#unpresented!sam

"c'mon!" dean's saying, all cajoling tone as if john's gonna take him anywhere like this, all syrupy movements and glassy preheat feverish eyes and the telltale pink flush climbing up his neck and chest. "we just drove thirteen fucking hours, and now that we're finally here, you're -- what, you're gonna leave me here with sammy?"

(sammy, very conspicuously, glances up at john from under the shag of his bangs and slow-blinks at him, pack member to pack alpha, go ahead; I'll follow your lead.)

"come on, dad; it's stupid to try and do this alone, you know it's stupid. 's why you dragged us up here in the first place! let's just go already and be quick about it. I mean, shit; we leave now, we'll be done before it's even dark out!"

john tosses a short silver dagger still secured in its leather sheath at dean. it hits him square in the chest, hard enough to startle a pained little grunt from him, all those usually so-quick reflexes shot to shit by the thrall of his forthcoming heat.

"yeah," john drawls, rolling up to his feet -- he hadn't even taken his boots off -- "that's what I thought. you're no good to me on a hunt like this, dean, and just as liable to get us both dead out there. why didn't you say anything, if you knew you were this close?"

dean slumps over, john's dagger caught up in the crumple of polyester coverlet beneath him, misery clear in every taut line of his body. "I figured it'd pass. once we were outta the car and... moving around a little. you know how it goes at first." (john does not know. he's an alpha, born to two betas and widowed to another; he doesn't have a fucking clue how it goes at first.) "look," he says, levering himself back up into a sitting position, pretending he's not fighting back a wince all the while, "gimme, like, fifteen minutes. I'll be good to go, I swear."

"swear all you want," john tells him, swinging the bag up onto his shoulder, "but you ain't goin' anyplace except right back to that bed."

dean lets out a half-hearted string of profanity as he curls back up on his side, the type of words that could probably peel paint at full strength, but are just vaguely pathetic as they arrive, muttered into the sagging motel mattress and accompanied by a dour, half-hazed teenaged glare.

john fishes one-handed for his wallet and snakes out forty bucks, which he tosses onto the pages of sammy's open textbook. geometry, maybe, from the upside down glimpse he gets. "watch out for you brother," john tells him, the same stern tone he usually takes with his eldest.

Dean had tried his hardest to avoid answering those kinds of questions as long as he could. Dad didn’t want Sam to know about the monsters under the bed, not just yet.

When Sam was seven or eight, he’d gone through a fairy tales phase, to Dean’s utter disgust. But those had been the only books that Mrs. Nowicki, the elderly motel desk clerk that John had asked to keep an eye on them, had left over from her daughter’s childhood. Sam had been delighted when she’d brought them in one morning, and told him he could keep them as long as he wanted. That hadn’t been necessary, the dorky little kid had devoured every single one of them by the end of the day.

After that, the questions had morphed into: Do you believe in love at first sight? Were Mom and Dad true mates? Do you believe in true mates? Do true mates always have to be an alpha and omega? What do you think you’ll present as? What about me?

Dean had wanted to pull the shotgun out from its not-so-secret hiding place beneath his lumpy cotton pillow and shoot Sam, then himself, just to make the kid shut it about all that true mates bullshit. Instead, he’d gone to the library down the road and stolen a copy of Grimm’s Fairy Tales – the ones that had the real endings, with death and blood and guts – and shoved that under Sam’s nose and told him to read that and then shut up.

When he had finished the book, Sam’s next question had been: Why do you always ruin everything?! Dean had smirked triumphantly to himself in his vindictive-older-brother way, not at all sorry.

Right before Dean’s eighteenth birthday, Sam had asked him: “What do you think you’ll present as?”

“Alpha,” Dean had shrugged, unconcerned. He was pretty confident about what he’d turn out to be. Sam looked at him nervously, hands wringing in his lap.

“What do you think I’ll present as?” he had asked in a small voice, looking much younger than his thirteen years.

“Bitch like you? Definitely omega,” Dean had mocked with a cold sneer, sick of all these goddamn questions. But then he saw how Sam’s eyes began to cloud with tears, the multifaceted colours blurring to a muddy hazel. “Hey, no, I didn’t mean it,” he reassured his little brother, patting him awkwardly on the arm. “You’re already tall as me, bet you’ll be even bigger one day. That’s definitely an alpha trait.”

“You mean it?” Sam sniffed, cheeks twitching with the ghost of hope.

“Yeah, totally,” Dean nodded, bravado back in full swing. “I mean, we fight monsters for a living for god’s sake. You, me, and Dad? Alpha as they come.”

He had been right, and a couple weeks after his eighteenth birthday, Dean had presented as an Alpha. His hormones had gone into full swing, whacking him out with a rut that had lasted nearly two weeks, and he’d been a horny bastard even outside of his ruts ever since – something Sam never failed to rib him about in the years following.

“Just you wait until you’ve presented,” Dean grumbled. “You won’t want to keep your dick in your pants either.” Sam’s eighteenth birthday had been last weekend, he’d probably be popping his knot any day now.

“What’s–” Sam hesitated, chewing on his question a little before starting again. “What’s it like?”

“What’s what like?” Dean grunted, not following.

“W-what’s it like, y’know,” Sam’s hands flailed around awkwardly in front of him, his face breaking out in a splotchy, embarrassed blush. “What’s it like knotting someone?”

Dean’s mouth ran dry as he looked at the hopeful, nervous expression on his little brother’s face. When Sam licked his lips, Dean felt a lurch somewhere behind his navel, and he felt a flush begin to creep up his neck to match Sam’s.

“Um,” he cleared his throat awkwardly, “it uh, it feels really intense, I guess. Like at that moment, while you’re tied, there’s no one but you two. It kinda feels like they’re everywhere, even though it’s only your dick inside ‘em. And it’s all… tight, and warm… and uh, wet.”

Sam had a look on his face like Dean had punched him in the gut; knocked the wind right out of him. He didn’t know what made him do it but Dean looked down, and saw Sam was hard. Sam saw him looking, his chest heaving shakily as their eyes locked. The younger boy cleared his throat.

“Have you, uh, have you ever done it with a guy?”

Dean hadn’t suspected that question in a million years, and he blinked in stunned silence for a moment, eyes still fixed on Sam’s.

“No…” Dean answered slowly. His heart was beating so loudly he bet Sam could hear it too.

“Have you ever wanted to try?”

Sam and all his goddamn questions. They would be the death of him, Dean was positive.

Chapter 1 posting on June 7th or subscribe to my website to read up through Chapter 4!

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