No One Can Grow in Shade
Title: No One Can Grow in Shade
Author: winyumi
Rating: NC-17
Words: 2,700
Characters: Sam/OMC, Dean, John
Warning: Sex between 14-years-olds, dub-con, swearing, angstiness
Summary: Sam meets a guy and tries to break it to Dean that he's gay. After that, things get angsty.
Disclaimer: The poor Winchesters are not mine. Lucky for them, because I bring them nothing but angst.
Author's Note: This one goes out to each of the lovely people who commented so supportively on my first fic. Give yourself a hug for encouraging me to write more. Unless you don't like this, in which case give yourself a slap in the head. (Just kidding. Serious hugs for all of you.)
“Hey, that’s my mom’s wedding dress,” cries Brandon drunkenly. His parent's bedroom was closest, so he brought Sam there to get away from the party for a minute. He didn't know the dress would be there. Sam grins and rolls his eyes at him, turns back to survey the dress, laid out on the covers like a pale skin. The silly smile fades quickly from his face, and he brushes past Brandon to touch the dress. His fingertips skim hesitantly over the seed pearls that coat the bodice. Brandon watches Sam’s sudden fascination, the way his lips part as his fingers glide down the satin sleeve.
Sam’s eyes rove the dress, rapt, and Brandon doesn’t like it. Dislikes how it tightens his belly. “Quit acting like a freak, Winchester,” he says sharply.
Sam looks at him, startled. Brandon’s always nice to him, never teases too hard. Comes to his rescue if anybody calls him names or even shoots him a dirty look. Sam's been drinking too. Brandon doesn't have the right to yell at him for acting strange.
He knows he should apologize, but then he gets caught in how Sam’s fingers are still subtly caressing the sleeve, petting it. It makes him walk over instead, clamp down on Sam’s wrist tightly so he’ll stop.
He has to stare at that for a minute, how large his hand is around Sam’s thin wrist. Sam looks too. He waits for Sam to try and twist free, but he doesn't right away.
“Does she ever wear it?” Sam asks wistfully, without looking up.
“Don’t be stupid,” Brandon snaps. Can’t stop staring at his hand on Sam. Still waiting for Sam to try to get his hand off. “You don’t wear it after the wedding day.”
“So why keep it?”
“I don’t know. Why keep anything? For the memories.” Sam finally looks up. His eyes shine wetly like a baby seal’s, the kind they kill for the pelts.
“My mom’s dress-” he begins softly. Trying to share a piece of himself, but that isn’t the piece Brandon wants. Brandon leans in and cuts him off. Sam’s mouth tastes like beer, and Brandon squeezes his fingers into Sam’s wrist tighter, to feel his pulse. It throbs, scared-animal strong.
“Who cares about your mom’s dress?” Brandon asks thickly, and Sam shakes his head once, Nobody, presses up for another kiss.
******
“There’s nothing weird about Brandon, Dean.”
“Yeah, there is, Sam. And I can’t believe you haven’t noticed it-”
“No there isn’t. You just think he’s weird because he’s normal!”
“That makes no sense.”
“You know what I mean-”
“Honestly Sam, I don’t. Have you listened to yourself lately?”
“Alright, I’ll say it in simple words you can understand. We are the freaks here. Brandon is normal. If there’s something about him you don’t understand it’s because of you, not him.”
“You know what I understand? I understand the way he looks at you. Yeah Sam, he stares at you, like a fucking predator, I don’t know how you don’t see it, but you watch next time. I’m not making this up.”
“I’ve seen it.”
“What?”
“I’ve seen it.”
“And you don’t think that’s, oh I don’t know, weird?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Sammy-”
“Hey, girls look at you like that all the time.”
“He’s not a girl, Sam. And no they don’t- not like that. Not so fuckin' creepy.”
“It’s not creepy.”
“Excuse me?”
“I don’t think it’s creepy.”
“You don’t think it’s creepy.”
“I like it. I like him.”
“Sammy... What are you saying here?”
“I’m saying I like him. And he likes me ba-”
“Stop! Jesus Sam! Are you- are you kidding me with this?”
“No. I’m not.”
“This isn’t funny.”
“No. It’s not.”
“I’m serious Sam. This isn’t something you joke about. People take this shit seriously. You make jokes like that around the wrong people you’ll get your ass kicked, or worse, okay? So don’t fucking do it!”
“I’m not joking, Dean, this isn’t a joke. I’m-”
“Shut up, Sam! Just shut up. The next words outta your mouth better be ‘Sorry, Dean, I’m nowhere near as funny as I think I am-’”
“Dean, please-”
“No. No. Not one more word, Sam.”
“Dean- wait- wait.”
******
The dress is back in his mom’s closet the next day. Brandon gets it out before Sam comes over, throws it on his bed. Runs his own finger down the satin sleeve like Sam did, but it’s just slippery and cool. Not smooth and warm and thrumming like Sam.
When Sam gets there, Brandon grabs his same wrist in the same place, pulls Sam straight to his bedroom without a word.
He kisses him hard. Sam opens easily for him. Starved for touch runs through Brandon’s head. He pretends the words don’t start a thrill in his stomach.
He strips Sam’s shirt off, runs his hands over Sam’s chest, down his sides until they hit the waistband of his jeans. He hooks his fingers in, catching Sam’s skin with his blunt nails. Sam gasps and shudders. He runs them around the waistband til they meet in the back, runs them back over the same hidden skin til they meet in the front. Dips them down a little farther. Sam’s whole body quivers against his.
Brandon studies his face, his half-lidded eyes, his soft wet mouth. He leans in and latches onto Sam’s neck, bites down right where it meets the shoulder. Sam shivers and moans. His hips roll against Brandon’s groin. It’s Brandon’s turn to shiver. He growls and pushes Sam away.
“Hold still,” he rasps. He unbuttons Sam’s pants roughly, grabs ahold and pulls down his jeans and boxers in one motion. Sam’s cock bobs hopefully up against his belly, but Brandon ignores it. He retrieves the wedding dress. Sam’s eyes go wide and soft when he sees it.
He sways slightly in place when Brandon pulls it over his head. Brandon takes his time fastening up the back and straightening Sam’s mussed up hair and the train. When he’s got everything neat he steps back. The white of the dress against Sam’s tan skin makes him seem to glow. His face is deeply flushed. He expression is confused, uncertain. Blood rushes to Brandon’s cock and with both hands he shoves, sends Sam onto his back on the bed.
*******
It didn’t used to be this way. Things were different before Brandon. Dean used to be the ambassador between him and Dad. These days it’s Dean who’s cold, remote and untouchable, a polar icecap.
It’s his own fault, he’s aware of that.
“What’s going on with you and your brother?” He overhears Dad asking, only because he left his bedroom door open, ready in case Brandon calls. If Dean picks up first and he thinks it’s Brandon, he hangs up without a word.
“Nothing, Dad,” Dean says gruffly. For once in his life, he doesn’t give when Dad pushes.
“Dean...”
“It’s nothing Dad. I’m gonna go to the store. You need anything?”
Dad just sighs.
After Dean’s left, he comes to Sam’s room.
It’s too soon, Sam hasn’t had enough time to get his eyes to dry up.
“Sam, what’s-” Dad starts gruffly. He stops when he gets a look at the teartracks, “What’s going on here?” he continues, about as softly as Dad ever gets.
Sam wipes roughly at his cheeks, shakes his head and stares blurrily at his geometry book. Dad stops hanging in the doorway and comes the rest of the way in. It’s a tiny room, practically a closet. It’s the first time Dad’s done more than poke his head in since they moved here.
He puts a heavy hand on Sam’s head and tilts it back so Sam has no choice but to look at him.
“Sam, what’s wrong?” He’d forgotten how calming Dad could be, how gentle when he’s Dad, not John Winchester. It surprises him into talking.
“Dean’s uh- really mad at me,” he sniffles.
“Yeah, I noticed that. Why’s Dean mad at you, Sammy?” Sam hesitates. Dad and Dean are so much the same. It probably isn’t worth the risk.
“It’s nothing Dad. We’ll work it out.”
******
“Where are you going?”
“To Brandon’s, Dean.”
“Well, you can’t. You’ve got training to do.”
“I’ll do it later.”
“You’ll do it now.”
“No, I won’t.”
“Yes, you will.”
“Alright fine. You wanna- Fine. I’ll do it now and go to Brandon’s later.”
“Won’t you have homework to do?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“C’mon Sammy, I thought you cared about grades-”
“Dean-”
“-above all things, gotta get A’s, that’s the most important thing in life-”
“Don’t, Dean-”
“More important than helping Dad, more important than family, more important than saving lives-”
“Fuck this, I’m going to Brandon’s now-”
“Stop, Sammy! You do and I’ll tell Dad.”
“What?”
“I’ll tell him you went to a friend’s house instead of training. He’ll ground you for a month. You won’t-”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Sammy-”
“I don’t understand- I just- I don’t get why you-”
“Don’t, Sammy c’mon, don’t cry-”
“Don’t touch me, Dean!”
“Sammy... You think this is- this is fun for me? Cause guess what, it’s not. This hurts me too, you know? You’re my brother, I’m trying to protect you, I’m trying to help you, but lately- it’s like- I don’t know, I don’t know what to do, how to fix this thing. You tell me Sammy, what am I supposed to do? Huh? Brandon’s- you’re just letting him-it’s not right Sam. It’s not healthy. It's wrong. It's- it's sick. I just- How am I supposed to fix this?”
“I don’t know, Dean. Why can’t you- why is this something to fix? Is it, is it really that big a deal? If I like guys?”
“First of all, Sammy, you know it is, so don't play dumb. Secondly? You’re only 14, you don’t know what you like... No, don’t get all pissy, you don’t. You’re too young, you gotta give it time, you gotta try going out with some girls before you make up your mind. I mean, have you even tried?”
“No. I just know, okay?”
“You don’t, Sammy. You think so, but...”
“I’m gonna go.”
“Sammy...”
“I’m going to Brandon’s.”
“Don’t- Sammy- Just think about what I'm saying, okay?”
“Bye Dean.”
“Don’t be like that... God damn it, Sam!”
******
Sam’s crying while he rings the doorbell. Still crying as Brandon pulls him down the hall. He tries to cry quietly, he’s pretty good at that, but the tears won’t stop rolling. He’s so mad at Dean, he wishes he could hit him, punch him in his stupid blind face. Why can’t he see that Sam isn’t doing this to be stubborn?
It hurts, not having Dean on his side. Dean’s always the one who understands him. Why doesn’t he this time? Why is this one thing different?
Brandon undresses him, strokes his bare flanks like soothing a skittish horse. Puts the dress on him reverently.
Undresses himself without taking his eyes off Sam longer than it takes to pull his shirt over his head.
He guides him down onto the bed, strokes his thighs through the satin, then hitches the skirt up to his knees, bends them up and spreads them, disappears between them to take Sam in his mouth. It feels so good Sam stops breathing. His eyes don’t stop trickling though. He begins to wonder hysterically if they’ll ever stop.
He sobs when he comes. He watches through wet lashes as Brandon emerges, mouth pursed closed strangely. Brandon pulls his knees and the skirt back down and smooths it carefully over his feet. There are inches of the dress to spare. It’s too big for him, loose on him like he’s a child playing dress-up. Brandon kneels up, hunches over, spits a mouthful of fluid into his cupped hands.
He knee-walks up the bed. “Shhh,” he says, and gently nudges Sam onto his belly with his elbow, his knee, hands still cupped tightly so he doesn't spill. Sam rolls passively. He turns his face away from Brandon, listens to him slicking himself up. He hikes up Sam’s train, all the way to his waist. When he slips the first warm slick finger into Sam, Sam’s breath hitches, and finally finally the tears stop dripping.
Brandon grunts with each thrust. It’s an animal sound, ugly, so Sam stops listening.
He stops thinking too. If Sam thinks of Dean, he’ll start crying again, and if he thinks, he’ll think of Dean, so he doesn’t think of anything. So he doesn’t cry.
******
Five minutes into dinner, he knows Dean told Dad. It’s the way Dad’s watching him.
It’s not cold and hard, like when they face monsters. Sam knows that look, and it’s not the one Dad’s wearing.
It’s a stare like he’s a familiar animal made strange. A two-headed calf. An albino squirrel. Something not evil but wrong.
After he figures it out, he’s careful to keep his eyes on his plate. He shreds his chicken into smaller and smaller chunks, opens his green beans down the seam and carefully separates the seeds from the pods. His only movements are small ones. Maneuvering his silverware. Shifting in his seat to ease the soreness. If Dean and Dad are finding it hard to eat too he wouldn’t know. The numbness that descended on him at Brandon’s is still in full effect, helps him to focus on his plate and pretend they don’t exist.
********
Dad comes in while he’s lying in bed on his stomach, staring blankly at page two of A Tale of Two Cities. He lingers just inside the doorway. Sam wishes he would come over and put his hand on his head again, but he doesn’t.
As though the numbness of his emotions has heightened his other senses, Sam has no trouble translating the creaking of the boards in the hall to Dean, creeping closer to eavesdrop. He doesn’t really mind.
He looks up at Dad’s face. It’s purposefully blank, but Sam can imagine the fear and disgust beneath the surface easily enough. He just superimposes the last look Dean gave him this afternoon onto Dad.
Ideas are coming together in his mind. He feels numb, but that’s good. He’s thinking clearly now. This is right, the right thing to do.
“Dad,” he says calmly. “Today, Brandon...kissed me, and I realized that, when I told Dean before that I liked guys, I was wrong. I didn’t like it at all. It was- really gross. Disgusting.” He nods once, for emphasis. It sounds stupid to him, makes him sound stupid, but maybe they can’t tell.
Dad nods and says “Okay, Sam. Thank you. I’m glad... I’m glad you’re telling me this.” Still doesn’t touch him before he leaves, but he looks relieved. Things will be back to normal in no time, with Dad. Not like he and Sam were ever that close.
******
Time passes. He looks up from A Tale of Two Cities, page two, to see Dean staring at him from the doorway. No way to know how long he’s been there.
“Dad’s found a hunt in Montana. He wants to leave as soon as possible. Tomorrow,” Dean says carefully.
“That’s good,” says Sam, throat tight. Trying to act normal is hard. He knows he’s failing at it because he should protest here, but for once he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to see Brandon at school tomorrow. A new start sounds good. Perfect. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Yeah,” says Dean and looks away down the hall, even though there’s nothing to see. “Look, Sammy...”
“I’m not gonna- apologize,” Sam says, knowing that Dean wasn’t about to ask for an apology. He takes a deep breath and presses on. “I wasn’t trying to cause trouble. I just made a mistake. It was just a mistake.”
“Yeah?” Dean asks, turning his head back toward Sam’s room, but looking down at the floor so their eyes can’t meet.
“Yeah,” Sam says firmly. Dean disappears from the doorway without saying anything else. Without meeting Sam’s eyes. Sam knows it’ll be hard to fix things between Dean and him, but he will. He’ll do what it takes. Find a girl in Montana, and every place else if he has to. Until Dean believes it.
He thinks of a wedding dress, cool and smooth and white. Pristine. Pure. Perfect. His stomach tightens. He’ll get married someday, to a nice sweet girl. He’ll love her and they’ll have kids. They’ll grow old together and she’ll pass her wedding dress on to their daughter, like an heirloom. They’ll be so happy together, he and this girl. Dean and Dad will drop in sometimes, on their way to and from hunts. They’ll visit, but then they’ll go, they’ll never stay long. It’ll be good to see them but he won’t mind too much when they leave again because he’ll have a family of his own. They can be happy and he can be happy, all at the same time, without hurting each other. He believes that.
Author: winyumi
Rating: NC-17
Words: 2,700
Characters: Sam/OMC, Dean, John
Warning: Sex between 14-years-olds, dub-con, swearing, angstiness
Summary: Sam meets a guy and tries to break it to Dean that he's gay. After that, things get angsty.
Disclaimer: The poor Winchesters are not mine. Lucky for them, because I bring them nothing but angst.
Author's Note: This one goes out to each of the lovely people who commented so supportively on my first fic. Give yourself a hug for encouraging me to write more. Unless you don't like this, in which case give yourself a slap in the head. (Just kidding. Serious hugs for all of you.)
“Hey, that’s my mom’s wedding dress,” cries Brandon drunkenly. His parent's bedroom was closest, so he brought Sam there to get away from the party for a minute. He didn't know the dress would be there. Sam grins and rolls his eyes at him, turns back to survey the dress, laid out on the covers like a pale skin. The silly smile fades quickly from his face, and he brushes past Brandon to touch the dress. His fingertips skim hesitantly over the seed pearls that coat the bodice. Brandon watches Sam’s sudden fascination, the way his lips part as his fingers glide down the satin sleeve.
Sam’s eyes rove the dress, rapt, and Brandon doesn’t like it. Dislikes how it tightens his belly. “Quit acting like a freak, Winchester,” he says sharply.
Sam looks at him, startled. Brandon’s always nice to him, never teases too hard. Comes to his rescue if anybody calls him names or even shoots him a dirty look. Sam's been drinking too. Brandon doesn't have the right to yell at him for acting strange.
He knows he should apologize, but then he gets caught in how Sam’s fingers are still subtly caressing the sleeve, petting it. It makes him walk over instead, clamp down on Sam’s wrist tightly so he’ll stop.
He has to stare at that for a minute, how large his hand is around Sam’s thin wrist. Sam looks too. He waits for Sam to try and twist free, but he doesn't right away.
“Does she ever wear it?” Sam asks wistfully, without looking up.
“Don’t be stupid,” Brandon snaps. Can’t stop staring at his hand on Sam. Still waiting for Sam to try to get his hand off. “You don’t wear it after the wedding day.”
“So why keep it?”
“I don’t know. Why keep anything? For the memories.” Sam finally looks up. His eyes shine wetly like a baby seal’s, the kind they kill for the pelts.
“My mom’s dress-” he begins softly. Trying to share a piece of himself, but that isn’t the piece Brandon wants. Brandon leans in and cuts him off. Sam’s mouth tastes like beer, and Brandon squeezes his fingers into Sam’s wrist tighter, to feel his pulse. It throbs, scared-animal strong.
“Who cares about your mom’s dress?” Brandon asks thickly, and Sam shakes his head once, Nobody, presses up for another kiss.
******
“There’s nothing weird about Brandon, Dean.”
“Yeah, there is, Sam. And I can’t believe you haven’t noticed it-”
“No there isn’t. You just think he’s weird because he’s normal!”
“That makes no sense.”
“You know what I mean-”
“Honestly Sam, I don’t. Have you listened to yourself lately?”
“Alright, I’ll say it in simple words you can understand. We are the freaks here. Brandon is normal. If there’s something about him you don’t understand it’s because of you, not him.”
“You know what I understand? I understand the way he looks at you. Yeah Sam, he stares at you, like a fucking predator, I don’t know how you don’t see it, but you watch next time. I’m not making this up.”
“I’ve seen it.”
“What?”
“I’ve seen it.”
“And you don’t think that’s, oh I don’t know, weird?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Sammy-”
“Hey, girls look at you like that all the time.”
“He’s not a girl, Sam. And no they don’t- not like that. Not so fuckin' creepy.”
“It’s not creepy.”
“Excuse me?”
“I don’t think it’s creepy.”
“You don’t think it’s creepy.”
“I like it. I like him.”
“Sammy... What are you saying here?”
“I’m saying I like him. And he likes me ba-”
“Stop! Jesus Sam! Are you- are you kidding me with this?”
“No. I’m not.”
“This isn’t funny.”
“No. It’s not.”
“I’m serious Sam. This isn’t something you joke about. People take this shit seriously. You make jokes like that around the wrong people you’ll get your ass kicked, or worse, okay? So don’t fucking do it!”
“I’m not joking, Dean, this isn’t a joke. I’m-”
“Shut up, Sam! Just shut up. The next words outta your mouth better be ‘Sorry, Dean, I’m nowhere near as funny as I think I am-’”
“Dean, please-”
“No. No. Not one more word, Sam.”
“Dean- wait- wait.”
******
The dress is back in his mom’s closet the next day. Brandon gets it out before Sam comes over, throws it on his bed. Runs his own finger down the satin sleeve like Sam did, but it’s just slippery and cool. Not smooth and warm and thrumming like Sam.
When Sam gets there, Brandon grabs his same wrist in the same place, pulls Sam straight to his bedroom without a word.
He kisses him hard. Sam opens easily for him. Starved for touch runs through Brandon’s head. He pretends the words don’t start a thrill in his stomach.
He strips Sam’s shirt off, runs his hands over Sam’s chest, down his sides until they hit the waistband of his jeans. He hooks his fingers in, catching Sam’s skin with his blunt nails. Sam gasps and shudders. He runs them around the waistband til they meet in the back, runs them back over the same hidden skin til they meet in the front. Dips them down a little farther. Sam’s whole body quivers against his.
Brandon studies his face, his half-lidded eyes, his soft wet mouth. He leans in and latches onto Sam’s neck, bites down right where it meets the shoulder. Sam shivers and moans. His hips roll against Brandon’s groin. It’s Brandon’s turn to shiver. He growls and pushes Sam away.
“Hold still,” he rasps. He unbuttons Sam’s pants roughly, grabs ahold and pulls down his jeans and boxers in one motion. Sam’s cock bobs hopefully up against his belly, but Brandon ignores it. He retrieves the wedding dress. Sam’s eyes go wide and soft when he sees it.
He sways slightly in place when Brandon pulls it over his head. Brandon takes his time fastening up the back and straightening Sam’s mussed up hair and the train. When he’s got everything neat he steps back. The white of the dress against Sam’s tan skin makes him seem to glow. His face is deeply flushed. He expression is confused, uncertain. Blood rushes to Brandon’s cock and with both hands he shoves, sends Sam onto his back on the bed.
*******
It didn’t used to be this way. Things were different before Brandon. Dean used to be the ambassador between him and Dad. These days it’s Dean who’s cold, remote and untouchable, a polar icecap.
It’s his own fault, he’s aware of that.
“What’s going on with you and your brother?” He overhears Dad asking, only because he left his bedroom door open, ready in case Brandon calls. If Dean picks up first and he thinks it’s Brandon, he hangs up without a word.
“Nothing, Dad,” Dean says gruffly. For once in his life, he doesn’t give when Dad pushes.
“Dean...”
“It’s nothing Dad. I’m gonna go to the store. You need anything?”
Dad just sighs.
After Dean’s left, he comes to Sam’s room.
It’s too soon, Sam hasn’t had enough time to get his eyes to dry up.
“Sam, what’s-” Dad starts gruffly. He stops when he gets a look at the teartracks, “What’s going on here?” he continues, about as softly as Dad ever gets.
Sam wipes roughly at his cheeks, shakes his head and stares blurrily at his geometry book. Dad stops hanging in the doorway and comes the rest of the way in. It’s a tiny room, practically a closet. It’s the first time Dad’s done more than poke his head in since they moved here.
He puts a heavy hand on Sam’s head and tilts it back so Sam has no choice but to look at him.
“Sam, what’s wrong?” He’d forgotten how calming Dad could be, how gentle when he’s Dad, not John Winchester. It surprises him into talking.
“Dean’s uh- really mad at me,” he sniffles.
“Yeah, I noticed that. Why’s Dean mad at you, Sammy?” Sam hesitates. Dad and Dean are so much the same. It probably isn’t worth the risk.
“It’s nothing Dad. We’ll work it out.”
******
“Where are you going?”
“To Brandon’s, Dean.”
“Well, you can’t. You’ve got training to do.”
“I’ll do it later.”
“You’ll do it now.”
“No, I won’t.”
“Yes, you will.”
“Alright fine. You wanna- Fine. I’ll do it now and go to Brandon’s later.”
“Won’t you have homework to do?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“C’mon Sammy, I thought you cared about grades-”
“Dean-”
“-above all things, gotta get A’s, that’s the most important thing in life-”
“Don’t, Dean-”
“More important than helping Dad, more important than family, more important than saving lives-”
“Fuck this, I’m going to Brandon’s now-”
“Stop, Sammy! You do and I’ll tell Dad.”
“What?”
“I’ll tell him you went to a friend’s house instead of training. He’ll ground you for a month. You won’t-”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Sammy-”
“I don’t understand- I just- I don’t get why you-”
“Don’t, Sammy c’mon, don’t cry-”
“Don’t touch me, Dean!”
“Sammy... You think this is- this is fun for me? Cause guess what, it’s not. This hurts me too, you know? You’re my brother, I’m trying to protect you, I’m trying to help you, but lately- it’s like- I don’t know, I don’t know what to do, how to fix this thing. You tell me Sammy, what am I supposed to do? Huh? Brandon’s- you’re just letting him-it’s not right Sam. It’s not healthy. It's wrong. It's- it's sick. I just- How am I supposed to fix this?”
“I don’t know, Dean. Why can’t you- why is this something to fix? Is it, is it really that big a deal? If I like guys?”
“First of all, Sammy, you know it is, so don't play dumb. Secondly? You’re only 14, you don’t know what you like... No, don’t get all pissy, you don’t. You’re too young, you gotta give it time, you gotta try going out with some girls before you make up your mind. I mean, have you even tried?”
“No. I just know, okay?”
“You don’t, Sammy. You think so, but...”
“I’m gonna go.”
“Sammy...”
“I’m going to Brandon’s.”
“Don’t- Sammy- Just think about what I'm saying, okay?”
“Bye Dean.”
“Don’t be like that... God damn it, Sam!”
******
Sam’s crying while he rings the doorbell. Still crying as Brandon pulls him down the hall. He tries to cry quietly, he’s pretty good at that, but the tears won’t stop rolling. He’s so mad at Dean, he wishes he could hit him, punch him in his stupid blind face. Why can’t he see that Sam isn’t doing this to be stubborn?
It hurts, not having Dean on his side. Dean’s always the one who understands him. Why doesn’t he this time? Why is this one thing different?
Brandon undresses him, strokes his bare flanks like soothing a skittish horse. Puts the dress on him reverently.
Undresses himself without taking his eyes off Sam longer than it takes to pull his shirt over his head.
He guides him down onto the bed, strokes his thighs through the satin, then hitches the skirt up to his knees, bends them up and spreads them, disappears between them to take Sam in his mouth. It feels so good Sam stops breathing. His eyes don’t stop trickling though. He begins to wonder hysterically if they’ll ever stop.
He sobs when he comes. He watches through wet lashes as Brandon emerges, mouth pursed closed strangely. Brandon pulls his knees and the skirt back down and smooths it carefully over his feet. There are inches of the dress to spare. It’s too big for him, loose on him like he’s a child playing dress-up. Brandon kneels up, hunches over, spits a mouthful of fluid into his cupped hands.
He knee-walks up the bed. “Shhh,” he says, and gently nudges Sam onto his belly with his elbow, his knee, hands still cupped tightly so he doesn't spill. Sam rolls passively. He turns his face away from Brandon, listens to him slicking himself up. He hikes up Sam’s train, all the way to his waist. When he slips the first warm slick finger into Sam, Sam’s breath hitches, and finally finally the tears stop dripping.
Brandon grunts with each thrust. It’s an animal sound, ugly, so Sam stops listening.
He stops thinking too. If Sam thinks of Dean, he’ll start crying again, and if he thinks, he’ll think of Dean, so he doesn’t think of anything. So he doesn’t cry.
******
Five minutes into dinner, he knows Dean told Dad. It’s the way Dad’s watching him.
It’s not cold and hard, like when they face monsters. Sam knows that look, and it’s not the one Dad’s wearing.
It’s a stare like he’s a familiar animal made strange. A two-headed calf. An albino squirrel. Something not evil but wrong.
After he figures it out, he’s careful to keep his eyes on his plate. He shreds his chicken into smaller and smaller chunks, opens his green beans down the seam and carefully separates the seeds from the pods. His only movements are small ones. Maneuvering his silverware. Shifting in his seat to ease the soreness. If Dean and Dad are finding it hard to eat too he wouldn’t know. The numbness that descended on him at Brandon’s is still in full effect, helps him to focus on his plate and pretend they don’t exist.
********
Dad comes in while he’s lying in bed on his stomach, staring blankly at page two of A Tale of Two Cities. He lingers just inside the doorway. Sam wishes he would come over and put his hand on his head again, but he doesn’t.
As though the numbness of his emotions has heightened his other senses, Sam has no trouble translating the creaking of the boards in the hall to Dean, creeping closer to eavesdrop. He doesn’t really mind.
He looks up at Dad’s face. It’s purposefully blank, but Sam can imagine the fear and disgust beneath the surface easily enough. He just superimposes the last look Dean gave him this afternoon onto Dad.
Ideas are coming together in his mind. He feels numb, but that’s good. He’s thinking clearly now. This is right, the right thing to do.
“Dad,” he says calmly. “Today, Brandon...kissed me, and I realized that, when I told Dean before that I liked guys, I was wrong. I didn’t like it at all. It was- really gross. Disgusting.” He nods once, for emphasis. It sounds stupid to him, makes him sound stupid, but maybe they can’t tell.
Dad nods and says “Okay, Sam. Thank you. I’m glad... I’m glad you’re telling me this.” Still doesn’t touch him before he leaves, but he looks relieved. Things will be back to normal in no time, with Dad. Not like he and Sam were ever that close.
******
Time passes. He looks up from A Tale of Two Cities, page two, to see Dean staring at him from the doorway. No way to know how long he’s been there.
“Dad’s found a hunt in Montana. He wants to leave as soon as possible. Tomorrow,” Dean says carefully.
“That’s good,” says Sam, throat tight. Trying to act normal is hard. He knows he’s failing at it because he should protest here, but for once he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to see Brandon at school tomorrow. A new start sounds good. Perfect. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Yeah,” says Dean and looks away down the hall, even though there’s nothing to see. “Look, Sammy...”
“I’m not gonna- apologize,” Sam says, knowing that Dean wasn’t about to ask for an apology. He takes a deep breath and presses on. “I wasn’t trying to cause trouble. I just made a mistake. It was just a mistake.”
“Yeah?” Dean asks, turning his head back toward Sam’s room, but looking down at the floor so their eyes can’t meet.
“Yeah,” Sam says firmly. Dean disappears from the doorway without saying anything else. Without meeting Sam’s eyes. Sam knows it’ll be hard to fix things between Dean and him, but he will. He’ll do what it takes. Find a girl in Montana, and every place else if he has to. Until Dean believes it.
He thinks of a wedding dress, cool and smooth and white. Pristine. Pure. Perfect. His stomach tightens. He’ll get married someday, to a nice sweet girl. He’ll love her and they’ll have kids. They’ll grow old together and she’ll pass her wedding dress on to their daughter, like an heirloom. They’ll be so happy together, he and this girl. Dean and Dad will drop in sometimes, on their way to and from hunts. They’ll visit, but then they’ll go, they’ll never stay long. It’ll be good to see them but he won’t mind too much when they leave again because he’ll have a family of his own. They can be happy and he can be happy, all at the same time, without hurting each other. He believes that.