Back to Chapter One
The Planned Parenthood building was surprisingly new and clean. Someone had made a real effort to make it welcoming with plants and pictures and magazines that weren’t Readers Digests. There was even a box of children’s toys in one corner, the area occupied by one sole toddler. Dean watched the kid, trying to figure out who its parent was from among the huddled and surly group of people in the waiting room.
Not counting the stony-faced woman accompanying the tearful teenage girl sitting opposite them, they were the oldest people in the room. Dean was thirty six years old. It was ridiculous that they were in this position. People were supposed to be married and settled at his age. He crossed and uncrossed his legs and got up from the seat to stroll around. He paused by the notice board to read the local ads: Glen the house painter – 30 years of experience! Maria the piano teacher – ex Julliard! Gaby the tutor – no student turned away! He glanced toward the sliding glass doors, eying the people smoking in the parking lot enviously. God, a smoke would be good right now. Not that he was going to do that, for obvious reasons.
He went back to his seat.
“Keep still,” Sam whispered. “You’re driving me crazy.”
“Sorry,” he said, and took out his phone. Charlie had downloaded some game onto it the last time she’d stopped by the bunker. It was annoying and absurdly colorful but also surprisingly addictive and reassuring. It was nice to have someone compliment him with ‘Great job! Awesome!’ even if that person was a machine.
Sam glanced down at his phone and sighed. “Seriously, that again?”
“Shut up, I'm occupying myself. And you’re…” he glanced over at Sam. He was scrolling through a news site on his iPad. “Doing whatever it is you’re doing.”
“Looking for a job,” Sam said without looking up.
“Oh, really? Right now?” Sam gave him a look that Dean could only describe as challenging. “I mean…” He struggled for the words. “I know we did that hunt for Garth, but I was thinking we could take a break while we figured things out. And I was for real, what I said before, you really don’t have to do this.”
“I know,” Sam said calmly, turning his attention back to the iPad, finger sliding from one side of the screen to the other as he scrolled.
“We could… you know.”
He paused his game and cleared his throat, trying to work out just exactly what it was that he wanted to say. He glanced around the room; the woman with the teenage daughter was watching them with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. Dean looked away from her and tapped a beat on his thigh.
“I don’t know, man. But you just got to know that we got options – you got options.”
Sam didn’t say anything for a moment, then he slowly closed the iPad and turned to look at Dean. “Would you retire from hunting?”
“I don’t know, maybe. If I had to,” Dean said.
“Would you stop going out there and saving people, Dean? When Charlie or Cas or Jodie comes by asking for our help, would you say no?”
“Yeah, yeah I would. And you would too, man. You’ve always said about wanting a normal life. This could be it.”
Sam let out a long breath, shaking his head. “Oh, Dean. You so don’t get it.”
“Don’t get what?” He was beginning to feel annoyed by the way this conversation was going. Sam was so infuriatingly calm about the fact that he was making cold, hard plans to destroy something that was part of both of them.
“We can never have a normal life, we know that! Every time one of us tries it, everything fucks up and people get hurt. You remember what happened to Lisa and Ben, right?”
“Yeah, I know, I’m not supposed to talk about it. But it’s bullshit, Dean. It’s all bullshit! It didn’t work back then and it sure isn't gonna work now, so how about we both shut up and get this done?”
“No,” Dean hissed, glancing about himself. Other people were starting to look up from their phones and magazines and watch them with blatant interest. They were probably trying to decide which of them was the stupid chimera who’d gotten his fool self knocked up. Or maybe they just assumed they had VD. Either way, it wasn’t flattering, and they really shouldn’t be doing this right here. Still, though, Sam was finally talking about it, so Dean wasn’t going to miss this opportunity to make his point.
“This isn't the same thing!” Dean insisted. “This is us, you and me. It’s not involving other people. We know how to protect ourselves, and together we would know how to – to protect---“ he glanced down at Sam’s flat stomach, feeling a shiver ripple through him, his throat feeling tight—“to protect him.”
There. He’d said it. He’d given it a gender – not that that was much of a stretch, babies born from chimeras were male in 90% of cases – but he’d made it into something real. Something more than an unwanted group of cells that were shortly to be erased.
Sam was silent for a moment and when Dean risked a glance at him, he could see that his brother’s expression had changed, his mouth was tighter, his eyes stonier.
“And what would he call you, Dean? Who would you be to him? Uncle or Daddy? Or both?”
Dean was floored for a moment, trying to visualize it, trying to really imagine “him”. A baby, another human being that was completely reliant on him. God help the poor bastard.
“As usual, you’re not thinking this through,” Sam continued. “We can’t raise a kid. Even if we weren’t fucking related we couldn’t do it. And then there’s the whole part where we are related and there could be some serious birth defects. How would you deal with that, Dean? How would we care for a disabled kid in our crazy supernatural bunker? And what about all those sonsofbitches that are out there, gunning for us? Even if we retired from hunting, we still got giant targets on our backs. We're never going to be safe, and a kid would just be a walking target too.” Dean didn’t say anything, and Sam sighed, his tone returning to the customary resignation. “It’s best that we just get this done.”
“Okay,” he said at last. “Okay, whatever you want.”
Sam picked up his iPad again and went back to his reading. Dean put his phone away and stared at the floor.
The nurse called them five minutes later. Sam got up from his seat and slid his iPad into his messenger bag. Dean looked up at him expectantly.
“Are you coming with me?” Sam asked.
He didn’t think twice, just said, “I’m coming.”
They followed the waiting nurse through a door she unlocked with a key code. She held the door open for them, smiling tightly as they passed by. “Room 302,” she said.
They nodded thanks and made their way along the corridor. “Guess she’s not coming with,” Dean murmured, as the nurse went back out into the waiting area.
“Guess not,” Sam said.
“Hey.” Dean grabbed his brother’s arm. Sam halted and threw him an irritable look. Dean raised his other hand, cutting off anything Sam was about to say. “Look, before you say anything you gotta know that I’m with you. No matter what. I’m here, man, and I don’t want you to think like you’re going through this on your own ‘cause you’re not. ‘Cause you got me, and let’s face it, this is, like, half – more than half – my fault anyway.”
“No, no, let me finish. I—“ he hesitated and licked his lips—“what I was saying before, just forget about it, okay? You were right, it’s fucking ridiculous for us to raise a kid. We can’t do it. It’s too dangerous and the poor bastard would be damned from the start. All that vessel crap and the bloodlines, and you’re right about the birth defects, too. It would be a ticking timebomb and that ain’t fair, not to an innocent kid. I was just… I was being naïve.”
“Okay,” Sam said and his voice sounded softer.
“Right. Good.” Dean bowed his head and sucked in a breath. He looked up again, meeting Sam’s gaze. “So, we’re good then?”
Sam sighed. “Yeah, we’re good. Let’s go, Dean.”
“You gonna hog that all night?” Dean rolled his head against the back of the couch to look at his brother. Sam scooped up a handful of popcorn and crunched through it steadily. He grinned through a mouthful of kernels, and Dean made a face. “Dude, gross.”
The bowl was lying against Sam’s chest, one of Sam’s arms around it, hugging it protectively close like a plastic baby. Sam legs were in Dean’s lap and his head was propped up on one arm of the couch. He looked comfortable and content and relaxed in a way he never was when their father was around. But Dad wasn't around now; he'd been gone for a week on a hunt and didn't expect to be back for two days. It was Saturday night and they were both home. This was a rare occasion these days. Sam always seemed to be out on Saturday nights, either dates with girls or guys, or study groups, or just hanging out with friends. Sam always seemed to have something going on. Dean had felt ridiculously pleased when Sam told him earlier that day that he wasn’t going out tonight, so pleased that he cancelled his own plans with the cashier at the Shop n Save just so the two of them could spend the night on the couch watching movies and hanging out.
“Just watch the movie,” Sam said, poking him in the side with his bony foot.
Dean sighed and turned back to the TV. They were watching Raiders of the Lost Ark. Dean loved this movie, he really did. He’d seen it approximately thirty times. It was up to the car chase scene, when Indy jumps on top of the Nazis’ jeep to punch that French dude out. He’d always liked that bit. Sam squirmed on top of him trying to get comfortable, feet digging into Dean's thighs and barely missing his junk.
“Dude, mind the goods,” Dean protested, throwing him a look. Sam ignored him and just tossed aside the empty bowl of popcorn, brushing a flurry of popcorn kernels onto the couch, the floor and Dean. Dean snatched up his brother’s foot and curled his fingers around Sam’s ankle. “I said quit it,” he said.
He was uncomfortably aware that Sam’s maneuvering was having an effect on him, and not the effect that was welcome right now, not when they were squashed together on the couch like this. Sam’s ankle felt delicate under his fingers, which was ridiculous because Sam’s feet were freaking enormous. But still, he could probably snap those fragile ankle bones if he wanted. Just a twist of his wrist... Sam cleared his throat and Dean jerked his head his way. Sam was watching him intently, a hooded look in his eyes.
Dean blinked, staring back at his brother. He watched Sam push himself up from the couch, bending his long body in two like a pair of tongs as he leaned closer to Dean. Dean held his breath and watched Sam’s face loom closer until their mouths were only inches apart and he could smell the popcorn and beer on his brother’s breath.
“Dean,” Sam said.
Dean licked his lips nervously; he could feel Sam’s eyes dart to his mouth and then back again, their gazes locking. His breath hitched, and then Sam’s hand was on his neck and Dean had no idea where that had come from, but it felt nice so he didn’t shake it off. He blinked again, and suddenly Sam’s mouth was on his mouth, and Sam kissed him, quick and dry and totally surreal.
Sam jerked back when he’d finished like he’d been scalded. He put his fingers to his mouth as if he couldn’t believe what he'd just done. He gave a choked, nervous laugh, and looked down at his lap.
“Sorry,” he said.
Dean cleared his throat. He wasn’t sure what had happened to his voice, but he couldn’t speak. He was vaguely aware at the back of his mind that he’d gotten hard at some point, and that his body felt warm all over, especially the place where Sam’s hand was resting on his neck.
Sam slowly raised his head so he was meeting Dean’s gaze once more. He blinked, the corner of his mouth quirked into an embarrassed, shy smile, and then he drew in a long breath and leaned in to kiss Dean again.
This time Dean almost felt prepared for it. He’d seen the intent in Sam’s eyes; he knew that this wasn’t an accident. Sam’s mouth lingered longer on his own, only pulling away after a couple of seconds. Sam made a quiet moaning sound, something that came from the back of his throat, and it pushed and caught at something inside Dean, hooked at something hot and deep and buried in the pit of his stomach. He raised his hand to cradle Sam's face, running his thumb over his brother's cheekbone, and this time, he kissed Sam first.
The third kiss was harder, sloppier and messier, and Sam was breathing heavily when he finally pulled away, his face flushed hot and lips shiny and pink. Dean dragged his hand from its place around Sam’s ankle and cupped his brother’s jaw, shifting their positions so he was looming over Sam, pushing him down into the cushions. Sam wrapped his arms around Dean’s back to bring him down on top of him. He was muttering under his breath, Dean’s name over and over, angling his head to one side so Dean could rain kisses over his neck and throat.
Dean scraped his teeth over his brother’s adam’s apple, resting his lips on the side of his neck where his pulse was beating furiously. He was so hard he was panting and he could feel Sam’s hands sliding over his back and down to cup his ass, pulling him in so they were flush together. Dean gasped when he felt their crotches rub together, Sam’s dick a hot line against his own. Sam jerked his hips, rubbing himself against Dean, fingers clawing insistently at the meat of Dean's ass.
Dean snagged his fingers in Sam's hair and lifted his mouth from his brother's throat long enough to meet his gaze. Sam's eyes were hazy and dark, his cheeks flushed with heat. He blinked, a slow-motion flicker of his eyelashes that sent a pool of lust rocketing through Dean.
"Sammy," he said. "You...."
"Don't say anything. Please, Dean," Sam said. He cradled the back of Dean’s neck. "Kiss me again. Love it when you kiss me."
"Okay," Dean said.
Sam arched his hips up, wrapping his long legs around Dean's waist as they rocked together and kissed some more. Dean groaned into his brother's mouth, felt Sam's tongue slide and slip over his own, felt his mouth being devoured by Sam, felt Sam in and around and everywhere. He wondered distantly at the back of his mind if this was where they’d always been headed. He wondered why he wasn’t more shocked about what they were doing and he wondered why he hadn’t pushed Sam away and told him it was wrong. He wondered if it was supposed to feel like this when your brother dry-humped you on the couch. He guessed that it really, really wasn’t, and that this was just another of those reasons why he and Sam weren’t like other brothers. He wondered if he should be freaked out by that. He supposed that it really didn’t matter.
“Stop thinking so hard,” Sam murmured into the side of his face.
“What?” He lifted his head and blinked at his brother.
Sam was watching him with an amused little smirk. He palmed the side of Dean’s face and caressed one finger over his cheekbone. “You’re freaking out.”
“No I’m not,” Dean said honestly.
“Yeah. Are you freaking out?” Dean asked.
Sam shook his head, hair spilling over the arm of the couch. Dean tangled his fingers in Sam’s hair. He’d never say it out loud but he’d always liked Sam’s hair. And right now, he really liked it, loving the way he could fist his hands in the soft silky strands and drag his brother’s head to one side, exposing a long line of neck and throat.
He ducked down and kissed the side of Sam’s neck, tongue lingering over his pulse point. Sam gasped and squirmed under him, grinding his hips up into Dean. He moaned Dean’s name again and grabbed his neck, yanking his head down into another long kiss.
“I think we should be freaked out,” Sam said after they'd pulled apart to get their breaths once more. He spoke with the kind of calmness and matter-of-factness that Dean had always admired about him. “If we were normal, we would be.”
“If we were normal, we wouldn’t be in this position,” Dean pointed out, feeing secretly impressed by how coherent he sounded. He didn’t feel coherent at all inside, his guts were churning and his cock was harder than he could remember ever being before, as if the blood inside him was responding to the blood in Sam – their shared blood. Blood on blood, he thought, feeling a little hysterical, the lyrics from the cheesy Bon Jovi song skipping through his mind: Blood on blood, one on one, we’ll still be standing when was all was said and done… He ducked his head, trying not to laugh.
“Dean?” Sam rested his hand on Dean’s cheek, turning his head. He frowned at him. “Are you with me?”
Dean pushed Jon Bon Jovi and his cheesy lyrics out of his head and focused on Sam, just Sam. “Yeah, course.”
“Good.” Sam grinned tentatively, the dimples in his cheeks fluttering. Dean poked at one with his finger, then slowly traced the bow of his brother's lips.
"What do you want?" he said.
Sam swallowed, and Dean watched his adam's apple bob up and down. "You," Sam said at last. "Can you..." he glanced down his body to where his dick was full and fat in his jeans.
Dean grinned at him and nodded. He flicked open Sam's fly, reaching through the slit in his boxers to pull out his cock. Sam's cock was pretty, he thought, long and slim and perfectly shaped. Not as big or thick as his own, but that was normal, Sam was only sixteen and he was a chimera, but he was still no slouch. He squeezed Sam's dick and watched a shiver rock through him, Sam's eyes fluttering shut for a moment, before they snapped open again and rested on him.
"Don't tease me, Dean," he said.
Dean grinned evilly. He could tease Sam so much, he loved teasing Sam, tickling him or ribbing him or generally doing anything to get that glorious little pout on his face and make him all red and flushed and undone. He loved it when Sam was undone, which... yeah, maybe that should've given him a clue. He wanted to tease Sam for longer, and perhaps next time, he might do just that, get Sammy really riled up and begging. And hey, there he went, already thinking about the next time they could do this. So, that was something else he'd have to think about later. For now: this.
He spat into his hand, staring for a second at the small foamy puddle of drool in the middle of his palm, before he slid his fingers over the head of his brother's dick. Sam gasped out loud and his hips jerked up from the couch. Dean glanced at his face and saw he was biting his lower lip, cheeks flushed as painfully red as his cock. He decided not to tease him anymore, but got to work, dragging his hand up and down and around, paying attention to the fat crown and the thick vein on the underside.
"Dean...." Sam moaned, and he reached for Dean, fingers knotting in Dean's shirt as Dean loomed over him.
"I'm here," Dean said. He'd gotten a rhythm going, working his fist up and down, liking the feel of Sam's silky thin cock in his hand, and admiring just how damn pretty it looked poking through his fist.
"I know," Sam said, staring up at him. "Always here."
Sam shut his eyes, smiling to himself, and Dean moved his other hand to cradle the side of his face, as he kept jacking his dick with an easy, slow rhythm.
"Dean..." Sam said again, and that was it. Dean felt Sam shudder and the warm thick jizz spurted over his fingers as he kept working Sam through it, watching the tremors reverberate through his body.
"You alright?" he whispered
Sam exhaled and opened his eyes. He nodded, breathed out, "Yeah. It was amazing."
Dean laughed shakily. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." He smiled, shy and relieved and happy all at the same time, and it was so damn beautiful and unusual to see in Sam's face that Dean wanted to remember it forever, to keep this image in his head so he could bring it out later when life sucked and Sam hated him. He could remember how at least for a short while, Sam was happy because of him. "Hey, you want me to..." he glanced down at Dean's crotch, at the place where his own dick was pressing painfully against his fly, his body thrumming tight with pent-up arousal.
Dean shook his head and fumbled his fly open, pushing his jeans and boxers down to let his cock spring free. He fisted it, and glanced back at Sam. Sam was staring at his cock, his tongue was poking slightly out of his mouth, his eyes hooded. He met Dean's gaze and flushed self-consciously.
"Your cock, it's uh... it's nice. Big."
Dean felt his chest puff up, pleased at the compliment. "You like my dick?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I do," Sam said. "It's different to other guys I've been with. It's um, bigger..." he trailed off and shrugged self-consciously. "Yeah, it's hot."
Dean nodded, pleased. He knew that he was packing something special, enough guys and girls had commented on it before, but it was different to hear Sam say it and to see the hungry, admiring look in his eyes. He spat into his palm once more and started stroking, half-closing his eyes as he lost himself in the pleasure of it. He started when he felt Sam's hand cup his balls. His eyes flew open and he gazed down at his brother, at Sam's long thin fingers cupping his balls as if weighing them, a thoughtful, wicked slant to his gaze when their eyes met.
"Bigger than mine," Sam whispered.
Dean shivered at the sensation, feeling Sam's clever, perfect fingers skirt across his perineum and circle his ass crack.
"Fuck, yeah," Dean breathed. His hand stuttered as he felt Sam draw closer, sitting up so his head was level with Dean's chest, his hand still cupping and gently rolling Dean's balls. Dean's cock was leaking desperately, and it twitched as he felt Sam's breath ghost over his belly when he exhaled.
"Love that we're different like this," Sam said. "Love that your dick is so big and fat and your balls are heavy, Dean. Mine aren't heavy like that..."
He lifted his gaze to Dean, cheeks stained red and hair falling in his eyes. There was a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth as he kept and held Dean's gaze, forefinger rubbing gently over Dean's ballsac. He licked his lips, deliberately and slowly, eyes tracking down Dean's body to his fat leaking cock and then back to his face again.
"Oh Jesus... fuck, Sammy," Dean choked out. He felt his cock stutter and jump in his hand, his entire body reverberating and clenching up as his orgasm shot out of him, coating both his hand and Sam's.
Sam gave his balls one last considering caress and withdrew his sticky, shiny fingers. He held them up, grinning widely as he met Dean's gaze and looking like he’d won the lottery.
"So," Sam said, "that happened."
Dean swallowed, trying to find his voice. He cleared his throat, mumbled, "Uh, yeah?"
"Yeah," Sam nodded. He made a face and wiped his sticky fingers on his rumpled shirt. He glanced down where Dean's dick was still hanging out of his pants, come stains now on the fly. "We're gonna have to do laundry tomorrow," he said.
Dean pushed out a laugh, feeling somewhat desperate. "Uh, yeah, yeah."
"Got no clean underwear," Sam said. He gave Dean a sideways, sly sort of look. "Course, we don't have to wear underwear. Not if we don't want to."
Dean blinked at him. "Huh?"
Sam flushed a little, tongue swiping over his lips in an unconscious gesture that was different to the conscious provocative effort just before. "Sunday tomorrow, Dean, we can do what we want."
Dean kept looking at him, feeling his chest start to swell, heat in his belly pooling and hooking at his insides once more. "Yeah, yeah, I guess it is."
"This, here," Sam said, "this is the part I like."
They were lying on towels under the shade of an enormous oak tree, naked save for boxer shorts because it was hot. It was extremely hot, like, in the nineties in the shade. There was no breeze and the grass underneath was dead and scratchy where Dean's calves overlapped the end of his thin towel. Despite the heat, Dean felt good. He and Sam and the middle of fucking nowhere, the distant sound of cars going down the road, the chirping of cicadas and the car radio playing classic rock songs of the 60's and 70's.
My girlfriend's run off with my car, and gone back to her ma and pa
Telling tales of drunkenness and cruelty...
Dean hummed the tune under his breath and idly turned the page of The Spy Who Came in from the Cold, chin propped on his folded arms.
"This. This is one of my favorite parts," Sam said.
For a moment, Dean thought his brother was talking about the music, then he felt Sam’s hand trail down his spine. He shivered and looked up from his book. “What?”
Sam wasn't reading his book anymore - Wuthering Heights, because Sammy was a geek and had already gotten the required reading list for his new school from the town library. Instead, Sam was lying on his side, propped up on one elbow and chewing on a grass stalk like he was Huckleberry Finn. He would be in senior year when school started next month and Dean couldn't wait for him to be done with school. After Sam graduated, the three of them could hunt properly, or maybe, if they proved themselves, Dad would let them head off on some easy hunts, just the two of them.
"This, here," Sam said. He pushed his sunglasses into his hair and rested his hand on Dean's lower back, on the dip of his spine just above his ass. "I love this part, Dean." He brushed one finger over the bottom of Dean's spine, just skirting the cleft of his ass. Dean shivered at the sensation and Sam grinned at him, his face shiny with sweat and sunscreen.
Dean pushed his book away and rolled onto his side to face his brother. He cupped his cock through the thin boxers and leered at him. "And what about this part?"
Sam's gaze roamed down his body to rest on his fattening dick which was starting to strain the material of his tight shorts. He licked his lips and breathed out heavily. "Yeah, that part. I really love that part."
Dean chuckled knowingly and let Sam drag him closer with one hand on his hip. "You wanna fuck out here, little brother? Out in the open? Where anyone could see us?"
"Maybe," Sam said, looking at him from under his eyelashes. "You got a problem with that?"
"Hell, no," Dean said. He yanked off his sunglasses and tossed them aside, ducking his head to meet Sam's mouth in a bruising kiss. His dick was fully hard and his entire body felt taut and pent up with the heat and desire. He could feel sweat running down his back, pooling in the small of his back - Sam's favorite place - and across his forehead to drip off the end of his nose.
Sam cupped Dean's cheek, and pulled back, breaking the kiss. Dean stared at his flushed face, at the ends of his eyelashes, glittering in the burning hot sun. He thought suddenly that Sam was beautiful like this, with the sun making his body gleam like burnished gold, with his dark hair curling and damp with sweat, and his dark clever eyes, always watching Dean with such intent. It was a weird thing to think about his own brother - that he was beautiful - but he guessed that he was a weird guy.
"I, uh, got something to show you," Sam said.
He turned away from Dean, reaching for the cargo shorts he'd discarded as soon as they'd gotten here. He fumbled in one of the pockets and took out a small plastic bottle of pills. He handed them to Dean.
Dean glanced from the pills to Sam's face; he looked a little anxious, biting his lip as he waited for Dean's reaction. Dean read off the side of the bottle and frowned. He'd seen these sorts of pills before, on the nightstand of one of the chimeras he'd been with.
"Birth control?" he said.
Sam nodded. "Yeah."
"I want you to fuck me without a condom."
Dean swallowed, felt his cock twitch in his shorts because... yeah, okay. He could get with that program. He could do that.
"Uh, yeah. We can do that."
"Yeah?" Sam smiled tentatively, the dimples starting to pucker in his cheeks. "You sure? I mean, I figured you were clean. I know you’re obsessive about using condoms--"
“’Cause safe sex is important!” Dean interrupted. He narrowed his eyes on Sam. “I hope you remember that all the time, Sammy.”
Sam sighed. “Yes, Dean. I know all about safe sex. But you don't gotta worry. It's been ages since I’ve been with anyone else, and I’ve kinda noticed that you haven’t been hooking up so much recently.”
Dean rolled his eyes, feeling suddenly self-conscious. "Right, yeah."
"I never asked you to be monogamous. I never expected it. We're brothers, it's..." Sam shrugged awkwardly. "I don't know, it seems even more fucked up if we are, like, faithful to each other or something."
"So you want me to fuck around?" Dean said, incredulous.
It wasn't like he'd intended to be monogamous with Sam. They weren't dating; they were free to do whatever the hell they liked. They were brothers and that was more important than anything else, far more important than sex, even though the sex was pretty amazing, even if Dean did say so himself. And that right there was the issue. It just seemed a waste of time these days to go out trawling for a hook-up when Sam was right there, wanting sex with him as often as one horny seventeen-year-old could ever want sex - which was pretty much every day that Dad wasn't around being the world's most effective cockblock. Most of the time, Sam instigated things anyway, as Dean still felt a little weird about coming onto his brother first, but Sam knew exactly what he was doing. He'd learned all of Dean's favorite buttons as freakishly quickly as he'd learned all of those Latin incantations Dad was always drilling into him. And Dean wasn't complaining, hell no, he liked things as they were. Things were good, they were better than good. Sex with Sam was fucking great. So, yeah. Sam was right, damn him, he hadn't been with anyone else for a while.
"No, Dean, I don't want you to fuck around," Sam said, making a face.
Dean laughed, feeling relieved, and leaned in to nuzzle the side of Sam's face, lips lingering on the edge of his jaw. Dean kissed down his throat, scraping his stubble against Sam's neck in that way that drove him wild. Sam moaned and moved, throwing Dean down onto his back, knocking the breath out of him as he swung one leg over Dean's thighs and straddled him. He reached inside Dean's shorts and drew out his cock, fisting it and swiping his thumb over the head and into the beads of pre-come.
Dean's hips jerked up instinctively, fucking himself into Sam's hand. He squeezed Sam's bare thigh, feeling the heat of Sam's body under his hand. Sam was taller now; he topped Dean by an inch. His body was starting to fill out, no longer the skinny bony kid, but growing into his height and packing on some muscle.
He watched, holding his breath as Sam sat back, lifting one leg and then the other to slide his shorts off. He tossed them aside and hooked his thumbs in the waistband of Dean's shorts. Dean lifted his ass obediently and let Sam tug his shorts down, leaving his cock bobbing and slapping back against his belly. Sam slid a small tube of lube out of his pants and grinned at Dean as he squeezed the gel onto his fingers. Dean watched, teeth grazing his bottom lip, as Sam lifted up on his knees and cocked one leg in the air to slide his fingers inside himself.
He looked kinda ridiculous, like a dog with its leg cocked about to pee on a lamppost. He was frowning with the effort and wobbling on one knee as he slid his long, long fingers in and out. He didn't mess around for long, pulled his fingers out and made a face as he wiped them on Dean's towel. It was the exact same face he always made when confronted with bodily fluids. Sam freaking loved sex and he couldn't get enough of sex with Dean, but he didn't like the mess and always wrinkled his nose in the prissy Sammy way when he got stuck with the cleanup.
He positioned himself over Dean and fisted the base of Dean’s cock.
“Wait,” Dean said, craning his head up. “The condom?”
“Don’t need it,” Sam said. “I told you, got the birth control now.”
“Yeah, but they don’t start working straight away, do they? You got to let it get into your system.”
Sam frowned but he seemed to think about it. Eventually he sighed and shook his head. “Yeah, okay, I guess. Just – I was looking forward to it. Doing it without.”
“Yeah, me too,” Dean said feelingly. “But we gotta be safe, man. Pocket of my shorts.”
Sam nodded in agreement and sighed again as he retrieved the condom from Dean’s back pocket. He wrinkled his nose as he tore the packet open and slid the latex over Dean’s cock.
“Hey,” said Dean, patting Sam’s thigh. Sam raised his eyes to look at him, squinting in the sun. “Next time. I promise.”
The doctor was a woman. Dean wasn’t expecting that. For some reason, he assumed they’d get a guy.
“Do you have any idea how many weeks along you are?” she said, looking up from her computer screen.
Sam sucked in a breath and glanced at Dean. It wasn't like it was hard to put a date on it. One time since Dean had come clean about the angel possession and Sam realized how Kevin had died. Just one fucking time, and it hadn't even been good. He could still recall the look on Sam's face afterward, the immediate regret and disgust, the way he hadn't even looked at Dean, but just headed off to shower like he couldn’t wait to wash Dean off him. Given that it was notoriously hard to predict when a guy was fertile and given Sam’s obsession with taking birth control, it was a miracle that Sam had even managed to get pregnant.
“I would guess maybe nine or ten weeks?"
She nodded. “We have to run a blood test to confirm the pregnancy. Is that okay?”
“Yeah, of course.”
She got to her feet and crossed the room to a cabinet. She pulled open a drawer and took out a small electronic device that looked like a calculator and a cling-wrapped tiny needle.
Sam shrugged off his coat and started rolling up the left sleeve of his plaid shirt, exposing his taut, ridiculously muscled forearm. The doctor walked back to her desk and paused. “It’s okay, I don’t need a vein for this,” she said, waving the device at them. “Just need a pinprick really. Your finger will be fine.”
“Oh right, fine,” Sam said. He rolled his sleeve back down and held out his hand.
“Put it on the desk,” she directed, sitting down.
Sam bent forward and dropped his hand to the desk, palm side up. She unwrapped the small needle thing and positioned it over Sam’s forefinger. “You're just going to feel a little prick..."
Sam barely blinked as the needle pierced his flesh. Dean watched the doctor slide the needle free and fiddle with it, picking up the calculator thing and slotting it inside. She pressed a couple of buttons to activate it. The screen immediately lit up and started to flash some numbers.
“It’ll take about a minute to run the full screen,” she said as she tossed the needle and her latex gloves into the medical waste.
Dean stared at the flashing device, wondering if it was capable of reading everything about Sam’s blood. Could it see the demon blood? Could it see Yellow Eyes’ taint? Was that in there? He could feel Sam looking at him again, and he turned his head. Sam’s gaze was heavy and dark and completely unreadable. Dean swallowed and turned his attention back to the doctor.
“I didn’t know you could just do—“ Dean gestured at the device –“that.”
“Oh yes.” She smiled at him. “The wonders of modern technology. A few years ago, I’d have to draw an entire vial and send it down to the lab and then you’d have to wait for two days. Now it’s just as easy as running a blood sugar test.”
"Oh right," Dean said. He could see Sam in his peripheral vision, buttoning his cuff and shrugging on his coat. Dean glanced at him, watched him cross his arms and sit back in the chair with that posture that Dean recognized as his fight-or-flight mode.
The doctor laced her fingers together and propped her chin on her hands, looking between the two of them. “So, I imagine you’ve discussed options?”
Dean felt himself tense and forced himself to relax. He licked his lips, glancing expectantly at Sam.
Sam nodded, his stiff posture unchanging. “Yeah, we have. I want a termination.”
Dean couldn’t help the flinch at Sam’s words. Terminations, abortions, whatever you called it, it was something that happened to other people. Things like that weren't supposed to happen to them. They dealt with apocalypses and vampires; they didn’t deal with this everyday life crap.
“Well, we can arrange that, if you’re certain,” the doctor said. “But you should know that a chimera termination is a complex and expensive procedure which requires a significant recovery period. Most health insurance policies don’t cover it at all. There’s also a chance – albeit a small one - that you may be rendered infertile by the procedure.”
“I’ll consider that an upside,” Sam said.
The beeping of the machine cut off any comment from the doctor. Dean watched her pick up the device and press some more buttons. She lowered it and gave them both a thin smile.
“Well, I’m not sure congratulations are in order, considering. But you were right. You are pregnant.”
Sam sucked in a breath and nodded. “Yeah. So, when can I be scheduled in?”
“We can come to that, if you’re decided,” she said, “but Kansas state law says that I have to run through some questions with you before we make any official decision.”
Sam sighed. “Fine, let’s just get it over with.”
“Okay then,” she said. She tapped on her keyboard and then looked up at him with a tense smile. “I promise I’ll make this as quick as possible, and then we can discuss your options. If you’re decided that a termination is the way you want to go, then we can put the arrangements in motion. Okay, easy one first: Name? Date of birth? I guess that's what I've got here." She picked up the form Sam had completed in the waiting room and read off, "Sam Winchester, May 2nd, 1983."
"That's right," Sam said.
"Okay then. Question number two: is this your first pregnancy?”
Dean was waiting for Sam to say yes, for him to look bored and irritated by the routine question, because of course this was Sam's first pregnancy.
“No,” said Sam.
Dean started out of his chair, forgetting the doctor’s presence as he spun to stare at his brother. “What?”
Sam gave him an annoyed look. “Not now, Dean.”
“When? When was this? When were you pregnant before?”
“That’s my next question,” the doctor cut in smoothly. “How old were you at your last pregnancy and what happened to the fetus?”
Sam glared at Dean as he pushed the words out. “I was eighteen and it died. I had a miscarriage.”
“Stanford,” Dean murmured to himself. “You were at Stanford then.”
“Yes, that’s right. I was at Stanford. I had a miscarriage, I went to the hospital in Palo Alto and they looked after me. It was just a routine surgery. No side effects and obviously it never affected my ability to conceive.”
"Of course, thank you," the doctor said, fingers clattering over the keyboard. She paused delicately, looking between them both. "Do you want a moment? Or is it okay for me to go on?"
"Go on," Sam said straight away, not looking at Dean.