Archive of Our Own

June 1999

The day after Sam finished his sophomore year, the last three months of which had been completed at Eisenhower High in Des Moines, Iowa, Dad bundled them into the Impala and steered her for Arizona. Their destination was the desert, not the mountains. Dean was happy enough to get away from the Iowan cornfields and the sorry trailer they’d been living in, but he wasn’t happy when Dad said they’d be staying behind while John met up with Caleb to investigate a spate of possible demon omens in a nothing town halfway between Phoenix and Tucson. Dean had learned where demons were concerned, his dad was extra cautious, so he wasn’t exactly surprised when John deposited him and Sam miles away from anything in an even nothing-er town called Dateland.

Sam didn’t seem to mind that John was sequestering them like babies until he realized the town was so small it didn’t even have a library. All Dateland seemed to be made of was a few blocks of identical residential housing, a dusty market, an elementary school, a truck stop, and the motel.

The motel was optimistically called The Palm Oasis. The seventies-era L-shaped stucco building had been bleached bone-white by the relentless desert sun. It had two floors of rooms with doors that opened to the outside. John got them a corner room on the bottom floor, the farthest one from the entrance. He prepaid and told them he’d be back in a week. He didn’t even stay a night before gassing up the Impala and leaving them stranded at The Palm Oasis.

 Their room was better than some of the places they’d stayed, worse than others. The tub had a rust ring around the drain, but the water flowed hot. The two beds were doubles, not queens, but the TV worked. There was a microwave and a mini-fridge and a suspicious stain on the carpet right outside the bathroom.

The most promising thing about The Palm Oasis was the unremarkable rectangle of a pool in the courtyard between the rooms and the little office building out front. A handful of deck chairs ringed the edge, the kind with the vinyl strips that got burning hot under the sun and pinched your skin if you happened to sit down without a towel between you and the vinyl. They looked like they might once have been flamingo pink but over time had faded to pus yellow.

Dean liked swimming. The skill had been drummed into him by John when he was about eight, one summer they’d had access to a chilly Minnesota lake when John had been looking into a string of disappearances in the woods. Dean had caught on quickly enough—what kid didn’t like to splash around in the water? Yeah, Dean liked swimming fine.

But Sam loved it. Sam was four that summer, just barely, and he was like part fish or something, swimming farther, diving deeper, staying in longer than Dean ever wanted to.

Since then, they’d both become strong swimmers—handy when hunting water-based creatures, and a way to pass the time when the crappy motels of the moment had a pool, which was not all that often.

Sam flopped down on the bed closer to the bathroom, leaving the one by the door for Dean. He toed off his sneakers and opened the book he was reading.

Dean counted the cash Dad had thrust into his hand before he left. If he was truly only gone a week, they should have enough for food. Probably. But John’s “I’ll be back in a week” had a way of turning into a week and a half, sometimes two, and there was the matter of the room. Dean stuffed the bills into his wallet with a tiny sigh. He’d figure something out. He always did.

He eyed his brother in his plain gray tee and frayed jeans. It was ninety degrees outside, but Dean was pretty sure Sam didn’t own shorts, not to mention swim trunks, since he’d grown out of his last pair ages ago. He’d been a chubby middle-schooler, but the minute he turned fourteen he’d shot up, lean and lanky, and hadn’t stopped growing since. Sixteen for a few months now, he was as tall as Dean, but hadn’t started to fill his frame out with muscle the way Dean had.

He had a feeling it would only be a matter of time before Sam’s shoulders had the same power and heft as their dad’s. Sam already knew how to win a fight, long arms giving him an advantage. Pair that with muscle and one day his baby brother would be unstoppable. They’d make a good team, Dean was sure of it, taking on the monsters that most of the world thought were just scary stories to tell in the dark.

But for now, they were sidelined while Dad was on the job. He nudged Sam’s denim-clad leg. “Hey, let’s go stock up.”

“You go,” Sam said without looking up from his book.

“Forget it. We need to get a bunch of stuff. I’m not carrying it all on my own.”

Sam sighed, read a few more lines, then set the book aside. “Where is there to stock up around here?”

The motel was literally the only thing besides dirt on this side of the highway, but they could walk to the other side on the narrow overpass.

“We’ll try the market first. Come on, I’m hungry.”

Sam slid his shoes back on, brushed the hair out of his eyes. That was another thing that had been growing non-stop. He’d apparently decided he needed long hair to go with his long frame, and it was so shaggy now it reached the bottom of his ears. Dean enjoyed making fun of it, but he couldn’t deny the look worked for Sam. He’d seen the way girls at school checked him out on the occasions Dean had dropped him off or picked him up. Sam was objectively cute; his dimples and hair gave him a kind of softness that chicks obviously dug.

Dean couldn’t begrudge his brother the attention. The Winchesters had charisma, what could he  say? Growing up he’d seen the way women responded to his dad, John’s polite manners coupled with a lazy grin drawing them in, their maternal instincts aroused when they learned he was raising two boys on his own. Dean had learned from watching John how far politeness and a well-placed compliment could get you. Sam was learning the same lessons, no doubt, though Dean had never actually seen him use the Winchester charm to get farther with a girl than exchanging chemistry notes.

Dean stood up, made sure he had his wallet, and debated leaving his flannel behind. He’d be sweltering in it, but the sun wasn’t as kind to his skin as it was to Sam’s. In the end, he tied it around his waist, waited for Sam to put his shoes back on, then shut the door to room 118 carefully behind them.

***

The market was more like the modern version of a country store. There were aisles of off-brand generic groceries and an anemic produce section, but also household goods, an aisle of tools, a small section of clothes and shoes, and a couple of spinning racks of paperbacks.

Sam, naturally, checked the books out first. Dean looked at the clothes, mostly scratchy T-shirts and shapeless dresses, but he found a couple of pairs of cheap plastic flip-flops for a dollar each. It wasn’t their usual style, but they’d protect their feet from being burned on the concrete pool deck. He tucked them into the handbasket he’d picked up on the way in.

He’d decided to think of this week in Dateland as a vacation for him and Sam. Even though a large part of him wanted to be with John, hunting the thing that killed Mom, backing up his father, and proving to him that he could hold his own on any hunt, he didn’t mind a little downtime. He and Sam were older now. It wasn’t like when they were kids and Dad would leave and Dean had to bear the stress of keeping things together, of taking care of Sam, literally. He supposed Sam could pretty well take care of himself now. They had nothing to do for a week but watch TV and chill by the pool.

Sam could use a summer break, anyway. He’d studied hard for his finals, had pulled an all-nighter working on an essay for his English class even though Dean had told him there was no way he wouldn’t get an A. He’d refrained from adding that his grades didn’t particularly matter anyway, since that line of thinking always earned him Sam’s patented bitch face.

Yeah, Sam needed a break, like a normal sixteen-year-old kid. Dean didn’t have much power in this world. But he could make this week fun for Sam.

He dug around the clothes rack until he came up with a pair of bright green swim trunks that looked like they might fit his beanpole of a brother. A glance at the tag had him swallowing. Nine ninety-nine. Their funds definitely wouldn’t stretch to include what John would no doubt consider unnecessary purchases. But what were they supposed to do—wear their boxers into the pool? Dean had a pair of black nylon athletic shorts he usually saved for laundry day. He could wear those. Sam needed these.

He added them to the basket.

Sam had three paperbacks in his hands. At Dean’s raised eyebrows, Sam said, “Three for five bucks. I have my own money.”

“Okay, Sammy.” He glanced at the titles. Two seemed to be adventure novels, and the third one was Jaws. Nice.

Dean avoided the rest of the aisles that might tempt him into further spending and tried to figure out how to maximize the rest of their food budget. Sam grabbed a basket for himself, added bananas and apples. Dean snagged peanut butter, canned tuna, refried beans. He was an expert at low-cost proteins.

At least they didn’t need plates, bowls, or cutlery. They each had a mess kit they used and washed in between meals, with a few extra containers and utensils besides.

They got mayo, milk, cereal, bread. He decided chips and a can of salted nuts were worthy splurges. They needed the calories. Sam made puppy eyes at him over gummy worms, and Dean relented, and added a couple Snickers for himself. They might be on a budget, but he was already putting them in a hole with the swim trunks; he’d have to do something to make money before the end of the week anyway. But he put his foot down when Sam grabbed a bottle of sunscreen.

“No, Sam.”

“It’s Arizona in June. We’re going to need it.”

“We’ll be careful.”

“Dean. You know you’re going to turn into a lobster if you don’t use this.”

“It’s like six bucks. That’s crazy.”

“I’ll pay for it, then.” Sam put it in his basket, then looked at his books, and back over to the rack they came from as if realizing he’d have to return one or more to be able to cover the sunscreen.

Dean did some mental math. He knew Sam hadn’t been able to save much money in Iowa since he’d been too busy with school to get a job. Dean hadn’t had much work, either. He’d mostly helped John with a few different jobs around the state. Dean would have liked to have his own stash of savings, but more often than not whatever extra he was able to scrape together went to food or stuff Sam needed for school.

This food would last for the next few days at least. They’d just worry about later…later. He snagged the bottle back, and went first in the checkout line. The tired-looking woman at the register checked him out silently, bagging the items in tissue-thin plastic bags. He handed over all the cash John had given them less a precious twenty, which he made sure was securely in his wallet before he put it back in his pocket.

Sam paid for his books with a ten. Dean didn’t see any other bills in the billfold when he stuffed the four dollars and change back inside.

They may have been cash poor, but as they hiked back over the overpass to the motel, the bags split evenly between them, Dean felt strangely happy. Sam was by his side, and they had a week of relative freedom ahead of them.

They talked about the way they should spend the rest of the day, and decided to make an early dinner, take a swim, then finish the night off with whatever movie looked best on cable.

Sam didn’t complain about the warm tuna sandwiches, just scarfed two down, plus an apple, chips, and a bunch of water from the tap. Dean hadn’t been able to stretch the budget to afford beer, so he drank water, too. Even the tinny tap water tasted good after their hike in the hot afternoon sun.

As Sam helped himself to a second apple, Dean suppressed a frown. Even if he hadn’t bought the trunks and flip-flops, the money Dad left wouldn’t have been enough for the week, the way Sam was growing—and eating. In Iowa, it hadn’t been so noticeable. He’d signed himself up for some student meal program and eaten breakfast and lunch at school. But now Dean realized that if Sam’s frame was ever going to catch up to the inches he’d added, he needed way more nutrition than a dollar a day in peanut butter and bananas.

He could ask the Palm Oasis hotel clerk if they needed any odd jobs done, or he could try hitching to one of the neighboring towns to see if they had more work opportunities than tiny Dateland. While Sam was changing into his swim trunks in the bathroom, he glanced at their map, but the nearest towns didn’t look any bigger than Dateland and he couldn’t leave Sam long enough to go all the way to Phoenix.

His mind landed on the truck stop, on the other side of the highway, and down the way from the market. They hadn’t explored it yet. From a distance, it looked old, lightly trafficked. But Dean knew that might be his only option. He’d done it a few times, though not in a while. It always made him embarrassingly shaky with nerves ahead of time and feeling vaguely ill for a day or two after, but it was cash.

He’d think about that later, after they’d exhausted their other options. He carefully folded the map and was rooting around in his bag for those athletic shorts when Sam came out of the bathroom in the green trunks, his other clothes wadded up in his hands. He had a bit of a farmer’s tan, and a faint trail of hair from his belly button that disappeared into the waistband of the shorts.

Dean blinked. When had Sam grown a treasure trail? It seemed his baby brother had finally left boyhood behind for good. Dean knew he wasn’t a kid anymore, intellectually, but he’d wanted to keep him there, in between childhood and adulthood, for a little longer. He wanted to keep Sam in the space where Dean could still pretend he had enough control to keep Sam away from the worst of what their lives had in store for them.

He realized he’d been staring when Sam arched an eyebrow at him. He turned back to his task and Sam threw his clothes on his bed and slipped into the cheap sandals.

“I’m going to see if they have extra towels,” Sam announced. “Don’t forget the sunscreen.”

Dean wanted to argue, but he knew Sam was right. He tended to burn before he tanned, and with the solstice only about a week away there was still plenty of sunshine left in which he could get burned. “What about you?”

“I did my face,” Sam said, then left, the flip-flops making a silly smacking sound against the pavement as he took off toward the pool.

A compromise, Dean figured. The little tube wouldn’t last long if they both covered their entire bodies with the stuff. Dean changed quickly, checking the progress on a healing cut that had taken two stitches about a month ago. Looked fine. He dutifully smeared the smelly sunscreen over his face, then swiped some halfheartedly across his shoulders and arms. He lifted the cord that held the amulet Sam had given him when they were little and rubbed the last of it onto the back of his neck. He couldn’t reach his back and he didn’t want to. Instead, he put on his pair of flip-flops, disliking the feeling of the cheap plastic thong between his toes, and shut the door.

The room’s air conditioner wasn’t much, but it did keep the inside temperature comfortable. It seemed like it had gotten hotter outside while they were eating dinner. The air above the asphalt shimmered. The pool actually did sort of resemble an oasis, blue and bright, where everything else was a faded shade of desert white.

Sam was there, two striped towels under his arm. Dean spotted the small pile of them on a plastic shelf set up by the gated entrance to the pool. He was glad the place offered them so they wouldn’t have to make their shower towels do double duty. Dean watched Sam stake a claim on a deck chair with one eye while he surveyed the other people on the pool deck with the other.

It was Wednesday evening, but more than half the motel parking lot was full, so he guessed summer vacation had brought out the road trippers in decent enough numbers to keep this place in business. That’s who seemed to be at the pool, for the most part, road-weary parents and kids antsy from being in the car all day splashing and dunking each other obnoxiously. But the pool had a six-foot deep end that the little kids were staying clear of, so Sam, ignoring the no diving sign, made a shallow dive and started doing short laps across the deep end.

Dean made his way to their chair, left his flip-flops next to Sam’s, and just watched Sam swim for a minute, ignoring the discomfort of his bare soles on the burning hot concrete. Sam’s ridiculously long arms made it seem like he was crossing the pool in a single stroke. Sam paused at the lip of the pool, staring up at Dean, water streaming off his hair which looked almost black wet, water droplets on his face sparkling in the sun.

“You getting in or what?” Sam asked, flicking water onto his feet. “It’s not cold.”

Dean didn’t answer, just backed up a couple of steps, then propelled himself forward and cannonballed into the center of the pool. The water wasn’t cold, but it wasn’t hot, and he felt it like a pleasant shock to the system after the heat of the day. He came up smiling. Sam was smiling too.

They swam long enough that the adults dragged the little kids inside, one by one, each one throwing a small tantrum before finally obeying their parents. Dean wondered what it would have been like to be able to throw a tantrum like that and simply have a parent shake their head in exasperation, letting him get it out of his system before moving on with their day.

They swam until the sun dropped down behind the motel, and they could see the first stars coming out in the east. They were alone, Dean lazily treading water, starting to get properly cold now, but not wanting to be the first one to suggest they go in. Sam had swum like a million laps, but now he was floating peacefully like a starfish, hands, and legs outstretched.

The squeak of the gate at the entrance of the pool drew Dean’s attention. A man, mid-thirties, maybe, in board shorts and a wife beater, an orange beach towel slung over his shoulder, closed the gate behind him. He met Dean’s gaze and nodded in a friendly way. Dean nodded back, reserved, wary as he was around all strangers.

The man moved his eyes over to Sam, and was it Dean’s imagination, or did they linger a little too long? He ended up on a deck chair a few down from their stuff.

“Nice night,” the guy said, shuffling out of his own sandals, pulling his wife beater over his head. He had a trim body, pale skin, not toned but not flabby. No tattoos, but his hair was crew-cut short, and he held himself with the posture of military, or at least son of.

Dean didn’t really want to make small talk, but a glance at Sam told him he wasn’t ready to go in yet. “Yeah. Cooling off.”

“No moisture to capture the heat overnight,” the guy said. “But it’ll be a scorcher tomorrow. Supposed to be near a hundred.”

Dean whistled. “I can believe it.”

The guy stood there, not getting in. Dean moved closer to Sam instinctively. Sam stood up where he was, water hitting him at his navel. The lights had come on in the parking lot, and the light poles threw shadows over the pool area. Sam’s face was dark, but his torso was lit up, flat and lean, with baby muscles just beginning to show. He looked somehow indecent, like one of those controversial Calvin Klein ad models, all skin and hipbones and flat brown nipples.

Dean looked back at the guy, somehow knowing where he’d be looking. He wasn’t wrong.

“Well, my fingers are all pruney. Time to head in,” he said to Sam.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. He threw himself backward, gliding to the steps in the shallow end. Dean waded out, and they toweled off quickly, the dry desert air doing more to suck the water off than the thin towels.

The guy was sitting on the edge of the pool now, his legs in the water. He had an unremarkable face, brown hair, brown eyes, a couple of moles dotting his white skin.

“You boys have a good night,” he said.

“Yeah, you too,” Dean replied, wrapping the pool towel around his shoulders, finding his flip-flops without looking down at them. Sam had his towel wrapped around his waist, leaving his top bare again. Dean willed him to cover up, but he just took off for the room. Dean glanced back when they got to the door. The guy was still watching them. It wasn’t until after they’d locked up that Dean heard the faint splash of a body hitting the water.

***

The next day the room phone rang at seven sharp, waking Dean out of a deep sleep he felt like he’d only just dropped into.

“‘Lo?”

“Wake up call, Dean.” John’s voice boomed over the phone, waking Dean up properly. Even Sam stirred in his bed.

“How are things?” Dean asked, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He and Sam had stayed up late watching the Star Trek movie with the whales.

“Good as can be expected,” John said shortly. “You boys staying out of trouble?”

“Yes, sir,” Dean said automatically. His gaze slid over to the salt lines, to the sigils. Nothing had been disturbed.

“Good. I’m glad you and your brother are nowhere near this business. We keep finding one omen after another but nothing definitive yet. You stay put and I’ll check in a few days.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean said again. He opened his mouth but wasn’t sure what he wanted to say. Hey Dad, we’re going to run out of money. Hey Dad, a creepy guy was checking out Sam. Hey Dad, what do we do if you don’t come back?

But Dean didn’t say any of those things. He never did.

There was a pause in which John didn’t say anything either. Dean mentally filled in the silence. Hey Dean, I’ll wire you some money. Hey Dean, I wish I had you on this hunt. Hey Dean, I love you. And then John said a gruff, “Be good, take care of your brother,” and hung up.

Dean slowly returned the receiver to the cradle.

“Everything okay?” Sam asked, voice muffled by his pillow.

“Yeah. Fine. They’re finding a lot of omens.” Dean heard his own voice come out flat and emotionless.

Sam sighed and rolled onto his back. “Great.”

“He says he’ll check back in a few days.” Dean turned on his side, facing Sam. He pushed aside his worry for John, the looming necessity to do something about their lack of funds, and reminded himself they were kinda sorta on vacation. John had taken most of their arsenal so they couldn’t spend time cleaning or testing the weapons. They could go for a run, but swimming counted as exercise, didn’t it, and wouldn’t kill them with heat exhaustion.

Dean got up, used the bathroom. It smelled like chlorine. They’d rinsed out their swim trunks and left them to drip dry on the shower curtain bar. Dean touched his pair. Completely dry. Nothing stayed wet for long in this climate.

Sam was still in bed when he went over to their makeshift kitchen. There was no coffee maker, so he boiled water in a paper cup in the microwave and mixed them up two mugs of instant. For a minute he thought about walking over to the truck stop for some real coffee. He bet they had something greasy and filling just waiting for him under a warming bulb, too. He shoved aside his hunger and poured himself a bowl of cereal. At least the fridge worked, and the milk was cold. It was the little things.

Sam sat up, pursing his pink lips to blow on the surface of his coffee-flavored water. Dean swallowed and looked away.

***

The day passed surprisingly quickly. They swam until they were waterlogged, then laid out on the deck chairs to read while they dried out. Sam had harped on Dean about the sunscreen, and even though he’d never admit it, he was grateful not to be nursing a burn. Instead, he pulled his chair into some shade and was halfway through Jaws by the time the road trippers started rolling into the motel, kids in tow.

He and Sam ducked back to their room and left the pool to the families, watched gameshows, and ate more tuna. Sam sat on his bed, shirtless again. He was developing a nice tan—the T-shirt line he’d started the day with yesterday had almost disappeared as his skin absorbed the sunlight and turned it golden. It was a good look on him. He looked rested for once. Dean couldn’t help a small swell of pride. Sam was his responsibility at the end of the day. He wanted to think he’d been doing a decent job, even though he still thought Sam needed a few more square meals to pad out his ribs and his boney shoulder blades.

The room smelled like tuna, so Dean opened the door to let some fresh, hot air in. Though the gap in the curtains he could see the pool emptying out the later it got.

“You want to go back out, Ariel?” he asked Sam.

Sam rolled his eyes. “I guess. True Lies doesn’t start until ten.”

“Sweet.”

Sam padded ahead of Dean across the concrete, his bright green shorts glowing almost neon in the fluorescent parking lot lights. The pool was deserted when they got there. Dean felt pleasantly warm, if not exactly full. He wanted their stores to last as long as possible. Instead of diving in the way Sam did, he sat at the edge of the pool, the heat from the concrete seeping through the fabric of his shorts, his feet cooling in the water.

The gate squeaked. Dean turned his head, his heart sinking. It was the guy from the last night. The friendly guy. He was wearing the same thing as the night before, board shorts, wife beater. He smiled when he saw Dean.

“Hey there.”

Dean nodded a greeting, turned back to the water. Sam was doing full length laps, taking advantage of the empty pool.

“You kids stuck around,” the guy said as he sat kitty corner to Dean on the edge of the pool, mirroring his position. “Most people are only here for a night.”

Dean had no intention of telling this clown anything about them, but he figured he didn’t have anything to gain by being outright rude. “We’re still here,” he said, with a fake smile.

The guy glanced at Sam, then back at Dean. “I’m Jimmy.”

Dean almost responded reflexively with his name but changed his mind at the last minute. “Mike.”

“And who’s your friend, Mike?” the older man asked, nodding at Sam. The way he said Mike, Dean was pretty sure Jimmy was aware it was a fake name.

“Luke,” Dean answered. “Parents are big fans of the New Testament.”

“Michael was an archangel from the Old Testament, not the New,” Jimmy said with a smile, as if happy to catch Dean out.

“And also in Revelations.”

Dean turned at the sound of Sam’s voice. His brother was treading water a few feet away. He tried to give Sam a warning look, but Sam was looking at Jimmy.

“Which is in the New Testament,” Sam finished.

Jimmy laughed good-naturedly. “Got me there.”

“You ready to go in?” Dean said to Sam.

Before he could answer, Jimmy broke in, “Aw, don’t go on my account. I’ve had my head buried in spreadsheets all day. I’m holing up here while my house has some work done to it, and my social skills are rusty. You boys ignore me. Have your fun.”

Sam just started into the backstroke. Dean was torn. He wasn’t the type to back down from a challenge, and Jimmy was clearly challenging them not to run away. But no matter how non-threatening this dude appeared with his spreadsheets and his cover story to explain his extended stay at The Palm Oasis, he set off Dean’s Spidey-Sense.

Dean reminded himself he’d killed creatures a lot scarier than Jimmy and decided not to let one weirdo ruin their night. He slid into the pool, shaking off the sensation of being watched, and dove under the water, trying to sneak up on Sam and grab him around the ankle. He had to time it right, because if he didn’t he’d get a kick in the face, but sometimes he was successful in catching Sam out, and watching him sputter was always priceless. This time he got a firm grip and yanked him out of his stroke. Sam shouted and then laughed and used his forearm to send a gallon of water into Dean’s face. It was on. They splashed and wrestled, laughing and choking on pool water in equal turns. Dean forgot about Jimmy, and when he stood up in the shallow end, breathing hard, a few minutes later he looked but Jimmy was gone.

***

The third day at The Palm Oasis went much like the second, except the day started later as there was no wake-up call from Dad.

Instead, Dean woke up slowly, becoming aware of the wet spot on his pillow where he was drooling and shifted away. He was face down, covers kicked to the bottom of the bed in the night, wearing just his boxers. He could see Sam, still asleep, similarly clad. It seemed like Sam hadn’t worn a shirt for more than five minutes all week. His face was slack with sleep, his hair fallen over his face. Dean spared a minute to hope that Dad was okay, and another to feel grateful that he and Sam were relatively safe, that Sam was maybe a little bored, but he was whole and healthy and Dean could still put a smile on his face with the promise of gummy worms and watching a movie together, elbow to elbow on the motel bed.

As he lay there, he became aware of his dick coming to life with morning wood. He shifted again, rubbing against the mattress a little, eyes never leaving Sam. He realized what he was doing, stilled. Sighed. He rolled onto his back, ignoring his erection, cutting Sam off from his line of sight. It was something that happened sometimes, this weird tangled up-ness of Sam and desire that he didn’t understand and never let himself think about long enough to try.

He had eyes, okay? He could see how attractive Sam was, how gorgeous he’d be in a few more years. He had dreams sometimes, too. Blurred, hazy dreams that usually involved kissing and laughing and feeling warm and happy. But no one could control their dreams. They didn’t mean anything.

The occasional daydream couldn’t be explained away, he admitted. Sometimes when they were on the road for long stretches, he filled the time by imagining what it would be like if it was just him and Sam in the Impala. If they were on the road together, but they weren’t chasing anything, and nothing was chasing them. In his daydreams, the road stretched out ahead of them and they could go anywhere they wanted, do anything they wanted. He’d think about Sam sitting in the passenger seat, looking over at him and smiling. He’d think about dropping his arm over the back of the Impala’s front seat, tangling his fingers in the hair at the nape of Sam’s neck. Sam would scoot closer, would put his hand on Dean’s thigh. He’d say, “What do you want me to do?” Dean’s brain would flood with a million things, some as innocent as Sam letting him kiss him on the forehead goodnight, some not so innocent. And then he’d remember where he was, what he was, and he’d will away the erection that would somehow have formed while he was daydreaming, and he’d stuff it all into a box until the next sunny day when the long hours on the road led his mind to wander again.

Dean rolled over, swung himself out of bed, and went to take a cold shower without letting himself grab another look at his brother.

***

Sam ate their last banana at lunch. They were out of tuna. The candy was gone, and Dean couldn’t decide what he wanted more—a hot, greasy cheeseburger, or something to drink that wasn’t lukewarm tap water. They still hadn’t explored the truck stop, and they could buy more groceries with the twenty in Dean’s wallet, though Dean was reluctant to use all their cash. What if Dad needed them to catch a bus and meet him somewhere? What if Dad didn’t come back at the end of the week like he’d promised?

Instead of heading back out to the pool after their dinner of peanut butter sandwiches, they put their jeans on. The denim felt strange and stiff against Dean’s skin after two days in shorts. It had gotten steadily hotter as the week wore on, and he didn’t bother with another layer on top of his T-shirt. Sam didn’t either. They walked over the overpass, took a left instead of a right.

The truck stop was farther away than it looked, and they were sweating through their shirts by the time they pushed through the doors. It was a standard layout—mini-mart up front, small window where you could order hot food to eat at one of several built-in wooden tables, a hallway that led to bathrooms, coin-operated showers, and lockers.

The sour-faced guy working the register gave them a hard look, as if he could sense their desperation and was warning them off any thoughts of shoplifting. Dean had lifted plenty in the past, but being over eighteen, it was riskier. He could no longer flash a charming little-kid grin or claim it was a misunderstanding. He shoved down a flare of irritation at John for making him even think about having to shoplift. Or do the other thing he was probably going to have to do.

The air in the mini-mart was refrigerator cold and smelled like fryer grease. Dean shivered and his stomach rumbled. Maybe they could get some French fries. If they spent ten dollars on food, they’d have ten left for emergencies.

God, he was delusional. Ten bucks was nothing. He’d have to man up and do something about this. Tonight. He would come back here after Sam fell asleep.

Sam was browsing the magazine rack, hands in his pockets as if he wanted to show the register guy he wasn’t about to sneak anything into them.

“I’ll be back in a second,” Dean said. He didn’t wait for Sam to answer, just took off for the back. He heard a shower running behind one of the closed doors, passed the bathrooms, and opened the back door that led to the parking area behind the structure. Only three big rigs were parked in the wide open space. His stomach sank. He didn’t like his odds, though maybe there’d be more traffic later.

He just didn’t want to do it. And it wasn’t the cock sucking part he minded. That part could be good—and had been, on several occasions with a couple of guys back when he was still going to school, and more than one bar hook up the last couple of years. It was the part where he was doing it for money. It wasn’t even the same as a hunt, where he and Dad and sometimes Sam put their bodies on the line to save lives. They usually didn’t even get paid for that.

There was all kinds of work in this world, Dean knew, and most people hated their jobs, so he just had to suck this up—sadly literally—and do what he had to do.

Sam had a funny expression on his face when he came back to the market area. “You okay?”

“Peachy,” Dean said shortly. “You want some fries?”

They split an order of fries, slathered with salt and ketchup. It felt good to eat something hot. After they’d practically licked the paper tray clean, Sam picked out a pack of hardboiled eggs and some cheese sticks. Dean grabbed jerky and a pack of gummy worms for Sam because he was a sap. They left with twelve dollars between them.

***

They watched the second half of some movie about football and while Sam was in the shower, Dean geared up. He took his wallet out of his pocket and put three condoms in its place. His butterfly knife went in the other pocket. He decided not to shower now. He figured it wouldn’t make much difference to his potential customers. Besides, he’d want to clean up when he got back.

He thought about taking off before Sam got out of the shower and just leaving him a note, but before he could find a pen Sam stepped out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist, hair dripping wet.

“You going somewhere?” Sam asked gruffly. When did his voice get so low?

“Not tired. Thought I’d go for a walk.” Dean didn’t elaborate and Sam didn’t ask. He just let out a soft, sad breath of air that made Dean want to curl up on the bed next to his brother and never leave this room.

“Okay,” Sam said. “Be safe.”

Dean swallowed, unable to respond. He nodded, grabbed his flannel, and took off. He knew Sam would lock up behind him.

He’d gotten as far as the edge of the parking lot when a figure approaching from the main office intercepted him. Fucking Jimmy.

Dean sighed, waved halfheartedly when Jimmy smiled at him with teeth.

“Mike, hey. Didn’t see you and Luke at the pool tonight. Thought maybe you’d taken off.”

“Not yet,” Dean said, trying to step around him. Jimmy stepped to the side, blocking him.

“Hey, so, you know what’s crazy? I bought some soda today and when I got it home it turns out it was beer. I’m not a drinker, but I thought you and your brother might want it.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “You want to give me beer?”

Jimmy’s smile never wavered. “Unless your parents would disapprove.”

Dean lifted his chin. Okay, so this guy thought he had them all figured out. He was a creep, and he was way too interested in them, and he was trying to give them alcohol like it was some kind of bribe. But then Dean saw the bigger picture. Even if he turned Jimmy down and went to the truck stop to try to get a trucker to pay forty bucks for a blow job, Jimmy knew which room they were in. If he saw Dean leave, he’d know Sam was alone. His shoulders sagged a little as it hit Dean he couldn’t leave now. Jimmy’s eyes were still trained on him, sharp and assessing. Maybe the beer was a hint there was more to be had if Dean played along.

“I guess we could take it off your hands,” he said, testing the waters. He let his gaze drop to Jimmy’s mouth, then back up. He smiled, going for charming and probably landing somewhere around sleazy.

Jimmy’s pupils dilated. “All right,” he said, his voice a little breathless. “You want to come get it now?”

“Sure.” Dean remembered how Jimmy had been at the pool. How he’d watched them. “You want to watch me drink it?”

“You think your brother wants some?” Jimmy said instead of answering.

That stopped Dean. Letting some perv get to second base with him for grocery money was just another shitty but necessary thing in Dean’s life. But the whole point of him doing shit like that was so Sam didn’t have to.

“He doesn’t drink,” Dean said, after a long pause.

“Underage,” Jimmy said understandingly. But the word’s connotations made Dean’s skin crawl. Jesus, this guy was such a scumbag.

Dean was about to hurry things along when Jimmy said, “Too bad. If you and him wanted to come get the beer…together…” He bit his lip, the first nervous gesture Dean had seen him make. “I’d pay,” Jimmy said in a low voice. “Figure two kids on the run like you could use extra cash.”

On the run? What did Jimmy think was going on here? Then it sank in what he’d said. He wanted him and Sam, together. Had he forgotten they were brothers? Did he think they were lying? Or was that part of the appeal? Either way, Dean wasn’t letting Sam get anywhere near this lowlife.

On the other hand, cash was cash, and Jimmy was practically a sure thing, unlike the truckers who might be just as likely to punch him as want him to blow them.

“I think we could work something out,” Dean said. “But not with Luke. He’s just a kid.”

Jimmy’s smile dropped. “No. Both of you or no deal.”

“Forget it,” Dean said. He turned to leave. He’d just have to try the truck stop tomorrow night.

“Wait. I’ll only watch, I swear. Both of you, but I just watch. Okay?”

“How much?” he asked without turning around. He wasn’t going to do it, but he was curious how much cash this pervert could come up with.

“Two hundred,” Jimmy said.

“Two fifty,” Dean said, wincing after the words left his mouth. Negotiating was second nature to him.

“Two fifty. Room 210.”

Dean walked back to their room slowly, taking the long way around the L of the building instead of cutting across the courtyard. When he got back, the room door was slightly open. He pushed it open trepidatiously, but Sam was just sitting calmly on Dean’s bed.

“I heard you talking to Jimmy,” Sam said. “I think we should do it.”

“Fuck no.”

“We need the money, right?”

“He’s a fucking pedophile. He wants to get his rocks off watching two boys—two brothers—mess around.”

“Better than you getting beaten up or arrested for soliciting at a goddamn truck stop. Or worse.” Sam sounded disturbingly matter of fact, more like a man than a little kid.

Dean stared at his brother. His little brother, who shouldn’t know about shit like that. Who shouldn’t know about the things Dean had done to survive, who shouldn’t know about evil and death and pain. But he did. He knew too much. And he saw more than Dean wanted to admit.

“How did you hear us, anyway?” Dean said to buy himself time. That was when he noticed that Sam’s shirt was on inside out and his shoes were unlaced. No socks. He must have gotten dressed super fast and followed Dean. To find out where he was going? Or to watch his back?

“Never mind,” he said when Sam didn’t answer. “Look, we need the money but it’s my job to—”

“No, it’s not,” Sam interrupted. “Dad should have left us more or left us in a place we could find work. He’s thinking more about the job than us lately. You shouldn’t have to—to sell yourself because Dad doesn’t give a shit about us.”

“He left us here because he’s trying to keep us safe.”

Sam glared at him and stood up. “You don’t have to come. But I’m going to get that two-fifty.”

Dean backed up, barring the door with his body. “No, you aren’t.”

“Then what are we going to do, Dean? Starve until Dad remembers us?”

Dean sagged against the door, hands balled into fists. He was so angry. Mostly at himself for not figuring out a way to keep Sam from having to make this call. “Sam, think about this. Do you really understand what he wants to see?”

Sam swallowed. Dean tracked his Adam’s apple as it bobbed up and down. “He said he had beer. We’ll get buzzed and…it’ll be fine.”

“I’m not getting buzzed—what if he tries to—look, this is a really, really, really bad idea.”

“You said really too many times,” Sam said. He stepped close, so close Dean could smell the shampoo scent of his hair. “It’s fine. I don’t—” He stopped, took a deep breath. “This won’t scar me for life any worse than watching you get thrown around by a ghost or seeing Dad’s arm get clawed open by a werewolf.”

“That’s really reassuring,” Dean said faintly.

“It’ll be like wrestling,” Sam said, pressing as close as he could get without touching. “It won’t mean anything. It’s a job.”

Dean thought he might throw up. “If we get there, and anything feels weird, I mean, dangerous weird, we split. Okay?”

Sam smiled a little, knowing he’d won. “Deal. Remember our code word?”

“Poughkeepsie.”

“Come on,” Sam said. “He’s waiting.” He reached past Dean, brushing his side with the back of his hand as he grabbed the doorknob. Dean slid out of the way and let Sam leave first. Dean shut the light in the room off, fumbled as he tested the lock on the door. He still had his butterfly knife. And the condoms. Not that they’d need those, but. His stomach lurched and his palms went sweaty. This was worse than truckers. Truckers were anonymous and he could scrub them from his body with a hot shower and his mind with a good bender. But Sam—he’d remember this forever. Whether he wanted to or not.

Dean hated himself even more because he knew he’d want to remember.

Sam hadn’t bothered to tie his shoes or straighten his shirt. No point, Dean thought desperately. Sam navigated to the staircase in the center of the complex, went up without hesitation. Dean trailed a few feet behind, willing Sam to break first, to tell him this had all been a big joke. A prank.

But Sam only knocked confidently on room 210. Jimmy opened the door barely five seconds later.

“Hey, Luke,” he said, opening the door wider. Sam stepped through and Dean had to go through with it now. He had to protect Sam as well as he could in these fucked up circumstances. He could do that, at least.

Jimmy double-locked the door, checked that the curtains were shut. He had the TV on—a baseball game—but the volume was off. His room had two doubles, just like theirs, both made up neatly. The entire room was neat. Again, Dean got the sense that either Jimmy was ex-military or had been raised by someone with military precision.

“Glad you boys stopped by,” Jimmy said, smiling that fucking annoying smile. Dean didn’t bother to smile back. He didn’t want to pretend they were all pals and he and Sam weren’t doing this because they were desperate.

“You said something about beer?” Dean said.

“Sure, sure,” Jimmy said, walking over to the mini fridge, identical to the one in their room. Dean spotted a six pack of PBR inside. He rolled his eyes. There was no way anyone could mistake PBR for soda.

Jimmy handed one cold can to Dean, a second to Sam. He didn’t take one for himself. Sam cracked the can open, took a swig. He didn’t seem fazed, even though to Dean’s knowledge Sam wasn’t much of a drinker, and when he did partake, he usually drank whatever John had lying around, more often than not Jim Beam.

Dean cracked his open, took a single sip. He had no intention of letting his guard or inhibitions down. He needed to be sharp as a tack in case this already out of hand situation escalated.

“So, you on the swim team, Luke?” Jimmy said.

Dean couldn’t believe this guy. But Sam, on a mission to get two hundred and fifty dollars, said, “Nah. Just do it for fun.”

“Well, you look good out there. With arms like yours, you’d be great at water polo.”

Dean stifled a snort of impatience. What was this guy’s deal? “Hey, Jimmy, this is great, but you think we could see the cash? You know, before we forget.”

Jimmy looked slightly annoyed at Dean’s request, but he nodded, pulled a wad of twenties out of his back pocket. He put the cash on the TV stand, weighed it down with the remote. “It’s all there. Two-sixty, actually. I didn’t have change.”

“No problem,” Dean said, every instinct in him wanting to just grab the cash and run, but even if they cleared the room without incident, they’d still be stuck in the desert with no transportation and he didn’t exactly think Dad would like it if they stole a car over a two hundred and fifty dollar, sorry, two hundred and sixty dollar, score.

He sighed, looked at Sam, who took another slug of his beer and raised his eyebrows at him, as if to commiserate over what a loser this guy was. The expression made him feel strangely better, as if they were in this together. As if this was just another dumb adventure. Maybe they could do this after all.

Sam, as if reading his mind, nodded. Reassurance? Permission? Dean didn’t know, but he nodded back, set down his beer. “So Jimmy, which bed?”

“You don’t want to finish your beer?” Jimmy asked, disappointed.

“Not my brand,” Dean said, sitting on the bed with the cleanest-looking comforter. He shrugged off his flannel, tossed it on the other bed.

Sam drained the last of his can, set the empty next to the stack of cash, then got onto the other side of the bed, toeing his shoes off as he went. Why did Sam seem kind of good at this? Dean felt awkward, like his hands were as big as dinner plates and his heart was going to beat out of his chest.

“Okay, okay,” Jimmy said. He switched off the overhead light, leaving the only light coming from the TV and the lamp on the table between the two beds. Less bright was good. Jimmy sat down in the only chair in the place, a straight-backed desk chair that had seen better days, parked to the right of the TV at the foot of the bed they were on.

Jimmy looked at them expectantly, but if he thought Dean was going to make the first move—

“Could you take off your shirts?” Jimmy asked, as if it was up to them.

Dean pulled his up and off with more confidence than he felt. The amulet felt heavy around his neck. Dean had the impulse to take it off like it was a sacred thing that shouldn’t be here while they did something so…wrong.

He made a move to remove it, but Sam stopped him with a hand to his arm. Dean glanced at Sam. He shook his head minutely. Dean relaxed for a second until Sam took his own shirt off. Then they were just two shirtless guys on a bed with another dude watching them. The feeling of wrongness came back.

“Touch each other.” Dean could barely hear Jimmy over the roaring of blood in his ears. He was about to molest his little brother for money and this was literally their best option for surviving the next few days. “Luke, touch him.”

The fake name brought Dean back to the present. He looked at Sam’s face, at his pretty hazel eyes, and Sam didn’t look disgusted or afraid or traumatized. He was focused on Dean, just on Dean, and he looked serious as if he was trying to solve a particularly challenging math equation. And then he reached over and traced Dean’s collarbone with his fingers and Dean shuddered.

Sam had touched him lots of different ways. In anger, in comfort. He had tickled him, punched him, patched him up. Dean had touched Sam all those ways, too. They touched a lot, actually, pats on the shoulder and knees knocking together under diner tables and brushing the dirt off each other’s backs after digging up a grave.

This touch was nothing like that. This touch felt reverent. It felt new. And it felt like Sam was holding back, tracing fingers on Dean’s skin lightly, when he really wanted something else.

What did he want?

Dean licked his lips and Sam watched him do it and then suddenly Sam’s hands were skimming down Dean’s sides to rest on his waist and time seemed to stop as Sam kept looking at him, looking at him so hard it was as if Dean could feel it, could feel his gaze like a weight on his body, like a caress on his skin. He swayed, and Sam’s grip on his waist tightened, and he tilted his head in that universal way that meant he was ready to be kissed only he was signaling that he was ready to be kissed to his brother and that was…not okay. Right? It wasn’t supposed to be okay. But then Sam tilted his head, too, and dipped down because somehow he had the height advantage here and he brushed his lips across Dean’s, feather-light, then back again, a little harder, and then Dean parted his mouth and Sam’s lips caught on his again and stayed. And they were kissing. And it didn’t feel not okay. It felt very much okay. It felt so warm and good that Dean forgot to breathe and then he had to break it off and gulp a breath as if he’d never been kissed before.

It was almost like he hadn’t. He hadn’t known how intimate a kiss could be until he’d been kissed by the person who knew him best in the entire universe.

Between breaths and more kisses he registered Sam’s hands pulling him closer, pulling him to the middle of the bed, and he registered Jimmy-the-creep telling them to do more of that. But as far as Dean was concerned, he and Sam were alone in the room. They were only there for each other. Sam was his and he was Sam’s and that’s how it had always been but now they were proving it, because Sam was kissing him as if it was the only thing keeping him alive and Dean had only had one sip of beer but he felt drunk on those kisses, on Sammy’s pink, pretty mouth and his firm, darting tongue, and the way his hands felt big and hot against Dean’s skin.

They made out and Dean wrapped his arms around his brother’s back, feeling the knobs of his spine, the wings of his shoulder blades, memorizing the feel of Sam like this before he filled out and grew up and got bigger and stronger and more powerful than Dean would ever be. He knew it would happen someday. But today Sam was still lithe enough that Dean could fold him against his chest and wrap his arms around him and hold him, safe and secure and all for Dean. He lost track of time, but Jimmy’s voice filtered through. “Mike, touch Luke’s dick.”

Well. That was specific. Dean didn’t want to take direction from the pervert, but he did want to touch his brother’s dick. Sam made it easy for him. He leaned back and unzipped his own fly. His erection sprang free immediately, and it was the hottest thing Dean had ever seen, Sammy wearing nothing but a pair of ratty jeans, commando, his proud cock jutting out, rosy red and ready for Dean’s mouth.

He groaned. From behind him, he heard a noise of approval. Jimmy liked what he was seeing. Of course he did. Sam looked like sex. Dean dragged his gaze from his brother’s hard dick to his face. He was flushed and turned on, and he wanted to ask his brother how long he’d wanted this, but he couldn’t, not here. Instead, he reached out and wrapped a hand around Sam’s exposed cock. It pulsed in his hand, hot and hard.

Someone said, “Fuck.” Dean thought afterward it might have been him. He stroked Sam a few times, reveling in the little breathy grunts he was making. Again, it felt like Sam was holding back, as if he wanted to shout and cry but not in front of the monster sitting at the base of the bed. Dean got it, but he still wanted to hear all of Sam’s sounds of pleasure.

“You gonna blow him?” Jimmy asked from far away. “Luke, you want him to blow you?”

Sam ignored Jimmy, locked his gaze on Dean, and nodded, almost imperceptibly. Dean felt even more blood flood to his own rock-hard cock. Before, he would have said he wouldn’t have been able to get hard for his brother, but that would have been a bald-faced lie. He’d hoped he wouldn’t be able to. But he’d been hard since Sam had first put his hands on him. Sam had an excuse—he was sixteen and looking at a stack of cantaloupes in the market could make you hard at sixteen. Of course, a horny sixteen-year-old would want to get his dick sucked. Dean wanted Sam to want him to suck his dick, but he supposed he’d take this instead.

Dean slithered down the bed, while Sam slid up until his back was resting against the pillows. He bent over Sam’s open fly, mouth inches from the prize.

“Wait,” Jimmy said. “Scoot over, I can’t see.”

What a whiny buzzkill. Dean obliged, shuffling over so that his body no longer obscured Jimmy’s line of sight. He tugged at Sam’s jeans until they were halfway down his thighs, and now Dean had a better view himself. He let himself look at Sam’s sac, the dark brown curls around the base of his cock, the soft, smooth skin of his hips and upper thighs, hairless and less tan than the rest of him. He was pretty big, his baby brother, but Dean was certain he still had lots of growing to do.

Sam made a little impatient sound and Dean smiled. “Gonna take care of you,” he muttered, so only Sam could hear. Sam wrapped a hand around the base of his dick and squeezed. He was trying not to come. Dean wondered what it was—his voice? What he’d said? Dean felt on the verge of coming himself, but he forced his own arousal to the back of his mind, concentrated on Sam. He put a hand around the one Sam had on his dick, guiding his little brother to point his dick up and into Dean’s mouth.

Their fingers tangled together as they jerked the base of Sam’s cock while Dean got used to the taste and feel of the tip. Sam tasted a little salty, and a little like pool chemicals. Dean wouldn’t be able to smell chlorine ever again without getting hard. Sam bucked into his mouth and Dean relaxed his throat, remembering how to do this, wanting to make it good for Sam. Had he ever been blown before? Dean would have said he’d have known something as momentous as that about Sam, but then again, he hadn’t known Sam had had this in him, so maybe not.

Either way, Sam seemed to be into it, and Dean reveled in that, in the weight of him, in the way the hand that wasn’t on his dick had found the back of Dean’s neck and was stroking him, kneading the skin, petting the short hairs there. He was giving Sam a blow job and Sam was into it, like some kind of twisted miracle.

Jimmy, apparently, was also into it. He was breathing hard and muttering affirmations like “Good,” and “Yeah,” and Dean really, really hated that someone besides him was enjoying Sam’s pleasure.

“Gonna come?” Jimmy asked Sam. “Come on his face, Luke.”

Dean would have objected on principle, but Sam let out such a pretty little moan at the idea that Dean couldn’t deny him. He pulled off slowly, sucking hard at the tip before letting go completely. Sam’s fist stripped his own cock hard and fast a few times and then he was coming, pointing his cock toward Dean’s face. The angle wasn’t great, Dean was half propped up on his elbow, but the spray was enough to hit him on the chin, across the cheek. He felt a drop on his lower lip. He licked it away. Salty.

Sam panted, boneless against the pillows. He pulled Dean to him with the hand that still hadn’t left the back of Dean’s neck. They kissed, sloppy and wet. Sam licked at his own come on Dean’s cheek and fuck that was hot. Everything about Sam was designed to drive Dean crazy.

Jimmy let out a grunt that couldn’t have been signaling anything but an orgasm. Dean didn’t want to look and see the guy with his hand down his pants, so he didn’t, just kept his eyes on Sam, petting him, pulling his jeans back up, kissing him softly, kisses meant to reassure and comfort and tell Sam it was okay. It was all okay.

“You want to take Mike’s dick out?” Jimmy said.

“I’m good,” Dean said. The guy got his rocks off, what more did he want?

“No, we’re not done,” Jimmy said stubbornly. “I want to see Luke’s nipples covered in your come.”

Again with the specifics. But Dean’s dick was on board with the dirty image of Sam’s narrow, flat chest striped with Dean’s jizz.

He checked in with Sam with a flick of his eyes, who just reached for Dean’s fly. Dean put a finger on his brother’s chin, tilting it up. He needed to see for himself if Sam was good with this. Sam met his gaze. Dean tried a little telepathy. You need to safeword? Sam shook his head, as if he’d heard Dean loud and clear. He licked his lips and opened the top button on Dean’s jeans. Dean pushed his hands away and fumbled his own fly open the rest of the way.

Dean figured he was on his own, about to jerk off and fulfill Jimmy’s final request, but Sam licked his palm—Jesus—and then wrapped it around Dean’s girth, sliding a little awkwardly up and down, but still, the pressure felt amazing with how turned on Dean was. He buried his face in Sam’s shoulder and let his brother jerk him off clumsily, not caring about finesse, just loving how close he felt to Sam right then, hot and sweaty and breathing the same air, his face still sticky with Sam’s semen, his own about to be added to the mix.

“Yeah, jerk him off, Luke,” Jimmy said. His voice was breathless, and Dean wondered if he was going again. Maybe he’d been saving it up.

It was all over quickly after that. Sam sped up his hand, and then in Dean’s ear, only for him to hear, he whispered, “Come on me, Dean.” And Dean did. Big wrenching spurts of come shot from his cock, through Sam’s fingers, all over Sam’s belly. He shuffled forward at the last minute to get some on Sam’s nipples, as instructed, and Sam abandoned his cock to smear the stuff around himself, painting his flat boy nipples with Dean’s come. Easily the hottest thing Dean had ever seen.

He was breathing hard, as if he’d been running from a werewolf, and Jimmy was groaning again somewhere behind them. Dean couldn’t stop looking at the shiny fluid on Sam’s body. It was drying before his eyes, but Sam looked so good like that, marked up by Dean. He only tore his gaze away when Sam nuzzled against his cheek, then he turned and captured Sam’s lips in a kiss that he felt down to the soles of his feet. He needed that kiss. If it was over, if this erotic, forbidden encounter was the only time he’d ever have Sam’s body underneath his, ever have his come smeared on Sam’s skin, ever touch him with anything besides brotherly intent—so be it. But he was getting in one last kiss.

Sam kissed back as if he was just as desperate for it, and then Jimmy’s voice broke the moment. “You guys are fucking hot.”

“Thank you,” Sam said politely. Dean repressed a kind of hysterical giggle, tucked himself back into his jeans. They were both messes, but they could clean up later. He found Sam’s shirt, and handed it to him, resisting the urge to tug it over Sam’s head himself, like he was three years old. Instead, he avoided looking at his face, grabbed his own shirt, and threw it on.

He forced himself to look at Jimmy, who was still sitting in his chair. His face was a little red, but other than that, he looked normal.

“Well, that was fun,” Dean said briskly. He stood up. He hadn’t even taken his boots off. He grabbed his flannel, and Sam, now wearing his shirt, was picking up his shoes and rounding the end of the bed. Dean was two inches from the money when Jimmy said, “You guys aren’t going so soon?”

“You got your money’s worth, man,” Dean said firmly.

Jimmy’s shoulders rounded in defeat. “I thought you might want to stay for another beer. Talk a little.”

Dean felt sorry for the guy, who seemed lonely more than anything else, but not sorry enough to stay and chat while Sam had Dean’s come drying on his belly. Sam had his shoes on now, had come to stand by Dean’s elbow as if waiting for his cue.

He didn’t answer, just scooped the money up and put it in the pocket with the condoms. “Have a good night, Jimmy.” He turned to go.

“You two aren’t really brothers, are you?” Jimmy’s voice had a thread of doubt mixed with hope.

The question stopped Dean before he could open the door. He wasn’t sure how to answer the question. He looked at Sam. The little shit was smiling a little, like it was hilarious. He wanted to kiss him. “We’re whatever you want us to be, Jimbo.”

Then they left, two hundred and sixty dollars richer.

Their room felt familiar and comfortable, and Dean paid extra attention to the salt line and the wards. His confidence had returned. They had fulfilled their end of the bargain and if Jimmy tried to harass them now, Dean felt well within his rights to kick his ass. Plus, he and Sam now had the funds to get away if they needed to.

The busywork of fortifying the room allowed him to put off talking to Sam. Or even looking at him.

“You want first shower?” he asked when Sam was just standing in the middle of the room after Dean had put his knife in a handy spot by the bed, just in case.

“In a second,” Sam said. “Dean—”

“I’m hungry,” Dean said quickly. “Are you hungry? I’m finishing off the cereal. We can go to the truck stop and get big greasy breakfast sandwiches tomorrow. Sound good?” He opened the fridge and took out the milk, still not looking at Sam.

“Dean, stop, please.”

Dean set the milk down, turned to his brother warily. His hair was wild—it had dried while they were rolling around on Jimmy’s bed. His cheeks were still a little pink. He looked good. Any hope Dean might have had that doing that would have shocked him out of any inappropriate feelings had sadly been false. He’d idly wanted un-brotherly things from Sam in the past. Now he actively wanted them.

He crossed his arms across his chest roughly. He felt the anger rising again at himself, of course, at Jimmy. At John. At the world.

“Are you mad at me?”

But not at Sam. Never at Sam. He felt his eyes widen. “No.”

“You look pissed,” Sam observed calmly.

“I’m…there’s a lot to be pissed about,” Dean said. “But I’m not mad at you.”

“You sure? Because I made us do that.” Sam bit his lip and seemed young again, needing his big brother’s reassurance.

“I could have said no.”

“Me too.”

“Okay, so nothing to be mad about.”

“Okay.”

“And we’re good on money now, so. Let’s go to sleep and then big breakfast in the morning,” Dean said. Focusing on the practical helped tame the anger. He still had to take care of Sam.

He thought Sam was dropping it, but then he said in a small voice, “It wasn’t just about the money. For me.”

Dean’s heart stopped beating and for a painful second, he thought he might be dying. Then slowly, the blood resumed pumping through his body. He sucked in a ragged breath. “Yeah?” His voice sounded like it had been run through a meat grinder.

“I just didn’t want you to be beating yourself up because you, uh, enjoyed it.” Sam was looking at his shoes, not at Dean. “I did. Obviously. I’ve wondered for a while what—I mean, not those circumstances, but—what it would be like and so yeah, I wanted it. So if you aren’t mad at me, maybe you should be, since I made you—”

“You didn’t make me do anything, Sam.” Dean took a few steps toward his brother. He had the strangest mix of feelings in his chest. He wanted to reassure him, to make him feel better. He wanted to tease him, to make jokes about his recovery time. He wanted to cradle his jaw in his hand and seduce him properly, use every trick he’d picked up in his rotten life to make Sam literally swoon, and never go to anyone but Dean for pleasure for the rest of his life. He wanted to take him for a drive, go stargazing like they did from time to time, bring food and beer and make love under a blanket of stars.

He wanted to be Sam’s brother and his lover and his hunting partner and his entire world.

But Sam was still a kid. He was in hormone hell. He probably just wanted sexual experience and Dean was the only available outlet.

“Do you think we could—I mean, would you want to do that again? With me?”

Dean blinked. Okay. Sam wasn’t asking for the rest of their lives planned out tonight. And Dean very much wanted to do it again. He’d simply put all the rest of his feelings into a box to look at another day. Or never.

“Yeah, Sammy, we could do that again.”

Sam’s smile was brighter than the Arizona sun reflected off The Palm Oasis pool at noon.

***

The next morning, Dean woke up to the phone’s shrill ring.

“Hello?”

“Dean.”

“Dad? You okay?”

“I’m fine,” John said shortly. “We’re heading to Mexico to check out another crop of omens. We’re getting closer to this thing, I can feel it. You and your brother be okay for a few more days?”

“Sure, Dad.”

“Good. I’ll check in when we’re back in the States. Stay out of trouble.”

“Yes, sir.”

John hung up. Dean replaced the receiver, rolled over, looked down at Sam, whose head was on the pillow next to him. Sam’s expressive eyes were open. There was a universe inside them. Dean could get lost there. But first, breakfast.

“Let’s go eat.”

“Then for a swim?” Sam suggested.

“Yeah, Sammy.” He dropped a kiss to the top of his brother’s head. “Then for a swim.”

The End