The Ballad of the Invisible Boy: Part Three
Part Two.
Sam wakes the next morning to the always pleasant sensation of being smacked on the feet.
“Up’n at’em, kiddo. Come on. You’re the one who wanted to go to the mall, so don’t you make me drag you outta bed.”
Sam pulls the covers up over his head and whines, barely coherent and grouchy. “What time is it?”
“Fuckin’ ten in the morning! Dude, come on. I don’t wanna be at the mall all day with some snot-nosed little suburban kids, okay? Take some pity on me.”
Dean sounds just put-out enough that it wakes Sam up completely. He sighs, making it good and loud, as he shoves the blankets away from his body. He squints up at Dean, giving him his very best pout as he looks him over. Half of Dean’s face is bruised from whatever hunt he’d gone on with Dad last night and his lip is split and strangely twisted because of it.
Sam doesn’t take his eyes off his brother as he sits up in bed and crawls over to him. Dean just watches him, lets him. Sam cups Dean’s cheeks in the gentlest hands he’s learned to have and he examines him, the ache of it all settling into Sam’s wrists. The previous night comes flooding back to him, the rain, his own palms raw from falling, the terror of losing Dean, the unimaginable loneliness of searching a dark road for the one person who makes you feel more than everyone else combined.
He closes his eyes as he wraps his arms around Dean and hugs up close to him. Dean goes tense for a beat before he sighs and returns the hug, arms going around Sam’s skinny body. They stay just like that, Sam kneeling on the bed and Dean bent over to hold him until the strain gets to be too much for Dean. He gives Sam a final squeeze and pulls back slowly, letting Sam get used to not being wrapped up before he takes it from him completely.
“I’m okay, man. Promise. Go get in the shower, okay? There ain’t nothin’ but Corn Flakes for breakfast, but you need to eat something before we go.”
Sam nods, his eyes soft as he smiles at Dean. Sometimes he just gets these feelings, these moments where he looks at Dean and he can’t breathe and he doesn’t understand how someone could be so perfect. Dean’s hilarious, he’s a smartass, he’s always looking out for Sam, with every single breath he takes. He knows exactly how to say things to Sam to make him calm down, to make him listen, really listen. Not to mention he’s so pretty to look at that Sam feels it like a living thing right down into his bones.
He’s never tried to talk to anyone else about it, doesn’t want to know if he’s alone in these feelings about his own brother or if everyone feels this way about their brother. He doesn’t really want either one to be true.
Dean snorts at the lovey-dovey way Sam’s looking at him, reaching up to swat at the side of his head playfully. “Stop sleepwalkin’ and get your ass in the shower. We’re leaving in fifteen.”
Sam feels himself smiling stupidly all through scrubbing rainwater from his body, all through stale cornflakes, and all the way to the mall. He’s secretly sure that nobody else has a Dean to feel this way about.
--
“So, what’s so great about that CD?” Dean glances down at the little bag that Sam is happily swinging along beside him as they shuffle through the mall. It’s Sunday, so it’s mostly families out today instead of just teenagers, which Sam is quietly grateful for. He doesn’t think he could stomach watching Dean hit on a group of girls today.
“It’s Nirvana.” To Sam, that’s all the answer required but Dean just looks over at him, eyebrows raised, waiting for an explanation. Sam just stops where he is and stares at Dean.
“Dude. Seriously?” His eyes widen when Dean’s expression just doesn’t change, when he just keeps walking, forcing Sam to jog a little to catch up. “They’re just amazing. Really. Just awesome. This is the CD that came out last fall.”
“So why are you just now gettin’ it, then, music boy?” Dean leads them down another section of the mall, one the opposite way of where the car’s parked, but it’s still raining outside and Dad’s passed out at home. They have nowhere to be and that suits Dean just fine.
“Just heard it for the first time a couple of months ago. Wes played it for me and I really liked it.” Sam rubs the tip of his Converse with his other foot, shrugging a little as he tosses his hair out of his eyes. He’s trying to downplay how excited he is because he knows Dean won’t approve of the music anyway. “I’ve been saving up some money to get it. Just got enough on Friday. Savin’ a little lunch money.”
Sam’s eyes light up when he sees a pet shop and he grabs hold of Dean’s flannel and tugs him toward it. Dean scowls just because it’s expected and lets out a sigh.
“Sammy, we ain’t gettin’ a dog, so don’t even start. Plus, dude.” He grabs Sam by his shrimpy arm and pulls him to a stop. “Hey. Next time you want something that bad, just ask, okay? I don’t have a lot or anything, but I can loan you fifteen bucks for a CD if it means that much to you.”
Sam has that gooey look in his eyes again and Dean’s shoulders tense, waiting for Sam to melt against him, for some reason. He glances around to make sure there aren’t any girls around them and relaxes a little when he doesn’t see any.
“Will you listen to it with me?”
Sam’s voice is so quiet that Dean almost doesn’t hear him over the background noise of puppy yaps and little kid squeals. He takes a deep breath when the words process and chews on the inside of his cheek.
“Maybe. Yeah, maybe. If you aren’t a pain in my ass for the rest of the afternoon, got it?”
Sam beams like sunshine at him and Dean can’t help but laugh. He hooks an arm around Sam’s shoulders and tugs him into the pet store.
“You’re so easy, kid.”
They bypass all the pet supplies and start on one end of the glass cages lining the walls, filled with expensive puppies. Cocker Spaniels and Pomeranians and Beagles and Yorkies and Scottish Terriers and Golden Retrievers and Sam has to stop and gasp at every one of them, has to scritch his fingers soft against the glass, has to make little sounds at each puppy. Dean follows behind, hands in his pockets, lips pursed so he doesn’t smile.
“Dean! Look! Look how cute, ohmygod.” It’s a Weimaraner puppy, a little grey velvet-looking thing with big sad eyes that Sam is doing his very best to imitate to his brother right now. Dean leans down behind him to peer in at the puppy whose paws are up on the glass, scratching and his tail is docked and wagging excitedly. “Dean.”
Sam frowns now, pointing at the puppy’s tail as he looks back at his brother.
“Why do they do that? Why do they cut their tails like that?”
Dean shrugs, looking at the little ruined puppy tail and it makes his chest ache. Sam watches Dean and sees how he schools his face, forces his voice to stay neutral.
“Because people are vain assholes who think that they have to control everything. Including mutilating a puppy’s tail just because they want it to look that way.” He doesn’t speak softly, doesn’t mince his words and Sam watches as a couple who had been cooing at a puppy beside them glares at Dean before moving away. Sam smiles up at his brother before he leans back against Dean a little, back to his chest.
“I would never do that. Never.”
Dean doesn’t reply, just stares at the puppy for a minute more before he’s tugging them along away from the puppies and past the snakes and fish and--
“Oh.”
Sam looks up from the cage in front of him housing two guinea pigs to look at Dean, to see what he’s making that sound over. Dean’s eyes are on the tall kennels in the middle of the shop, the ones containing about ten kittens of varying colors. Sam’s face hurts he’s grinning so hard and he practically runs across the shop and stops in front of the cages, making little kissy noises at the kittens and wiggling a finger in where a little grey one can sniff and bat at it.
He feels Dean standing behind him and he turns to smile at him before he kneels down, peering in at the kittens on the lowest level so that Dean can get closer to see the ones higher up. Sam’s quiet so he can hear any noise Dean makes at the kittens, desperate for it, almost. When he doesn’t hear anything, he stands up next to his brother, watching him watch a particular kitten, a little scrappy thing with all different colors of fur, with a big splotch of black right over one side of its nose. Dean is rapt, his finger crooked past the little bars to try and entice the kitten over so he can pet it.
Sam feels his face heat, feels a warmth flood his chest and he wants suddenly to wrap his arms around his brother, to give him this kitten, to curl up with the both of them and listen to Nirvana and never deal with anything or anyone else ever again.
“We can ask to pet it,” Sam suggests in a quiet voice, not wanting to break Dean’s trance. Dean glances down at him, his face still open, unguarded and full of wonder but it hardens just a tiny bit when he realizes that he’s being watched. He clears his throat gently.
“No, it’s.” Dean steps back, hands going back into his pockets. “We should go.”
Sam is already standing at the counter where the registers are and he works up his courage to talk to the pretty girl refilling receipt paper. “Excuse me, miss? My brother and I would like to see one of the kittens, please.”
The girl turns to look at Sam and smiles at him, at his politeness and his sweet little boy cheeks and eager face. “Sure, hon. Which one?”
Sam returns to Dean and the kitten cages with the girl and Sam can see the struggle in Dean, the need to run, to act like this isn’t a big deal, to get away from how awkward it is that he wants to pet a kitten. Sam points to Dean’s kitten, to the little patchwork-colored one. “That one.”
“Ah. That’s Mabel. She was the runt of the litter.” The girl opens the cage with her key and makes soft clicking sounds at Mabel while she pulls her out, cradling her to her chest and turning to look at Sam and Dean. “We have rooms, if you guys wanna go into one with her? That way she can walk around and not get loose.”
“Sure!” Sam is this-close to grabbing Dean’s hand and pulling him but he knows it will make Dean lose all of his nerve so he just grins up at him, playing up his excitement so that Dean can at least pretend this is all for Sam.
The girl closes the door behind the three of them and sets Mabel down on the little bench, keeping a hand on her until Sam crouches down next to her and starts petting her. “Take as long as you want. There are some toys in here and some paper towels right there in case she makes a mess. But it’s usually puppies that do that, so I think you’ll be okay.”
She smiles up at Dean, bright and a little shy and Dean flushes deep across his cheeks and down the back of his neck. Sam’s looking up at them from where he’s sitting on the floor, Mabel now in his lap, and he prays silently that the girl just leaves. Please just leave. Just let us have this.
“Let me know if you need anything else.”
“We will,” Sam replies for Dean before Dean can even open his mouth, his smile big and young. “Thanks!”
The girl keeps her eyes on Dean until she’s out of the little room and the door is closed behind her. Sam lets out the breath he’d been holding and he reaches down to pick up the kitten, holding her up so that Dean can take her. Dean sits down on the bench and Sam can see him struggling not to grin at the little ball of fluff and tiny mews Sam is offering him.
“She’s sweet, Dean. She’d be a cuddlebutt.” Sam watches Dean take the kitten into his arms and hold her carefully against his chest. Sam moves into a crouch so he can keep petting her back while Dean scritches at her head and her cheeks. Dean’s eyes are light, cautiously happy and he glances up at Sam.
“That means she’d get along with you just fine.” He’s picking on Sam just because it’s what they do. But the words are harmless so Sam just beams at him, scooting a little closer and resting his forearm across Dean’s thigh so he can reach to kiss the top of Mabel’s head right between Dean’s forefinger and thumb.
“She’s so soft, isn’t she?” He rubs his face against Mabel’s fur and as a result, against Dean’s hand, reveling in the feel of both, if he’s being honest with himself. He pulls back to watch Dean with her again, watch how gentle his face is, how open when he scratches under her chin and wiggles his fingers so that she’ll grab at them with her tiny paws.
Sam feels tears prickle in his eyes and he leans even more against Dean. He rests his cheek against Dean’s chest, cuddled right up against him next to Mabel, just like Dean said. He feels so good right now, so good it hurts, and it’s a feeling that he’s only ever associated with Dean. No girls have ever made him feel like this, no boys either. Not their dad, nobody. Just Dean.
He looks up to watch the kitten nose at Dean’s bruised face and it occurs to him that he wants to do the very same thing. He wants to climb up into Dean’s lap and rub their faces together and feel Dean’s arms sure and strong and forever right around him. He wants it and he doesn’t know how long he’s wanted it and he can’t recall a time when he hasn’t wanted it.
“We should go, Sammy,” Dean says after a good ten minutes of pure, honest cuddling with the two of them and the kitten. “Dad’s gonna be movin’ around and he’ll be pissed if I have the car out too long.” He lifts Mabel to meet her eyes and he presses a kiss right on her little pink nose. Sam has to wrap his arms around himself to keep his hands off of Dean at the sight. It breaks him, somehow, to see Dean like this. So tender-handed and affectionate and unguarded. He wants to keep this Dean all to himself, wants to bury himself against him and feel all of that affection wash all over his own body.
“Say bye to cuddlebutt.” Dean holds Mabel up to Sam and Sam kisses at her face, at her nose until she squirms. Dean laughs and stands up, kitten curled in one arm and he uses the other to help Sam up. “I was talking to the kitten about you,” Dean teases, arm draping around Sam again when they open the door to step back out into the shop.
Sam doesn’t think he’ll ever stop smiling again.
--
The summer rain is falling in sheets by the time they make it home and Sam darts from the car and runs up to the porch, his hand just barely lighting on the wood railing before his feet slip out from under him and he goes sprawling on the front walk. Dean is there before he can even register what happened, arms under Sam’s pits to lift him up to standing again.
“Careful, kid. It’s slick as hell out here right now. You okay?” He wipes at Sam’s face to get a couple of stray pieces of grass Sam collected in the fall. Sam blushes and wipes at his face, wiping his hands on his jeans before turning to walk into the house a little more carefully this time.
Dean tosses Sam a towel when they get into the house and Sam wipes his face off, wipes the front of his now-dirty grey shirt. There’s chili warming on the stove and the house smells amazing with it.
“Ooh, Dad made five-alarm chili. Hell, yeah.” Dean opens the cabinet and pulls down a couple of bowls. “How about you go get changed and get the CD ready and we’ll eat in my room?”
Sam looks over at Dean like he just won the damn lottery, eyes brimming with giddiness.
“For real?”
Dean snorts, shaking his head at Sam before he starts scooping chili into the bowls. “Yeah, Sammy, for real. You better hurry though. I’m starved.”
They meet in Dean’s room five minutes later, Sam dressed in a mostly clean t-shirt and sweats and the CD is ready in Dean’s boombox on the nightstand. Sam is sitting on Dean’s bed with the biggest grin he possesses when Dean comes in with two steaming bowls of chili, topped with cheese and two cans of Coke in both pockets of his flannel shirt.
“Scoot over, small fry. Make some room.” Sam shoves over and reaches back to make sure the pillow is propped up so Dean can lean back. He takes one of the bowls from Dean and digs in immediately. He’s on his fourth bite before Dean even starts on his first and he looks up, cheeks full of food, spicy chili on his lips and he finds Dean’s eyes on him, eyebrow quirked.
“Wha?” Sam swallows as much as he can, licking his lips to get them at least a little clean.
“You gonna start the CD?”
“Oh. Yeah. Totally. But, um. Before I do, I just. I mean, you might not care, but.” Sam stares at his chili, using his spoon to scrape all of it down to the same level on the sides of the bowl. “The lead singer, Kurt Cobain. He died a couple of months ago. Back in April.”
Dean looks over at him for that, pausing mid-chew before he swallows what’s in his mouth. He’s quiet until Sam looks over at him and Sam can tell Dean is studying him, making sure he’s okay about it before he responds.
“I heard about that actually. A couple of the guys I met here are big into them. They talk about it a lot. Suicide, right?”
Sam nods, doesn’t really know what to say to make this a conversation. He thinks about it a lot, too. It upsets him more than it probably should, considering the fact that he never knew the guy. But he likes their music, a lot. A whole lot. He looks over to find Dean still watching him and he gives him a faint smile. Dean nods just once, understanding that Sam doesn’t really want to talk about it and Sam is quietly grateful.
He reaches over Dean and hits the play button, making sure it’s turned up pretty loud so the first guitar sounds are heard clearly. He sits back against the pillow, his arm warm where it’s touching Dean’s and he eats more slowly now, nervous about what Dean thinks of the music.
They listen to the first song silently, both nearly done with their chili by the time it’s over. The drums on the next song start up and Dean is bobbing his head along a little, head down to listen and to eat. Sam watches him, so anxious now that he’s lost his appetite. He puts the bowl down on the floor beside him and comes back up in time for Kurt Cobain to start screeching and his eyes shoot to Dean, wide and worried.
Dean looks over at him and grins when he sees the look on Sam’s face, shaking his head as he eats the last of his chili. His bowl goes on the floor too and he drains the last of his soda. They push even closer together, heads resting together on the pillow and they stare up at the ceiling, listening.
“Like the guitar,” Dean concedes as quietly as he can, and it makes Sam’s heart race. He turns on his side a little and tucks right up against Dean, eyes closing when Dean’s arm wraps around his shoulders.
The next song, “Heart-Shaped Box,” comes on and Sam wiggles excitedly. “This is my favorite,” he whispers close to Dean’s ear and Sam can feel Dean listening more closely.
He lets his hand spread on Dean’s chest casually, his heart beating right in the center of Sam’s palm. He looks up at Dean very, very slowly, careful not to disturb him and he can see the full pout of his busted mouth and the fan of his lashes across faintly freckled cheeks. A strangely beautiful palette of varying shades of purple cover the right side of his face. Dean’s eyes are closed and he’s listening to Sam’s favorite song. Sam wants to crane up and attach his lips to the point of Dean’s jaw and suck until Dean makes a sound. He tucks his head back against Dean’s chest again to avoid the temptation and lets his own eyes close.
“Mabel woulda hated that song,” Dean declares when it’s over. They both snort and giggle and Sam smacks Dean on the chest. “Rape Me” starts up and Dean’s eyes open and meet Sam’s, eyebrows raised. Sam tenses for the impending lecture but the drums and guitar break through and Dean relaxes again, faint smile on his face. “Nice.”
Sam curls his fingers the tiniest bit, letting them rub at Dean’s chest and he hisses a little when he feels a sharp pain on the pad of his middle finger where it catches on Dean’s shirt. Dean cracks an eye and looks down at Sam.
“What’s wrong?”
“Got a splinter, I guess. Falling out there.” Sam reluctantly moves his hand from Dean’s chest and squints at it in the near darkness of Dean’s unlit room when he feels Dean’s hand close around his wrist. He watches Dean look at his finger, wondering when he’s going to start poking and prodding at it and he gasps, actually gasps, when Dean slides Sam’s finger into his mouth, straight past his lips and right across his soft, wet tongue.
Sam sits up a little and stares down at Dean with desperately wide eyes, the tip of his finger tucked into Dean’s mouth and he feels himself go painfully hard when Dean starts to suck on it. He pulls his hips back from Dean’s side, his heart going crazy in the trap of his chest. He swallows hard, gradually relaxing back against Dean, cheek on his shoulder. The rest of his hand curls against Dean’s cheek while Dean continues to tender the splinter in his mouth, stroking at it with his tongue, easing the ache with the gentle sucking of his hot mouth.
“Feel better?”
Sam barely understands the words mumbled around his finger but he nods at the tone, his cheeks burning so hot he’s worried he has a fever. Dean keeps sucking on his finger for the rest of the album, until it’s soaked through with his spit and pruny with it and Sam is so unbelievably hard that he’s about to cry. Dean falls asleep before the last song is over, Sam’s finger slipping out of his now slack mouth, his arm tight around Sam’s body.
Sam stays right where he is while it falls dark outside, trying to calm his heart and his dick down, trying not to move a single inch because he knows if he does, he’s going to come, bright and shattering right against his brother’s long body. It’s a revelation, a new secret he has to keep all to himself: that he wants every single part of his brother that he can possibly get his hands and mouth and heart on. It’s an important moment in his life, maybe the most important, and In Utero will forever be its soundtrack.
next.
Sam wakes the next morning to the always pleasant sensation of being smacked on the feet.
“Up’n at’em, kiddo. Come on. You’re the one who wanted to go to the mall, so don’t you make me drag you outta bed.”
Sam pulls the covers up over his head and whines, barely coherent and grouchy. “What time is it?”
“Fuckin’ ten in the morning! Dude, come on. I don’t wanna be at the mall all day with some snot-nosed little suburban kids, okay? Take some pity on me.”
Dean sounds just put-out enough that it wakes Sam up completely. He sighs, making it good and loud, as he shoves the blankets away from his body. He squints up at Dean, giving him his very best pout as he looks him over. Half of Dean’s face is bruised from whatever hunt he’d gone on with Dad last night and his lip is split and strangely twisted because of it.
Sam doesn’t take his eyes off his brother as he sits up in bed and crawls over to him. Dean just watches him, lets him. Sam cups Dean’s cheeks in the gentlest hands he’s learned to have and he examines him, the ache of it all settling into Sam’s wrists. The previous night comes flooding back to him, the rain, his own palms raw from falling, the terror of losing Dean, the unimaginable loneliness of searching a dark road for the one person who makes you feel more than everyone else combined.
He closes his eyes as he wraps his arms around Dean and hugs up close to him. Dean goes tense for a beat before he sighs and returns the hug, arms going around Sam’s skinny body. They stay just like that, Sam kneeling on the bed and Dean bent over to hold him until the strain gets to be too much for Dean. He gives Sam a final squeeze and pulls back slowly, letting Sam get used to not being wrapped up before he takes it from him completely.
“I’m okay, man. Promise. Go get in the shower, okay? There ain’t nothin’ but Corn Flakes for breakfast, but you need to eat something before we go.”
Sam nods, his eyes soft as he smiles at Dean. Sometimes he just gets these feelings, these moments where he looks at Dean and he can’t breathe and he doesn’t understand how someone could be so perfect. Dean’s hilarious, he’s a smartass, he’s always looking out for Sam, with every single breath he takes. He knows exactly how to say things to Sam to make him calm down, to make him listen, really listen. Not to mention he’s so pretty to look at that Sam feels it like a living thing right down into his bones.
He’s never tried to talk to anyone else about it, doesn’t want to know if he’s alone in these feelings about his own brother or if everyone feels this way about their brother. He doesn’t really want either one to be true.
Dean snorts at the lovey-dovey way Sam’s looking at him, reaching up to swat at the side of his head playfully. “Stop sleepwalkin’ and get your ass in the shower. We’re leaving in fifteen.”
Sam feels himself smiling stupidly all through scrubbing rainwater from his body, all through stale cornflakes, and all the way to the mall. He’s secretly sure that nobody else has a Dean to feel this way about.
--
“So, what’s so great about that CD?” Dean glances down at the little bag that Sam is happily swinging along beside him as they shuffle through the mall. It’s Sunday, so it’s mostly families out today instead of just teenagers, which Sam is quietly grateful for. He doesn’t think he could stomach watching Dean hit on a group of girls today.
“It’s Nirvana.” To Sam, that’s all the answer required but Dean just looks over at him, eyebrows raised, waiting for an explanation. Sam just stops where he is and stares at Dean.
“Dude. Seriously?” His eyes widen when Dean’s expression just doesn’t change, when he just keeps walking, forcing Sam to jog a little to catch up. “They’re just amazing. Really. Just awesome. This is the CD that came out last fall.”
“So why are you just now gettin’ it, then, music boy?” Dean leads them down another section of the mall, one the opposite way of where the car’s parked, but it’s still raining outside and Dad’s passed out at home. They have nowhere to be and that suits Dean just fine.
“Just heard it for the first time a couple of months ago. Wes played it for me and I really liked it.” Sam rubs the tip of his Converse with his other foot, shrugging a little as he tosses his hair out of his eyes. He’s trying to downplay how excited he is because he knows Dean won’t approve of the music anyway. “I’ve been saving up some money to get it. Just got enough on Friday. Savin’ a little lunch money.”
Sam’s eyes light up when he sees a pet shop and he grabs hold of Dean’s flannel and tugs him toward it. Dean scowls just because it’s expected and lets out a sigh.
“Sammy, we ain’t gettin’ a dog, so don’t even start. Plus, dude.” He grabs Sam by his shrimpy arm and pulls him to a stop. “Hey. Next time you want something that bad, just ask, okay? I don’t have a lot or anything, but I can loan you fifteen bucks for a CD if it means that much to you.”
Sam has that gooey look in his eyes again and Dean’s shoulders tense, waiting for Sam to melt against him, for some reason. He glances around to make sure there aren’t any girls around them and relaxes a little when he doesn’t see any.
“Will you listen to it with me?”
Sam’s voice is so quiet that Dean almost doesn’t hear him over the background noise of puppy yaps and little kid squeals. He takes a deep breath when the words process and chews on the inside of his cheek.
“Maybe. Yeah, maybe. If you aren’t a pain in my ass for the rest of the afternoon, got it?”
Sam beams like sunshine at him and Dean can’t help but laugh. He hooks an arm around Sam’s shoulders and tugs him into the pet store.
“You’re so easy, kid.”
They bypass all the pet supplies and start on one end of the glass cages lining the walls, filled with expensive puppies. Cocker Spaniels and Pomeranians and Beagles and Yorkies and Scottish Terriers and Golden Retrievers and Sam has to stop and gasp at every one of them, has to scritch his fingers soft against the glass, has to make little sounds at each puppy. Dean follows behind, hands in his pockets, lips pursed so he doesn’t smile.
“Dean! Look! Look how cute, ohmygod.” It’s a Weimaraner puppy, a little grey velvet-looking thing with big sad eyes that Sam is doing his very best to imitate to his brother right now. Dean leans down behind him to peer in at the puppy whose paws are up on the glass, scratching and his tail is docked and wagging excitedly. “Dean.”
Sam frowns now, pointing at the puppy’s tail as he looks back at his brother.
“Why do they do that? Why do they cut their tails like that?”
Dean shrugs, looking at the little ruined puppy tail and it makes his chest ache. Sam watches Dean and sees how he schools his face, forces his voice to stay neutral.
“Because people are vain assholes who think that they have to control everything. Including mutilating a puppy’s tail just because they want it to look that way.” He doesn’t speak softly, doesn’t mince his words and Sam watches as a couple who had been cooing at a puppy beside them glares at Dean before moving away. Sam smiles up at his brother before he leans back against Dean a little, back to his chest.
“I would never do that. Never.”
Dean doesn’t reply, just stares at the puppy for a minute more before he’s tugging them along away from the puppies and past the snakes and fish and--
“Oh.”
Sam looks up from the cage in front of him housing two guinea pigs to look at Dean, to see what he’s making that sound over. Dean’s eyes are on the tall kennels in the middle of the shop, the ones containing about ten kittens of varying colors. Sam’s face hurts he’s grinning so hard and he practically runs across the shop and stops in front of the cages, making little kissy noises at the kittens and wiggling a finger in where a little grey one can sniff and bat at it.
He feels Dean standing behind him and he turns to smile at him before he kneels down, peering in at the kittens on the lowest level so that Dean can get closer to see the ones higher up. Sam’s quiet so he can hear any noise Dean makes at the kittens, desperate for it, almost. When he doesn’t hear anything, he stands up next to his brother, watching him watch a particular kitten, a little scrappy thing with all different colors of fur, with a big splotch of black right over one side of its nose. Dean is rapt, his finger crooked past the little bars to try and entice the kitten over so he can pet it.
Sam feels his face heat, feels a warmth flood his chest and he wants suddenly to wrap his arms around his brother, to give him this kitten, to curl up with the both of them and listen to Nirvana and never deal with anything or anyone else ever again.
“We can ask to pet it,” Sam suggests in a quiet voice, not wanting to break Dean’s trance. Dean glances down at him, his face still open, unguarded and full of wonder but it hardens just a tiny bit when he realizes that he’s being watched. He clears his throat gently.
“No, it’s.” Dean steps back, hands going back into his pockets. “We should go.”
Sam is already standing at the counter where the registers are and he works up his courage to talk to the pretty girl refilling receipt paper. “Excuse me, miss? My brother and I would like to see one of the kittens, please.”
The girl turns to look at Sam and smiles at him, at his politeness and his sweet little boy cheeks and eager face. “Sure, hon. Which one?”
Sam returns to Dean and the kitten cages with the girl and Sam can see the struggle in Dean, the need to run, to act like this isn’t a big deal, to get away from how awkward it is that he wants to pet a kitten. Sam points to Dean’s kitten, to the little patchwork-colored one. “That one.”
“Ah. That’s Mabel. She was the runt of the litter.” The girl opens the cage with her key and makes soft clicking sounds at Mabel while she pulls her out, cradling her to her chest and turning to look at Sam and Dean. “We have rooms, if you guys wanna go into one with her? That way she can walk around and not get loose.”
“Sure!” Sam is this-close to grabbing Dean’s hand and pulling him but he knows it will make Dean lose all of his nerve so he just grins up at him, playing up his excitement so that Dean can at least pretend this is all for Sam.
The girl closes the door behind the three of them and sets Mabel down on the little bench, keeping a hand on her until Sam crouches down next to her and starts petting her. “Take as long as you want. There are some toys in here and some paper towels right there in case she makes a mess. But it’s usually puppies that do that, so I think you’ll be okay.”
She smiles up at Dean, bright and a little shy and Dean flushes deep across his cheeks and down the back of his neck. Sam’s looking up at them from where he’s sitting on the floor, Mabel now in his lap, and he prays silently that the girl just leaves. Please just leave. Just let us have this.
“Let me know if you need anything else.”
“We will,” Sam replies for Dean before Dean can even open his mouth, his smile big and young. “Thanks!”
The girl keeps her eyes on Dean until she’s out of the little room and the door is closed behind her. Sam lets out the breath he’d been holding and he reaches down to pick up the kitten, holding her up so that Dean can take her. Dean sits down on the bench and Sam can see him struggling not to grin at the little ball of fluff and tiny mews Sam is offering him.
“She’s sweet, Dean. She’d be a cuddlebutt.” Sam watches Dean take the kitten into his arms and hold her carefully against his chest. Sam moves into a crouch so he can keep petting her back while Dean scritches at her head and her cheeks. Dean’s eyes are light, cautiously happy and he glances up at Sam.
“That means she’d get along with you just fine.” He’s picking on Sam just because it’s what they do. But the words are harmless so Sam just beams at him, scooting a little closer and resting his forearm across Dean’s thigh so he can reach to kiss the top of Mabel’s head right between Dean’s forefinger and thumb.
“She’s so soft, isn’t she?” He rubs his face against Mabel’s fur and as a result, against Dean’s hand, reveling in the feel of both, if he’s being honest with himself. He pulls back to watch Dean with her again, watch how gentle his face is, how open when he scratches under her chin and wiggles his fingers so that she’ll grab at them with her tiny paws.
Sam feels tears prickle in his eyes and he leans even more against Dean. He rests his cheek against Dean’s chest, cuddled right up against him next to Mabel, just like Dean said. He feels so good right now, so good it hurts, and it’s a feeling that he’s only ever associated with Dean. No girls have ever made him feel like this, no boys either. Not their dad, nobody. Just Dean.
He looks up to watch the kitten nose at Dean’s bruised face and it occurs to him that he wants to do the very same thing. He wants to climb up into Dean’s lap and rub their faces together and feel Dean’s arms sure and strong and forever right around him. He wants it and he doesn’t know how long he’s wanted it and he can’t recall a time when he hasn’t wanted it.
“We should go, Sammy,” Dean says after a good ten minutes of pure, honest cuddling with the two of them and the kitten. “Dad’s gonna be movin’ around and he’ll be pissed if I have the car out too long.” He lifts Mabel to meet her eyes and he presses a kiss right on her little pink nose. Sam has to wrap his arms around himself to keep his hands off of Dean at the sight. It breaks him, somehow, to see Dean like this. So tender-handed and affectionate and unguarded. He wants to keep this Dean all to himself, wants to bury himself against him and feel all of that affection wash all over his own body.
“Say bye to cuddlebutt.” Dean holds Mabel up to Sam and Sam kisses at her face, at her nose until she squirms. Dean laughs and stands up, kitten curled in one arm and he uses the other to help Sam up. “I was talking to the kitten about you,” Dean teases, arm draping around Sam again when they open the door to step back out into the shop.
Sam doesn’t think he’ll ever stop smiling again.
--
The summer rain is falling in sheets by the time they make it home and Sam darts from the car and runs up to the porch, his hand just barely lighting on the wood railing before his feet slip out from under him and he goes sprawling on the front walk. Dean is there before he can even register what happened, arms under Sam’s pits to lift him up to standing again.
“Careful, kid. It’s slick as hell out here right now. You okay?” He wipes at Sam’s face to get a couple of stray pieces of grass Sam collected in the fall. Sam blushes and wipes at his face, wiping his hands on his jeans before turning to walk into the house a little more carefully this time.
Dean tosses Sam a towel when they get into the house and Sam wipes his face off, wipes the front of his now-dirty grey shirt. There’s chili warming on the stove and the house smells amazing with it.
“Ooh, Dad made five-alarm chili. Hell, yeah.” Dean opens the cabinet and pulls down a couple of bowls. “How about you go get changed and get the CD ready and we’ll eat in my room?”
Sam looks over at Dean like he just won the damn lottery, eyes brimming with giddiness.
“For real?”
Dean snorts, shaking his head at Sam before he starts scooping chili into the bowls. “Yeah, Sammy, for real. You better hurry though. I’m starved.”
They meet in Dean’s room five minutes later, Sam dressed in a mostly clean t-shirt and sweats and the CD is ready in Dean’s boombox on the nightstand. Sam is sitting on Dean’s bed with the biggest grin he possesses when Dean comes in with two steaming bowls of chili, topped with cheese and two cans of Coke in both pockets of his flannel shirt.
“Scoot over, small fry. Make some room.” Sam shoves over and reaches back to make sure the pillow is propped up so Dean can lean back. He takes one of the bowls from Dean and digs in immediately. He’s on his fourth bite before Dean even starts on his first and he looks up, cheeks full of food, spicy chili on his lips and he finds Dean’s eyes on him, eyebrow quirked.
“Wha?” Sam swallows as much as he can, licking his lips to get them at least a little clean.
“You gonna start the CD?”
“Oh. Yeah. Totally. But, um. Before I do, I just. I mean, you might not care, but.” Sam stares at his chili, using his spoon to scrape all of it down to the same level on the sides of the bowl. “The lead singer, Kurt Cobain. He died a couple of months ago. Back in April.”
Dean looks over at him for that, pausing mid-chew before he swallows what’s in his mouth. He’s quiet until Sam looks over at him and Sam can tell Dean is studying him, making sure he’s okay about it before he responds.
“I heard about that actually. A couple of the guys I met here are big into them. They talk about it a lot. Suicide, right?”
Sam nods, doesn’t really know what to say to make this a conversation. He thinks about it a lot, too. It upsets him more than it probably should, considering the fact that he never knew the guy. But he likes their music, a lot. A whole lot. He looks over to find Dean still watching him and he gives him a faint smile. Dean nods just once, understanding that Sam doesn’t really want to talk about it and Sam is quietly grateful.
He reaches over Dean and hits the play button, making sure it’s turned up pretty loud so the first guitar sounds are heard clearly. He sits back against the pillow, his arm warm where it’s touching Dean’s and he eats more slowly now, nervous about what Dean thinks of the music.
They listen to the first song silently, both nearly done with their chili by the time it’s over. The drums on the next song start up and Dean is bobbing his head along a little, head down to listen and to eat. Sam watches him, so anxious now that he’s lost his appetite. He puts the bowl down on the floor beside him and comes back up in time for Kurt Cobain to start screeching and his eyes shoot to Dean, wide and worried.
Dean looks over at him and grins when he sees the look on Sam’s face, shaking his head as he eats the last of his chili. His bowl goes on the floor too and he drains the last of his soda. They push even closer together, heads resting together on the pillow and they stare up at the ceiling, listening.
“Like the guitar,” Dean concedes as quietly as he can, and it makes Sam’s heart race. He turns on his side a little and tucks right up against Dean, eyes closing when Dean’s arm wraps around his shoulders.
The next song, “Heart-Shaped Box,” comes on and Sam wiggles excitedly. “This is my favorite,” he whispers close to Dean’s ear and Sam can feel Dean listening more closely.
He lets his hand spread on Dean’s chest casually, his heart beating right in the center of Sam’s palm. He looks up at Dean very, very slowly, careful not to disturb him and he can see the full pout of his busted mouth and the fan of his lashes across faintly freckled cheeks. A strangely beautiful palette of varying shades of purple cover the right side of his face. Dean’s eyes are closed and he’s listening to Sam’s favorite song. Sam wants to crane up and attach his lips to the point of Dean’s jaw and suck until Dean makes a sound. He tucks his head back against Dean’s chest again to avoid the temptation and lets his own eyes close.
“Mabel woulda hated that song,” Dean declares when it’s over. They both snort and giggle and Sam smacks Dean on the chest. “Rape Me” starts up and Dean’s eyes open and meet Sam’s, eyebrows raised. Sam tenses for the impending lecture but the drums and guitar break through and Dean relaxes again, faint smile on his face. “Nice.”
Sam curls his fingers the tiniest bit, letting them rub at Dean’s chest and he hisses a little when he feels a sharp pain on the pad of his middle finger where it catches on Dean’s shirt. Dean cracks an eye and looks down at Sam.
“What’s wrong?”
“Got a splinter, I guess. Falling out there.” Sam reluctantly moves his hand from Dean’s chest and squints at it in the near darkness of Dean’s unlit room when he feels Dean’s hand close around his wrist. He watches Dean look at his finger, wondering when he’s going to start poking and prodding at it and he gasps, actually gasps, when Dean slides Sam’s finger into his mouth, straight past his lips and right across his soft, wet tongue.
Sam sits up a little and stares down at Dean with desperately wide eyes, the tip of his finger tucked into Dean’s mouth and he feels himself go painfully hard when Dean starts to suck on it. He pulls his hips back from Dean’s side, his heart going crazy in the trap of his chest. He swallows hard, gradually relaxing back against Dean, cheek on his shoulder. The rest of his hand curls against Dean’s cheek while Dean continues to tender the splinter in his mouth, stroking at it with his tongue, easing the ache with the gentle sucking of his hot mouth.
“Feel better?”
Sam barely understands the words mumbled around his finger but he nods at the tone, his cheeks burning so hot he’s worried he has a fever. Dean keeps sucking on his finger for the rest of the album, until it’s soaked through with his spit and pruny with it and Sam is so unbelievably hard that he’s about to cry. Dean falls asleep before the last song is over, Sam’s finger slipping out of his now slack mouth, his arm tight around Sam’s body.
Sam stays right where he is while it falls dark outside, trying to calm his heart and his dick down, trying not to move a single inch because he knows if he does, he’s going to come, bright and shattering right against his brother’s long body. It’s a revelation, a new secret he has to keep all to himself: that he wants every single part of his brother that he can possibly get his hands and mouth and heart on. It’s an important moment in his life, maybe the most important, and In Utero will forever be its soundtrack.
next.