"You are here. Oh, you do not run away.
You will answer me to the last cry.
Curl round me as though you were frightened.
Even so, a strange shadow once ran through your eyes."

- Neruda, Every day you play

–6x^2yz + 4y^2z + 7y^2z + 11x^2yz

Simplify. Simplify. Come on, Kevin, you can do this. Only one more to go. 6x^2yz+11x^2yz equals 17x^2yz and - shit, there's a negative - Sigh. - so 4y2z+7y2z is 11y^2z, right? And that means 5x^2yz+11 - Sigh.

"What?" Kevin hisses at his best friend. How can he start daydreaming in class when a third of their midterm grade is on the line? They can't mess this up!

"Huh?" Sam jerks up from his slouch and glances around as if only just noticing the desperate faces of their classmates, who are convinced Math is a type of Ancient Egyptian without its Rosetta Stone. Kevin thinks it must be the language of God. But he can't fucking translate it if Sam's lovelorn exhales keep fluttering his sheets.

"Your brooding disturbs my process." He narrows his eyes at Sam. "Do you know what happens when my process is disturbed? Mistakes!"

"No talking during test, Mr. Tran!" Mr. Shurley calls out from his desk where he is probably writing "witty" pieces for the school paper again. Their focus varies between showing off his expertise and advertising his autobiographic blog. Kevin swears that guy thinks he is omnipotent.

"Seriously. Can it." He glares once more at his friend for good measure, then turns back to figuring out the depths of seventh-grade algebra. Scoring an A+ is a huge responsibility and he needs to concentrate.

"Sorry." Sam mumbles. Kevin is resolute to ignore him, but then he hears the shriek of a metallic chair scraping on cheap floor and he has to glance up and gape as Sam grabs his stuff and hands his test in without completing the last five questions. Something's definitely wrong. Well, tough luck. It has to wait until Kevin finishes acing this shit.

He ends up cornering Sam in the cafeteria three hours later. "What was that in Math?" He waves a banana at him threateningly.

Sam's gaze darts from the fruit to Kevin's bangs and back. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You handed it in without doing the last five. I saw."

"I had enough good answers for an A." Sam explains and plops down on a bench, pulling Kevin along before the braindead bullies at the corner table take notice of his grandpa cardigan. (It's not his fault, his Mom insists he has to look smart.) "I just didn't feel like sitting there any longer."

Kevin does a double-take. "Are you okay, Sam?"

"Sure."

"Because you've been acting weird all day."

"Weird how?"

"Weird like someone with a crush." Kevin comes to a horrifying realisation. "Oh my God, is it a teacher? Don't tell me it's Mr. Shurley."

"What? That's ridiculous." Sam's expression of bewilderment is so over the top that it might as well pass as a confirmation.

And there goes Kevin's appetite. "Mr. Shurley, Sam? Ew."

"No, I'm not - whatever. Think what you want." Sam waves a hand at him and starts poking at his food. He doesn't look too hungry either. Maybe he does regret that botched test now. "Um, by the way, can you tell your Mom I don't need a ride today?"

Way to change the topic, just when it started to get interesting… "Yeah. Why don't you need it?"

"Dean is picking me up."

"Wow, did he get his license?" Sam nods, spearing a piece of meatloaf on his fork then curling his lips in disgust. Kevin wholeheartedly agrees. Their school lunch today is the grossest thing that has graced this canteen since the infamous Barfaroni Incident. "That's awesome."

"Uh-uh."

"I thought you'd be happy you don't have to hear my Mom's latest intel about college stats." Kevin would be happy too. In fact, he should ask if he could maybe-perhaps-pretty-please catch a ride with Dean from now on.

"Oh, I am." Sam blurts out, then panics. "Not that your Mom is annoying or -"

"It's okay, I get it." Kevin grins. "So, what's up, your brother's giving you shit?

"No." Sam stares into the distance, deep in thought. "There's… something we don't agree on and it's a little tense nowadays."

Kevin grimaces. "I know the feeling. Mom and I can be like that sometimes."

Sam gives him a condescending look. As if no one else's trouble could be similar to his own. "That's not the same."

He could beg to differ, but trivial arguments are a waste of time and he needs five minutes at the end of this break to go over his cello sheets. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"God, no." Sam's eyes widen and he shakes his head. A flock of girls from their grade chooses that moment to pass their table. Some of them giggle - most likely at Kevin's hideous haircut (thanks, Mom) - and Jessica turns to flash them a little smile. She's pretty, but way out of Kevin's league, so he suspects a sizeable amount of pity at play. Sam doesn't even glance up from tracing a repetitive pattern into the checkered tablecloth. Is that a heart?

"Hey, do you think Channing would come to the winter formal with me?" Kevin elbows him. Yeah, there are four months till that, but he has to start asking around before he gets stuck with Brace-face Becky.

"Huh?"

"Dude. You are so spacey I'm surprised no one sent you to the nurse yet." He raises his eyebrows. "Me plus Channing plus dance equals…?"

Sam makes a face. "Disaster?"

That sounds about right. Kevin sighs and props his chin up on the heel of his hand dejectedly. "It's so much easier for you. Your brother's cool, girls dig your smile and you don't have any zits."

"Excuse me?" Sam laughs. "Did you forget about my third eye last week? And Dean's not cool. He just thinks he is."

That's the complete opposite of the truth in Kevin's opinion. He hasn't seen much of Dean, but Sam can't shut up about him since last winter and it feels as though Kevin knows him inside and out. Seeing him that afternoon when they filter through the school gates is like meeting a celebrity. He's wearing loose jeans, a black shirt, boots and a leather jacket that's vintage enough to look cool instead of pretentious. His blondish hair is spiked and he is palming the hip of a stunning brunette who's mouthing at his jaw. He looks like he stepped off a magazine cover with those broad shoulders and athletic build. The only thing that indicates his actual age is the flush rising to his cheeks as Kevin and Sam draw closer to the truck he's leaning against.

"Hiya, Sammy." He drawls.

"Dean." Sam mutters, glaring. "This is my friend, Kevin."

A pair of green eyes fixes on Kevin with an intensity that makes him shiver. "Nice to meet ya." Dean smirks, then throws a candy at his brother. "Hop in, kiddo. We'll leave in a minute."

The girl in his arms dismisses them after a once-over and reaches out to touch the jewel hanging from Dean's neck. Kevin bets that's something great too, perhaps a shark tooth or a claw. Dean catches his girlfriend before she can close her hand around it and turns the movement into a kiss. And not a chaste one either - he full-on frenches her (with tongue and everything!) with a sound so obnoxious Kevin is ready to pop a boner.

What stops him is the expression on his best friend's face. Sam is rooted to the spot, staring at the sight with the sweet hanging from his limp hand. The green-eyed monster is trashing in his gaze, sets his face aflame. Kevin has never seen a guy so jealous before, it's almost scary. And wow, that must suck, having a crush on your brother's girlfriend. She's older and gorgeous and so very, very taken. No doubt things are tense with Dean nowadays - this is an equation that not even Kevin could solve.

Sam startles awake with a soundless cry, shaking and swimming in sweat. It's pitch black in his room. His nightmare lingers behind his eyelids, between every ragged breath he takes and in the taste of copper on his tongue. His heart is pounding. He wants to go to Dean, but they are not on the best of terms right now and he would rather not test the waters. It has been ten months since they kissed each other, ten months of agony and fighting. Sam stopped pushing it since summer passed, but it's not like it got easier just because he went from clingy to avoidant.

Calming thoughts should help, right? He turns to lie on his side and puts a hand on the cold wall that separates their rooms, trying to swallow the remnants of terror in his throat. Dean must be tangled in his blanket by now, bundled into a giant burrito. He used to end up that way when they had to sleep separately, always cold alone. Or… that might have changed too. So many things did. Sam bites his lip to ward off the tears stinging in the corners of his eyes, but it's not a blazing success. What did he do wrong? Why does he deserve this? He had plenty of time to convince himself it didn't happen, that Dean didn't kiss back but pushed him away, that he forced the whole thing. But his mind bends itself in loops and arrives back to the same memory, something beautiful and mutual. Nothing indicated things were going to plummet. Dean walked him back to his room, hugged him tight and smiled, wished him goodnight. Why did he do a 180° the next morning?

He raises his other hand and touches his lips, tries to imitate the pressure of their kiss, but not even the pads of his fingertips are as soft as Dean's plump lips have been. What did he smell like? He can hardly remember. The wall under his palm is cold and unyielding, nothing close to Dean's chest. He misses it so much. They have become so distant and rigid they stopped touching altogether and it's Sam's fault. Everything is his fault. He is such a...

Sam wrenches the covers off himself, sits up and wraps his arms around his torso. A teardrop rolls past his nostril. Should he wake Jody up? But it's a workday tomorrow. He doesn't want to bother anyone. But he can't go back to sleep alone either. He can't take another nightmare, he can't.

"Please don't be mad." He whispers to the wall and slips out of bed. His bare feet make soft sounds on the floorboard as he pads out of his room, shivering in his sweat-damp clothes. It's snowing outside and the lone window at the end of the hallway is covered by frostwork. Bobby's snoring drifts over from the master bedroom. Sam spends a second listening to it with his hand on Dean's doorknob, trying to sync his wheezing breaths to its calm pace.

The door creaks when he steps inside, but nothing stirs. The room is lit by the soft glow of a plug-in night light because Dean doesn't like complete darkness. They got it from Jody's friend as a temporary measure not long after starting therapy, then it sort of stuck and it's not like Dean is going to ask for a new one. It's designed for babies - a smiling crescent moon that casts tiny stars on the wall behind Dean's bedside table. Sam would tease him about it to no end if he didn't know the reasons why Dean needed it. Dean's room is smaller than his own, but there's no bookcase in it. No decorations either, just a poster of a car above the desk and a picture of the two of them on the nightstand, a shot from Jody's thirty-seventh birthday. He would have thought it was wasting away in a box somewhere. Seeing it makes him tear up again, turns his vision watery. The faint light makes Dean's prone figure colorful, a mix of green and blue that reminds Sam of a shimmering sea creature. A peaceful thing that has never been touched by a harsher wave in its life. His lips are parted and his hair is all mussed up, the covers tugged up to his chin. He looks like home. "Hey." Sam murmurs, trying to keep his distance.

Dean's a light sleeper. He must know Sam is here, but he fakes sleep until Sam tiptoes over and slides under the blanket. Then he snuffles and shifts onto his back, leaving his arm outstretched as an invitation. Sam lets out a relieved breath and cuddles into the spot, buries his face in the crook of Dean's neck and never wants to come out again. He twists a hand in his brother's shirt like he did when he was a little kid and goes slack. The panic starts fading away. Dean's sleepy exhales ghost across his brow. "You have your own bed." He grunts.

His neck holds the smell of detergent, salt and clear skin and he got so warm in his blanket-burrito that Sam's icy limbs burn wherever they touch his body. "I wanna stay with you tonight."

A long, comfortable silence stretches between them. Dean curves his hand around Sam's forehead to check his temperature for a fever, half-asleep and going on instinct. Finding the skin cool, he hums and lets his fingers drop. He combs through the sweaty strands of Sam's hair. "Nightmare?"

Sam sniffs, then swallows a tear. Those awful images still flash in his eyes whenever he closes them, destruction and mouths open around silent death screams. Dean hums again, loose-limbed and dozing. One of his fingers curls a lock of Sam's hair around, around, around until a tiny coil is sticking away from the side of his head. Emboldened and starving for comfort, Sam tips his head up and kisses his jaw.

"No." Dean's tone turns hard as steel and he moves to pull his arm out from under Sam's head.

Sam traps him with an arm across his chest. "Dean, I -"

"We can't." Dean cuts him off, eyes wide open now. "It's wrong."

This is the first time they talk about it, that they acknowledge that something happened that pushed their world off its axis. The words hurt, God knows they do, but uncertainty pains more and Sam can't go on like that anymore. This is his first chance to discuss it, he won't let it pass. "You kissed me back." He says quietly and his heart pounds double time. Now that the word, kissing, is real and out in the open between them, it seems scarier than ever before. "Did you not mean it?"

He can feel Dean's chest tremble when his voice loses stability. "I… It was a mistake. A very stupid one. Can't happen again. Go back to your room." He sighs and pulls away at last, turns his back to Sam. He didn't deny anything.

"Please, let me stay." Sam reaches out to trace the shape of his spine the way he used to when they were little and Dean tried to sleep through his babbling, but he's afraid to close the distance tonight. Somehow, this is what hammers the new reality in. They built lines, ugly borders with barbed wire fences that he cannot traipse over the way he did before.

"In my dream, I... opened the gates of Hell." He murmurs and pulls his legs closer to his stomach, curling up. "I drank demon blood, like some sick vampire, then let every evil out into this world, thinking I was doing the right thing all along. I - I got possessed by Satan himself. And he said - he said it was easy. That I was made for him." He can smell the rotten stink in the bridge of his nose, taste the metallic fluid in his mouth again. You are mine, the devil laughed. He didn't even have horns. "You told me I was the worst of all the monsters and there was nothing to make it right again, I ruined everything…"

Abruptly, Dean flips around and grabs Sam's face with both hands. "How the hell did you make up this shit?" He mutters. Sam swallows the sorrow bubbling up from his chest in a sob. "You are the best person I know. The best. I'd never think of you like that. And you'd be the one to fight those evils off, anyway. We're hunters, remember?" He adds playfully. How pathetic is it that they thought that was the reality?

"I just… I feel so guilty."

"About… you know?" Dean gnaws on his lip. There are worry-lines on his forehead. Sam could play oblivious and make him say it, but he is too tired. All he wants is his churning stomach to settle.

"About the way we acted since then." He admits quietly. "You shut me out and I… It has been ten months, Dean. I just want my brother back."

There's a long moment when he thinks Dean is going to send him away after all. Then an arm snakes back under his neck and he is pulled forward into a wall that's neither cold, nor rigid, but just right as he pushes his palm against it. "I'm here." Dean whispers. It sounds close to an apology. Sam's eyes shut on their own volition. Lucifer doesn't come back that night.

When he wakes up the next morning, it's still early enough that he could go back to blessed oblivion. But there's something digging into his lower back. At first, he thinks it might be Dean's hand trapped between their bodies, so he shifts against it with an annoyed frown, only to go stock still when Dean sighs in his sleep. Holy shit. That's not his hand. What now? Sam wiggles his butt experimentally and there's another sound, a quiet moan. Is this how he sounds when he's having sex? Arousal floods lava-hot into Sam's veins at the thought and his dick springs up in his pants like a beanpole. Fuck.

This is really new for him. This tingling and pressure down there. He discovered it felt good to touch it, but he never got anywhere with it and just stopped after a while. It always went away on its own anyway. He has been baffled by the interest Dean has for sex, because if it's anything like that, it isn't a big deal at all. A little pleasurable, like a single cube of chocolate, nothing more. Or, it's possible that Sam is defected and doesn't experience it like everyone else.

He waits for it to soften as usual, but he might have been completely wrong about this one, because it doesn't flag, keeps standing proud and sending insistent signals of need. This is different. It's stronger than the pull of sleep and passes over the threshold of Sam's dimming conscience too. God, he has to touch it. He slips out from Dean's embrace at a snail's pace so as not to wake him, then practically runs into the bathroom, shucks his clothes and jumps into the shower in record time. The water's only just heating up, but the lukewarm flow of it doesn't even register through the throb of lust in his brain.

His dick looks angry red and it jerks when he runs his fingers over it. There's some pearly fluid on the tip of it. Is that cum? But if he already came, where's the relief? Sam takes a deep breath and leans his forehead against the tiles. It feels like he's going to pee, but there's something else too, an itch that he can't stop scratching no matter how hard or fast he rubs his length. He flushes all the way to his chest as if he ran a mile at top speed. The pressure is rising up and up, the waves of it keep crashing together and oh God, he is going to pee himself, it's going to burst, it's going to come out now, he can't hold it, this is it, he's going to let it happen.

Sam's whole body spasms and his desire completely overcomes him like nothing before. He can't think about anything, just the hot liquid spurting over his hand and a flashing image of Dean's cherry pink lips, shiny and wet… He wants to stop, but he has no control over his body, the rush of euphoria and satisfaction slams through him and sucks him out of reality. He's pretty sure he's making some sounds that aren't quite human. It ends after the longest seconds of Sam's life and he almost tumbles down to the floor, head buzzing. Sweet Jesus. So that is an orgasm.

He cleans up like a robot, crawls out of the shower and pulls his clothes back on without even toweling. His hair is soaked and flattened to his head. Now that the delight of it passed, guilt and dread trickle into its place. What if someone heard? What if all of them did? Are they waiting outside? He might just throw up. Did he say his brother's name?

The rapid thudding of footsteps tears him out of his freak out. He jumps up just in time to pretend he is fussing with his hair in front of the sink when Dean barges in and shoves him aside, a look of urgency on his face.

"Hey! I was here first." Shit, what if there's an obvious smell in here or something?

But Dean says nothing, just pushes him out the door, barely manages to swing it half-closed, turns back, opens the toilet lid and starts pissing with a noisy groan of relief. "Fuck. I'm never drinking tea again."

Sam is vaguely disgusted, but a little bit curious too. He wants to look, just a peek, but his mind replays the last seconds of his orgasm and he rushes back to his room, discomfited. If he thought for a moment that Dean was going to act awkward around him, he was grievously mistaken. Dean is not awkward at all. Sam is.

"Drink! Drink! Drink!" The group around Jess chants as Brady gags down the mix of milk, pepper, ketchup and cocoa someone tossed together. She's one of the last few who are sober enough to be repelled by what has been going on here in the last half an hour. This is her first real party, at Brady's house, no less, and she has been dolled up for a bit of slow dancing and making out with the handsome host, not boys getting drunk on cheap beer and truth or dare. Her parents would be very disappointed if they knew.

She has come with the sole purpose of getting a date for the eighth-grade formal. It's less than two months away and she has been upset that no one asked her out, but her friends reassured her that the only people brash enough to do the asking were members of the football team and, funnily enough, Kevin Tran. The others are still working on growing a pair. So, she came to get that date for herself. She is much more mature than them anyway. Her original plan was seducing Brady, which was bound to be easy since they have already made out once before on her fourteenth birthday, but somewhere along the way she changed her mind. There is a more appealing prospect who, while not exactly having the brawn, has all the brains and lots of cuteness to top it off.

Brady finishes his disgusting cup, belches, then points an unsteady finger at Sam Winchester. "Truth or truth?"

Sam grins. He has dimples, which will look stunning on their prom pictures if Jess manages to lure him in. (She is planning ahead, it's not a crime.) "I don't think that's the game."

"Whatevs." Brady blinks the haze out of his eyes. He has drunk four beers, a glass of wine and that puke-cocktail, it's amazing that he's able to talk. "Who was your first kiss?"

Nerdy Kevin breaks into a fit of giggles next to him, but Sam pays it to no mind. His cheeks are flushed, so Jess suspects he is tipsy, but his words are clear when he leans back against the sofa with a lazy smile and says "My brother."

She gapes like a fish (ugh, so unattractive, has to quit that habit). Out of all the scandalous crap her classmates revealed tonight, this goes miles over things like Lisa licking a snail in first grade. Then the stunned silence cracks into raucous laughter and she gets it - he has never kissed anyone before. It's kind of cute. Not that they are very experienced. Quite the contrary, she knows that most of the people here lied about kissing this neighbour or that high school student they made up in their minds and there's no way Brady got to third base with a college freshman. But it's still cute, because Sam trying to lie is like Mr. Shurley singing at school functions, so bad that it's funny.

"Man, so fucking transparent." Brady slurs and claps Sam on the shoulder. "Lying means you have to do a dare." He ignores Sam's weak protests and points at something between Cole and Pamela (who is such a slut, by the way, Jess can't stand her constant flirting, that girl thinks every guy is her property). "Kiss the coolest person in this room."

The group erupts in cheers and someone spills a cup of kalimotxo on the carpet. Sam blushes crimson and his eyes dart around sending SOS signals to anyone who cares to look, but none of them spare him mercy. His gaze keeps coming back to Jess, at least she thinks so, and she should know when a boy wants her because she read about it in last month's Cosmo. This is so great! Sam is the smartest boy in her class and not in that total loser way that Kevin aims for, and he is good at soccer too. A real catch, even better than Brady. She flutters her lashes the way she saw her Mom do when her Dad brings her roses and Sam's pupils dilate in response. He brushes his bangs away (so cute!) and goes to stand up, then seems to freeze mid-motion and glance somewhere to the side. She follows his gaze and realises with a jolt that Brace-face Becky is still there, hugging her knees and looking close to tears. Jess would feel sorry for her, because Brady and his minions have been really mean to her in the past hour, but that girl only has herself to blame. She has been invited merely because her father is a business partner of Brady's Dad, she should have known not to come. Didn't she get enough at school?

"Come on, you can admit it's me." Brady grins and high fives Pam the Slut. (What for? That was lame.)

Sam sighs and gives Jess another look, something forlorn and determined, then takes two quick steps and… and kisses Becky on the corner of her mouth.

"Woa!" Brady hoots and pumps the air like a grade-A douche. He starts laughing again, clutching his stomach, and begins some elaborate joke about how good that prank was, making Becky believe that Sam thought she was the coolest. Sam casts his eyes down and mutters something to her that Jess doesn't hear, then he grabs his cup and disappears towards the kitchen. Becky stares after him in wonder, clearly not getting it that Sam didn't mean that (duh, how could he?), and looks ready to follow him to that relative seclusion. Now, Jess can't let that happen, so she scrambles up, smooths a hand down her floral skirt and takes the opportunity for herself.

She finds him leaning against the counter, scratching the label of the coke bottle in his hand. "She's gonna have a huge crush on you." Jess starts, then a wave of jitters hits her, because this is the first time she feels that someone might like her back for something other than her beauty and it's way too exciting. What if she could get her very first boyfriend tonight? Jesus, Pam would be so jealous.

Sam smiles and puts the soda down. "Yeah. But she looked so sad." He shrugs. "I wanted to do something for her, but I just messed it up even more, didn't I?"

Jess doesn't think so. He made her terrible night into a half-nice memory, she couldn't have asked for more. "You're so sweet." She curls her lips coyly and steps close enough that her pumps brush the insides of his worn sneakers.

They are the same height (perfect, dancing's going to be great). Slowly, she puts a hand on his wrist and slides it down until their fingers tangle. Sam's eyes go wide. With that expression and the floppy hair, he looks like a clueless little fox and she can't resist anymore, leans forward and catches his lips between her own. (She's giving him his first real kiss! She always wanted to be someone's first.) He's clumsy as hell, but relaxes into it once she puts his hovering hands on her waist and it's a lovely kiss after that. Saccharine from the coke and a tiny bit sticky (damn her lip gloss), but one of the best kisses of her life so far, because when she pulls back and hooks her arms around his neck, Sam asks the most important question, the question she has been waiting for the whole year.

"Would you like to come to the dance with me?"

Sam has no idea how he got into this clusterfuck, but he is in a dusty P.E. equipment room with his soccer pants around his ankles and Jessica between his legs, kissing his neck and rubbing her boobs against his chest. There are basketballs behind his back and the place stinks to high heaven like only used sports apparel can, sweat-rubber-dirt-rotting-death, but against all odds, he is stupidly, achingly hard. Jess intercepted him after practice when the adrenaline was still pumping through his veins and pounced. There's only one month left of junior high and he is going to get himself expelled for indecency any minute now. "Jess, please, I don't think -"

"I want to try this today, Sam. You've been putting it off for weeks." She smiles at him wickedly and at the moment, he regrets it to his core that he asked her out a few months ago. He tries to keep her boxers up, but her persistency seems to come out as the winner. "Think of it as a birthday gift."

She kisses him and her bubble-gum taste and fruity-sweet smell distract him enough that the stupid underwear slides down, down, down his legs and lands around his shin pads. He goes stiff, his thoughts going around like a stampede of wild horses, shit, please don't touch, Jess - does it look normal? - what's that wetness, should not be leaking that much, right?

She pulls back, bites her lower lip and lets her gaze drop to Sam's exposed erection. Jesus. His girlfriend is looking at him. She's looking at him and biting her lip. Is he disgusting or is he okay? What about the size? Why are they doing this next to the hula hoop rack? She hums and leans harder into him, walking her fingers down along his sternum and abdomen and - and Sam is going to die. This is - what is she even - oh God.

"Is this okay?" She whispers as her soft hand curls around him and moves up in a tentative stroke.

"Oh God" Sam repeats out loud. Jess grins, takes it as consent, and puts one of his hands on her cleavage as if this was normal, but they have never done anything like this before, not even that one time when they made out under the bleachers. Her grip feels amazing. Warm and soft and surprising. The pressure inside him rushes to the peak like a freight train. He whimpers and pleads his mind to think of unattractive things, but after the image of Bobby in a mini skirt the traitorous thing goes for Dean in a mini skirt and the white-hot desire scuds through him so fast that his knees buckle.

"Sorry, sorry…" He mumbles, but he can't stop the pleasure and the evidence ends up on her hand for the most part. He doesn't know which thing he apologizes for - making a mess in, like, five seconds flat or fantasizing about his brother while his hot, perfect, wonderful girlfriend gave him a handjob? He lets out a short, breathy laugh that may or may not sound unhinged and pulls his pants back up. "Have you done this before?"

Jess wipes her hand in his shirt. To her credit, she looks only mildly put off by the texture. "No, but…" She kisses his cheek. "Girls watch porn too. And let me tell you -" She gives his junk a pointed look. "- you have promising qualities." Then she kisses him again, on the lips this time, and while Sam hasn't died after all, he is increasingly certain that he is going to be manhandled through this relationship until an apple-pie marriage and 2.5 kids. He isn't sure he minds, though.

Two hours later, he's walking home and singing a different song. This thing with Jess isn't what he wants. What he wants is an eighteen-year-old idiot who forgot to get him today and who is, in all likelihood, having sex with the girl of the week instead of giving his little brother a ride. What he wants is the only thing he can't have. Typical.

He should be ecstatic. He is reasonably sure he is the only one in his group of friends who got further than first base, yet the memory of Jess' hands makes his stomach churn. He pouts, because there's no one to see it, and flicks a spider off a wrought-iron gate, destroys its web. It lands on a rosebush and scurries away in fear. The sight makes him stop in shame. Why did he do that? He ruined the work of that tiny creature and cast it away from its safe home into the dangerous unknown just because he acted on a whim. That spider might never get back to its home now. It might get eaten or stomped on. Suddenly, he is awash with sympathy and guilt. How similar this is to his own situation… An invisible, larger than life force knocked him out of his good place and sent him into this turmoil where up turns down, longing is a sin and the lines are blurred between love and love. Will he ever make it out of the rosebush?

"Sorry." He says into the mawkish flower-scent of the air and declares he is completely out of sorts, perhaps sick in the head. (Lovesick, his mind suggests, and he kicks a tree trunk in frustration.)

He arrives home exhausted and cranky. Surprise of surprises, Dean is there already, holding his head and talking on the phone with frantic eyes. Then he spots Sam and his anxiety dwindles away from his pale face. He lets out a breath. "God. He's here." He says to whoever's on the other end. "Yeah. Looks okay. Must have walked. Sure."

Huh, he must have been looking for Sam, working himself up over it. Serves him right. Maybe next time he will stop fucking around long enough to remember his brother exists. Sam gives him a glare full of contempt, bounds up to his room and slams the door so hard his window rattles. He has just dumped his stuff at the foot of his bed when the door is wrenched back open and Dean storms in, hackles rising.

"What the fuck was that?" He demands, as if he has any right to speak.

Sam shrugs, plays passive-aggressive. "You weren't there, so I walked. No biggie."

"No big- Sammy, I was worried sick! We agreed you wait by the gates until I get there. I thought you got beaten or someone took you or -"

"Oh please." Sam smiles and it's pure venom, sinking into Dean's body like snake-fangs. "Admit it, you only noticed in the past fifteen minutes. You don't care at all."

"What?" Dean recoils. "How can you say something like that?"

Oh, the audacity! "I can because you tossed me away! You pretend to be all high and mighty, saying you were worried, that I can count on you, but you can't even keep a simple fucking schedule! I've waited forty minutes and you failed to show. Must be so hard to keep track of me between going through all the sluts of the city."

It's so not fair. He doesn't want to feel this way. He did his research, the Westermarck effect should have taken care of this, should have established that this is the only no-go, the absolute taboo, but even his biology is fucked up, can't get it that Dean is his brother. He knows he is going overboard, but he has been bottling this up for what feels like his whole life. No stopping it now.

"Was it good? Screwing some cheap girl while I trekked my feet off trying to get home before dark? Did you go for round two?" Dean looks like his heart is being smashed into shards from Sam's ugly, exploding jealousy. Even with the cracking fire between them, Sam sees him as something eternally beautiful that he wants to treasure and keep from strangers' eyes, far away from their tainting touches.

"I can't live like this anymore." Sam whispers and the fight goes out of his body. Leaves only the bare bones. "I don't want to share you."

"My truck died on me." Dean says after a minute, voice hoarse. "It took fifty minutes to get it back on the road." Sam swallows. He isn't going to take any of it back, even if he made stupid assumptions. Nothing changes the fact that Dean sleeps around to get away from him, to avoid giving even the slightest indication that this attraction is mutual. "I scoured the entire neighbourhood around your school. Then I came home and called Bobby and I almost fainted, because I couldn't breathe, do you understand?"

Sam doesn't look up from his toes. He feels like a kid, scolded without any actual punishment, pushed into the corner and gently told he should think his actions through and come back only after he did. He is going to cry like one too, but he has to wait until Dean is out of this room, because that would be the last straw in his humiliation, losing that bit of dignity.

Dean sighs. "This is my fault. I'm so sorry." He is straining to form the words. "Whatever this sick, fucked-up thing is between us - it isn't happening, alright?" Gentle, so very gentle, a breeze. Sam wants to collapse and never hear anything again. "I… Sam, I ain't gonna lie, if… if you weren't my brother, I'd…" He would do what? Would he let them be happy for once in their stupid lives? "But you are, okay? And I want to keep it that way."

"Okay." Sam whispers.

"Just wait and see, you will grow out of it and we will forget this ever happened." Dean promises quietly.

"What about you?" Sam croaks out, because he knows there's nothing one-sided in this, they are in it together, as always.

Dean pauses. There's a muscle ticking in his jaw. "Jody will be here in twenty minutes. Go take a shower, I'll cook us dinner." And just like that, he is out the door. Leaves Sam alone again and never answers the question. The silence is deafening.

A/N: I will keep updating daily for a little while more, because we are trying to catch up to where this story is on AO3. Stay tuned. :)