Explicit, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Underage Sex
Tags: Pre-Canon, Case Fic, Angst, Animal Death (+ more to be added as chapters come out)
New Tags for Ch. 3: Death Ideation (Brief), Feelings Realization, the Doom of wanting to kiss your brother
Chapter Three: OR ROT WITH IT
Summary under the cut
Dean grips his wrist under the water. “Can you trust me, Sammy?”
Trust has nothing to do with it anymore, Sam wants to say. “Yes,” he admits because it’s the truth. His attention falls to Dean’s lips and the weight of Sam’s want presses against him like the barrel of a loaded gun. Yes, he trusts Dean. He doesn’t trust himself.
I'm trying to find a fic where Sam was given up to and is about to grow out of the system but then Dean finds him and tells him they're brothers. John is super crazy and is in a super prison and Jody has a home for kids of hunters. I would love a link but even the title will do since I forgot.
Fandom: Supernatural
Ship: Wincest
Rating: Explicit
Words: ~5k
Warnings: underage, feminization, period-typical homophobia, high school
Summary: Sam has a surprise for Dean. He just didn't plan on letting the whole school see.
written for the @spnkinkbingo <3 | prompt: panty kink
Jeff finds the polaroids after school, a little bundle of them bound with a dirty rubber band, fallen out of the pockets of Dean Winchester’s massive brown leather jacket. At first, he thinks it’s a girl in them, short-ish hair that falls just above her shoulders, skinny and almost boyish with few curves. And a really nice ass. Jeff can give her that, despite the otherwise rectangular body shape she seems to have.
The only thing is that she looks kind of young, too young for pictures like these, bones jutting out at her shoulder blades and elbows that remind him of gawky, awkward middle schoolers, but so much skin on display that she could be a stripper, only a lacy pair off panties covering her perky little ass and black bra to match covering almost nonexistent tits. He can’t really see her face, as she faces away from the camera in most images, occasional shots of the front side of her which are cut off at the neck and a couple images where he can see her lips, but shadow hides everything else.
The polaroids honestly aren’t very good. Jeff’s no photographer, but the pictures are grainy, some of them a bit blurry, and what’s the point of having basically porn of some girl if you can’t see her face?
Then he thinks, maybe that was the point. He wouldn’t be the first guy to call a girl a slut after finding photographs like these. Even if she is as young as she looks.
Quietly, Jeff wraps the rubber band back around the polaroids and slips them into his own pocket, slinging his backpack over his shoulder, slamming his locker with a metallic clang, and heading home.
He can’t stop looking at them, though. This girl, whoever she is, looks so damn good with her ass encased in pretty, lacy black panties, just barely covering the smooth rounded skin. He feels like a fucking perv getting off on them, but he does anyway, one hand wrapped around his cock and the other propping up his favorite of the bunch—the girl on her knees, throat exposed and gripped by a strong hand—most likely Dean’s—just before the photo cuts off to hide what must be a gorgeous, petite little face, just like the rest of her.
He comes just like that, careful not to get anything on the polaroids. Dean’ll be looking for them eventually, and now Jeff’s got something to hold over that punk’s stupid head, fucking Winchester who thinks he’s better than everyone else at this country school in the middle of nowhere.
He doesn’t have the look of a city slicker, though. Dean’s still too rough-cut for that, and Jeff has a feeling it runs deeper. Still, it’s none of his business, he just wants to put the kid in his place.
Smirking to himself, he tucks the stack of polaroids away again, safe. He almost feels bad for the poor girl in this situation. Careless Dean, letting her pornstar photoshoot fall out of his pocket and onto the senior hallway floor. Rookie mistake. He deserves what’s coming to him. The girl doesn’t, but hey, that’s how the world turns.
***
Two days earlier
“What’s that ya got there, Sammy-babe?” Dean murmurs, a low rumble in his throat as he lifts the covers off his chest, blinking in the early morning light. Dad’s gone and Sam’s got a grey plastic bag in his hand, the handles spinning and unspinning.
“’S for you, Dean,” his baby brother murmurs slyly, holding the bag up to him. “I mean…for us. But it’s more your league, I think.” He flushes red, biting that delicate pink lip. Dean feels his cock filling, and it’s not even seven a.m.
“Well, give it,” Dean mutters, raising one eyebrow. He holds out a hand.
Sammy ducks his head, but hands it to him, drawing back immediately. Dean weighs the bag for a minute. “This is heavier than a porn mag.”
He almost misses his little brother’s glare. “Does that look like the outline of a porn magazine to you? Just open it!”
“It’s not Christmas,” Dean continues. “Why you spoilin’ me, Sammy?”
“I just wanted to,” Sammy bites back, jumping onto the bed beside Dean and sitting on his hands nervously. “Now come on!”
Rolling his eyes, Dean listens, pulling out a box illustrated with a polaroid camera. Holy shit. “You didn’t,” he whispers hoarsely.
“Oh I did,” Sammy responds proudly, something dark lingering in the undertones of his voice. “Secondhand, though this is one of the older models anyway, so it wasn’t too expensive. Got the film, too.” He reaches into the bag, pulls out a couple smaller boxes. “Nance showed me how to put them—”
“Nance? Nancy?” Dean echoes. The name sounds familiar. “You got a girlfriend, Sammy?” It’s teasing, but hinted at just a tinge of something more, something harder. Sammy’s not allowed that.
But his baby brother just rolls his eyes. “No, Dean. She was my friend, back in that Cleveland suburb, you remember?”
Oh. That’s right, Dean does remember, and that’s why she seemed so familiar. He’d see Sammy wave to her as he got off the bus sometimes, this brunette chick in the window, hair in nice little braids that sat on her shoulders. Artsy type—so the polaroid would make sense.
He only snorts in response to Sam’s question though. “Yeah, yeah. Alright so…”
Dean catches sight of his brother’s visage, his little nose, small and cute, practically edible. “I want a picture of your pretty-girl face, Sammy.”
“Feelin’ sentimental?”
Dean begins to protest, but Sammy only laughs. “It’s alright, De. I got this, too.” Slowly, he pulls something from inside his jacket, another plastic bag, this one folded with black cloth inside. He pushes it over to Dean, biting his lip again. “Go on.”
Dean feels a thrill race up his spine when he pulls out the lingerie, thin and pretty, black to contrast Sammy’s pale skin, small to fit his delicate frame, not quite muscled out like Dean has yet. “Sammy,” he murmurs, not quite believing the sight. He can already picture Sam’s barely-there tits in the little bralette, pushing out his already nice ass in those pretty black panties. “Oh, shit.”
“I haven’t even put ‘em on yet—”
“Go,” Dean orders, shoving the lingerie back into the plastic, and Sam lights up at the word. He grabs the bag that instant and disappears into the bathroom, leaving a stunned big brother behind him.
When Sammy emerges, it’s slow, the bathroom door creaking open and his long fawn-legs showing first, pale and endless. Dean swallows as his eyes travel the length of them, up to where his Sammy is all tucked nicely into those panties, so pretty and delicate in that bra as Dean imagined he’d be.
His hair is shaggy, grown long about his shoulders now, and the bangs of it hides his embarrassed, flushed face from Dean’s view. “I look alright, De?” Sammy whispers, and Dean stands from the bed, is over at his little brother’s side in an instant. “Always,” he’s whispering, and without even realizing it, his hands are all over Sammy, cupping his tits and his ass and feeling that still baby-smooth skin at the back of his brother’s thighs.
Sam lets out a moan and throws his head back, the roughness of Dean’s palms on his legs, the largeness of them contrasted with how small he still is. That growth spurt Dad’s been talking about still hasn’t hit. “Dean, oh, God—”
“Mm, Sammy,” is all Dean can say, hand cupping the front of his baby brother’s panties where there’s only a small bulge. “How long you had this idea, hmm? Temptin’ me like this?” Without even thinking, he slaps a hand on Sam’s little ass, relishing in his surprised flinch and the way Sammy’s mouth falls open. “You slutty bitch.”
Sam moans at that, grinding into Dean’s leg, and Dean can feel the wetness growing there. He quickly pulls away, holding his brother at arm’s length. “Ah-ah-ah,” he tsks, smirking at Sam’s cute pout. “Don’t you want me to take a picture of you, baby?”
Sam lets out a small noise of assent, and Dean lets him go, allowing Sam to open the polaroid camera and load it with film, thin, nimble fingers putting everything in place. Dean watches him, eyes practically glued to his little brother’s butt, and Sammy flaunts it, ass in the air and legs completely straight as he leans down over the bed to assemble the pieces.
He turns around slow, eyeing Dean carefully, lips turned up at one corner and holding out the camera. He still looks a little nervous, so Dean kisses him, chaste and light on that pretty pink mouth, which he now realizes is done up with shiny lip gloss. He licks his own lips and tastes strawberry. “You did all that for me, pretty girl?”
“Mmhm,” Sammy replies with faux-innocence, chin tilted down demurely. “Did it for you, my big brother.” It’s a little breathy at the edges, and Dean’s panting now. “Now aren’t you gonna take a picture of your little girl, Dean?”
Dean closes his eyes, inhales deeply. God, he can’t take this. “You little bitch,” he says, filled with affection at his sweet, sexy little brother. “I can’t do this with you sayin’ things like that, Sammy.”
Sammy smiles sweetly. “Then hurry up.”
He does a million poses for Dean, but there’s only so much film, and they don’t want to waste it all. Sammy on the bed in child’s pose, head cocked coquettishly, Sammy in front of the mirror, lip gloss in hand, Sammy’s ass and long long legs, Sammy’s tiny little tits in that black lace bralette, Sammy on his knees with Dean’s hand around that smooth, slender throat.
Dean’s careful to get as little of Sam as possible in the photos—worst case scenario of course being that Dad somehow finds them and puts two and two together. At least with this, there’s a chance that he’ll think the polaroids are of someone else. After all, it’s not like Sammy parades around in dresses and makeup every day.
It’ll have to do.
By the time they’re finished, Sam’s panties are nearly soaked and he’s wriggling his own body to get some form of friction. “De, please, I gotta—”
Dean nearly throws the camera onto the bedside table, snatches a rubber band from the bowl by the door, binds the photos with it, and stuffs them into his jacket pocket hanging there, and pounces on his little brother, Sam falling to the mattress with a squeak and pushing his small pubescent hips against Dean’s.
Dean thinks Sammy really does feel like a girl then, all high whines and begging and writhing under his big brother. “Feel so good, De,” Sammy’s saying, and it feels right, the hardness of that little cock straining the panties against Dean’s own dick, blessed relief for them both.
Dean slips his hand in there, tracing along the lacy line before sliding his palm along the slick little brother cock underneath, so perfect for him, all of Sammy perfect for him, a feast before his wanting eyes. “Gonna come, Sammy-babe? Gonna come in your panties like a good little slut? Showin’ off for me today?”
Sam nods faintly, eyes shining with need, pretty glossed lips parted, and Dean takes them in his own, feeling the smoothness of Sam’s mouth against his tongue.
Sam sighs into the kiss, wrapping his arms around his big brother, still rutting against his hand like his life depends on it. “De—De—”
“It’s okay, baby, you did so good for me,” Dean murmurs softly, pulling away from his brother’s slick mouth, trailing his lips along his jaw. “You can come, Sammy. You can do it.”
Sam does, letting go with a high-pitched moan, a delicious sound to Dean’s ears, body falling back against the mattress as he comes in his panties as his big brother told him to, muscles tensing then relaxing.
“So good, my good, good girl,” Dean tells him, free hand brushing his sweaty hair back from his face and pressing a kiss to Sam’s forehead. “You worked so hard for that, I know, baby. So good.”
He sounds like a broken record and he knows it, but he can’t help it, not with Sam all loose and vulnerable like that on the bed, like an offering.
Dean’s been largely ignoring his cock the whole time (a feat, to be sure), but now it’s lifting the fabric of his boxers, and Dean shoves them down, not even bothering to yank them all the way off before pulling Sam’s body upwards and offering his cock to his baby brother.
Sam takes it easily, face mashing against Dean’s crotch with enthusiasm, perfect little pink lips sucking Dean off messily, tongue writhing around the length of him. He’s still all lax from his orgasm, and in his fucked-out state, Sam makes the perfect little cock sock for his big brother, a beautiful wet hole for Dean to thrust into, big brother doing all the work against that pretty face.
Dean finally comes when Sam jabs his tongue suddenly at Dean’s tip, regaining some of his senses as he finishes him off, pressure from his lips and hollowed cheeks, taking Dean down his throat like he isn’t fourteen. Dean groans, pulls Sam closer by his hair, crushing Sam’s nose to the side against his pubes. “Jesus— fuck—Sammy!” Dean shouts, and Sam takes it all, good girl to the last as he swallows Dean’s come, every last drop.
“My baby, my baby,” Dean is saying as Sam extricates himself, and it’s a blur for the next few moments, kisses across his neck and jaw, sloppy kisses from his little brother just the way he likes them. “Sammy.”
He hears his brother’s laugh against his ear and smiles.
***
Jeff’s quiet on the bus to school that morning, head still occupied by those damn polaroids. He feels the stack of them in his pocket still (good), and unlike Dean, Jeff’s pockets can actually zip. They’re not falling out again, and if Dean wants them back, he’s gonna have to work for them.
He’s very careful to watch Dean Winchester as they arrive at the stop where he usually gets on—though Jeff’s only noticed the guy for the past few days. He and his brother arrived in town just a week ago, the younger boy quiet, keeping to himself the way a new kid should.
Dean’s just the opposite. Loud, swanky, gets what he wants when he wants. Doesn’t seem to follow any rules, but still gets all the girls. It’s no surprise that he’d be into something like a kinky photo session. Either way, his attitude annoys the hell out of Jeff.
The Winchesters get on the bus at the usual time, sit in the same spot they usually do. Dean doesn’t look tense, and Jeff suspects that he doesn’t know he’s lost the polaroids yet.
Still, he keeps an eye on the two of them all the way to Elliott High, marking Dean’s unusually soft attitude around his brother. It’s odd to see him so soft with someone when usually he’s all pumped up on fake-toughness and macho swagger.
Suddenly, the younger brother—Jeff can’t remember his name—says something, and Dean goes sheet-pale, hands flying to rummage in his pockets and coming out empty. “Shit!” Jeff can hear him say, even from way back where he’s sitting. “Shitshitshit!”
Beside him, his younger brother’s face falls too, going from an inquisitive scrunch to one of downright fear. Why the hell would he be afraid? Jeff wonders.
Eventually, they calm down, though Dean remains tense and the small one’s face has paled to match his brother’s.
Jeff tells himself that there’s nothing weird about this situation. He’s just gonna continue with the plan, corner the oldest Winchester at his locker. Stick to it.
He looks out the window and frowns.
***
“What’s up with you?” hisses Charlie Henderson in first period. “You’re all quiet today.”
Jeff turns, and Charlie’s sitting there, eyebrows raised like he expects an answer. “You gonna spill or what?”
Jeff opens his mouth, closes it again. Sighs. “I don’t know, man. It’s weird.”
“What kind of weird? Like, found a dead cat in the trash weird or psycho grandma weird?”
Jeff swivels in his seat to face him. “Dude, what?”
Charlie says nothing, just continues with that expectant expression.
“Never mind. I’ll just show you.” He takes the polaroids from his pocket, thankful that he and Charlie sit at the back of Mrs. Philsen’s pre-calc class, and that they’re mostly doing busywork with partners. “Look at these.”
“Damn,” Charlie says, craning his head over to look closer. “That girl’s got a sweet ass.” He sits back. “I mean, for a chick who looks like a boy, ha. Where the hell did you get these?”
“Tell you in a moment, but see, that’s what I’m saying!” Jeff’s aware that he sounds slightly feverish, but he can’t stop now. “I thought it was some girl too, you know? But now—” His stomach tightens.
“No one in our class would take photos like that,” Charlie scoffs. “You gotta be kidding me. Amanda? Shelley?” He’s still trying to guess, as if Jeff has a clue.
“Doesn’t need to be from here,” Jeff mutters. “They’re not my photos.”
“Whose, then?”
“Dean Winchester!” Jeff hisses, eyes narrowing. “The new guy. The uppity one.”
“Winchester?” Charlie looks almost surprised. “I mean, I know him of course, vaguely, but it’s his brother Sam that Jenny’s always talking about. How he’s so quiet, nice. She definitely is crushing hard.”
“I guess,” says Jeff. Jenny, Charlie’s little sister, would be the type to fall for someone shy like that. The uncomfortable prickle has returned, and Jeff feels the words coming to his mouth before he can stop them. “What if the girl in these polaroids is Sam?”
Charlie pulls back. “Man, what drugs are you on? I want them.”
“No drugs this far outside the city,” Jeff grumbles. “And it was just a question.”
“A really weird question!”
Jeff glares at him. “I said weird, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, but not—” Charlie lowers his voice— “Not incest weird! Plus, Sam seems nice, but not like—a fag! ”
“It was just a question,” Jeff repeats. “Never mind.”
Charlie shakes his head. “Maybe we actually need to do this worksheet. That D+ is rotting your brain.”
“Shut up,” Jeff says, and he shoves the photos away, trying to focus for now.
***
Sam tries to keep his head up for the next few days, and to his luck, no one seems to know about the polaroids, much less that he’s the person in them. He goes to class, resists the urge to repel from Dean like a reverse magnet just for show, and tries not to curse out his brother back at the motel.
“How could you have just…dropped them!” he’d shouted the first time, gaping at Dean in horror. The shock was still pumping through his system, cold and terrifying. He wanted Dad to come back for once, save them by moving on to another hunt. “Why were they even at school in the first place?”
“Who says they’re at school, Sammy?” Dean retorted. “I’m sure they’re here…somewhere…”
Sam didn’t believe him. “You asshole!”
“I didn’t mean to lose them, come on, Sam!”
He was serious, they were both so serious now, that Sam could tell from the lack of the diminutive tacked onto his name. Just Sam. Dean was also stressed to hell and back.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “You’re right, it’s…not your fault.”
“No, I’m sorry for losin’ ‘em,” Dean replied just as quickly. “That’s my fault. Shit!” His head fell into his hands where he sat at the table by the window. “And it’s up to me to find them. Alright? If someone knows they’re mine, I’ll just tell them it’s some chick from Cleveland.” He looked up at Sam then, begging for forgiveness he didn’t need—Sam understood. Okay, Sammy?
Okay, Dean.
They both sighed, long and slow. What a mess, actually.
Now, though, that plan seems to have been torn to shreds. Jenny—that tall girl who’s been tailing him with a nice enough smile and hair pulled into a bright blonde ponytail—is ignoring him now, flinching when he turns her way in question. She whispers something into her friend’s ear, blonde ponytail to match, and the friend stiffens. Sam’s stomach sinks.
He looks away and down at his paper, unable to focus on the essay they’re writing about the founding fathers, but Jenny’s friend corners Sam at his locker later, curiosity and an expression more unreadable entrenched in that blue-eyed gaze. “Sam,” she says, like she’s his mom sitting him down for ‘the talk.’
This is weird. Jenny won’t talk to him, but her friend will?
“What,” he says blankly.
“You, um, like to dress in girls’ underwear, Sam?”
“No,” he says, hoping his response wasn’t too quick. Inside his head, explosions—the bad kind—are going off. Jesus. Dean needs to find those photos, and Dad needs to come back now. “What kind of question is that? Do I look like I’d wear women’s underwear?”
“I don’t know,” the girl mutters, suddenly looking embarrassed. Sam’s stomach loosens. “My friend Jenny just told me that her brother Charlie was told by his friend that your brother carried around slutty pictures of you.”
“What?” Sam asks, not sure exactly what he’s exclaiming at. The accusation, the fact that she knows, the casual usage of the word ‘slut. ’ “And…you believe that long line of rumors?”
“Well, no,” Jenny says. “I just thought you should know what people are saying about you.”
“That’s stupid,” Sam mutters, aware of the couple others in the hall that are listening in. Great. More people who think he and Dean are ‘pansy freaks.’ Well, they’d be right in some assumptions. But just…great.
“Well you can tell Jenny and Charlie and his friend to stop lying about me! And my brother!” Sam says shortly. “You guys are the weirdos.”
“Sorry,” the girl says, looking slightly anguished. “I’ll…go now.” She walks away at a scathing pace, almost a run. Sam waits until the eavesdroppers have cleared, then bangs his head against the locker door. He’s so screwed.
***
Dean finds himself bouncing his leg anxiously all throughout english. He’s so jumpy that when someone taps him on the shoulder at the end of the period—Jeff Reynolds, whose social ranking among the seniors at Elliott High seems to be somewhere between ‘jock’ and ‘average’—he actually jumps in his seat, whirling around with a gasp. “What’s up,” he tries to say as casually as possible, flashing a tight-lipped smile. “Jeff, right?”
“Right,” Jeff says smoothly. He looks smug, mouth all drawn up at the corners, and he stands beside Dean as he stuffs his pencils into his jacket.
“I wouldn’t trust your pencils to stay in your pockets if I was you, Winchester,” Jeff continues, and Dean feels a chill wipe through his entire body.
“Why’s that?” he asks, calmly as he can.
Jeff reaches into his own pocket—zippered, Dean notes with an irritated sneer—and pulls out that cursed stack of polaroids. “Recognize these?”
“Hot chick,” Dean says with a smirk, but they both can tell the bravado is false. “Who’s are they?”
“Don’t pretend, Winchester. I saw them fall out of your jacket. Don’t play coy, you fucking faggot.”
“What the hell are you talkin’ about?” Dean asks, feeling that chill sink deeper. “Alright they’re mine, from a chick called Cheryl back at my old school. You’d like her. Cleveland girls,” he tacks on for good measure. “Different breed.”
“Boys, get to lunch!” Mr. Smith calls from behind his desk. “I’m trying to have my planning period!”
“Sorry, sir,” Jeff says, ushering them both from the room.
As soon as they’re out, he’s back on it. “Cheryl, huh? Cheryl wouldn’t happen to have a dick, would she?” He pulls out the last of the photos, the one Dean had nearly forgotten about. He can see here, Sam’s cock poking prettily from the lace of the panties where it was beginning to harden, making that smooth front not so smooth.
“She was one of those uh,” he says, snapping his fingers. “Transsexuals! Still hasn’t had the surgery, you know, ‘cause she’s so young.”
“Digging yourself into a hole, here, Winchester,” Jeff only responds. “You know, I could tell the whole school by the end of today that these pictures are of your brother. End it for you, here and now.”
Dean pales. “Dude, what the fuck? My brother?” He’s finding it hard to stay calm and rational. “Come on, man, that’s sick!”
“You tell me about it,” Jeff sneers.
“Why would you even do that?”
“Take you down a peg,” he answers smoothly without missing a beat. “You Winchesters, acting like you’re so high and mighty, aloof and taking all the girls while you’re at it.”
“Well I thought that wasn’t a problem, huh? You said I was a faggot, so pick one, Reynolds!” Dean’s seething now, and he has half a mind to just grab the polaroids and get out of here, take Sam with them and just skip school until Dad gets back and they move on. “And leave my brother out of this! Sam didn’t do anything!”
“You sure about that?”
Dean throws his hands up in the air. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Their voices are rising, and Dean’s afraid that at any moment, Mr. Smith is gonna step right back outside the classroom and make things worse.
He makes a go for the pictures. Misses.
“Not so fast, Winchester. You wanna have ‘em, you gotta earn ‘em.”
“Doesn’t really matter for you if you’re gonna make my life hell anyway,” Dean hisses, and they’re at it the next second, fists connecting with shoulders and Jeff Reynolds slammed up against the locker. “Say whatever you want, you pussy, but don’t you dare say a thing against that girl. Or Sammy.”
Jeff raises an eyebrow, actually, genuinely laughing as he hooks his legs behind Dean’s and sends him sprawling, kicking his frame before Dean can jump back up again. He’s walking away at this point when Dean finally gets up, comes at him from behind, pulling them both back to the floor where Dean punches his cheek and scrambles around in Jeff’s pockets while he writhes in pain.
A crowd has gathered now, four grades coming to see the fight in the senior hallway, and Dean can hear the kids shouting both their names as he closes his first around the bundle of polaroids, pulling them back to himself just as Jeff manages to swing a punch round to his stomach.
“Dean!” he hears someone say, and then Sam’s running toward him, pulling him back by his jacket collar, taking the polaroids from his hand and stuffing them into his backpack.
“Let’s go,” he hisses. “Gotta get up, De, please.”
But it’s not that Dean needs help with. He’s on his feet the next second, and charging at Jeff like a bull, hitting him back where the other boy is unprotected, causing him to stumble backward.
Jeff’s not on the ground, though, not this time, and when he comes back with his own punch, it’s Sam he hits—Sammy, who’s still clinging onto Dean’s jacket, gets sent flying into the metal lockers with a gasp of pain.
Dean’s eyes darken, and he walks slowly back in Jeff’s direction. This boy is not going to survive, not if Dean can help it.
“No, Dean, stop! He’s not worth it!” Sam cries, and he’s lying on the nasty tile floor where he was knocked over but still trying to pull Dean away, tears on his cheeks like the girl Jeff seems to think he is.
“Stop crying, Sammy!” Dean hisses, low, but Jeff hears. “Yeah, stop crying, Sammy! You’re only a little bit of a brother-fucker, we know it’s not the end of the world!”
A murmur ripples through the crowd of students, and Dean swears. “When you gonna stop spreadin’ lies, Reynolds?” he spits, actual spittle flying from his mouth. “Too busy makin’ up shit about other folks instead of getting a girlfriend yourself, huh?”
The students around them seem unsure of what to do. The majority of them just stand there, stunned, but at least they seem to be on Sam and Dean’s side of things. Dean hears a couple “Jeff had that one coming,” whispers from along the line of junior girls.
“Yeah, why don’t you shut your fat mouth, Reynolds!” shouts someone who Dean can’t see. “That’s disgusting!”
Others join him. Dean’s itching to finish this damn fight but Sammy’s tugging at him, up on his feet and pulling him away from the center and into the crowd.
Mr. Smith, who’s been trapped behind a wall of kids, wrestles his way to the front, and his grip is tight around Jeff’s wrist.
Sam grabs Dean, and they slip away.
***
Sam stands over the fire, looking at the small pile of burning photo paper in front of them. The polaroids are a sharp, unpleasant smell in his nostrils, but he and Dean have decided it’s for the best. (“We wouldn’t be doing this if you could just be more careful with things, Dean!” he’d said at first, but now they were here and it was over.)
There’s just one left, the picture of Sam smiling shyly into the camera, lip-glossed and happy and staring at Dean. That one was the best of them all, and Dean’s keeping it in his wallet.
Besides, Sam thinks, feeling the comforting itch of lace against his cock, he knows they’ll eventually be taking more anyway.
comments + reblogs are appreciated this is also on ao3:)
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Sam hadn’t thought it was actually possible for anyone to come untouched - he’d always thought it was a fake porn thing. Of course, he’d always thought that Dean would never give in to him, too. For once, though, he was alright with being proven wrong.
