SpN fic: It's All In The Game 2/2
3/16/13 09:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyTitle: It's All In The Game 2/2
Pairings: Sam/Dean
Rating:PG-13
Word Count: 3793
Summary: Young Sam Winchester spends a summer with his dad, learning the family business: reading things, saving people
Notes/Warnings: Totally for fun! I took the idea from ep 8X12, set the story back and sideways in time forty years. Sam and Dean are not closely related. I needed to write something not BB and I love writing stuff in the fifties!
back to part 1
Dinner. Dinner wasn't…quite what Sam had hoped. It was a tense affair. No, it was good. And bad—good and bad together. Dean sat on Sam's left, right next to him, smelling of Ivory and Old Spice and hair oil. Dean…Dean got the James Dean hair perfectly. He looked like Jimmy Dean—no, he looked better, Sam thought and sent an apology heavenward to Jimmy. Sighed, and stuck his fork into his meatloaf. Yeah. Dean's knee hit his and bounced away, leaving a searing spot of heat behind. Sam nearly choked on his bite. He had to close his eyes for a second, to hide what would be too easy to read.
"Good meatloaf, right?" Dean murmured and Sam said, "Wha?" and wished for instant temporal relocation. Preferably some Paleozoic shoreline. Dean just smirked. Sam gagged down an infinitesimal bit of meatloaf and fleck of mashed potatoes and drove himself insane wondering if Dean was flirting or jacking him up or totally unaware that every time he touched Sam, Sam's whole brain went haywire. Sam gritted his teeth and willed himself not to react but his body hated him, always had, what with his giraffe physique and spotty skin and, and this thing he lived with every day. Sam's meatloaf swam into a muddy grey blur…he choked down a bite of mushy green beans.
Gwen sat across from him, seemingly unaware of Sam's momentary break with sanity. No, she was glaring, staring at him like he was some kind of failed science experiment. Marny was seated at Gwen's side and she was giving him dagger eyes, had been from the moment she realized that Sam had no eyes for her. Sam worried that she also realized that he was gone over Dean like a cartoon wolf over Red Riding Hood….
"I said pass the gravy, Sam." His dad nudged him, a tolerant smile that said 'boys will be boys, idiots that they are' on his face.
A teeny temporal displacement. Just—into next week, is that so much to ask for?. A small mortified groan escaped against his will. His dad thought he was gaga over one of the girls. Sam passed the gravy and caught a blast of ice from his right side. Doris slammed the bread basket in front of him.
"Roll?" she snapped and Sam was glad that rolls weren't edged or he'd be in a world of trouble.
Dean flicked looks from Doris to Gwen to Marny and smirked. Sam admired that he managed to smirk while shoveling in frightening amounts of food without missing a beat. He ate with the single-minded purpose of someone for whom meals came irregularly—all of Hunters did. Sam saw the Elders glance away, trying to hide their disapproval. They didn't get it. How could they, walled up in their ivory tower? None of them missed a meal ever, though judging by some of their waistlines, they could afford to. .
Sam nibbled, Dean and his family shoveled and everyone else at the table discussed a sudden incursion of Djinn.
"It's a well-known fact that these uncommon, out of place creatures hitch-hike in with immigrants. Another reason not to let those people past our borders."
Sam's dad rolled his eyes. "We're well aware of your bigoted, narrow-minded point of view, Edwin."
"Not all of us care to consort with lower social classes and Negroes, Winchester. Some of us—"
"Are fardling idiots," his dad said. He bit down on a roll with fire in his eyes and Sam held his breath. There was an air of summer storm over the table and all the Hunters looked expectant and gleeful. It grew, Sam's dad sat straighter, his eye gleamed brighter, and then—
"Have you considered the Tulpa Effect?" Elder Howard said lightly, as though no one had gone off on a racist diatribe.
"Tulpa?" responded another Elder and the conversation took a neat left and roared down a smoother road. Storm clouds receded and Dean grinned at Sam and Sam struggled not to explode into Jerry Lewis.
After dinner, and a major miracle occurring—not having to do KP—Sam wandered down to the little lake at the bottom of the hill the HQ was built into. It was a nice place, and seldom visited because most of the Elders tended to be chair-bound. The few who weren't hardly ever came out at night. It made the lake a favorite place for Sam to be. Sometimes, he even brought blankets and a flashlight or made a little fire. It was a great place to read, or write, or just think about life. Or James Dean. Sometimes James Dean and Marlon Brando….
He tossed a blanket into a little overhang at the lake's shore, just right to tuck a blanket in. He gathered up some dry branches and some stones to make a campfire. He was just settling down, watching the fireflies dip and swirl in the heavy air. His eyes started to droop a little, mind began to drift into favorite and pleasant reveries….
"Hey."
Sam screamed, high and sustained, a girly scream if ever there was one. He clutched the material of his shirt over his heart, stared wide-eyed at Dean, whose initial shock was giving way to a rich, deep enjoyment of Sam's totally embarrassing the living heck out of himself. "I've never heard a human scream like that before," Dean snickered.
Sam inhaled, exhaled, and when his heart stopped galloping said, "Give it a minute, you're about to hear it again," and the look in his eye advertised exactly what he meant. Dean put his hands up and backed away a few steps.
"Okay, Killer. Sorry. Sorry for scaring you." Dean grinned at him like…like Jim grinned at Plato in Rebel and Sam felt a dim little flicker of hope turn into a roaring fire. He was certain that smile meant something good. Pretty sure. There was a possibility that Dean liked him like he liked Dean, at least that's what Sam was going with. He smiled back and made some room for Dean to sit.
"…and then, I tripped over it and got this," Dean pulled his pants leg up and showed Sam a series of small silvery puncture marks, little dents all in a row, running up his calf, "but I got the damn thing, dead as a doornail. My first hunt," he grinned and rolled his eyes, like it was no big deal at all.
Sam hovered between feeling horrified and impressed. "Dean—you went up against a chupacabra, alone, at thirteen! Thirteen years old, I was deciding whether The Mickey Mouse Club was uncool or not…I can't believe Samuel let you do that on your own."
Dean shrugged. "Yeah, it wasn't so much let me as told me. Dropped me out in the desert with a map, a knife and a canteen, and told me to make it back to camp."
Sam gasped in horror and Dean started, like he was lost in memory. "Oh, no, no, Sammy, it wasn't like that. He'd have stepped in if it looked like I was in over my head, don’t worry."
Sam saw that row of silvery scars on Dean's leg and tried to believe Dean was right. Something about those little round punctures made Sam say, "I don’t want to do this, y'know."
"Oh! You don’t, you don't—I mean, should I leave—?"
"Leave—no! No. I mean yes, I want you—here, I mean. Gosh." Blushed at his choice of words and deeper at Dean's warm chuckle. "I mean this, this legacy stuff. This…I just want to be an average guy, y'know? I don't want to be Samuel Michael Winchester, Legacy, son of John, grandson of Henry, great-grandson of Horace, ad infinitum…I just wanna be Sam, lawyer, guy who helps. Y'know?"
"But…you will be helping as a Legacy. Maybe not one-on-one but you'll be helping people every day, just doing what they do. You'll be a hero, Sam."
Sam shook his head. "You're the hero Dean, not us; you risk your life with helping people, not us. Maybe…maybe I'd feel different if I was one of you."
"No!" Dean's vehemence startled them both. "No," he said again, softer. "I'd like to know that you're safe." Dean huffed a rueful laugh. "Well. Safe as can be anyway." And Sam was reminded that the life of a Legacy wasn't quite the cushy life of an average…lawyer. There were dangers lurking in the books, the spells, the supernatural objects they were caretakers of….
"Nice night, perfect for a fire," Dean said and leaned back on his arms, and as far as Sam was concerned, it was a welcome change of subject. When Dean looked skywards, Sam's gaze went up too. The stars were bright, thick like diamond dust scattered across the sky. After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Dean said, "Being a lawyer…if that’s really what you want, Sam, it’s a pretty good idea. I think."
Sam smiled. Dean got it; Sam knew if anyone would, it'd be Dean. Dean was more than just a hunter, he was smart. He felt things, knew things. Sam felt good just sitting next to him, knowing that he could talk to Dean and not be judged, at least not like his dad would. He moved close as he could to Dean and watched the sky grow darker and the stars get brighter. After a while, the fire Dean helped him make was perfect—when Sam brought out a bag of Jet-Puffed, Dean looked at him like he'd spilled a bag of gold in his lap. Sam grinned and shoved a handful of twigs at Dean. Dean pulled out a knife obviously intended for purposes other than whittling and ignored the eyebrow Sam cocked at him when he put deadly points on all of the twigs.
"Great," Sam said brightly. "Perfect for marshmallows and if we get attacked by vampires..."
"Shut up," Dean muttered and threaded the marshmallows on their sticks. They ate until Sam felt a little queasy and then Dean decided it'd be a great idea to go swimming.
Sam waved him off. "Go ahead, Dean. The lake's deep and clean enough. Knock yourself out." He wouldn't strip in front of Dean Campbell in a month of Sundays. He could just imagine what Dean would say about Sam's lanky, spotty, giraffe body.
"Sam, c'mon. Drop your gear and get in the water with me or I'll toss you fully dressed, you big pansy."
"Shut up! Are you always this bossy?" he growled and Dean nodded, seeming pleased with himself.
"Yup. Mark and Marny could tell you stories." Dean dropped clothing the way Sam remembered the Hunters doing in the locker room—without a second thought or a shred of modesty. Sam took a lot longer, and he felt the weight of Dean's eyes on him the whole time that he slowly undid buttons, reluctantly removed his shirt, inched down his pants and underwear. He snuck a glance, hoping Dean wasn't impatient or irritated….
Dean was staring, mouth open just enough to let the tip of his tongue peek out. There was something about the way it gleamed, pink and glossy in the firelight, that made it harder to breathe…Sam swallowed and dashed for the cover of water.
"Hey!" Dean yelled, and ran after him, tackled Sam into the lake.
At first, they swam side by side but not together…Dean swimming like a nixie was after him, all his concentration in making the opposite shore and back again. But slowly he relaxed, and Sam teased him a bit, and Dean ended up dunking him and of course that called for payback. They wrestled and mock-fought and tried to drown each other from one side of the lake to the other until finally self-preservation forced Sam back up on shore, gasping for breath and laughing every time he inhaled. When he could finally draw breath without losing it giggling, Dean plopped down next to him on the blanket, showering him with droplets of lake water. Sam didn't even notice that they were both naked; he'd gotten so comfortable with his new friend Dean.
Dean punched him in the shoulder after showering him. "Not bad, Sam, I really had to fight to get away from you a time or two. I thought you Men of Letters were just brainiacs, but you—you got some power," he said. He gripped Sam's arm and Sam felt a bolt shoot through him. His cock perked up, definitely interested in what was going on. Not now, Sam thought desperately and tried to shift unobtrusively away from Dean but no dice, Dean had a firm grip on his arm.
"Do you work out?" Dean asked. "Do you use that gym under the locker room?"
Gym under the locker room? There was a gym down there? Sam definitely had to spend more time exploring the HQ…on his own time. "No, I didn't even know there was a gym at HQ…I seem strong?"
"Sure," Dean said. "Make a muscle. Come on."
Sam licked his lip and flexed and Dean's hand tightened on him. "Not bad."
Sam nodded again but at Dean's amused look he said, "Not that I'm, I…I'm nothing like you."
Dean tilted his head. He seemed to be studying Sam and Sam was sure whatever he saw didn't match up to whatever he'd hoped to see, Sam tried again to move away from Dean and his disappointment but Dean stopped him with a hand on his jaw. He frowned, and then, kissed Sam.
Sam felt something explode inside him, surprised squeak of sound leaked out between his and Dean's lips. Dean pressed forward, more pressure of his lips on Sam's. The kiss was soft, slow…seemed carefully, cautiously, exploring. Dean was giving him plenty of time to stop it or to flip his wig but this was, this was…Sam didn’t know how to think about what this was.
There was the slightest bit of moisture along with the heat and it jerked Sam back to the here-and-now. It was, Sam realized, the tip of Dean's tongue, leaving a tiny sweep of moist warmth against Sam's bottom lip. The feeling was so intense that Sam was afraid, he was seriously afraid, of passing out.
"Whoa," Dean held him by both arms and Sam's eyes swooped back open, he blinked at Dean.
Dean's cheeks were red, his mouth wet and shiny, the pink of his lips a bit darker. Fuller. Sam thought because of me, I did that. He shuddered again, tried to fold his hands over his growing erection—maybe if he pretended it wasn't happening, Dean wouldn't see. Dean drifted closer, his grip on Sam's arms turning into his arms looped around Sam, pulling him closer and Sam almost died—Dean was hard, like hard, his cock brushed against the skin of Sam's hip, warm and silky…Dean hissed, and Sam jumped, almost overbalancing and toppling backwards but for Dean's strong, steady grip.
"Sam? Sam." Dean's eyes narrowed, the look he gave Sam felt like it burrowed right under his skin. His mouth tightened, and he put a little distance between himself and Sam, much to Sam's extreme disappointment and, yes, some relief as well. Dean gathered up their clothes, dumped Sam's in his lap. "C'mon, let's get dressed," he said, his voice soft and patient in a way that made Sam wish he was on the other side of the lake or maybe the state. He knew it; he'd known the minute they kissed that it was going to disappoint Dean. He was probably a lousy kisser. Or maybe…was there something wrong with his stuff? He didn't think Dean saw anything…Sam dressed the fastest he'd ever dressed in his life, torn between the fear he'd disgusted Dean somehow, pure relief that nothing happened, and the wish, oh the wish, that it had.
They dressed, and sat in silence, letting the fire mutter and snap between them until Sam finally worked up the courage to speak, find out what had gone—wrong. "I'm sorry it was…I've—I've never done that before," he said.
"Yeah, I figured as much, Sam that's why…wait. You mean never done it with a guy, right?"
"I've never kissed anyone before." There. He'd said it. The ball was in Dean's court…and Dean looked shocked and a little ill. Sam groaned inside. Swell. Now Dean really didn't want anything to do with him—
.
"Damn, Damn it. Sam…I really am sorry. I didn't realize…first kiss, hunh? I'm sorry it wasn't roses and moonlight and some pretty girl. It should have been—"
"Dean, shut up. I'm a guy—I'm not waiting around for moonlight'n roses, God. Or girls. Ever. I always knew there wasn't going to be a girl…" Sam shrugged. "It's just always been that way for me."
"I can dig that." Dean sighed, and rubbed a circle on Sam's knee, soothing little swoops of his thumb. "I grew up feeling like I had one foot in the normal world and one foot in this one," he waved his hand, taking in the HQ tucked into the hillside and Sam knew he meant the unseen world normal people stumbled through blind and defenseless..."This Hunters/Legacy thing…there's too much crap out there, enough to flip your wig daily. Liking boys the same way I liked girls just seemed like small potatoes to me."
Sam nodded but mostly he was…disappointed? Hurt? It was hard to untangle what he was feeling. Dean wasn't, well he wasn't just like Sam after all—girls and boys? Sam found it hard to imagine. He had a brief, malicious spike of cruel feeling—must make life easier for Dean, he thought savagely, he has no idea what I go through—and then mentally slapped himself for being so stupid and mean. The last thing Dean's life was, was easy.
"Sammy." Dean tilted his chin up again, and kissed him again. Sam closed his eyes and tried to drown in the feeling of Dean's soft, full lips pressed against his, the thrill it sent shivering over his skin and straight down to his cock, a lovely, shuddery, shot of lightning that jolted harder when Dean's tongue eased its way inside, slid against Sam's tongue…it felt good, it made Sam want more, even if he wasn't sure what 'more' was. He pressed against Dean, rubbing against him when Dean sucked on his tongue. That was…he moaned, and ground against Dean's leg, tried to pull Dean between his own spread legs and get more friction where he needed it. Dean made a noise, and ground down on Sam the way Sam wanted. Fireworks went off inside him. The want, the need was growing and if something didn't happen soon, he was going to come in his pants….
It was Dean who floundered back to sanity, stopped them from tipping over. "Wait, Sam. You’re, we can’t do this, yet."
"Are you crazy?" Sam whisper-shouted. "I'm sixteen, I'm old enough for everything—for this. Come on, Dean, come on—"
"And I'm twenty. You're too young. Don't argue with me, I'm trying to do the right thing. You don’t even…we don't even know each other."
"Why don’t you just tell me the truth? You don't want me." Sam felt like crying, he felt like punching Dean in the face for making him feel like a girl. For treating him like an immature baby.
"Sam…I want you so much it took all my willpower not to throw you over my shoulder and run to my room." Dean shrugged, looked down at his hands and Sam smiled a little, watching the blush tint Dean's neck. "I was hard all the way through dinner."
"Wow…you really are a romantic." He didn't mention that he'd been pretty much in the same condition himself.
Dean gave Sam a careful look and when he saw that Sam was sort of smiling and was probably not about to commit murder, he smiled, huffed a soft laugh. "Yeah, well…next year, Sam. You'll be a junior in high school, and you'll know more about yourself and…we'll talk. But for right now…" He pushed and twisted and nudged until Sam was sitting between Dean's legs, back to Dean's chest. "Let's just. Sit."
Sam wanted to crab some more, but. It felt good—better than good it felt right. Sam sighed and dropped his head back on Dean's shoulder. Okay. He had tomorrow, and maybe the rest of the week, to change Dean's mind.
In the morning the Campbells were gone.
"Yep, they took off this morning. There's a medicine man out near Chinle, Arizona who's willing to share knowledge about skin walkers, so Elder Evens sent Elder Howard and that bas—Samuel and his nephew, Dean, to ride shotgun. I heard the rest are heading out to—"
Sam had no idea where the rest of the Hunters were headed to and couldn't care less; he'd stopped paying attention to his dad when he'd said Dean was gone. He turned to head back to his room, his heart aching.
"Oh, wait a minute, Sam," his dad called.
"Yeah, Dad?"
"That Dean, the one you got friendly with?" His dad didn’t sound quite disapproving so Sam counted that as a mark in the plus column. "He left…ah, here we go, he left his address and I gave him ours, figured you wouldn't mind—"
Sam went from the pit of despair to soaring in half a second. Dean wanted to write! Dean liked him! Oh, Dean….
Sam managed—just—to stop himself yanking Dean's address out of his dad's hand. He dashed back to his room and sat on the edge of his bed, shoulders curled over as he stared down at the address in his hand. Dean's hand had been on this paper. This paper had Dean's handwriting on it, loopy and slanting and kind of all over the page but it was perfect because Dean wrote it and that meant he wanted to hear from Sam and he liked Sam. Sam took a solemn vow, right then and there, to never act like a twelve year old girl again. He cleared his throat and straightened his back and scrubbed extra hard at his eyes. Very clearly, slowly said aloud, "Fucking A." and felt like a hunter. He'd show Dean. Next time Dean saw him, he was going to be shocked. Next time, Dean met Sam, he'd see a grown man, a mature man. Let him try to come up with an excuse then.
He loved Men of Letters HQ. He loved summer. He loved—everything.
3-26-2013
Pairings: Sam/Dean
Rating:PG-13
Word Count: 3793
Summary: Young Sam Winchester spends a summer with his dad, learning the family business: reading things, saving people
Notes/Warnings: Totally for fun! I took the idea from ep 8X12, set the story back and sideways in time forty years. Sam and Dean are not closely related. I needed to write something not BB and I love writing stuff in the fifties!
back to part 1
Dinner. Dinner wasn't…quite what Sam had hoped. It was a tense affair. No, it was good. And bad—good and bad together. Dean sat on Sam's left, right next to him, smelling of Ivory and Old Spice and hair oil. Dean…Dean got the James Dean hair perfectly. He looked like Jimmy Dean—no, he looked better, Sam thought and sent an apology heavenward to Jimmy. Sighed, and stuck his fork into his meatloaf. Yeah. Dean's knee hit his and bounced away, leaving a searing spot of heat behind. Sam nearly choked on his bite. He had to close his eyes for a second, to hide what would be too easy to read.
"Good meatloaf, right?" Dean murmured and Sam said, "Wha?" and wished for instant temporal relocation. Preferably some Paleozoic shoreline. Dean just smirked. Sam gagged down an infinitesimal bit of meatloaf and fleck of mashed potatoes and drove himself insane wondering if Dean was flirting or jacking him up or totally unaware that every time he touched Sam, Sam's whole brain went haywire. Sam gritted his teeth and willed himself not to react but his body hated him, always had, what with his giraffe physique and spotty skin and, and this thing he lived with every day. Sam's meatloaf swam into a muddy grey blur…he choked down a bite of mushy green beans.
Gwen sat across from him, seemingly unaware of Sam's momentary break with sanity. No, she was glaring, staring at him like he was some kind of failed science experiment. Marny was seated at Gwen's side and she was giving him dagger eyes, had been from the moment she realized that Sam had no eyes for her. Sam worried that she also realized that he was gone over Dean like a cartoon wolf over Red Riding Hood….
"I said pass the gravy, Sam." His dad nudged him, a tolerant smile that said 'boys will be boys, idiots that they are' on his face.
A teeny temporal displacement. Just—into next week, is that so much to ask for?. A small mortified groan escaped against his will. His dad thought he was gaga over one of the girls. Sam passed the gravy and caught a blast of ice from his right side. Doris slammed the bread basket in front of him.
"Roll?" she snapped and Sam was glad that rolls weren't edged or he'd be in a world of trouble.
Dean flicked looks from Doris to Gwen to Marny and smirked. Sam admired that he managed to smirk while shoveling in frightening amounts of food without missing a beat. He ate with the single-minded purpose of someone for whom meals came irregularly—all of Hunters did. Sam saw the Elders glance away, trying to hide their disapproval. They didn't get it. How could they, walled up in their ivory tower? None of them missed a meal ever, though judging by some of their waistlines, they could afford to. .
Sam nibbled, Dean and his family shoveled and everyone else at the table discussed a sudden incursion of Djinn.
"It's a well-known fact that these uncommon, out of place creatures hitch-hike in with immigrants. Another reason not to let those people past our borders."
Sam's dad rolled his eyes. "We're well aware of your bigoted, narrow-minded point of view, Edwin."
"Not all of us care to consort with lower social classes and Negroes, Winchester. Some of us—"
"Are fardling idiots," his dad said. He bit down on a roll with fire in his eyes and Sam held his breath. There was an air of summer storm over the table and all the Hunters looked expectant and gleeful. It grew, Sam's dad sat straighter, his eye gleamed brighter, and then—
"Have you considered the Tulpa Effect?" Elder Howard said lightly, as though no one had gone off on a racist diatribe.
"Tulpa?" responded another Elder and the conversation took a neat left and roared down a smoother road. Storm clouds receded and Dean grinned at Sam and Sam struggled not to explode into Jerry Lewis.
After dinner, and a major miracle occurring—not having to do KP—Sam wandered down to the little lake at the bottom of the hill the HQ was built into. It was a nice place, and seldom visited because most of the Elders tended to be chair-bound. The few who weren't hardly ever came out at night. It made the lake a favorite place for Sam to be. Sometimes, he even brought blankets and a flashlight or made a little fire. It was a great place to read, or write, or just think about life. Or James Dean. Sometimes James Dean and Marlon Brando….
He tossed a blanket into a little overhang at the lake's shore, just right to tuck a blanket in. He gathered up some dry branches and some stones to make a campfire. He was just settling down, watching the fireflies dip and swirl in the heavy air. His eyes started to droop a little, mind began to drift into favorite and pleasant reveries….
"Hey."
Sam screamed, high and sustained, a girly scream if ever there was one. He clutched the material of his shirt over his heart, stared wide-eyed at Dean, whose initial shock was giving way to a rich, deep enjoyment of Sam's totally embarrassing the living heck out of himself. "I've never heard a human scream like that before," Dean snickered.
Sam inhaled, exhaled, and when his heart stopped galloping said, "Give it a minute, you're about to hear it again," and the look in his eye advertised exactly what he meant. Dean put his hands up and backed away a few steps.
"Okay, Killer. Sorry. Sorry for scaring you." Dean grinned at him like…like Jim grinned at Plato in Rebel and Sam felt a dim little flicker of hope turn into a roaring fire. He was certain that smile meant something good. Pretty sure. There was a possibility that Dean liked him like he liked Dean, at least that's what Sam was going with. He smiled back and made some room for Dean to sit.
"…and then, I tripped over it and got this," Dean pulled his pants leg up and showed Sam a series of small silvery puncture marks, little dents all in a row, running up his calf, "but I got the damn thing, dead as a doornail. My first hunt," he grinned and rolled his eyes, like it was no big deal at all.
Sam hovered between feeling horrified and impressed. "Dean—you went up against a chupacabra, alone, at thirteen! Thirteen years old, I was deciding whether The Mickey Mouse Club was uncool or not…I can't believe Samuel let you do that on your own."
Dean shrugged. "Yeah, it wasn't so much let me as told me. Dropped me out in the desert with a map, a knife and a canteen, and told me to make it back to camp."
Sam gasped in horror and Dean started, like he was lost in memory. "Oh, no, no, Sammy, it wasn't like that. He'd have stepped in if it looked like I was in over my head, don’t worry."
Sam saw that row of silvery scars on Dean's leg and tried to believe Dean was right. Something about those little round punctures made Sam say, "I don’t want to do this, y'know."
"Oh! You don’t, you don't—I mean, should I leave—?"
"Leave—no! No. I mean yes, I want you—here, I mean. Gosh." Blushed at his choice of words and deeper at Dean's warm chuckle. "I mean this, this legacy stuff. This…I just want to be an average guy, y'know? I don't want to be Samuel Michael Winchester, Legacy, son of John, grandson of Henry, great-grandson of Horace, ad infinitum…I just wanna be Sam, lawyer, guy who helps. Y'know?"
"But…you will be helping as a Legacy. Maybe not one-on-one but you'll be helping people every day, just doing what they do. You'll be a hero, Sam."
Sam shook his head. "You're the hero Dean, not us; you risk your life with helping people, not us. Maybe…maybe I'd feel different if I was one of you."
"No!" Dean's vehemence startled them both. "No," he said again, softer. "I'd like to know that you're safe." Dean huffed a rueful laugh. "Well. Safe as can be anyway." And Sam was reminded that the life of a Legacy wasn't quite the cushy life of an average…lawyer. There were dangers lurking in the books, the spells, the supernatural objects they were caretakers of….
"Nice night, perfect for a fire," Dean said and leaned back on his arms, and as far as Sam was concerned, it was a welcome change of subject. When Dean looked skywards, Sam's gaze went up too. The stars were bright, thick like diamond dust scattered across the sky. After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Dean said, "Being a lawyer…if that’s really what you want, Sam, it’s a pretty good idea. I think."
Sam smiled. Dean got it; Sam knew if anyone would, it'd be Dean. Dean was more than just a hunter, he was smart. He felt things, knew things. Sam felt good just sitting next to him, knowing that he could talk to Dean and not be judged, at least not like his dad would. He moved close as he could to Dean and watched the sky grow darker and the stars get brighter. After a while, the fire Dean helped him make was perfect—when Sam brought out a bag of Jet-Puffed, Dean looked at him like he'd spilled a bag of gold in his lap. Sam grinned and shoved a handful of twigs at Dean. Dean pulled out a knife obviously intended for purposes other than whittling and ignored the eyebrow Sam cocked at him when he put deadly points on all of the twigs.
"Great," Sam said brightly. "Perfect for marshmallows and if we get attacked by vampires..."
"Shut up," Dean muttered and threaded the marshmallows on their sticks. They ate until Sam felt a little queasy and then Dean decided it'd be a great idea to go swimming.
Sam waved him off. "Go ahead, Dean. The lake's deep and clean enough. Knock yourself out." He wouldn't strip in front of Dean Campbell in a month of Sundays. He could just imagine what Dean would say about Sam's lanky, spotty, giraffe body.
"Sam, c'mon. Drop your gear and get in the water with me or I'll toss you fully dressed, you big pansy."
"Shut up! Are you always this bossy?" he growled and Dean nodded, seeming pleased with himself.
"Yup. Mark and Marny could tell you stories." Dean dropped clothing the way Sam remembered the Hunters doing in the locker room—without a second thought or a shred of modesty. Sam took a lot longer, and he felt the weight of Dean's eyes on him the whole time that he slowly undid buttons, reluctantly removed his shirt, inched down his pants and underwear. He snuck a glance, hoping Dean wasn't impatient or irritated….
Dean was staring, mouth open just enough to let the tip of his tongue peek out. There was something about the way it gleamed, pink and glossy in the firelight, that made it harder to breathe…Sam swallowed and dashed for the cover of water.
"Hey!" Dean yelled, and ran after him, tackled Sam into the lake.
At first, they swam side by side but not together…Dean swimming like a nixie was after him, all his concentration in making the opposite shore and back again. But slowly he relaxed, and Sam teased him a bit, and Dean ended up dunking him and of course that called for payback. They wrestled and mock-fought and tried to drown each other from one side of the lake to the other until finally self-preservation forced Sam back up on shore, gasping for breath and laughing every time he inhaled. When he could finally draw breath without losing it giggling, Dean plopped down next to him on the blanket, showering him with droplets of lake water. Sam didn't even notice that they were both naked; he'd gotten so comfortable with his new friend Dean.
Dean punched him in the shoulder after showering him. "Not bad, Sam, I really had to fight to get away from you a time or two. I thought you Men of Letters were just brainiacs, but you—you got some power," he said. He gripped Sam's arm and Sam felt a bolt shoot through him. His cock perked up, definitely interested in what was going on. Not now, Sam thought desperately and tried to shift unobtrusively away from Dean but no dice, Dean had a firm grip on his arm.
"Do you work out?" Dean asked. "Do you use that gym under the locker room?"
Gym under the locker room? There was a gym down there? Sam definitely had to spend more time exploring the HQ…on his own time. "No, I didn't even know there was a gym at HQ…I seem strong?"
"Sure," Dean said. "Make a muscle. Come on."
Sam licked his lip and flexed and Dean's hand tightened on him. "Not bad."
Sam nodded again but at Dean's amused look he said, "Not that I'm, I…I'm nothing like you."
Dean tilted his head. He seemed to be studying Sam and Sam was sure whatever he saw didn't match up to whatever he'd hoped to see, Sam tried again to move away from Dean and his disappointment but Dean stopped him with a hand on his jaw. He frowned, and then, kissed Sam.
Sam felt something explode inside him, surprised squeak of sound leaked out between his and Dean's lips. Dean pressed forward, more pressure of his lips on Sam's. The kiss was soft, slow…seemed carefully, cautiously, exploring. Dean was giving him plenty of time to stop it or to flip his wig but this was, this was…Sam didn’t know how to think about what this was.
There was the slightest bit of moisture along with the heat and it jerked Sam back to the here-and-now. It was, Sam realized, the tip of Dean's tongue, leaving a tiny sweep of moist warmth against Sam's bottom lip. The feeling was so intense that Sam was afraid, he was seriously afraid, of passing out.
"Whoa," Dean held him by both arms and Sam's eyes swooped back open, he blinked at Dean.
Dean's cheeks were red, his mouth wet and shiny, the pink of his lips a bit darker. Fuller. Sam thought because of me, I did that. He shuddered again, tried to fold his hands over his growing erection—maybe if he pretended it wasn't happening, Dean wouldn't see. Dean drifted closer, his grip on Sam's arms turning into his arms looped around Sam, pulling him closer and Sam almost died—Dean was hard, like hard, his cock brushed against the skin of Sam's hip, warm and silky…Dean hissed, and Sam jumped, almost overbalancing and toppling backwards but for Dean's strong, steady grip.
"Sam? Sam." Dean's eyes narrowed, the look he gave Sam felt like it burrowed right under his skin. His mouth tightened, and he put a little distance between himself and Sam, much to Sam's extreme disappointment and, yes, some relief as well. Dean gathered up their clothes, dumped Sam's in his lap. "C'mon, let's get dressed," he said, his voice soft and patient in a way that made Sam wish he was on the other side of the lake or maybe the state. He knew it; he'd known the minute they kissed that it was going to disappoint Dean. He was probably a lousy kisser. Or maybe…was there something wrong with his stuff? He didn't think Dean saw anything…Sam dressed the fastest he'd ever dressed in his life, torn between the fear he'd disgusted Dean somehow, pure relief that nothing happened, and the wish, oh the wish, that it had.
They dressed, and sat in silence, letting the fire mutter and snap between them until Sam finally worked up the courage to speak, find out what had gone—wrong. "I'm sorry it was…I've—I've never done that before," he said.
"Yeah, I figured as much, Sam that's why…wait. You mean never done it with a guy, right?"
"I've never kissed anyone before." There. He'd said it. The ball was in Dean's court…and Dean looked shocked and a little ill. Sam groaned inside. Swell. Now Dean really didn't want anything to do with him—
.
"Damn, Damn it. Sam…I really am sorry. I didn't realize…first kiss, hunh? I'm sorry it wasn't roses and moonlight and some pretty girl. It should have been—"
"Dean, shut up. I'm a guy—I'm not waiting around for moonlight'n roses, God. Or girls. Ever. I always knew there wasn't going to be a girl…" Sam shrugged. "It's just always been that way for me."
"I can dig that." Dean sighed, and rubbed a circle on Sam's knee, soothing little swoops of his thumb. "I grew up feeling like I had one foot in the normal world and one foot in this one," he waved his hand, taking in the HQ tucked into the hillside and Sam knew he meant the unseen world normal people stumbled through blind and defenseless..."This Hunters/Legacy thing…there's too much crap out there, enough to flip your wig daily. Liking boys the same way I liked girls just seemed like small potatoes to me."
Sam nodded but mostly he was…disappointed? Hurt? It was hard to untangle what he was feeling. Dean wasn't, well he wasn't just like Sam after all—girls and boys? Sam found it hard to imagine. He had a brief, malicious spike of cruel feeling—must make life easier for Dean, he thought savagely, he has no idea what I go through—and then mentally slapped himself for being so stupid and mean. The last thing Dean's life was, was easy.
"Sammy." Dean tilted his chin up again, and kissed him again. Sam closed his eyes and tried to drown in the feeling of Dean's soft, full lips pressed against his, the thrill it sent shivering over his skin and straight down to his cock, a lovely, shuddery, shot of lightning that jolted harder when Dean's tongue eased its way inside, slid against Sam's tongue…it felt good, it made Sam want more, even if he wasn't sure what 'more' was. He pressed against Dean, rubbing against him when Dean sucked on his tongue. That was…he moaned, and ground against Dean's leg, tried to pull Dean between his own spread legs and get more friction where he needed it. Dean made a noise, and ground down on Sam the way Sam wanted. Fireworks went off inside him. The want, the need was growing and if something didn't happen soon, he was going to come in his pants….
It was Dean who floundered back to sanity, stopped them from tipping over. "Wait, Sam. You’re, we can’t do this, yet."
"Are you crazy?" Sam whisper-shouted. "I'm sixteen, I'm old enough for everything—for this. Come on, Dean, come on—"
"And I'm twenty. You're too young. Don't argue with me, I'm trying to do the right thing. You don’t even…we don't even know each other."
"Why don’t you just tell me the truth? You don't want me." Sam felt like crying, he felt like punching Dean in the face for making him feel like a girl. For treating him like an immature baby.
"Sam…I want you so much it took all my willpower not to throw you over my shoulder and run to my room." Dean shrugged, looked down at his hands and Sam smiled a little, watching the blush tint Dean's neck. "I was hard all the way through dinner."
"Wow…you really are a romantic." He didn't mention that he'd been pretty much in the same condition himself.
Dean gave Sam a careful look and when he saw that Sam was sort of smiling and was probably not about to commit murder, he smiled, huffed a soft laugh. "Yeah, well…next year, Sam. You'll be a junior in high school, and you'll know more about yourself and…we'll talk. But for right now…" He pushed and twisted and nudged until Sam was sitting between Dean's legs, back to Dean's chest. "Let's just. Sit."
Sam wanted to crab some more, but. It felt good—better than good it felt right. Sam sighed and dropped his head back on Dean's shoulder. Okay. He had tomorrow, and maybe the rest of the week, to change Dean's mind.
In the morning the Campbells were gone.
"Yep, they took off this morning. There's a medicine man out near Chinle, Arizona who's willing to share knowledge about skin walkers, so Elder Evens sent Elder Howard and that bas—Samuel and his nephew, Dean, to ride shotgun. I heard the rest are heading out to—"
Sam had no idea where the rest of the Hunters were headed to and couldn't care less; he'd stopped paying attention to his dad when he'd said Dean was gone. He turned to head back to his room, his heart aching.
"Oh, wait a minute, Sam," his dad called.
"Yeah, Dad?"
"That Dean, the one you got friendly with?" His dad didn’t sound quite disapproving so Sam counted that as a mark in the plus column. "He left…ah, here we go, he left his address and I gave him ours, figured you wouldn't mind—"
Sam went from the pit of despair to soaring in half a second. Dean wanted to write! Dean liked him! Oh, Dean….
Sam managed—just—to stop himself yanking Dean's address out of his dad's hand. He dashed back to his room and sat on the edge of his bed, shoulders curled over as he stared down at the address in his hand. Dean's hand had been on this paper. This paper had Dean's handwriting on it, loopy and slanting and kind of all over the page but it was perfect because Dean wrote it and that meant he wanted to hear from Sam and he liked Sam. Sam took a solemn vow, right then and there, to never act like a twelve year old girl again. He cleared his throat and straightened his back and scrubbed extra hard at his eyes. Very clearly, slowly said aloud, "Fucking A." and felt like a hunter. He'd show Dean. Next time Dean saw him, he was going to be shocked. Next time, Dean met Sam, he'd see a grown man, a mature man. Let him try to come up with an excuse then.
He loved Men of Letters HQ. He loved summer. He loved—everything.
3-26-2013