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Sammy's scent was pungent and sharp, now 12 years old it carried a deeper musk than before. A little sour, tangy and heady when it hit your nose. The beginnings of puberty changing and charging it, the only way to describe the waves of it flowing from him is Ripe, like the scent when you finally cut into a stone fruit left sitting on the counter top, left to age like the finest of wines. The smell of it alone outdoing the taste your tongues been hungering for. He reeked, but it was intoxicating. His odor cut stark against the Louisiana haze of moist earth and sulfurous swamps, humid air unbearablely exaggerating both of them.
It embarrassed him, being so filthy that it was noticeable, anyone that got too close to him would instantly be repelled away, the only words said would be to mock in disgust. But it intrigued him as well, aroused him in a way he wasn't used to. This new odor he produced, the dual emotions at war in his mind at first, now they coalesced into something gooey and thick in him. He could shower, but he doesn't want to, using every excuse in his mind to avoid it. He probably smelled repugnant to everyone else but he didn't care about everyone else, only Dean.
Sammy didn't really understand why he wanted Dean to notice his scent, how bad it had gotten since the last time they were near each other. Didn’t know why he wanted Dean to walk in right this moment and press his nose to his tender spots, breathe in deep then cluck his tongue and tell Sammy what a dirty little boy he is. He only knew that he could use it to get Dean's attention.
Needy Sammy, always needing big brothers focus on him, and until recently it always had been. But lately Dean had been distant, too distant. Any distance was too much, but this was killing Sam. He wouldn't let Sammy sleep with him anymore, telling him he was too big now that he turned 12, wouldn't let Sammy sit in his lap, barely would touch him at all now.
It all started with that scent. It wasn't too strong then, not like now, long since he last showered, and he and Dean had been sparring. Both shirtless, in nothing but their boxers, and sweating, Sam had him on his back and was straddled on Dean's chest. Flushed and hot, muscles sore, but feeling good at being able to get big brother pinned.
(Dean knew how much Sammy hated training and went easy on him, letting Sam get him in a submissive position for once, both pretending the other didn't know.)
Distracted by the great feeling of having his older brother under him for once, Sammy didn't realize how close his crotch was to Dean's face, only realizing it belatedly when he felt Dean's hot breath puffing against his crotch. It was like the scent of it was something he couldn't get enough of, so strong and so close and Sam was shocked to see him try and press his face closer to the heat of him. They both realized Sam had caught on at the same time and with that Sam was forced off his brothers chest into the dirt, Dean rushing off to shower, because oldest goes first, and yelled back at Sam that he really should take one too soon because he reeked. Embarrassment, shock, and arousal hit Sam all at once and he could do nothing but stare after his big brothers back as he made his hasty escape.
That night was the first night Dean refused to let him sleep with him anymore, Sammy was turning into a man and had to sleep on his own now, Dean had said. Hurt and confusion mixing with all the other emotions the day had dumped on him, left Sam unable to sleep at all, most of all it was the empty space near him from where Dean would usually be that kept him awake.
Today the two scents, Sams and the environment they were currently calling "home", seemed more potent. Had gotten stronger since he stopped showering. The air growing heavy and thick with humidity, condensed on Sammy's skin, leaving him damp, and just as quick the sun would dry it into vapor, getting stretched and amplified into a misty aura that was pure Sammy, a new SammySmell undercut with that new musk lingering thick and cloying around him, heating up his insides in the process, embarrassed by his bodies potency and yet aroused at the thought of Dean, his Dean, Big brother smelling him like this, something all Sam, something he won't be able to ignore, and that big brother attention, whether to tease or scold or something entirely new, will be Sammy's again. He'll fix the distance between them, is sure of it, won't let Dean get away so easily. Sam knows something is changing between them, for the better, they just have to figure it out together.
Dad being on another hunt, always on another hunt, will give them the chance. It was only a few weeks so far, too many to be on their own, Sam only 12 and Dean 16, yet nowhere near the longest their dad had left them alone. The dilapidated structure that struggled to pass as a shack, let alone the house John had promised they'd be spending most of their summer at, could barely hold the brothers inside together. Better John be gone on his hunts anyway, Sam didn't need him, not when he had Dean, only ever had Dean, more of a parent to Sam than sibling, did everything John was incapable of, or truthfully, did everything John was unwilling to do. He could've acted like their dad like he was supposed to, he just didn't want to, too consumed with his vengeance and the drink, easier to be training supersoldiers in a holy war than to be a father to his children. Sometimes it hurts Sam, but at the end of the day, he'll always have Dean.
Why either boy still believed anything John Winchester promised them at this point, well, it was different for both. Dean had been yessir/nosir-ing so long, ever daddy's good little soldier, that he couldnt help himself. The man had imprinted so hard into his head that sometimes Sam didnt know if one day, everything he loved in Dean, loved at all period, it was always Dean, would be gone completely. Sam's excuse was that although he stopped trusting his dad and his empty promises long ago, he'd pretend for Dean, always for Dean, a promise he made himself and intended to keep, for as long as Dean was still his. His big brother, mommy, and his real daddy all-in-one, the only real family he'd ever known.
He'd pretend to not be let down when they found out that even though they were in Louisiana, again, and worse, in the dead of summer, that they wouldn't be staying with uncle Bobby like usual. Uncle Bobby, whos presence was always a great gift to the boys, more of a father figure than John could ever be, even at his most sober. With his ancient occult tomes Sam always loved burying himself in, the familiar land to explore, summer visits to Bobby's climate controlled home was his yearly theme park escape.
To have to spend summer in a swamp so humid, that not even a salt and burn would let the dead rest with the oppressive thick air weighing down on their graves, was bad enough, but to spend it NOT at uncle Bobby's was almost unthinkable, but he and John had a falling out over a job, usually something they'd punch out by now, but this particular job involved using Dean as werewolf bait, and if it hadn't been for dumb luck and honed reflexes, it would've torn out Dean's heart. Bobby had been so livid when he found out, he wasn't returning John's calls. Hence the hasty relocation to the shack/house, left over property of another hunter "friend", which please, John Winchester had no friends, just contacts to use for whatever he needed from them.
Sam had been livid as well, more so even, and spent weeks dreaming of Dean dying to one monster after the other, night after night, still worried that everytime Dean left his presence he wouldn't be coming back. Then he started dreaming of killing John, so angry that he actually reveled in the ways dream him would murder his father, guilt only about how Dean would react was the only thing keeping him from doing it in real life.
Even if they were at Bobby's house, Sam wasnt allowed to touch the books without permission and only ever to help research for a case because dad had gotten stuck, again, and needed that big ole Sammy brain to come to the rescue. Like all he was worth to the old drunk bastard was in help to the "life" as Dean liked to call it. The hunter life, Dean's forced upon Stockholm role, and Sams curse, pretending again for Dean's sake that it was a gift, a calling, the beloved family business, something to be proud for, to LIVE for, and not the thing that was suffocating him, so forceful sometimes it was hard to pretend, even for Dean, and had to force himself to shake it off and continue playing pretend, always, if it meant Dean was okay, and not drowning in the guilt he tried to hide from Sammy, the guilt Sammy could see behind his eyes. Like a well read book he could see when that guilt was there, would flash when Sams pretend mask would start to slip and his abject misery over their lives, the dad he loved but hated just as much, the training that always left him soul-weary and desperate for normal family activities like the kids in his too many to name schools would do. But never misery about Dean.
The more he hated everything else in this life, the more he loved Dean, his only good thing, and he never wants anything to ruin them. Not even himself, his need, his desire. Desire that's been building in him all his short life. Puberty just gave it a name, wholloped him fast and hard, blooming so big and red, like one of the many bruises left on his body after an intense sparring match with Dean, always Dean, nobody or nothing else affected him like big brother.