A/N: 3835 words. WARNING: UNDERAGE, INCEST. For [info]lost_witness for her gracious loan of the icon below. With thanks to [info]max, [info]cee and [info]tress.

Dean leans forward, arms through the bars. His shoulders are tense, his eyes tired and his mouth set grim. Life like theirs, you didn't make it far without running into heat. Always on the run, danger around every-

"Cut it out."

Dean feels something hit the back of his head and whips around to glare at his brother, lazing on the bottom bunk.

"You make a really bad hardened criminal, anyone ever tell you that?" Sam rolls his eyes - seems like Sam's always rolling his eyes these days - and goes back to kicking the top mattress springs.

"Yeah," Dean says, mouth curling in distaste as he turns around to lean back and cross his arms. "'Cause you make a way better one."

"You're seventeen," Sam sneers. "You can't be tried as an adult." The springs of the bed jangle and chime.

Dean stalks over to the cot and pushes Sam's foot to one side, so he has to stop kicking. He points his finger and talks through his teeth. "The minute we're not home in time, Sammy, Dad's gonna worry. He's gonna figure out where we are, and he's gonna come for us. And these cops are gonna turn us over to him, and we're gonna be gone. Okay?"

Sam's face softens at the mention of their father; Dean watches a combination of relief and fear play across his eyes. Then they harden and Sam rolls across the mattress, his back to Dean. Conversation over.

Dean sighs and sits down, ducking his head under the springs. A young man, consoling his brother while they do their time in the big house, the world on his shoulders. "Sammy, what is it? We'll never go to trial, I promise."

"Nothing, never mind." Sammy curls his shoulders in tighter, his back a long line of tension.

"Aw, come on." Dean puts his hand on the tensed muscle, feels the warmth through Sam's shirt. "We're brothers, we look out for each other."

There's a short pause, and then Dean feels him relax a little. "Dad's gonna come."

"That's right," Dean soothes, rubbing gently at Sam's back. "Dad's coming, don't worry."

The tension comes racing back, and Sam edges away from his hand. "Just never mind, okay? You don't get it."

Dean stops, frustrated. He can't figure out what he's said wrong. "Well, what is it then? Dad's gonna get us out of this..."

Sammy jerks his head around, glaring over his shoulder. "What do you think's gonna happen then, Dean? What's he gonna say when he finds out I'm the one who got us caught?"

Dean is speechless as Sam warms up to the tirade. His voice is low and quiet, the way it always is when he's really mad. "I knocked over the magazine rack. If I hadn't, we'd have been fine, out the door."

"That wasn't your fault," Dean starts.

"You think Dad's gonna see it that way?" comes the hissed answer, fast and harsh, too old for him. "He's gonna blame me, because I'm not perfect, like you."

And Sam spins back to the wall, hunched in on himself.

Dean sits there, a little lost and wishing Dad were there to tell him what he should do. He feels like he should already know - back when Sammy was just a kid, he always knew. They'd fight and stuff - they were brothers, after all - but when Sammy was afraid or frustrated or tired, Dean always knew how to fix it. Coin tricks, I Spy, a little candy - Dean remembers. It was never this hard.

Now Sammy's all elbows, legs and pissy attitude, and the only thing that can distract him from a fight is another fight. It's exhausting.

"Listen," he tries. "I'm sure it won't be like that, okay? Dad, he'll understand."

Sammy makes a sound in the back of his throat that means derision, disbelief. "Sure. 'Cause I'm not as big as you, I'll 'grow into it'."

"Yeah," Dean said encouragingly, touching Sam's back again. "You just need a little practice, that's all."

Sam is a rock under his hand, not giving an inch. "I don't wanna practice. I want to be good at something."

Now this, Dean can deal with. "Sammy, come on, it's not that bad. You did real good in there."

"Yeah, sure, when I got us caught."

"I mean before that." Dean slaps Sam's shoulder, just gently, like good work. "You pulled that lost little kid routine pitch perfect. The girl never suspected a thing."

There's a pause, and Sam's back gets a little softer. "Yeah?"

"Yeah!" Dean smiles and pulls at Sam's shoulder, to get him to turn over. "If she hadn't seen me, we'd have been out of there with a three hundred dollar take, never catch us. And hey, if I'd been a little faster..."

Sam kicks at him lightly, but Dean catches a flash of teeth in the darkness. "Shut up, you couldn't have gone any faster."

"I can always go faster," Dean argues, grinning.

Sam makes another sound that means okay, I guess that's all right. Maybe.

It's late. The deputy came around and shut off the lights twenty minutes back before all this, told them lights out. It's been a hard day, and they're both tired, so Dean says, "Well, I'm gonna hit the sack. We gotta be up bright and early tomorrow."

He goes to stand up, to get up into the top bunk, but Sam grabs his wrist and Dean can't see his face in the dark, but his voice sounds just like it did when they were kids. "Dean..."

Then there's this big quiet, and Dean, just standing there and waiting, finally asks, "What is it, Sammy?" Just as nice as he possibly can.

There's another long pause, and then Sammy lets him go, and says, "Naw, it's nothing, never mind. Go to sleep." And Dean can tell, this is the part where Sam pretends to be the oldest one in the family, older than Dad, even, like he knows best. Sometimes he does. Dad gets caught up in things sometimes.

So it's just habit for Dean to sit back down and put his hand on Sam's arm and go, "Come on, Sammy, tell me. We got each others' backs, remember?"

And Sam, quickly, before he can stop himself, blurts out: "Could you stay here? Like we used to?"

He could say more, but Dean knows what he means. He remembers being tucked up safe in the one motel bed, Dad across the way in his own, back before Sammy's voice dropped and they started calling in for cots.

It's a little weird, he thinks, but hey, weird's pretty par for the course in this family.

So: "Sure, I can." He climbs in under the scratchy gray army blanket next to his brother and barely even hesitates before reaching out to pull Sammy to him, to tuck Sam into his chest. He's bigger now, taller, stronger - but he still fits.

Sam's tense again, but just for a second. Dean thinks he might be waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Dean to make fun of him for being lame enough to need help - but Dean knows when that's cool, and when it isn't. Sam relaxes in the next minute, because trust isn't something that's ever been a real problem between them. Dean knows it never will be, not really.

They settle together, slowly, carefully. They haven't done this in a while, so it takes a little time for their breathing to match, for Sam to find the spot to put his head so it won't make Dean's arm fall asleep. It takes time to figure out what angle Dean should lie at, and where Sam's extra length should go; he's got so tall, so fast.

"You're a hell of a big thirteen year old, kid."

"Fourteen, jerk."

"Your birthday's not for three days."

"It still counts."

They're almost there now, in the comfortable, soft place just before sleep. Sammy's lying high up on Dean's shoulder; Dean can feel eyelashes brush against his neck. He wonders what'll happen if the Sheriff comes in and finds them like this, and then doesn't worry about it. They're trained, they're sharp. They'll wake up long before anyone gets near them. The jail's full of metal, and metal makes sound when it-

Sam shifts, moves his hand.

That's a little lower than Dean was expecting.

"Uh. Sammy?" Dean whispers, softly, not wanting to stir him too much. He's getting that warm smell that Dean remembers waking up to every morning.


"That's not my side, pal."

It's little things - a hitch in the breathing, a shift of the foot that's a little too fast - that alerts Dean to the fact that Sam isn't sleepy.

"Do you care?"

Dean's at a loss - a total, utter loss - then Sam's hand moves again, and there's no question. He knows what he's doing.

Somehow, Dean manages to choke out a response. He just can't move. "You're my little brother," he says, like that's news. "I'm supposed to look after you. You can't..."

"You're not the boss of me," Sam says, and tilts his head so his mouth is what's brushing Dean's neck, his tongue flicking out to taste.

"Sam!" Dean manages to pull his head back, and he wants to take Sam by the shoulder, but his arm's around Sam, so it's like he's already there. He winds up turning his head and shifting his hips so Sam's hand moves, just enough to not be touching where it shouldn't be. Their foreheads are together and Dean tries to sound consoling as he whispers. "Sam, you're just scared. You don't know what you're doing."

"Don't tell me what I know," Sam challenges, and presses their lips together.

It's sensory overload for Dean, to just lie there and be kissed by his kid brother. It's wrong, it's crazy, he's got to be out of his mind -

And then Sam slips his hand back down to cup Dean's cock through his jeans, and Dean can't hold back a groan.

"I know this," Sammy whispers into his mouth, pressing his hand down like he really does know just what he's doing. Dean wonders how he found out, and then has a moment's insane rage at the idea of someone having taught him. He's just a kid.

"Stop thinking," comes Sammy's voice again, and Dean relaxes his hands so they're not bruising Sam's shoulders. "Kiss me," Sam says, his voice a hot brush against Dean's mouth, and Dean's just numb and shocky and doesn't know what the hell's going on, and then Sam's mouth is on his and he's bruising again.

Sam kisses wrong and right.

It's too hard, too rough. Their teeth click together and Dean feels his whole head shake with it. Sammy's tongue is pressing his lips open, and Dean wants to tell him to slow down, take his time, they don't have to do it all in the next ten minutes.

Except they maybe do. Or they really shouldn't. Or...

Something. It doesn't matter, because Sam tastes like everything Dean's ever thought of as home. He tastes of the fast food they had for dinner, of the cinnamon candy they got from the dime store before they'd tried for the big score. He tastes like all the things they do that are wrong for other people, but right for them. They're different. They're a special case.

So when Sammy's quick fingers pull at his belt, at the buttons on his jeans, all Dean does is lean back, to give him room. "Sammy."

"My name is Sam."

Dean would call him Cinderella right now if he wanted, because his hand is slipping under Dean's boxers, his palm soft against Dean's cock. "Sam..."

It's agreeing, it's confirmation, it's blessing.

Dean pushes his hips up, and Sam squeezes him, a little too tight.

"God, Sam. God." He wants to say slow, now, move it up and down, go slow, soften up, not that hard, but it's Sam. He'd just bristle and argue and be annoying, and anyway, it's pretty fucking good as is.

"Shut up," comes the soft order, but it's not their usual banter. Dean hears the warning in it, the worry about the deputy, wherever the hell he is right now. He risks a glance at the corridor (dark) and bites his lip so he'll remember not to call out.

Sam kisses his jaw, and he threads his fingers into the short hair at the back of Sam's neck. He's been talking about growing it out, and Dean still isn't sure what he thinks of that.

Then Sam shifts on the bed, slides down Dean's body, and Dean's pretty sure he's not thinking anymore. He sits up so fast he hits his head on the springs above. "Ow."

Sam's hand presses his back down into the bed, and he goes, but he grabs Sam's shoulder. "C'mere," he growls irritably, holding onto his head with his free hand.

Sam comes up, and Dean can feel the quizzical-slash-worried look, even if he can't really see it. "What? Are you bleeding?"

"No, no, I'm fine. You just, you can't do that."

"Don't tell me what to do." This one's a little more playful, Dean can hear the smile in his voice. He starts to move down again, but Dean drags him back up.

"No," he says, a little more forcefully. "Not that."

There's a long pause when Dean's not sure what's going to happen. Maybe he'll turn away, maybe there'll be arguing. Then finally, Sam's quiet, careful voice. "Why not?"

Dean hesitates; he hadn't really expected to be asked that. He just thought there'd be a yes or a no, that it'd be settled. "Um. You just can't. I... you're too young."

Sam shifts, and Dean hears it in his body language . Bullshit.

Damn kid's too smart for his own good. "You'll hurt yourself?"

"Come on, Dean. I paid attention in health class, unlike some people. What's your problem?"

Dean sighs. He can't think of a way to say this, and he doesn't want to talk about it. "I don't want to talk about it. You just can't."

There's another pause, and this kind of pause - maybe it's the color of it, or the sound - it means Sam's thinking. Dean hates this kind of pause, and braces himself.

Sam's sorting-things-out voice. "You... I don't believe it. You haven't done it before."

Dean immediately barks back. "Hey, I've had sex, pal. Lots and lots of sex."

"Whatever, two girls isn't lots."

"How the hell do you -"

"I've spent my entire life knowing how long it's been since you showered. I think I know what you smell like."

Dean flounders for a minute, but somehow gets his mind back on track. "So, there, y'see? I've done lots of stuff."

"Yeah, but not this. Nobody's ever..."

The words hover between them, and neither one of them give them voice. Nobody's sucked your dick before. Have they, Dean?

"Fine," Dean finally spits. "Fine, no. I haven't."

"Okay," Sam says gently, and strokes his hand over Dean's chest, his skin warm through Dean's thin t-shirt. "Then I guess I'll be your first."

It's on the tip of Dean's tongue to yell at him, no, that's not true, I can't let you, but Sam slides his hand down into Dean's shorts again, and is squeezing too hard again, and it's good. God, it's so good. It's familiar and all right and Sam's kissing his jaw again, and Dean forgets what they were arguing about.

He turns his head so he can catch Sam's mouth with his. As they kiss, he rolls them; he wants to be on top, in control. It seems important that he be able to put a stop to this if it goes too far.

But as they touch tongues, as they lick and bite, Sam's hand is going a little softer, getting slick with their sweat and Dean's spunk. He's squeezing just then, flicking his thumb right there, making Dean gasp twice in a row. He's learning, and Dean starts to worry for them all over again.

And then Sam's free hand settles in the middle of Dean's chest and they're rolling to the side; Dean's flat on his back before he knows it, and even though Sam's kissing him, Dean manages to notice how he's getting up on his knees, preparing to move.

"Sam," he says, when Sam's mouth pulls away from his, grabbing at thin, bony shoulders. But the kid's too fast - he's straddling Dean's knees, braced on one arm, and when his head reaches where it's going, Dean feels the elastic of his shorts stretch, and Sammy's long bangs brushing his stomach.

"Shh," Sam says, and it sounds like he's right there next to Dean's ear. "Someone'll hear."

Dean only has a second to crush the edge of the thin pillow to his mouth and bite down, and then Sam's mouth is...

Oh, God.

He never imagined. He knew blowjobs were supposed to be, like, the king of everything, but he didn't know. And now, with Sam's mouth burning hot around him, that soft tongue sliding right where Dean needs it the most, he wonders if he won't just fucking die of it before he gets the chance to explain.

He rocks his hips up, moving into Sam's mouth just a little, and then back out. It's so fucking good, just that little bit of motion - Sam doesn't know how to do this well enough to move yet. He can't keep his hands still and winds up threading them into Sam's hair again, just holding his head and maybe pushing down just the tiniest bit when he thrusts up again.

Sam learns fast.

His head's sliding up and down Dean's cock, the best thing Dean's ever felt, hands down, and then he takes the tip in his mouth and sucks on it, and Dean's coming hard before he even gets the chance to cry out. He presses the pillow into his face and lets it muffle the sharp, tortured sounds he makes, and Sammy's mouth is gone but his hand is back, so it's not so bad.

He's breathing hard when he comes back, and he kisses Sam's mouth with hunger, and gratitude. He can taste himself now, in with the candy and french fries, and he worries that mixing some of himself into Sammy was wrong. Somehow, he imagines, will make his brother less himself. He holds that narrow, strong, familiar face and kisses, trying to give something back that he's not sure he meant to take.

Sam erases his nervousness by sliding up against him. Dean can feel him push up, against Dean's hip, moan and clutch and pull. "Dean," he breathes, and runs his fingers down Dean's arm to wrap around his wrist. Sam pulls Dean's hand between them and presses palm to belly, and then lower. "Please..."

Dean braces his arm on the bed as he rolls Sammy over, lays him back on the narrow bunk. "It's okay, Sammy," Dean murmurs against his lips. "Don't I always take care of you?"

Sam nods, and kisses, and needs.

Dean opens his pants and slides his hand underneath. Sam's skin is hot and damp, his cock as hard as Dean's ever been, and he gasps high when Dean touches him. "Shh, shh," Dean soothes. "Cover your mouth with the pillow." Sam pulls it over his face obediently, and Dean kisses his neck, just behind his ear.

The rough, small sounds come immediately, and Dean tells him it's all right in quiet little whispers. Sammy thrusts up into Dean's fist and Dean encourages him with twists of the wrist, and flicks of his thumb.

Finally, Sammy pulls his head away from the pillow long enough to manage a few near-silent words. "Are you... are you gonna...?"

Dean knows what he means, and quiets him by touching their lips together. Then he answers, sliding down Sammy's body and kissing his bellybutton. "Pillow," he reminds his brother, and then opens his mouth and takes Sammy in as far as he can. The muffled shout above him tells him that, for once, Sammy listened.

Strong fingers grip the shoulder of his shirt, pulling the material tight. Dean rubs his hand over a slender hip as he moves gently on Sam's cock, sucking soft. Sam makes desperate, almost pained noises, and Dean's sure he hears his name choked into the pillow. He holds Sam down, holds him so nothing will happen to him, and draws him on with easy, sweet swipes of his tongue.

When he feels Sam start to twitch in his mouth, he pulls away and comes up to lie beside his brother. Dean wraps a hand around Sammy's slick length and jerks him in a strong, firm hand; he kisses Sam's cheeks and eyelids and whispers to him. "It's all right, Sammy, I'm here. It's okay. It's gonna be okay."

Sam comes with his hands clutching Dean's shirt, and his face buried in Dean's chest. Dean can feel his shirt go damp just over his heart, with the heat of Sam's face, and refuses to think of why. He holds his brother in his hands and thinks there's nothing on earth that could prepare a man for this.

He wipes his hand on the sheets and then just holds on.

"It'll be okay," he says, kissing the top of Sam's head.

There is a subtle snort, which is Sam trying to pretend he's not afraid. And yet: "Do you promise?"

"Course I promise," Dean assures him, glad to finally know what to say. "Hey, have I ever let you down?"

"No," Sam allows, immediately. He pulls back a little and Dean lets him.

"That's right, no." Dean brushes Sam's hair back off his face and then shoves his shoulder, softly, smiling.

Sammy smiles back, Dean knows it. "Don't push me," he says, and it sounds like it could have been indignant, if he were trying a little harder.

"I'll push you if I wanna push you," Dean says, and pushes him again.

Sam pushes back, and they wrestle for a minute, their quiet laughter bouncing off the cell walls. Then they settle down, curled around each other and ready for sleep.

"Dad's coming, right?" Sam asks, and Dean smiles to hear the hope in his voice, his lips curving against Sam's hair.

"He'll have us outta here by morning, you'll see."


They sleep, and when the deputy comes to turn them over to their father in the early light, they're both ready and waiting before he even gets in the room.