dean's cheek, spoke loudly of approval.

They didn't get any studying done. Dean was going to fail Crowley's class. With Jimmy straddling his lap, their lips locked together in desperate kisses, Dean's hand palming at Jimmy's erection awkwardly through thick denim, Jimmy's fingers fumbling at the zipper at Dean's crotch, it was impossible to give a shit about his Psych grade.

Jimmy didn't manage to get Dean's cock out but it hardly mattered. The rush of hormones and endorphins and who-the-fuck-knew-what-else coursing through Dean's body had him creaming his boxers embarrassingly quickly, fucking screaming "Jimmy" as he came, and Jimmy came moments after, his voice choking and breaking as he tried and failed to say Dean through his orgasm.

"Well, uh, that was awesome," Dean managed minutes later as the rush faded away.

"Yeah," Jimmy lay his sweaty brow against Dean's, eyes so close that Dean saw deep blue quadrupled by proximity. "Have I mentioned I'm pretty sure I'm gay?"

"I'd never have guessed," said Dean with a lazy smile. Slipping a hand beneath Jimmy's shirt, Dean stole an opportunity to run his fingers over the lean swimmers build he had dreamed of for months, that he had longed to see, longed to lick and kiss, longed to have stretched over him. Jimmy's flesh was lean and taut and damp with sweat and so firm, so tempting, that Dean couldn't resist kneading at it, prompting shivers through Jimmy.

"I was pretty surprised too," Jimmy said, eyes slipping closed blissfully.

"Well you know, you might still be wrong," Dean suggested. "Maybe we should test it a few more times to be sure."

"There might be some merit to your suggestion, Dr. Winchester," joked Jimmy. "We should be scientific about these things, after all. The am I gay hypothesis needs to be suggested to rigorous scrutiny."

"A large number of trial runs should be completed before we say for sure – about either of us," Dean agreed sagely.

"My brother is going to kill me. He has such a crush on you."

"Well, ain't you the lucky one for getting to me first?" grinned Dean, resisting the urge to shake his head in wonder that some teen he hadn't even met had a crush on him.

"Believe me, Dean, luck had nothing to do with it."

More soon!