Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. I am just a fan.

At Fourteen

Pairing: Sam/Dean ... John/Dean

Pre-series

Warning: underage sex – incest – angst (love a good bit of angst) - Parental incest - Sexual violence

Snap shots of life in the Winchester household.

When Sam Winchester was fourteen years old, he was cute in that, too tall to be able to control his body kind of way. The sort of young man that people would say fondly, as he bumped into something yet again or knocked it over, that he would soon grow into his height. If, that was, he ever stayed anywhere long enough for there to be anyone around to look fondly on him.

It was around this time that several things began happening within the teenager, as with most boys of that age. He began arguing with his father, and his hormones were running rampant. But unusually for most boys of that age, who prefer anything to actually paying attention at school, the youngest Winchester developed a thirst for knowledge, and a craving for a 'normal' life. This also managed to screw those hormones up even more, as they were leading him in a very different direction.

When Dean Winchester was eighteen years old, he was the only one around long enough to look fondly on Sam. He thought he was cute in that exasperating 'I'm going to kill him if he screws with my tapes one more time' way. He would smile to himself when he watched his younger brother get so flustered around the girls at school when he went to pick him up. But he did not smile at the way he was making him feel the same.

At fourteen, Sam Winchester looked up to his older brother with undisguised hero worship. He was handsome, confident and good at his jobs, both of them. Dean could kick ass whilst hunting with their Dad, and he looked after his younger brother. He always had, and Sam might never show it as, after all he was a teenage boy, but Sam appreciated him for it, he loved him for it, he adored him for it. And now Dean was standing up for him against Dad who wanted to take him out of school and move them yet again.

During the night Sam would have nightmares, the more often they moved and, with his father and brother constantly coming home tired and hurt, the worse they got. He would tend to his brother's wounds, though his father shunned help with his from either son wanting to shield them but, in fact, driving them slowly away, and towards each other. Dean would allow his siblings ministrations but seldom looked at Sam whilst he tended to him, but once the nightmare hit, Dean was there to comfort him and to tell Sam it would all be okay. He had always been a useless liar as Sam could see right through the untruths. But he would never admit it and let his big brother believe he had him convinced.

It had become difficult for Dean to hold his younger brother in the darkness for two crippling reasons. He dreaded the sound of Sam shouting, crying out in his sleep, that would come through the walls. Anything, anything that hurt his brother was torture to him and having to rock him, comfort him, only being able to imagine what he was suffering inside his head, was painful to him. Yet Dean laid there at night, in the room next to Sam's, waiting for when he would have an excuse to crawl into the bed with him, a torture all of his own making.

At fourteen, Sam Winchester made Dean Winchester feel things he really should not, the only saving grace Dean could see was that Sam knew nothing about it. ===

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When Sam Winchester was fifteen, he had grown into his body somewhat and was an inch taller than his brother. And he was angry, lonely and confused. He would be left on his own in the dismal rented house for days on end with the only plus point being, that he could get his homework done in peace. But he was fifteen, angry, lonely and confused.

He had had a few dates with a girl he kept bumping into at the school library, but always felt awkward and out of his depth. He had tried asking his older brother for advice but the teasing had not been worth the wisdom given and he did not follow through on any of it, the girl after all was also only fifteen.

It hurt too, that now, his brother would not let him help him with the cuts and scrapes on his families return from hunting either, and Sam felt he was being forced out of their lives a little at a time. Sure, there had been plenty of fight training and he knew his way around far too many sharp objects and guns, but at his age he knew the reason, they did not think he was good enough, grown up enough. His arguments with his father 'one-eightied', and now he threw a strop if he was told to stay at home and do his school work.

At nineteen, Dean Winchester was treated, if not like an equal by his father, then at least as a valid hunting partner and even trusted enough to be sent out on his own. He was growing into a man now, making the best of the life he had been raised to, and the last thing he needed was to come back to the latest place called home and constantly have yelling matches with his annoying little brother. But he was not little anymore, had not been for quite some time.

Sam hated the way Dean looked at him during those fights, but the whole reason he started them was so Dean would indeed, look at him. He was hardly ever there anymore, either out on a hunt or at a bar on a different kind of hunt. He had long since tired of hearing about his brother's sexual exploits with varied women and, telling him to shut up about it being to no avail, Sam had simply stopped listening. The stories made him kind of jealous, but the only one he would confide in and, could maybe help him understand why, was the one person he could not ask.

And at night, when he needed that comforting presence after he dreamt of death and fire, his brother was either not there to comfort him, or would kneel by the bed and talk to him but would not get in, would not hold him. Sam missed him. And in a way he was not entirely certain of yet, he wanted him close, he wanted Dean to hold him. He dreamt about that too.

Dean was tired, he was tired of the arguing, and he was tired of being in the middle. His brother was already crazy for the way he goaded their father and it was sending him that way too. He had given up keeping the peace and had finally lost it, yelling at his Dad too, before he thought better of it. He had gotten a dressing down, but Sam was on a hunt with them and, of course, had nearly gotten himself badly hurt.

Dean was still teenager enough himself to resent the fact that it was always his fault when baby bro messed up. It was never Sam's fault but his, for not protecting his younger brother, for not teaching his younger brother well enough, for not training his younger brother properly. Well, fuck his younger brother! And that's where it had all gone wrong, because that's why he had been ignoring his younger brother, had stayed away from him because, yes, Dean Winchester wanted to fuck his younger brother.

That was one of the main reasons he told Sam all about the women he slept with, especially when his brother would look at him a certain way, as it would get a rise out of Dean, literally. He would lay on the details thick, one, to see that blush, but also to convince himself. He did not tell Sam about the boys though.

And they were boys, Dean could not deny it. By societies standards his chosen partners were too young, he was not even old enough himself to drink, never mind be picking people up in bars and clubs. Yet fifteen and sixteen year olds could look older, just as he could pass for younger, and his partners always knew what they wanted, it was always mutual. Hell, he had only been fourteen himself the first time he'd let a man take him home. Older, rough, much like John Winchester in fact and Dean had known just what he wanted too. But that was a whole different story.

And he knew what he wanted now when he went to the gay bars, young, tall and slim with dark hair and if, in the night, he sometimes got their name wrong, no harm. Both got what they wanted, he knew his appeal and was seldom if ever turned down. But he could not chance that with Sammy, could not chance that he would run screaming from him, or worse, look at him with hurt or disgust in his eyes.

Sam hated that their father always blamed Dean for everything and he loved Dean for always taking the reprimand and not turning on him. Now he felt really guilty because he had let himself get hurt on purpose. Today was the first time in months his father had touched him, checking his wounds to make sure he was okay and then, had actually hugged him close, not for long and roughly but at least it made him feel his father remembered that he was there. Sometimes it was as if John Winchester only had one son, the one that could fight. And as soon as they were home safe, John restocked his supplies, left some money and was gone again. No goodbyes, just instructions for Dean to teach his brother how not to get hurt.

Now, sat on his bed wearing only faded jeans, Sam was so conscious of his brother behind him, the gentle fingers cleaning the cut on his shoulder and the breaths on the back of his neck. He closed his eyes, enjoying the attention.

Sam felt guilty straight away. Not because of the fingers on his naked skin or that he had to fold his hands in his lap so Dean would not see how good it felt, but because of the accusations their father had hurled at his brother. And knowing Dean, he would believe it was true, that it was his fault entirely. And Sam felt guilty because now, Dean would be spending more time with him and it made him happy.

"I'm sorry." Sam told his brother very quietly.

"Maybe when your sixteen." Dean said equally low in answer.

"Maybe what when I'm sixteen?" turning to look over his shoulder not understanding.

"What?" Had Sam read his mind? Fuck!

"What?" confused at the shock on Dean's face.

"Turn around and stop fidgeting." commanding as the elder tried to cover up his slip, relieved as he was obeyed. Dean continued to tend to the wound, telling himself not to get lost in thinking about the figure in front of him and how the torso was that of a youth and no longer a boy. Quickly he used cream and gauze then practically leapt off the bed pronouncing Sam done as he grabbed up the first aid supplies and moved to leave.

"Five weeks." Sam called to him stilling his brother's movement, not wanting him to go. Dean stopped in the doorway looking back at him askance. "Until I'm sixteen." Dean just blinked. "What's going to happen then?" but all he got was, "Ten minutes. Downstairs. And put a shirt on!" and Sam was left to get ready for the promised, threatened, fight training. -

Damn, he was sore. Sam ached in places he had forgotten existed and the training had proved their father right, he was out of practice, his school work had gotten in the way of training. And the fact that he was constantly being left on his own, he added angrily.

At first his plan, if you consider the half ill-conceived thought to be hopeless and have Dean needing to constantly touch him to show him what to do like when they were kids, worked. But after only five minutes of being constantly knocked on his ass, to the delight of the grinning elder Winchester boy, Sam had had enough and had fought back.

At least he would not be on his own tonight, as there was no way his brother would be out on the 'pull' with the black eye and split lip. Sam had to admit that it had been a lucky punch, and totally unsporting, as Dean had been talking. But then, that's how they had been trained, there was no such thing as a clean fight, you just got the job done. And he had been laid out on his ass within seconds with Dean stood over him staring down. Then his brother had declared practice over and practically fled. 'Probably to check he was still beautiful', he had thought uncharitably.

Sam lay backwards on his bed groaning and thought about Dean stood over him, staring down at him with lust in his eyes. That's what he saw now, lying here anyway. He closed his own eyes and let his imagination wonder followed by his hand.

Hearing footsteps he sat up, quickly checking the door, as his brother padded past heading for the bathroom. If Dean had bothered to look in, it would have been a close call, as Sam had forgotten to shut his door but his brother had had that 'gotta go' expression on his face again that Sam hated so much. Lately, whenever they got remotely close, that expression would appear and he would be left on his own as Dean 'ran off', usually into some woman's bed if his stories were to be believed, and he had no reason to doubt them. He despised that look.

He threw himself back on the bed, face down this time, wrapping his arms over his head, too pissed off to even think about having 'wrong thoughts' and thought about asking Jilly out to the movies or something instead.

Minutes had gone by and Sam removed his arms and listened. Yes, there it was again, a thud in the bathroom. He got up, moving onto the landing and crept up to the door. He heard another thud and also moaning. Pushing the door, he rushed in "Dean. What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

"Get out! Get the fuck out!"

"But you're hand, it's bleeding. What happened?" moving to him, oblivious to the panic and shame on his brother's face.

"Sam. Get the fuck out!" pushing him away, nearly slipping in the tub.

Confused, Sam slowly backed away and retreated from the room, closing the door softly as his brother sank down in the tub.

Dean curled up under the streaming water of the shower and cried. -

Sam was sat at the kitchen table, having prepared them something to eat, when Dean came down dressed to go out. He looked good still, despite the black eye, but with what he was planning, it would not make much difference anyway. He would have worse by morning as he knew where to go in this town to find what he wanted, what he needed. In a particular dive of a biker bar, the men were rough and there were a few who would like what he had to offer. He had been there before.

Dean would not look at him, instead he just grabbed the keys to the Impala and fled, leaving Sam there, even more alone than ever. He had noticed the bandaged hand and so had not imagined the bleeding knuckles. He thought back to the scene as he opened the bathroom door and dropped his head onto the table groaning, realising that he had walked in on his brother jerking off in the shower. No wonder he had screamed at him to get out. But why had he been thumping the wall?

Sam did not know, but he did know that it was going to be awkward for the foreseeable future. He looked at the meal he had gotten ready for them both and, standing dejectedly, threw it away. He had no appetite for food now either. ===

TBC===