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Sam Winchester was in denial.
She didn’t hide it when she thought someone else needed to look inward and admit some deep truth to themselves, but it was hard to point that kind of scrutiny at herself. She didn’t like to be in her own head most of the time, even if that's what she always got. Sometimes Dean talked to her in that low, decidedly unbrotherly voice and got her mind churning up a hundred different scenarios that she wished she could stop herself from thinking about.
It wasn’t that Sam had necessarily made the first move, at least not consciously, but it was that she hadn’t tried to put a stop to Dean moving in response. She would press whether she was aware of it or not, and Dean would press back in turn. It was a game she knew better than almost any other they played, and it was undoubtedly her favorite.
An amazing rush came over her when she initiated it—a lingering stare, her gaze flicking down to Dean’s mouth, sidling close to him in a way she never would have thought of doing if Dad was around. Adrenaline flushed through her veins, almost like it had replaced her blood, and then she would sit still. Wait.
Dean never left her hanging, and he would respond in turn by letting his eyes drift down to her chest, following the neckline of her Henley and down even further, even stretching his arm out behind her like they were on a date at the movies. Sam rarely let it go further than that, normally ending their game in only three moves by turning her back to him and putting her head on his shoulder to watch TV or getting up to run a cold shower. She let herself think that it was a mindless biological reaction that made her leave and she hoped in vain that what she felt wasn’t reflective of who she really was.
Sam didn’t want to look inward, no matter how much she knew that one day she would need to confront it.
Dean was her brother. He shouldn’t have been looking at her like that.
Dean was her brother. She shouldn’t have been looking at him like that.
—
Despite her best judgment, despite the part of her that wanted to pretend she never could have looked at her brother with hunger and lust roiling in her gut, Sam needed to know. She needed to know if she was misreading how he watched her: like any brother would, out of a desire to protect his baby sister, or like a guy at school would, struggling to peel back her clothes and imagine what her body looked like underneath them.
Dean came home just as she had finished showering, and she was towel-drying her hair when he announced his return: “Dinner, Sammy!”
She stepped out in her shorts and one of his t-shirts that draped on her reedy frame. Dean smiled at her and held up a white paper cup half the size of his head.
“I got you a milkshake since you didn’t wanna celebrate with beer,” he said, taking a sip before offering it to her.
Sam took it in her hand and took a long sip: an indirect strawberry kiss, a better way to reward herself for an A in AP History than she could have thought up herself. His gaze lingered for a moment before he started pulling food out of the bag and laying it out on the table, and Sam felt her nerves settle heavy in her stomach with those three unnecessary seconds he continued to stare at her. Once again, she instigated without realizing it, and now they were trapped in a game of chicken.
Over dinner her foot brushed against Dean’s ankle, she hadn’t even known his feet were there, and he reached to grab a ketchup packet from Sam only to graze his fingers against the inside of her wrist. Her cheeks flushed red and she glanced away from him, feeling her heart flutter in her chest. He’d touched her wrist so many times, grabbed her tight and pulled her out of the way of danger, soothed her by stroking her pulse point while they rode in the backseat on a long, dark night. It shouldn't have caused any new, butterfly frenzy sensations in her and yet she found herself pondering, curious: how far could she take it?
Sam helped clean up while slurping at the remnants of her milkshake, down to just the ephemeral whipped cream that tasted richer than anything else she'd ever had. She wondered if that was what the nectar of the gods tasted like, but she wouldn't have to be welcomed up to Mount Olympus to get what she really wanted. While Sam washed the fry grease off of her fingers, Dean moved to stand beside her at the sink.
"Dad's coming home in a few days," he said plainly, like for once in his life he wasn't anticipating their father's return, "he was passing through Lubbock when he called."
She nodded once and glanced over at him curiously.
"Aren't you happy Dad's coming back?"
Sam wasn't, and she never hid her resentment towards him when he was home. Dean was always her shield, getting between the two of them when Dad would start making assumptions about Sam and she'd raise her voice in retaliation. It couldn't have been easy, getting in the middle of the two of them when they started spitting venom at each other. Sam had no idea how to thank her brother for defending her like that time and time again, even when it was fully on her for starting the fight. But even if Dad's return heralded at least one more argument between him and his only daughter, Dean still tended to at least be a little excited at his return, an eager puppy wagging his tail and rolling over onto his back for belly scratches.
"I dunno—he's only been gone a week. Used to be he'd vanish for a month and show up again while you were at school, now it feels like he's popping out for a pack of smokes and coming back just in time to tuck us in."
Sam shrugged. "Except dads don't come back from getting the smokes. I'm surprised he comes back to check on us at all. We can manage just fine without him."
Dean's energy suddenly lifted, and she realized too late she gave him a perfect in.
"He needs to personally make sure you aren't getting knocked up, Sammy. Can't raise a baby on the road: we did that with you and look how you turned out."
She elbowed him hard in the side and he swore, clutching his appendix. Sam would have been worried she burst it, but Dean would have been on the floor if she did any actual damage—worst case scenario, he'd be sore for the rest of the night.
The game had been put on hold and they both realized it when Sam reached out to put her hand on his aching side. The touch alone was enough to make Dean jump, but he didn't make any noise like he was in pain. Instead, he looked up at her with a muddled expression behind his eyes.
"Are you alright?" The words were hanging on her tongue before she went to feel his side, but they only poured out of her when she caught his gaze.
Dean left her in the kitchenette, disappearing into the bathroom without another look. It wasn’t like him to run, and Sam wondered if she’d taken the game too far.
—
Sam was lying in bed when Dean came back out, and while she chose not to say anything about the noises she’d caught just under the loud drone of running water, she did send him a knowing look.
“Time for bed, Sammy,” he sounded exhausted as he flopped onto the other bed, sprawling his limbs out and brushing his hair back from his face. It was getting long, she’d probably be cutting it again soon.
“You’re not meeting up with Kim?”
“We broke up two weeks ago. Made this weird sound while we were doing it and I didn’t call her back afterward.” He shrugged, and Sam furrowed her brow.
Not like she was really mad at him being a chauvinist pig, though. Kim seemed nice, she was very pretty, and Dean didn’t deserve her—Dean deserved someone who knew every part of him and could still stand to be near him. Sam could only think of one person who fit that description.
“Besides, someone needs to watch you. God forbid you leave the motel and go to a party like a normal teenager.”
“Why would I party? I hate loud music and beer.” She could scarcely tolerate Dean getting drunk and blasting the alarm clock’s radio, she didn’t know how she’d handle it crammed into a living room with dozens of drunk, horny people she didn’t know.
Dean rolled over onto his side, flashing a lopsided grin.
“Because you’re uptight and could stand to get laid.”
Sam raised her eyebrows. She sat up quickly and glared at Dean as her fingers dug into the sheets.
“I’m not uptight, Dean. I just have better things to do than hook up with boys at parties.” Girls at parties, however, might make Sam reconsider her dismissal.
Dean laughed. “You’re blushing.”
Her face felt hot, but she hoped that he hadn’t noticed her face turning red. Sam turned her head down and exhaled sharply, and the game was on again.
She had to do something drastic. Well, she didn’t, but with all the pent-up adrenaline in her system she needed to do something big to get it all out of her. And her first instinct was to show Dean what those boys at parties were missing out on.
Sam thought a touch would be too far, she couldn’t even bring herself to get up from her bed and slide into bed with him to assert what she wanted. There were some dreams she’d let fester in the back of her mind, ones where she and Dean did something stupid and broke what remained of their family to smithereens, but if they didn’t touch, maybe it would be okay. Confliction made her mouth water like she was going to be sick, but her stomach fluttered.
Before Sam could register what she was doing, her hands were gripping the bottom of her shirt. She pulled up her top in one swift motion, exposing her bare chest to Dean while maintaining eye contact with him. It was severe, she should have thought about it before she went and did it, but it was too late to unflash him at that point. He would know it was deliberate, and if she backed down she’d look like a coward. She held her top up for a few seconds, her chest rising and falling quickly, just long enough for the cold air to harden her nipples before she pulled it back down and rolled over onto her other side, her back turned to Dean. Sam crossed an ocean only to shrink away at the last minute.
She dealt her hand, and immediately she wanted to follow it with something more—she wanted to strip down to nothing, expose the entirety of herself to Dean just to see what he’d do. Sam thought she’d like it more if he used all of his willpower to keep his hands at his sides, his body planted in place, while she asked for him to come over and touch her. The hunger she saw in his eyes as they moved between her face and her tits only intrigued her further, how long he would sit and take it before he couldn’t anymore.
Dean didn’t make another move, but Sam waited for an hour before she finally gave up and fell asleep. Morality won out in the end, and she never thought she’d see that level of restraint coming from her brother of all people.
The next morning she woke up to the sound of Dean in the next bed over, appreciating her tits.