Where You Are [Is Where I Belong]
Title: Where You Are [Is Where I Belong]
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: Mature
Words: 2,108
Summary: Sam is stuck in class on a beautiful fall day. His mind wanders and it always ends up on Dean.
Read on AO3
Sam was so done with this school. Thursday of week three in this God-forsaken-ass-backwards-middle-of-nowhere town and he’d had enough. His teachers were old, uninspiring, rude, wrong or - in more than one case - all of the above, and the students, well… Sam hadn’t exactly made friends. Sam was seventeen, the new kid in late October, and all kinds of awkward. He’d shot up an incredible, almost unbelievable, amount since last June and he was certain he looked as unsettled as he felt, all long lanky limbs that didn’t seem to want to cooperate on a good day. He was still catching himself off guard in mirrors, still not really recognizing himself in this strangely new body, feeling a bit alien in his own skin. Not to mention, he was fairly sure he gave off a pretty weird vibe anyway, between his skill with the butterfly knife he had tucked into his backpack, the fact that he’d been firing weapons his whole life while other kids just rode bikes, and then - perhaps more than anything - that he was in love with his brother. He felt like that was somehow visible on his person, as if people could look at his eyes and know that the heart in his chest beat exclusively for Dean, whom he adored and worshipped like the sun, needed like the very air he breathed, and wanted to melt into as surely as rain mixing with the sea, to be indistinguishable and endless. Realistically, he knew there was no way people could tell that just by looking at him, but he couldn’t help but think it nonetheless, like the trails of Dean’s kisses were conspicuously etched into his skin, burning brightly like stakes of claim saying I belong to my brother.
As the clock ticked away the remainder of advanced Biology at an agonizingly slow rate, Sam had tuned out the tedious droning of the monotone lesson on population dynamics and was absentmindedly gazing out the window at the clouds drifting by, their progress unsurprisingly similar to the that of the minute hand. It was a beautiful, crisp autumn day, the sun warm and the breeze cool; Sam’s favourite kind of day. He had too many favourite memories on days just like these for it to be any different. He let his mind wander through them, settling on one from last fall that always put a smile on his face. Dean had been working at a local garage while their Dad was off hunting a Wendigo another 100 miles or so away, and after a particularly busy day at the shop he’d walked away with a little extra cash in his pocket, which he used to take Sam to the local county fair. It wasn’t something they did often, and certainly Dad would’ve been livid at the frivolity of it, the waste of money and time, which they could’ve been using for weapons practice or other training. Every once in a while though, Dean would say fuck it and do something Dad would never, ever do, and Sam knew it was all for him. Even now thinking back on it his chest ached with a kind of overwhelming fondness that he only ever felt for Dean, who treated him like he was his whole world, even though he was just some gawky kid who never gave him any space, doing his best impression of his big brother’s shadow for the majority of his life.
They’d spent the evening going on all the lame rides, binging on corn dogs and cotton candy, Dean hooking Sam’s head against his shoulder as he pinched pieces of the sugary substance from where Sam was holding it, playfully almost out of reach just to make sure Dean would tuck him in close, his leather jacket cool and familiar and like home on the back of Sam’s neck. They’d won a couple of prizes playing games that were always going to be a joke for the Winchester boys and had given away the plushies to some younger kids whose childhoods hadn’t been so uncommon as theirs; it wasn’t like they could keep any evidence of their unauthorized adventure for Dad to stumble upon and question later. It had been a perfect late September day, but by the time they were heading back to the Impala, with a bag of mini donuts to go for good measure, it was a little chilly, and Sam was clinging to Dean unabashedly, snugged under his arm, leaching as much heat as he could. Dean pretended to be put out by Sam’s arms as they snaked around his waist, one up underneath his jacket and skimming the skin of the small of his back, but Sam didn’t need to tilt his head up and see his big brother’s face to know there was a grin there that undermined his grumbling entirely. He ruffled Sam’s hair with the hand that wasn’t clutching the bag of donuts and Sam knew like always that Dean would - and did - plant a quick kiss on the top of his head, nosing to breathe him in, the same way that Sam was nuzzling into Dean’s chest, deliberately getting a nose full of all that Winchester-worn leather, Old Spice and Dean.
Dean steered them back to the car, Sam trusting his brother implicitly to guide his feet so he could play up being tired and keep leaning into him, not even caring to see. Dean had parked his baby a ways from the fairgrounds, somewhere safe and secluded so she didn’t draw any attention, and maybe, as it dawned on Sam now, because he’d had these plans from the beginning. Either way, by the time he was tossing the bag of goodies into the back seat, Dean was hot and hard in his jeans, and he made sure Sam knew it by hiking him up against the passenger side door - still small enough then that he could hold him up on his own - and Sam wrapped his legs around his waist, burrowing into his warmth, sheltered between his brother’s body and the frame of the Impala. He’d kissed at Sam’s mouth and all the skin he could get to besides, circling his hips and grinding them together until they’d both come in their pants, Sam soft and boneless against him, Dean still keeping him safe in his arms though he was spent and supporting them with help from his Baby, their panting breaths swirling around them in warm, misty puffs. When he got his strength back, he’d stepped back, Sam still clinging to him like some kind of monkey, and then opened the door and eased his baby brother into the front seat. When he climbed in behind the wheel, Sam scooted over and pillowed his head in his lap, passing out before Dean even had a chance to take her out of park, one hand on the gear shift and the other buried in Sam’s mop.
Sam was idly tapping his pencil on the desk, his face resting in his other hand, as he poured over the memory, wishing he was curled up in his brother’s lap instead of being stuck in this class. He wasn’t sure what made him glance down from the cloud-littered sky to the street below, but as he did he saw the sleek, familiar sight of the Impala rolling down the road toward the front of the school. His heart fluttered excitedly behind his ribs, and he smiled from ear to ear. If Dean was coming now, they were leaving. Sam was so done with this school. Paying no attention to the ongoing lecture, he stood and slid his books off the desk into his backpack. As he zipped it he realized the room had fallen silent, and looked to the front of the room where the teacher and all the students in between were gaping at him.
“Mr. Winchester?” The man uttered it for what seemed to be not the first time, eyebrows in sharp angles above the rims of his large frames, mouth set in an annoyed frown. Smirking, Sam just shrugged at him, slung his bag over his shoulder, and left. It was all he could do not to run out of the room and down the hall. He could feel his phone buzz in his pocket as Dean was undoubtedly texting him to come outside so they could put this crappy town in their rearview. He didn’t bother to stop and check; he didn’t need to. Busting through the main doors, Sam paused to let his eyes search out his brother, and they did without any difficulty. Dean had parked the Impala in the roundabout and was leaning against his door looking way cooler than Sam would ever dare tell him, wearing his leather jacket with the collar turned up, his arms folded over his chest and the brass of the amulet catching the sunlight where it lay exposed over his black tee shirt. He looked up and when those piercing green eyes of his met Sam’s, he grinned to match his little brother’s and waved as if to get Sam’s attention; like Sam could ever really see anyone else.
He started down the front steps and as he approached his brother, Dean’s mouth opened as though he was about to speak - certainly the usual ‘hiya Sammy’ - but Sam never gave him the chance. He moved right up into Dean’s space and crowded him back against the car, pressing their lips together, not giving a damn because this was the last time he’d ever be on this property with these civilians, and he loved his brother more than anything else from here to Kingdom come, and he’d challenge anyone to resist the opportunity to kiss his brother’s perfect pouty lips (except not actually, because those belonged to him). Dean let out a quiet, startled sound but he was only surprised for a moment before he succumbed, yielding his mouth for Sam’s tongue and relaxing his body into his brother’s as he slid his hands down to palm Sam’s ass and pull him in tightly. Sam hummed happily into his mouth, smiling against his lips, and tried not to look too smug when he pulled back a little and realized that Dean - even if only just - had to look up at him. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to that but it absolutely thrilled him, even more so because if he pointed it out Dean would flush and profess irritation that Sam knew was completely bogus.
“Hey Dean,” Sam said brightly, a little breathless and a lot happy. He felt the way Dean smiled at him all over his body like ripples across the surface of a pond. It always made him feel like he could do anything.
“Yeah, hey you, too,” his big brother laughed, and one of his calloused hands slipped into his hair, giving it a playful tug and pulling him in for another quick, deep kiss. “Ready to get outta here, kiddo?”
“So ready.” They shared a knowing look and then Sam was racing around to the passenger side while Dean got in, climbing behind the wheel to the welcome dip and creak of the frame. Sam tossed his backpack over the bench and without pretense, the memory still fresh in his mind, sidled up next to his brother, knocking their knees together and keeping his thigh flush with Dean’s. Dean quirked an eyebrow at him while he threw the Impala into drive, but the corner of his mouth was still turned up, and his eyes were light.
“Shut up and drive, jerk.” Sam rolled his eyes, laughing. He was happy to put this place behind him and hope for something less shitty, a perfect day and a clear road ahead, and he was prepared to deflect Dean’s teasing by any and all means necessary; he had a few faithful tricks up his sleeve, after all. Dean lifted his hand off the back of the seat and roughly put it into Sam’s hair, thoroughly mussing it up. Sam could hardly manage to be annoyed.
“Whatever, bitch.”
Dean cranked the tunes as they peeled out of the parking lot and hit the highway, driving to meet up with Dad somewhere new. The sounds of Boston’s Don’t Look Back filled the the Impala and the sun warmed their legs through the windshield. Sam looked out the window at the crystalline sky that seemed clearer with every passing second, his brother’s arm across his shoulders and his hand tapping him in time with the beat, and he wondered what memories they might make tonight.
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: Mature
Words: 2,108
Summary: Sam is stuck in class on a beautiful fall day. His mind wanders and it always ends up on Dean.
Read on AO3
Sam was so done with this school. Thursday of week three in this God-forsaken-ass-backwards-middle-of-nowhere town and he’d had enough. His teachers were old, uninspiring, rude, wrong or - in more than one case - all of the above, and the students, well… Sam hadn’t exactly made friends. Sam was seventeen, the new kid in late October, and all kinds of awkward. He’d shot up an incredible, almost unbelievable, amount since last June and he was certain he looked as unsettled as he felt, all long lanky limbs that didn’t seem to want to cooperate on a good day. He was still catching himself off guard in mirrors, still not really recognizing himself in this strangely new body, feeling a bit alien in his own skin. Not to mention, he was fairly sure he gave off a pretty weird vibe anyway, between his skill with the butterfly knife he had tucked into his backpack, the fact that he’d been firing weapons his whole life while other kids just rode bikes, and then - perhaps more than anything - that he was in love with his brother. He felt like that was somehow visible on his person, as if people could look at his eyes and know that the heart in his chest beat exclusively for Dean, whom he adored and worshipped like the sun, needed like the very air he breathed, and wanted to melt into as surely as rain mixing with the sea, to be indistinguishable and endless. Realistically, he knew there was no way people could tell that just by looking at him, but he couldn’t help but think it nonetheless, like the trails of Dean’s kisses were conspicuously etched into his skin, burning brightly like stakes of claim saying I belong to my brother.
As the clock ticked away the remainder of advanced Biology at an agonizingly slow rate, Sam had tuned out the tedious droning of the monotone lesson on population dynamics and was absentmindedly gazing out the window at the clouds drifting by, their progress unsurprisingly similar to the that of the minute hand. It was a beautiful, crisp autumn day, the sun warm and the breeze cool; Sam’s favourite kind of day. He had too many favourite memories on days just like these for it to be any different. He let his mind wander through them, settling on one from last fall that always put a smile on his face. Dean had been working at a local garage while their Dad was off hunting a Wendigo another 100 miles or so away, and after a particularly busy day at the shop he’d walked away with a little extra cash in his pocket, which he used to take Sam to the local county fair. It wasn’t something they did often, and certainly Dad would’ve been livid at the frivolity of it, the waste of money and time, which they could’ve been using for weapons practice or other training. Every once in a while though, Dean would say fuck it and do something Dad would never, ever do, and Sam knew it was all for him. Even now thinking back on it his chest ached with a kind of overwhelming fondness that he only ever felt for Dean, who treated him like he was his whole world, even though he was just some gawky kid who never gave him any space, doing his best impression of his big brother’s shadow for the majority of his life.
They’d spent the evening going on all the lame rides, binging on corn dogs and cotton candy, Dean hooking Sam’s head against his shoulder as he pinched pieces of the sugary substance from where Sam was holding it, playfully almost out of reach just to make sure Dean would tuck him in close, his leather jacket cool and familiar and like home on the back of Sam’s neck. They’d won a couple of prizes playing games that were always going to be a joke for the Winchester boys and had given away the plushies to some younger kids whose childhoods hadn’t been so uncommon as theirs; it wasn’t like they could keep any evidence of their unauthorized adventure for Dad to stumble upon and question later. It had been a perfect late September day, but by the time they were heading back to the Impala, with a bag of mini donuts to go for good measure, it was a little chilly, and Sam was clinging to Dean unabashedly, snugged under his arm, leaching as much heat as he could. Dean pretended to be put out by Sam’s arms as they snaked around his waist, one up underneath his jacket and skimming the skin of the small of his back, but Sam didn’t need to tilt his head up and see his big brother’s face to know there was a grin there that undermined his grumbling entirely. He ruffled Sam’s hair with the hand that wasn’t clutching the bag of donuts and Sam knew like always that Dean would - and did - plant a quick kiss on the top of his head, nosing to breathe him in, the same way that Sam was nuzzling into Dean’s chest, deliberately getting a nose full of all that Winchester-worn leather, Old Spice and Dean.
Dean steered them back to the car, Sam trusting his brother implicitly to guide his feet so he could play up being tired and keep leaning into him, not even caring to see. Dean had parked his baby a ways from the fairgrounds, somewhere safe and secluded so she didn’t draw any attention, and maybe, as it dawned on Sam now, because he’d had these plans from the beginning. Either way, by the time he was tossing the bag of goodies into the back seat, Dean was hot and hard in his jeans, and he made sure Sam knew it by hiking him up against the passenger side door - still small enough then that he could hold him up on his own - and Sam wrapped his legs around his waist, burrowing into his warmth, sheltered between his brother’s body and the frame of the Impala. He’d kissed at Sam’s mouth and all the skin he could get to besides, circling his hips and grinding them together until they’d both come in their pants, Sam soft and boneless against him, Dean still keeping him safe in his arms though he was spent and supporting them with help from his Baby, their panting breaths swirling around them in warm, misty puffs. When he got his strength back, he’d stepped back, Sam still clinging to him like some kind of monkey, and then opened the door and eased his baby brother into the front seat. When he climbed in behind the wheel, Sam scooted over and pillowed his head in his lap, passing out before Dean even had a chance to take her out of park, one hand on the gear shift and the other buried in Sam’s mop.
Sam was idly tapping his pencil on the desk, his face resting in his other hand, as he poured over the memory, wishing he was curled up in his brother’s lap instead of being stuck in this class. He wasn’t sure what made him glance down from the cloud-littered sky to the street below, but as he did he saw the sleek, familiar sight of the Impala rolling down the road toward the front of the school. His heart fluttered excitedly behind his ribs, and he smiled from ear to ear. If Dean was coming now, they were leaving. Sam was so done with this school. Paying no attention to the ongoing lecture, he stood and slid his books off the desk into his backpack. As he zipped it he realized the room had fallen silent, and looked to the front of the room where the teacher and all the students in between were gaping at him.
“Mr. Winchester?” The man uttered it for what seemed to be not the first time, eyebrows in sharp angles above the rims of his large frames, mouth set in an annoyed frown. Smirking, Sam just shrugged at him, slung his bag over his shoulder, and left. It was all he could do not to run out of the room and down the hall. He could feel his phone buzz in his pocket as Dean was undoubtedly texting him to come outside so they could put this crappy town in their rearview. He didn’t bother to stop and check; he didn’t need to. Busting through the main doors, Sam paused to let his eyes search out his brother, and they did without any difficulty. Dean had parked the Impala in the roundabout and was leaning against his door looking way cooler than Sam would ever dare tell him, wearing his leather jacket with the collar turned up, his arms folded over his chest and the brass of the amulet catching the sunlight where it lay exposed over his black tee shirt. He looked up and when those piercing green eyes of his met Sam’s, he grinned to match his little brother’s and waved as if to get Sam’s attention; like Sam could ever really see anyone else.
He started down the front steps and as he approached his brother, Dean’s mouth opened as though he was about to speak - certainly the usual ‘hiya Sammy’ - but Sam never gave him the chance. He moved right up into Dean’s space and crowded him back against the car, pressing their lips together, not giving a damn because this was the last time he’d ever be on this property with these civilians, and he loved his brother more than anything else from here to Kingdom come, and he’d challenge anyone to resist the opportunity to kiss his brother’s perfect pouty lips (except not actually, because those belonged to him). Dean let out a quiet, startled sound but he was only surprised for a moment before he succumbed, yielding his mouth for Sam’s tongue and relaxing his body into his brother’s as he slid his hands down to palm Sam’s ass and pull him in tightly. Sam hummed happily into his mouth, smiling against his lips, and tried not to look too smug when he pulled back a little and realized that Dean - even if only just - had to look up at him. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to that but it absolutely thrilled him, even more so because if he pointed it out Dean would flush and profess irritation that Sam knew was completely bogus.
“Hey Dean,” Sam said brightly, a little breathless and a lot happy. He felt the way Dean smiled at him all over his body like ripples across the surface of a pond. It always made him feel like he could do anything.
“Yeah, hey you, too,” his big brother laughed, and one of his calloused hands slipped into his hair, giving it a playful tug and pulling him in for another quick, deep kiss. “Ready to get outta here, kiddo?”
“So ready.” They shared a knowing look and then Sam was racing around to the passenger side while Dean got in, climbing behind the wheel to the welcome dip and creak of the frame. Sam tossed his backpack over the bench and without pretense, the memory still fresh in his mind, sidled up next to his brother, knocking their knees together and keeping his thigh flush with Dean’s. Dean quirked an eyebrow at him while he threw the Impala into drive, but the corner of his mouth was still turned up, and his eyes were light.
“Shut up and drive, jerk.” Sam rolled his eyes, laughing. He was happy to put this place behind him and hope for something less shitty, a perfect day and a clear road ahead, and he was prepared to deflect Dean’s teasing by any and all means necessary; he had a few faithful tricks up his sleeve, after all. Dean lifted his hand off the back of the seat and roughly put it into Sam’s hair, thoroughly mussing it up. Sam could hardly manage to be annoyed.
“Whatever, bitch.”
Dean cranked the tunes as they peeled out of the parking lot and hit the highway, driving to meet up with Dad somewhere new. The sounds of Boston’s Don’t Look Back filled the the Impala and the sun warmed their legs through the windshield. Sam looked out the window at the crystalline sky that seemed clearer with every passing second, his brother’s arm across his shoulders and his hand tapping him in time with the beat, and he wondered what memories they might make tonight.