Three weeks after Dean breaks his own fist in a rage, he loses his virginity.

But three weeks before he loses it, he lies in his bed and reflects on how far things have gone, after a long day that involved a meltdown, a visit to the hospital followed by ice cream and lots of cuddling with his mommy, and finally a lazy evening spent with Sam and Adam, who came back home with Aunt Naomi later in the afternoon.

Naomi didn't stay for long, and Dean pretended to be asleep while she visited, mainly to avoid questions about his hand. When she was gone, Dean made a re-appearance, and greeted Adam who seemed fascinated with Dean's splint; at once curious and suspicious about exactly how his big brother got his "big ouchie."

During their playtime, Adam eventually turned his "Deedee hurt" exclamation into a sing-song litany - he'd say it, and giggle, and in the course of that remind Dean how much he'd missed the little drunk ... cos that's always how he seems like to Dean: just an itty-bitty tiny drunk man. And God, does Dean love his itty-bitty tiny brother.

Before bed, both boys nursed from their mom - Sam happy to accommodate, and feeling visibly at peace with his two babies tucked safely in his arms. It seems that Sammy got past the fact that Dean is way past the age of breastfeeding very quickly. Now his mother almost takes it for granted that during their private quality time, when Dad's not around and when it's time for a feeding, Dean would want it too. Sam is still not used to being completely topless and bare when he lets them nurse, but at least now he automatically loses either the shirt or the bra.

And today there was something more; an air of guilt was surrounding Sam. Dean feels his mom was trying to make amends through every small action; and breastfeeding was one way Sam was saying sorry. Probably why he let Dean continue to suck at his tits long after the milk stopped dribbling. He let Dean feel them up, and let him enjoy the hot pull of his mouth on his mom's nipples, licking and blowing on the spit-wet buds, occasionally biting, and accidentally leaving what Dean can only term a hickey (if only to continue to fuel his own sense of victory) in the meat around one of his mommy's nips.

When his mommy gasped with the bite, Dean apologized quickly, "shhh, it's okay mom, I'm sorry I hurt you" ... his whispers blowing hot breaths over the sensitized, sore nipple as he spoke them. Dean then brushed a soft kiss to the nipple to soothe it, then quietly returned to milking Sam dry. With Sam's lower lip trapped between his teeth, eyes scrunched shut in pain, the man looked delicious, and worth all the trouble Dean is going through to get him all to himself.

When they were done, Sammy put Adam to sleep, then helped Dean clean the mess in his room. His mother insisted that there was no way to keep their argument from Castiel, especially with the damage done to Dean's hand and to the vanity. Dean gets that, of course. But they agreed they would skip details, water down Dean's attitude in the re-telling, and lose the parts about Dean witnessing Sam and Cas together, and Dean still feeling bitter about the "heat break" he took from home.

They concocted something. Sam would tell Cas he was trying to talk Dean out of his boxing training, like he wanted him off the sport forever. The thought of Dean getting hurt or lost to him has scared him, he'd tell Cas, and he got a preview the night before and he didn't want to go there again, ever.

There's already a lot of truth there that they felt they could build on; Sam always felt uneasy about Dean becoming a boxer (especially that he was so good at it his coaches have high hopes for him and are pushing him so hard). Sam had complained numerously to Cas. He even tried to convince Dean to take up basketball, swimming or something like tennis or squash instead. Cas had refused to pressure Dean into abandoning something he loved just because his wife was being overprotective, and Dean had laughed off his mom's fears, adamantly refusing to even discuss switching sports.

Dean remembers saying he'd rather die of head trauma than take up something like tennis.

Tennis, mom? You're friggin' kidding me! he had added indignantly.

So it's believable.

It's also very likely that Dean would flip out if his mom insisted too badly - and maybe, according to their new story, his mom insisted and flipped out a little too.

Dean knew that this was no way near a free pass. He knew he'll probably get lectured by Castiel at best and penalized somehow anyway.

But this is better than the truth, which would probably just enrage Castiel, or worse, raise his suspicions about Dean's true feelings for his mom, and in turn put a damper on everything Dean has been planning with regards to his mommy.

Of course, he didn't reveal to Sam that last detail, but it's what he believes.

Sam himself has his reasons for the elaborate lie. Cas hates to go to war over something twice, or needlessly protract discussions over an issue that he believes has been settled, and Sam knows that. If he hears it as it is, Cas'll take Dean's lingering anger and persistent attitude over something that's said and done (at least to Cas) as a personal challenge to his authority, as both father and Alpha. Sam hates the tension a situation like this could create between his husband and son. Now, as Dean is growing up, Sam can sense that Cas' Alpha sensibilities are becoming sharper, much more vigilant to signs of rebellion or dissent. And Dean is not easy, already. He's passionate, and he marches to the beat of a different drummer.

Sam thinks the less confrontations between these two in this delicate juncture, the better. He's tired of standing between them.

And the whole affair with witnessing Sam and Cas being sexually intimate? To Sam, that has already been classified as their "little secret" the moment it was divulged and there was no need to even discuss it out loud again and make everyone feel awkward.

...

Stretched in his bed, hugging his wounded hand to his chest, Dean goes over his last conversation with his mom and smiles. He thinks the more secrets and lies he and his Sammy share, the closer they'll get, and eventually, the farther away his mom will drift from Castiel, or so he hopes.

And that's when he hears the rising murmuring coming from his parents' room, two doors away, and realizes Castiel is probably now becoming privy to his earlier meltdown. Dean knits his brows in concern as he hears a door creak open, then footsteps approaching his room, and from what he can gather based on sound alone, it's Castiel and apparently he wants to wake Dean up in the dead of night to talk about what happened. Cas can't wait until morning, he says, and Dean knows that's bad.

But he also knows that his mommy simply won't let this happen, and Dean's proven right a moment later. He could hear his Sammy coming to his defense, whispering that his son has had enough, and that his day was quite hard already. Castiel won't listen, apparently, and Sam finally lets it out (unaware that Dean is probably still awake, perking up his ears on the other side of the closed door, spying on their semi-hushed conversation, even if he's still lying in bed).

Well, the doors are thin.

"I hit him, okay," Sam hisses.

"You what?"

"It's why he lost it. I slapped him Castiel," Sam repeats, and his voice sounds teary, which is probably why his dad remains silent for a few moments registering this.

He can hear his father release a sigh.

"Sam, that's still not-"

"No, Cas. Don't. I've never laid a finger on our kids before, and after ... you know, how I was raised, I swore, I'd never- But today, I did Cas, and I feel awful, and I wish I died before it happened. And I don't know how to make it up to him. ... I feel responsible for what happened, alright? For everything. The pain. All the blood. My God, he bled a lot. And I made him cry, and I never thought-God. So ... please don't make it worse."

Cas stays silent, letting it all sink in. He knows as well as Sam does that violence is not in Sam, so for him to lose his temper and strike it must have been as traumatizing for Sam as it was for Dean. Probably punishing Dean, again, would make it more painful for Sam; would be like punishing his wife along.

Lately, Cas has been feeling something is slipping out of his hands, he doesn't know what it is, and because of that, he can't control it - Sammy's changing, and he can't put a finger on how he is, or why, and he's losing his grip on Dean too. In the past, Sam and him were more of a united front, but now things are not as black and white. His thoughts trail off as Sam speaks again.

"Look, Cas, you can have a talk with him tomorrow. In the morning. When he's up, and well rested. After he's had his first meal. We're not sadists. He made a mistake, alright, but he was thoroughly punished for it. Please, Cas."

"Alright. Okay. Backing off, Sam. For you, honey. This time, I'll let it go, but only for you," Cas says, emotionally exhausted from all the back-and-forth. This time, and last time, and probably two more times, Cas thinks. God, Dean is getting away with a lot these days.

"Good, thank you, darling." Phew.

When Dean hears the unmistakable sound of kissing, his stomach churns a little, but at least he feels this is for his benefit, to help his dad calm down and forget he has a bone to pick with his son. Cas is probably not happy his hand was forced, yet again.

Dean also feels for his mom so he'll go easy on Sam too. Sure, he doesn't like that everything ends with him and Cas kissing, and man, that slap burned, and not just physically, it shocked Dean to the core, but it looks like his mom is already torturing himself over it; the guilt and the pain in his voice are very potent, and his sorrow touches Dean.

So Dean lets it all go, soaks up the sensations of fatigue, and the tingling relief from the pain pills he popped earlier, and finally drifts off.

...

When Dean comes to, it's still late at night. The street light seeping in from the gap in the curtains attest to it.

There's a dip in the mattress, a weight settles down beside him, and it's what wakes him up. When Dean flutters his eyes open, he can see it's his mom.

"Sorry, baby, go back to sleep. I'm just checking on you," says Sam, and his voice sounds a little broken. Dean squints, letting his eyes get used to the dim lighting, then he sees it; his mommy's red-rimmed eyes. It's either Sam was crying or couldn't sleep.

"What's wrong, mommy?"

"Nothing, sweetheart. Is your hand alright? Does anything still hurt?"

Mildly, it's mainly a persistent dull throbbing, Dean thinks, but he isn't going to say it, seeing how torn up his mommy looks already. "Nah mom, it's all good."

Sam cards his fingers through Dean's hair. "Do you know how much I love you, Dean?"

"Yeah, mom ... Yeah, I do."

"Good, because I'd never hurt you sweetie, never," Sam says, and a single tear falls, and he quickly wipes it away.

"Mom, come here. Come to bed," Dean says, sits up with a little difficulty, then holds both his healthy and injured arms out for Sam. And Sam complies. He slips under the covers, and into Dean's arms, lying between his legs, his torso resting on Dean's hips, and Dean spreads his thighs to accommodate his mom.

Sam hugs him like he's trying to hide inside his son's much smaller frame, his head buried in his son's neck, and his arms curled tightly around Dean's waist, lifting him slightly off the bed a little. They hold each other, and Dean can feel the hot tears against his neck. He starts stroking Sam's hair, kissing his forehead, and rubbing his nose against Sam's cheeks, until his mom's breaths even out and calm down.

Sam turns his head up, and asks, "Do you forgive me?"

"Mommy, there's nothing to forgive. I'm yours. You can do anything you want to me," he says, his softness now in direct proportion to his cruelty in the morning when he'd called his mom a whore, and pushed him away. They're now gazing at each other, breathing the same air, lips mere inches apart, and Dean takes the opportunity, and slots their mouths together, kissing hungrily.

His mother lets his own lips be plundered.

"Mommy, open your mouth," Dean whispers urgently between kisses, feeling bold.

"Dean."

"Come on, mom, I wanna taste you." Kiss. "Please." Kiss. "It'll make me feel better." Kiss. "Safer. Loved." Kiss. "Open' em."

Sam does, and the moment his mommy's lips part, Dean stabs his tongue inside, running it along Sammy's tongue, his teeth, the roof of his mouth.

He takes Sam's tongue between his own teeth, then starts sucking on it, slurping, pulling like he wants to devour it already.

His mom squirms a little; Dean can feel his surprise and reluctance at being kissed like this; so consumingly, like no son should kiss his mother, like they've never kissed before. But Dean pushes past his mother's hesitancy, and continues to eat his mouth like a piece of coveted dessert.

"Dean," Sam manages to groan between kisses. His grip on Dean loosens at first, then he feels his mom trying to nudge him, then trying to push up from the bed and away from his mouth. But Dean's hands are around his mommy, and Sam would not dislodge or throw him off knowing he could hurt his son's bandaged hand if he does. So he tries to wriggle, but without much heart.

Every time Sam tries to pull away, Dean moves with him, follows his mouth with his own, re-slotting his lips over Sam's, and pushing his tongue inside his mom's mouth again.

Dean rests his injured hand, the one in a splint, against Sam's shoulder and neck, but his other hand moves down and slips under Sammy's shirt.

His mom is not wearing a bra, and his breasts are soft and accessible. Dean mounds at one breast, groping it, then he pinches a nipple, taking it between thumb and index fingers, willing it into hardness. "Dean, sweetie. What are you doing?" Sam rasps when his mouth is momentarily released. Dean attacks his mouth again. When there's another break, Sammy asks him to "hold on, wait," his lower lip still trapped between his son's voluptuous lips as he speaks.

But Dean's not listening.

And Sam doesn't try anything beyond the feeble, small attempts to escape Dean's not-so-tight clutch.

Dean knows this is happening too close to his confession of getting turned on watching his mother get fucked, but a) he can't fight it, b) he's sure he can get away with anything right now with his mommy feeling so incredibly, irredeemably guilty.

Feeling even luckier, Dean grazes his hands down Sam's torso, along his abs. He dips a tip of a finger in Sam's navel, then continues down, tracing Sam's treasure trail, until he meets the fabric of Sam's sweats. His touches are not exploratory, but urgent, hot and claiming.

His hand changes directions and he curls it around Sam's waist instead of going lower. Dean can't go there yet. Too soon.

But as a compromise, to himself, he lays his now sweaty palm against the dip of his mommy's back, right above the swell of his butt, where a thin pair of sweats are sitting low, nothing beneath them from the looks of it. Just this thin item of clothing separating Dean's hand from Sam's most private parts.

He's still making out aggressively with Sam, and while his mom may not be reciprocating as enthusiastically, he's not totally passive either, despite calling Dean's name between breaths, and begging him to "stop" as his son's hand wanders.

Dean's hand moves from Sam's lower back and dips lower, then in a moment of pure uninhibited passion, he thinks fuck it, and pushes his wandering, insistent fingers past Sammy's sweats and into the crease between Sam's ass cheeks. He wants to ravage and rape that secret spot ... touch a finger to Sam's sweet, pretty pink pucker, then slip it inside, claim Sammy, finger fuck him into confessing he's his alone. Make him writhe, and squirt. Drool cum and slick as he talks dirty to him. Wet his own pants from the stimulation, and finally orgasm with Dean's name spilling from his lips like a prayer.

But it happens differently, and so quickly, one push, and he's barely touching Sammy's hole before his mom panics, pushes back and bucks off the bed and him.

"Oh God, Dean, you shouldn't ..." Sam runs his hands through his hair, looking for words. His face is flushed, eyes still teary, his lips wet, swollen and bitten, wrecked from the ravenous kissing and nibbling they were subjected to, and Dean feels a wave of pride course through him at making his mommy look so used, so deliciously confused and edible. His cock is already twitching from the passionate kissing.

"What's wrong, mom?" Dean takes one of Sam's hands in his, laces their fingers together, and pulls him closer. Sam reluctantly follows. Dean kneels on the bed, to be closer in height to his now standing mommy, then he lays his chin on the swell of Sam's breasts, gaze never leaving Sam's. "I like tasting you, mom. You taste so good," Dean says, lacing his voice with sweet innocence but it's still rough with want, and his breath is coming fast. He knows he can't mask that rasp.

He's not hiding his intent per se, physically he definitely isn't, but he's somewhat challenging his mom to put a name on his actions, to accuse him of taking things "too far."

He knows Sam won't. Because even as he's being groped and fondled, and kissed like a lover, a big part of Sam will still refuse to see Dean as anything but his sweet, innocent, loving son, who perhaps can't differentiate yet between feelings of love, and feelings of lust.

Dean can live with that misperception - if it gives him what he wants.

"Mom? Would you prefer it if I don't kiss you again? At all?"

"No!" Sam responds without thinking. "I mean, of course we can kiss, but not, not like this, sweetie."

"Like what, mom?" Dean asks, and pushes himself up a little in order to place a deep kiss on Sam's mouth. He releases his lips with a pop, then asks again, "huh, mom?" Another lingering kiss.

Sam's eyes close with each kiss, and again he doesn't push Dean away. In fact, he snakes his arms around Dean and hugs him closer, as Dean cradles his mom's head and presses feather-light kisses against his lips, his chin, the tip of his nose, the corner of his mouth, his collarbone. "What's wrong with this?"

Meanwhile, Sam doesn't answer all his son's non-questions.

"Forget it, De. Just when you touch me, if you do, baby ... just don't-" Don't what? Sam thinks to himself. Is he going to tell his son to stop touching him so intimately, so beautifully because it's wrong? ... and is it wrong? Should there be taboos between mother and son, if they're as close to each other as he and Dean is?

Who puts the rules?

And it's not like Dean means anything by it, Sam reasons. It's not like my son is consciously stepping over a line. He probably doesn't fully understand that love manifests itself differently between parents and their kids; no matter how deep it runs, Sam muses, that there are still red lines. Dean is too pure, and whole, and too true to his love, to understand what these man-made boundaries were created to accomplish. Besides, despite knowing how to win people, Dean is generally emotionally withdrawn; he hasn't learned to dispense his feelings except with family. Sam is partly responsible for that, drilling into him that it all comes down to them: his parents and his brother. So this type of love, it's all Dean knows.

Sam himself doesn't understand why society has decided it's not OK for mothers and sons to love each other so unconditionally, like lovers or better ... I mean, this love, Sam knows he can't have with anyone. Not even Cas. Because not even Cas was born out of his womb. Not even Cas, for all his perfections, has been inside Sam for nine months. It's not Cas that was literally part of him, it's not Cas that fed from his breasts for years, and not Cas who walked his first steps towards Sam, spoke his first words to Sam, and loved Sam even before he knew what love is.

For all his life, Sam has been Dean's all, his center of attention, his rock, his friend and parent. Sam would never be this for Cas.

Sam has witnessed every little detail of Dean's life, and it has not been so for Cas. Even as in love as they are, Sam still keeps certain things - memories, stories, dreams- from Castiel. He bets it's the same for Cas. But to Sam, Dean is an open book. He knows his son inside out.

For all their love and longing, Sam's and Cas's passion for each other pales compared to how tied up together and how tightly connected Sam and his first born are. Sam's heart could burst from all the love he has for his son; it fills him up, overtakes him, maddens him sometimes.

He'd never say it out loud, but sometimes Sam doesn't even understand his feelings for Dean completely.

The closest thing Sam has to this all-encompassing love is his love for Adam. And even with loving Adam so warmly and deeply, Sam knows he and Dean share an uncanny special bond. He hates to admit it, but sometimes he feels even Adam can't exactly compete, at least not in this respect.

So bearing this in mind, should he still push his son away, deny him things and school him into accepting the tenets of this flawed society - the same society Sam himself struggles with day in day out?

Should he tell Dean it's wrong, dirty, to seek comfort and security from kissing his mother, or touching him, just because he's not his Alpha, because he was designated only the role of a "son," or just because it was decided long before Dean was born that one man and only one should touch Sam this way? What? Should he tell Dean to restrain his natural impulses, train himself to fear and sexualize even the purest expressions of love, instead of taking them for what they are; displays of deep affection and unwavering love?

It's too late in the night to ponder on this any further, Sam thinks, so he just places a final chaste kiss on Dean's cheek, detangles himself from his son's embrace and asks him to go back to sleep, so he could get some rest. He needs it.

"Sleep with me?" Dean asks, refusing to let his mom go. "Please?"

Sam's shoulders' sag. "Ok, just for a little bit. Maybe until you go back to sleep."

Foot in the door, Dean thinks.

"Mom, one more thing."

"What, De?"

"I'm feeling pretty shaken. From this morning. And I just wanna-" Dean trails off, on purpose. He knows what he's doing to his mom.

"What? What do you want, De?"

"No ... You won't get it ..."

"Try me, sweetie."

"Mom, I'm suddenly scared to ask."

"Hey, don't! Scared from me?! We don't censor ourselves around each other, you and me."

"But you might take it the wrong way. After today ... I just can't-"

"Dean, there's nothing we can't say to each other. Hear me, buddy?" His mom says, voice very serious.

Dean gulps audibly, but doesn't speak.

"Baby?" And the word is beckoning softly.

"Can we sleep together without clothes on? Just for tonight. Earlier, I felt my heart was racing, like I was on the verge of panic, mom, and I needed you. But I didn't wanna come to your room," he lies. "I just wanna feel your skin, mom. I want to feel us touching."

"Oh."

"Forget it, I'm-you know, being a baby. Maybe even a freak for wanting this."

"Hey, no, no, no. It's just that I'm not sure I'm comfortable-I'm. If. How it looks, De. If your dad wakes up and comes here looking for me ..."

"Ah ... It's fine, mom." Whatever. It's always his dad standing in the way.

"Look, don't. There's nothing wrong with wanting to feel close to someone. I'm your mom, and best friend, remember? We're it for each other. I'll tell you what? I'll help you take your shirt, and sweats off. You can sleep in your shorts. I'm going commando, so ... erm, I'll just take my shirt off, and keep the pants. We'll snuggle closely. You'll still feel me, I promise."

"Ok, mom, thank you." Good enough, Dean thinks.

When they're out of most of their clothes, Dean lies in his mom's arms. Both of them are on their sides, with Dean of course lying on his good side. His mom makes him promise to come and call him anytime he feels panic taking over him; "it's not negotiable, De. You feel like that again? You come straight to mommy. I don't care what hour it is." Dean promises, and when they settle, cuddle closely, he finds his face right up his mom's full naked chest. Without thinking he opens up his mouth, and seals his lips around a breast, and starts nursing on it. Sam's eyes glaze over, and he holds his son tighter. Dean's lids soon start feeling heavy ... he finally sleeps with one arm around his mom, the other propped up against Sammy's waist, their legs tangled together, his mom's mouth pressed to the top of his head and one of his mom's nipples clutched between his lips.

In Dean's books, with all things considered, this is certainly a good outcome for the day.

...

Three weeks later, Dean is in Rhonda Hurley's bed, kissing her heatedly, tasting the remains of cigarette smoke and whiskey on her tongue, and fucking for the first time; his new girlfriend getting impaled on his dick.

She's straddling him, and he's buried to the hilt inside Rhonda's hot pussy, with two spit-slick fingers buried in her ass. She's whining helplessly - or so she pretends. Dean can't tell if she's intentionally turning up the volume on her sluttiness. He doesn't care. She knows what she's doing, it seems, and it's fucking working wonders on Dean.

Dean's lazy arm, with the near-healed hand, is stretched beside him. Dean thrusts up into Rhonda, slipping in and out with his cock, and stabbing with his fingers - overworking them plus his core muscles - as he fucks into her two holes simultaneously, screwing her in more ways than one.

His pace is punishing, and Rhonda is indulging him, working herself up and down Dean's thick length with abandon, moaning like a whore and even Dean can't believe the bitch's barely 16. She fucks, and gets fucked, like a pro - her ash blond hair falling back, her perky udders bouncing, rose pink nipples hard enough to cut glass, and her mouth is open, panting and making the sweetest noises Dean has ever heard.

And Jeez, he's two years younger, and she still worships him; age doesn't even register to her. All she wants is a strong, handsome Alpha and a good, solid fuck. If Dean had known her back when he was still 12, she'd probably still let him dick her if he tempts her enough.

And Dean's cock is very tempting - he's a young dominant Alpha through and through.

When his orgasm hits, it's electrifying. Against good reason, he's fucking her bare, without a condom, and he shoots inside - and the feeling he gets from the friction, and from letting loose inside her pussy is worth all the risk (and the tests that will follow to make sure he didn't contact anything). But even in the throes of passion, and considering how ready he feels for more sexual adventures, Dean still remembers to pull out before his knot fattens up. Not that he can properly knot with a beta like her. But even if she could trap his knot with her inner muscles, like omegas do, Rhonda doesn't deserve the honor anyway.

Dean's knot is for one person, and one person alone. And that person's name is too pure and too good to be so much as uttered in Rhonda's presence.

Dean's cock perks up again, shortly after they're done with round one. You see, Rhonda does this filthy thing; when Dean is lying back still trying to catch his breath, the insatiable bitch sits up against the headboard, and splays her legs wide open for Dean, showing off the sloppy mess he made of her. Her cunt and hole are obscenely stretched and on display, and Dean can't take his eyes away from that juicy spot between her legs.

Now having his full attention, Rhonda uses two fingers to scoop up the cum leaking from her pussy and she fuckin' eats it. Dean's cum, that was just dribbling out in rivulets from her pussy hole, whose muscles are still flexing ... the dark-pink-rimmed opening that's still winking enticingly at Dean.

His mind melts, and he makes a mental note to tell Benny every last detail of this. Hell, he'll tell anyone who listens.

And Rhonda's still taking it all. Dipping her fingers in her soaked cunt. Swallowing Dean's fluids, moaning around her fingers like it's honey she's tasting or chocolate syrup. And Dean has never seen anything so dirty.

His dick goes from twitching to rock hard in under a minute. "Want to come in my ass, Dean? My pussy is still dripping with your seed but my hole feels so empty," she purrs, as she plays with her pucker now, circles it, slips a manicured finger in, for his eyes only. "Want you to ruin my slutty hole, Dean," she begs beautifully.

And Dean ... Dean is a gone man, all thoughts of anyone else but Rhonda simply forgotten.