Possession

So far today, school had already been a bitch. And now he had to face that asswipe, Mr. Wilson. Even before the physics teacher started to rant at him for having missed a month and a week of school, Dean had known it was coming. For the third time that day, he wondered why he didn't just drop out... just fucking tell them to go to hell. He was out there busting his ass to help people, and it always came back down to getting chewed out for it.



He took a deep breath, ready to tell the bastard to shove his class, but then his mother's soft voice echoed in his mind. She'd been big on school. He'd only been five when she went and died on him too... but he remembered her emphasis on school, and the picture frame for school pictures from Kindergarten to grade twelve. There was only one picture missing. One.



"Are you listening to me, Winchester. If you want to graduate, you will catch up on everything you missed. Everything." Mr. Wilson shoved a pile of work across the table. "And I don't have time to go back just for one student, so you'll be working with a tutor."



"Tutor?" A grin spread over Dean's face as he nodded toward the smartest girl in class, Sarah. She had some rack... he wouldn't mind spending some time with her, not at all. "I'm all yours, baby."



"Stop with the jokes. Your tutor is..."



"Ellen?" That wouldn't be too painful either.



"Sam Cullen."



"Cullen? Who the fuck are these Cullens I keep hearing about," he said, ignoring the teacher's coughing up a lung at his bad language.



Because of his high grades, Sam volunteered as a teachers aid, working after school with kids who needed help, who were slipping in their grades, who might not pass, graduate or who might just up and quit school all together. When he had arrived at school that morning, after his first class, he’d gone to his mailbox in the office and read the report about the student who was their latest concern. They feared he would either fail, not graduate, or just up and quit, as he seemed to have a pattern of leaving school for no real reason for long stretches, only to return again later, which was good, but it said nothing for the grades he was getting.



Sam hadn't been too worried about it, knew he could help the kid, until he had read the name. Dean Winchester. If his heart had been beating, it would have stopped in that moment. He'd tried to get out of it, but there was no one that seemed to be able to take his place.



Maybe, just maybe he was wrong. Maybe it wasn't his Dean. Just a Dean. At least he hoped so. Well, part of him did, another part, was excitedly awaiting the time for him to meet with this Dean Winchester, hoping, that maybe it really was him. That he would get to see him, spend time with him, talk to him...



He stood at the door of Mr. Wilson's room, arms crossed over his chest, shoulder leaning against the door frame as he listened to Dean ask about 'The Cullens’.



Sam smirked softly, his gaze staying lowered to the floor, head hanging. "One of 'these Cullens' is going to make sure you graduate, Mr. Winchester. Whether you like it or not," Sam answered him, his voice still just as soft as it had been that day in the cell, only stronger now.



Dean whirled around, his eyes locking onto the guy who practically filled up the door frame. "You."



There was laughter. And jokes about Dean's disappointment that his tutor wasn't a girl... everyone knew him too well.



Ignoring the chatter, Dean tried to get his thoughts in order. He wasn't imagining it, it was that guy. Sam, Sam Cullen, the teacher had said. A new family had moved into town while he'd been away, and he was one of them? His heart raced, but Dean told himself it was because he didn't believe in coincidences, something was up.



Sam pulled away from the door and walked across the room to take the papers from Mr. Wilson's desk, looking through them. His eyes still on the papers, though he stole a glance at Dean once or twice, Sam nodded. "We can do this. We can get you caught up... Dean." It was the first time he had ever said his name out loud and it seemed like every other sound for that moment had faded away. So that Sam's voice saying his name was the only thing that could be heard.



Sam turned his head, hiding his immediate reaction to Dean's scent as he took a breath. His eyes darkened, his teeth ached. This was not going to go well. It had been foolish to think that it would. Shit!



Sam placed the papers back on the desk and turned toward the door, "I need to leave. I'll meet with you later, Dean.." With that Sam walked purposefully toward the door. He needed to get out of there. He obviously hadn't fed enough. He'd need to be sure he fed a LOT more in the coming days, if he was going to be stuck helping Dean with his studies.



There was no rational reason for the anger that rushed through Dean, first at that pep talk in front of everyone, then the disappearing act... again. He pointed at the now empty doorway. "He getting in trouble for that? Or does he have a pass to walk out just like that?"



Shaking his head, Mr. Wilson nodded at the stack of work. "Take it, and go sit down."



Dean mentally cursed, grabbed the papers and went to sit. The rest of the class time was a blur. All he could think about was Sam Cullen. Those eyes. Mysteries on top of mysteries... dammit, how he hated unsolved mysteries.





*





Sam mentally cursed his brother's small car. A tiny silver Volvo was not his idea of a good set of wheels, but Edward's car needed to be driven while he and Bella were gone to Canada, and this was as good a chance as any for him to give it a drive. Even if he was driving it into a rather shady neighborhood.



Sam checked the paper sitting on the seat next to him for the address where Dean Winchester lived and sighed as he matched the information with that of the tiny run down house to his left. Pulling into the driveway, Sam parked the car and turned off the engine, reaching into the backseat for his backpack and laptop case.



Pulling from the car and locking the doors behind him, Sam went to the front door, arranging the straps of first the back pack and then the laptop case, he lifted a fisted hand and knocked on the door. Well, here went nothing. He just hoped that the extra feeding he'd had before coming over was enough. Emmet had picked on him about gorging himself, but they all knew why he had done it. Vampire's weren't known to keep secrets, and as soon as he had told Alice, it seemed that his other brothers and sisters knew as well. Sam was tutoring Dean Winchester, his Dean Winchester.



Hearing the door, Dean's head jerked up. "Aw fuck..." He swept his forearm across the dining room table that hadn't seen a plate on it in years, pushing the silver bullets and powder into a bag. Who the hell was it? He wasn't expecting anyone. Looking around, he put a curved knife he’d just sharpened away and crossing the room, tossed two handguns into a drawer. "Shit..."



Sam raised a brow as he looked at the door. He could hear Dean moving around inside and cursing. What the hell was he doing? Sam took a step back and leaned backward slightly, trying to see into the window from where he stood on the porch, but quickly gave up when he heard Dean's feet come closer to the door.



Sam cleared his throat and looked up expectantly. Okay, this was it. He'd know now if he could actually do this or not. He wondered how it was he used to be able to sneak into Dean's window when Dean was little and sit there in his room, watching him sleep. Sam wasn't sure what it was he had done differently. Fed more? Perhaps Dean's scent had not been as strong then? Or maybe it had to do with Sam's captivity? He was still learning new things about himself everyday due to that. Like his not liking to be touched anymore. It seemed that the only one who could touch him without him reacting badly was Alice. Sam sighed, and tried not to let his troubled thoughts show as the door creaked open.



Seeing who it was, Dean had second thoughts about releasing his hold on the butt of the gun behind his back, but he did. Clearing his throat, he stepped out. "This the part where you thank me for saving your ass and then tell me what the hell is going on?"



Sam froze for an instant, before licking his lips, golden hazel eyes looking straight into brilliant greens. "I'm...not sure what you're talking about." It was a lie and he knew it, but he couldn't talk about that, not now, not with him and certainly not alone. "I'm just here to help you with school, remember?" Sam quirked a brow, one hand going to the side of his backpack and pressing it out slightly for Dean to see.



"You're not sure what I'm talking about? You don't remember that little pit you called home? Being chained up like an animal, all that blood, none of that is ringing a bell?" Dean demanded, fire practically shooting out of his eyes. "Don't remember me getting you the hell out of there? None of that?"



Sam raised a hand and ran it through his hair as he looked away, his free hand curling into a fist. Finally he looked back at Dean and gave a short nod. "Yes. Thank you. I... I owe you one," he told him softly, even more softly than he normally spoke. "Now, how about that school work, huh?" He tried to change the subject before things got out of hand. At least standing outside on the porch helped because Dean's scent was not so concentrated, but with the way the conversation was heading, Sam wasn't so sure he wasn't going to have problems any second.



"You've got to be kidding me. You want to talk about school?" Dean stared at him. "Just who or what are you, Sam Cullen?" With Sam's semi-admission, some of the anger left him.



Sam shook his head, "What do you want me to say, Dean? What do you mean, who or what am I? You know my name, Mr. Wilson took care of that." He crossed his arms over his chest, hands curled into tight fists as he felt his teeth begin to ache. "Maybe I should just go," he suggested, taking a step backward.



Dean’s eyes narrowed. There was no way Sam could have already recovered from the injuries Dean had witnessed in that pit. No way he could be well enough to walk straight, with no show of any pain at all. And how the hell had he moved so fast when he'd run away before the paramedics got to him?



"Maybe not." Dean whipped his gun out and took two steps, bringing the barrel to Sam's temple while blocking the way to the stairs. The house was the last one on a street that had no outlet, and the porch was hardly visible to the other houses. His dad had picked it for a reason. "One more time, what are you." His thumb hovered over the safety... shit, he'd imagined running into the man with the deep dark eyes, but not once had it involved holding a gun to his temple. "The truth, that's all I want."



Sam clenched his jaw as he looked at Dean from the corners of his eyes, muscle twitching. His fingers curled tighter into fists, knuckles turning white as he looked at him. "I'm your tutor." Sam said evenly, as his arms fell to his sides, hands still curled into tight fists, "If you're going to shoot me, do it." he said softly, watching Dean. "Go ahead. Do it."



Dean took off the safety, there was no need to cock this gun. "I'm not kidding around. What are you? Tell me what the fuck are you?" he demanded, his words spaced out, his heart knocking against his chest as his adrenalin kicked in.



The sound of silence reverberated around them. Sam didn't move at all, he just watched him with those damnable eyes. Like he had for years before he'd disappeared. Dean remembered staying awake nights, thinking he'd find him there again. Looking around wherever he went. For years. And even now, sometimes when he heard a sound in the night, he thought he'd find this boy in his room.



Letting the gun slide down and pointing it at the ground, Dean tucked it into the back of his waistband and went to sit down on the old sofa on the porch. "I used to look for you. For the longest time," he said, quietly, looking up into Sam's face. He was sure... damned sure.



Sam watched Dean put the gun away. Golden hazel eyes followed Dean as he walked and dropped down onto the sofa. It was on the tip of Sam's tongue to lie again, or to say something like, 'You looked for a tutor?', but he wasn't about to cheapen this, whatever it was between them, like that. Hanging his head, he spoke. "I shouldn't have come here. I'm sorry. I thought I could help you with school, that you wouldn't..." he sighed, looking over his shoulder toward his brother's car for a long moment.



Finally, Sam looked back at Dean and nodded, "I heard your mother tell you about angels." He shook his head, as his gaze lowered to the porch floor, "I don't know if there are such things, but I knew I could watch over you." He looked back up at Dean with a nod, "And I did, for a long time, I did," he sighed and backed toward the stairs. "I'll see ya around, Dean Winchester." Sam told him, then turned and started walking back toward Edward's crappy Volvo.



Dean stared at him for a couple moments then muttered under his breath. "You just complicated my life, didn't you... fuck." He kicked at the rickety table and put his face in his hands, trying to get his emotions into check. This guy heard his mother, and then he played angel... sure, that made a helluva lot of sense, in his world.



Sam reached his brother's car and unlocked the doors with the auto lock. Tossing his backpack and laptop into the backseat, Sam mumbled under his breath, "Nothing near as badly as you've complicated mine,, before turning to look back toward the porch, "I'm sorry I wasn't here when you needed me, Dean. I would have been. You know that." Sam told him, as he opened the driver side door and folded himself into the small car.



Sam didn't think he needed to explain that. He knew that Dean's father had died while he had been held captive. He'd heard about it, read the small obituary. If Sam had been able to, he would have saved John Winchester for Dean. He would have because Dean would have wanted him to.



Starting the car, Sam backed out of the driveway and took off down the road without a backward glance.



* * *



A week passed and even though he was in the same physics class as Sam, they never exchanged a word. One look at Sam and his brothers and sisters walking into the cafeteria and Dean had known that Sam wasn't the only one who was 'different,' they all were. What he couldn't figure out was whether they were evil and destructive. From the time they'd appeared in town right after he’d left on his mission, there was no rise in missing persons or murders, no electrical issues, nothing that would indicate they were doing anything they shouldn't be.



And every day, Sam took the farthest seat from him, though Dean could feel the weight of his gaze. It was a familiar feeling and strangely reassuring. On occasion, he caught him at it, deliberately holding his gaze. His first instinct was to walk over and ask what the fuck he wanted... really wanted. What the hell was he? Now that he'd had time to think on the past, it was clear that Sam hadn't aged at all over the years. The fact that he could sneak in and out of their house... with his mother and father, both well known hunters in their own right, that had to mean something.



And yet, Dean let it pass. The risk that he wouldn't like the answer... that he might then have to destroy Sam... he just rather not face it. Maybe he wasn't John Winchester's son after all. Wasn't as tough as his old man. Or as good.



And now... staring at the stack of books in front of him in the library, he felt like he was drowning. He'd been called in to Principal's office this morning. It had been like facing a firing squad... all of his teachers lined up to tell him he wasn't getting his old work in fast enough and wasn't doing so hot on the new stuff. That if things didn't change, he wouldn't be allowed to graduate and would have to repeat twelfth grade. Well the chances of him actually doing a ‘do over’ were zero, and they knew it.



Science, history, English... that shit he could deal with, could pass by the skin of his teeth. But it was the classes where you needed to build on the knowledge you'd learned... that he was having trouble with. And all the assignments. Three papers, and that was just in English.



His mouth tightened as he looked at the list he'd made and tried to organize. It was impossible. Mom, I can't do this. His eyes stinging, he swept all of the books off the table, staring through glittering eyes at the librarian who tried to shush him.



Sam had been standing at the back of the library, leaning against a wall in the corner as he looked through a book written in German. The tables had students at them, and Sam wasn't one for mixing and mingling.... not anymore.



Hearing the books fall, he looked up to see Dean sitting there, shoulders hunched, as the librarian, a Ms. Wortenger gave him her customary 'Shush!'



Closing his book and tucking it back into his backpack, Sam walked toward Dean's table, coming to stand behind him, a couple of steps away, he stopped. "You know, it's easier to use them when they aren't on the floor," Sam mumbled as he moved to crouch and gather the books for Dean, placing them back up on his table.



"Mind your own fucking business," Dean wiped at his eyes fast, sniffing almost soundlessly so no one, especially the guy who was at the head of the class, would see him like that. He took a deep breath, eyes on the table, wanting to shove the books right back to the ground again.



Sam sighed and pulled to his feet, his lips drawn in a straight firm line as he looked at Dean, once all the books were off the floor. He moved to the far end of the table and pulled out a chair and sat down. "Look, I told you I would help you. You can do this. It's not that hard." Sam told him, as he opened one of the books and started flipping through the pages to find where they had left off in class.



He was thankful that Dean had sat at one of the longer tables, he was also thankful that he had fed well the night before and although Dean's scent was doing strange things to his head, his mind... it wasn't making his teeth ache at the moment or his eyes darken.



Sam looked up at Dean and licked his lips, "Are you gonna let me help you or not?"



"I am beyond help, Goddamit... just... go away," he met Sam's eyes. "We don't all come equipped with brains the size of Texas, alright?"



Sam quirked a brow, frowning, "We?" he looked back down at the book, "I learned it," he looked back at Dean, "so can you." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, "Like I said, are you going to let me help you, or are you going to just keep screaming obscenities at me?"



"What are you, mother Theresa now?" He wanted to tell Sam to pound sand. That he didn't need school for what he did. That this... this all meant crap to him. But it meant something to someone else. He wanted that last photograph for her, that last one with a cap and gown. He swept his hand over the table. "I don't even know where to start. Who the hell knew they'd cover so much in a month." Not that it would have made a difference. Once he'd learned there was truth to the urban legend about missing body parts, he'd had to do something about them.



Sam huffed, "Yeah, that's me, Mother Theres,." he frowned and shook his head before licking his lips and reaching for another book.



He ran a hand down his face as he listened to Dean complain. "Well, we can start with whatever you're having the most trouble in and work our way back out of the worm hole," Sam told him as he opened yet another book.



Glancing up, golden hazel met green, "You might as well give in and let me do this. I don't seem to know what 'go away' means any better than you do," he told him softly, giving him a pointed look, before tearing his gaze away and looking back down at the books. "Now," he said, voice slightly stronger, "what seems to be your biggest obstacle?"



Asking for help wasn't his thing. He gave help Goddamnit not took it. Once more, the urge to tell Sam to fuck off welled up in his throat, but this time it didn't come out. The fact that the moment could have been but was not awkward sank in. "Too many papers to deal with, and... physics and calc. I was doing okay until I left school for a while, then..." he shrugged, and opened the calculus book.



Dean didn't know how it happened, but soon they were talking... or Sam was doing most of the talking, and he was listening and taking notes... and damn, he wished Sam was the math teacher. He neither talked down, nor talked above him, but matter-of-factly explained things. And when they started working on problems, Dean worked some of them backwards. His teachers discouraged it but Sam grew a bit too excited by it, showing him other ways to do the same thing and saying stuff like it showed he was creative. In response to the compliment, Dean merely called Sam a 'nerd,' but smiled.



A few hours passed and Dean's mind was fried. He unconsciously watched as a woman in a red dress got up. His gaze followed her ass swaying from side to side. Who knew Jason's aunt was a babe? She had to be here for a visit, he thought, wondering if she liked younger guys.



Sam's words slowly died away as he looked up to see Dean gazing off and not paying attention anymore. He followed Dean's line of sight right to some lady in a red dress. He poked Dean with the eraser end of his pencil, then motioned down at the books and papers before him. "That's not part off class," Sam grumbled, frowning hard in disapproval. "You're almost done with this one. You only have twenty five more questions to go and you're caught up in that class, Dean. Focus."



"Hmm, oh yeah." Dean gave a laugh and raised a brow, muttering 'Mother Theresa' again under his breath. How could Sam expect him to concentrate when a curvy thing like that walked by? "Twenty five... you know what time it is?" His stomach growled, as if to echo his sentiments. "Can we take a break, maybe grab some food?"



Sam pressed his lips together and gave Dean a curt nod. How easy it was to forget that humans needed to eat. Not to mention he had been excited about how well Dean was doing that he hadn't even thought about his needing to go anywhere, do anything.



"Yeah, a break. Sounds good." Sam told him, pulling to his feet, and sliding his chair back in. "However long you need. It's fine. I'll be... around." Sam's lips tugged up at the corner of one side in an almost smile.



"You're not coming? Let's grab a burger, I'll buy," Dean offered. It was the least he could do. "Ever been to Meg’s diner? Chillie fries to die for."



Sam sucked his bottom lip into his mouth as he looked around, then back at Dean. "No, I'll just stay here and read. I'm good. Thanks though, I appreciate it," he told Dean with a nod, as he took a step back away from the table, pulling his backpack up off the floor and slinging it over his shoulder. "I'll see you later."



Just for a moment, Dean wondered if maybe one of the 'rich Cullens' didn't want to be seen hanging around him. Tutoring him was one thing, he'd been assigned that job. Nah, the students at school just talked trash and were jealous, it wasn't that. "Alright. Thanks man," he clapped Sam twice on the shoulder.



Sam had started to nod, to tell him it was nothing, but then his eyes widened and his words were lost somewhere on his tongue as soon as Dean's hand made contact with his shoulder. His eyes darkened just before he shot backward, his back slamming into the wall across the room behind him.



"Don't touch me!" Sam nearly screamed it, before his head hung, his chest rising and falling with his breaths as he tried to regain control. His teeth were aching, his body trembling, eyes inky black as he gazed down at the floor, fighting not to launch himself at Dean. "Go," Sam told him softly, "have your food. I'm sorry... just go. Please."



"What the ..." Dean's heart slammed against his chest. He looked at his perfectly fine hand, then at Sam, then at his hand again. "What did I do?"



"You dirtied his white sweater with your grimy hands," a couple of students said, laughing as they walked by.



Dean wasn't sure about whether they were laughing at him since he could be found tinkering with cars at odd hours or at Sam. In either case, Sam wasn't even looking at him... it was as if he was willing him away, sort of like when he sat as far away as possible in class. Then why the fuck had he come over in the first place? Pissed off, he put his hands in his jacket pocked and walked the hell out.



Sam didn't need to look up to know when Dean had left, his scent, his essence had left with him, leaving Sam feeling.... empty?

He wasn't sure what that was exactly, but he didn't have time to worry about it right then, he needed to get out of there, before the wrong student walked by and Sam ended up tearing them apart and gorging himself on their blood. Slowly pulling from the wall, Sam grabbed up his backpack and headed out the door, head hanging, his long bangs nearly concealing his eyes completely. He didn't wait for Dean to get back or go anywhere, just straight to his car in the parking lot.



Reaching his own 2009 gray Camaro, Sam unlocked the doors and slid behind the wheel, peeling out of the school lot, headed for the safety of home. He didn't stop, didn't allow himself to relax again, until he was leaning back against the door to his room. Only then, did he slowly slide down to the floor, as he pulled his legs up, his arms wrapping around his knees as he buried his head. "It wasn't you, Dean. It was me," he whispered softly.



* * *



Only a small light was on in his room, just enough for Dean to look up and stare at his dingy ceiling. It hadn't ever bothered him, the fact they never painted, or that the place was being held together by band-aids. It was just a place, a roof over his head, somewhere to plan out his next hunt, and the next one. But now... Yeah, he was thinking of how different the house would look it was painted and fixed up. Like he had that kind of money.



The look on Sam's face when he'd recoiled had him rubbing his thumb over his fingers again. There wasn't any sign of grease. He hadn't been working on his car.



"Whatever," he whispered tightly, then turned over on his stomach, pulling his pillow under his head and resting his hand over his knife. He wasn't gonna let it bother him. Why should he give a crap what’ perfect Sam Cullen’ thought. It didn't matter. Forcing his eyes shut, he let out another breath.



* * *



"Sam? Let me in," Alice whispered, not bothering to knock. "Please?"



Sam sighed softly, and raised his head, wiping at his eyes as he pulled to his feet and opened the door to his room, taking a step back so Alice could come in. He didn't say anything, only allowed her to walk in as he leaned his shoulder against the now open door frame.



"Are you okay... you didn't..." No, she knew Sam hadn't hurt his Dean. She was short next to him, so she had to look all the way up to see the total anguish in his face. Slipping her hands very gently around his waist she rested her head on his chest. "You know it’s a great accomplishment, just the fact that he's alive."



"I hurt him." Sam told her softly, "Not... but I still hurt him," he told her, before leaning his head down and placing a small quick kiss on the top of her head as his arms went around her. "It used to be easier. Being touched never used to bother me." He gave a harsh laugh, though there was no smile, "Hell, I used to be the freak boy who could heal people just by touching them!" He shook his head, closed his eyes for a moment. "Now... no one can touch me. You... Jasper maybe.... Emmet and Rosalie, if I see it coming." he shrugged.



"It's those monsters... what they did to you," she started to tug him toward the settee. "It'll pass, Sam. It will get better, I promise." The things they'd done to her brother, over and over... any other vampire, except for maybe Carlisle, would have come out of that hell hole with no control whatsoever and would have torn not only Dean apart, but any other human they came in contact with. Sam had always been 'the gentle one.'



"I wanted to hurt him, Alice. For touching me,” he huffed. "He slapped me on the back, thanked me for helping him, and I wanted to kill him for it. Wanted to launch myself at him and...." He looked away, couldn't finish, but knowing he didn't need to.



He noticed she had managed to work them over to the settee and sat down with her. "He probably thinks..." he sighed, "I don't even know."



She thought about it for a long moment, still holding him. "Tell him." She looked up again. "You're going to spend time with him," she said it like it was a given, because she'd seen that much of the future. "So tell him, you have nothing to lose. He saw you in that place. Explain that since then, you don't like to be touched. If he doesn't understand, then he doesn't deserve to have you as a friend," she shrugged her slim shoulders.



Sam tightened his arms around her slightly, hugging her to him as he closed his eyes with a sigh. "I... yeah, alright. I'll tell him." He had no idea how he was going to say it. How he was going to tell Dean that since that place that no one could touch him save for his family and even they had to be careful, slow. All except for Alice anyway.



It was odd that he felt safe in the arms of someone as small as Alice. Sure she was a vampire, so that made her strong no matter her size, but that wasn't it. If he were totally honest, he knew what it was. Alice reminded him of home.



He and his sister were the only children to a poor family. He had been born in the 1920's when miracle cures seemed to abound. And that was when he had found out he had a 'gift', or so his mother called it. People would be healed just by touching him. They came from all over to touch 'The Healer Boy'. He was so used to being touched, it came as second nature to allow strangers to reach for him. In fact, it was this very lack of fear of being touched that ended with him being made into a vampire.



He remembered he’d been out late, walking through the alleyways that his parents had always told him and his sister to avoid, but being a boy, he had a fearless streak.

A stranger had approached him, pale and thin and looking like he needed... something. Sam had thought he was sick and needed to be healed, so when he had reached out and grabbed him, Sam hadn't put up a fight. That was the night that he had been turned into what he was. Had been left there in the alley in severe pain. Sam had thought he was dying.



Once he had finally awoken, it was to find himself in his own bed, but with a terrible hunger raging through him. He had jumped out his window and ran off, afraid, afraid of what his body was telling him to do, afraid of what he wanted.



Nearly a year passed and he lived off small animals he found in the forest, always telling his mother he wasn't hungry when she cooked for all of them. He couldn't help it, he had tried to eat food, only to nearly get sick to his stomach. Not to mention the taste had been horrific and Sam knew his mother had been a wonderful cook.



He tried to keep from them the changes that were happening to him as much as he could, but the healings had also stopped. Touching him no longer healed people. The gifts of money, food, cloth for clothing began to dwindle, and they were left with very little to live on.



He remembered coming home one night to find his entire family dead. Slaughtered. The scent of their blood had overwhelmed him, his eyes had gone dark as midnight, his teeth aching so badly he had whined, grabbing his face as he fought against the urge to drink what was left of their blood.



That was when he had seen her. Abigail. She was under his bed, clutching his teddy bear tightly in her hands, her throat had been slit ear to ear. Sam had gently, carefully reached under his bed, his tears blinding him, and pulled his baby sister out, holding her in his arms, he had rocked her.... and sank his fangs into her neck, draining what little blood was left. He had run from the house then, ran into the woods and been captured. He’d thought of himself as a monster, maybe still thought of himself that way. Even all of Carlisle’s reasoning, telling him the mere fact he’d been able to live with his family and not hurt them while they lived was a miracle, didn’t take away his guilt.



Sam blinked away the memory as he felt Alice's grip tighten on him. He slowly pulled away and looked down at her, seeing the question in her eyes he shrugged. "Thinking, remembering," he told her, looking down into her face he frowned. "Alice, have you ever... been attracted to a scent before. A person. I - he... I dunno. Nevermind." he sighed and hugged her again, letting the subject drop.



"Scent, of course. Person, well... Jasper," she smiled, and then gave him a sharp look. "Do you mean... Sam?" she gripped his forearm, "is it more than his blood? More than what you promised his mother?"



Sam opened his mouth to answer, only to close it again and look away. "I.." he fidgeted and bit his lip as he looked back at her, "Is it horrible if I say that I don't know, that I've never felt this before?"



"Of course not. Well, maybe a little," she laughed softly, giving him another squeeze. "how does it feel thinking about maybe kissing him?" Yeah it was a sneak attack, but she wasn't above that.



"I never had these feelings before, when he was little, when..." Kissing him? Sam thought about that, hung his head and bit his lip, pictured it as he ran his tongue slowly across his bottom lip.



The muscles in Sam's arms where she held him tightened, as his eyes closed slowly. He nodded his head, as he bit into his lip again then licked them. He felt his cock twitch in response to the images floating in his head of pinning Dean against the wall, kissing him, tasting him, as he held his wrists immobile.



Feeling the changes in Sam, she had her silent response. "The answer is ‘yes’," she whispered, looking at the door a moment before Jasper opened it.



"Alice, come," he said, putting his hand out. "Now, right now." Sam's rising lust was spilling over Jasper's empathic curse so strongly that he hadn't been able to keep his mind on the movie he was watching. "Alice," he practically groaned, his gaze glued to her rosebud lips.



Sam's eyes fluttered open as he took in a ragged breath, turning his head toward the now open door and Jasper filling it.



Looking back at Alice, Sam pulled his arms back and nodded to her, "Go, I'm okay." he told her softly. Though he was now far from okay. The images in his mind had sent a heat though his system. Looking away from the door as Alice rose from the settee, Sam blinked a few more times as he tried to get the image of Dean's full lips crushed under his, Dean's hard body pressed against his own, out of his mind.



* * *



When Dean parked his Impala next to one of the Cullens' BMWs, he patted his car. "Don't you worry, baby, you can outshine them any day." Throwing his back pack over his shoulder, he headed inside the school. He'd gotten some looks and knew he looked tired. More tired than after one of his allnighter hunts, that much was for sure.



Thank you Sam Cullen.



Every time he'd started to fall asleep, he'd seen Sam's face... the disgust with which he'd pulled away like he couldn't get far enough. Once... once there had been a time when Sam's face helped him get some sleep, though it gave him different nightmares. Long after Sam stopped showing up, when Dean had discovered the wonders of masturbation as a relaxing technique, it had been Sam's face he'd seen, Sam's body he'd imagined as he whacked off. It had been his own personal joke... it took five girls to wash away each one of those episodes and prove to himself he wasn't gay. Good thing it had been just a passing thing.



Morning classes went okay. Physics, not so much. He hated the fact that Sam was right there in the back of the class getting an earful of the teacher harassing him. The teacher didn't want to hear what he'd turned in for other classes that he was catching up in, he wanted to know what he'd done for physics and whether he wanted to be held back.



There wasn't any laughter from any of the students, just tension and embarrassed looks. Dean wanted to tell the teacher to fuck off. He was so close, so close... and then the bell rang.



The teacher wasn't done with his rant, but Dean was out the door with his stuff, muttering about ten things Mr. Wilson could do with his dick, and none of them fun. At least he got to the cafeteria early and grabbed himself just an apple when not even the cheese cake tempted him. Yeah, just as the Cullens walked in, he walked out, not looking at any of them and making damned sure he didn't touch any of them.



Outside, it wasn't quite drizzling, but it was misting. A little water never hurt anyone, and better outside than where he couldn't give him that look. Striding out to the grass, he almost sat down, but it was too wet. Changing his mind, he went to his car and half sat, leaned against the hood, shining the apple against his jacket. See mom... eating healthy. Never mind that it was a rare occurrence for something other than fast food to go past his lips.



Sam looked over his shoulder at Dean as he walked out of the cafeteria just as he and his brothers and sisters walked in. With a glance at Alice and a reassuring nod, he turned and walked back out, following after Dean. He watched him from the side of the building for a few minutes as he practiced just want he was going to say to him in his head, then he made his way over, stopping on the other side of Dean's car from him.



Sam shoved his hands into his jean pockets as he stood there. Wouldn't you know, every damn line he'd practiced had simply left his head right then. Sam cleared his throat, "Dean," he said as he stepped slightly closer, "can we talk?" he shrugged, "about what happened at the library." Sam swallowed, he had yet to fully look into Dean's face, trying to find somewhere, anywhere else to look. Now it wasn't so much the memory of what he had done as the memory of the thoughts that had plagued his mind after Alice had asked him what he thought about kissing Dean.



"Talk." Dean gave a laugh that half sounded like a snort and looked straight ahead toward the building. "Careful Sammy," he waved his apple toward the door to the cafeteria where several students were coming out. "They just might see you talking to me, and that would be bad, right?" He took a bite of the apple and looked down at his well worn jeans with holes right under the knees, then at Sam. "Why don't you and your designer jeans and..." looking down at Sam's feet, he went on, "fancy shoes just squeak on out of here. Just fucking beat it."



Sam frowned at him, glancing over his shoulder at the other students coming out of the cafeteria. He didn't care about them. Why did he think he cared about them? His frown only deepened as Dean went on with his rant.



He sighed and took another step closer, careful not to get 'too close'. Sam looked at him finally, golden hazel meeting green. "Why are you mad at me for the clothes I wear? Look, I only wanted to tell you I was sorry, that it wasn't you, it was me." he sighed, looked away, over toward his car parked beside Alice's across the lot.



Dean's mouth tightened, more so when he notice how reluctantly Sam drew close. "Right, yeah it's you," Dean nodded. "Careful Cullen, if you get any closer, you'll catch it." The blank look on Sam's face was irritating. "Disease or... I don't know, maybe you think I got fleas." Or dirty hands. He wiped his free hand on his jeans and took another bite, wiping the juice off his mouth with the back of his hand. That would probably disgust Sam too.



Sam frowned as he shook his head, golden hazel eyes watching the movement of Dean's hand as he wiped his mouth. "Why would I think you have fleas? Dean, I'm not like that." he huffed shook his head, head hanging. If you only knew about me. The old me. The poor me. Sam raised his head, "I don't care that your car is old or your house is old or," he pulled a hand from his jeans pocked and waved it, "that your jeans aren't designer!" Sam grit his teeth, glaring at him. "You're impossible, you know that?" he took another step closer, leaned in as close as he dared, but didn't breath in. "I liked you better as a kid." he whispered the words angrily, before drawing away, slightly slanted golden hazel eyes still narrowed.



"Yeah? So did I." He held his breath in. Sam's scent, he remembered it... it took him right back to the past. For a fleeting moment, the memories were so strong, he forgot what they were arguing about. He wanted another sniff, but Sam had already moved. Dragging his gaze away, Dean aimed for the trashcan in a distance and hurled the apple into it.



"My car isn't old, it's a classic. There's a difference," he gritted out eventually, kind of surprised to still find Sam standing there. "What do you want? You're not an angel... you're not my angel," he said, "I don't know why I ever thought that, or why you looked in on me, but you're off the hook, alright? Bye now, have a good life."



Right there, that was when Dean learned something about himself. There had been a time when he'd really thought Sam was one of the angels his mom talked about. Maybe the reason his reactions hurt... no goddamnit... why they got him angry... was that a part of him wanted Sam to be, because he sure as hell didn't give a flying fuck what anyone else ever thought about his clothes or his house or anything... and there had been plenty of comments from others in his lifetime.



Sam shook his head slowly at Dean's words. "You don't have the authority to let me off the hook." he told him, his words though whisper soft were gritted out.



Authority? What the fuck was he talking about? Before Dean could ask, Sam went on. For the life of him, Dean didn't know why he stayed to listen.



He sighed and looked away, "Look, ever since... " Sam paused, licked his lips, and looked back at Dean, "ever since, that place, I - I don't like to be touched. That's it, that's all. It has nothing to do with you."



"You..." he cocked his head. "I touched you over there, when..." Dean trailed off, remembering how Sam had asked to be left alone when he'd freed him. He'd told him to run away alone. Feeling like he'd been sucker punched, Dean came off the trunk and took a couple of steps toward Sam, then reminded himself to stop. "I... that's different. Okay... I mean sorry. You ah... seeing anyone about it?" He didn't really put any stock in shrinks but Sam had gone through something extreme.



Sam quirked a brow, the corner of his mouth lifting up into an almost smile as he shook his head. "No. I haven't told anyone. Only you and my family know." he looked away, "Not like it was the first time." he mumbled, before looking back and nodding toward the building, "Bells about to ring."



"What do you mean ? Sonova..." The bell rang. "What's not the first time, Sam?" He glanced at the building, knowing his English teacher would ride his ass if he was late, but maybe they could talk as they walked back.



Alice skipped across the grass and reached them, slipping her arm around Sam's waist. "Everything good?" she asked, her red lips curing up.



Dean's gaze went straight to her hand comfortably resting on Sam, then up to meet Sam's eyes. He'd lied to him? For what? Shaking his head and throwing him a dirty look, Dean walked away.



Sam smiled softly down at Alice as his arm wrapped around her. He nodded to her and was about to turn and introduce her to Dean, when Dean gave him the dirty look and walked off.



"Dean? Dean!" Sam called after him, "Shit!" he looked down at Alice, "What did I do this time?" Sam looked up at Dean's back as he walked away and tried to use his telekinesis to bring him back, make him turn around, only to receive a big fat zero. Nothing. "Shit!" he looked down at Alice, "Something's wrong, I can't," Sam shook his head, glancing back toward Dean, "it isn't working!"



"What's not working, what happened?" she asked, equally surprised. Both guys had seemed calm when she'd walked out, then Dean was storming away and Sam was freaking out.



Sam grit his teeth, leaned down and whispered near her ear, "My TK, I tried, but nothing's happening." Sam pulled back, watching as Dean started to disappear among the other students. "I can't make him come back." Sam pulled his arm from around Alice, "Dean!" he tried again, but still nothing.



"Oh." That was definitely strange. She shrugged, "it's not the worst thing that could happen. You told him? About the touch thing right? If he's still mad at you about that... eat him." She was only half joking.



Sam nodded to her, his eyes still on the sliver of Dean he could see through the crowd of students. Eyes wide, Sam turned his head and looked at his sister. He frowned and huffed, looking back down the hall, but saw no sign of Dean any more. "He wasn't mad. Not after I told him.... I don't think. He seemed fine..." Sam looked down at her, "until you showed up," he frowned in confusion.



"Me?" She looked miffed at that as she pulled her hand away, then her eyes flew back to his. "You told him we... I can touch you?"



Sam groaned, closing his eyes. Opening them, he knew he didn't need to answer, but did anyway, "No, that really never came up... and then... but he... Ah, shit!"