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Dean walked into their one-and-a-half-rooms shitty rent, with its cracked sink and leaky bathtub.
He had the smell of too many cigarettes mixed with cheap, sweet perfume and he wore a somewhat miserable, confused expression.
Locking the door behind him and kicking his boots off, he stepped right into the bathroom without uttering a single word or giving any sign of noticing Sam, who was squatting in the so called living room.
Sam heard the tap squeaking as Dean turned on the water, the gentle flap of clothing hitting the floor, and the muffled chink of the belt buckle hitting said pile. Then, some minutes later, came the obligatory splash when Dean, apparently, submerged himself fully.
Sam, curled up on the sunk sofa with the occasional book, observed this spectacle silently, from start to finish, giving no indication to his rising curiosity.
He eyed the boots Dean left knocked over on his way inside and bit the inside of his cheek.
Then, after a moment of consideration, he decided to take action. It’s not like there was anything else for him to do.
He laid the book aside, and walked over. Picking up the less damp towel of the two they had as he did, he made his way to the bathroom.
He stopped by the open door.
After a short moment of frowning, Sam decided to announce of his presence:
“You forgot the towel.”
Dean released a few bubbles from his mouth in acknowledgment.
They traveled to the surface and exploded with the mumble ”Brrluughh... I don’t care…”
“Sure. Me neither.“ Bithcfaced Sam, and threw the ragged fabric into the sink. It was partially true. He did have ulterior motives after all. He aproached closer.
“What’s up?” He prompted.
“She said… “ Started Dean, then stopped. He sighed and went under water again.
Then, upon resurfacing, with only the oval of his face accessible to air, he continued, with a crooked smile, “That I was NOT HER TYPE.”
Sam stared.
“Nooooo,” He exhaled, as if not believing to what he just heard.
Dean stared back, making eye contact and looking very vulnerable, floating there, lips pursed.
Sam cracked and gave out a loud, hysterical, overreacting laugh - folding in two and ending up on his knees. He landed in a puddle that was forming by the tub, the water steadily leaking from the side of it. This little piece of information Dean just revealed exceeded his wildest guesses. “I’m sorry, that. THAT’S something. That’s what made you so sulky, oh my GOD, Dean, you are EASY, I would’ve never, ever-” He took a much needed breath.
Sam came in to satisfy his curiosity, but with Dean, it was never just information: It had to be some kind of show. Sam should’ve been prepared for this, and yet again, he was caught off guard. His day was way too long and too boring, judging by his reaction.
“No, Sam, you. You don’t get it.” Dean averted his gaze and focused on the moldy ceiling. Then, suddenly, he straightened up in a splash, his face turning to his surprised little brother and loudly muttered, “I wasn’t her type because I am a GUY!”
Dean suddenly froze on the spot.
Sam was now wet from head to toe, silenced by Dean’s sudden, rude splash of water and glaring, one eyebrow raised, his lips tightened into a sharp line.
"Oh,” added Dean, realizing what just happened, and snorted. “Heh, whatever, you deserved it.”
Sam spat, scoffed and peeled his wet shirt off. “Never mind, needed to shower anyway. Scram.” A bit defeated, Sam sighed and decided there was nothing to fish for today.
Dean sported a crooked smile, and pulled himself against the back of the bathtub. Sam ditched his clothes and got in, facing Dean, who seemed to be reflecting on something, but with his smile still plastered all over his face, as if stuck, irrelevant to his current thought process.
“It wasn’t the worst of it.” Dean blurted eventually, his facial expression changing, at last, “no, that, that - I could care less about THAT. The thing is, her friend, that redhead, with the really big boobs, you saw her - “ proceeded Dean, staring back at the ceiling again, “ - Ruth?” Sam cut Dean’s rant, settling in, making his spot between Dean’s feet more comfortable.
“ - Yeah, that one, how the hell you remember all that stuff - so she apparently suggested that Hillary should go out with me, and maybe she will change her mind about guys. I mean, SAM I NEVER FELT SO USED IN MY ENTIRE LIFE.” He exclaimed, facing Sam abruptly, his eyes wide, comically distraught. Sam couldn’t stop giggling now. “Are you sure about that…?” Silently mocked Sam from under some wet patches of hair.
“About what? Oh, you little bitch, I should drown you right here and now, you know that?” Dean scoffed, and leaned back, resting a hand over his forehead.
His trademark uneven smile back on its post.
Sam puffed and silenced.
The bathroom was dim, its scarce lighting being provided by a lonely light bulb, hanging by its own cord above them. There was a breeze sneaking in from the poorly sealed window on the opposite wall and the bulb was swinging gently. Sam followed the lazy shadows it produced as they danced on Dean’s face, his eyes being lit with green for a second, and then disappearing into total darkness. Green, black, green, black. It was mesmerizing. “Yeah you probably should… just drown me…” Sam mumbled, almost to himself, still staring, as if dumb-struck by the sight.
Their gazes locked on each other for a long moment, that seemed to exist out of space and time. They were stone, marble - cheap, gritty marble. No thought, no reason. Shapeless and forgotten.
The only sentient being in this place is that damn light bulb, thought Sam.
Suddenly, Dean lifted his leg and shoved it right into Sam’s chest. “Don’t you think I won’t, you little shit!”
The moment broke, violently and completely. Sam caught Dean’s leg with his both hands and twisted it with all the strength he could muster.
Dean had nowhere to escape, and he flipped over, his ass in the air, and his nose at the bottom of the tub.
“Mfffburrg!”
“Serves you right, jerk!” Shouted Sam, pissed off, but also very much into the game. “You think you can just - “ Sam never finished, as Dean locked his left leg behind Sam and pulled him. Sam fell flat on Dean’s back, splattering around whatever has left of the water.
Dean managed to shift and to bring himself up and around, while Sam did whatever he could trying to drown Dean’s rampant legs and arms.
He didn’t have much success, and Dean eventually had Sam locked in a bear-hug of sorts, his hands pressing Sam’s wrists to their opposite collarbones.
Heaving, blushing and full of fighting spirit, Sam did his best to try and snake out of the humiliating position.
Dean chuckled. “Sammy, you. You think that, just ‘cause you grew up a bit lately you can take me? Not fuckin’ yet little brother, not fuckin’ yet.”
With no other options at hand, Sam began to calm down. Dean, feeling the tension leave Sam’s body, slowly lifted his hands in a sign of a truce. Sam exhaled and coughed. “I hate you”.
“Yeah we established that already.” Puffed Dean with a smile.
Sam leaned in Dean’s lap and stretched his hands, “I think I hit the tap with my elbow at some point”, he said thoughtfully, and proceeded to try and twist his right arm, looking for any bruising on his elbow.
“Let me see,” Dean caught Sam’s hand and twisted it gently, “Yup. A full-on dent”. He declared, while examining the bruise.
“Ha ha very funny. I’m not... tin-foil”. Sam retorted, somewhat annoyed.
“Hmmf, still, not exactly iron.” Added Dean thoughtfully, feeling up said ‘dent’.
There was a moment of silence.
“Hey Dean?” Calming down, the memory of what brought him into the bathroom - and subsequently, into the bathtub - in the first place, hit Sam with a new realization.
“…Hmm?” Cautiously hummed Dean, feeling an impending interrogation.
“Why would all that thing with Hillary and Ruth bother you anyway? I thought, well you always say, ‘no strings attached’ and all that. Why this?”
Dean silenced. He released Sam’s hand and rested his own on the tub’s cold shoulder.
Getting no answer, and not liking getting no answer, Sam turned his face towards Dean. Their eyes met and Sam raised a questioning eyebrow.
Dean propped his elbows on the sides of the tub and shifted, making himself more comfortable. The movement sank Sam an inch. He climbed back stubbornly and added, “What? You’re not gonna tell me? Chicken.”
“I’m trying to put it into words, you know?” drew Dean, tilting his head, a very endearing gesture, by all standards, thought Sam.
Dean seemed to have gathered all of his vocabulary, and ready to spill the beans. Sam recognized it as the rare moment that it was and kept silent. A little miracle was about to occur, and damn him if he was to sabotage it.
“I like chicks. I like when chicks dig me in return. Right? That’s like the basics. That’s a good, fun hookup. Right?” Started Dean, sounding almost philosophical. Sam felt the urgency in Dean’s voice for an approval of the fact, so he could go on elaborating on his explanation.
“Yeah, yeah sure. Umm, do continue.” Said Sam in an interested voice.
“So. Not only I was a poor substitute to something she actually wanted, I wasn’t even in the same category! That girl forced herself to look like she enjoys my, uhh, very intimate company, when she apparently didn’t, and not only that, when we got to the really good part, well, parts, she crashes and starts crying. Crying! Fuckin’ hate that, what the hell was I suppose to do? So I tried to kiss her. Which, obviously, only made her cry more. And THEN she confessed, and told me all about Ruth’s ‘scheme’.“ He monologued, uncharacteristically.
“It was so BAD, you know? Sammy, I felt bad.” Winced dean.
“Why would you feel bad, you didn’t do anything wrong.” Sam remarked, rational yet bewildered, still glancing backwards. “You cheat on girls all the time, and you never feel bad about it.” He added, in an afterthought.
“Dude, I, I don’t date, they know it. I state it right on from the start! It’s a credo, it’s fundamental. No string attached. None. Give me that soap bar.”
Sam reached for the bar, an overused, thin chip now, and gave it to Dean.
“Straighten up your head.” Dean commanded, off topic. Sam obliged and turned his face forward.
“See here is the thing. I don’t want anybody to be forced to. To be with me. I know I’m not their regular… um, passer-by. Chicks dig the 'Bad Boy’ thing. I know it. ‘The rebel without a cause’, shit, I’ve heard THAT one from five different chicks now, and I’m not even, uh, rebellin’. But. I’m kinda weird for them too, ’too wild’, I got that one once. Vulgar. Classy chicks say ‘vulgar’. Rude… yeah,” Dean smirked to himself, foaming his palms, “I get that a lot, and oh, dumb, that too. So, I get that I’m not always likable, so why force yourself? I don’t get it.”
“Ok, rude, maybe, but you aren’t dumb.” Frowned Sam, listening carefully, but leaving his interference to a minimum.
“Yeah, well, that seems to be the common conception, or whatever, so who am I to deny it.” Sneered Dean in return, and went on applying the bubbly white mush in his hands onto Sam’s scalp, massaging it, not too gently. He smirked to himself. “Basically, I’m just plain attractive. Just that. Handsome. And I like it, it’s simple - she is attractive, I’m attractive, lets go for it. Lets have mind-blowing sex! But if she doesn't want it, she doesn't want it. And that’s that. I, I move on. To her sister, to her friend, her mom. I don’t care. But not her.”
Sam turned to look at Dean again, squinting. “So.. you are saying.. you felt bad, because she felt bad…?”
Dean placed his hands on Sam’s ears and rotated his head back to position.
“Yes. I think so. And, the fact that it was a damn set up. Hookups are supposed to be fun, not a fuckin’ covert operation.” He added, raking his fingers through Sam’s hair - purposefully going in the opposite direction of its natural growth, making it stick in fifty different directions.
“Especially if I’m left in the dark about it.” He added, silently.
Sam frowned.
“So let me get this straight. You are… annoyed 'cause you’ve been played... or... for not getting any.. or for do getting any?” Sam summarized Dean’s confession, making it sound even more confusing. Well, being fair, it was, indeed, confusing.
Dean hummed to himself, processing.
“For not getting any and almost getting any under false pretense.” He proclaimed decidedly.
Sam snorted at that. “Who are you and what have you done with my brother!”
“Hey! I have morals! Skewed, maybe, yes, but still.” Objected Dean. “And I know some law, enough to survive, you know? Pass me that thingy.” He seemed to have said what he wanted, his expression easing back to his usual, annoyingly smug self.
“What, the sponge?”
“Yeah, that.”
Sam reached for the sponge, and caught a glimpse of himself in the little mirror leaning on the wall by the opened door.
“Dude, what the fuck did you do to my hair. I look like a, a porcupine. Or something.” Grimaced Sam.
“A cute one, though” Dean chuckled, and pulled Sam back into his lap, gripping Sam by the waist.
“You know, there is another way to look at it… “ Pondered Sam, in an afterthought, "here, take the thingy.”
“Hmm? Yeah? And what would that be…” Dragged Dean, taking the sponge and wetting it between Sam’s thighs. He soaked it in the laughably meager amount of water they were still sitting in and somewhat absentmindedly rubbed the last of the soap bar onto it until there was no soap left to rub.
“You were considered a legitimate ‘cure’ for sexual orientation.” Sam said, dead serious, staring at Dean’s hands and the foaming sponge in his lap.
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ - sexual orientation! What book did you swallow this time?! Book-warm thinks he is so smart!” Dean laughed teasingly, obviously amused and definitely ignoring the point.
Sam frowned and pulled his knees to his chest, trapping the sponge and Dean altogether and whispered coarsely, “I read all I can get. I am a bored teen. Sue me.”
Dean sighed, intuitively understanding that he hit a sore spot. Sam got easily provoked lately, and could go from happy and bouncy to broody and depressing in a matter of seconds, and Dean’s teasing of Sam’s bookish-ness have been the latest cause for flying reading material of various sorts and kinds, knives, boots and remote controls. The later hitting their target the best.
“Hey, Sam - I - sorry, man, look. It’s just. Please don’t do that. Don't. Sulk.”
Dean exhaled with a chuckle and leaned against Sam’s back. Then, in a resolve of sorts, he curled forward and rested his forehead on Sam’s head.
“No wonder people think I’m dumb. Cause I’m always around you, you brainiac,” he said softly, “…No pun intended.”
Sam huffed at that, half annoyed, half amused, but yet to forgive.
Dean straightened up and dislodged his right hand with the long-forgotten sponge and brought it to Sam’s neck. He slowly began lathering his shoulders and back. “And thanks, by the way. For the compliment. I think… Was it…?”
“It was. In a way. And… you too. I guess.” Sam uncurled and relaxed.
“And you are NOT dumb. Stop saying that. Please.” He blurted, his attention focused on the water tap, of all things.
“Ok, I promise.” Dean declared, as usual with this sort of demands, when they came from Sam. “Besides, how can I be dumb, if I’m your big brother, and everything you know is because of me, huh?” He added with a little smirk.
“What, including sexual orientation?” Chuckled Sam, now amused. The water tap stopped being interesting, and his gaze wondered around and settled on the mirror. It reflected the bathtub, a bit of Dean’s face and Sam’s messed up hairdo. It was mostly silhouettes, but from this angle, Sam could see how concentrated Dean was on his mission of covering him up in soap. Sam bit the inside of his cheek and ran a hand through his hair, flattening the eagle's nest Dean made of his head.
“What? Wait… Did I? Teach you..? Huh.” Added Dean, almost deep in thought. His invested way of frothing rocked Sam back and forth in a gentle rhythm.
“Hey, Dean?” Sam’s gaze followed back into his lap, where Dean’s left hand was still resting on the inside of his thigh.
“Hmm?”
Sam stared at Dean’s left palm and after a second of thought, he curled his both hands around it.
Dean tensed, the movement of the sponge abruptly stopping.
Sam felt the gravity of the moment falling on him, pressing his insides together.
“I can see.. how.. that Ruth chick. Could. Think that her plan might work. You are. You have. This affect. On people. Of both… I can see her point, that’s all. I mean. Everybody… Stares.” Sam swallowed, and inhaled sharply. He had to put it out there, his thought, his feelings. “If it’s not her today, it could be a guy tomorrow.” He said, in one breath, and stilled. Well this came out wrong, he thought.
Dean gave out a strained laugh, “Sammy, what, no, I. What do you mean. I wouldn’t go gay just ‘cause some chick dumped me!” He laughed, a nervous laugh.
“Not what I meant.” Frowned Sam, and squeezed Dean’s fingers together, to prove a point.
It was quite all of a sudden.
Even the light bulb hung still, its cord strained, complementing the heavy atmosphere. The air felt dense around them.
It was getting cold, and Sam shivered.
Dean laid the sponge aside and pulled his left arm from Sam’s tight grip.
Sam shuffled and curled into himself.
“Sam.”
“What.”
It was muffled, but audible enough.
Dean inhaled sharply, and leaned forward, his cheek at Sam’s ear, and said, “I know.” Simple, emotionless, a fact.
Sam froze. He glanced to the side. All he saw were Dean’s lips, pursed in determination.
It was a heavily coded conversation, but very transparent nonetheless.
Both knew exactly what they were conveying, and it wasn’t a first, either.
And not the second, or third. As the matter of fact, it was a string of continuous, poorly veiled conversations, going on for two-three years now. Maybe even more. They always began on a seemingly non-related topic, and usually ended up with a loaded silence. These were the only times, Sam knew, Dean was truly deep in thoughts. He was the only person on the planet to ever witness Dean’s ‘deep in thoughts’ expression, and it was only at those very moments. Sam savored them. They were his to witness, and his alone to catalog, to study, to appreciate.
The light bulb flickered and swung an inch. The breeze was at it again. The shadows came to life once more, this time more violent, as the gusts grew stronger.
Dean leaned back. The bathtub was empty now. His legs sprawled til the edge of it, and a soap covered Sam was sitting in the middle - hunched and silent, his back covered in a thin layer of decimating foam. As the little bubbles popped, one by one, more and more patches of skin were showing, and Sam’s heavy breathing became more and more apparent.
“Common, lets clean it all up and get out of here, it’s getting cold.” Dean remarked, being practical.
Sam straightened, got up and turned around.
Dean stared from below, his gaze calculative and sharp. Considering. Contemplating.
Sam was 13. 14 next month. He was wiry, but not without any muscle. Thin, but firm nonetheless. He was practicing everyday now, and could handle an impressive set of weaponry. He wasn’t any teen, not by far. His saggy wardrobe was the only way he could hide in plain sight nowadays.
“You are right. Lets wash off and fuckin’ go to sleep. There is still school tomorrow.” Sam interrupted the moment, trying to sound emotionless but failing. His chest was moving up and down with every intake of the stale bathroom air. He moved his attention to the mirror that was leaning on the wall at the far corner of the floor. His quite evening and slight curiosity brought him into a mindscape he tried not to roam for some time now - where his desire for ‘normal’ clashed violently with reality, with Dean.
“I’m not a kid anymore.“ He talked to the mirror. With the angle it presented, he seemed taller, manlier. His mouth curled in a mock “…As much as I would like to be a kid, instead… I’m a freak.”
“Sam.”
“What.” Sam still stared at the mirror.
“Lets make a deal. Look at me for a second here. I’m serious.”
Sam turned his head, and looked down. Dean was indeed serious. Sam knew to appreciate such moments.
“I’ll… stop sayin’ I’m dumb if you stop sayin’ you’re a freak. Deal?”
Sam snorted. Their eyes focused on each other, in a two-way track.
“Think about it. It’s a good deal.” Dean smiled at him, his lower lip pulled down and his eyebrows climbing up. Sam would hate to admit it, but he was right. His tension relieved as he dropped his gaze.
“Yeah, ok, alright. But only for the time being, you are awful when it comes to long term commitments.” Said Sam, trying to regain his composure and waving an accusing finger at his smooth talking, smug, big brother.
Dean chuckled at the apparent teasing. “Ok. Good. Agreed. Now, turn on the water, I think my balls froze-stuck to the bottom of this thing.”
Sam smiled and laughed, with a mix of relief and bitterness, and shook his head. Bits of foam dropped from him and landed on Dean, like sickly, deformed leafs.
Dean knew how to make him laugh, no matter in what mood he got himself into.
How ironic, he is the one who comes back all bummed and depressed, and here he is, making me smile instead of the other way around. What a mess.
I am a mess.
Sam turned around and reached for the tap, very conscious of Dean’s concentrated, thoughtful look slipping down his spine, vertebrae by vertebrae.