BUT HARRY STYLES (estrella30) wrote,

New Supernatural fic - Not By Half

*thrusts story at you*

Here! Have some het with a side-order of Wincest! (This is awesome because I figure, if you like it then YAYE! Great! But, if you *hate* it I can totally just blame the fever, right? *g*)

Title - Not By Half
Pairing - Dean/ofc(s), Dean/Sam
Rating - lots of sex
Size - 4100 words or so

Thanks to traveller who looked at a really early not even finished first draft of this and let me know that it was ok to keep going with it, and to maygra for the omg, AMAZING beta. Seriously. I think she knew better than I did what I was going for here, and she wouldn't let me quit until I got there, and just - I have so much love for someone who will tell you, no, this isnt DONE, and make you work at it until it is. So. Thank you again, M, SO MUCH. *hugs*

For Danny, if she wants it, because I loves her. ♥

Not By Half

When Dean was sixteen he met Suzanne.

She was tiny with long dark hair and pretty green eyes. They’d pulled into a small, California town for the night - Dean, Sam and their dad - and she was sitting behind the counter doing a crossword puzzle as her dad checked them in.

The motel was nicer than the ones they were used to staying at. The desk was older wood but relatively clean, and the rug under Dean’s feet wasn’t stained from any unidentifiable liquid. A clock ticked loudly on the wall. It was shaped like a cat and the swinging tail counted away the seconds. The cat’s eyes moved back and forth, back and forth, and Dean shook his head and looked away from it. Suzanne caught his eye and smiled.

“If you need anything just give us a call,” the man behind the desk was saying as he handed over the keys. “Extra towels or whatever. I’ll send my daughter here over to your room with them.”

His dad thanked the man and they started to head out. Dean turned around one more time, and she lifted her hand in a wave and smiled at him again. Dean smiled back. He had a feeling they were definitely going to need extra towels.


Dean called the front desk then went to wait outside the room for her to get there.

“Where are you going,” Sam asked. He was sitting on the bed reading a book, but looked up when he heard Dean open the door.

“Out,” Dean told him, and went outside to wait for her.

When she walked up to him a few minutes later she smiled. Dean took the towels from her hands, dropped them on the ground and pulled her around the side of the building.

She was wearing a tight, black, t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans. Dean curled his fingers around her shoulders and bent his head to kiss her mouth.

“I’m Suzanne,” she said against his lips.

“That’s great,” Dean said, and kissed her.


Dean was there for four nights.

The first night him and Suzanne didn’t do anything but kiss. Her mouth was warm and wet under his, and Dean kissed her to the sound of cars passing by on the freeway, the sweet smell of spring in the air.

After that whenever Dean would call, she’d give him a different room number for him to meet her at. Room 104 was where he laid her down on the bed and kissed the side of her throat, the curve of her jaw. Her hair spilled black against the pillows and her skin was soft under his hands.

Room 216 was where she toed her sneakers off and wriggled out of her jeans before lying down on the bed. A hunk of hair got caught in her mouth and Dean pulled it out and pushed it behind her ear. He ran his fingers over her belly, across her waist. She had her head thrown back, her bottom lip caught hard between her teeth, and Dean felt something clench in his chest.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” he said quietly. He trailed his fingers up the inside of her thigh. She gasped and moaned as he slid his fingers inside her. Her fingers twisted in his hair and he kissed her mouth as she came.

Dean knew they were leaving the next day, so when he got to Room 132 the last night he only kissed her cheek and told her he was going to go.

“Stay,” she told him. “I want you to.”

Dean shook his head. “I’m leaving tomorrow.”

Suzanne pulled her shirt off and tossed it to the floor. She was wearing a hot pink bra with black lace across the swell of her breasts. Dean didn’t even realize he was moving until he was cupping her breasts in his hands, running his thumbs over her skin.

She lifted her head and looked him in the eye. “Stay,” she told him again, so he did.


Dean waited in the car with Sam when their dad checked them out the next morning. Sam was watching him carefully, noticing the way Dean was avoiding looking at the office, or the motel.

“You, okay?” Sam asked from the backseat.

“Shut up,” Dean told him.

He could hear Sam make a scoffing sound behind him. “Whatever, Dean,” he said.

Five minutes later their dad was walking out of the office, whistling. “Time to get a move on, guys,” he said as he climbed back into the car. For the first time in forever, Dean thought he maybe didn’t care. He’d have been happy staying another night or two. The thought bothered him. It was the first time he’d had sex with a girl and now he had to leave her the very next day. Dean wasn’t sure how he felt about that, other than knowing this was just the way it was, the way it had to be.

The car hummed to life and they backed up and were pointed toward the freeway. Dean knew he shouldn’t, but he looked back over his shoulder just in time to see Suzanne lean in the office doorway and lift her hand in a wave.

Dean felt a warm hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Dean,” Sam said quietly, and Dean wondered, not for the first time, how Sam could be so young and so damn perceptive. “It’ll be all right.”

“Yeah,” Dean swallowed hard and nodded, turning back to face the road. “I know.”


When Dean was eighteen he met Beth.

She was the daughter of the woman whose house had a poltergeist in it. They checked into a motel down the road, and Sam stayed behind to do some reading while Dean and their dad went to the house to scope things out.

Beth answered the door on the first knock. She had short, spiky, brown hair and dimples. She wore red, wire-rimmed glasses and had a dark painted mouth and suddenly all Dean wanted was to press his lips against her burgundy smile.

“You’re the ghost guys, right?” she asked.

Dad said something and she smiled and stepped back to let them inside. Dean shook his head. Concentrate, dude, he told himself. This isn’t a game.

“You seem a little young to be a ghost guy already,” she said to him. Dad had already walked through the house and found Beth’s mother in the kitchen, getting the supplies ready for that night.

Dean turned and gave Beth his cockiest grin. “Maybe I’m a lot older than I look.”

She stared at him for a minute then wrinkled her nose. “Nah.” She had a piece of gum in her mouth and snapped it. “What are you, like, fifteen? Sixteen?”

“Eighteen,” Dean huffed. Beth grinned and he rolled his eyes at himself. Getting bested by a girl. Great.

“Oh, you’re funny,” Dean said, pointing a finger at her.

She spun on her heel and wiggled her fingers over her head in a wave. “Yeah. That’s what they tell me.”


It took three days for the poltergeist to be completely gone. For all her joking Beth was really freaked out, and by the time they were chasing the last of the vapors through the windows she was a shaking mess.

Dean folded his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. She smelled like shampoo and burnt ashes. The hairspray she used was ticking his nose. She looked up and Dean and smiled gratefully. Beth had needed him and something in Dean liked that. He smiled back and held her tighter while his dad took care of all the details.

They stopped by the house on the way out of town the next day to make sure everything was okay and to say goodbye. Dad talked to Beth’s mom, Sam stayed in the car, and Dean walked around to the backyard to find Beth sitting on a lawn chair, sucking on a can of soda through a straw.

“Hey,” Dean called.

Beth whipped her head around and grinned. “Hey,” she called.

Dean ran a thumb over her dark, painted mouth. He kissed her once on the forehead, once high on her cheekbone, the last time softly on her lips. She blinked huge gray eyes at him and said, “Thank you again.”

“Anytime,” Dean said. He touched the side of her face one last time before he left.

Sam was staring out the window, watching Dean as he walked back to the car. Dean opened the door and climbed in, and Sam pounced.

“You like that girl?” he asked.

“Sammy, shut up,” Dean snapped. He flicked the radio on and fiddled with the knobs until he heard some Zeppelin.

“I just think it’s weird,” Sam said. Dean looked in the rearview mirror and caught Sam shrugging.

“What’s weird?” Dean asked. “I can like a girl.”

“She just seemed – weird is all,” Sam said again. He blew his bangs off his forehead and met Dean’s eyes in the mirror. “I just didn’t think you’d like her like that.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean looked away. “Shows what you know, Sammy,” he said.

“Maybe I know a lot more than you think, Dean,” Sam snapped back. “Maybe other people need you too.”

Dean turned around to stare at him. “What?”

But Sam refused to say anything else and Dean was glad the subject was finally dropped.


When Dean was twenty-two he met Angie.

He was in a tiny bar just outside of Dallas, and the plan for the night was trying to ignore the fact that Sam was leaving with as many fingers of scotch as Dean could muster. He was at about eight or ten fingers already.

The chair next to his creaked and Dean looked over to find a girl sitting there and smiling at him. He smiled back, tipped his glass toward her in a silent toast, and knocked back the rest of his drink.

“Howdy,” she said.

Dean snorted. This really wasn’t what he needed tonight. He managed a “Howdy” back, and signaled the bartender for another drink.

The bar was pretty empty for a Saturday night. In the corner there was a three-piece band playing the latest in country music, if there even was such a thing. A few couples were drunkenly swaying on the dance floor. The bartender slid a new glass of whiskey under Dean’s nose and he picked it up and sipped it before realizing Angie was still looking at him.


She was drinking something dark; rum and coke or jack and coke. She leaned forward and Dean could smell whiskey and sugar on her breath. The tip of her straw was bright pink from her lipstick. “You want to get out of here?” she asked.

Angie had bright blue eyes and white-blonde hair cut like a pixie’s. She was younger than him and Dean could only imagine how soft her skin would feel under the palms of his hands. How hot and sweet she’d be.

“Yeah, okay” Dean said, his voice broken and thick. “Let’s go.”

He tossed some money on the bar and followed her outside. She was wearing dark pink jeans with rhinestone stars on the back pockets. Dean slipped his hand around her waist and guided her towards the car.

The vinyl of the backseat creaked under their weight. Angie laughed when Dean banged his knee on the back of the passenger seat, then gasped his name as he pulled off her shirt and ran his calloused hands over her skin. She wriggled underneath him and he popped the button on her jeans and slid his hand into her panties.

“Oh, God,” she gasped, arching up toward his hand. Dean fumbled with his own jeans, finally just kicking them off and onto the floor.

They fucked in the backseat of his car in the far corner of the parking lot. Angie wrapped her legs around his waist and bit her lip as he pushed inside her. She was tight and wet and Dean closed his eyes and tried not to think about anything but fucking her. Not Sam, not Sam leaving. Nothing but what was his, here, now.

He was using her, was the thing, and Dean could hardly bring it in himself to care. She didn’t seem to want anything from him other than sex - that much was evident from the way she asked him outside after exchanging only five or six words. Dean had to admit it was kind of nice. Being with someone just because they wanted you. No strings attached, no feelings involved. Just the taste of their skin on your lips and watching the way your tanned hands slipped over her pale, white, breasts. Watching her nipples harden under your fingers. Lowering your mouth to taste her.

Dean ran his hands over her skin. Down her torso, across her belly. He dug his fingers into her hips and she bit her lip and called out his name as she came. Dean dropped his head and kissed the side of her throat. This was good. This was fine. This was all Dean needed.


When he got back to the room that night, Sam and Dad were both asleep. Dean left the lights off and walked as quietly as he could across the room and into the bathroom. He washed his face and hands, but when he was done he could still smell Angie’s perfume on his hands, his fingers. She’d smelled like vanilla and spice, and he crawled into the bed him and Sam were sharing with the taste of her still in his mouth. He could smell Sam and he could still taste Angie, and Dean didn’t want to think too hard about what that all meant.

“Have fun tonight?” Sam said tightly.

“Jesus, Sammy,” Dean said, his heart pounding. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

Sam ignored him. “What’d you do, Dean? Go to some bar? Get drunk? Fuck some random girl?”

Dean blinked in the darkness. Sam was watching him with wide eyes and Dean wanted to yell at him, What does it matter? You’re the one who’s leaving. But instead he just managed a smirk and said, “What are you, jealous, little brother?”

Sam’s lips thinned. His jaw tightened. “Fuck you, Dean,” he said softly, before rolling over and showing Dean his back.

Dean was awake most of the night that night, but he pretended to be asleep. He pretended when Sam woke up a few hours later and rolled back to face him. He pretended when Sam reached over and brushed his fingers across Dean’s head.

He pretended when Sam got out of the bed, packed his bags and left.


When Dean was twenty-four he met Erin.

Erin was different from all the others, because Erin was the first one who loved him. Erin he went back for. Erin would have waited.

Dean met her in a diner of all places. He was working a job by himself and had stopped in for a quick bite to eat before heading out of town for the night. It was dead of summer in New Mexico, and he needed a glass of tea, maybe some pie before he got in the car and started to head back.

Erin was his waitress. She had long, soft, red hair pulled back in a clip. Her skin was fair and she had wide, deep brown eyes that never left Dean’s face when he spoke.

She brought him his food and then his check and then her phone number. Dean was tired though, so he smiled and said thanks, but he was heading out of town in the morning.

“That’s fine,” Erin said. “If you’re ever back in the neighborhood.”

Dean didn’t leave town the next morning though he didn’t know why. He went back to the diner and when the bells over the door jangled, Erin lifted her head and smiled when she saw him. Then he remembered. It had been a long damn time since someone smiled at him like that, looked at him like that. Dean had missed it.

“I’m just getting off,” she told him as she took off her apron.

The spent the day driving around, listening to the radio and talking. She tried to convince him that Garth Books had talent. He tried to get her to understand the deep and underlying meaning to the Master of Puppets album.

They wound up back at his motel room with a bag of sandwiches from a deli and two six packs of beer. They sat on the bed and ate and drank, and when Dean kissed her she giggled against his mouth.

“Why’d you come back today?” she asked him.

Dean shoved the paper bags and sandwich wrappers onto the floor and pushed her back against the pillows. “For you,” he told her.

Erin blinked, then pulled him down into a kiss. They spent the night in bed; her skin was warm and soft and she twisted her leg around him, wrapped her arms around his back. She never stopped touching him, and Dean shuddered when he was over her, under her, inside her.

By the time the sun was shining through the windows, Dean brushed a hand over her forehead and kissed her cheek. Her eyes fluttered open, and Dean knew that she understood that he was leaving.

“You don’t have to,” was the first thing she said.

Dean took a deep breath. “Yeah,” he told her. “Yeah, I do.”

“Well,” Erin cleared her throat. “If you’re ever back in the neighborhood,” she said with a sad smile. She was sitting up in the bed, holding the sheet up against her chest. The sunlight made her hair glow like fire, and her bottom lip barely quivered.

Dean finished getting dressed and kissed her sweetly on the mouth. “I’ll remember that,” he told her.


Dean was halfway through New Mexico before he picked up his phone. He dialed Sam’s number, but hung up before the call even connected. Sam was gone. It’d do Dean well to remember that.


When Dean was twenty-six he found Sam.

Sam wasn’t the same Sam who’d left home four years before. For one thing, he nearly kicked Dean’s ass when he showed up that first night.

But for the rest… Sam was more confident, more sure of himself. Maybe being the youngest, being the odd one out with him and dad took something from him that college gave back. Dean wasn’t sure. The one thing he did know though was that he liked this Sam a whole hell of a lot.

They cruised down the highway, the cool night air blowing through the open windows of the car. They’re been riding together, doing jobs for about six weeks now, and were just falling into their old patterns, their old routines.

“You wanna stop somewhere soon?” Sam asked. Dean looked over and saw Sam leaning with his head against the window, his eyes closed.

“Yeah, okay, Sammy,” Dean told him, and pulled over at the next motel with a vacancy he could find.

The room was tiny and dark, and the beds were covered with thick, ugly, olive green bedspreads. Dean waited for Sam to finish up in the bathroom. He sat on the bed and flicked through the channels on the TV. Basketball game, sitcom, cartoon, and repeat. Over and over again, until Sam was done and came out, smelling like water and cheap motel shampoo.

“All yours,” Sam said as he tossed his wet towel at Dean’s head. Dean got off the bed and went to give Sam a shove, but just as he was walking, as he was passing by, he looked up and into Sam’s eyes and that was it, Dean was done thinking.

He pushed Sam back against the wall, barely registering the dull oof sound that Sam made. Sam’s hair was damp and clung to Dean’s fingers, and he breathed out hard and said, “Tell me this is okay.”

Sam didn’t answer. He just leaned in and kissed him.

After all the people Dean had kissed in his life, all the girls, all the one-night stands, when he kissed Sam it was like none of them had ever existed. This was him and Sam. It was them. It just was, and Sam must have felt the same way, the way he was shuddering against him, gasping into Dean’s mouth.

“Dean, God,” Sam breathed. Dean pulled him back toward the bed and they fell on it, all awkward angles of mouths and limbs. Sam laughed and Dean yanked his arm from where it was pinned under Sam’s back.

But then Sam stopped laughing and was just looking at him. Dean swallowed hard. “No sappy romance novel crap, all right?” Dean told him.

“Whatever, Dean,” Sam said. The edges of his lips were quirking into a smile.

Dean leaned over him and kissed his jaw, his cheek, the space between his eyes. Sam clutched at his shoulders and Dean couldn’t understand how it took them so long to figure this out. They pulled their clothes off as quickly as they could and tossed them in messy piles on the floor.

Everything about Sam was familiar. The soft, tan skin covering his chest and back. The long arms and legs. His eyes. Even things Dean had never seen before somehow didn’t seem new. It was Sam and Dean knew everything about him.

He kissed his way down Sam’s body, running his fingers across his skin. Sam grabbed at his hair, his body quivered and shook under Dean’s hands.

Dean pressed up against him. Reached down and wrapped his fingers around both of their cocks, and Sam gasped and groaned and curled his body forward, pulling Dean closer.

“That okay?” Dean looked down and watched his hand move. He felt Sam nod against his head, and then Sam’s fingers were wrapping around his, his hand wider, his fingers longer. Dean shuddered and closed his eyes. He bit his lip and tried to keep from coming already, but he could hear – could hear…

It was Sam, saying his name, panting against his ear. Dean could feel the humid breath from Sam’s mouth on his skin. Could feel Sam’s body against his, felt his hand move faster, felt the scrape of teeth against his neck, and that was it. Dean slapped his free hand on the bed and grabbed a fistful of sheet and came all over both their hands.

“God, Dean. God.” Sam had his head thrown back and Dean couldn’t stop himself from leaning over and sucking on the soft spot just between his neck and shoulder. He bit down – just hard enough to hurt – and felt Sam shudder and jerk and come a second later.

The air clicked on in the room, covering the silence with a dull, muted hum. Dean rolled onto his back. He wiped his hand on the sheet and stared up at the ceiling.

“This isn’t gonna be weird now, is it?” Sam asked.

Dean rolled over and kicked him. “The only weird thing would be if you think I’m letting you get the shower first all the time. That was just me being nice. For today,” he added.

Sam smiled at him and pulled the blanket up from where they’d kicked it to the foot of the bed. “Yeah. Because you’re so nice all the time I recognized it right off the bat.”

“I’m very nice, dude,” Dean told him. He grabbed some tissues from the nightstand and cleaned himself off, then handed the box to Sam.

They shut the lights and Dean was halfway to falling asleep when he heard Sam ask quietly, “Is this a new thing for you? I mean, with me,” he added quickly. “I don’t need to know about all the other torrid affairs of your life.”

Dean tossed a pillow at his head. He thought back to all the girls he’d known. Everyone he fucked or kissed or touched for any number of reasons. He thought back to how Sam was there for all of them, even when he wasn’t. How everything Dean had ever done or said or thought, when it came down to it, was only ever about one person. It was only ever Sam.

“It’s not new,” Dean finally answered. He rolled to the side and slid a hand over Sam’s hip. Sam smiled at him in the darkness. “I think it’s always been this,” Dean said.

Tags: spn fic

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