Fic: Raising Pyramids. SPN. Dean/Sam, Dean/OMC, Dean/OFC. NC-17
I took a nap after driving the little guy to kg and I dreamt there was a flood or an earthquake or some other natural disaster and in all the chaos someone stole my laptop. And while everyone else was trying to be calm and keep things under control I ran around, crying hysterically, frantically trying to call hubby, not to ask if he and the kids were safe but to ask him if he knew where my laptop was. o.O And no one got what a huge deal it was and I kept crying and moaning, "All my work, everything I've been doing! It's gone, it's gone!"
Then I woke up and I was so relieved when I realised it was all just a dream. *clutches iBook to bosom*
Anyway... fic time!
Title: Raising Pyramids (3rd story in the Normal!verse
Author: felisblanco
Pairings: Dean/Sam (mild), Dean/OMCs, Dean/OFC
Rating: NC-17
Word count: ca. 6700
Warnings: Prostitution, dubious consent, incest
Summary: Sometimes hustling pool and doing credit card scams just doesn't cut it.
Author's Note: This is the third story in The Normal!verse which started with The Weirdness of Normal and then had a flashback to seven years earlier in A Moment Of Normalcy (In Our Life Of Chaos). I suggest you read those, especially the latter one, first but it's not necessary, you can read this one alone.
It takes place through an expanded period of time, from 1998 to 2006 (sometime during Season 1). Written for aschicca who wanted to know about what Dean was referring to in the first story, aka the non-pool hustling. So you can blame it all on her. *g*
Beta’d by the lovely spangels_girl. Thank you, sweetie! I've changed it some since then so all mistakes are mine. Yeah, I know I was supposed to send it to you again. Just got the urge to post suddenly. Sorry. *toesdirt*
It wasn’t like Dean had meant for it to happen. Seriously, it wasn’t like that. Whatever Sam thought, it was never like that at all. And really, it was no big deal. No more than he could handle. In fact it started out so easily he didn’t even know what was going on until after.
April 1998
Dean was so damn close to climbing up the walls it wasn’t even funny. He loved his brother, he really did, but with Dad gone for almost two weeks now Sam was being even more of a whiny bitch than usual. It had come to the point where Dean knew if he didn’t get away for a bit of a breather, he’d either punch Sam straight in the mouth or shove him up against the wall and just… Yeah. And that would be beyond bad.
So he told Sam to get his emo ass to bed, in a tone that finally made it through that thick teenage skull of his, and Sam stomped to their room, slamming the door hard enough that the ugly Van Gogh replicas rattled on the walls. Fine. If that’s what it took to get him to shut up… whatever. Dean yelled that he was going out and Sam better be good or Dean would tie him to the fucking bed and leave his sorry ass there until Dad came back. There was no answer, just a very loud silence, and Dean gritted his teeth and stalked out, making a show of being the adult and only closing the door a little harder than usual.
He was only looking for a drink and maybe a game of pool. They were getting short on cash, the money Dad had left them only went so far and Dean didn’t know when (if) he’d be back. So yeah, a little hustle, just enough to carry them over a couple of more days, not enough to make people hostile in case he needed to come back. That was the trouble with staying too long in these small places, once people were on to you, you needed to get the hell out of Dodgeville. And that just wasn’t an option when Dad had told them to stay put and, more importantly, stay out of trouble.
He won the first couple of games easily enough, faking enough bad shots before his “luck” suddenly turning favorable again. He knew he looked young and innocent (ha!) and used it to his full advantage, flashing those Bambi eyes and licking his lips nervously. Soon he had a couple of onlookers buying him drinks and edging him on as he wide-eyed laughed and faked surprise at his victories.
“One more game, kiddo, c’mon.”
Sure. Whatever you say, sucker.
The beer finally got the better of him and he excused himself with a wink, swaggering into the piss smelling restroom. As he stood washing his hands it didn’t really surprise him to feel a warm hand on his shoulder. He was good at reading people and there had been more than one guy in that room watching him for other reasons than his skills with a cue stick.
It did however surprise him when the guy - mid thirties with shifty eyes and a tattoo of a fucking skull on his bicep - pushed him up against the wall and instead of pushing him to his knees the way they usually did, Dean was the one left staring down at thinning hair bobbing in front of him as his dick got sucked.
Hell, if that’s what the guy wanted, far be it for Dean to complain. He came with a groan, panting as the man got up and spit on the floor, before gently tucking him in. Dean was about to offer to return the favour when Baldy turned on his heel and walked out, leaving Dean slightly shaky and more than a little confused. He hitched his pants further up and that’s when he felt it. Stuffed into his pocket like in a stripper’s panties. He pulled out the wad of bills and stared at them, not sure whether to feel amused or insulted. So the guy had taken him for a trick. Huh.
Dean glanced at himself in the cracked mirror and took in the flushed face and slightly unfocused eyes. He was wearing one of Sam’s t-shirts because they’d been short on laundry and it fit him maybe a bit too snugly. His jeans were slung low and ripped in a few questionable places. Not for looks but because you don’t run through a forest after a werewolf without catching a few branches on the way.
To tell the truth he did look kinda slutty.
Oh hell, not that it mattered. He got his cock sucked and he got more money than he’d won all night playing pool. As far as he was concerned it was a win-win situation.
When he got home Sam was asleep, face pressed into the pillow, sheets twisted around his long legs. Dean pulled them loose and tugged his brother back in, letting his fingers slide momentarily into the shaggy hair before turning away and getting undressed. He took a quick shower, just so Sam wouldn’t bitch about the smell of smoke and beer in the morning, and then crawled into bed. He was out almost before his head hit the pillow.
The next morning he treated Sammy to a nice breakfast at that coffee place he’d been whining about going to and for once they didn’t spend the day arguing but just hanging out the way they used to do. Dean bought them ice cream and when he saw Sam eyeing a book in the bookstore he bought that too, despite Sammy’s flustered protests. If Sammy wanted to read a book about some stupid kid swinging a wand, Dean was going to be the best brother in the world and damn well buy it for him.
As they lay sprawled on the couch that night, Dean watching some old X-files reruns, Sam engrossed in his book, Sam glanced up from where his head rested in Dean’s lap and gave Dean a smile that washed away whatever uncomfortable thoughts about last night might have been stirring in the back of his mind.
“Thanks, Dean. Today was great.” Sam’s eyes flickered away for a moment. “I’m sorry I was so angry last night.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Dean ruffled his hair and tried not to think about the heat from Sam’s cheek seeping through his jeans where it rested on his thigh or the warmth of Sam’s breath slipping under Dean’s t-shirt to stroke his belly every time Sam turned his head to look up at him. “Cabin fever, kiddo. We need to get out more.”
Sam’s eyes lit up. “There’s a carnival in Derry. Can we go? Please?”
He only had five dollars left of the blowjob money, ten of his pool winnings. They still hadn’t bought any groceries and rent would be up in three days if Dad wasn’t back by then. Sam looked up at him with pleading eyes, one hand coming up to sleepily rub at his nose, and Dean gave him a soft smile. “Sure, Sammy. Think you can handle the clowns? They freaked you out last time.”
“Shut up! I was ten, Dean.”
Dean smirked. “Whatever you say, Samantha.”
Sam growled and bared his teeth at Dean’s stomach but he was still smiling and never even noticed Dean holding his breath, only letting it lose when Sam settled again, eyes on his book, one bony hand splayed over Dean’s knee.
When Sam was asleep that night Dean quietly snuck out and went back to the bar. It took him a couple of hours but when he returned he had two hundred and fifty dollars in his pocket. Playing pool provided about one third of the amount. The rest… Hey, sex was sex, right? Not like he was taking it up the ass or anything like that. It was just a blowjob. He liked blowjobs, especially getting them. And he only had to give back twice which… Well, it was only fair, right? He wasn’t selfish.
It was all good.
A week later they were back on the road. Dad was… Ok, not happy because John Winchester didn’t really do happy, but he was content with vanquishing whatever it was he’d been chasing.
Sam was curled up in the backseat, reading that Harry Potter book for the third time, jerking upright and staring out the window with wide eyes every time Dean yelled, “Look, Sam. McDonalds!” However understanding Dean had been when Sam almost ran out of the carnival as he spotted the first clown, he wasn’t letting go of this prime mocking material a long time yet, if ever.
A soft snore made Dean glance in the rearview mirror at Sam’s relaxed form, eyes slipped shut, book dangling from his limp hand. Dean swallowed the lump in his throat and reached down to fondle the few dollar bills still left in his pocket.
“You okay there, son?”
His eyes snapped to his dad and he gave him the usual grin. “Yeah. Sure, dad.”
John kept his gaze a second longer before turning his eyes back on the road. “I know the job took longer than I expected but it couldn’t be helped. You boys behave yourself while I was gone?” He checked in the mirror to confirm that Sam was sleeping before adding, “Sammy didn’t give you too much trouble?”
Dean shook his head, “Nah, he was alright. No more whiny than usual.” The money was burning a hole in his pocket and he hesitated before admitting, “We ran a bit low on cash. But don’t worry, I took care of it.” Don’t ask. Don’t. Ask.
Dad nodded. “Good.”
Why don’t you ask?
“Just be careful when you’re hustling.”
Dean froze. “What?”
“Only so many times you can con people before they catch on.” Dad looked over and smiled. “So how did you do?”
He suddenly felt cold and tired. “Not too bad. Hey, dad? Mind if I get in back and catch a few Z’s with Sammy? I didn’t get much sleep last night.” At his father’s frowned look he added, “Nightmares,” and nodded toward Sam.
John hesitated only a moment before swinging over to the side of the road, waiting as Dean got out and climbed into the back. He used Sam’s abandoned hoody as a pillow as he tried to make himself as comfortable as possible. After a while Sam grunted and twisted, snuggling up with his head on Dean’s shoulder, one long arm slung over his waist. Dean caught his dad’s questioning eyes in the mirror and shrugged in fake annoyance.
They drove on throughout the night.
February 1999
Dean kept back, watching tiredly as the doctor checked his dad’s stitches. Too close. This time it had been too damn close. The doctor nodded and looked up to give Dean a smile.
“You’re lucky your son was with you, Mr. White. Can’t remember ever seeing such a bad case. Really hope they catch that dog soon.”
“You and me both, doc. You and me both.”
As soon as they were alone Dad’s face hardened and he started giving Dean instructions on how to bring the black dog down. It was badly injured, possibly already dead, it should be easy. Then he proceeded to lecture on the importance of keeping a low profile, and staying out of trouble. As if Dean was a kid and not twenty years old.
He kept his irritation hidden, assured Dad they would be all right, and left with a knot forming in his stomach. He’d maxed out the credit card on the hospital bill and used the last of their cash to pay for the motel room. He’d only had enough for one night. Dad would be stuck in the hospital for at least three.
He got back to the motel and encountered an angry and scared Sam. Mostly scared. The kid took that as well as his anger out on Dean by locking himself up in the bathroom, not even coming out when Dean yelled he was going after the goddamn dog. He found the black dog half-dead and missing a leg and it was as easy a kill as he could have wished for. When he came home, smelling of smoke and the damn thing’s sticky blood, Sam was asleep on the couch, TV blaring. Dean took a long shower, letting the hot water wash away the stink but it did nothing to calm his worries.
He woke Sam up with a gentle nudge and steered him to bed with a firm grip around his waist and one hand cupping Sam’s face, keeping his head from dropping. A sleepy Sammy was just as pliant at sixteen as he’d been at six and Dean had to fight the urge to curl up next to him on the bed and pull him close the way he used to do before adolescence made it too awkward. Instead he brushed Sam’s hair away from his face and behind his ears, staring at the drop of sweat that was nested in the short hairs at his neck. A lump caught in his throat and he leaned over with eyes closed, inhaling the scent of Sam’s sleep-warm skin. Sam didn’t stir.
“Sleep well, Sammy. I’ll be right back.”
He told himself he was only going to hustle pool but when he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the small mirror by the door he realized that was not what he’d dressed for. For a moment he hesitated, then shrugged and slipped out the door. What the hell was he worrying about anyway? Sex and money, two of his favorite things, together in one package. It was all good. All good.
Dean couldn’t quite pull off the innocent young act anymore but he could play dumb as well as the next person and before long he had hundred and twenty bucks in his pocket and enough alcohol in his veins to make his next move. He twirled the cue stick and almost put his opponent’s eye out.
“Oops. Sorry.”
He stumbled and grinned stupidly, patting the man’s back and letting his hand linger there a few seconds too long. Then he dropped the stick and staggered toward the restrooms. Didn’t take two minutes before the guy was backing Dean into one of the stalls, fist in his hair, his free hand fumbling with his zipper.
“No.”
“No? Like hell.”
“Money first.”
The man stared at him and then without warning he punched Dean right in the face before turning on his heel and stalking out.
Fuck.
Dean slowly got to his feet and wiped his nose on the back of his hand. It left a bloody trail and he swore, grabbing a bunch of paper towels and pressing them to his nose before walking over to the mirror above the sink to inspect the damage. It wasn’t too bad. He’d get a bruise on his cheek but his nose wasn’t broken and his lip hadn’t split. Once the bleeding stopped, he cleaned up and left the restroom, quickly passing the poolroom and heading straight for the bar. He ordered a beer and two shots and downed all three quickly before turning on the stool and looking around. The jerk was gone and no one was looking at him strangely so he guessed the guy had kept what had happened to himself, not surprisingly. Which left his options more open. He could call it a night and be happy with the money he’d already won…
“Hi.”
Or he could stay.
“Hey.”
The woman smiled at him, long fingernails running up his thigh. “Haven’t seen you in here before.”
He shrugged and offered her a cocky smile. “Just driving through.”
“Yeah? I’m Leann. What’s your name, handsome?”
Right. Here goes. “Whatever you want it to be.”
She seemed taken aback for a moment but then she shrugged. “Okay. How much?”
“Two hundred.”
Leann nodded, lips pursed, and then raised her eyebrows. “Your place or mine?”
“Don’t really have a place, ma’am.” He slid off the stool, smooth as a cat. “Now?”
“Yes.” She pulled up her purse and threw some bills on the table before slipping one arm around his waist, hand sliding into the back pocket of his jeans. “You better be worth it, kiddo.”
“Oh, I’m worth a hell of a lot more. Consider it a discount.”
“You’re something, you know that?” Leann shook her head and laughed softly and it was only the thought of Sammy, hungry and forced to sleep in the backseat of the Impala if he didn’t follow through, that kept Dean from laughing with her, saying he’d only been joking about the money.
They kissed in his car and fucked in her one bedroom apartment. It smelled of coffee and peach candles and when they were done he lay on his back panting, eyes staring up at the ceiling. She was laughing again, that soft sweet laugh that made him want to take her out to dinner or coffee or something equally unrealistic.
“Hell, you weren’t kidding. Wow.”
He raised his eyebrow and looked over at her. She did look utterly fucked, all flushed and sweaty with wide blown pupils and messy hair. But then again he’d given her his best performance. She’d come twice and he’d been aiming for a third time when she’d pushed him over and sucked his dick instead. Hell, if that’s what she wanted to spend her money on… He’d closed his eyes and tried not to tug too forcefully at her hair. It was too long anyway.
She slipped him an extra fifty when he left, her eyes suddenly turning warm and sad and he turned on his heels and jogged to the car before she could say anything. He didn’t need her pity. He was fine.
It was all good.
Sam stirred when Dean slipped in through the door, looking up at him with sleep-glazed eyes, hair sticking up in all directions. “Where were you?”
“Just had a beer, that’s all.”
“What happened to your face?”
Dean frowned and glanced at the small mirror by the door. A bruise the size of an egg was on his cheek. He’d forgotten about the punch but now he could feel it throbbing like hell. He shrugged and toed off his shoes. “Pissed a guy off. It’s nothing.”
“Let me see.” Sam stumbled out of bed, all long legs and thin arms sticking out of a rumpled t-shirt. “What did you do to piss him off?”
“Hit on his girlfriend.” At Sam’s exasperated look Dean threw up his hands. “Not like I knew she was his girlfriend, alright? Besides, she came on to me. Not that I blame her,” he added with a smirk that made Sam roll his eyes.
“Whatever. Sit.”
Sam pushed Dean down on a chair and then tipped his head up toward the light. His fingers were hot on Dean’s skin and he closed his eyes briefly, shivering despite himself. He suddenly realized his face was drenched in the smell of Leann and he jerked back when Sam leaned in closer. He wasn’t sure why, not like Sam didn’t know he hooked up with women in bars, and besides, what were the chances that Sam actually knew that smell? But this was different somehow and when Sam scrunched up his nose and snatched his hand away as if he’d been burned, Dean could feel himself turning red with shame.
“Maybe you should shower first, Dean.”
Sam’s voice was cold, a hint of disgust in his tone. Dean looked away then stood up and headed into the bathroom without a word. He caught a glimpse of Sam in the bathroom mirror, the look on his face one of confusion, and it hit him that Sam had expected him to bitch back or at least make a crack about it. Shit. He tried to find the right words to lessen the damage but he felt too tired and Sam was right anyway, he really needed a shower.
When he emerged from the bathroom twenty minutes later Sam sat him down without a word, prodding the cheekbone and checking his nose, before giving him a bag of frozen peas wrapped up in a dishcloth. “Should help make the swelling go down,” he said with a flat voice.
Dean kept his eyes on the floor. “Thanks.”
“Dean?”
Dean tensed, fingers tightening around the cold compress. “What?”
“Dad’s going to be ok, right?”
Dean looked up and whatever accusation he’d been expecting it wasn’t there. Sam’s eyes were big and wet and his lower lip trembled.
“Yeah. He’s gonna be fine. Don’t you worry, Sammy.”
“It’s Sam,” Sam said but there was no heat in it and when Dean reached out for him Sam let himself be pulled into his brother’s embrace, long arms wrapping around Dean’s head, stomach bellowing beneath Dean’s cheek. “You know, he better be, because I’m not gonna spend the rest of my life patching you up from your whoring around.”
Dean stiffened, bile rising in his throat. How did he…?
“Next time make sure she’s single, ok?” Sam gave a shaky laugh, nuzzling into Dean’s still damp hair and Dean had to bite his lip to keep from sobbing in relief.
“I told you, not my fault.” He pretended to wipe his nose on Sam’s stomach, proud that his voice didn’t shake, and Sam pushed him away with an ‘eeww’ and a giggle.
“Get back to bed, you idiot. Hey, if you’re good you can come with me to visit Dad tomorrow.”
“Really?” Sam’s face lit up. “You don’t think he’ll mind?”
“Nah. As long as we bring him some decent food he’ll be cool,” Dean answered and ruffled his brother’s hair. So ok, dad had said they needed to keep a low profile and not let on to the fact that the boys were alone but he’d just explain that Sam had been worried and if Dad got mad… he’d take the blame. It was all good.
May 2000
Seventeen-year-old Sam wasn’t really much of a ladies man, in fact Dean was sure the boy had never even kissed a girl, and of course the girl he was pining for was way out of his league. Brooke Tanner was the kind of girl even Dean might have been intimidated by at that age; beautiful, popular, and rich enough to make Sam look like a street urchin. Watching Sam emo his day away, writing her name over and over again in his notebook while he sighed and pouted, would have been a golden source of endless mocking if the boy’s misery hadn’t been so pitiful. And as prom drew nearer it only worsened. Finally Dean decided he really couldn’t take it any longer. After all there was the family name to consider. It wouldn’t do for a Winchester to be labeled a loser.
Now, Sam really had nothing to worry about in the looks department - not that Dean would ever tell him that - and the money… well, Dean could take care of that, no problem. The main obstacle however was Brooke’s boyfriend.
Wayne and Brooke had been together for two years now - Brooke’s friend Tiffany breathlessly told Dean as he slowly moved his hand up her thigh - and were practically joined at the hip. Everyone expected them to get engaged at graduation next year. Still… boyfriends had never stopped Dean from getting the girls he wanted. This was no different, except the girl was for Sam and really, wasn’t it Dean’s job to look out for his little brother?
Wayne never even noticed Dean lifting the cell from the pocket of his letter jacket as Dean helped him change his tire, (a fucking Toyota, it was asking for it, really,) too busy cursing the vandals that had slashed it.
“Such a fine car too,” Dean said with a solemn face, patting the guy on the back as he slipped the cell phone back where it belonged. “A damn shame.”
Sam barely spared his brother a glance when Dean said he was going out for a beer that night, just sighed and tightened his hold on the pencil as he battled the math problem in front of him. Just as well. The less he noticed the less chance there was of him figuring it out.
Dean kept his jacket on until he was parked outside the seedy bar. His t-shirt was thin worn and clung to his body like wet silk, his jeans had seen better days but they were clean and hugged his ass just right. Dean turned the mirror his way, avoiding the dark eyes in his pale face as he spiked up his hair before slipping out of the car.
It didn’t take him long before he was leaning over the pool table, faking a bad shot as he wiggled his ass just a little more than necessary. Took only a short while longer before he was kneeling in the alley behind the bar, cock down his throat, fingers fisted in his hair. So yeah, it was a bit rougher than he’d usually go for but hey, he wasn’t a girl. He could take it. Even the sight of the man’s two buddies waiting their turn didn’t bother him that much. He’d known one wouldn’t be enough for the kind of cash he needed and, even if he’d been hoping to hook up with a woman again, this was quicker. Wasn’t good leaving Sam alone at the motel for too long. The kid might brood himself into a coma. This way he’d be home before Sam even had time to start worrying about him.
It was all good.
Now, Sam might be shy but he wasn’t stupid and he recognized an opportunity when it stared him in the face. Once it was clear Wayne was out of the picture Sam jumped on the chance to ask the girl out. Whatever discomfort Dean had about the way he’d earned the money to pay for the tux and the dinner it was worth it for the look on Sam’s face as he drove away to pick up his date.
Later that night, holding Sam as he cried his disappointment into Dean’s neck, Dean wondered if it was still worth it. He felt Sam’s heart beat in rhythm with his own, felt Sam’s warm fingers slide across his neck and decided that yes, it was. It was worth every goddamn cent.
April 2001
It was just a few months short of Sam’s graduation when they ran across an extremely pissed off poltergeist and the kid got roughened up pretty badly, bruises covering his body in conspicuous places. Dean should have seen it coming.
Not like it was the first time they’d had a concerned teacher call home but this time Dad was away and when Dean went to try and talk Mr. Stevens out of informing social services he soon realized this was going to take more than a couple of bills slipped across the teacher’s desk.
He was starting to panic, calculating in his mind how fast they would be able to pack and move out, knowing Sam would put up one hell of a fight about being torn away from school in his final year. He already had his fists clenched and ready to punch the guy to get past him and out the door when he caught Mr. Stevens glance down at Dean’s crotch before looking back up, unconsciously licking his lips. Dean almost laughed out loud. He’d been willing to pay the guy two hundred bucks for not ratting them out and instead he was going to get it for free.
Leaning forward he cocked his head and raised an eyebrow. “Ok, how about this? I suck you and you forget we ever had this conversation. That sound good to you?”
Mr. Steven’s eyes widened in shock and he jerked back. “What?”
Dean sighed. “You’re not exactly subtle, man. I can practically smell you. You want me to blow you or what?”
The man stared at him. Then his face hardened and for a moment Dean though he’d misjudged the situation. “You think offering me sexual favors will make this go away?”
“The thought had occurred to me, yeah.” Dean shrugged, ignoring how his heart was beating frantically in his chest. “I’m good at it. Good enough to make you forget your own name, let alone Sam’s.”
“I bet you are.” The teacher studied him for a moment before nodding. “Ok. You blow me, I fuck you, and we’ll forget this ever happened.”
Shit. “I don’t…” Mr. Stevens raised his eyebrows and Dean clenched his jaw. “Ok. Alright.”
Seriously, it wasn’t like he was a virgin or anything. He’d been fucked before by men with larger dicks and less lube. And the guy was good at it, he had to give him that. He had Dean panting and grunting over the desk, hitting his prostate hard with every thrust and he came over Mr. Steven’s fingers moments before the man groaned and pulled out, ripping off the condom and shooting his come all over Dean’s ass and thighs. Dean closed his eyes and breathed deeply a few times before straightening up and pulling up his pants. Mr. Stevens tried to haul him in for a kiss but he dodged and made for the door without meeting his eyes.
“Stay away from my family, Mr. Stevens.”
He was out of the building and making his way to the car when his stomach did a sudden summersault and he doubled over, decorating a flowerbed with his late lunch. Fuck. He kneeled on the grass, trying to catch his breath, his head spinning and tears welling up in his eyes. Come was seeping through his jeans, making them stick to his skin, and he absentmindedly found himself wondering if he had any clean ones at home or if he would have to do laundry tonight.
“Dean?”
No. Nonono. Please…
“I told you to wait in the car, Sam.”
“What’s wrong? What happened?”
Dean closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before he slowly got to his feet and offered Sam a pained grimace. “It’s nothing. Must have been some bad beef in that burrito I had at lunch. My stomach is killing me.”
“Oh.” Sam visibly relaxed, smiling sympathetically. “You should try the vegetable tacos. They’re good. Healthier.”
“If man was meant to eat grass he’d been born a rabbit, Sam. Real men eat meat.”
“And then they throw it up,” Sam answered with an air of superiority that made Dean suddenly want to hit him. Hard in the face. He must have shown something because Sam frowned and took a step closer.
“You sure you’re alright?”
“I’ll be fine. Come on.”
They walked to the car and Dean kept his face neutral as he slid in behind the wheel, only just managing not to flinch as the leather rubbed against his sore and sticky backside. He waited until Sam was buckled in before pulling away from the sidewalk and they drove home in silence.
Wasn’t until they parked outside the small apartment that Sam asked, “What did he say? Mr. Stevens, I mean. Is he gonna report us? Do we have to move again?”
He said I was a good fuck. “Don’t worry, Sam, I took care of it.”
Sam groaned. “You didn’t like… threaten him or anything, right? Because he controls half my grade, Dean. I need that A and if you beat him up or something he’s gonna take it out on me.”
“I said I took care of it, Sam. Now shut up and get out of the car.”
Sam blinked and then his face twisted into a hard scowl. “Why? Where are you going? You’re going to the bar, aren’t you? It’s not even six o’clock, Dean, and you’re gonna go drink yourself stupid. Again. You’re always drinking. You’re becoming worse than Dad-“
“Shut up! Shut the fuck up, Sam, and get out of the fucking car before I throw you out!”
Sam jerked back and stared at him with wide eyes and then he hissed, “Fine!” and climbed out of the car, slamming the door shut with enough force to rattle the windows. Dean didn’t spare him a second glance, just shot out of the parking lot and drove away, leaving Sam to glare furiously after him.
By the time he finally made it back home he was so drunk that he didn’t even care that Sam had to help him up off the bathroom floor and out of his clothes. Didn’t care that Sam scrunched up his nose at the smell, or ranted about Dean being immature and stupid. Didn’t care that he lunged out and hit Sam in the face to shut him up. Didn’t care that he then pulled Sam in, whispering “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” as he cried into Sam’s t-shirt. Didn’t care that Sam had to wipe his face clean and drag him to bed. Didn’t care that he fell asleep with Sam watching him, a look on his face that would have made Dean hate himself the next day.
If he’d remembered anything when he woke up.
He didn’t and Sam didn’t say anything, just handed Dean a couple of painkillers and a glass of water and then left him to sleep the rest of the day while he walked downtown to check his P.O. box for replies from the colleges he’d applied for. There was one from Stanford waiting for him. He read it three times while walking back, then hid it in his backpack and sat quietly waiting with butterflies in his stomach, until Dean woke up, threw up, and then they drove to the diner for hangover food. It would be two more months before Sam and Dad had their blowout.
June 2006
“You never told me that.” Dean couldn’t look up, the memory suddenly making his stomach turn like he was back in that schoolyard, tossing his lunch. Damn it.
“Well, you didn’t tell me about Mr. Stevens.”
Dean rolled his eyes. “What was I supposed to say? ‘Hey, little brother. I let your teacher fuck me in the ass so now we don’t have to worry about social services. Isn’t that great?’ Like hell, Sam. Don’t be an idiot.”
He looked up just in time to see the waitress, who’d been approaching their table, back away, a horrified look in her eyes. Damn. He’d been hoping to get an extra waffle if he played her right. “Great, we managed to scare the locals. Can we please drop this?”
“You’re the one who wanted to know about Stanford.”
“Well, you’re the one who can’t shut up about… you know.”
“You can’t even say it, Dean.” Sam leaned forward, lowering his voice as his eyes softened. “You keep saying it was no big deal, that you don’t care about any of it, but I don’t believe you. It is a fucking big deal and you know it.
Dean sighed. “Sam, just… drop it. Ok? I promised I wouldn’t do it again.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is the damn point? Huh, Sam? What do you want?” Dean straightened up, giving Sam a pointed look. “You want me to say I hate myself for it? That I feel dirty and cheap and sick to my goddamn stomach? You want me to cry and scrub myself raw in the shower because I’m such a filthy whore? Is that it?” he mocked coldly, hating the pained sympathy in Sam’s eyes that grew deeper with every word.
“Dean…”
Damn it. He couldn’t do this. He was alright, it didn’t matter, none of it. Really. It was just the way Sam was acting, making Dean feel like he was a victim or some shit like that and… no. Dean Winchester was not a victim. He was many things but victim was not one of them. He didn’t need Sam’s pity and he certainly didn’t need the implication that not caring about what he’d done was even worse than the act itself.
“Sam, don’t. So I blew a few guys for money, fucked a few women and got paid for it. Had my ass plowed a few times. It’s just sex, dude. It doesn’t matter.” He lay his palms flat on the table, looking Sam straight in the eyes. “Really, Sam. I would do it again if I had to. Because let me tell you something, little brother. It was worth it. You were worth it. Even that fucking Harry Potter book was worth it.”
He sighed at Sam’s distraught look. “Sam, I like sex and I like money and I like making you happy. There’s no bad in this. Now can we please drop it before you emo away my goddamn appetite?”
Sam swallowed and poked his salad with his fork before looking up through his bangs. “You bought me Harry Potter with hooker money? That’s just wrong, man.”
Dean snorted and popped another curly fry into his mouth, accepting the apology for what it was. “What’s wrong is that almost ten years later you’re still reading that crap. Whatever happened to good ol’ fashioned wholesome porn?”
“Erm…”
Dean paused his chewing. “Dude, are you blushing?”
“Shut up.”
He leaned back, studying Sam’s embarrassed face. “You are. Oh hell no. Please don’t tell me you read Harry Potter porn.”
“No! Not… exactly. There are these twins…”
Oh yeah, Dean thought as he choked on his fries laughing, while Sam slumped down in his seat, face beet-red with embarrassment.. It was definitely worth it. Every goddamn cent.
And really, he didn’t hear Sam complaining when he was being treated to all the tricks Dean had learned in dirty bathrooms and cold alleyways. In fact he made sounds that were in themselves a far better payment than any money Dean had ever earned doing the same things to strangers.
He was just glad Sam hadn’t asked him again about the extent of his hustling since Stanford. Or during. Or last week, before they started… this thing. Whatever it was.
If he’d known how much it mattered to Sam he would have been more careful and kept quiet about the whole thing. Because even though he had promised - and he had every intention of keeping that promise as long as he could - there would come a time when pool hustling and fake credit cards couldn’t quite save the day. And like he said, he’d do it again, in a heartbeat, if it meant keeping Sam safe.
It was worth it. Really, it was. Because it wasn’t a big deal, no matter what Sam said. Not at all.
It was all good.
fin
There's a reason why I waited months before posting this so please be gentle. *bites nails*
Then I woke up and I was so relieved when I realised it was all just a dream. *clutches iBook to bosom*
Anyway... fic time!
Title: Raising Pyramids (3rd story in the Normal!verse
Author: felisblanco
Pairings: Dean/Sam (mild), Dean/OMCs, Dean/OFC
Rating: NC-17
Word count: ca. 6700
Warnings: Prostitution, dubious consent, incest
Summary: Sometimes hustling pool and doing credit card scams just doesn't cut it.
Author's Note: This is the third story in The Normal!verse which started with The Weirdness of Normal and then had a flashback to seven years earlier in A Moment Of Normalcy (In Our Life Of Chaos). I suggest you read those, especially the latter one, first but it's not necessary, you can read this one alone.
It takes place through an expanded period of time, from 1998 to 2006 (sometime during Season 1). Written for aschicca who wanted to know about what Dean was referring to in the first story, aka the non-pool hustling. So you can blame it all on her. *g*
Beta’d by the lovely spangels_girl. Thank you, sweetie! I've changed it some since then so all mistakes are mine. Yeah, I know I was supposed to send it to you again. Just got the urge to post suddenly. Sorry. *toesdirt*
It wasn’t like Dean had meant for it to happen. Seriously, it wasn’t like that. Whatever Sam thought, it was never like that at all. And really, it was no big deal. No more than he could handle. In fact it started out so easily he didn’t even know what was going on until after.
April 1998
Dean was so damn close to climbing up the walls it wasn’t even funny. He loved his brother, he really did, but with Dad gone for almost two weeks now Sam was being even more of a whiny bitch than usual. It had come to the point where Dean knew if he didn’t get away for a bit of a breather, he’d either punch Sam straight in the mouth or shove him up against the wall and just… Yeah. And that would be beyond bad.
So he told Sam to get his emo ass to bed, in a tone that finally made it through that thick teenage skull of his, and Sam stomped to their room, slamming the door hard enough that the ugly Van Gogh replicas rattled on the walls. Fine. If that’s what it took to get him to shut up… whatever. Dean yelled that he was going out and Sam better be good or Dean would tie him to the fucking bed and leave his sorry ass there until Dad came back. There was no answer, just a very loud silence, and Dean gritted his teeth and stalked out, making a show of being the adult and only closing the door a little harder than usual.
He was only looking for a drink and maybe a game of pool. They were getting short on cash, the money Dad had left them only went so far and Dean didn’t know when (if) he’d be back. So yeah, a little hustle, just enough to carry them over a couple of more days, not enough to make people hostile in case he needed to come back. That was the trouble with staying too long in these small places, once people were on to you, you needed to get the hell out of Dodgeville. And that just wasn’t an option when Dad had told them to stay put and, more importantly, stay out of trouble.
He won the first couple of games easily enough, faking enough bad shots before his “luck” suddenly turning favorable again. He knew he looked young and innocent (ha!) and used it to his full advantage, flashing those Bambi eyes and licking his lips nervously. Soon he had a couple of onlookers buying him drinks and edging him on as he wide-eyed laughed and faked surprise at his victories.
“One more game, kiddo, c’mon.”
Sure. Whatever you say, sucker.
The beer finally got the better of him and he excused himself with a wink, swaggering into the piss smelling restroom. As he stood washing his hands it didn’t really surprise him to feel a warm hand on his shoulder. He was good at reading people and there had been more than one guy in that room watching him for other reasons than his skills with a cue stick.
It did however surprise him when the guy - mid thirties with shifty eyes and a tattoo of a fucking skull on his bicep - pushed him up against the wall and instead of pushing him to his knees the way they usually did, Dean was the one left staring down at thinning hair bobbing in front of him as his dick got sucked.
Hell, if that’s what the guy wanted, far be it for Dean to complain. He came with a groan, panting as the man got up and spit on the floor, before gently tucking him in. Dean was about to offer to return the favour when Baldy turned on his heel and walked out, leaving Dean slightly shaky and more than a little confused. He hitched his pants further up and that’s when he felt it. Stuffed into his pocket like in a stripper’s panties. He pulled out the wad of bills and stared at them, not sure whether to feel amused or insulted. So the guy had taken him for a trick. Huh.
Dean glanced at himself in the cracked mirror and took in the flushed face and slightly unfocused eyes. He was wearing one of Sam’s t-shirts because they’d been short on laundry and it fit him maybe a bit too snugly. His jeans were slung low and ripped in a few questionable places. Not for looks but because you don’t run through a forest after a werewolf without catching a few branches on the way.
To tell the truth he did look kinda slutty.
Oh hell, not that it mattered. He got his cock sucked and he got more money than he’d won all night playing pool. As far as he was concerned it was a win-win situation.
When he got home Sam was asleep, face pressed into the pillow, sheets twisted around his long legs. Dean pulled them loose and tugged his brother back in, letting his fingers slide momentarily into the shaggy hair before turning away and getting undressed. He took a quick shower, just so Sam wouldn’t bitch about the smell of smoke and beer in the morning, and then crawled into bed. He was out almost before his head hit the pillow.
The next morning he treated Sammy to a nice breakfast at that coffee place he’d been whining about going to and for once they didn’t spend the day arguing but just hanging out the way they used to do. Dean bought them ice cream and when he saw Sam eyeing a book in the bookstore he bought that too, despite Sammy’s flustered protests. If Sammy wanted to read a book about some stupid kid swinging a wand, Dean was going to be the best brother in the world and damn well buy it for him.
As they lay sprawled on the couch that night, Dean watching some old X-files reruns, Sam engrossed in his book, Sam glanced up from where his head rested in Dean’s lap and gave Dean a smile that washed away whatever uncomfortable thoughts about last night might have been stirring in the back of his mind.
“Thanks, Dean. Today was great.” Sam’s eyes flickered away for a moment. “I’m sorry I was so angry last night.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Dean ruffled his hair and tried not to think about the heat from Sam’s cheek seeping through his jeans where it rested on his thigh or the warmth of Sam’s breath slipping under Dean’s t-shirt to stroke his belly every time Sam turned his head to look up at him. “Cabin fever, kiddo. We need to get out more.”
Sam’s eyes lit up. “There’s a carnival in Derry. Can we go? Please?”
He only had five dollars left of the blowjob money, ten of his pool winnings. They still hadn’t bought any groceries and rent would be up in three days if Dad wasn’t back by then. Sam looked up at him with pleading eyes, one hand coming up to sleepily rub at his nose, and Dean gave him a soft smile. “Sure, Sammy. Think you can handle the clowns? They freaked you out last time.”
“Shut up! I was ten, Dean.”
Dean smirked. “Whatever you say, Samantha.”
Sam growled and bared his teeth at Dean’s stomach but he was still smiling and never even noticed Dean holding his breath, only letting it lose when Sam settled again, eyes on his book, one bony hand splayed over Dean’s knee.
When Sam was asleep that night Dean quietly snuck out and went back to the bar. It took him a couple of hours but when he returned he had two hundred and fifty dollars in his pocket. Playing pool provided about one third of the amount. The rest… Hey, sex was sex, right? Not like he was taking it up the ass or anything like that. It was just a blowjob. He liked blowjobs, especially getting them. And he only had to give back twice which… Well, it was only fair, right? He wasn’t selfish.
It was all good.
A week later they were back on the road. Dad was… Ok, not happy because John Winchester didn’t really do happy, but he was content with vanquishing whatever it was he’d been chasing.
Sam was curled up in the backseat, reading that Harry Potter book for the third time, jerking upright and staring out the window with wide eyes every time Dean yelled, “Look, Sam. McDonalds!” However understanding Dean had been when Sam almost ran out of the carnival as he spotted the first clown, he wasn’t letting go of this prime mocking material a long time yet, if ever.
A soft snore made Dean glance in the rearview mirror at Sam’s relaxed form, eyes slipped shut, book dangling from his limp hand. Dean swallowed the lump in his throat and reached down to fondle the few dollar bills still left in his pocket.
“You okay there, son?”
His eyes snapped to his dad and he gave him the usual grin. “Yeah. Sure, dad.”
John kept his gaze a second longer before turning his eyes back on the road. “I know the job took longer than I expected but it couldn’t be helped. You boys behave yourself while I was gone?” He checked in the mirror to confirm that Sam was sleeping before adding, “Sammy didn’t give you too much trouble?”
Dean shook his head, “Nah, he was alright. No more whiny than usual.” The money was burning a hole in his pocket and he hesitated before admitting, “We ran a bit low on cash. But don’t worry, I took care of it.” Don’t ask. Don’t. Ask.
Dad nodded. “Good.”
Why don’t you ask?
“Just be careful when you’re hustling.”
Dean froze. “What?”
“Only so many times you can con people before they catch on.” Dad looked over and smiled. “So how did you do?”
He suddenly felt cold and tired. “Not too bad. Hey, dad? Mind if I get in back and catch a few Z’s with Sammy? I didn’t get much sleep last night.” At his father’s frowned look he added, “Nightmares,” and nodded toward Sam.
John hesitated only a moment before swinging over to the side of the road, waiting as Dean got out and climbed into the back. He used Sam’s abandoned hoody as a pillow as he tried to make himself as comfortable as possible. After a while Sam grunted and twisted, snuggling up with his head on Dean’s shoulder, one long arm slung over his waist. Dean caught his dad’s questioning eyes in the mirror and shrugged in fake annoyance.
They drove on throughout the night.
February 1999
Dean kept back, watching tiredly as the doctor checked his dad’s stitches. Too close. This time it had been too damn close. The doctor nodded and looked up to give Dean a smile.
“You’re lucky your son was with you, Mr. White. Can’t remember ever seeing such a bad case. Really hope they catch that dog soon.”
“You and me both, doc. You and me both.”
As soon as they were alone Dad’s face hardened and he started giving Dean instructions on how to bring the black dog down. It was badly injured, possibly already dead, it should be easy. Then he proceeded to lecture on the importance of keeping a low profile, and staying out of trouble. As if Dean was a kid and not twenty years old.
He kept his irritation hidden, assured Dad they would be all right, and left with a knot forming in his stomach. He’d maxed out the credit card on the hospital bill and used the last of their cash to pay for the motel room. He’d only had enough for one night. Dad would be stuck in the hospital for at least three.
He got back to the motel and encountered an angry and scared Sam. Mostly scared. The kid took that as well as his anger out on Dean by locking himself up in the bathroom, not even coming out when Dean yelled he was going after the goddamn dog. He found the black dog half-dead and missing a leg and it was as easy a kill as he could have wished for. When he came home, smelling of smoke and the damn thing’s sticky blood, Sam was asleep on the couch, TV blaring. Dean took a long shower, letting the hot water wash away the stink but it did nothing to calm his worries.
He woke Sam up with a gentle nudge and steered him to bed with a firm grip around his waist and one hand cupping Sam’s face, keeping his head from dropping. A sleepy Sammy was just as pliant at sixteen as he’d been at six and Dean had to fight the urge to curl up next to him on the bed and pull him close the way he used to do before adolescence made it too awkward. Instead he brushed Sam’s hair away from his face and behind his ears, staring at the drop of sweat that was nested in the short hairs at his neck. A lump caught in his throat and he leaned over with eyes closed, inhaling the scent of Sam’s sleep-warm skin. Sam didn’t stir.
“Sleep well, Sammy. I’ll be right back.”
He told himself he was only going to hustle pool but when he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the small mirror by the door he realized that was not what he’d dressed for. For a moment he hesitated, then shrugged and slipped out the door. What the hell was he worrying about anyway? Sex and money, two of his favorite things, together in one package. It was all good. All good.
Dean couldn’t quite pull off the innocent young act anymore but he could play dumb as well as the next person and before long he had hundred and twenty bucks in his pocket and enough alcohol in his veins to make his next move. He twirled the cue stick and almost put his opponent’s eye out.
“Oops. Sorry.”
He stumbled and grinned stupidly, patting the man’s back and letting his hand linger there a few seconds too long. Then he dropped the stick and staggered toward the restrooms. Didn’t take two minutes before the guy was backing Dean into one of the stalls, fist in his hair, his free hand fumbling with his zipper.
“No.”
“No? Like hell.”
“Money first.”
The man stared at him and then without warning he punched Dean right in the face before turning on his heel and stalking out.
Fuck.
Dean slowly got to his feet and wiped his nose on the back of his hand. It left a bloody trail and he swore, grabbing a bunch of paper towels and pressing them to his nose before walking over to the mirror above the sink to inspect the damage. It wasn’t too bad. He’d get a bruise on his cheek but his nose wasn’t broken and his lip hadn’t split. Once the bleeding stopped, he cleaned up and left the restroom, quickly passing the poolroom and heading straight for the bar. He ordered a beer and two shots and downed all three quickly before turning on the stool and looking around. The jerk was gone and no one was looking at him strangely so he guessed the guy had kept what had happened to himself, not surprisingly. Which left his options more open. He could call it a night and be happy with the money he’d already won…
“Hi.”
Or he could stay.
“Hey.”
The woman smiled at him, long fingernails running up his thigh. “Haven’t seen you in here before.”
He shrugged and offered her a cocky smile. “Just driving through.”
“Yeah? I’m Leann. What’s your name, handsome?”
Right. Here goes. “Whatever you want it to be.”
She seemed taken aback for a moment but then she shrugged. “Okay. How much?”
“Two hundred.”
Leann nodded, lips pursed, and then raised her eyebrows. “Your place or mine?”
“Don’t really have a place, ma’am.” He slid off the stool, smooth as a cat. “Now?”
“Yes.” She pulled up her purse and threw some bills on the table before slipping one arm around his waist, hand sliding into the back pocket of his jeans. “You better be worth it, kiddo.”
“Oh, I’m worth a hell of a lot more. Consider it a discount.”
“You’re something, you know that?” Leann shook her head and laughed softly and it was only the thought of Sammy, hungry and forced to sleep in the backseat of the Impala if he didn’t follow through, that kept Dean from laughing with her, saying he’d only been joking about the money.
They kissed in his car and fucked in her one bedroom apartment. It smelled of coffee and peach candles and when they were done he lay on his back panting, eyes staring up at the ceiling. She was laughing again, that soft sweet laugh that made him want to take her out to dinner or coffee or something equally unrealistic.
“Hell, you weren’t kidding. Wow.”
He raised his eyebrow and looked over at her. She did look utterly fucked, all flushed and sweaty with wide blown pupils and messy hair. But then again he’d given her his best performance. She’d come twice and he’d been aiming for a third time when she’d pushed him over and sucked his dick instead. Hell, if that’s what she wanted to spend her money on… He’d closed his eyes and tried not to tug too forcefully at her hair. It was too long anyway.
She slipped him an extra fifty when he left, her eyes suddenly turning warm and sad and he turned on his heels and jogged to the car before she could say anything. He didn’t need her pity. He was fine.
It was all good.
Sam stirred when Dean slipped in through the door, looking up at him with sleep-glazed eyes, hair sticking up in all directions. “Where were you?”
“Just had a beer, that’s all.”
“What happened to your face?”
Dean frowned and glanced at the small mirror by the door. A bruise the size of an egg was on his cheek. He’d forgotten about the punch but now he could feel it throbbing like hell. He shrugged and toed off his shoes. “Pissed a guy off. It’s nothing.”
“Let me see.” Sam stumbled out of bed, all long legs and thin arms sticking out of a rumpled t-shirt. “What did you do to piss him off?”
“Hit on his girlfriend.” At Sam’s exasperated look Dean threw up his hands. “Not like I knew she was his girlfriend, alright? Besides, she came on to me. Not that I blame her,” he added with a smirk that made Sam roll his eyes.
“Whatever. Sit.”
Sam pushed Dean down on a chair and then tipped his head up toward the light. His fingers were hot on Dean’s skin and he closed his eyes briefly, shivering despite himself. He suddenly realized his face was drenched in the smell of Leann and he jerked back when Sam leaned in closer. He wasn’t sure why, not like Sam didn’t know he hooked up with women in bars, and besides, what were the chances that Sam actually knew that smell? But this was different somehow and when Sam scrunched up his nose and snatched his hand away as if he’d been burned, Dean could feel himself turning red with shame.
“Maybe you should shower first, Dean.”
Sam’s voice was cold, a hint of disgust in his tone. Dean looked away then stood up and headed into the bathroom without a word. He caught a glimpse of Sam in the bathroom mirror, the look on his face one of confusion, and it hit him that Sam had expected him to bitch back or at least make a crack about it. Shit. He tried to find the right words to lessen the damage but he felt too tired and Sam was right anyway, he really needed a shower.
When he emerged from the bathroom twenty minutes later Sam sat him down without a word, prodding the cheekbone and checking his nose, before giving him a bag of frozen peas wrapped up in a dishcloth. “Should help make the swelling go down,” he said with a flat voice.
Dean kept his eyes on the floor. “Thanks.”
“Dean?”
Dean tensed, fingers tightening around the cold compress. “What?”
“Dad’s going to be ok, right?”
Dean looked up and whatever accusation he’d been expecting it wasn’t there. Sam’s eyes were big and wet and his lower lip trembled.
“Yeah. He’s gonna be fine. Don’t you worry, Sammy.”
“It’s Sam,” Sam said but there was no heat in it and when Dean reached out for him Sam let himself be pulled into his brother’s embrace, long arms wrapping around Dean’s head, stomach bellowing beneath Dean’s cheek. “You know, he better be, because I’m not gonna spend the rest of my life patching you up from your whoring around.”
Dean stiffened, bile rising in his throat. How did he…?
“Next time make sure she’s single, ok?” Sam gave a shaky laugh, nuzzling into Dean’s still damp hair and Dean had to bite his lip to keep from sobbing in relief.
“I told you, not my fault.” He pretended to wipe his nose on Sam’s stomach, proud that his voice didn’t shake, and Sam pushed him away with an ‘eeww’ and a giggle.
“Get back to bed, you idiot. Hey, if you’re good you can come with me to visit Dad tomorrow.”
“Really?” Sam’s face lit up. “You don’t think he’ll mind?”
“Nah. As long as we bring him some decent food he’ll be cool,” Dean answered and ruffled his brother’s hair. So ok, dad had said they needed to keep a low profile and not let on to the fact that the boys were alone but he’d just explain that Sam had been worried and if Dad got mad… he’d take the blame. It was all good.
May 2000
Seventeen-year-old Sam wasn’t really much of a ladies man, in fact Dean was sure the boy had never even kissed a girl, and of course the girl he was pining for was way out of his league. Brooke Tanner was the kind of girl even Dean might have been intimidated by at that age; beautiful, popular, and rich enough to make Sam look like a street urchin. Watching Sam emo his day away, writing her name over and over again in his notebook while he sighed and pouted, would have been a golden source of endless mocking if the boy’s misery hadn’t been so pitiful. And as prom drew nearer it only worsened. Finally Dean decided he really couldn’t take it any longer. After all there was the family name to consider. It wouldn’t do for a Winchester to be labeled a loser.
Now, Sam really had nothing to worry about in the looks department - not that Dean would ever tell him that - and the money… well, Dean could take care of that, no problem. The main obstacle however was Brooke’s boyfriend.
Wayne and Brooke had been together for two years now - Brooke’s friend Tiffany breathlessly told Dean as he slowly moved his hand up her thigh - and were practically joined at the hip. Everyone expected them to get engaged at graduation next year. Still… boyfriends had never stopped Dean from getting the girls he wanted. This was no different, except the girl was for Sam and really, wasn’t it Dean’s job to look out for his little brother?
Wayne never even noticed Dean lifting the cell from the pocket of his letter jacket as Dean helped him change his tire, (a fucking Toyota, it was asking for it, really,) too busy cursing the vandals that had slashed it.
“Such a fine car too,” Dean said with a solemn face, patting the guy on the back as he slipped the cell phone back where it belonged. “A damn shame.”
Sam barely spared his brother a glance when Dean said he was going out for a beer that night, just sighed and tightened his hold on the pencil as he battled the math problem in front of him. Just as well. The less he noticed the less chance there was of him figuring it out.
Dean kept his jacket on until he was parked outside the seedy bar. His t-shirt was thin worn and clung to his body like wet silk, his jeans had seen better days but they were clean and hugged his ass just right. Dean turned the mirror his way, avoiding the dark eyes in his pale face as he spiked up his hair before slipping out of the car.
It didn’t take him long before he was leaning over the pool table, faking a bad shot as he wiggled his ass just a little more than necessary. Took only a short while longer before he was kneeling in the alley behind the bar, cock down his throat, fingers fisted in his hair. So yeah, it was a bit rougher than he’d usually go for but hey, he wasn’t a girl. He could take it. Even the sight of the man’s two buddies waiting their turn didn’t bother him that much. He’d known one wouldn’t be enough for the kind of cash he needed and, even if he’d been hoping to hook up with a woman again, this was quicker. Wasn’t good leaving Sam alone at the motel for too long. The kid might brood himself into a coma. This way he’d be home before Sam even had time to start worrying about him.
It was all good.
Now, Sam might be shy but he wasn’t stupid and he recognized an opportunity when it stared him in the face. Once it was clear Wayne was out of the picture Sam jumped on the chance to ask the girl out. Whatever discomfort Dean had about the way he’d earned the money to pay for the tux and the dinner it was worth it for the look on Sam’s face as he drove away to pick up his date.
Later that night, holding Sam as he cried his disappointment into Dean’s neck, Dean wondered if it was still worth it. He felt Sam’s heart beat in rhythm with his own, felt Sam’s warm fingers slide across his neck and decided that yes, it was. It was worth every goddamn cent.
April 2001
It was just a few months short of Sam’s graduation when they ran across an extremely pissed off poltergeist and the kid got roughened up pretty badly, bruises covering his body in conspicuous places. Dean should have seen it coming.
Not like it was the first time they’d had a concerned teacher call home but this time Dad was away and when Dean went to try and talk Mr. Stevens out of informing social services he soon realized this was going to take more than a couple of bills slipped across the teacher’s desk.
He was starting to panic, calculating in his mind how fast they would be able to pack and move out, knowing Sam would put up one hell of a fight about being torn away from school in his final year. He already had his fists clenched and ready to punch the guy to get past him and out the door when he caught Mr. Stevens glance down at Dean’s crotch before looking back up, unconsciously licking his lips. Dean almost laughed out loud. He’d been willing to pay the guy two hundred bucks for not ratting them out and instead he was going to get it for free.
Leaning forward he cocked his head and raised an eyebrow. “Ok, how about this? I suck you and you forget we ever had this conversation. That sound good to you?”
Mr. Steven’s eyes widened in shock and he jerked back. “What?”
Dean sighed. “You’re not exactly subtle, man. I can practically smell you. You want me to blow you or what?”
The man stared at him. Then his face hardened and for a moment Dean though he’d misjudged the situation. “You think offering me sexual favors will make this go away?”
“The thought had occurred to me, yeah.” Dean shrugged, ignoring how his heart was beating frantically in his chest. “I’m good at it. Good enough to make you forget your own name, let alone Sam’s.”
“I bet you are.” The teacher studied him for a moment before nodding. “Ok. You blow me, I fuck you, and we’ll forget this ever happened.”
Shit. “I don’t…” Mr. Stevens raised his eyebrows and Dean clenched his jaw. “Ok. Alright.”
Seriously, it wasn’t like he was a virgin or anything. He’d been fucked before by men with larger dicks and less lube. And the guy was good at it, he had to give him that. He had Dean panting and grunting over the desk, hitting his prostate hard with every thrust and he came over Mr. Steven’s fingers moments before the man groaned and pulled out, ripping off the condom and shooting his come all over Dean’s ass and thighs. Dean closed his eyes and breathed deeply a few times before straightening up and pulling up his pants. Mr. Stevens tried to haul him in for a kiss but he dodged and made for the door without meeting his eyes.
“Stay away from my family, Mr. Stevens.”
He was out of the building and making his way to the car when his stomach did a sudden summersault and he doubled over, decorating a flowerbed with his late lunch. Fuck. He kneeled on the grass, trying to catch his breath, his head spinning and tears welling up in his eyes. Come was seeping through his jeans, making them stick to his skin, and he absentmindedly found himself wondering if he had any clean ones at home or if he would have to do laundry tonight.
“Dean?”
No. Nonono. Please…
“I told you to wait in the car, Sam.”
“What’s wrong? What happened?”
Dean closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before he slowly got to his feet and offered Sam a pained grimace. “It’s nothing. Must have been some bad beef in that burrito I had at lunch. My stomach is killing me.”
“Oh.” Sam visibly relaxed, smiling sympathetically. “You should try the vegetable tacos. They’re good. Healthier.”
“If man was meant to eat grass he’d been born a rabbit, Sam. Real men eat meat.”
“And then they throw it up,” Sam answered with an air of superiority that made Dean suddenly want to hit him. Hard in the face. He must have shown something because Sam frowned and took a step closer.
“You sure you’re alright?”
“I’ll be fine. Come on.”
They walked to the car and Dean kept his face neutral as he slid in behind the wheel, only just managing not to flinch as the leather rubbed against his sore and sticky backside. He waited until Sam was buckled in before pulling away from the sidewalk and they drove home in silence.
Wasn’t until they parked outside the small apartment that Sam asked, “What did he say? Mr. Stevens, I mean. Is he gonna report us? Do we have to move again?”
He said I was a good fuck. “Don’t worry, Sam, I took care of it.”
Sam groaned. “You didn’t like… threaten him or anything, right? Because he controls half my grade, Dean. I need that A and if you beat him up or something he’s gonna take it out on me.”
“I said I took care of it, Sam. Now shut up and get out of the car.”
Sam blinked and then his face twisted into a hard scowl. “Why? Where are you going? You’re going to the bar, aren’t you? It’s not even six o’clock, Dean, and you’re gonna go drink yourself stupid. Again. You’re always drinking. You’re becoming worse than Dad-“
“Shut up! Shut the fuck up, Sam, and get out of the fucking car before I throw you out!”
Sam jerked back and stared at him with wide eyes and then he hissed, “Fine!” and climbed out of the car, slamming the door shut with enough force to rattle the windows. Dean didn’t spare him a second glance, just shot out of the parking lot and drove away, leaving Sam to glare furiously after him.
By the time he finally made it back home he was so drunk that he didn’t even care that Sam had to help him up off the bathroom floor and out of his clothes. Didn’t care that Sam scrunched up his nose at the smell, or ranted about Dean being immature and stupid. Didn’t care that he lunged out and hit Sam in the face to shut him up. Didn’t care that he then pulled Sam in, whispering “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” as he cried into Sam’s t-shirt. Didn’t care that Sam had to wipe his face clean and drag him to bed. Didn’t care that he fell asleep with Sam watching him, a look on his face that would have made Dean hate himself the next day.
If he’d remembered anything when he woke up.
He didn’t and Sam didn’t say anything, just handed Dean a couple of painkillers and a glass of water and then left him to sleep the rest of the day while he walked downtown to check his P.O. box for replies from the colleges he’d applied for. There was one from Stanford waiting for him. He read it three times while walking back, then hid it in his backpack and sat quietly waiting with butterflies in his stomach, until Dean woke up, threw up, and then they drove to the diner for hangover food. It would be two more months before Sam and Dad had their blowout.
June 2006
“You never told me that.” Dean couldn’t look up, the memory suddenly making his stomach turn like he was back in that schoolyard, tossing his lunch. Damn it.
“Well, you didn’t tell me about Mr. Stevens.”
Dean rolled his eyes. “What was I supposed to say? ‘Hey, little brother. I let your teacher fuck me in the ass so now we don’t have to worry about social services. Isn’t that great?’ Like hell, Sam. Don’t be an idiot.”
He looked up just in time to see the waitress, who’d been approaching their table, back away, a horrified look in her eyes. Damn. He’d been hoping to get an extra waffle if he played her right. “Great, we managed to scare the locals. Can we please drop this?”
“You’re the one who wanted to know about Stanford.”
“Well, you’re the one who can’t shut up about… you know.”
“You can’t even say it, Dean.” Sam leaned forward, lowering his voice as his eyes softened. “You keep saying it was no big deal, that you don’t care about any of it, but I don’t believe you. It is a fucking big deal and you know it.
Dean sighed. “Sam, just… drop it. Ok? I promised I wouldn’t do it again.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is the damn point? Huh, Sam? What do you want?” Dean straightened up, giving Sam a pointed look. “You want me to say I hate myself for it? That I feel dirty and cheap and sick to my goddamn stomach? You want me to cry and scrub myself raw in the shower because I’m such a filthy whore? Is that it?” he mocked coldly, hating the pained sympathy in Sam’s eyes that grew deeper with every word.
“Dean…”
Damn it. He couldn’t do this. He was alright, it didn’t matter, none of it. Really. It was just the way Sam was acting, making Dean feel like he was a victim or some shit like that and… no. Dean Winchester was not a victim. He was many things but victim was not one of them. He didn’t need Sam’s pity and he certainly didn’t need the implication that not caring about what he’d done was even worse than the act itself.
“Sam, don’t. So I blew a few guys for money, fucked a few women and got paid for it. Had my ass plowed a few times. It’s just sex, dude. It doesn’t matter.” He lay his palms flat on the table, looking Sam straight in the eyes. “Really, Sam. I would do it again if I had to. Because let me tell you something, little brother. It was worth it. You were worth it. Even that fucking Harry Potter book was worth it.”
He sighed at Sam’s distraught look. “Sam, I like sex and I like money and I like making you happy. There’s no bad in this. Now can we please drop it before you emo away my goddamn appetite?”
Sam swallowed and poked his salad with his fork before looking up through his bangs. “You bought me Harry Potter with hooker money? That’s just wrong, man.”
Dean snorted and popped another curly fry into his mouth, accepting the apology for what it was. “What’s wrong is that almost ten years later you’re still reading that crap. Whatever happened to good ol’ fashioned wholesome porn?”
“Erm…”
Dean paused his chewing. “Dude, are you blushing?”
“Shut up.”
He leaned back, studying Sam’s embarrassed face. “You are. Oh hell no. Please don’t tell me you read Harry Potter porn.”
“No! Not… exactly. There are these twins…”
Oh yeah, Dean thought as he choked on his fries laughing, while Sam slumped down in his seat, face beet-red with embarrassment.. It was definitely worth it. Every goddamn cent.
And really, he didn’t hear Sam complaining when he was being treated to all the tricks Dean had learned in dirty bathrooms and cold alleyways. In fact he made sounds that were in themselves a far better payment than any money Dean had ever earned doing the same things to strangers.
He was just glad Sam hadn’t asked him again about the extent of his hustling since Stanford. Or during. Or last week, before they started… this thing. Whatever it was.
If he’d known how much it mattered to Sam he would have been more careful and kept quiet about the whole thing. Because even though he had promised - and he had every intention of keeping that promise as long as he could - there would come a time when pool hustling and fake credit cards couldn’t quite save the day. And like he said, he’d do it again, in a heartbeat, if it meant keeping Sam safe.
It was worth it. Really, it was. Because it wasn’t a big deal, no matter what Sam said. Not at all.
It was all good.
fin
There's a reason why I waited months before posting this so please be gentle. *bites nails*