#implied weecest

sam “i dont think we should sleep in the same bed anymore, kind of makes me feel weird, man”

He hadn't seen Dean since going off to Stanford. Now, here he was, standing on his brother's porch staring at him through the screen door. 

His brother, who he didn't know, was now his new neighbor. 

His wife, Jess, sent him over there to play nice while she was at work. Saying a family, she met one of the members, had recently moved him, and he offered to change her oil as a sign of good grace. Said the man was charming and handsome. 

Kind of had similar mannerism to Sam, she said. 

Too right on the nose. 

"Dean." His raspy voice said. Tinged with surprise. 

Dean, still beautiful as the day he left, leaned against the doorway. He raised an eyebrow at Sam. "Sammy." His big brother grinned. "You filled out nicely, didn't you?" Dean crossed his arms, looking Sam up and down with appreciation. 

"I–uhh." He was holding a freshly baked pie, Jess made, in his hands. His hold on the pan was tightening at each passing moment. His body felt tense. 

His beautiful Omega brother. 

His first knot popped inside of him. 

"Dean." Was all he could repeat. His higher brain function was acting up. He never thought he'd see Dean again. Their Father caught them one night, and shipped him off to Bobby's who eventually helped him get to school. Dean knew he was accepted into Stanford, and they had plans for Dean to visit before the blow up. 

It was only around five years ago that Omegas got their rights, and didn't need an Alpha's approval anymore on legal documents. Dean stayed with Dad, he assumed. Bobby said he had their Dad's number, but never said anything about Dean having a phone number. 

Now, his brother after seven years, was in front of him. 

Dean opened up his screen door. "Come inside. You're going to break that glassware, you idiot." 

Like an lure, he followed his brother's hand gesturing him inside. 

The door swung shut behind him. Looking around, he saw toddler items, but no toddler. 

Dean brought him into the kitchen. He took the pie from Sam, and gently pushed at his shoulder. "Go sit down Sasquatch." He meant toward the kitchen table, and Sam listened. 

He quietly watched Dean. His brother had moving boxes around his kitchen. One box labeled plates, he opened up and took out two places, and took a knife out of the drawer. "How big you want it?" Said Dean. The side of his body was facing Sam from the counter. 

Sam swallowed. "Any is fine." 

Dean chuckled. "Still like me making decisions for you?" He said in jest. Smiling into himself, he cut two pieces and put them on the plates. 

Sam couldn't deny it. He liked to followed Dean around like a puppy. Lost with no direction, just using his nose to make sure Dean was always in high spirits and pleased. 

He wants to smell Dean now. 

Dean walks over to the table, sitting across from Sam. He put a plate in front of both of them with plastic forks. "Castiel hasn't unloaded everything. Half the kitchen is in his car." 

Sam blinked. "Castiel?" He inquired. 

"I guess you can say my mate, but he's a friend. He's an Alpha who wanted a kid, and asked me to carry it." Dean ate a slice. 

"So it's not yours technically?" 

"Oh, no that brat is mine." He chuckles. "But we did it more as a family thing. He's not very close with his father or siblings." He clears his throat. "We bonded over that aspect." He looks into Sam's eyes. 

"You knew where I was Dean." He gazed back. Not touching his pie. 

Dean waves him off. "Not important. Anyway, we decided to have a kid. Painfully boring sex on both sides. He doesn't have a sexual or romantic bone in his body, but is a great parent to Claire. So boom. Work out, and we can walk around without people knowing the truth." 

________

He finds the spell with just two months left before he tips over the edge of the abyss and leaves for Stanford, buried in an old book Dad took from a dead witch that they’re bringing to Pastor Jim for research, and the book arrives with a page torn out so neatly no one would know it was ever there. Spends a week gathering components and telling himself it’s crazy, the worst idea, taking a bad situation and making it worse, but the clock is ticking and the days until he leaves are going by faster than he thought possible.

Sam doesn’t hesitate once he has the final herb, sneaks out back behind this week’s motel and casts and he doesn’t feel any different but he knows it worked. Lies tangled in the sheets with his brother, trying to memorize the feel of him, already knows each freckle and scar by heart, feeling sweat from Dean over him and their fingers entwined and god he can’t leave this but he has to and when they’re done he feels empty, rolls over on top of Dean and blesses their youth as he’s able to sink down and be filled again as he rides and he knows the spell worked.

Every bed, every shower, every backseat fumble, every deserted field and barn for a month and it’s not enough, could never be enough, knowing that every bruise and bite will fade once he’s gone and the thought of it kills him a little more each time. And even with all Sam’s planning, their last time comes sooner than he’d expected with Dad sitting at a cheap table in a cheaper room and all the acceptance materials Sam had been hiding spread out in front of him, and as much as “don’t come back” hurts the look of betrayal on Dean’s face hurts more.

He hadn’t meant to beg, knew the answer before he asked, but even then he can’t stop himself from “come with me,” can’t save himself from the heartbreak of “I can’t,” and finds himself blind with tears he won’t shed on a bus west a month sooner than he’d planned and that spell was a good idea because thinking of the life he knows is growing inside him is the only thing that keeps him from slitting his wrists the first night he spends alone.

And the next. 

And the next.

dean knew sam wouldnt tattle, at least not to dad, but bobby was different. as much as the gruff older man tried to give them free reign when their daddy would drop them off, dean had a feeling the man’s hospitality would only get him so far. the occasional stolen pilfered beer, even a few shots missing from a bottle of whiskey, was ignored, but dean had a feeling weed would be a different story. he could see bobby’s face now, disappointed as his voice was laced with concern instead of anger.

sam could tell easily it wasn’t a cigarette, dean wouldn’t of went out this far from the main house for a simple nicotine fix. there was no mistaking the shape, or the pungent smell that hung heavy in the fresh early spring air. it wasn’t the familiar bite of tobacco that clung to the older hunter’s clothes, instead it was cloying and sweeter.

dean panicked when he saw his little brother, automatically reaching for the little altoid tin he’d been using as a storage case for his joints and lighters. he fumbles with it for a second before shutting it back, joint hidden even as the incriminating smell clings to his shirt and jeans like the damp, overgrown grass.

sam’s lips curled into a smile as he sat down on the ground beside dean before putting his hand out, palm up. dean put the small, dented tin in sam’s hand, watchibg as the kid’s nimble fingers popped the lid and picked the half smoked joint up. they’d shared cigarettes before, and sam lights this the same way. the kid inhales, coughing around the exhale before passing it to dean.

sam sheepishly nestles against his side, and dean without a conscious thought, habitually put an arm around his shoulders. a mischievous glint sparkled in dean’s eyes as he teasingly blew a stream if smoke into sam’s face. sam recoiled, pushing at his chest with small hands, as his pink nose wrinkled up in distaste from the smoke before he tells dean to “knock it off.”

“‘m just playing, sammy.” dean rolls his eyes at the boy’s exasperated tone, gently directing the joint back between sam’s lips even as the boy pouts around the filter. sam inhales, his eyes focused on the cherry as the embers burn and glow, while dean’s eyes watch sam’s pink lips.

sam’s exhale is smoother this time, a slow inhale followed by a smooth stream of smoke that dances in the first rays of the morning sun. dean chuckles when sam looks up at him, his big doe eyes red and bleary.

dean starts leaning forward, ashing the joint with one hand on the dewy ground below before he dips his head slightly. he brushes a strand of sam’s hair out of the way, tucking it behind the boy’s ear before sam makes this little noise, falling forward into dean’s chest.

john never mentioned the words muffled throw the cheap, chipping wood of the door he’d been able to hear for the entire time he’d spend outside, debating if he should just call some hunters for something in the area to do for a day or two. john instead threw his duffle on the floor, patting dean on the back and leading him out of the room to go to some bar.

sam, who was maybe twelve, the first time john had come back to the shrill yelling from both the younger winchesters, their vocal cords cracking from puberty and exertion. dean had looked guilty, glancing to the gun he knew his father kept tucked away on his ankle as if he expected john to shoot him for whatever had led to the argument between the two of them.

instead, john usually just took one of them somewhere else, letting things cool down till after he went to bed and dean would leave with sam, swiping john’s pack of lucky strikes and leaving the lighter behind.

the older sam got, the less he’d come home to the screaming matches. and by the time sam was sixteen, he wasnt getting billed for noise complaints anymore and for the first time ever, both beds were always used when he came back.

he never asked, and neither ever said anything. sam never cried wolf, so john didnt find one to hunt.

For a long while there’s no speech, only heavy breathing, and Sam almost hangs up because he has better things to do than listen to some perv making crank calls, has a midterm to study for and a paper to outline and his roommate is out for the night so he can actually get some work done. Then, “Sssssssammyyyyyyyy,” slurred out in a voice that makes him ache with the familiarity. “Sammy, Sammy, Sammy-boy.”

“Dean.”

It’s barely a whisper, forced past a sudden lump in his throat, but Dean hears it anyways. Chuckles low and deep and it turns into half a sob.

“Myyyyy Sammy. Are ya still, baby brother? Still my Sammy-boy?”