Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Now, Dad knows damn well not to leave an unmated Alpha  -- close to rut!! -- alone with an unmated Omega -- close to heat!! -- sister or not. Or at least Sam thinks he does. Maybe he just doesn’t care.

OK, it’s not like Dean’s gonna rape her or something, they’re not animals. But, like. There’s things you just don’t do. 

Especially when the unmated Omega has been in stupid-love with the unmated Alpha since she was like twelve. 

God, her life fucking sucks.

~~~

“So...” Dean says, “how do you wanna handle this?”

Sam turns a vicious glare on her brother. “Whaddaya mean how do I wanna handle this? It’s your problem too!”

“Uh.” He scratches his belly and Sam’s eyes track the way his thin white T-shirt rides up. Pale strip of skin. Freckles all the way down. Happy trail meandering to his--

Enough, ya big freak, she scolds herself.

It’s not even like incest is that rare among demi-humans. Shit happens. Like three schools back, Sam knew an Omega dude mated to his dad. 

Gross. 

It’s not even really the incest thing grossing her out. (I mean, kind of. Dean changed her diapers, yanno? It’s kinda weird to wanna bone someone when that person has wiped your literal ass.) But she can get around that. Lots of siblings end up mating and it’s...usually fine? There’s these twins at school, Micah and Logan, and they’re mated. (And Micah never shuts up about how good her brother is in bed. Lucky bitch...)

So, OK. Not-so-societal taboos aside.

It’s just. He’s Dean.

“--know what I mean, Sammy?” he finishes up, looking entirely too pleased with himself. He’s wearing his I have a point! face. 

“It’s Samantha,” she shoots back. “And no, I don’t know what you mean.” Because I wasn’t fucking listening. 

Dean rolls his eyes. “Jesus Christ, Sammy, don’t go all women’s lib on me,” he gripes. 

“What?”

“Fine.” He rolls his eyes even harder. God, who’s the teenage girl here?? “Omega’s lib.”

She literally has no idea what he’s talking about. “I’m...not?” she tries.

Dean smirks. “Heh. Knot. Get it?”

Sam tries not to punch her stupid, idiot, beautiful, horrible, dreamboat big brother in his stupid, idiot, beautiful, horrible, dreamboat face. “Yes, Dean,” she says thinly. “I get it.”

He frowns. “How come you always call me that?”

“What? Your name?”

“Yeah. You used to call me ‘Dee’ all the time, remember? Whatever happened to that?”

Uh, I grew up? God, whatever. He’s so annoying. She doesn’t respond, just crosses her arms.

The afternoon light is slanting through the piss-yellow curtains and staining Dean golden. He looks like a friggin’ Greek god. Seriously, pee curtains are gilding him. Sam’s not sure if she believes in God, but if He does exist, He sure likes fucking with her. Dean’s big green eyes take her in, all of her, strip her to the bone like they always do.

He softens a little. “Seriously, Sammy, we gotta figure this out. Soon.”

Well, YEAH. She’s due to start her heat in less than a week and he’s due to start his rut the literal same week. Dad fucked off to God knows where and didn’t leave them enough money for two rooms and food. So it’s either starve or sleep separately. And she can’t even call Dad to scream at him ‘cause he doesn’t have cell reception in buttfuck, Washington. 

“I can’t believe he did this,” Sam mutters, kicking her stupid-long legs out and meeting empty air. (God, she thinks plaintively, do I have to be built like a fucking giraffe?? It’s humiliating.) She’d like to be in bed with Dean, watching some stupid horror movie or...or the creepy-ass softcore porn he likes. Awkward. Still. It’d be nice, just siblings sitting on the bed together?? Like. Normal. Also, the fact that they’re in separate beds is seriously testament to how long Dad is gonna be gone. There’s this whole thing where you just don’t sleep in Dad’s bed. He thinks it’s inappropriate when they share -- ‘cause they always end up cuddled up together -- but he won’t ask for a cot if it costs extra money and they’re not allowed to sleep in Dad’s bed ‘cause...respect. Or something. 

Make that make sense. What, are they s’posed to sleep on the floor?? 

OK, anyway, she’d like to be sitting with Dean. It’s weirder that they’re not. This motel is, get this, jungle-themed. So, jungle wallpaper -- green vines and huge trees, black panthers with these eerie yellow eyes peeking out from the foliage, brown monkeys and gem-green snakes, even wolves. (Which is fucking stupid?? What kind of wolf lives in a jungle??) The whole thing is faded and kind of creepy, but at least it’s interesting to look at. The carpet is pale green and the bedspreads are electric blue. The lamps look like flowers. The side tables look like tree trunks. 

Dad didn’t exactly shell out for this place, this weird-ass jungle where she’s s’posed to ride out a week of craving a knot. It just happened to come with these themed rooms and they’re...really something. And apparently this place was the only free motel in Tumwater, Washington this week, so...

God, whatever.

Whatever!!

But they CAN’T FREAKING SIT TOGETHER BECAUSE THEIR PHEROMONES ARE DOING THE PRE-RUT/PRE-HEAT THING AND THEY’LL SET EACH OTHER OFF!

No offense, Kurt Vonnegut, but go fuck yourself. Everything is ugly and everything hurts. 

Being sixteen sucks. Being in love with your brother sucks. Being about to go into heat when all you want is your big brother’s knot sucks. 

“It’s no use cursin’ Dad,” Dean says. “What’s done is done.”

“But he had to know!” Sam snaps, suddenly furious. “You always defend him, Dean, it’s not fair!! I’ve been going into heat for two years. Hell, you’ve been going into rut for seven years!! You’re s’posed to track this stuff!”

“Sammy--”

“It’s Samantha,” she says icily. 

Dean doesn’t say a word.

“It happens twice a year,” she says. “Clockwork. If Dad gave a shit about us, he wouldn’t’ve shoved us in a hotel room in this shitty fucking town with no fucking money--”

“Language,” Dean chides softly, but Sam plows on: “--when you’re about to fuck anything with a pulse--” Dean frowns “--and I’m about to turn into a total knotslut!”

Dean flinches. “Don’t say shit like that,” he murmurs. “C’mon, kiddo, Dad loves us. He just...got his dates mixed up.”

Sam shakes her head. “You’re always on his side.”

“Uh, yeah. He’s our dad?? He knows best!”

“John Winchester’s good little soldier,” Sam sneers. “You can’t think for yourself! You’ve never been able to.”

“Sammy, stop.” 

“No! You never listen! NOBODY listens to me!” she shrills, and she hates how freaking hysterical she sounds. Total Omega stereotype. Getting all emotional and whiny and...and...there are literal tears in her eyes, FUCK. But it’s true! Dad and Dean are thick as thieves. They always agree. Nobody gives a shit about what she thinks or what she needs. “It’s so unfair,” she spits. “Nobody cares about me.”

“Hey!” Dean barks. “Don’t you say that shit, Sammy.” His green eyes are blazing. “Don’t you EVER say that shit. You think I don’t care about you? Are you that fuckin’--?” He cuts himself off, huffing furiously through his nose.

Sam feels like someone dumped a bucket of cold water over her head. Are you seriously that fuckin’...what? What was he gonna say? Stupid? Deluded? Selfish? God, this is so unfair. It’s...it’s cosmically unfair. Like, this is a level of frustration and helplessness that’s so fucking overwhelming she can hardly breathe.

“You’re still not listening to me!!” she screams. Like, literally, actually screams. “You’re about to go into rut! I’m about to go into heat! We’re, like, forced together! We can’t get away from each other! This is bad, Dean, really bad!!” She clenches her fists so hard she’s surprised her ice-white knuckles don’t splinter. “We’ll set each other off!” Doesn’t he get it? If she’s in heat, her inhibitions are gonna be down. God knows what she’ll say, what she’ll confess. 

They say drunk words are sober thoughts. Well, heat-addled words are...horny thoughts. But...but yanno, she’ll fucking confess her undying love to her dumb big brother and yeah, maybe he’ll fuck her and they’ll have a real good week, but he won’t mean it. It’s just ‘cause she’s the nearest warm body. Just ‘cause she’s blasting hormones everywhere. It wouldn’t mean anything to him and he’d probably be horrified once it was done and Sam’s not sure she can take it. 

It might just kill her.

Something flashes in Dean’s eyes. Some emotion she can’t place. He bites his lip like he’s biting back words. Of course he is. He’s probably fighting a whole litany of complaints about her, a whole lotta names he wants to call her. 

Well. Bully for him. Great restraint, Deano. 

Sam refuses to lower her eyes to the floor. She’s not gonna be some submissive, obedient little Omega who pulls the Alpha knows best! crap. Dean was taking this seriously a minute ago, but he’s so focused on defending Dad that he lost the goddamn plot. Jesus. JESUS!! Sam’s so mad she can hardly breathe. 

And -- OK, she didn’t get into this before, but Dean smells so good and it’s distracting as hell. His usual scent is kinda gross, kinda good. Whiskey, clean sweat, gun oil, Irish Spring. It’s comforting. It’s Dean. (But also?? He uses 5-in-1 body wash and he’s never heard of conditioner or anything but Axe body spray. Also, constantly smelling like sweat and booze isn’t super appealing. Well. Of course it is, Sam’s practically drooling every time she’s close to her big brother, but whatever. Semantics.) But his pre-rut smell is beautiful. Like cinnamon toothpaste and pine trees and a stiff ocean breeze. Wild and beautiful. 

When Sam first presented as an Omega, Dean told her she smelled like a bakery. It’s fuckin’ ridiculous, Sammy. It’s, like, cookies and sugar and...I dunno, those little oranges? The ones in that syrup juice or whatever? I used to pack ‘em in your lunch when you were a kid.  

So. Awesome! She smells like -- let’s check the notes!! -- a seven-year-old’s school lunch. Cool. 

Dean’s blasting out Upset Scent™ in waves. Smells kiiiiinda like bleach, kinda like stale cigarettes. Ew.

That same emotion is flickering in his eyes again and Sam struggles to identify it. She and Dean know each other better than anyone on earth. She can read him like a book. So what’s--

Oh.

Hurt. 

It’s plain hurt. Like, he’s wounded. 

By what? By Sam being realistic? By Sam refusing to cow to Dad? Seriously?? 

“Is it really so bad?” Dean croaks. His eyes widen suddenly, horrified. “I--” he chokes, and trails off.  

It takes her a second. Is what really so bad? Sam flips through her mental rolodex and comes up blank.

She cocks her head, bewildered. “What?”

“You’ll hate me,” Dean says, and he looks so genuinely distressed Sam can hardly breathe.

Fix it!! her Omega screams. Alpha’s sad. Alpha’s devastated. Fixitfixitfixit!!

Shut it!! Sam thinks at her stupid fucking hindbrain. If Dean could stop smelling so fucking good for three seconds -- God, even the bleach-cigarette smell is turning her crank for some fucking reason -- and Sam’s stomach could stop twisting into knots, she could get a handle on things. Her thoughts are swirling.

“I could never hate you,” she says at last. “Is what so bad? It’s OK, Dee, just tell me.” 

“You called me Dee,” he says weakly.

Oh. Right. It wasn’t on purpose, but he looks...moved. 

His nostrils flare. “Sugar,” he murmurs, and it hits Sam like a gut punch -- he can smell her. Her gut keeps knotting up. “I...” Dean shakes his head, shrugs. “I just...don’t hate me, Sammy, please. But...would it be so bad? To go through your heat with me?”

Sam’s whole world screeches to a fucking halt.

He can’t mean...

Surely...

And then her fucking panties flood and her knees buckle as she drops her slick.

God dammit. 

Chapter Text

“Sammy,” Dean chokes. 

“Uh,” she manages. So. OK. This is...super cool. She’s now so unbearably horny she can hardly think straight, her clit is literally pulsing, and her underwear is ruined. Also her jeans??

My slick probably smells like those stupid oranges!! she thinks a little hysterically. God. She must look so dumb right now, seriously moronic. Her eyes all wide, her mouth all slack...

Or...or maybe that’s Dean, ‘cause his big green eyes just went bigger and greener and he’s gawping like a freakin’ fish.

Wait a second. He’s the one who launched her into this shit in the first place.

Sam gulps down a thousand desperate, hornbaggy remarks. She shuts her screaming Omega down for a second, ignores the way her gut twists with what she recognizes as cramps, not anxiety (dumb-ass!) -- ignores it all. Shuts it all out. 

“You wanna ride it out together,” she says, her voice surprisingly even. 

“Um,” Dean squeaks. His cheeks are flushed, so red his freckles disappear.

Sam wants to trace those freckles with her tongue, holy shit. They go all the way down, capping his shoulders and peppering his stomach and...

A sudden spike in Dean’s scent answers for him. Cinnamon-pine-ocean-spray. And the musky je ne sais quoi that just screams: HORNY!! Fuckfuckfuck.

“Dee,” Sam says. Whines, really. Normally she’d be so fucking embarrassed, beyond mortified, but. Like. Her panties probably look like a thousand snails crawled through and it feels like a thousand snails crawled through and-- 

Snail pussy?? Fucking seriously?? What is the MATTER with her?

“Sammy,” Dean returns, his voice reedy. “You...I...” He scratches at the back of his neck. “You can’t hate me,” he says.

Sam’s heart breaks into ten thousand tiny pieces. Her clit might be doing the friggin’ samba right now, but Dean...he looks...pathetic. Wounded. Shattered. 

Fixitfixitfixit!! her Omega screams again. 

It’s simple, right? Alpha’s in pain. Alpha’s sad. Alpha thinks she’s gonna hate him for...

For loving me, she realizes. He thinks I’ll hate him ‘cause he wants to go through my heat with me.

Dean’s not insensate yet. He’s still got that spark in his eyes, that lucidity. He’s not in rut just yet, but he’s gotta be close. An Omega in heat is generally gonna set an Alpha off if they’re close to rut. And...yanno, like three feet away. 

Dean’s panting. He looks keyed up and sad and scared. 

Oh, shit. Sam’s gotta say something. She’s gotta say this right. 

“I could never hate you,” she repeats. “Dee, I--” If she confesses everything right now, is he gonna run? Like. No, right?? Fuck. Time to be brave. “I--” she starts.

“--loveyouSammy,” Dean says, all in a rush. Before Sam can open her mouth, he plows on: “I love you so much, babygirl. You’re my little sister and I-- I wanna protect you and...and be good to you. Like a mate. When you presented, I just about went crazy and...” He sucks in a deep, frantic breath. “...and I wanted you to be my mate. I’m fuckin’ selfish, I know, but...” He coughs, clears his throat. “Even if you don’t want me, I can help you through your heat. I know you need that. I-- I won’t bite you, I promise. I ain’t gonna shackle you with--”

“Shackle!?” Sam shouts. She’s never been hornier in her life and this is the best fucking thing she’s ever heard. She stands, weak-kneed, and limps from her bed to his. The pale green carpet crunches under her bare feet -- ew?? -- and she’s literally leaking. Whatever! She’s got a brother to love. 

Sam clambers up, that hideous electric blue comforter slipping under her knees, her jeans fucking dripping, and climbs into Dean’s lap, straddles him. “Dee, you’re not...shackling me,” she manages. “It wouldn’t be shackling, OK? Not with you.”

She drops, like, a billion more pounds of slick as their eyes meet and he smiles a trembly little smile. It kiiiiinda looks like she pissed herself?? 

Dean’s hands -- God, his big, calloused hands -- settle on her waist. And then he squeezes her love handles??? What the F U C K is wrong with men?? (OK, side bar?? Sam’s like five-fucking-nine, towers over most girls in her grade, and she still has some baby fat. What the hell is that??? Like, Dad makes them do all this insane exercise and she’s still got a little pudge?? Again, if there’s a God, He hates Samantha Winchester. OK, back to it.)

“You’re just saying that,” Dean accuses softly, but he doesn’t let go. “I...Sammy, you’re...you’re confused and the heat...” He sucks in a deep, shaky breath. “I’m the nearest available Alpha. And -- and yeah, it wouldn’t be so bad if we were together, but I’m not the Alpha you really want. I’m not.”

Sam rolls her eyes so far back she’s shocked they don’t get stuck in her head. Stupid. Fucking. Self-Sacrificing. Brother. “You seriously think that?” she says. It’s hard to concentrate on much beyond the wet heat -- like, literal scorching-type heat -- clawing its way through her system and the feeling of his hands on her waist. But this is fucking important. “Dean, it wouldn’t be, like, settling. Or some kind of...I dunno, sacrifice? It’d be--”

“You’d regret it,” Dean says. “It’s...we could...we could go through your heat...but I dunno if I could really stop myself from...from biting you and you’d -- I think you’d be OK with it, but you’re too young. And you’d miss so much?? You wouldn’t have the choice to date around or -- or experience life. And,” he says, his voice tiny, “I’m not...worthy of you, Sammy.”

Sam rolls her eyes again, hiding how much that twists her heart into tatters. Dean. Her big brother. He really fucking hates himself, huh? “Dee,” she says, “listen to me. Can you do that?”

He gives her a hesitant nod.

“I. Love. You.” She grabs his cheeks, pulls his face close. Finally admitting this seems fucking insane, but here they are. “I have loved you since I knew what love was. OK? I’m in love with you. I wanna be your mate. I wanna have your pups. I want you to knot me ‘til I cry. OK?? The fact that you--” Oof, her throat’s a little tight. “The fact that you feel the same way... I never, ever thought I’d get that. It’s more than I could’ve hoped for. I wanna do this rut with you and I want you to mate me.” She gazes at him with all the adoration she’s got, all the love. “D’you believe me?”

Dean struggles to answer. He looks a little misty. 

“I’ve never loved anyone else,” Sam continues. “Nobody holds a candle to you, Dee. Nobody ever could.”

“But,” he croaks, “what if you...what if you change your mind? You can’t know--”

“I will never change my mind, you big jerk. Will you just freaking believe me??” GOD, he’s so annoying!! She’s confessing her undying love here?? A little respect?? A little belief?? 

“You’re only sixteen,” Dean says glumly. 

“OhmyGOD, shut the fuck up,” Sam groans. “I dunno what else I can say! I love you!! I am in love with you!!” 

Dean just stares at her, agonized. 

Yanno, if you want something done right, you’d better do it yourself. She feels her canines lengthening, feels the heat cramping in her guts, feels the slick leak-leak-leaking through her jeans. 

Fuck it. 

Sam grabs Dean’s T-shirt and yanks it aside. He tilts his head to the left, confused. “Sammy, what are you--” He realizes what she’s doing right as she lunges for his mating gland. Sam sinks her teeth into the protrusion and moans as blood and golden mating fluid fill her mouth. She holds on as he gasps and keens. 

Sam had realized, vaguely, that he’s been half-hard underneath her this whole time. But now? He’s hard as nails. He grabs her shoulders and tugs her away from his neck. Before Sam can say a word, Dean presses their lips together. 

He tastes like love. 

Sam licks at the cut of his lips and Dean’s mouth falls open like a freakin’ girl. His tongue is hot against hers. Sam kisses him hard, tries to pour every ounce of devotion and obsession and little sister-love into his mouth. 

“Sammy.” Dean’s eyes are huge when he pulls back. “You love me.”

“Yeah,” she breathes.

“You mated me.” 

“Uh?? Yeah? I was literally there.”

He laughs, breathless and bewildered and fond. His eyes are black with lust. “Gonna mate you, Sammy,” Dean rasps, and she gasps a little. He’s in rut. Fuck, she can smell it. His own canines are a little sharper, his eyes a little more feral. “Gonna mate you,” Dean repeats. “Gonna -- fuck, gonna breed you. Fill you with my pups.”

(Whoo lucy, thank God for birth control.)

“Yeah,” she whines. “Yeah, Dean. Alpha. Bite me??”

“Shit,” he growls. He wrenches her neck to the side and bites deep. 

It hurts. It REALLY hurts, but it’s...it’s like...divine pain. Perfect pain. She can feel mating fluid and blood leaking from her neck like the slick is leaking from her pussy. Feels him lapping at the wound, all but suckling at it. The raised bit of flesh, kinda springy, has been part of her since it grew in at fourteen. She’s gotten used to it. It looks kiiiinda like a lipoma, which is lowkey gross, but it’s just demi-human stuff. Just part of their designations. But now? Gone. Replaced with the teeth marks that’ll mark her as Dean’s for life. 

For life.

Oh, God. They’re mates. He’s finally hers. 

“I love you,” she gasps. 

“I love you too, Sammy,” he says. “God, love you so fuckin’ much.” 

And yanno? The heat scrambles her brain, addles her. Things blur a little bit. Things soften. Time and space and this hideous fucking jungle room sink into a warm, velvet haze. 

When Dean tongues her pussy -- Gonna eat your cunt, baby, gonna lick you ‘till you’re screaming -- she sees God. His tongue licking up inside her, the fingers he slips inside, one-two-three. Nothing hurts. Nothing’s ugly or sad. He suckles her clit and gives her a real-tongue lashing. A real working over. When he crooks his fingers, Sam’s head thrashes back and forth on the pillow. She comes with a yelp and a squeal. Dean doesn’t even give her a moment to breathe. He keeps eating her for what feels like hours, swallowing her slick -- Tastes like candy, little Omega -- until his face is soaked. 

Sam can’t take it anymore. She needs him inside. Needs him to fuck her. 

“Dee,” she mewls, “fuck me. Alpha?? Pleasepleaseplease.” 

“Don’t need to ask me twice,” he purrs. “Good girl.”

When he sinks inside, Sam all but screams. There’s an ache, the working of muscles she’s never used before. But it’s lost in the fog of pleasure. Dean’s huge and hot inside her. Big and hard and fat and-- and she feels insane. Insane with lust. Insane with love. Insane with the fact that her mate is fucking her. She gets this for the rest of her life. No one can keep them from each other. 

They’re forever.

Dean doesn’t hold back when she begs him to give it to her hard. He grips her hips -- gonna carry those bruises for days!! -- and bucks into her. Slick-wet drag. Cock tearing her apart in the best way possible. 

He stills when she comes for the -- second time? Third time? Seventh? God, she doesn’t even know. Her Omega is wailing and purring and reveling in all this. Sam realizes, dimly, that his knot is growing. 

All that careful concern, all the surety that she’s too young or gonna change her mind -- it’s gone. It’s gone and Sam is ecstatic. He trusts her. Finally.

Dean’s knot expands, locking them together. He comes, warm and wet, fills her up. They’re tied together for God knows how long. Dean comes and comes and FUCK, Sam’s not sure she can hold it all. 

Dean shudders and whines through his nose. 

At last, at last, he goes still. He’s still coming, but the spurts are slower and seem to be dazing him less. Dean finally pulls back. He holds himself up on his elbows and gives Sam her favorite lazy, lopsided grin.

“Hey,” Dean says, nosing her cheek. 

“Hey,” Sam says, grinning. Her obnoxious big brother. Her sweetheart lover. Her mate. 

“I love you, Sammy,” Dean says, all stupid-goofy.

“I love you too, Dee.”

“No regrets?” he says.

“How many fucking times do I have to tell you--” Sam stops. He’s giving her that big old clown smirk. Joking. Asshole. Sam gives him the very best bitchface she’s capable of. “You’re such a jerk.” 

“Bitch,” Dean says, all heart-eyes.     

“So,” Sam says, cognizant that Dean is literally still inside her and pulsing as he fills her with friggin’ come. “D’you believe me now?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, and kisses her softly. They do the whole “loving moon eyes” thing for a second before a small, thoughtful frown creeps its way onto Dean’s face.

“What?” Sam asks. Her Alpha is putting out some...confusing scents. She’s probably got about forty-five minutes until she goes all heat-addled again. If they’ve gotta have another conversation, they’d better have it now. Yanno, for someone who bitches about chick flick moments...

“Have you, uh.” His voice is deep, like...deeper than usual. And as much as that makes Sam’s heart pound and her Omega twitch... “Have you slept with anyone else?” he blurts, all in a rush.

Sam smirks. “OhmyGod, you big freak,” she laughs. “No. I’m a-- I was a virgin.”

“Oh.” Dopey, satisfied grin. “OK. Cool.”

“Great big caveman,” she mutters fondly. God, boys are so fucking predictable.   

“You know you love me.”

“I do.”

She does. So fucking much.

They’ve got a helluva lotta shit to figure out. How to break it to Dad, for one thing. Jesus Christ. The thought gives her a little shiver. But...but whatever, yanno? Her and Dean are bonded for life. Where one goes, the other follows. 

They’ll be OK.

After all, they’re forever.

~~~

When John Winchester pulls up to the cheap motel and lets himself in -- big brass key, old fashioned -- he’s greeted by...

Huh.

First of all, the damn salt lines are all fucked up. Salt everywhere, like there was a fuckin’ explosion. That’s unlike Dean. He’s a perfectionist about shit like this. And the mess! Christ. Samantha insists on a “clean house”, all Omega-pissy about tidiness and quality. But there’s fast food wrappers all over the room, one of the end tables is knocked on its side, and--

Oh.

In the point-five seconds it takes for John to take the scene in, hunter’s instincts cataloging and sorting information and risk, he notices something else. 

His son and daughter are asleep in the bed closest to the door. My fuckin’ bed, he thinks, irritated, before his jaw drops. They’re naked as jaybirds. Jesus Christ on a camel. John averts his eyes. He’s seen more of his son than he ever wanted to, including the fresh mating bite on his neck. Samantha is sporting a matching one.

Doesn’t take a genius to figure that out.  

And the room, come to think of it, stinks of sex.

Now...now John’s always been proud of his children. Alpha son, Omega daughter -- as it should be, yanno? The...it’s just the order of things. Dean’s his soldier, his loyal, trustworthy boy. Pride and joy. And Samantha...God knows he loves her, but she’s troublesome. Ain’t much like the Omega stereotypes he grew up on. Fearsome, angry, belligerent, tough. If she’d get her head on straight, she could be as worthy as her brother.  

Fuckin’ A, his children are mated.

He was gone for, what, a week? Week and a half? The nest of ghouls is done for, thanks. Ganked, as his boy would say.

His boy, who is currently NAKED, holding his SISTER, who he MATED. There’s pillows and blankets piled around ‘em, towels from the bathroom and just about all the clothes from their duffles. 

Nest, he thinks, a little dazed. She made a nest. 

Is...is Sam on some form of birth control? Fuckin’ hell, what if he knocked her up?? They can’t haul a baby around! 

And good God damn, Sammy’s only sixteen. He’s seen kids as young as twelve or thirteen mated, but it always leaves him feeling a little sick. Ain’t natural. John and Mary were mated at twenty, felt more reasonable. 

Hell, it’s not so much their sibling status that’s fuckin’ with him. It’s just...it’s just...they’re his children. His babies. 

Maybe he should’ve seen this coming. They were always close, unnaturally so. Dean bathed her ‘til she was...nine? Ten? They slept together every night ‘til he told them to knock it off...John knows they kept cuddling up behind his back. Dean spoonfed her, gave her bottles, packed her lunch, changed her diapers...

And now fucked her and mated her. 

John sits down on the edge of the other bed. 

His kids don’t even stir.

Well.

Shit.    

But it’s for the best, a dark little voice in his head whispers. He’s not a stupid man -- he knows Sam wants to leave this life, knows she’s dreamin’ of college and that white picket fence she’ll never have. He’s seen the brochures in her backpack. Combed through her laptop -- all kinds of searches for Ivy League colleges, loans and scholarships. Hell, she searches up images of bungalows, Omega rights organizations, law school. 

She’d deluded.

But if she’s mated to Dean...if they can’t be apart from each other for more than a day or two without practically dyin’...

Dean will never abandon his family. His duty. His purpose. 

This’ll keep Sammy with them. He can keep her safe and train her up. She’ll have to obey her Alpha brother if he’s her mate. Never obeyed her Alpha father, but it’s worth a try. Under the two of them, she’ll become a weapon.

John smiles down at his children.

Mary, Mary...what would you think of us now? 

He pushes Dean’s hair back from his forehead, tucks a strand of Sammy’s wild curls behind her ear.

The kids blink awake, sleepy and disoriented. 

John just smiles. 

Not much else to do.     

Chapter Text

Epilogue: Six Years Later

The day Sam Winchester graduates college, her brother -- her mate -- is sitting in the front row. When she crosses the stage, he bellows: “THAT’S MY FUCKIN’ SISTER!!” There’s a nervous titter working its way through her peers. Most of the pre-law students know Sam has a mate, know she’s been mated since high school, but they don’t exactly advertise their status as siblings.

Oh, well.

Stanford’s class of 2006 throws their caps in the air and she can hear Dean hooting over the applause and cheering. He’s getting looks. 

Sam’s smiling so wide her cheeks hurt. That’s Dean, proud and ridiculous and fucking annoying and she loves him so much it hurts. 

They’re released to their families. Sam waves to her best friend Jess -- ‘cause she's been in one place long enough to have a best friend!! -- as Jess hugs her dad. And...and Sam doesn’t even feel a pang that their Dad’s not here. Doesn’t have time to. Kind of. 

She throws herself at Dean. Or maybe he throws himself at her. Who knows? 

He hugs her hard enough to knock the wind out of her. “That’s my girl,” Dean murmurs into her hair. “Fuck, Sammy. I’m so goddamn proud of you.”

She hugs him back just as hard. Who cares if they’re breaking each other’s ribs? Who fuckin’ cares? She’s got her mate and early acceptance to SLS. A whole summer off, to travel to the beach and go to the zoo and, yes, hunt. It’s their compromise: nine months of classes, three months of hunting. Keeps them both sane. Dean works at Chestnut Auto during the school year, keeps ‘em in salt and ammo and, yanno, rent. 

“I love you,” she says.

Dean holds her at arm’s length and takes her in. “Love you too, Sammy-girl.”

Life’s not perfect. Sam knows Dean misses Dad like a hacked off limb, knows he chafes at city life. She can’t stand three months of living out of a car and worrying her brother’s gonna get himself ripped apart by a werewolf or something. But hey -- compromise. 

So, yeah. Life’s not perfect, but it’s something. More than she ever thought she’d have.

And that night, when her phone rings and she hears her dad’s voice for the first time in four years - Hey...uh...Samantha...saw you today and, uh, wanted to congratulate you on the diploma...you done good, kid -- well, hey, it can only go up from here.