just wincest

A rush of air through the open door drew out the stuffiness of the motel room Sam had kept locked down in true Winchester fashion, and leaked it into the parking lot. It struck the pair of alphas like a frying pan to the head. The air was heavy, wet with sweat and something so potent—golden honey dripping over parted lips—it rolled Dean back on his heels. Squeezed like a hand on his throat and choked off his breath. That couldn’t be…

“Sam.”

The ripe scent of slick in the air made Dean’s mouth water, made his hands shake. Blood trickled down onto his tongue; his canine teeth were erupting long through raw aching gums. His little brother didn’t acknowledge their entrance; too busy panting as he tossed against the sheets and wailed in pain. In need.

An omega. Sweet little Sammy was an omega two months shy of 15. Too old to be presenting now by any normal measure; still too young by far for the pulse-pounding need, the all-consuming ache crashing through the young alpha in the doorway. 

But underneath the blaring OMEGA smell the room reeked. Fear and panic were dripping off the walls.

“Sammy,” Dean had left him all alone and unguarded. “Oh, Sammy, I’m sorry.” The words spilled out half choked-off, more to himself than to Sam, but John caught them. 

John’s hand clapped like iron over Dean’s shoulder and hauled him out of the room and onto the pavement. A warning squeeze and a stony command, “control yourself.” 

The answering growl from his son made John recoil and retract his hand. Both stood for a moment equally shocked. The sound had snaked out of Dean’s chest on instinct; father or not, the presence of another Alpha was unwelcome. Unthinkable. Especially one who was blocking Dean’s line of sight into the room.

Despite their relatively small gap in age, Sam sometimes felt more like a pup than a brother; John had always been far more protective of Sam than he ever had been with his older son—limiting his duties in the field and keeping him holed up in the library while he and Dean got mud on their boots. Blood in their hair. Maybe John hadn’t really had a choice; Dean had been a deadshot since he was 6 thank you very much. John had needed the backup and who else could have done it but Dean, even at 8 or 9? Not his four-year-old brother, that’s for damn sure. 

Sammy may be a scrawny little thing but he wasn’t weak. Having sparred with the kid almost daily since he could walk, Dean could swear to that on his life. Sam was whip smart and handy in a fight, but he thought too much. Hesitated when he shouldn’t. Agonized over “why” and “isn’t there another way?”. 

[Out, Damned Spot! Out I say!]

Dean was far more willing to just say “Sir, yes, Sir,” and pull the trigger. His hands washed clean just fine.

“Son, take a walk and get your head straight.”

A walk where? One place in the world Dean was absolutely meant to be and he wasn't taking one more step away from it.

As an alpha it was in Dean’s blood to set a distressed omega right. That instinct was intensified if the omega was familiar, or compatible with him. When the omega in question was the baby brother Dean had shaped his whole life around looking after, the need ratcheted up to absolutely volcanic levels. Compulsion to FixFixFixMakeItRight that overrode any rational obstacles placed in front of it. Even a command barked by the head of the family himself—functionally Dean’s alpha as much as Sam’s—didn’t put a dent in his resolve. His father would have to dig the old iron pry bar out of the trunk and beat Dean to death with it to keep him away from Sammy. 

By the look on Dean’s face alone, John knew it too. This would end in blood.

John stared at his son, his lieutenant, in utter disbelief. Dean would follow John to hell and back without question, gun cocked and ready to go. Dean didn’t tell him ‘no’. He never had, until today. Until he stood between his oldest son and a panicking, desperate Sammy.

If Dean hadn’t been snarling and dangerously tachycardic he would have called this ‘a real too-many-cooks-in-the-kitchen situation’. Instead he said: “I got it. I’ve got him.”

John stayed where he was, voiced rumbled low in protest, “Dean…he’s, he’s your brother. You can’t—”

Dean squared up, let out a deep breath, “—take a walk. Sir. I’ve got him.”

John’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline when he had to stifle the urge to take a step. That boy of his would be a powerhouse of an alpha when he was grown. Maybe he already was. Certainly acted like he was ready to raze the damn motel if it would help Sammy somehow.

You didn’t get this far in the hunting life not knowing when to back down. John was stronger, he knew that, but Dean at 19 was still a risk; not all the way filled out but plenty big and pumping with alpha pheromones. A fight would be bloody and ultimately accomplish nothing but alienating his sons. Sam already couldn’t stand being around John and that wasn’t likely to change if he beat his big brother to hell. Suppressants were the only thing that could solve this. 

The second the Impala rumbled out of the parking lot Dean was at his brother’s side. He sat on the edge of the bed and ran a shaky hand over Sam’s sweaty forehead. “Heya, Sammy.”

“Dean?” Sam groaned, eyes opening, “W-Where’s dad? Thought I heard him.”

“Took off for a bit. ‘s just us.”

“M’kay, good,” Sam’s posture loosened, he leaned into Dean's wide hand like he hadn’t in a long time, “I feel really weird. My stomach k-kills…like I’m sick or something.”

“Yeah?” Dean rubbed slow over his back. Sam’s body was boiling hot to the touch. Concern surged through Dean. “How long you been hurtin’ like this?”

“A few hours after you guys left I started throwin’ up and having cramps; guess I ate some bad pizza or something. Fevers off and on for a while. And…and my head’s been all fuzzy. Can barely think straight…" Sam's hand went out and grabbed the loose front of Dean’s flannel. He tugged and his voice dropped to a near whisper, “but I didn’t start, uh, sweating like this until just now. When you came in.”

Sweating’s not all it is.

Dean’s heart was pounding in his chest; his own blood rushing to the rhythm of his brother’s. Poor thing had been cooped up here all alone and in a panic with no alpha to help him calm down and make him feel safe. The suffocating pressure around Dean’s neck that urged him on was lessened when he rubbed his wrist gland over the one in Sam’s cheek. Smeared his thick alpha scent into Sam’s shaggy hair. 

Even with his eyes closed, Sam responded to the gesture immediately.

Sammy scooted forward and dragged himself into his brother’s lap and Dean’s chest ached like a punch to the ribs. The kid said he got too old for this a couple years back and stopped leaning on Dean so much. Stopped getting so close, stopped reaching out and grabbing him for comfort. He hadn’t let his big brother scent him for years, not even when he was starting a new school. But Sam was reaching now, plain as day. Drawn back to Dean by something he couldn’t explain. 

Dean felt his brother’s heart begin to slow, but in typical Sam Winchester fashion, once Sam’s brain got its teeth in something it wouldn’t let go. He’d shake it around until it went limp in his mouth like a dog loose in a henhouse. Sam took one breath in and reeled back, fighting against the warm pull from the alpha that would bring his soaring temperature and heart rate back down where they belonged.

“Wh-what’s going on? It just kept getting worse and worse and I didn’t know what to do and…and it hurts and I’m scared, De...”

If Dean had had any doubt about the severity of Sam’s condition it would have vanished right there. Panic in Sam’s voice that he only ever revealed in their father’s absence, but Sam these days rarely admitted fear, even to Dean. The kid had been spitting insults and defying John’s orders for a couple years now, all vinegar and no honey. And he never used that old nickname anymore.

Dean wrapped an arm around Sam’s middle and hauled him in, stricken again by how blazing hot he felt even through his shirt. He tucked his little brother's head under his chin at once. Safe. A feeling of rightness hit him so hard Dean had to blink back tears. Sammy, scared and confused, still needed him. He still wanted Dean to help him feel solid again. It put strange thoughts in Dean’s head, like maybe he could be good for something other than ganking monsters and hustling pool after all.

“Dean, help.” Sam’s voice trembled.

“Shhh,” Dean shook his head, his chin rubbing over the top of Sam’s scalp, stirring his soft brown hair and kicking up the softest, most tooth-achingly perfect omega scent Dean had ever encountered. "Don't have to worry anymore," Sam nuzzled against his neck, rubbing his cheeks clumsily over the scent glands under Dean’s jaw and the alpha’s eyes rolled back. “S’alright, sweet boy. Nothin’s wrong. Just a little late, that’s all.”

The empty air buzzed; nothing but silence and the hissing of the radiator for twenty seconds. Thirty. Sam’s weight sagged against his brother’s chest.

“Late?” Sam mumbled, sounded half asleep. Sam had let ‘sweet boy’ slip past without a single eye roll or mimed gag. The scent exchange was calming the kid down alright; contact with Dean was dulling him. 

“Sammy, come on. You’re a smart kid.”

Sam pulled back to look Dean in the eyes. His brow was knitted at first, then his eyes went wide, “What?…no. No, no, no. I’m a Beta, I…but everyone else already…this is such crap–you were like eleven!” 

There was the disdain, the bite, that Dean was familiar with. 

“What can I say? Just somethin’ special about you, I guess,” Dean’s tone made Sam roll his eyes and he felt a rush of relief. “Sam, it’s gonna be fine, really. Now that you’re not alone—”

“—but. But I don’t wanna be a stupid omega! This has gotta be some kind of nightmare…And Dad—oh god he’s gonna flip out—an omega freak for a son…” Sam’s confusion and shame roiled, the sour tang in the air made his brother snap.

“Listen to me, dad’s not gonna say shit.” 

Dean’s rebuke was sharp enough that Sam didn’t dare push back. It felt good to hear it, like Dean was protecting him somehow. The thought sent a thrill down to Sam’s fingertips. Dean always protected him. Why did this feel different all of a sudden?

“Is that…is that why you smell like that now? And—” Sam’s groan of pain cut him short and he doubled over.

This needed to be dealt with; now. Dean’s throat bobbed when he gulped. He gritted his teeth hard. Sammy was about to clutch his pearls.

“Did you get off?”

“What?!” Sam squeaked, “God, Dean! Why would you even—”

“I could smell you from the parking lot, Sam. I don’t know a ton about heats but—Look, it’s gonna get worse if you don’t. The pain. You know that, right?” 

“Worse?” Sammy sounded pitiful, the fear that had nearly disappeared in the last few minutes burst back into Sam’s scent and his voice broke, small and pained, “No…no, please. It already hurts—like really bad—and I…” Sam’s face was burning so red he couldn’t even meet Dean’s eyes, “I tried. Okay? I’ve been trying and I—I just can’t! I can’t!”

Dean cursed under his breath. He wanted to hide his little brother away, shield him, crowd him against the wall and smother Sammy in his scent until he didn’t smell so damn terrified. But that would do jack shit for him at the moment. And the solution that was pounding through Dean’s head with every beat of his heart simply wasn’t an option.

A pitiful little whine was followed by a flash of slick. Fresh omega slick that Dean couldn’t see or feel but could smell like it was a millimeter under his nose, taste like it was pooling on his tongue. Something dark and ravenous was clawing in his belly to get out.

“Fuck. Okay, fuck—” Dean grabbed Sam’s waist and removed him from his lap with unsteady hands, he nodded toward the bathroom door, “You’re gonna go in there and take care of it, understand? Take a shower or a bath or whatever and just—”

“Are you deaf? I said I—”

“—and you’re gonna take this with you,” Dean continued, shrugging out of his flannel and stripping off his black undershirt. He dropped it in Sam’s hands and gave him a steady look, willing him to understand.

But Sam turned up his nose, stared at his brother like he’d gone insane. “Why would I want your nasty shirt?”

“It’ll help…having an alpha’s scent,” Dean’s hand scrubbed over the back of his neck the way it always did when he was embarrassed, “my last rut I uh…borrowed a tho—some underwear—from that omega waitress I hooked up with in Tulsa, and…and just trust me.”

Sam looked down at the shirt in his hand. It was heavier than it should be, wet with sweat, surely. The fabric was smeared with graveyard dirt and a few droplets of kerosene dotted the hem. It was Dean’s. It was used and dirty and nasty and he should want to throw it right back in his brother’s face. But it wasn’t nasty, was it? A flicker of something new in his belly. It smelled warm and safe like the sun-heated leather in the Impala that made him want to lay down and doze off in the backseat. Smelled like possession somehow, like touching it would leave a mark on him that he never knew he wanted to bear. One he wished everyone on the planet could see like his own personal NO VACANCY sign.

“I’m sorry it’s gotta be me, Sam, but…Look, take it or leave it—I got to uh…clean out the car, alright? I’ll be back.”

Dean pulled on his flannel and was out the door before he could hear Sam’s whine of protest at being left alone–God knows he wouldn’t have been able to fight it if he did. He spent the next fifteen minutes muttering curses under his breath and running laps around the parking lot, trying to work off the desperate energy boiling under his skin that had absolutely no place near Sammy. But he couldn’t bring himself to let the room out of his sight either. 

It was a miracle no one had come knocking in the time he and John had been away. The scent of an omega’s heat drew alphas like nothing else in the world, packed them in like buzzing black flies on roadkill. An unclaimed omega on their first heat? Holy mother. 

The idea of Sam alone and so vulnerable made Dean’s heart rate shoot through the roof and he clenched his jaw so hard his molars ached. Dean wasn’t the praying kind but he tossed a quick thank you upstairs that he and John had remembered to scent the doorway before they left. Challenging a pair of alphas was a stupid risk for somebody to take just to come sniffing around. That risk doubled when the alphas smelled the way Winchesters did. Dad said it was something in the blood—old, pure bloodline or some crap—their family’s presentations were…exaggerated. Their scents potent, almost assaultive, even among their peers. 

That was also why Dean needed a goddamn gas mask to keep his head on straight if he re-entered the motel room with Sam soaked in omega pheromones the way he was.

When he had himself well in hand, Dean walked back inside, turned on the TV and kicked up the volume. The state of disarray in the room was far from typical for his little brother; Sam had always been more comfortable in clean, orderly spaces. He really must’ve felt like shit to let his room get like that. Dean stripped the damp sheets from the bed and re-made it. Picked up the discarded food containers and tossed them in the trash. Took the gun out of his waistband and set it on the table, stripped it, cleaned it, oiled it. Didn’t let himself think about the fact that the bathroom door was closed and his shirt was missing. 

When the third infomercial product was carted out (a ring cake mold that allowed you to put a variety of fillings in the center of your cakes like a surprise!) Sammy came plodding out, skin flushed from the warmth of the shower, wearing a soft old T shirt and pair of shorts. He smelled like the cheap powder detergent from the laundromat and it made Dean smile. 

There was a distinct looseness about the way Sam moved.

“Better?” Dean held his arm out to the side from where he lounged on the bed.

Sam paused by the other bed, slyly shoved Dean’s sweaty shirt into his own duffel bag before crossing to his brother. He climbed up eagerly, tucking himself into the alpha’s side. “Better.” 

Sam shivered at the contact. Let out a mewl that made the word omega ring in his brother’s head like a bell and had him choking down a mouthful of saliva. Sammy was a kid, and he was gonna stay that way for as long as Dean could stretch it, no matter what Dean had to endure. But if anybody else tried to put their hands on his omega Dean'd blow their brains out and wouldn't flinch.

He pulled Sam in closer, until his head was resting on Dean’s chest, caged in safely by his arm. Sam breathed deeply and sighed at the smell of Dean in his nose. After three days of pain and confusion he was finally safe. Everything was gonna be okay.

“I’m glad you’re back, Dean.”