Title: Outside of Society
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: Blood White Panther (aka whitepanther16)
Rating/Warnings: Rated M (R). Underage wincest (16 and 20 before anything happens), you know the drill. Again, not beta-ed.
Pairing(s): DeanSam
Notes: Sorry if there's an extra alert or two. I've been fixing silly grammar mistakes in the first chapter.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything that is recognizable from the Supernatural verse, and I'm not making any money off of this.
Chapter 2 – Sam Breaks, Dean Fixes
xxxxx
As the warmth of Dean's embrace left Sam's body he sank to his knees on the dirty, stained carpet. He heard Dean's breath puff out as he bent to retrieve his jacket. He heard the doorknob twist. When the old door clicked shut and the rush of cold air washed over him, Sam could have sworn he felt Dean's absence as something tangible in the air. He shuddered and spread his hands flat in front of him for balance on the grimy carpet. The tears should be coming. Sam's eyes burned and his throat clenched and itched, but he didn't make a sound. It was true, he thought numbly. He was in love with Dean. He'd loved him his whole life, of course, but this new feeling tingeing every touch, every word, every thought meant something more.
If Sam was truly honest with himself, this crush had probably been festering inside him since he was ten or eleven years old and Dean had started messing around a lot. Sam had felt the odd warmth towards a girl here or a boy there, but he was too young yet for that teenaged desperation which makes people stutter and float on air and seek out one another. He'd never kissed anyone, never really wanted to just yet. Dean was a different story.
At every opportunity, Dean was giving Sam the brush-off and sneaking off with some floozy. Sam hated it, of course. He felt lonely and rejected and jealous of the time Dean wasn't giving to his baby brother anymore. He'd tried to fill the space with other things, books and homework and even new friends, but it was never the same. Sam sighed. He remembered the burning anger in his belly whenever he saw Dean holding hands or even smiling at one of his "chicks". He used to trust only Dad and Sam. And he never used to smile at strangers if it wasn't on the job.
All this until now was fairly normal. Expected, even. Younger siblings were supposed to resent the people who took their loved ones away from them. It was in all the books. Sam laughed mirthlessly. The seeds had been there all his life, but he hadn't truly understood what he was feeling until he'd hit puberty.
It had started with a few growth spurts at thirteen and a book from his Dad. There was, of course, a section on sexuality and for some reason unknown to Sam, he'd desperately wanted to ask Dean where he stood on that particular scale. He'd never worked up the courage for that conversation, but it turns out he hadn't actually needed to ask. Girls came and went like pigeons flocking around a breadcrumb in the park—there was never any question about Dean's thoughts on girls—but a few weeks after Sam had finished reading that book back to front, he'd started to notice the way his older brother looked at other guys. Not all guys, but definitely some of them. This rankled, itching under Sam's skin like ants until he was fairly concerned about becoming homophobic. Girls were bad enough, terrible even, but now his brother wanted to play the entire damn field from both teams?
At the time, Sam hadn't given a second thought to how closely he was watching his brother's interpersonal relations. No, it hadn't really sunk in for Sam until he'd started getting stiffys. Confused, he'd returned to that damned book and reread the chapter on erections. The first one had been early in the morning after a hazy dream about a hunt, about adrenaline and excitement and Dean somewhere at his shoulder.
The book had said that these dreams could be vague and confusing and mostly feelings. It even said he might dream about a pretty aunt or something equally creepy, but not to worry. It was only hormones mixing into his regular REM sleep. And it wasn't anything he could control. Sam had been vaguely disgusted with himself. He'd never like hunting and to think that he got off on the adrenaline rush was a little disappointing for him to realize. He hadn't even thought about Dean's presence in the dream—it was a hunt, after all, and Dean was always there when Sam was on a hunt. He remembered frowning in concentration and deciding it was probably just so-called 'morning wood'.
Sammy's second-ever erection was infinitely more confusing than the first one. It was on the tail end of a growth spurt and his Dad had left for a couple of hours on a hunt somewhere with instructions for them to spar, for Dean to help him learn how to use his newly lengthened limbs. Sam was fairly certain that you weren't supposed to spring an erection with your older brother's arms around your middle and his breath on the back of your neck. Fortunately, he'd cried uncle and run off to use the restroom before Dean had noticed. He'd sat there for half an hour just staring at the yellowing paint on the wall and trying to slow his heaving chest.
That night, Sam had lain awake for hours, his skin burning as he thought about Dean's muscular arms pinning his own arms to his chest. He could still feel the heat of Dean's breath on his skin, sinking into his blood and boiling it. Little did he know, things were going to worsen considerably.
Sam had grown taller yet, surpassing Dean by an inch or so, and he could tell instantly that Dean found it irritating. When his voice had finally cracked and begun to change, it had done something odd to their already unstable relationship. Dean's behaviour had become a little more erratic and he'd starting treating Sam like an opponent instead of an ally. Sam had been stricken. For awhile, he'd even suspected that Dean had somehow guessed his secret and was disgusted with him. Eventually, though, when no confrontation followed, Sam had decided that Dean just didn't like him very much.
It was bad enough for Sam to want something as twisted and impossible as he did. It was far worse to realize that Dean didn't even like him anymore. Sam had spent his days isolating himself in books and his nights alternating between touching himself to Dean and bawling his eyes out under the cover of darkness and sleep.
Sam let out a sob under the weight of the remembered pain. Ah, yes, he noted disconnectedly, the tears were starting now. His fingers clenched in the mouldy shag carpet and he sank back into his memories. It had taken until last night until he'd finally figured out Dean. Three years of pining after his confusing, impossible older brother only to realize he'd been doing the same thing right back.
It had been nearing one o'clock. Sammy had been dosing in and out on the verge of sleep. His dad had left a few hours ago and wouldn't be back until tomorrow night—Monday. It was warm, so Dean must have set the thermostat a little too high again, and Sam was having trouble staying asleep. And then he'd heard it: rustling sheets and harsh breathing from the other bed. Sam's eyes had snapped open; he was quite suddenly wide awake. Even facing away from his brother he knew what he was hearing.
Dean had let out these gasping sorts of moans until Sam's mouth was bloody from biting it silent. He was determinedly not jerking off, not even touching himself. And then, when the sounds had been getting a shade closer to desperation, Dean had called out "Sammy". Sam had frozen so tensely still that he wasn't breathing. He'd been so sure Dean had caught him listening that it had taken a full minute for him to realize what this might mean. It wasn't really possible, was it?
He was debating rolling over to look at Dean when the litany had really started. It was all "S-sam…Sammy…God, Sam…please" mixed in with "sorry, I'm so sorry" and then Sam was hearing Dean groan out his orgasm. The sheets had rustled and the bed had creaked as he'd arched up into his fist.
Sam had stared at the wall, listening to Dean's slowing breath. He'd been so hard he'd thought he might die. And then the worst part had started. Dean had actually rolled over and started sobbing into his pillow like a child, whispering sorrys and self loathing and even prayers. Sam had stayed there, in shock, listening to Dean acting like his world was ending. He hadn't known what to do. He'd lain in shocked silence, not sleeping, but not rolling over to face his brother either. This wasn't supposed to be possible. Dean was never going to return his twisted feelings, so there's just no way this way real.
The next morning, after his shower, Sam had met his brother's eyes with a worried "hey", but Dean had acted exactly like he had every other day for the past three years. And that's when it had really hit home. Sam had been angry, furious, that Dean was being all 'business as usual' and pretending like he wasn't killing himself with secret guilt. After the raw emotion Sam had heard from Dean not eight hours ago, it was astonishing to see this mask of normality. He'd fumed all morning, caught between sick hope, anger and disbelief.
Dean had continued to be completely normal all day, clearly indicating that last night was nothing new to him. This had left Sam nearly hysterical with bottled up emotion. It was some time after supper that he'd just finally snapped. He'd confronted Dean, confessed fucking everything, even kissed him.
And now he was alone. He laughed, then, still hysterical, and sobbed in the musty carpet smell. For a second—for one single second—he'd actually thought Dean might kiss back. And then he found himself halfway across the room. It was worse somehow that Dean wasn't even denying it. He'd shouted things about protecting Sam and not betraying Dad and he hadn't even reacted to Sam's desperately confessed "I think I love you." He'd mumbled some bullshit about it being "all his fault", hugged Sam, and then walked out on him.
How was Sam supposed to deal with that, huh? He scrubbed a grubby hand across his face and laughed again. Did Dean honestly think he wasn't hurting Sam with this kind of reaction?
It felt like hours before Sam heard the deadbolt slide open, the door creak, and Dean's jacket hit a chair. He wanted to lock himself in the bathroom, but he just didn't have the energy anymore. How was he supposed to act around Dean now that it was all out in the open? Did Dean expect him to just pretend his heart wasn't cracked and spider-webbing into fragments like a broken windshield?
"Sammy?" Dean called softly. "Oh, Sammy, I'm sorry." He heard Dean cross the room and sink to his knees behind him. Apparently they were going to talk about it. Dean reached out and placed a hand on Sam's shoulder. "It's going to be okay, I—"
Sam laughed—it was an ugly, jarring sound and he felt Dean's flinch.
"Go away, Dean."
"No." Dean paused and Sam almost turned around, but thought better of it. "Listen, I, I'm an idiot, Sam… I shouldn't have hurt you like that, okay? I was just feeling cornered, alright?" He waited a moment. "Say something, would you?" Sighing, Sam turned around. He directed his gaze somewhere over Dean's shoulder. When he finally spoke, his voice was dead.
"You can't fix this, Dean. It won't go away." It was Dean's turn to laugh.
"You're more like him than you realize, Sam." He snorted. "I wonder if that means I have Daddy issues?" Sam frowned and finally looked at his brother.
"What are you talking about?" Dean's hand migrated from his shoulder to stroking his cheek.
"Nothing. It doesn't matter right now. Come here." Sam allowed Dean to pull him closer and wrap his arms tight around him. He let his face fall to Dean's chest, curling a hand against the fabric of his shirt and sighing when Dean's hand slid up to tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck.
"This is harder than I thought it'd be," Dean mumbled into the crown of Sam's warm, wavy hair. Sam closed his eyes against hot tears and he tried not to nuzzle into Dean's skin. Spreading out the palm of his hand over Dean's heart, he gradually and confusedly became aware of just how fast said heart was beating.
"Dean?" The strong arms wound tighter around him, like Dean was afraid to let go.
"I… Sam, I love you, too." Sam's breath hitched and he began to tremble. His pulse kicked up to something closer to his brother's current heart rate. He tried to move back far enough to see Dean's face, but his brother was gripping him too tightly for that. He was afraid to ask, but it was kind of crucial that he did.
"Why are you telling me now? I…" Sam swallowed down the lump in his throat, "I thought you said—" Dean was suddenly grasping his arms and moving him back just far enough so that Sam could see the heat in his eyes.
"Maybe I'm an idiot. Maybe, I want to change my mind." And that was all the warning Sam got before his older brother's lips were crashing down on his.
The kiss was violent in its intensity, and only Sam's second ever—the first to be returned—but he liked to think he was learning quickly enough. It was too much, almost, to have Dean's tongue in his mouth. His heart was still pounding. He wanted to laugh when he felt Dean's hands soothingly rubbing up and down his upper arms. That instinctively calming behaviour was so completely at odds with the brutal intent of Dean's mouth on his. After a moment he actually couldn't stand it and he separated their lips to chortle into Dean's neck. He felt light, elated, high on Dean.
"You're too much, you know that? I—ha ha—I really do love you Dean." His brother rocked back and away, frowning. His expression was somewhere between offended by the laughter, mollified by the tone, and confused by the words. Sam decided to save him the trouble.
"I'm just happy. It's been awhile since I've been this happy," he whispered, and then they were grinning at each other and he was leaning in and licking his way back into that hot mouth. Somehow he ended up on his back on that distasteful rug, with Dean's weight settled on top of him and his wet tongue sliding along his neck. He was hard and he could feel Dean's erection against his belly. The room was blisteringly warm, and after Sam had cranked the thermostat back down, it really shouldn't be. Dean's hands were still clasping his biceps, clenching spasmodically. His own hands were scraping up, under the back of Dean's shirt.
And then he remembered what day it was: Monday. Reluctantly, he withdrew his hands and pushed Dean back an inch or two. Dean grunted and frustratingly ground his pelvis closer. Sam clenched his teeth on a moan and tried to remember why they had to stop.
"Having second thoughts already, Sammy?" Dean enquired rather breathlessly.
"Of course not, it's just, it's Monday night. Dad could be back any minute, so…" Dean squinted down at his watch in the dark, twisting his wrist so the lamplight would glint on the metal hands.
"Nah, we've got another twenty minutes." He leaned in and nuzzled Sam's neck, but Sam shoved him back again, a little less gently this time.
"What do you mean, we've got twenty minutes?" He frowned warningly and suddenly Dean wasn't quite meeting his eyes.
"Uh…"
"Dean?"
"I, um, ran into Dad outside. He's having coffee at the diner across the street." Sam lurched back violently, shoving at Dean with all his considerable teenaged might.
"What!?" he shrieked. Dean held his ground against the onslaught while attempting to calm down his horrified younger brother.
"Hey! Hey! It's alright, he said he'd be an hour, so just calm down, okay?" Sam's eyes widened incredulously.
"You, you- Dad's right across the street, Dean! He could come back now." Dean swallowed nervously.
"There, there's something else I should probably tell you…" Dean seemed guilty, even flighty, and Sam's frown deepened. This couldn't be good. Dean sat back on his haunches and pulled Sam up into a sitting position in front of him. He fiddled with the sleeve of his shirt and Sam was suddenly more worried than annoyed. Dean's eyes flicked over to the window and landed on the gaping curtains.
"Shit, damn things are still open." Sam started and followed Dean's gaze. He blushed. He had, after all, been in a rather compromising position not two minutes earlier. He noticed that Dean was reddening a little as well. It was unusual to say the least. He was also still fidgeting with his shirtsleeve.
"Dean?" Sam felt a little like a broken record and he absently wondered just how many times he'd said that name in the last hour.
"Er, right, well…" Dean suddenly steeled himself and stared unflinchingly into Sam's eyes. "Earlier, when I left, I was pretty upset. I ran right into Dad on the other side of the door. And, and he knew." Sam had a very bad feeling about the direction this conversation was headed, but something wasn't quite adding up in his fearful calculations.
"He knew?" Dean sighed.
"He saw the whole thing through the window, Sam, but if it helps," he rushed on to say, "I think he's known for a couple of years now." Instantly, Sam was panicking like he'd never panicked before. Worse than that time in the woods with the werewolf.
"He saw?" he whispered frantically. Then, abruptly, he leapt to his feet. "A couple of years!?" he shrieked, his voice travelling to a considerably higher pitch than was normal. Dean winced.
"If, I said if it helps." He got to his feet and watched Sam's anxious pacing.
"Uh-huh, yeah, well it really doesn't! Oh, God, my life is flashing before my eyes! He's going to kill us! He's never going to speak to us again! He's- He's- Where is he?" Sam's tirade fizzled out into a puzzled, but still panicked expression.
"I told you, having coffee—" Sam rolled his eyes so violently that Dean almost worried about the fate of his brother's optic nerves.
"I meant, why isn't he here? Why isn't he outside yelling at you or in here beating me up?" His eyes widened. "Oh, God, what if he's getting ammo?" Dean actually laughed.
"Ammo, Sammy?"
"Er, well, maybe not. But he's doing something. And why is he leaving us alone together?" And then, "Fuck! He saw me kiss you, Dean." Sam swallowed and promptly sank onto the nearest bed. "I feel sick." Dean wanted to laugh again, but he actually did feel a little sick when he stopped to think about it." He wrinkled his nose.
"I can't believe I left the curtains open." Sam blinked.
"If you hadn't, he might have walked in on it. You know, before you pushed me away and all." Dean paled considerably.
"Yeah, um, let's not go there. Ever." Sam shuddered and nodded.
"So what are we going to do now?" Dean sat down on the bed beside his younger brother, placing his left hand on Sam's thigh and grinning lecherously.
"Well, actually, we still have a few minutes if you want to…"
"Dean!"
"Okay, okay! It's just, I know he said he was okay with it and all, but I'm not totally sure he won't change his mind. We should probably make the most of…" Sam was staring at him, his expression one of pure shock. "What?"
"He's okay with it?" He was incredulous, to say the least. Dean smiled a little and lifted the hand not on Sam's thigh to trail his knuckles along Sam's jaw.
"Well I imagine he's not exactly okay with it, but he understands." Dean's eyes were softer, suddenly, and so full of love that Sam had to swallow around that stupid lump in this throat again. "He knows how much we love each other." He chuckled. "Said he'd kick our asses if we hurt each other, but he wants us to be happy. He's going to look the other way on this one." Sam had absolutely no idea what to say.
"Oh." It wasn't the most brilliant thought to express, but he blamed it on the shock and all. Hesitantly, he smiled back at Dean. The fingers on his right hand crept along his thigh, towards Dean's splayed left hand. "Oh." With a soft smile Dean laced their fingers together.
"Yeah."