Title – Always Been Mine
Rating – R (or a hard PG15)
Fandom - Supernatural
Characters – Sam/Dean Winchester
Warnings – Underaged Wincest, Major schoompage
Summary –Dean has always belonged to Sam.
Authors Note – Written for 33Flavored who bought me at Sweet Charity. She wanted a sequel of sorts to "He had Always Known" So this is a mix of prequel/sequel to that story So this is more of a missing scenes fic to that story. You do need to read the other one for this one to make sense, basically you can take both stories weave them together and get one fic.
Disclaimer – Sadly nothing in the Supernatural fandom belongs to me. Kripke, CW and others that are not me own the boys. I only borrow them to play with.
Beta - sailorhathor who makes all my messes pretty. All mistakes left are mine
All constructive criticism welcomed.
Always Been Mine
Sam walked into the living room carrying his and Dean's plastic cups and a bottle of Pepsi and set them down on to the coffee table. Before he returned to the kitchen, he stopped to pull up his over-sized pajama pants. His tiny fist clenched the waistband tightly to keep them in place, but he did nothing about his bare feet being swallowed up by the excess of navy blue pant leg.
He pushed the wooden kitchen chair up to the counter that Dean was working at and climbed up, settling himself on the counter, ready to watch Dean pour the popcorn kernels into the air popper. His little feet dangled over the side, swinging in excitement.
Dean cut the top of the plastic bag holding the popcorn. "Sammy, don't climb when you're wearing those things; you'll fall and bust your head open," he scolded as he began pouring.
Sammy flicked on the switch. "No I won't, Dean. I've worn your pajamas before and never fell."
"And you weren't climbing around like a monkey when you wore them before, were you?" Dean asked as he slid the bowl for the popcorn under the spout.
"No," Sam frowned. "But I'll be careful, Dean. Promise."
"Promise me you won't climb anymore."
Sam nodded. "Promise," and he gave Dean a bright smile.
The popcorn started falling into the bowl. Sam watched with a child's curiosity. Dean walked over to the stove and started melting the butter for the popcorn while Sam continued to watch the popcorn pop, stealing a handful when he thought Dean wasn't looking.
"When's Dad and Bobby coming home?"
"Not until tomorrow afternoon."
"So we can stay up as late as we want, right? No bedtime?"
Dean turned off the stove and looked over his shoulder quickly, catching Sam with a mouthful of popcorn. Sam quickly shut his mouth and tried to act like he did nothing wrong.
"Keep it up, Squirt, and you will have a bedtime."
Sam gave Dean an annoyed look, clearly upset with the nickname "Squirt," and stuck his tongue out at Dean. Dean laughed and stepped off of his stool at the stove, walked over to where Sam was sitting, and poured the melted butter over the popcorn.
"Ready?"
Sam had been safely lifted off of the counter and the popcorn had finished popping. Pillows and blankets had been gathered and deposited on the couch and the lights had been turned off. Everything was all set for movie night.
Both boys settled in on the couch and watched as Christine played rock n' roll while she killed any guy that dared to touch her. By the time Arnie had grabbed a clue and figured out that his beloved car was mowing people down on her own, the popcorn had been finished, the bottle of Pepsi was half gone, and Sam's eyelids were beginning to drift shut. By the end credits, Sam was laid out on the couch with his head resting in Dean's lap, one hand slightly tucked under the curve of Dean's knee while the other had a firm grip on Dean's hand that rested on his stomach.
"Dean?"
"Yeah?"
"What does your shirt mean again? I forgot," Sam asked while wiggling around so he was facing Dean instead of the TV.
"It means Ghostbusters," Dean answered as he pulled a blanket over Sam, laying his arm protectively over his little brother's side.
"It's your favorite one, right?"
Dean nodded.
"I like it. Can I try it on tomorrow, just to see?"
"Sure thing, Sammy."
Sam smiled and snuggled closer to Dean, his nose pressing against Dean's stomach.
"Goodnight, Dean."
"'Night, Sammy."
s/d
The night before the first day of school, after bath time but before bed, Dean had spread out all of their new school supplies across their beds. With a red Mr. Sketch marker that gave off the smell of cherries, Dean wrote 'Property of' on all of Sam's supplies, then handed them over to Sam for him to finish it off with his own name.
He had explained to Sam that this prevented anyone from taking anything that belonged to Sammy, and if that didn't work, it was at least proof that they took something from him. Then Dean could threaten them until they gave it back.
It was a long process, taking until it was time to go to bed, but when they had finished, Sam's name was on everything from note books, erasers, crayons, and markers to Sam's ruler; nothing had been left out, or so they had thought. After the incident with Carol, Sammy quickly figured out that there was one thing he'd neglected to put his name on, and he better do it soon before it was too late.
He lay still in bed, eyes shut tight while he pretended to be asleep.
He waited until he heard Dean's breathing even out and he began to softly snore. Slowly, Sam threw back his covers, sat up in bed, and waited to make sure he hadn't disturbed Dean. Once he was sure the coast was clear, he tiptoed over to his school bag and dug out his markers, along with a notebook he had brought home to use for copying. He then tiptoed over to Dean's bed and sat down on the edge, resting his supplies on his lap.
Sam knew his movement shouldn't wake Dean up; he was used to Sam climbing in bed with him when he couldn't sleep, but he was being extra careful just in case.
He continued to sit there quietly and study Dean. For this to work, he had to think of the perfect place, somewhere where people like Carol could see, but Sam had a problem. Dean was sleeping on his stomach. If he tried to turn Dean over, he'd wake him up for sure. That cut off a lot of his options. He'd just have to work with what he had, and hoped that even if everybody couldn't see it, it would still have the same effect.
He set his supplies beside him and crawled further onto the bed. Settling on his knees, he reached over and, as slowly and softly as he could, pulled back Dean's blanket, stopping when Dean began to shift. He held his breath and waited to be caught. His heartbeat sped up, causing it to drum in his ears; he foolishly worried that Dean would be able to hear the pounding and his plan would be blown, but Dean had only turned his head in the other direction before settling back into a peaceful sleep.
Sam knew it was now or never. He couldn't take anymore time. His hands shook as he carefully pushed up Dean's T-shirt, thankful that it was baggy enough not to cause too much friction.
He slid open his box of markers. Dean would like the smell of the black marker better, but Sam loved the color blue, so to decide on which marker to use, he played Eenie Meanie Minie Mo.
Blue won and he smiled. He then opened up his notebook to the back of the front cover and rested it beside him. He was all set.
He stuck out his tongue in concentration as he glided the blue marker over Dean's skin, making sure every letter was perfect. Dean's back had been the perfect choice; he never would have had enough room for all this on Dean's forehead. Sam froze midway through his second 'P' as Dean started to stir, mumbling something too soft for Sam to understand. Dean couldn't wake up now, he wasn't close to being done, he needed more time to finish. Luck was on Sam's side, it only took a minute for Dean to settle down enough that Sam was comfortable to start again. With the exception of a soft giggle during the first 'S' and a wiggle during the last 'T' Dean stayed still and unaware of Sam's actions. He pulled back and capped the marker.
A proud smile spread over his face as he looked at what he just finished. "Property of Sammy Winchester" stretched out over freckled skin in navy blue marker. A job well done. His teacher would have been proud of his neatness.
He put his markers away and tucked them and the scribbler under Dean's bed, then rearranged the T-shirt and blankets before making his next move.
He stood up and waited beside the bed. "Dean… Dean?"
Dean woke up instantly at the sound of his brother's voice; he turned over quickly to make sure he was OK. "Sammy, s'matter?" he said, sleep etched in his voice.
"Can't sleep. I think, I think it was a bad dream."
Dean lifted up his covers for Sammy to climb in. "Do you remember any of it?"
Sam shook his head as he climbed up onto the bed. "Just that I woke up scared."
"Don't worry, Sammy, nothing to be scared about. Nothin's gonna hurt you."
Sam settled in beside Dean, curling up close, until his face was nuzzled into Dean's neck. "I know."
Dean wrapped a protective arm around him and Sam cuddled in closer. He took in a deep breath, relaxing even more at the smell of Dean's skin.
"'Night, Dean."
"'Night, Sammy."
Sam smiled possessively. Dean was his, and no hand-holding girl would ever take Dean away from him. Not now.
s-d
Wings were not new to them; Dean had been getting them every three years since the first time they had happened. They would stay for three days and then disappear as effortlessly as they had appeared. The brothers had never figured out why Dean and why the 3-year cycle, but they decided they really didn't need to. The wings had never caused Dean any pain or discomfort, didn't give him any super powers much to his dismay, they were just for decoration more than anything.
Kissing, however, was new to them.
The storm clouds had rolled in suddenly. In a matter of minutes, clear blue spring skies had turned dark gray and angry. Lightning changed the colors of the sky, thunder boomed and rain started to fall. Dean and Sam never had a chance to make it back to the house, had to wait out the storm in the woods behind the yard.
Both stood trying to catch their breath. They had tried to make a run for it before realizing that it was best to just stay where they were; the storm would probably pass as quickly as it had rolled in. Dean pulled Sammy close, raised his wings and curled them in, making a dome-like cocoon, to keep them both dry and shielded from the rain and wind.
Dean's tongue darted out to lick away blood from his lip; a branch had whipped back and hit him while they were running, leaving ripped skin behind. Sammy's eyes focused in on the movement, watching as the blood disappeared for a second and then reappeared just as quick.
Without any thought, Sam moved in and licked away the new traces of blood that hung on Dean's lip.
And that was how it started. Never had they done it like this. There had been the sharing of an innocent goodnight kiss when they were younger, but nothing like this. Sam leaned closer and tilted his head upward, angling his face perfectly to meet Dean's; his tongue went out and coyly licked Dean's lip, taking the rest of the blood with it. The bitter taste of copper and the sweet taste of Dean exploded over his taste buds, and he pressed in for a kiss, lips touching lips, soft and quick, but enough to make him want more. He had never kissed anyone before, but he knew this was what he wanted, what he needed. After only a moment of their lips together, Sammy craved the taste of Dean, craved the pressure of Dean's lips against his own. He leaned in for another, this time with more force. His tongue ran along Dean's lips, hoping to be granted entry into his mouth.
He whimpered as Dean rested a hand on his chest and pushed him back. "Sammy, we can't," he reasoned as he rested his forehead against his younger brother's, his body language not discouraging their closeness, even if his words did.
"Please." And he moved in again, pressing lips against lips. When Dean didn't kiss back, when the lips against his own stayed stiff and still, he raised his hands to Dean's face, holding it while his cold thumbs brushed back and forth at the corners of Dean's mouth. His nose still touching his older brother's, lips a paper-width apart, he asked one more time, barely above a whisper, "For me, Dean, please?"
Shivers shot through his body at the feel of his older brother's lips on his own. His knees became weak as Dean rested his hands on his waist; he silently asked to deepen the kiss by running his tongue along Sam's bottom lip, waiting for permission to enter his mouth. Sam granted it immediately, savoring the feeling as their tongues met for the first time.
The light thumping sounds of water droplets hitting Dean's wings faded. The loud crashes of thunder could no longer be heard. The world had ceased to exist around them.
Sammy pulled Dean's hand away from his waist and moved it over, resting it on the bulge in his jeans, worried about what was happening, what he was feeling, not sure if it was normal or if he had done something wrong.
"Hurts, Dean."
"It's OK, Sammy," Dean reassured him with a smile. "I'll take care of you. Okay?" Sammy nodded as calmness settled over him. They kissed again, tongues meeting and tangling together, before Dean pulled back and spoke again. "Turn around Sammy, and lean back."
Sam whimpered at the loss of Dean's lips against his own, but did was he was told, turning around and pressing back. He took a quick intake of breath as he felt that Dean had the same problem he did. Sam's head thumped back to rest on Dean's shoulder as he waited for what came next.
Dean reached around his waist, tugging at the button on his jeans and pulling on his zipper, letting them slide down low on his legs. He wrapped his other arm around Sam's middle, securing him.
"Easy, Sammy," he whispered into Sam's ear as he wrapped his hand around Sam's hard cock and pulled it out of his boxers. He ran his palm over the head, smearing pre-come over his hand. Dean began to stroke, long slow strokes, his thumb rubbing over the head, teasing. Sam turned his face towards Dean's neck and moaned, his hips bucking, forcing Dean to quicken his pace.
"Dean…"
"It's OK, Sammy, I got you, just let go."
Sam reached up and pulled Dean in for a kiss, moaning into his mouth, while his other hand intertwined itself with the hand resting on his stomach.
Cum splashed onto the pure white wings, streaking them as it slid down, Dean's wings faltered, falling back into place by his side.
The storm was coming to an end, the rain had slowed down to light drizzle and the sun was trying it's best to peak out around dark clouds. Hints of a rainbow could be seen towards the West.
s/d
Sam had a dream of running away, getting away from the hotels, from the hunting, from the worry that one day Dean wouldn't come back to him after a hunt, that instead of Dean coming home and sneaking a kiss when their father wasn't looking, it would only be their father that came through the door, his shirt stained with Dean's blood and the words of guilt and sorrow on his lips.
Sam had come up with the perfect plan, the perfect way out, they could be together and nobody would cast them a second glance, no hunting, no moving, just them. He had thought of everything, took everything into consideration, except for one thing.
Dean not going along with it, not following him to the life they both deserved.
Her hair was almost the right shade, a little too light, but the California sun was to blame for that. She was the right height, just an inch or so too short, but her shoes usually covered the difference. Her eyes were blue most of the time, but there were times when they seemed green, usually when she wore the color, so he bought her a green T-shirt and reasoned with himself that it was because it's his favorite color.
Moles took the place of freckles, and it was almost the same.
Her hands were soft and smooth, not rough and callused, but she wears a ring on her right hand. Sometimes, he could pretend.
His hands run over curves instead of tight lean muscle. He convinced himself it was a good trade. He told himself it was easier to fall asleep if he wasn't running his fingers over healed scars and kissing them better for the hundredth time.
She liked the wrong music, and didn't know how to drive. She read the wrong books and actually thought horror movies were scary. Thought Cujo was a stupid name for a dog and drank beer out of a glass. She ate salad instead of double cheeseburgers and would rather start her day with a nice cold glass of orange juice instead of a hot cup of black coffee. But he learned to love her.
Convinced himself that he did.
s/d
Sam could tell Dean was already awake and out of bed before he opened his eyes; there was a noticeable lack of body heat pressing against his back, no arms holding him close, and no warm breath falling softly on his neck. He let out a sigh. It wasn't often Dean woke up before him, and when he did, it usually meant it was time to get up and move on; something urgent needed their attention.
He opened his eyes, blinking at the late morning sun as it poured in through the East side window. The room was empty, but he could hear the shower running in the bathroom. Maybe if he rolled over and looked like he was sleeping when Dean was finished, he could stay in bed a little longer, could have more time to enjoy the soft mattress and warm comforter.
In mid rollover, he noticed a flower on Dean's pillow, not just any flower, but a red rose. He sat up, the thought of more sleep forgotten. He reached for the rose, the stem still wet and free of thorns. He couldn't stop himself from bringing up to his nose for a sniff.
"Like it?"
He startled at the sound of Dean's voice.
"Damn it, Dean, warn a person."
Dean's only response was a smirk.
Sam watched every move Dean made as he walked across the room to the table, not paying any attention to what Dean was holding as he was distracted by the water droplets sliding down Dean's body and seeping into the waist band of his boxer briefs. So it was a surprise to him when Dean sat a tray of food in front of him.
"What's this?"
"Breakfast in bed, idiot." Dean placed a light kiss on his lips.
Sam raised a questioning eyebrow as Dean pulled back.
"What?"
"Breakfast in bed? Roses? It's not your usual MO."
"Wait, there's more."
"There's more?"
Dean grabbed his cell phone from the nightstand, pushing buttons until soft music started playing from the speaker. He set it back down on the nightstand and gave Sam a proud smile.
"Dude, is that Celine?"
"Chicks dig Celine."
Sam rolled his eyes. "What's this all about, Dean?"
"You wanted romance, little brother, so I'm romancing you. Now shut up and eat your Egg McMuffin so we can cuddle."
s/d
Sam scooped Dean up in his arms, ignoring the demands to be put down.
"Sammy, I swear, if you don't put me down this minute-"
"You'll what, Dean? Spank me? Because that could be fun."
"Sammy!"
Sam laughed as he pushed the door open with his right foot. Dean continued to squirm around, complaining under his breath about sasquashes who didn't listen.
"I have all day, Dean. You want down, you stop moving and let me do this properly."
"Sammy…" Dean whined.
Sam shot Dean an amused look.
"Fine." Dean sighed in defeat and wrapped his arms around Sam's neck. "Happy now?"
Sammy smiled. "Extremely."
"Just get on with it."
"Dean Winchester, you're such a romantic. I'm lucky to have you."
"Damn right you are. Aren't your arms tired yet?"
"Nope, not even a little." When Dean's face fell into a full pout, Sam leaned in and bit at Dean's bottom lip, sucking it in and turning it to a kiss as he walked through the open door.
Sam felt Dean relax in his arms as he deepened the kiss.
Sam leaned forward following Dean's lips as he pulled away, "Why didn't I get to carry you over the threshold?"
"Because I asked you to marry me first."
"You were four!"
"Still counts."
"Whatever," Dean pouted.
Sam threw his head back and laughed as he walked towards the bedroom, still carrying a pouting Dean.
The marriage license in the back right pocket of Sam's jeans didn't mean a thing, just a paper that said 'Sam Winchester' and 'Dean Singer' were now life partners, only accomplished because blood tests and identification could all be faked with a little effort.
What did mean something were the matching gold bands, given to each other during a binding ritual that took place after the 'marriage ceremony.' Each ring engraved, claiming the owner to be the property of the other.
What meant even more were the completely legal set of land title papers stuck in the side pocket of Dean's leather jacket, stating that the 80-acre parcel of land and the buildings on it, which included a two-story farmhouse, now belonged to Mr. & Mr. Winchester.