Archive of Our Own ^beta

Sam sits on the front steps, a sweating can of pop between his knees, reflecting the sharp shine of the sun on and off the side of the car. Dean is working on her, again, searching for an invisible, imperceptible imperfection, his back bent and his legs wide as he rests his hip against the grill and his elbows just inside the yawning mouth of that secret place under the hood. There is sweat darkening the underarms and back of his shirt, and Sam can see where it rolls down the nape of his neck. The heat sticks to Sam's skin, wet and heavy, inside his lungs and on his scalp and behind his knees, but the house is no cooler, and at least out here there's a chance of a breeze.

Dean hates the way the sun makes him burn red and peel, while Sam takes it in and turns brown, but sometimes Sam thinks he's got the better end of the deal. Dean is nineteen, tall and broad and strong, and girls like the way his nose turns pink and the freckles stand out across his cheeks. Girls like the back of his neck where it's summer-sore and salty, and the bleached hair on his forearms. Girls like the scrunch of his face against the sun and the smirking tilt of his mouth when he sees something-- someone-- he wants.

Girls don't know about the freckles on Dean's shoulders that start above his elbows and end above his ribs. They don't get to see the way the melanin forms constellations along the muscles of his back, where Sam gets to run his fingers, pretending he can feel them. All he can feel is the even heat of Dean's skin, hot from the sun, warm and sensitive. Sometimes Dean shies away from his touch, wincing at the roughness of Sam's hands on his burned skin, and then Sam will come up with aloe or cold rags, and Dean will tip his head forwards and sigh. He doesn't take his shirt off very often beyond the limits of their scrubby back yard or front walk, since any longer than half an hour will have him scorched like a lobster, so Sam has to cherish the time while he can.

In the winter the freckles don't disappear altogether, but then it's cold and Dean's wearing two layers nearly all the time and they grow faint. Sam almost forgets what they look like, but then summer rolls around and where ever they are the sun brings the freckles right back out again, right where Sam remembers them.