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Sam knew it long before the sun dawned in the east. He could tell from the way Dad had shuffled into the tiny motel room around midnight and from the way he didn't even unlace his boots before falling face first into the pillows. He could smell it in the stale sheets as he got up while Dean showered and read it everywhere when he clicked the door behind himself shut.
And when he said it, spoke it out loud, it felt weird and wrong and there was a weariness that settled into his bones that shouldn't be rooted so deep inside the chest of a fourteen year old boy. “Last day in this school, huh?” he asked as they walked down the street, side by side, their shoulders gently brushing with every step.
“Yup,” Dean replied and crammed his hands into the pockets of his tight fit jeans, the corners of his eyes crinkling with a smile when he bumped harder into Sam's side. Dean didn't seem unhappy with how things had turned out, Dad being still in one piece after hunting that witch down, their one week visit in Walkerville, Montana, already over and for a second Sam wished he could adopt his brother's relaxed, carefree attitude. But then he remembered the countless times he'd been the new guy this year and his face crumbled.
“You think Dad already has a new case?”
Dean shrugged. “Maybe, didn't talk to him last night.”
Sam nodded, scrubbing his palm across his face, and they covered the rest of the distance in silence, their calm breathing the only thing to keep the padding of their shoes company.
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The hallway was crowded when Dean and Sam entered the school, the floor humming with hundreds of kids, pushing forward, talking, laughing, and leering at each other.
“I hate that,” Sam murmured and scowled at his brother when Dean took his hand in his, their fingers intertwining immediately.
“C'mon Sammy, it's not that bad. Last day, it's gonna be fun.” Dean whispered against his ear and started steering his little brother through the chattering masses, his broad body a reassuring wall of warmth in Sam's back.
They barely made it to Sam's classroom in time, the hallways so stuffed with bustling people they got stuck four or five times, their bodies pressed against strangers and Sam felt like a tiny sailboat, thrown back and forth by enormous waves, hopelessly lost in the endless vastness of the vicious sea.
“Gonna be around for lunch?” Dean asked and his hands came to sit on Sam's hips, neither of them caring to pay attention to the indignant whispers around them as soon as their foreheads rested against each other's.
Sam sucked in his lower lip, worrying. “Dunno Dean, I should study for the test-”
“Dude, are you serious?” Dean cut him off, his breath a hot puff against Sam's lips. “We're leaving tomorrow, who the fuck cares about a fucking test?”
“I do,” Sam replied reluctantly and the look on his face was stern as he gave his brother a headbutt before pulling away.
Dean pouted. “C'mon Sammy,” he pleaded and stepped a little closer, crowding into Sam's space and pressing the boy flush against the door frame. “I'm gonna die from boredom without you,” His hands were still in place, his warm palms splayed across Sam's narrow waist, but he dug his nails a little deeper into the delicate flesh, signifying how urgent his request was.
There were more shocked whispers and Sam noticed briefly how a young blond clamped her hand across her mouth, eyes widened in distress. “Dean, stop it, I don't wanna get in trouble,” he mewled and halfheartedly tried to wriggle himself out of his brother's grip, his hands clutching the hem of Dean's leather jacket.
“But you're in trouble already,” Dean drawled and leaned in, the tip of his wet tongue flicking against Sam's earlobe. “Can you see them staring? Can you feel the disgusted looks they shoot us? Because I sure do.”
Sam sighed and eyed the crowd that now formed an uneven circle around the brothers, before pushing Dean off. “Gotta go,” he breathed and with a last squeeze of Dean's hand and a glare towards the bystanders he vanished inside the classroom.
Dean spun on his heels. “What are y'all staring at?” he roared, causing a few of the younger girls to jump and cry out in surprise. “Never seen a guy hugging his brother before? Man, you're really a bunch of hillbillies.”
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After a particular long and boring period of modern history, lunch time couldn't come fast enough. It was a gloomy day, the sky full of rain-laden clouds, and a stiff breeze gave the crisp air an unpleasant hitch. Perfect for spending some time outside. Alone, far away from gaping classmates.
The schoolyard was almost abandoned when Sam settled on one of the benches, book in his lap and fingers curled into the hem of his jacket. There were some kids in the far corner of the area; their heads stuck together, a cloud of bluish-gray smoke lingering over their heads. He watched them for a moment, lost in thoughts, and it wasn't until he returned his attention to the book again that he noticed the four shadows to his left.
“Hey, Winchester,” one of them leered as soon as Sam caught a glimpse of them. “We saw you with your brother this morning.”
“Yeah, you're a sick fucking bastard,” the second one snarled and Sam didn't even recognize one of them. But then again he had stopped remembering the names and faces of his temporal classmates long ago.
Sam shrugged. “Don't know whatya talking about,” he mumbled and nestled deeper into his jacket as if to vanish inside the warm fabric.
“You and your brother, do you fuck each other?” the first one asked and stepped closer, his bulky body now right in front of Sam, his lips twisted in disgust.
“Get lost,” Sam replied calmly and returned his attention to his book. He had nothing to worry about. Those were but four kids, and not the very well-trained sort. Yeah, they were big, but that was not an issue since it also made them slow.
“Fuck you, asshole,” the third one barked and spat out, his sticky saliva landing on the tip of Sam's shoe.
“Get lost,” Sam repeated, now more insistently, and he rose from where he had sat, his hands remaining curled around his jacket. He didn't want to fight, really. All he wanted was to finish the chapter of that book and write the goddamn test before leaving the run-down city for good and never come back again. “I don't wanna fight you,”
The four boys laughed, their voices a mockery tone in the crisp air, and again they inched closer, shoulders nudging as they circled Sam.
“Fuck you, Winchester, people like you aren't welcome here!”
“Yeah, we don't want dem faggots here,” It was now the fourth boy who spoke and his high-pitched voice revealed the nervousness burning in his veins. “You're sick and twisted.”
Sam sucked in a sharp breath at that and for a moment he wanted them to leap at him so he could counter it with a hard knock against their temples or another, equally painful maneuver. But he wasn't here to fight and so he tried it again.
“I was just talking to my brother, I don't know what you saw,” he explained, his voice steady and his back straight. “Maybe you're just making this up-”
“Shut your filthy mouth, turd. We know what we saw, all of us.”
“Duh, he almost kissed you. Ewww, that's so wrong.”
“Yeah and nasty. God hates fucking faggots.”
Sam was about to reply when the first guy surged forward, his huge fist aimed at Sam's face, eyes going wide as he crashed into nothing but thin air instead. It took Sam only a split second to register that things were serious now and another heartbeat to ready his body for the fight. Adrenaline pumping through his veins, every muscle taut, he stepped aside before the bulky hillbilly could even blink and the next second Sam's knee crashed into the guy's flank, knocking him flat on the damp floor.
“You little shit,” the second guy roared and launched himself at Sam in the same brutish, mindless and ridiculously slow manner. He targeted at his victim's chest, but gave a pained whimper as soon as Sam grabbed his fist in a tight grip, twisting it hard. The sickening sound of bones snapping hung in the air and the next moment the guy yelped, his face turning pale, almost greenish, and he dropped to his knees. There was a short moment of silence, like the deep inhale before the jump, and Sam tried to scan his surroundings. There were more people now, kids and older pupil streaming outside and circling the fighters. Some looked pleased, others horrified and Sam didn't know which was worse.
And then things went fuck-up.
“Get him,” someone yelled from behind Sam and strong arms circled his waist before he could even attempt to react. His hands were pulled back in a painful jerk, the joints in Sam's shoulder howling mournfully at the sudden pang, and even his stoic kicking against his attacker's shin didn't save Sam from getting hauled up against a fat chest.
“Now you can't get away again, you little weasel,” the guy in front of Sam hissed and his hot, sticky breath ghosted over Sam's skin as he leaned in, his lips twitching in triumph.
“Punch him in his ugly faggot-face,” one of the bystanders leered and a few others applauded enthusiastically.
“Yeah, give it to him good,” another hollered and that was the last thing Sam heard before a sheer thunderstorm of fists rained down on him; hands crashing against his temple, his lips, his cheeks, his chest, his stomach. The pain was everywhere, white and blinding, and it sparked through Sam's body like an SOS, echoing through the blankness of his mind, and he almost greeted it like an old friend. It didn't take them long until Sam felt the first bruises blooming on his cheeks and chest, his nose already smashed, splashing a steady flow of hot, sticky blood down the boy's lips and chin. They yanked at his hair to get a better angle and Sam yelped, they boxed into his flanks to hurt his kidneys and aimed at his chest, making his lungs burn and rattle with every shaky inhale.
Eventually the fat guy dropped Sam to the ground and suddenly there were feet, clad in hard boots. They managed to kick him once, twice and it hurt like a bitch even after Sam managed to curl into himself, his arms clutching his head protectively. The third kick was aimed at his sternum and it knocked the wind out of Sam's body- and then he heard it: a wild roar, like from a wild beast, and it was the most feral, most terrifying and most beautiful thing Sam had ever witnessed.
“Get off him!” Dean screamed and there was the sound of someone hitting the ground, followed by a painful cry.
“Get the fuck off him, you dirty-” Dean cut himself off in favor of bringing a second guy to his knees, kicking his chest and sending him slithering across the concrete floor. The third boy muscled like an ox and with an ugly buzz cut, was struck down by Dean's rage like a rag doll, his arms flailing out helplessly as he stumbled backwards before landing on his back with a whimper. Dean's knuckles burst open the moment he buried his fist into one of the guys' face, teeth, tattered skin and droplets of warm blood smearing the concrete. A fifth kid dropped to the ground when Dean punched him so hard against the skull the crowd could hear his teeth rattle and then, finally, there was silence.
“Anyone else?” Dean barked and there was something so dark and dreadful in his voice it made Sam's heart flutter and his chest constricted with an intense longing.
No one volunteered, neither did they applaud or chant anymore, the whole schoolyard laying in dead silence. “You fucking cowards,” Dean spat and then he was all over his little brother, his knees dropping against the concrete floor as his hands roamed over Sam's body.
“You okay, Sammy?” he murmured and waited for the confirming nod before he pulled the boy into a short embrace, their chests heaving against each other and Sam felt safe again. There was another heartbeat of silence when Dean stood up, dragging Sam with him in a firm grip, before the crowd found its courage and started catcalling.
“You're sick, go and get help!”
“Yeah, we don't want you here, faggots!”
“You twisted fucks, you're disgusting!” They leered, their fingers pointing at the brothers. And for a moment they just stood there, clothing drenched in blood, Sam's face bruised and his nose leaking red liquid, their bodies pressed against each other. Someone picked up a stone and aimed at the rough direction of Dean's head, but missed.
“What have you done to your brother?” a girl with ginger hair and black-framed glasses screeched and the question brought Dean back to his usual, witty self.
“Oh shut up, you're just jealous,” he retorted and with his arm around Sam's waist he pulled his little brother closer, supporting the light weight with his own body. “Because I can have all of this” -he made a gesture towards Sam- “and you're going to die unfucked.”
Voices became loud and some of the older pupils stepped forward, shielding the girl.
“Y'all are just fucking jealous because I have the most beautiful brother and he's mine, mine alone.” Dean continued and with his free hand he cupped Sam's cheek, forcing him to look up. “Mine to love and cherish-” he whispered before he raised his voice again. “And mine to fuck! And there's nothing wrong with that.”
There was a moment of deafening silence and the whole crowd seemed frozen to the spot.
“Dean,” Sam whined and there was an edge in his voice and it was needy and hungry and it made Dean's cock stir in his pants.
“I know, baby,” he drawled and leaned in for a bruising kiss, their lips mashing together in a sloppy mess, tongues furiously sliding against each other. They didn't care about the gasps of the bystanders, didn't give two fucks about their gagging noises, because right in that moment there was nothing more important than the slick heat of their mouths and the soft, wet flesh of their parted lips.
The school bell rang in the distance and it was like a signal to start another wave of catcalls, but the brothers didn't even bother to listen, Sam just flipping them the bird.
“Shut the fuck up,” Dean growled and dipped his tongue in for another taste of his sweet little brother before straightening up again. “Go and get back into your hillbilly-school to get your stupid little minds educated, fucking dicks,” he barked and smiled when he felt Sam's tongue licking around his blood-stained knuckles, lapping up the crimson liquid lazily. A little girl looked like she was going to puke in earnest when she watched the brothers, Sam sucking the blood from Dean's hand and Dean lost in the sight of his beautiful boy, his arms slung around his brother's small frame.
“Bring me home, Dean,” Sam whispered eventually and he sounded weary, his beautiful face already swollen from the few hard swings the hillbillies had landed on him.
“Yeah,” Dean breathed and rubbed his thumb along Sam's jawline before tracing the shape of his plush lips. “Let's get the hell outta here,” And with a last deep inhale of Sam's scent Dean pulled his brother impossibly closer and led him away from the schoolyard, down the street and into the next inevitable disaster.