Author's Note: Wow. So, it's been forever since I uploaded something, because I've been super busy with school and things.
Um... so, okay. This is, obviously, set before Season One, because it's before Sam goes to Stanford. It's funny, though, because I don't even ship Wincest that much, but here we are. :P I'll make sure the next thing I write is Destiel, haha.
There will be six chapters of this fic (I swear, it started out as a one shot), and I'll update it every week~
So, anyways, please review! I love reviews so much. (: *Is a review whore*
~Rainbow Fruit Loop xx
~ I'll Be Back Before You Know It ~
Chapter One.
One Hundred and Eighty Three Days Before.
When Sam got the letter telling him that he had been accepted into Stanford, the first emotion he felt was not happiness, not pride, but panic.
Panic because now he had to break the news to Dean.
And it wasn't as simple as 'Hey, Dean, I got accepted into Stanford, just like we hoped.' No. That would have been too easy, too unlike their lives. No, he had to tell Dean that he wanted to leave their messed up family; that he wanted to get out of everything - their chaotic, completely insane hunter's life. And he wasn't sure that Dean would take it all to well.
Because no matter what Sam said, no matter what Sam believed, Dean would see it as Sam leaving him. As Sam not loving him enough to stay.
Which wasn't true. Because Sam loved Dean with all of his heart - and perhaps a little bit more. And the type of love he felt wasn't normal, he knew that much, because how could it ever be normal to fall completely and utterly in love with your big brother?
It had all started a year ago; as soon as Sam had turned eighteen and realised what he wanted. Turns out, what he wanted was his brother. He fought with himself for two months - 'it's sick', 'we're brothers', 'he'd never reciprocate', 'am I going insane?' - but one day Sam had just… snapped.
He had grabbed Dean by the waist and crushed their bodies together - lips never quite touching because Sam knew that kissing was a completely different story - and he'd ground their hips together like they didn't have a tomorrow; had made embarrassing noises into Dean's ear; had dragged his tongue down Dean's chest, and… well.
Dean had been ashamed the morning after - 'I can't believe I fucked my little brother'. He'd been disgusted by both his and Sam's actions; had refused to speak to him for a week. John had noticed, of course, but they'd made up a story as to why they couldn't sleep in the same bed anymore.
But after a few more weeks, Dean had done the exact same thing. Sam had made a snarky comment about some girl that Dean had slept with, they'd had an argument over it, and Dean had ended up losing control and crashing into Sam with more passion than the eighteen year old had ever felt in his life.
Their little 'flings', as Dean liked to call them, had gone on for the rest of the year - each touch softening and slowing until Sam thought that it meant something to Dean too. They still hadn't kissed, not properly, though, because Sam knew that Dean always thought of kissing as an emotional response and not a physical one, and he didn't want to ruin what they had by scaring Dean off.
But sexual relationship aside, Sam knew Dean. And he knew that Dean would see his departure to Stanford as him trying to get out of their screwed up, totally immoral, completely psychotic relationship.
Sam sighed to himself, fiddling absently with the letter that Bobby had forwarded on to him. It was official-looking; crisp and white and filled with meaningless compliments.
'Congratulations... Your score was in the top three percent… Very pleased to accept such a capable student… Great academic prowess… Offering you a full scholarship… Start next semester.'
Next semester.
The next semester started in six months time, which, really, didn't give Sam a long time to think about what he was going to do. He could always write back to Stanford and tell them that something had popped up - a family issue, he could say, because then he wouldn't be lying - and that he would have to withdraw his application, but he'd consider reapplying in a few months.
But that was the thing. He didn't want to say no to Stanford. Stanford was such a brilliant school, and Sam had long ago replaced his battered copies of books on demons to pristine books on the applications of law.
It was selfish, sure, but wasn't that what their family was based on? They all acted in a way that benefited themselves, and though Sam knew Dean would pull the family card, Sam also knew that the reason Dean was so reluctant to let him go was because then he'd be alone; stuck to deal with their father all on his own.
With another sigh, Sam pushed himself up from the wall he was leaning against, and made his way back to the dirty, cheap motel that their father had decided on staying in.
At nineteen years old, Sam was tall; far taller than Dean could ever hope to be. He didn't consider himself to be good looking - he was sure Dean won the competition hands down between the two - though his scruffy brown hair and his flawless smile hadn't gone unnoticed. In one of those rare moments where Sam and John talked about something that wasn't work, John had told him that he'd 'grown up good, kiddo'.
As he got nearer to the motel that had astounded Dean by the fact that it managed to scrape a one star rating, Sam tucked the letter into his jacket pocket; out of sight, out of mind.
"Hey, Sammy. You okay? You seem kinda distracted." Dean commented as he sat down in the seat across from Sam in the diner. "Something on your mind?"
Sam glanced upwards, and cursed himself for being so transparent. "No, I'm fine." he lied - out of habit, mostly. The Winchester men didn't talk about feelings and emotions, which is why Sam and Dean's relationship was - regrettably - based on the physical benefits instead of the emotional ones.
Dean cast him a suspicious look, before shoving a cup of black coffee across the table.
"You sure you don't want something to eat?" Dean asked through a mouth full of bacon and egg.
Sam pulled a disgusted face as Dean chomped on through his pie. "No, thank you."
"Suit yourself."
There was a bit of a silence as Sam relished in the bitterness of his morning coffee; the only thing that could wake him up these days. After a bit, though, he cleared his throat.
"Where's Dad gone?" he asked.
Dean shrugged. "He said something about going to have a look around the house."
The three men had stopped off in a small town in Minnesota, where five young females - all aged twenty five - had been killed in their locked homes. It was probably a spirit - a simple case, really.
"Oh." was Sam's reply.
"Dad'll probably want you down at the library, checking up on local legends, you know. It should be a simple case." Dean said, shoving the last quarter of his bacon and egg pie into his mouth.
It was moments like these that Sam failed to see why he was so attracted to his brother.
And great. Today was another day stuck researching at the library, while Dean would be chatting up the pretty friends of the deceased.
"What?" Dean asked, noticing the look on Sam's face. "What's wrong with you this morning?"
"Nothing." Sam replied defensively, crossing his arms across his chest and looking towards the window.
"Yeah, sure, that's convincing." Dean rolled his eyes. "Come on, what is it, Sammy?"
"It's Sam." Sam snapped, annoyed that Dean had continued on with the juvenile childhood nickname. Sure, he secretly loved the fact that Dean had a special name for him, but it still infuriated him that Dean wouldn't listen.
Dean cast him a patronising look, and got out of his seat. "Fine, fine. Be a bitch about it, then. I'm gonna go order more pie. Last chance to say you want something."
Sam ignored him, and wondered briefly why he was in such a mood. Perhaps it was because he had lain awake all night, thinking about the goddamn letter. He still didn't know what he was going to do about it - or when he was going to tell his brother.
Maybe he should attempt to say something now; their father wasn't around, and after they were done Sam could race off and hide in the library until Dean calmed down.
A few minutes later, Dean came back to the table - not with another pie, like he had said, but with a large banana milkshake.
"All out of pie." he said by way of explanation.
"Right. Hey, Dean?" Sam said, watching his brother closely.
"Yeah?"
"Do you ever wish that we could have gone to school, or something? You know, had a normal life like other people our age?"
Dean looked up and chuckled. "That's what's got your bee in a bonnet? You annoyed because you can't go to school?"
Sam cleared his throat awkwardly. "Well, that's what I wanted to talk to you about, actually. Because, you see, I, uh, can."
"You what?" Dean raised an eyebrow at him.
"I've applied at Stanford."
Dean dropped his milkshake. "Shit," he cursed, grabbing at a napkin. He dabbed at his jeans for a second, before looking back up at Sam. "What the hell did you just say?"
Sam exhaled. "Yeah. I got accepted, too."
"Well, you're not freaking going." Dean decided, glaring at his brother as he gave up on cleaning his jeans. "What were you even thinking? You don't even want to go to school, not really."
"Yes, Dean, I do. And it's not up to you to decide if I can go or not. I can do what I want; I'm nineteen now."
"You selfish asshole." Dean snarled, leaning across the table. "Do you even know what this is going to do to Dad? We're his life. He'll hate you for leaving, you son of a bitch."
"You know what, Dean? I don't give a shit. I've had enough of fighting with him, of doing what he wants me to. You know when he last asked me what I wanted? Never. Because I don't get a say in anything."
"You're just a prissy little bitch because you don't always get your own way." Dean slammed his hands on the table. "Well, get used to it, Sam, because that's life. Things don't always happen like you want them to."
"My entire life hasn't happened like I wanted it to!" Sam said, frustrated at Dean's asshole comments. "It's all right for you, because you're Dad's favourite, his little soldier, but me? Someone who's got their own opinions? Someone who doesn't want to follow his instructions without questions? No chance. I'm not going to waste my life hunting monsters and turning bitter like him."
Sam hated fighting with Dean, he really did, but why did his brother have to be so… so unsupportive all the time? Sam always knew that this was how the conversation was going to go, but for once, he wished that Dean would support him. But no. Their dad always came first, and it really grated Sam.
"I am not going to have this conversation with you." Dean growled, getting up out of his seat and turning towards the exit. "You know that you're being a self centred prick, right?"
And with that, he stormed out of the diner, leaving Sam alone at the table.
After Sam had spent seven hours researching at the local library, John had decided that the job was as simple as it could be, and that he could manage by himself. Which, of course, left a pissed off Dean and an aggravated Sam alone in the motel room together.
"I'm going to take a walk." Dean muttered as soon as the two heard the Impala drive off.
"No, Dean, wait. Can we… can we talk? Please?" Sam asked, getting up from his seat at the table to perch awkwardly next to Dean on the sofa.
"I told you we're not having the freaking conversation." Dean snarled, standing up, and striding to the other side of the room. "I can't talk to you about this now."
"Dean, please." Sam practically begged. "I need you to listen."
"And I need you not to leave me for Stanford. Isn't that what we promised? That we'd never leave each other, because we need each other? I guess that didn't mean anything to you."
Sam stood up, and followed Dean to the other side of the room. "I do need you. You're my brother. Just… please don't be like this. I don't think I could cope with you hating my guts."
"I'm just your brother?" Dean suddenly asked, whirling around to face Sam. "Is that all I am to you? Your brother?"
Sam's eyes widened. "What do you mean?"
Because Sam honestly didn't think that their physical closeness meant anything to Dean. Dean had never made a move to kiss him, had never held his hand or cuddled him in bed - all things that he knew Sam liked. Sam had always thought that, to Dean, he was simply an eager source of sex - sex that he didn't have to meet in a bar and impress with flirtatious winks and scandalous comments.
Dean scowled. "I don't mean anything. Yeah, you're right. We're brothers. And you're still going to leave me. Real nice, Sammy."
Sam frowned, his mind still stuck on the 'is that all I am to you' sentence. "Dean, whatever's happening between us… I always thought that we did it because… you know. I didn't think it really, uh, meant anything to you."
"It doesn't. It's perverted, and sick, and… you're my brother. What we do, it's not normal. You have to know that. It's wrong."
Like he had been slapped, Sam felt the tears welling up in his eyes. He tried to blink them back, but Dean's face took on a softer look; his voice a more gentle tone.
"Sammy…"
"No, Dean, it's fine. I know that it's not normal. And it doesn't mean anything to me either, so it's fine." Sam lied. "It's just easy release, right? Sex we don't have to find in a bar."
Dean looked at him a little strangely. "But the reason you want to leave me… it's not because of-" he gestured between their bodies. "It's not because of this, right? Because if it's making you uncomfortable now, the things that we do, then I promise we don't have to do them anymore." His voice broke on the last few syllables, and something in Sam's heart clenched as he realised just how upset Dean was about the whole scenario.
"No, Dean. It's not that." Sam murmured, the tears still in his eyes. He didn't like seeing Dean so broken, so helpless. It almost made him want to stay - to endure life with their father, but… he just couldn't do it. Dean was right. He was selfish.
Briefly, Dean pressed a palm to his face. "I just don't understand why you're so eager to leave me." he all but whispered. "I thought we were a team, Sammy. You and me against the world, remember?"
Sam sucked in a silent breath, and made to move his hands over where Dean's were clenched at his sides. Dean jerked away. Sam sighed.
"I don't want to leave you, I really don't. I just… I can't do this, Dean. This life? I hate it. I'm not a hunter like you or Dad. I can't do it. I want to go to school, I want to learn, I want to be something more than a soldier for Dad."
"We've all had to give up what we wanted." Dean said, taking a step back from where the two had got a little too close. "We even lost Mom."
"But do you really think that Mom would have wanted us to grow up like this? As hunters? Don't you think that she would have hated Dad for doing this to us?"
Suddenly, Dean's hands were clutched in the fabric of Sam's shirt; pulling him close. "Don't you dare bring what Mom would have wanted into this conversation, Sam." he spat out, his anger flaring up; fury evident in his green eyes. "Don't you dare do that to me." He gave Sam a shake for good measure, and then pushed him back, hard.
Sam stumbled backwards and hit his hip on the table behind him. "Look, I'm sorry, all right?"
There was silence from Dean for a few minutes, before he muttered, "I'm going to take that walk now."
And as he slammed the door shut with a loud, frustrated bang, Sam curled himself up into a tight little ball on their double bed and cried himself to sleep for the first time in eight years.
