ぎりぎり
Title: I Knew That There Could Only Be One Outcome
Author: chash
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean.
Rating: R
Warnings: AU, still-related Sam/Dean.
Word Count: 6500 words.
Summary: Dean and Sam are well on their way to conning themselves into a stately home, but then Bela Talbot comes along.
Notes: Written for whenboymeetsboy, inspired by Shooting Fish. Title From "Me And You Vs. The World" by Space.
Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue.
When Dean was fourteen, his father died, and he and his brother were put in foster care. In the years before that, Dean had already been Sam's primary caretaker; their father had been sick for a long time--probably, honestly, ever since their mother died--and they'd never told anyone just how much they relied on each other, afraid of the law ripping the family apart.
It was the thing that Dean had always been told was most important--take care of Sammy, keep the family together.
Which is why he finds himself, eighteen years old and breaking into his brother's cookie-cutter-perfect foster home in order to kidnap him.
He's been watching the house for three days already, which he knows is more than a little creepy. But he's doing recon--he needs to know which room is Sam's, when he's alone, when he'll be able to talk to him, really talk. When he'll be able to take him, if Sam will come.
There's a niggling, terrifying voice in the back of Dean's head that tells him that maybe Sam doesn't want him to run away with him, that maybe Sam has some awesome family that he likes hanging out with. They seem kind of okay from what Dean sees of them--normal people, normal jobs. There's an older girl who's pretty hot.
Sam might be happy, but Dean's not unselfish enough to let him have it without a fight.
On the third day, he breaks into Sam's room while his foster-parents are at work and his foster-sister is out with friends.
It's May, getting towards finals, and Sam's studying like the total nerd he is. He's wearing giant headphones, and doesn't hear when Dean comes in. Dean feels, belatedly, really sketchy, but it's too late to turn back now.
When Dean taps Sam's shoulder, he jumps about a foot in the air, which is hilarious. Dean approves. Then he blanches, like he's seen a ghost.
"Dean?" he asks incredulously, yanking off the headphones.
"Hey, Sammy."
"Dean!" says Sam, and scrambles out of his chair to hug Dean hard. Dean lets it happen, even hugs back, doesn't care if this is girly or stupid. This is Sam, and he's missed Sam.
"What are you doing here?" asks Sam, still refusing to let go.
"Came to bust you out," says Dean. He says it with a fake machismo to hide the way he's scared. Because if Sam doesn't want to come with him, then what does he have left? Even when they were apart, Sam was his whole life. Finding Sam was all he thought about. Sam was his responsibility.
Sam is it.
"You sound like a bad prison movie," says Sam, and Dean can hear the watery smile. He lets his breath out slowly, so Sam won't notice his relief. "I missed you," Sam adds quietly.
He ruffles Sam's hair. He can hear his brother sniffling a little; he wishes he'd come sooner. Somehow. "Yeah, yeah," says Dean, letting go and giving Sam a shove. "Get your stuff, Sammy."
Sam moves around the room in a kind of daze, shoving clothes into his backpack.
"Jesus," says Dean, surprised. "You're really gonna leave them, just like that?"
Sam glances up. "They're not my family," he says. Then, "I'll leave a note."
Dean snorts, but Sam rips off a piece of notepaper and starts writing.
"Where are we going?" Sam asks.
"Come on, Sammy, this is Running Away 101. Don't tell them where you're going."
Sam glares; it makes Dean feel better instantly. "I know that, jerk. I want to throw them off the trail."
"Say Mexico."
"Mexico?" asks Sam, raising his eyebrows. "That's kind of cliche."
"Spring break!" says Dean, grinning.
"It's May," Sam shoots back, but he's smiling too. He puts his note on the desk, stuffs a laptop into his backpack. At Dean's look, he glares again. "I paid for this," says Sam. "It's not stealing."
"I didn't say anything."
"Come on," says Sam, "let's go."
They get to Dean's car easily, Sam slinging his stuff in the back and slumping down in shotgun. Dean starts her up, and for a while, there's silence.
"They're going to be looking for us," says Sam.
"I know."
"I don't have any marketable skills."
"I know."
"So what's the plan?" asks Sam.
Dean grins. "Come on, Sammy. Trust me."
*
Ten years later
Sam shakes his head. "There's no way we can do this with just the two of us, Dean."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean," says Sam, leaning back and lacing his hands behind his head, "It's a three man job, and there's two of us."
Dean finds a leg of chicken after extensive fridge-rooting and sticks it in his mouth, motioning for Sam to keep talking.
"It's fat fish," says Sam. "Really fat. But we're gonna need two people on computers."
"Why two?" asks Dean, through his chicken.
Sam makes a face. "You're disgusting. We need one distraction--that's you. We need one hacker, that's me. But they're always on the computer, using the system. So while I'm doing the hacking, we need one person making sure everything looks normal and works."
"I thought the whole point of hacking was that no one knows you're doing it."
"Look, it's complicated and technical. You really want me to explain?"
"I really want you to make this into a two-man job."
"No way," says Sam, shaking his head. "Not if you want me to be able to disguise when the theft happened."
Dean raises his eyebrows. "No, I want them to know we're robbing them."
"So, yeah, we need someone else."
Dean sighs. "How much money is this?"
"It's gonna put us about 10 grand away from the house."
"Damnit. So this third guy, what's he need to be able to do?"
"Type and follow directions."
Dean nods. "All right. Put an ad on craigslist or something. If this goes wrong, I'm blaming you."
"And that's different from normal how?"
"Shut up," says Dean mildly.
Sam smiles and shakes his head. "Whatever, Dean."
*
Her name is Bela Talbot. She says she has secretarial skills, and she's hot. That said, Dean doesn't think she's hot enough to warrant the way Sam practically trips over his own tongue when he sees her, but whatever. Sam's hormones are pretty generally retarded, so Dean's just glad they're functioning at all.
"So, uh," says Sammy, still staring, "what do you do, Bela?"
"I'm a student, actually," she says. Her accent is too posh, Dean decides. It's probably fake. "Medical school."
"Wow," says Sam, because he's impressed by girls who care about stuff. Like people's lives. Dean tries not to snort. It's kind of nauseating. He should teach Sammy how to be subtle. "So, you're a good typist?"
"I have to be," she says, flashing her teeth at them when she smiles. "Notes, you know."
"Right," says Sam.
"What made you get in touch with us?" asks Dean. He's using his flirtiest voice. Sam shoots him a glare, which he ignores.
"Sounds like easy money," she says, smiling back at him. If she's that easily swayed away from Sam, he really shouldn't crush on her. Sam's such a moron. "Just a little typing for an afternoon and I get a hundred quid? I'm dying to know what the catch is."
Dean grins. "No catch. I'm dyslexic," he says. "And Sammy here needs some help."
Sam gets his aww shucks face, looks down a little. "Think you can work with me?"
"Yes," says Bela, and Dean hates her, just a little. "That shouldn't be a problem."
*
In a lot of ways, Sam is really glad he thinks Bela is so attractive. Because the thing is--the thing is Dean. Dean is Sam's entire life, when you get down to it; there's never been anyone else who came close. And then they were apart for the longest four years of Sam's life, and when Dean burst back onto the scene he was tall and broad and, well, really hot. Sam hadn't been worried about his bisexuality before that, but he'd never fallen in love with Dean before that either.
He's read a lot about consensual incest and genetic sexual attraction and studies and science, but none of that really helps the reality of living with Dean every day and wanting.
So, yeah. Honestly, it's a relief that he thinks Bela is a very attractive girl he'd like to get a drink with.
Of course, he's also a geek. He's tall and skinny and awkward-looking, as Dean is always happy to remind him, and Bela is none of those things. Or, at least, none of them in a bad way. And Dean's hitting on her too, of course; it's not like Dean needs to get laid again. Dean gets laid all the time. It's not exciting for him like it is for Sam.
"You never told me exactly what I'm doing," says Bela, conversationally. "I'm very curious."
"Just helping Dean out with his love life," says Sam, smiling a little tightly.
It's not their usual gig. It's more about Sam's skills than Dean's charm, which is weird--usually Dean is selling some fake invention of Sam's, and Sam's just there to make sure the technology all goes off without a hitch. But this is fat fish.
It's a dating agency, but they take people's money and send them on dates they know won't work out. According to Sam's research, they milk about five dates out of people before they finally set them up with an actual match that works, and even that one's not for that long--just enough hope to keep them hooked. It pisses Sam off because they have a really good system, and they could probably charge more and just set people up right off the bat, but they don't.
Sam is pretty sure Dean knows he picked this job because he'd signed up for the service himself, but Dean hasn't mentioned it yet, so Sam can only assume Dean is saving up his mocking for later.
So Sam doesn't just want to steal money from them--that would be pretty easy. Sam wants to destroy them. Because it's an asshole thing, playing with people's romantic hopes and dreams.
He didn't tell Dean this was why they needed another person, so he could get to the databases and rout them entirely. He's going to make sure it doesn't happen while they're there anyway, so it's no big deal.
And, as a bonus, hot girl.
"All right," says Bela, "Sam."
"Yeah?" asks Sam, squinting hard at his computer. This isn't hard, but it requires a lot of concentration anyway.
"You're con men, aren't you?"
"What?" asks Sam, blinking. "No!"
"What are we even doing?"
"We're helping out with the trial run for this dating service."
"I'm pretty sure the whole point of having these things computerized is so that you don't have to have someone on another computer calling up profiles," says Bela.
"We're automating that now," Sam lies. "That's what I'm doing."
"Bullshit," says Bela.
"It's complicated," says Sam.
"Listen, Sam. You seem like a nice guy. But I'm not going to get arrested for a lousy hundred pounds."
"No one's getting arrested."
"I want an explanation or I want a bigger cut or I'm walking right now," says Bela, standing.
Sam tries not to swear. This is why three-man jobs suck.
"Look," he says. "We're--it's for charity, all right?"
"You're scamming people for charity?" asks Bela, looking at him.
"Yeah!" says Sam, grinning in what he hopes is a reassuring way. "We've got this, uh, housing project. For orphans."
"So you steal money from..."
"A dating service that takes advantage of people," Sam supplies.
In his ear, Dean hisses, "What's going on?"
"Look, Bela, I swear. We're the good guys. I've got printouts and data and--I promise you, they deserve it and no one is going to prison, unless they realize something is up, which, if we don't do this, they will."
"Sam!" Dean whispers. He's going to blow his cover at this rate.
Bela looks at Sam for a long minute. "All right. I'll help you."
Sam breathes again. "Thank you."
"She's getting paid," Dean mutters. There's a pause. "Uh," he says, more loudly. "My girlfriend. I have to pay her. For sex. She's not really--yeah."
Sam snorts as he types, and Bela laughs too, and Sam thinks this could, in some universe, turn out okay for him.
*
Bela Talbot is not stupid.
She knows a clearly suspect craigslist ad when she sees one, and she knows a total shit of an operation when she gets involved in it.
She doesn't know what exactly Sam Forester and Dean Teague are up to with their scam--money, of course, but Sam is clearly one of those moralistic people who needs a reason for things--but she knows they're giving her too small a cut.
The problem is that Bela is an old-fashioned girl. She's a great thief, that's certain, but she's not a modern thief. To run the big scams these days, you can't just be a pickpocket. You need some kind of technological skill, and Bela really doesn't do much beyond typing.
That was why she picked up Dean and Sam's ad in the first place, to see if they could be useful allies.
Dean's useless to her. Sexy as fuck, and she'd love to have a fling with him, but they're too similar to work together. Dean's clearly used to calling the shots, probably conned Sam into working with him in the first place. The kid's clearly got a bit of a crush on Dean, and that can't hurt.
But Bela saw him checking her out too, and she could use him herself. Sam might have a crush, but Dean's not doing anything, and Bela can be . . . persuasive.
She could use a good hacker. Onward, upward, et cetera.
Bela has work to do.
*
"We are never doing anything like that again."
"Ten grand," says Sam.
"We still have to pay that Bela chick."
"A hundred," says Sam. "That's nothing."
"I still don't like it."
"That's because it was my idea."
Dean grins. "You know I'm the brains, Sammy."
"I'm the brains, you're the charisma."
Dean waves his hand. "I make the plans."
"Except for this one," says Sam smugly.
"Anyway," says Dean, "what's her address so we can pay her already?"
Sam flushes. "I told her I'd pay her over dinner."
Dean raises his eyebrow. "Seriously?" he asks, sounding almost impressed. "Dude, that's kind of smooth. It worked?"
"Yeah. She said--yeah."
Dean socks him in the arm. "Should've told me, man. I would've got a cake or something. Little Sammy's all grown up and asking girls out."
"Shut up," says Sam, but he looks happy. "I've asked girls out before."
"Whatever, man. You need some condoms?"
Dean." He throws Dean a glare and shifts uncomfortably. "So what's your plan for getting us ten thousand quid?"
"Don't say quid, you sound stupid." Dean stretches. "I was thinking poker."
"No. No way. Poker, Dean? Remember last time?"
"Yeah, Sam, I remember we made fifteen thou without breaking a sweat."
"We nearly got arrested!"
"Nearly," says Dean. "But didn't."
"I'm not doing it," says Sam.
"Okay, then you come up with a better plan. Otherwise? Tournament's in a week, and we're doing it."
"Fuck you," Sam says, without heat.
"Don't you have a date to get ready for, Sammy?"
"It's tomorrow."
"Girls always start doing their hair the day before a big date."
Sam gives him the finger.
*
It actually has been a while since Sam's been on a date. He wasn't going to admit that to Dean, but it's not like Dean somehow missed it. They're together pretty much 24/7, so Dean knows he's going through a dry spell. He's just--he's never been good with girls. He assumes most people get comfortable with the opposite sex sometime during high school, and by then he was already on the road with Dean, trying to figure out where they could go where no one would find them. He never really interacted with anyone other than Dean. And it wasn't like that was a healthy crush to get him started on life.
When he gets to the restaurant, Bela is waiting outside. She looks amazing--gorgeous dress, hair up in a bun with a few curls around her face--and her smile when she sees him makes him realize he has no idea what he's going to do.
"Evening, Sam," she says.
"Hi." He starts to wave, but it feels lame, and he scratches the back of his head instead.
She smiles. "I'm glad you asked me to come out tonight."
"Yeah!" he says, too cheerfully. "I'm glad you said yes." He kind of wants to hit himself. He smiles with too much teeth to try to cover his awkwardness. "So--dinner?"
"Dinner," she agrees.
They get through menus and orders before Sam really has to do smalltalk. Luckily Bela starts for him.
"Have you and Dean known each other long?"
When they moved to England, they agreed it would be easier if they pretended not to be brothers, in case anyone was still looking for Sam. Sam's never been sure anyone ever looked for him in the first place, but he likes the idea that they're hiding from someone.
"A few years, yeah," he says, smiling brightly.
"I have to admit, I'm very curious how the two of you met. I assume you didn't find him on craigslist."
Sam laughs. "Close. We were both working odd jobs, happened to be working the same one. Figured out we were pretty good at--"
"Pulling cons?" asks Bela.
He laughs again. "Yeah, I guess you could say that."
"How did you get involved in charity?"
"Well, you know. We thought we could use our powers for good."
She seems to want to say more, but hesitates. "So, what do you do when you're not being Robin Hood?"
"Uh," says Sam. "I want to go to school, but I haven't--I didn't have the most traditional education."
"That sounds like a story."
"Not for the first date," he says.
"Are you working on anything else right now?" she says. "Any more jobs, I mean."
If Sam weren't so nervous, and so pissed at Dean, he would have noticed her strange tone, but he just groans.
"He wants to do poker."
"Poker?" she asks, all curiosity.
"Dean thinks he's a master or something," says Sam, half pissed, half fond. "All I know is the last time we tried to pull that, we nearly got arrested."
She laughs. "He's quite a character, your friend."
He almost corrects her, but remembers she doesn't think they're anything more than that. Just friends.
"Yeah, he is," he agrees. "So, uh, tell me about school."
She laughs, a smile and a flash of teeth, and Sam thinks maybe he doesn't totally suck at this dating thing.
*
Outside the restaurant, Sam shifts a little, awkward and unsure.
"I had a really good time," he offers.
Bela laughs. "Sam, be honest with me. Have you ever done this before?"
"It's been a while," he admits.
"You don't have to be nervous," she says. "I won't bite." Then she grins wickedly. "Unless you want me to."
Sam nearly chokes on his own tongue. "Uh--can I give you a ride home? Or something?"
"Come on, Sammy, it's still early," he hears, and nearly freezes. Because, Jesus fuck, Dean is right behind him.
"Dean?" he hisses. "What the fuck are you doing here?"
"In the neighborhood, taking a walk," says Dean, flashing Bela his fucking charming smile. Sam's not even on the receiving end of it and it still makes his heart stutter. "You guys aren't seriously turning in for the night, are you? Come on, it's early."
"I have class tomorrow," says Bela. "Could I get that lift, Sam?"
Sam smiles widely, knowing he doesn't look as good as Dean does, knowing he's awkward and too tall but not caring. "Yeah, absolutely."
When he drops her off, she gives him a kiss, and Sam feels like a million bucks.
Of course, then he has to go home and see Dean.
"What the fuck was that, Dean?"
Dean glances up from the couch like nothing is wrong. "What?"
"You know, every time we meet a girl, you tell me how I should date her. Every time! And now that I've actually got one, you try to crash my date! You wanna explain that one to me,?"
"She's hot," says Dean. "It's not exactly rocket science, Sammy."
"Jesus," Sam mutters. "I like this girl, Dean. Could you pretend to try to keep it in your pants?"
There's a pause, and then Dean says, "Sorry, man."
"Just--seriously."
Dean grins. "Didn't know you were serious."
Sam flushes. "Shut up."
*
All in all, Bela thinks it's going rather well. She's gone out with Sam twice more, and she's gotten the name of the poker tournament Dean wants to enter from him.
She'd feel bad about it, but Sam could do better than Dean. And Bela could certainly use the money.
"Hello, Mr. Lambert? You're the head of security at the Grand Poker tournament tomorrow, aren't you?" she asks, twirling the phone cord around her fingers. "Listen, I have reason to believe there might be some questionable players in the game . . ."
*
Sam's not sure how he ends up agreeing to the poker plan.
Well, he is. He knows that he doesn't have any other idea for how they're going to get ten grand. The house is so close they can taste it, and Dean's been obsessed with getting that for as long as Sam can remember. It means more to Dean than it does to Sam at this point--saving enough money so Dean can give him the home he never had, some gorgeous old palace in the English countryside that will make up for whatever Dean thinks Sam is missing.
So Sam kind of has to agree.
"I hate you," he hisses into his mouth piece.
His tuxedo is itchy and doesn't sit right on his shoulders, and he's worried he's going to spill drinks all over everyone. He's not a good waiter, but he's a good card counter and a good spy, and that's why he's here and Dean's at the table, flirting and bluffing like he was born for it. Which he probably was
"Well that's very kind of you to say," Dean smarms at the girl across the table from him. She's got her breasts hanging out of her dress so much Sam's shocked he hasn't seen any nipple. "Veronica, was it?"
Possibly-Veronica giggles vapidly. Sam wants to kill someone.
"Room for one more?" asks a voice, and Sam and Dean both spin when Bela comes in.
"What the hell is she doing here?" Dean whispers frantically.
"Didn't I tell you, Dean?" she asks, ignoring Sam. "I'm a bit of a poker buff."
"Do you two know each other?" asks Veronica. Sam kind of wants to strangle her. Or smother her with his own breasts. He hates poker and this is just going from bad to worse to somehow even worse, like a train wreck getting hit by a falling plane.
"He's a friend of a friend," says Bela, flashing her teeth in a way that Sam finds somewhat unnerving. "Shall we play some poker?"
*
Sam never actually explained their con to her, but Bela isn't concerned about that. The thing Sam hasn't realized yet, and the thing Dean is too cocky to take into account, is that Sam isn't subtle. Oh, he tries. He walks hunched down a little, tries to seem smaller than he is, but he's a very tall American with floppy hair and a gorgeous face, and so is Dean. Bela would be shocked if half the people they saw in a day wouldn't instantly recognize and remember them.
Bela's also quite adept at cheating herself. Cards are one of the first scams she learned to pull, just a girl on her father's knee when he taught her the basics of card-counting in black jack. She knows everyone's tells, the coughs, the shuffles--she's a professional.
But for all she tries, she can't get a read on Dean.
It's not just that he's cheating. It's that every time she's sure she has him pegged down, his tells change. And his timing is so perfect it's uncanny.
Dean is better at this than she thought, and the third time she loses big on what she swore was a sure thing, he winks at her.
Motherfucker.
She also can't tell what Sam's signal is. He stands out like a sore thumb, but she has no idea how he's communicating to Dean what he's supposed to do. Of course, she thought she'd have plenty of opportunity to watch him since she would be so effortlessly dominating Dean in the game.
Nothing is really going as she planned.
"Read 'em and weep, sweetheart," says Dean, after he used his first bluff tell and his third good-hand tell in the same round. The bastard.
"Don't tell me you like to make girls cry, Dean," she shoots back.
"Oh, not all girls, sweetheart."
She's not sure if she wants to punch him or fuck him, but he seems like the kind of guy who might be into both at the same time.
She's thinking about mentioning that when she sees security approaching. It takes all her talent to keep a triumphant grin off her face.
But of course, he plans continue to derail. It's the kind of night she's having.
"Excuse me," the man says, to the ditz across the table from Dean, "you're going to have to come with us."
She looks baffled--not that Bela blames her. When she looks around, she sees Sam's already in custody. Security, brilliant as always, has apprehended only one half of the dream team.
Brilliant.
*
Dean thinks this has got to be that bitch Bela's fault, somehow. It can't just be a coincidence that she shows up and they get busted in the same night. Or Sam gets busted. It's not like Dean can act like they know each other--hell, doing anything other than showing shock blows their whole game, and what can they do to Sam? He wasn't actually doing shit to help Victoria cheat.
"Jesus Christ," he mutters.
"I'll second that," says Bela. The game's been "compromised," or some shit, and it's postponed. No cash, no house, and he's stuck with Sam's fucking girlfriend.
Sam's really hot girlfriend, who looks as pissy as he does.
"Whiskey," she tells the bartender. "Straight."
Dean can't help cocking his eyebrow in appreciation at that.
"I'm a student," she says. "I do know how to drink."
Dean knows, right then, that this is going to go terribly.
*
Sam's not even surprised when he gets home from a night in prison to find his brother and Bela naked asleep together. Honestly, the only unexpected thing is that Bela stayed--Dean's not much for sleepovers. But other than that, it's the kind of end he expected this day to have. Going from bad to worse to fucking worse, and now he's maybe, possibly, hit rock bottom.
He hopes.
He drags Dean out of bed by the leg, trying to ignore all the bare skin he sees on both of them. He doesn't know who he wants to look at more (except he does), so he settles for looking at no one.
Dean hits the floor hard.
"Ow, fuck, Jesus!"
Sam sees Bela blink her eyes open and blanch.
"Sam--"
"I need to talk to my b--Dean here," he says.
"I'm sorry," she says. "I--he--"
"Go," says Sam. Then he feels kind of bad, because he's pretty sure this is at least ninety percent Dean's fault. Dean and his fucking smile. "Please," he says, voice softening.
"Call me later?" she says softly. "Just--to talk."
"Yeah," Sam agrees.
Dean's still lying on the floor, half-covered by the blanket, looking dazed, by the time Bela's grabbed her clothes and slipped out.
"So," says Sam, pacing a little. "I could deal with you leaving me in prison all night. But leaving me in prison so you could fucking hook up with the girl I like? That's fucking low, Dean."
"It wasn't like that," says Dean, grinding the heels of his hands into his eyes. "Jesus, Sammy, I wasn't going to--"
"Yeah, I know how easy it is to accidentally fuck a girl."
"Sammy--"
"Don't Sammy me, Dean. Not right now."
Dean sits up. He's naked, his hair is a mess, and he looks so fuckable Sam has to look away. Jesus, when did he get this screwed up? Probably around when his parents died and he got a huge crush on his brother.
"I know that was a shitty thing to do," says Dean quietly. "But--I couldn't bust you out, man. I was in the game and you were a waiter."
Sam lets out a breath. That part he knew. As it was, they couldn't even hold him long; he and the girl knew shit about each other. They weren't actually cheating, which helped a lot.
"So you slept with Bela. Of course."
Dean looks up at him defiantly, and there's a long moment during which Sam has no fucking clue what's going to happen.
Then Dean gets up and crosses the room, roots around the closet and finds the cases they keep the money in.
"You know what?" he says, sounding calm enough that it scares Sam. "You're right, Sammy. So here," he throws a case at Sam's chest, "is the money. Go nuts."
"What?" asks Sam blankly.
"Go get married and buy Bela a house or--whatever the shit you want. Whatever makes you happy. Go for it."
"Dean--"
Dean grabs some pants and pulls on a shirt. "Bye, Sammy."
*
Half an hour later, Sam's still sitting on the floor with two suitcases full of cash, numb with shock.
Dean left.
They've had fights before; they're brothers, fighting is in their blood. But Dean's never left without saying "I'm going to the bar" or some other explanation.
Sam tries calling him, finally, but of course no one picks up. He leaves a simple voice message--Don't be an idiot, Dean--and tries to figure out what to do next.
The problem is that Sam doesn't actually have friends. He has Dean, and he's got--Bela, he guesses. Who's not exactly a friend, and who just slept with his brother, even if she didn't know it.
Still, she's the only person he knows who might actually talk to him right now, so Sam sucks it up and gets off the floor. He stuffs the cases in his bag, because it feels wrong to just leave them, somehow; Dean gave them to him. They're his responsibility in a way they never were before.
The car is still downstairs; Sam's not sure what to make of that. He hopes it means Dean just neglected to say where he was going, but was planning on coming home. Still, there was something final about it that makes Sam's gut clench.
One thing at a time. He's explaining to Bela, and then he's looking for Dean. He owes her--what? Sorry, Bela, I like you, but I like the guy you slept with a lot more, incest be damned?
Right.
"It's me," he says to her intercom when he arrives, and she buzzes him in immediately.
"Sam," she breathes, and she's beautiful, she is, but he has to find his brother. She's never going to be important. "I didn't expect you so soon."
He laughs. "Me and Dean had a fight. You were the one who was going to talk to me."
She lets him in. "Trouble in paradise?" she asks wryly.
"I wouldn't call it paradise," Sam lies.
"Listen, Sam, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean--"
Sam waves his hand. "It's not like we were official or anything."
"That doesn't make it any less shitty," she says.
"Yeah," he agrees. "You're right."
"I really do like you," she says earnestly. "I think we could work well together."
There's something about the way she says it that catches Sam's attention. "Work well," he repeats.
She looks surprised. "You know, partners."
"You don't just mean dating," says Sam, realization hitting him heavy. "You--"
"I mean dating too," she hastens to add. "But--you're not a bad conman."
"And you aren't either," he says. Jesus. She's--she's been playing him this whole time.
"I'm a great conman," she says, the flash of white teeth again.
Sam lets out a shaky laugh.
"Look, I know what you're thinking--"
"I doubt it," he mutters.
"Dean doesn't appreciate you. He's probably stealing the money, no charity, no orphans--"
Sam laughs. "He gave me the money."
She pauses for a long minute, eyes flicking up and down his body. "Not quite like I thought, then."
"Dean's not--he's not like anyone," says Sam shakily. "And I was going to feel bad for ditching you for him, but you know what? I don't. Not even a little."
He gets up to leave, and he feels Bela's hand on his arm.
"Just so you know," she says, smiling a little, "he's crazy about you too."
Sam swallows. She's beautiful, and she's been conning him the whole time, and if Dean knew that, he'd probably just want her more. He can't help laughing. "Yeah, right."
"Believe me, Sam, I've seen more than my share of jealous boyfriends. Think of it as my apology."
Sam snorts. "I'm not forgiving you."
She grins, and it just makes Sam feel kind of ill now. "Of course not."
*
As Sam drives home he thinks--he hasn't got anything to lose.
Bela's a bitch, but even if she's lying to try to break him and Dean up, they're already screwed. So he--maybe it's time to just tell Dean the truth. That he doesn't care about the house, doesn't care about Bela, doesn't care about natural laws and the overall grossness of incest.
He really just wants Dean.
He's got himself all psyched up for a huge search for Dean ending in some romantic confession of love when he gets back to their apartment and Dean is right there. He's halfway between hungover and back to drunk, and he looks so shocked to see Sam that he's surprised he doesn't drop the beer he's holding.
Instead he puts it down on the table and looks sheepish. "Thought you'd be with Bela."
And Sam--Sam's fucking had it.
He crosses the room, shoves Dean up against the fridge, and kisses him.
Dean's hands come up instantly, palms flat against his chest, and Sam's braced for it, ready for Dean to push him away, tell him he's disgusting. He's ready to spring away at the slightest pressure, but it doesn't come, and Sam can feel something like happiness fluttering around his ribcage. He swipes his tongue across Dean's lips, and Dean fucking whimpers, opens his mouth and balls his hands into fists on Sam's shirt, pulling him closer, and suddenly they're making out, hard and sloppy.
When Sam pulls back, Dean whimpers again, and Sam just stares.
"You want me," he says, and Dean blushes.
It's kind of amazing.
"I do not," Dean mutters irritably, looking away, and Sam kisses him again, because he can, and this time Dean groans into it, "What about Bela?" he asks.
"Mmm," says Sam, dropping his mouth down to mouth at Dean's stubble. His hands are roving all over Dean's torso, unsure where to stop. There's too much he wants to do, and he's worried if he doesn't do everything now, he'll never get the chance. "Rather have you."
"Jesus, Sammy," Dean laughs shakily as Sam slides his hands under his shirt, feeling the taut skin there. Sam's touched Dean before, but never like this, never how he wanted to. "Kinda eager there."
Sam slots his leg between Dean's, pressing until Dean moans.
"Shut up," says Sam desperately. "Fucking years, Dean," he says.
It's something of a blur after that--he knows he drags Dean to the bedroom, knows Dean laughs breathlessly, like happiness is stuck in his throat and keeps escaping. Knows he strips both of them naked in ten minutes flat, gets stuck on the first feeling of skin on skin.
"Wanna fuck you," he manages as they're rutting against each other, and he knows Dean says, "Yeah, Sammy, anything."
Everything comes into focus when Dean is spread out in front of him, naked and waiting, and he breathes, "I love you."
Immediately, he regrets it--it has to be too soon, or too weird, or too stupid, and who says that the first time they're having sex with anyone. Especially their older brother.
But Dean just shakes his head. "God, you're such a chick, Sammy."
Sam smirks, deliberately rubs his dick against Dean's hole. "Wanna bet?"
*
Sam goes right to sleep, this gigantic warm pile crushing Dean's windpipe, but Dean can't do it.
He's had sex twice in the last twenty-four hours, which isn't weird, but the transition from little brother's girlfriend to little brother was pretty staggering. To say nothing of the way that said little brother's love? Apparently wasn't as familial as Dean thought.
He absently strokes his hand through Sam's hair, finding himself starting to grin as Sam drools on his chest. It's gross and he's covered in spunk, but Sam's not leaving him for some bitch of a girl who totally--
Dean realizes he actually has no idea what went down with Bela, and he's pretty curious if Sam actually figured out what she did to that poker game, so he figures he should screw this post-coital napping shit and pokes Sam in the ribs until he rolls over.
"Jesus, what?" he asks blearily, and Dean realizes he must still be grinning when Sam starts smiling back like a total tool.
"What happened with Bela?"
Sam's expression darkens a little. "Turns out she wanted me to, uh. She's a conman, Dean. Wanted to lure me away from you."
"Man, I knew she set up that poker shit!"
"Shut up, Dean."
"You tell her where to stick it?"
Sam flushes. "Actually, she told me."
"Huh?"
Sam smiles a little. "She said you were crazy about me."
Dean absolutely doesn't want to be indebted to fucking Bela. He gets distracted from thinking about it when Sam laces their fingers together--and he seriously did not raise his brother to be such a fucking girl--and says, "So we still need ten grand."
Dean laughs. "Now you're talking, Sammy. And get the money back in the closet, Jesus."
Sam gets up, and Dean watches him pad across the room, shamelessly checking out his naked ass. His life is awesome.
Sam gets his bag and then there's a pause Dean doesn't like.
"Dean. . ."
"What," says Dean, already guessing the answer.
Sam pours two large, empty pink purses out of his bag.
"I brought it over to Bela's--" Sam says, looking down.
Their entire fucking life savings, replaced by two fucking ugly bags.
They look up at the same time.
"Son of a bitch!"
Author: chash
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean.
Rating: R
Warnings: AU, still-related Sam/Dean.
Word Count: 6500 words.
Summary: Dean and Sam are well on their way to conning themselves into a stately home, but then Bela Talbot comes along.
Notes: Written for whenboymeetsboy, inspired by Shooting Fish. Title From "Me And You Vs. The World" by Space.
Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue.
When Dean was fourteen, his father died, and he and his brother were put in foster care. In the years before that, Dean had already been Sam's primary caretaker; their father had been sick for a long time--probably, honestly, ever since their mother died--and they'd never told anyone just how much they relied on each other, afraid of the law ripping the family apart.
It was the thing that Dean had always been told was most important--take care of Sammy, keep the family together.
Which is why he finds himself, eighteen years old and breaking into his brother's cookie-cutter-perfect foster home in order to kidnap him.
He's been watching the house for three days already, which he knows is more than a little creepy. But he's doing recon--he needs to know which room is Sam's, when he's alone, when he'll be able to talk to him, really talk. When he'll be able to take him, if Sam will come.
There's a niggling, terrifying voice in the back of Dean's head that tells him that maybe Sam doesn't want him to run away with him, that maybe Sam has some awesome family that he likes hanging out with. They seem kind of okay from what Dean sees of them--normal people, normal jobs. There's an older girl who's pretty hot.
Sam might be happy, but Dean's not unselfish enough to let him have it without a fight.
On the third day, he breaks into Sam's room while his foster-parents are at work and his foster-sister is out with friends.
It's May, getting towards finals, and Sam's studying like the total nerd he is. He's wearing giant headphones, and doesn't hear when Dean comes in. Dean feels, belatedly, really sketchy, but it's too late to turn back now.
When Dean taps Sam's shoulder, he jumps about a foot in the air, which is hilarious. Dean approves. Then he blanches, like he's seen a ghost.
"Dean?" he asks incredulously, yanking off the headphones.
"Hey, Sammy."
"Dean!" says Sam, and scrambles out of his chair to hug Dean hard. Dean lets it happen, even hugs back, doesn't care if this is girly or stupid. This is Sam, and he's missed Sam.
"What are you doing here?" asks Sam, still refusing to let go.
"Came to bust you out," says Dean. He says it with a fake machismo to hide the way he's scared. Because if Sam doesn't want to come with him, then what does he have left? Even when they were apart, Sam was his whole life. Finding Sam was all he thought about. Sam was his responsibility.
Sam is it.
"You sound like a bad prison movie," says Sam, and Dean can hear the watery smile. He lets his breath out slowly, so Sam won't notice his relief. "I missed you," Sam adds quietly.
He ruffles Sam's hair. He can hear his brother sniffling a little; he wishes he'd come sooner. Somehow. "Yeah, yeah," says Dean, letting go and giving Sam a shove. "Get your stuff, Sammy."
Sam moves around the room in a kind of daze, shoving clothes into his backpack.
"Jesus," says Dean, surprised. "You're really gonna leave them, just like that?"
Sam glances up. "They're not my family," he says. Then, "I'll leave a note."
Dean snorts, but Sam rips off a piece of notepaper and starts writing.
"Where are we going?" Sam asks.
"Come on, Sammy, this is Running Away 101. Don't tell them where you're going."
Sam glares; it makes Dean feel better instantly. "I know that, jerk. I want to throw them off the trail."
"Say Mexico."
"Mexico?" asks Sam, raising his eyebrows. "That's kind of cliche."
"Spring break!" says Dean, grinning.
"It's May," Sam shoots back, but he's smiling too. He puts his note on the desk, stuffs a laptop into his backpack. At Dean's look, he glares again. "I paid for this," says Sam. "It's not stealing."
"I didn't say anything."
"Come on," says Sam, "let's go."
They get to Dean's car easily, Sam slinging his stuff in the back and slumping down in shotgun. Dean starts her up, and for a while, there's silence.
"They're going to be looking for us," says Sam.
"I know."
"I don't have any marketable skills."
"I know."
"So what's the plan?" asks Sam.
Dean grins. "Come on, Sammy. Trust me."
*
Ten years later
Sam shakes his head. "There's no way we can do this with just the two of us, Dean."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean," says Sam, leaning back and lacing his hands behind his head, "It's a three man job, and there's two of us."
Dean finds a leg of chicken after extensive fridge-rooting and sticks it in his mouth, motioning for Sam to keep talking.
"It's fat fish," says Sam. "Really fat. But we're gonna need two people on computers."
"Why two?" asks Dean, through his chicken.
Sam makes a face. "You're disgusting. We need one distraction--that's you. We need one hacker, that's me. But they're always on the computer, using the system. So while I'm doing the hacking, we need one person making sure everything looks normal and works."
"I thought the whole point of hacking was that no one knows you're doing it."
"Look, it's complicated and technical. You really want me to explain?"
"I really want you to make this into a two-man job."
"No way," says Sam, shaking his head. "Not if you want me to be able to disguise when the theft happened."
Dean raises his eyebrows. "No, I want them to know we're robbing them."
"So, yeah, we need someone else."
Dean sighs. "How much money is this?"
"It's gonna put us about 10 grand away from the house."
"Damnit. So this third guy, what's he need to be able to do?"
"Type and follow directions."
Dean nods. "All right. Put an ad on craigslist or something. If this goes wrong, I'm blaming you."
"And that's different from normal how?"
"Shut up," says Dean mildly.
Sam smiles and shakes his head. "Whatever, Dean."
*
Her name is Bela Talbot. She says she has secretarial skills, and she's hot. That said, Dean doesn't think she's hot enough to warrant the way Sam practically trips over his own tongue when he sees her, but whatever. Sam's hormones are pretty generally retarded, so Dean's just glad they're functioning at all.
"So, uh," says Sammy, still staring, "what do you do, Bela?"
"I'm a student, actually," she says. Her accent is too posh, Dean decides. It's probably fake. "Medical school."
"Wow," says Sam, because he's impressed by girls who care about stuff. Like people's lives. Dean tries not to snort. It's kind of nauseating. He should teach Sammy how to be subtle. "So, you're a good typist?"
"I have to be," she says, flashing her teeth at them when she smiles. "Notes, you know."
"Right," says Sam.
"What made you get in touch with us?" asks Dean. He's using his flirtiest voice. Sam shoots him a glare, which he ignores.
"Sounds like easy money," she says, smiling back at him. If she's that easily swayed away from Sam, he really shouldn't crush on her. Sam's such a moron. "Just a little typing for an afternoon and I get a hundred quid? I'm dying to know what the catch is."
Dean grins. "No catch. I'm dyslexic," he says. "And Sammy here needs some help."
Sam gets his aww shucks face, looks down a little. "Think you can work with me?"
"Yes," says Bela, and Dean hates her, just a little. "That shouldn't be a problem."
*
In a lot of ways, Sam is really glad he thinks Bela is so attractive. Because the thing is--the thing is Dean. Dean is Sam's entire life, when you get down to it; there's never been anyone else who came close. And then they were apart for the longest four years of Sam's life, and when Dean burst back onto the scene he was tall and broad and, well, really hot. Sam hadn't been worried about his bisexuality before that, but he'd never fallen in love with Dean before that either.
He's read a lot about consensual incest and genetic sexual attraction and studies and science, but none of that really helps the reality of living with Dean every day and wanting.
So, yeah. Honestly, it's a relief that he thinks Bela is a very attractive girl he'd like to get a drink with.
Of course, he's also a geek. He's tall and skinny and awkward-looking, as Dean is always happy to remind him, and Bela is none of those things. Or, at least, none of them in a bad way. And Dean's hitting on her too, of course; it's not like Dean needs to get laid again. Dean gets laid all the time. It's not exciting for him like it is for Sam.
"You never told me exactly what I'm doing," says Bela, conversationally. "I'm very curious."
"Just helping Dean out with his love life," says Sam, smiling a little tightly.
It's not their usual gig. It's more about Sam's skills than Dean's charm, which is weird--usually Dean is selling some fake invention of Sam's, and Sam's just there to make sure the technology all goes off without a hitch. But this is fat fish.
It's a dating agency, but they take people's money and send them on dates they know won't work out. According to Sam's research, they milk about five dates out of people before they finally set them up with an actual match that works, and even that one's not for that long--just enough hope to keep them hooked. It pisses Sam off because they have a really good system, and they could probably charge more and just set people up right off the bat, but they don't.
Sam is pretty sure Dean knows he picked this job because he'd signed up for the service himself, but Dean hasn't mentioned it yet, so Sam can only assume Dean is saving up his mocking for later.
So Sam doesn't just want to steal money from them--that would be pretty easy. Sam wants to destroy them. Because it's an asshole thing, playing with people's romantic hopes and dreams.
He didn't tell Dean this was why they needed another person, so he could get to the databases and rout them entirely. He's going to make sure it doesn't happen while they're there anyway, so it's no big deal.
And, as a bonus, hot girl.
"All right," says Bela, "Sam."
"Yeah?" asks Sam, squinting hard at his computer. This isn't hard, but it requires a lot of concentration anyway.
"You're con men, aren't you?"
"What?" asks Sam, blinking. "No!"
"What are we even doing?"
"We're helping out with the trial run for this dating service."
"I'm pretty sure the whole point of having these things computerized is so that you don't have to have someone on another computer calling up profiles," says Bela.
"We're automating that now," Sam lies. "That's what I'm doing."
"Bullshit," says Bela.
"It's complicated," says Sam.
"Listen, Sam. You seem like a nice guy. But I'm not going to get arrested for a lousy hundred pounds."
"No one's getting arrested."
"I want an explanation or I want a bigger cut or I'm walking right now," says Bela, standing.
Sam tries not to swear. This is why three-man jobs suck.
"Look," he says. "We're--it's for charity, all right?"
"You're scamming people for charity?" asks Bela, looking at him.
"Yeah!" says Sam, grinning in what he hopes is a reassuring way. "We've got this, uh, housing project. For orphans."
"So you steal money from..."
"A dating service that takes advantage of people," Sam supplies.
In his ear, Dean hisses, "What's going on?"
"Look, Bela, I swear. We're the good guys. I've got printouts and data and--I promise you, they deserve it and no one is going to prison, unless they realize something is up, which, if we don't do this, they will."
"Sam!" Dean whispers. He's going to blow his cover at this rate.
Bela looks at Sam for a long minute. "All right. I'll help you."
Sam breathes again. "Thank you."
"She's getting paid," Dean mutters. There's a pause. "Uh," he says, more loudly. "My girlfriend. I have to pay her. For sex. She's not really--yeah."
Sam snorts as he types, and Bela laughs too, and Sam thinks this could, in some universe, turn out okay for him.
*
Bela Talbot is not stupid.
She knows a clearly suspect craigslist ad when she sees one, and she knows a total shit of an operation when she gets involved in it.
She doesn't know what exactly Sam Forester and Dean Teague are up to with their scam--money, of course, but Sam is clearly one of those moralistic people who needs a reason for things--but she knows they're giving her too small a cut.
The problem is that Bela is an old-fashioned girl. She's a great thief, that's certain, but she's not a modern thief. To run the big scams these days, you can't just be a pickpocket. You need some kind of technological skill, and Bela really doesn't do much beyond typing.
That was why she picked up Dean and Sam's ad in the first place, to see if they could be useful allies.
Dean's useless to her. Sexy as fuck, and she'd love to have a fling with him, but they're too similar to work together. Dean's clearly used to calling the shots, probably conned Sam into working with him in the first place. The kid's clearly got a bit of a crush on Dean, and that can't hurt.
But Bela saw him checking her out too, and she could use him herself. Sam might have a crush, but Dean's not doing anything, and Bela can be . . . persuasive.
She could use a good hacker. Onward, upward, et cetera.
Bela has work to do.
*
"We are never doing anything like that again."
"Ten grand," says Sam.
"We still have to pay that Bela chick."
"A hundred," says Sam. "That's nothing."
"I still don't like it."
"That's because it was my idea."
Dean grins. "You know I'm the brains, Sammy."
"I'm the brains, you're the charisma."
Dean waves his hand. "I make the plans."
"Except for this one," says Sam smugly.
"Anyway," says Dean, "what's her address so we can pay her already?"
Sam flushes. "I told her I'd pay her over dinner."
Dean raises his eyebrow. "Seriously?" he asks, sounding almost impressed. "Dude, that's kind of smooth. It worked?"
"Yeah. She said--yeah."
Dean socks him in the arm. "Should've told me, man. I would've got a cake or something. Little Sammy's all grown up and asking girls out."
"Shut up," says Sam, but he looks happy. "I've asked girls out before."
"Whatever, man. You need some condoms?"
Dean." He throws Dean a glare and shifts uncomfortably. "So what's your plan for getting us ten thousand quid?"
"Don't say quid, you sound stupid." Dean stretches. "I was thinking poker."
"No. No way. Poker, Dean? Remember last time?"
"Yeah, Sam, I remember we made fifteen thou without breaking a sweat."
"We nearly got arrested!"
"Nearly," says Dean. "But didn't."
"I'm not doing it," says Sam.
"Okay, then you come up with a better plan. Otherwise? Tournament's in a week, and we're doing it."
"Fuck you," Sam says, without heat.
"Don't you have a date to get ready for, Sammy?"
"It's tomorrow."
"Girls always start doing their hair the day before a big date."
Sam gives him the finger.
*
It actually has been a while since Sam's been on a date. He wasn't going to admit that to Dean, but it's not like Dean somehow missed it. They're together pretty much 24/7, so Dean knows he's going through a dry spell. He's just--he's never been good with girls. He assumes most people get comfortable with the opposite sex sometime during high school, and by then he was already on the road with Dean, trying to figure out where they could go where no one would find them. He never really interacted with anyone other than Dean. And it wasn't like that was a healthy crush to get him started on life.
When he gets to the restaurant, Bela is waiting outside. She looks amazing--gorgeous dress, hair up in a bun with a few curls around her face--and her smile when she sees him makes him realize he has no idea what he's going to do.
"Evening, Sam," she says.
"Hi." He starts to wave, but it feels lame, and he scratches the back of his head instead.
She smiles. "I'm glad you asked me to come out tonight."
"Yeah!" he says, too cheerfully. "I'm glad you said yes." He kind of wants to hit himself. He smiles with too much teeth to try to cover his awkwardness. "So--dinner?"
"Dinner," she agrees.
They get through menus and orders before Sam really has to do smalltalk. Luckily Bela starts for him.
"Have you and Dean known each other long?"
When they moved to England, they agreed it would be easier if they pretended not to be brothers, in case anyone was still looking for Sam. Sam's never been sure anyone ever looked for him in the first place, but he likes the idea that they're hiding from someone.
"A few years, yeah," he says, smiling brightly.
"I have to admit, I'm very curious how the two of you met. I assume you didn't find him on craigslist."
Sam laughs. "Close. We were both working odd jobs, happened to be working the same one. Figured out we were pretty good at--"
"Pulling cons?" asks Bela.
He laughs again. "Yeah, I guess you could say that."
"How did you get involved in charity?"
"Well, you know. We thought we could use our powers for good."
She seems to want to say more, but hesitates. "So, what do you do when you're not being Robin Hood?"
"Uh," says Sam. "I want to go to school, but I haven't--I didn't have the most traditional education."
"That sounds like a story."
"Not for the first date," he says.
"Are you working on anything else right now?" she says. "Any more jobs, I mean."
If Sam weren't so nervous, and so pissed at Dean, he would have noticed her strange tone, but he just groans.
"He wants to do poker."
"Poker?" she asks, all curiosity.
"Dean thinks he's a master or something," says Sam, half pissed, half fond. "All I know is the last time we tried to pull that, we nearly got arrested."
She laughs. "He's quite a character, your friend."
He almost corrects her, but remembers she doesn't think they're anything more than that. Just friends.
"Yeah, he is," he agrees. "So, uh, tell me about school."
She laughs, a smile and a flash of teeth, and Sam thinks maybe he doesn't totally suck at this dating thing.
*
Outside the restaurant, Sam shifts a little, awkward and unsure.
"I had a really good time," he offers.
Bela laughs. "Sam, be honest with me. Have you ever done this before?"
"It's been a while," he admits.
"You don't have to be nervous," she says. "I won't bite." Then she grins wickedly. "Unless you want me to."
Sam nearly chokes on his own tongue. "Uh--can I give you a ride home? Or something?"
"Come on, Sammy, it's still early," he hears, and nearly freezes. Because, Jesus fuck, Dean is right behind him.
"Dean?" he hisses. "What the fuck are you doing here?"
"In the neighborhood, taking a walk," says Dean, flashing Bela his fucking charming smile. Sam's not even on the receiving end of it and it still makes his heart stutter. "You guys aren't seriously turning in for the night, are you? Come on, it's early."
"I have class tomorrow," says Bela. "Could I get that lift, Sam?"
Sam smiles widely, knowing he doesn't look as good as Dean does, knowing he's awkward and too tall but not caring. "Yeah, absolutely."
When he drops her off, she gives him a kiss, and Sam feels like a million bucks.
Of course, then he has to go home and see Dean.
"What the fuck was that, Dean?"
Dean glances up from the couch like nothing is wrong. "What?"
"You know, every time we meet a girl, you tell me how I should date her. Every time! And now that I've actually got one, you try to crash my date! You wanna explain that one to me,?"
"She's hot," says Dean. "It's not exactly rocket science, Sammy."
"Jesus," Sam mutters. "I like this girl, Dean. Could you pretend to try to keep it in your pants?"
There's a pause, and then Dean says, "Sorry, man."
"Just--seriously."
Dean grins. "Didn't know you were serious."
Sam flushes. "Shut up."
*
All in all, Bela thinks it's going rather well. She's gone out with Sam twice more, and she's gotten the name of the poker tournament Dean wants to enter from him.
She'd feel bad about it, but Sam could do better than Dean. And Bela could certainly use the money.
"Hello, Mr. Lambert? You're the head of security at the Grand Poker tournament tomorrow, aren't you?" she asks, twirling the phone cord around her fingers. "Listen, I have reason to believe there might be some questionable players in the game . . ."
*
Sam's not sure how he ends up agreeing to the poker plan.
Well, he is. He knows that he doesn't have any other idea for how they're going to get ten grand. The house is so close they can taste it, and Dean's been obsessed with getting that for as long as Sam can remember. It means more to Dean than it does to Sam at this point--saving enough money so Dean can give him the home he never had, some gorgeous old palace in the English countryside that will make up for whatever Dean thinks Sam is missing.
So Sam kind of has to agree.
"I hate you," he hisses into his mouth piece.
His tuxedo is itchy and doesn't sit right on his shoulders, and he's worried he's going to spill drinks all over everyone. He's not a good waiter, but he's a good card counter and a good spy, and that's why he's here and Dean's at the table, flirting and bluffing like he was born for it. Which he probably was
"Well that's very kind of you to say," Dean smarms at the girl across the table from him. She's got her breasts hanging out of her dress so much Sam's shocked he hasn't seen any nipple. "Veronica, was it?"
Possibly-Veronica giggles vapidly. Sam wants to kill someone.
"Room for one more?" asks a voice, and Sam and Dean both spin when Bela comes in.
"What the hell is she doing here?" Dean whispers frantically.
"Didn't I tell you, Dean?" she asks, ignoring Sam. "I'm a bit of a poker buff."
"Do you two know each other?" asks Veronica. Sam kind of wants to strangle her. Or smother her with his own breasts. He hates poker and this is just going from bad to worse to somehow even worse, like a train wreck getting hit by a falling plane.
"He's a friend of a friend," says Bela, flashing her teeth in a way that Sam finds somewhat unnerving. "Shall we play some poker?"
*
Sam never actually explained their con to her, but Bela isn't concerned about that. The thing Sam hasn't realized yet, and the thing Dean is too cocky to take into account, is that Sam isn't subtle. Oh, he tries. He walks hunched down a little, tries to seem smaller than he is, but he's a very tall American with floppy hair and a gorgeous face, and so is Dean. Bela would be shocked if half the people they saw in a day wouldn't instantly recognize and remember them.
Bela's also quite adept at cheating herself. Cards are one of the first scams she learned to pull, just a girl on her father's knee when he taught her the basics of card-counting in black jack. She knows everyone's tells, the coughs, the shuffles--she's a professional.
But for all she tries, she can't get a read on Dean.
It's not just that he's cheating. It's that every time she's sure she has him pegged down, his tells change. And his timing is so perfect it's uncanny.
Dean is better at this than she thought, and the third time she loses big on what she swore was a sure thing, he winks at her.
Motherfucker.
She also can't tell what Sam's signal is. He stands out like a sore thumb, but she has no idea how he's communicating to Dean what he's supposed to do. Of course, she thought she'd have plenty of opportunity to watch him since she would be so effortlessly dominating Dean in the game.
Nothing is really going as she planned.
"Read 'em and weep, sweetheart," says Dean, after he used his first bluff tell and his third good-hand tell in the same round. The bastard.
"Don't tell me you like to make girls cry, Dean," she shoots back.
"Oh, not all girls, sweetheart."
She's not sure if she wants to punch him or fuck him, but he seems like the kind of guy who might be into both at the same time.
She's thinking about mentioning that when she sees security approaching. It takes all her talent to keep a triumphant grin off her face.
But of course, he plans continue to derail. It's the kind of night she's having.
"Excuse me," the man says, to the ditz across the table from Dean, "you're going to have to come with us."
She looks baffled--not that Bela blames her. When she looks around, she sees Sam's already in custody. Security, brilliant as always, has apprehended only one half of the dream team.
Brilliant.
*
Dean thinks this has got to be that bitch Bela's fault, somehow. It can't just be a coincidence that she shows up and they get busted in the same night. Or Sam gets busted. It's not like Dean can act like they know each other--hell, doing anything other than showing shock blows their whole game, and what can they do to Sam? He wasn't actually doing shit to help Victoria cheat.
"Jesus Christ," he mutters.
"I'll second that," says Bela. The game's been "compromised," or some shit, and it's postponed. No cash, no house, and he's stuck with Sam's fucking girlfriend.
Sam's really hot girlfriend, who looks as pissy as he does.
"Whiskey," she tells the bartender. "Straight."
Dean can't help cocking his eyebrow in appreciation at that.
"I'm a student," she says. "I do know how to drink."
Dean knows, right then, that this is going to go terribly.
*
Sam's not even surprised when he gets home from a night in prison to find his brother and Bela naked asleep together. Honestly, the only unexpected thing is that Bela stayed--Dean's not much for sleepovers. But other than that, it's the kind of end he expected this day to have. Going from bad to worse to fucking worse, and now he's maybe, possibly, hit rock bottom.
He hopes.
He drags Dean out of bed by the leg, trying to ignore all the bare skin he sees on both of them. He doesn't know who he wants to look at more (except he does), so he settles for looking at no one.
Dean hits the floor hard.
"Ow, fuck, Jesus!"
Sam sees Bela blink her eyes open and blanch.
"Sam--"
"I need to talk to my b--Dean here," he says.
"I'm sorry," she says. "I--he--"
"Go," says Sam. Then he feels kind of bad, because he's pretty sure this is at least ninety percent Dean's fault. Dean and his fucking smile. "Please," he says, voice softening.
"Call me later?" she says softly. "Just--to talk."
"Yeah," Sam agrees.
Dean's still lying on the floor, half-covered by the blanket, looking dazed, by the time Bela's grabbed her clothes and slipped out.
"So," says Sam, pacing a little. "I could deal with you leaving me in prison all night. But leaving me in prison so you could fucking hook up with the girl I like? That's fucking low, Dean."
"It wasn't like that," says Dean, grinding the heels of his hands into his eyes. "Jesus, Sammy, I wasn't going to--"
"Yeah, I know how easy it is to accidentally fuck a girl."
"Sammy--"
"Don't Sammy me, Dean. Not right now."
Dean sits up. He's naked, his hair is a mess, and he looks so fuckable Sam has to look away. Jesus, when did he get this screwed up? Probably around when his parents died and he got a huge crush on his brother.
"I know that was a shitty thing to do," says Dean quietly. "But--I couldn't bust you out, man. I was in the game and you were a waiter."
Sam lets out a breath. That part he knew. As it was, they couldn't even hold him long; he and the girl knew shit about each other. They weren't actually cheating, which helped a lot.
"So you slept with Bela. Of course."
Dean looks up at him defiantly, and there's a long moment during which Sam has no fucking clue what's going to happen.
Then Dean gets up and crosses the room, roots around the closet and finds the cases they keep the money in.
"You know what?" he says, sounding calm enough that it scares Sam. "You're right, Sammy. So here," he throws a case at Sam's chest, "is the money. Go nuts."
"What?" asks Sam blankly.
"Go get married and buy Bela a house or--whatever the shit you want. Whatever makes you happy. Go for it."
"Dean--"
Dean grabs some pants and pulls on a shirt. "Bye, Sammy."
*
Half an hour later, Sam's still sitting on the floor with two suitcases full of cash, numb with shock.
Dean left.
They've had fights before; they're brothers, fighting is in their blood. But Dean's never left without saying "I'm going to the bar" or some other explanation.
Sam tries calling him, finally, but of course no one picks up. He leaves a simple voice message--Don't be an idiot, Dean--and tries to figure out what to do next.
The problem is that Sam doesn't actually have friends. He has Dean, and he's got--Bela, he guesses. Who's not exactly a friend, and who just slept with his brother, even if she didn't know it.
Still, she's the only person he knows who might actually talk to him right now, so Sam sucks it up and gets off the floor. He stuffs the cases in his bag, because it feels wrong to just leave them, somehow; Dean gave them to him. They're his responsibility in a way they never were before.
The car is still downstairs; Sam's not sure what to make of that. He hopes it means Dean just neglected to say where he was going, but was planning on coming home. Still, there was something final about it that makes Sam's gut clench.
One thing at a time. He's explaining to Bela, and then he's looking for Dean. He owes her--what? Sorry, Bela, I like you, but I like the guy you slept with a lot more, incest be damned?
Right.
"It's me," he says to her intercom when he arrives, and she buzzes him in immediately.
"Sam," she breathes, and she's beautiful, she is, but he has to find his brother. She's never going to be important. "I didn't expect you so soon."
He laughs. "Me and Dean had a fight. You were the one who was going to talk to me."
She lets him in. "Trouble in paradise?" she asks wryly.
"I wouldn't call it paradise," Sam lies.
"Listen, Sam, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean--"
Sam waves his hand. "It's not like we were official or anything."
"That doesn't make it any less shitty," she says.
"Yeah," he agrees. "You're right."
"I really do like you," she says earnestly. "I think we could work well together."
There's something about the way she says it that catches Sam's attention. "Work well," he repeats.
She looks surprised. "You know, partners."
"You don't just mean dating," says Sam, realization hitting him heavy. "You--"
"I mean dating too," she hastens to add. "But--you're not a bad conman."
"And you aren't either," he says. Jesus. She's--she's been playing him this whole time.
"I'm a great conman," she says, the flash of white teeth again.
Sam lets out a shaky laugh.
"Look, I know what you're thinking--"
"I doubt it," he mutters.
"Dean doesn't appreciate you. He's probably stealing the money, no charity, no orphans--"
Sam laughs. "He gave me the money."
She pauses for a long minute, eyes flicking up and down his body. "Not quite like I thought, then."
"Dean's not--he's not like anyone," says Sam shakily. "And I was going to feel bad for ditching you for him, but you know what? I don't. Not even a little."
He gets up to leave, and he feels Bela's hand on his arm.
"Just so you know," she says, smiling a little, "he's crazy about you too."
Sam swallows. She's beautiful, and she's been conning him the whole time, and if Dean knew that, he'd probably just want her more. He can't help laughing. "Yeah, right."
"Believe me, Sam, I've seen more than my share of jealous boyfriends. Think of it as my apology."
Sam snorts. "I'm not forgiving you."
She grins, and it just makes Sam feel kind of ill now. "Of course not."
*
As Sam drives home he thinks--he hasn't got anything to lose.
Bela's a bitch, but even if she's lying to try to break him and Dean up, they're already screwed. So he--maybe it's time to just tell Dean the truth. That he doesn't care about the house, doesn't care about Bela, doesn't care about natural laws and the overall grossness of incest.
He really just wants Dean.
He's got himself all psyched up for a huge search for Dean ending in some romantic confession of love when he gets back to their apartment and Dean is right there. He's halfway between hungover and back to drunk, and he looks so shocked to see Sam that he's surprised he doesn't drop the beer he's holding.
Instead he puts it down on the table and looks sheepish. "Thought you'd be with Bela."
And Sam--Sam's fucking had it.
He crosses the room, shoves Dean up against the fridge, and kisses him.
Dean's hands come up instantly, palms flat against his chest, and Sam's braced for it, ready for Dean to push him away, tell him he's disgusting. He's ready to spring away at the slightest pressure, but it doesn't come, and Sam can feel something like happiness fluttering around his ribcage. He swipes his tongue across Dean's lips, and Dean fucking whimpers, opens his mouth and balls his hands into fists on Sam's shirt, pulling him closer, and suddenly they're making out, hard and sloppy.
When Sam pulls back, Dean whimpers again, and Sam just stares.
"You want me," he says, and Dean blushes.
It's kind of amazing.
"I do not," Dean mutters irritably, looking away, and Sam kisses him again, because he can, and this time Dean groans into it, "What about Bela?" he asks.
"Mmm," says Sam, dropping his mouth down to mouth at Dean's stubble. His hands are roving all over Dean's torso, unsure where to stop. There's too much he wants to do, and he's worried if he doesn't do everything now, he'll never get the chance. "Rather have you."
"Jesus, Sammy," Dean laughs shakily as Sam slides his hands under his shirt, feeling the taut skin there. Sam's touched Dean before, but never like this, never how he wanted to. "Kinda eager there."
Sam slots his leg between Dean's, pressing until Dean moans.
"Shut up," says Sam desperately. "Fucking years, Dean," he says.
It's something of a blur after that--he knows he drags Dean to the bedroom, knows Dean laughs breathlessly, like happiness is stuck in his throat and keeps escaping. Knows he strips both of them naked in ten minutes flat, gets stuck on the first feeling of skin on skin.
"Wanna fuck you," he manages as they're rutting against each other, and he knows Dean says, "Yeah, Sammy, anything."
Everything comes into focus when Dean is spread out in front of him, naked and waiting, and he breathes, "I love you."
Immediately, he regrets it--it has to be too soon, or too weird, or too stupid, and who says that the first time they're having sex with anyone. Especially their older brother.
But Dean just shakes his head. "God, you're such a chick, Sammy."
Sam smirks, deliberately rubs his dick against Dean's hole. "Wanna bet?"
*
Sam goes right to sleep, this gigantic warm pile crushing Dean's windpipe, but Dean can't do it.
He's had sex twice in the last twenty-four hours, which isn't weird, but the transition from little brother's girlfriend to little brother was pretty staggering. To say nothing of the way that said little brother's love? Apparently wasn't as familial as Dean thought.
He absently strokes his hand through Sam's hair, finding himself starting to grin as Sam drools on his chest. It's gross and he's covered in spunk, but Sam's not leaving him for some bitch of a girl who totally--
Dean realizes he actually has no idea what went down with Bela, and he's pretty curious if Sam actually figured out what she did to that poker game, so he figures he should screw this post-coital napping shit and pokes Sam in the ribs until he rolls over.
"Jesus, what?" he asks blearily, and Dean realizes he must still be grinning when Sam starts smiling back like a total tool.
"What happened with Bela?"
Sam's expression darkens a little. "Turns out she wanted me to, uh. She's a conman, Dean. Wanted to lure me away from you."
"Man, I knew she set up that poker shit!"
"Shut up, Dean."
"You tell her where to stick it?"
Sam flushes. "Actually, she told me."
"Huh?"
Sam smiles a little. "She said you were crazy about me."
Dean absolutely doesn't want to be indebted to fucking Bela. He gets distracted from thinking about it when Sam laces their fingers together--and he seriously did not raise his brother to be such a fucking girl--and says, "So we still need ten grand."
Dean laughs. "Now you're talking, Sammy. And get the money back in the closet, Jesus."
Sam gets up, and Dean watches him pad across the room, shamelessly checking out his naked ass. His life is awesome.
Sam gets his bag and then there's a pause Dean doesn't like.
"Dean. . ."
"What," says Dean, already guessing the answer.
Sam pours two large, empty pink purses out of his bag.
"I brought it over to Bela's--" Sam says, looking down.
Their entire fucking life savings, replaced by two fucking ugly bags.
They look up at the same time.
"Son of a bitch!"