Shifting in his chair, Sam clicked on another search result, face scrunching up in frustration when it showed the wrong information. Again. Looking at his father from the corner of his eye, he could see the man's patience was wearing thin with Sam's futile attempts to find info, though he tried to hide the way he was watching his youngest like a hawk by staring at his journal laid out in front of him. He was supposed to find useful information on how to kill a Wendigo, it was all wrong though and he could feel that familiar panic bubbling up inside him, chewing on his lower lip anxiously, a habit he'd acquired with time. His palms were starting to get sweaty and his leg started bouncing up and down repeatedly, all signs a panic attack was coming. "You okay there?" John's gruff voice snapped him out of his thoughts. He ignored Dean's concerned stare and looked back at the laptop. "It's n-nothing sir, I'm fine." God, not again, please. He hated this. 'Breathe. In and out. Like Dean taught you' He told himself, trying to keep from hyperventilating.
Dean swept in the room, steam billowing out of the bathroom he'd just vacated. "Found anything?" he asked the room at large, one hand securing the the tiny motel towel around his waist. He crossed the room and dug around in his duffel for clothes, dripping water everywhere.
John sighed when Dean's towel barely even covered anything, thus his son dripping water all over the floor and he directed his gaze at Sam again when Dean asked if he'd found anything. "Ask your brother, he's the one /supposed/ to find something useful." Sam looked down at his lap and vaguely noticed his hands had started shaking, cheeks flushing a deep red in embarrassment at his father's words. It's not like he did it on purpose, today had been a fucking stressful day as it it, and he wasn't at his best like he usually was when it came to research.
Dean noticed too, judging by the way his gaze sharpened. He straightened, halfway into an old AC/DC t-shirt that was clean enough to be worn for tonight, until they made a trip to the Laundromat. He glanced back at their father. "Hey, c'mon," Dean said, obviously picking up on the tension in the room. "It's been a long day, and we're all tired." John sent his oldest a sharp look. "People are dying, Dean. We need to figure this out. Soon." The last word was directed straight at Sam, and he closed his eyes against the trembling of his fingers. 'Keep it together,' he reminded himself. Dad had a different motel room than they did, Sam just had to hold out until it was just him and Dean.
Sam was halfway through tearing the skin of his lower lip when Dean talked, about to send a small, grateful smile at his brother but John's words stopped him from that, hands shaking even more as he forced himself to nod like he knew he was supposed to and clicked on the next search result and god he almost wanted to cry when the information was wrong. Wrong, wrong, /wrong/. All wrong and John was waiting for him to find something but Sam couldn't find anything. His heart started beating faster, eyes frantically reading info after info on the bright screen of the laptop. "Stop that, Sam." Only then he realized his Dad was talking about his leg, which was bouncing up and down rapidly now and he wanted to stop, but he /couldn't/.
John sighed, slamming his journal shut. "Sam, I won't tell you again. Stop." Sam sent a look to Dean, who seemed torn, still only half-dressed, between shoving John out of the room and fussing over Sam, and the years of ingrained obedience and dedication to the hunt.
He tried to stop. He /really/ did. But he couldn't. "Sam." John's voice was firm and sharp, as if he could will his leg to stop with that tone. Sam flinched and tried to control his own body but he couldn't and he was closer and closer to crying out of pure frustration and stress and god, he hated panic attacks so fucking much he didn't want to have one, especially not with John in the room. "I-I can't."
John's stare was steely. "You can. And you will. How can you expect me to believe that you're going to be able to obey orders on a hunt if you can't even do it now, when we're as safe as possible?" Sam blinked, trying not to let the waver of his lower lip break out. "Son, answer me," John demanded. Sam pressed his lips together tightly, trying to control his breathing. John swore and stood, the rickety chair scraping back, and grabbed his jacket from the hook on the door.
Sam's lower lip trembled and he cursed under his breath because he hated looking like a fucking crybaby, he hated even more feeling like one but his Dad's words kept ringing in his ears and Dean was still staring between the two of them, as if not knowing what to do. Typical, he's always on Dad's side anyway, Dean was the perfect son who obeyed each one of John's orders, Sam was just the freak who couldn't even control his own body and freaked out over things like this. John walked out the room, swearing and Sam turned away from Dean in that second, biting his lip and trying to keep tears at bay.
The door slammed shut behind John, and Dean was there, uncurling Sam from his hunched posture in the chair. Sam fought weakly, trying to keep his face hidden, but Dean simply lifted him up to his feet and guided him over to the nearest of the two beds. Sam held his breath against the overwhelming need to gasp for air, and brought his knees up to his chest, hair falling into his face. Dean climbed up onto the bed beside him and rocked him, shushing him and rubbing soothing little patterns on his back.
Sam tried to fight against his brother's hold, a shaky sob falling from his lips and gasping for air at the same time, his chest tightening with every gulp of air he took and now tears were running freely down his cheeks. The day had started out shitty enough, then in school he'd /almost/ had a panic attack though he managed to stop it but students still saw him, called him a freak over it, not that was nothing new to him and now John and Dean...he was overwhelmed. "L-let me go." He muttered, pushing weakly at him though Dean didn't let go but Sam didn't want his comfort. Okay that was a complete lie but he still hated that Dean never did anything to stop John.
"Hush, Sammy," Dean muttered, fingers now deep in Sam's hair, stroking. "I've got you. You're alright." Sam squeezed his eyes tight, and tears rolled slowly down his cheeks. Dean swept them away with his thumbs.
Sam looked up at Dean and couldn't help it anymore, he all but let himself fall into his brother's arms and held onto his shirt tightly, burying his face in the other's chest because he didn't want Dean to see him cry anymore, he hated being this vulnerable and weak. "No, I'm n-not alright, I'm a freak."
Dean's arms tightened around him. "Don't you ever say that," he growled vehemently. "I don't give a damn what those kids at school say about you, 'cause they don't know a fucking thing about you." He scooted Sam further into his lap, and leaned back until he was lying flat out, Sam clinging to his chest. "You're miles better than they are, Sammy," he continued, grip still bruising. "Don't you ever think otherwise."
Sam shook his head, clearly disagreeing with his brother's words but didn't say anything, just kept crying, his head on Dean's chest as he tried to get his breathing under control, still taking shaky gasps every now and then, sniffling against Dean's shirt. It was a while before he muttered words that to him were true. "Dad thinks so too. He thinks I'm a freak that can't even control h-his own body and freaks out all the time over little t-things."
"Dad doesn't think that," Dean disagrees. "Dad just doesn't understand you." He snorts softly. "You two are too much alike. You think that'd mean he understand you better, but I think he sees parts of himself in you, and that scares him." Sam burrows further into Dean's arms. "He's never had a panic attack," he argues. Dean is silent, petting Sam's hair quietly, and Sam knows a victory when he hears one.
Sam knew he'd won the argument when Dean stayed silent, still petting his hair which has always worked to calm Sam down and eventually he stopped crying, though his eyes were still puffy and red, his face still tear stained but he took a deep breath and pressed his cheek against Dean's chest, hands splayed out on his brother's covered stomach. "Why do you always have to stay silent when this happens? You never tell him anything." He regretted the words as son as they were out because he knew Dean hated when it happened as much as he did.
Dean stiffened under Sam, and he wished he could take the words back, clutching all the harder in case Dean tried to untangle them and leave. When Dean spoke again, his voice was hesitant and so unlike the boisterous brother Sam knew. "I - I'm trying Sam, I am, I just..." He trailed off uncertainly, and shifted a little under Sam. Sam dropped his weight so Dean couldn't move away.
"Yeah, I know." Sam said quietly, knowing Dean was never one to stand up to his father, knew better than to talk back, always obeyed, never stepped in when he and Sam were fighting, which was becoming a regular thing. "I hate having panic attacks." He breathed instead, sighing and feeling somewhat tired like he always did after basically crying his eyes out.
"I know," Dean replied. "If I could -" He cut himself off, and they lapsed back into silence. Sam breathed in deeply and hiccupped.
Sam fisted Dean's shirt tightly and kept him close, pressing his ear to where Dean's heart was, hearing his brother's heartbeat and his breathing, which as weird as it may be, calmed him down. God, he /was/ a freak, and not only because of the panic attacks or the lifestyle he had.
Dean laid a hand on his head, keeping him pressed to the steady thump. Sam breathed in, the familiar Old Spice with the cheap motel soap and the crisp, overstarched smell of the scratchy sheets.
Dean smelled like home, as close as home as Sam will ever get, his brother had once told him his home was the Impala and Sam could understand that, after all there had even been times they didn't have enough money for a motel they'd stayed on the car, John in the driver's seat while Sam and Dean shared the backseat, snuggled up and sharing what warmth they could find on cold nights, Dean usually tucking Sammy in his jacket so he could share his warmth with his brother. "I should've found some info, I know. I just...it was a bad day at school and.." He trailed off, sighing at the memories.
"It's not always easy, Sammy," Dean sighed, "You know that. And Dad knows that too, even if he doesn't want to admit it. There have been plenty of times where he's called up other hunters to ask for help. Nothin' wrong with that."
"I know." Sam sighed too, looking up at Dean and nuzzling further into his embrace, floppy brown hair tickling his brother's neck as he did so. "I just wish he'd understand. I can't control it, not really." He said quietly, though a voice was telling him he should be able to control his own freaking body.
"Yeah, Sammy." Dean smoothed a hand down his back. "I know. I know." He pressed a kiss to the mop of Sam's hair.
"At least I have you." Sam breathed quietly but he knew his brother heard him. Dean was usually pretty bent on his rule of 'no chick flick moments' but lately with Sam's anxiety and his attacks, he'd been ignoring that rule, Sam was always the exception to his rules.
"You'll always have me," Dean said lowly, a promise he'd made years and years ago, and never had any intention to break. "I swear it."
For the first time in that day, Sam actually smiled, it was a small, soft smile but a smile none the less and he couldn't care any less at the moment about the jerks from school that had called him a freak, the girls that had giggled and whispered behind his back or the teachers that pretended to not notice when some asshole tripped him and made him fall, Dean made it all better.
Dean smiled too, hidden against Sam's hair, and tucked him in closer to his body. For the first time all day he felt like things were going to end up okay.
"Dad's going to Caleb's tomorrow for some info. We could do something together, we don't really hang out anymore, you're always ditching me for chicks." Sam said that last part in a joking tone, though it was true, Dean had been pretty much leaving him for chicks these days but it kinda hurt when he didn't exactly had many friends and he missed his brother.
"You know I always come home to you Sammy," Dean teased. Sam flushed unwillingly.
Sam tried to hide his face in Dean's chest and teasingly punched his shoulder thought it was more of a push, chuckling softly at the teasing. "Why? Womanizer Dean Winchester's having trouble getting laid?" He teased back.
Dean smirked. "They can't get enough of me, Sammy," he smarmed, "but they only love me for my body." He poked Sam. Sam swatted back. "You wouldn't do that to me, would you Sammy?" His eyes were comically big.
Sam rolled his eyes at his brother, though he couldn't help the grin on his face as he swatted at Dean's hand when he tried to poke him again. "You mean if I wouldn't sleep with you only for your body?" Sam asked and pretended to put on a thoughtful expression, wondering at the same time how their conversation turned to this but not minding one bit.
Dean's jaw dropped in exaggerated surprise. "Sammy! You minx! You would?" He pretended to swoon, one large hand draped over his forehead. "Baby boy's growing up, huh?" A green eye sparkled wickedly from under his hand.
Shrugging, Sam laughed when Dean pretended to swoon and smirked. "Maybe." He drawled out the word and fell into a fit of chuckles when Dean's jaw seemed to drop even more at that. "I mean, I can see why girls only sleep with you for your body."
Dean cried out in mock scandalization. "Rude, much, Sam?" He whapped him upside the head, but drew the sting out by massaging the spot tenderly. Sam pressed into the touch.
Sam raised a hand where Dean whacked him but stopped when Dean placed one instead, leaning into his brother's touch even though he poked at his ribs, smirking when Dean squirmed, knowing his brother was ticklish. "You're such a jerk." He muttered
"But you love me anyway," Dean singsonged. Sam's fingers unerringly finding the sensitive skin between his big brother's ribs and at the bend of his knee. Dean yelped embarrassingly loudly and squirmed, trying to get away, and Sam found himself reacting to the friction of Dean's body under his.
Sam chuckled at the yelp and went to poke him again but then Dean squirmed, and he wasn't even trying to squirm away so Sam could /feel/ him moving under his own body, and when his big brother squirmed his knee accidentally made contact with Sam's crotch, the younger Winchester biting his lip to keep from making a sound and blushing a deep red because fuck, he shouldn't be reacting this way to Dean. He stopped the teasing right there, choosing the look down instead and pretend this never happened.
"Hey," Dean panted, "hey Sammy, are you okay?" He grabbed Sam by the shoulders, "Is something wrong? Sam, Sam, look at me."
"I'm fine." Sam murmured and tried to roll over so he wouldn't be on top of Dean anymore but the other had a tight grip on his shoulders and he couldn't move.
Dean stared at him, and Sam could feel himself turning redder and redder as realization dawned in his brother's eyes. Dean chuckled deep in his chest. "Baby boy is growing up, huh?" he murmured. Sam tried to drop his head, but Dean caught his chin and lifted it back up. "Hey," he said, face suddenly serious, no trace of ribbing left. "It's alright, 're fifteen. It happens, okay? Nothin' wrong with it. It's normal."
Sam groaned and tried to look down but Dean kept him from doing so, and he had no choice but to stare into his brother's green eyes. "Please don't tell me you're gonna give me 'the talk', I learned that in biology, thank you." Sam muttered, trying to lighten the situation but the blush stayed.
"Nah," Dean grinned. "Dad won't tell me to give you 'the talk' until you start showing some interest in girls, and then he'll expect it to be the same thing he told me: Don't care what you're doing, always wrap it up, no matter what." He pauses. "Jus' saying, its nothing to be embarrassed about or anything. Part of growing up."
"Yeah, yeah." Sam mumbled, trying to get out of this embarrassing conversation and rolling his eyes at the words his father would supposedly say. Of course that was to be expected from him. "Can we please stop talking about how me getting a boner is normal?" He didn't realize his own words until he'd said it out loud and the blush was back in place.
Dean winked but let go of him. "Sure thing, Sammy. You wanna just go take care of that then?" He jerked his head towards the dingy motel bathroom and wiggled his eyebrows.
"I'm not...'taking care of that' when we're in the same room!" Sam exclaimed, sounding horrified at the idea though he was actually more embarrassed that he'd gotten himself in this whole situation, with his brother none the less.
"Where else you gonna do it?" Dean asked. "S'not like we're just drowning in space here, dude. You're gonna have to jerk off sometime."
"I don't /have/ to do it." When Dean cocked a brow at him as if to asking him if he was serious, Sam shrugged and tried to will the blush away. "It'll...go away." He stuttered and knew that was likely to not happen.
"Your call," Dean waved a hand airily, "but as the one who has to live with you, I'm telling you to go take a nice long shower, and to really enjoy yourself, if you know what I mean."
"Well, I would take a nice long shower if we hadn't run out of hot water this morning because /someone/ was hogging the shower to themselves." Sam replied and pulled bitchface number eight at his brother, thinking that actually a cold shower would actually help in making his boner go away.
Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah," he dismissed. "You weren't the one who had to go out and work outside fixing cars today to bring home the bread, were you? I deserve that shower."
Sam rolled his eyes too and rolled off of Dean, laying on his back next to his brother and trying to think about anything that could make his boner go away. "So no hot shower, and I'm not gonna jerk off in the same room as you." Sam nodded and simply stared up at the ceiling, blushing when Dean's eyes drifted towards his visible hard on.
"Right," Dean said, too loudly, "I'm going to get ready for bed. You can, uh, try to scrounge up something on that Wendigo, huh?" He rolled up off the bed and into the bathroom, swinging the door gustily closed. At the last minute he caught it, obeying John's rule that inside doors were never shut, let along locked. What use was a partner if he couldn't get to you, after all? Sam watched him brush his teeth from his vantage point on the bed, praying that by the time Dean was done his hard on would be gone, and they could pretend nothing had happened.
Sam laid his head on the pillow and let out a long breath, closing his eyes briefly and trying to think of anything that could will the hard on away and well if it wasn't Sam's lucky day. It didn't. By the time Dean was back, Sam still had the same problem but he tried to hide as he rushed past Dean on his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth.