Pre-Stanford slash stories in the Supernatural verse are a tricky read for me. Not only do we have issues of age of consent, but balancing the psychology of a 4 year age gap in the teenager years (a huge gap) can be difficult.
Which is why I enjoyed ![[profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
winterweatherd's Easy On The Clutch so much.
Dean wakes up to the sound of gunshots. He's still naked, and the side of the bed Sam was sleeping on is cool.
Dean pauses at the window on the way to the bathroom. Outside, Sam is shooting beer cans off the edge of the fence. He's a good shot: pow pow pow.
Dean gets this strange, unbidden image in his head of him and Sam, maybe five years from now, circling back-to-back and shooting out an army of zombies or werewolves or something. Pow pow pow, and they all go down one by one until Sam and Dean are the only ones left standing.
Dean finds his jeans and a wrinkled t-shirt and goes outside barefoot. He moves across the lawn quietly, waiting until Sam's finished his round before he steps up behind him and brushes his knuckles over the rise of Sam's shoulder blade.
The sun is bright on Sam's face when he turns around. He puts a hand against his forehead to shield his eyes. "Hey."
Dean squints back at him. He knows he probably looks ridiculous, one side of his face all squinched up against the light. "Hey. Gonna be late for school."
"Skipping," Sam says. He's probably waiting for Dean to give him shit for it, because Sam's never wanted to miss school in his life, but it's sunny and Dean is happy and he doesn't feel like pushing his luck. Sam holds out the gun. "You want to go a round?"
Dean shakes his head and steps back, shoving his hands into his pockets. Sam's gaze trips like a skipping stone over Dean's hips, the bare line where Dean is pulling his jeans away from his body. It makes Dean's chest hot, makes his toes curl against the dewy grass.