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Hot, Legal Sex

Chapter Text

Sam could feel the metal of the handcuffs biting into his skin as he pulled against them, desperate to touch his cock now that Dean had settled into a steady rhythm of thrusting. He wrapped his legs around Dean's hips instead, thrusting up against his dick with all the leverage he could muster.

"God, Sammy," gasped Dean, the hand on Sam's hip tightening hard enough to leave bruises. The bed was shaking and they were both breathing in desperate gasps, but the blood was pumping in Sam's ears so loudly he could barely hear it.

He heard the bang as the door burst open though, and the shout that followed. "FBI! Nobody move!"

Dean swore and pulled away, and Sam couldn't prevent a small groan at that, his body slow to catch up with what his ears and eyes were telling him. The room was filled with uniforms, all pointing guns at them, but after the first shout they seemed to have been struck strangely dumb.

"Holy crap," someone muttered.

"Christ," said Dean, "You couldn't have waited five minutes?" He sounded irritated, but Sam saw from the tense line of his shoulders that he knew exactly how much shit they were in. Sam pulled at the handcuffs again, but there was no more give than there had been a moment before, when all he'd wanted was to put a hand on his cock.

"Dean Winchester," said Agent Henriksen, looking annoyingly gleeful and smug. "You're even more of a sick bastard than I'd thought. I didn't think that was possible."

Dean didn't seem to have noticed that he was completely naked, or that several of the officers were blatantly ogling him, but Sam felt extremely uncomfortable about being handcuffed naked to the bed in front of so many strangers. He wondered if there was some way he could pull the sheets up with his feet to cover himself.

"Henriksen," acknowledged Dean. "Fancy meeting you here. Unfortunately, we're a bit tied up right now, so if you could just come back later? Maybe next year?"

The agent snorted. "Nice try. On your knees, hands behind your head."

"That's a little kinky, even for me," Dean joked, but when Henriksen cocked his gun with a click, he obeyed. "Can I at least put some pants on before you drag me into the street?" he asked. There was some prevarication and a quiet protest from some of the female officers, but he was grudgingly allowed to pull on his jeans, after they'd been checked for weapons and paperclips.

"You're not getting away this time, Winchester," said Henriksen. "I'm going to make sure of that personally."

Sam cleared his throat. "Could someone uncuff me?" He resisted adding 'please' on the basis that they were probably going to spend the rest of their natural lives in jail, and he wasn't going to need to be polite for that.

The two police officers nearest him shifted slightly and looked at each other out of the corners of their eyes, but neither of them made a move. Sam sighed. "Dean, where's the key?"

Dean, now at least partially dressed and kneeling on the floor again, blinked at him. "Key?" he asked, sounding puzzled.

"To the cuffs," Sam prompted him impatiently.

"Uh," said Dean. "I think there's a paper clip in my jacket."

Sam banged his head back against the bed. "I hate you," he said bitterly.

In the end, after all the assembled FBI agents and police officers had admitted they didn't know how to pick a lock with a paper clip, they uncuffed Dean again and let him open Sam's cuffs, by which time Sam was fuming, humiliated, and getting chilly. Henriksen kept his gun trained carefully on Dean while he worked, as if a paper clip could somehow be transformed in his hands into a weapon capable of taking out a dozen fully-armed officers of the law.

The moment the cuffs clicked open, Dean was pulled away, re-cuffed and hauled out the door, followed by half the team. Sam was slightly peeved to notice that those left looked to be the rookies, as if he was less of a danger than Dean. He felt like pointing out that he was the one that had escaped the jail in Milwaukee, but instead he kept his mouth shut and sat up slightly gingerly.

A female police officer handed his jeans and said, "It's okay, he won't be able to hurt you anymore," as if Sam was a frightened child.

Sam blinked at her twice. "Um," he said and caught the eye of the guy standing behind her, who was grimacing slightly as if he couldn't believe the naivety he was surrounded by. "It's okay," he said, pulling on his jeans, "He only hurts me when I beg." The woman reacted even better than he'd hoped - after a couple of seconds of 'huh?' she started back - actually jumped back a couple of paces in surprise - and then blushed a furious red.

She wasn't able to meet his eye after that, even as they dragged him out of the room and bundled him into a police car. Dean had already disappeared, presumably in a different police car, and Sam resigned himself to several long days of interrogations and mind games before he saw him again. If he ever saw him again.

That thought chilled him to the bone, so he blocked it out as hard as he could, staring out of the window at the nowhere town passing by instead. They'd get out of this, somehow, manage to escape again, and then he'd finally get off. He just had to hold on to that certainty, no matter what happened.

Chapter Text

Title: 18-6602
Rating: PG
Pairing: Sam/Dean

Henriksen stormed into the office, throwing the door open with such force that it bounced off the wall behind it. Nicholas Kyle, the lead prosecutor on the Winchester case, looked up with a sinking sense of resignation and shut the file he was reading. He'd known this was coming since the last jury foreman had looked over at Sam Winchester's best 'I'm just a harmless puppy dog' face and announced a not guilty verdict.

"You're fucking up my case," Henriksen growled at him.

"It's my case now," Kyle pointed out coolly, but Henriksen wasn't listening to him.

"I handed you the Winchesters on a platter - murders, assault, freaky grave shit and all! How the hell have you managed to fuck it up so badly? They're getting off scot free!"

"Not scot free," corrected Kyle sharply. "They got six months for the museum break in, and the fire arms offences mainly stuck."

Henriksen snorted derisively. "Big deal - what's that, a couple of years inside in total? They've already served half of that! You fumbled the case on all the major crimes - the murders, the bank robbery - all that evidence, and they got away with it!"

Kyle clenched his teeth with annoyance. "That's hardly the prosecution team's fault. You guys handed me a bunch of circumstantial evidence and expected miracles. They had a witness in St Louis who swore blind that whoever assaulted her had been shot through the head, as well as policemen who'd seen the corpse, and the earliest murders all happened while the Winchesters had an alibi on the other side of the country! I'm not a miracle worker, Henriksen."

"We had video footage of them at the Milwaukee bank," started Henriksen.

"And they had the surveillance tapes showing that they weren't in league with Resnick - he was threatening to shoot them!" Kyle interrupted. The jury might not quite have believed the cock-and-bull story about some mysterious serial killer running around so that the Winchesters just had to keep everyone 'safe' in the vault, but there was enough reasonable doubt to get the case thrown out. Same thing happened with the assault case against the SWAT guys - it had been too dark for them to positively ID who it had been. "There's just not enough evidence for any of the cases to stick, and that's not my team's fault. We've worked damn hard on this, Henriksen."

Henriksen huffed a sigh of frustration and collapsed into a chair. "I know," he admitted grudgingly, "It's just damned annoying to watch these two get away with it time after time, just because they scrub up nice and know how to look harmless to a jury."

"Yeah," agreed Kyle, settling back in his chair now that Henriksen had calmed down enough not to put a fist through his face. They shared a quiet moment of mutual frustration, and Kyle glanced back down at the file he'd been rereading - the statement of one of the arresting officers. "You know," he said with a half-hearted smile, "The only crime that we definitely have enough evidence for is incest. How ridiculous is that?"

Henriksen snorted with tired amusement, then stopped, blinked, and looked up at Kyle with overly bright eyes. "Well, why don't we just convict them of that then?"

Kyle laughed out loud, but trailed off when he realised Henriksen was serious. "You're kidding, right?" he asked slowly. "We can't have a trial for consensual adult incest, no matter how disturbing it might be. We'd get laughed out of the court."

"It's illegal, isn't it?" said Henriksen fervently. "Anything that will keep those two monsters off the streets for a few years and stop them from murdering any more people sounds good to me."

"We're not having a damn incest trial," said Kyle, firmly. "The media would go nuts." Almost as nuts as they'll go when we have to let two probable serial killers go after only the bare minimum of jail time, added an annoying voice in the back of his head.

"You said yourself it's the only thing we've got them on one hundred percent," said Henriksen with a shrug. "If that's what it takes to put them away, then that's what it takes."

And damnit if the man wasn't right. Kyle had seen enough photos of mutilated corpses that could be laid at the Winchesters' door to be dreading the day they got out. Surely having his dignity take a hit by prosecuting an incest case was a lesser evil than having murder victims on his conscience?

He looked back at Henriksen's excited, slightly fanatical expression, sighed, and pressed the intercom for his assistant.

"Harry, could you find me a copy of the Idaho incest statute? Thanks."

Henriksen grinned with triumph.




Richard Balmoral had been the defending attorney for the Winchester brothers since a few weeks after their arrest, when their first lawyer had suddenly changed his mind about taking the case. He was well used to the fact that for the first few minutes of a meeting with them, he might as well not be in the room.

"Sammy." Dean always sounded so relieved, as if being separated by the prison system was akin to being thrown to wild animals, and the chances of Sam surviving between meetings was slim.

"Not dropped the soap yet, then?" he asked once his eyes had passed over his brother's body, clearly checking for injuries. That was routine as well - passing off his concern with a joke, as if showing a sign that he cared about Sam's well-being was in some way taboo.

Sam rolled his eyes, but was unable to suppress the smile that had lit up his face the moment Dean had been escorted into the room. "Not yet. How much time have you spent in solitary since last time?"

Dean just gave a casual shrug in answer, and collapsed down into the chair next to Sam. "I like solitary. Only place I can get time to think."

Sam gave him an incredulous look. "Yeah, because you've always been the quiet, introspective type."

"You know what they say, Sammy," said Dean flippantly. "Prison changes you."

Sam snorted disbelievingly, and Richard took his chance to gain their attention. "Sam, Dean," he said, "It's good to see you again."

"No offense," said Dean, finally tearing his eyes away from Sam in order to look at Richard, "but I was kinda under the impression that we wouldn't be seeing you again."

"Yeah," added Sam, "I thought they'd run out of random crimes to charge us with."

"Me too," admitted Richard, remembering the relief of the last not guilty verdict, and the joy that he wouldn't have to spend another case pointing out bizarre and inexplicable inconsistencies in the prosecution's evidence. "Clearly we underestimated the DA's ability to come up with something new and surprising."

"New and surprising?" repeated Sam with a raised eyebrow.

Dean leaned forward with a serious look. "Whatever they try to say, neither of us were the second gunman in Dallas."

"Speak for yourself," Sam muttered.

"It's actually even more ludicrous than that," said Richard, glancing back down at the charge sheet for the millionth time, to make sure he hadn't read it wrong. "I haven't had a chance to look at their evidence, but I'm pretty confident that we can get this thrown out." He paused, perhaps slightly melodramatically, but at least fifty percent of being a lawyer was showmanship, and it wasn't often he got handed a line like this. "They've charged you with incest."

The reaction wasn't quite what he'd been expecting. Rather than laughing it off, Sam visibly winced and Dean cleared his throat awkwardly. Neither of them would meet his eyes as he glanced from one brother to the other and sudden realisation swept through him.

"It's true?" he asked, his voice squeaking on the last word as if he was still going through puberty.

"Yeah," said Sam, eyes on the floor, "And evidence-wise, they've got, at minimum, the sworn statements of all the arresting officers."

"And that guard who came in when I was blowing you in the court holding cell that time," Dean reminded him. "Oh, and our first lawyer, the one who quit after he walked in on us with your tongue up..."

"Yes," interrupted Sam loudly. "Exactly. There's really no way we can get around the evidence for this."

Richard just stared at them. They'd had sex? A lot of sex? With each other? His mind rebelled from the disturbing images, particularly when the thought floated across his brain of what it might be like to have sex with his sister. That was just very, very wrong.

"Fuck this," growled Dean. "I won't lie about it - I'm not ashamed, and it's none of their damn business anyway. What's the worse we're gonna get for it? Another couple of months?"

Richard cleared his throat hoarsely. "The maximum sentence in Idaho, where you've been charged, is life."

Dean stared at him in shock. "Life? You're kidding, right? It's not as if anyone is getting hurt!"

"They can't get us on murder," said Sam slowly, "so they're going to get us on incest just to keep us locked up."

Richard nodded, trying to pull his professional demeanour back together. Come on, you've defended child molesters. This should be nothing compared to that. "That's how it seems," he agreed. "So, there's no way you could plead not guilty?"

Sam shook his head. "No, they've got us stitched up tight. I can't believe that they're actually prosecuting us, though. It's insane."

Richard nodded his agreement, but made no comment, his mind only just starting to move beyond the shock and into trying to work out the best way to defend his clients against what was, as Sam had said, an insane crime.

"We'll tell them it was all me," said Dean abruptly.

Sam turned to stare at him. "What?"

"If we say I forced you into it, they'll let you off," said Dean, then shrugged. "No sense in us both going down."

Sam gaped at him. "Christ, Dean! I'm not going to let you do that!"

"Why not?" demanded Dean. "They're so determined to make it something dirty and wrong, then that's exactly what we'll give them. They'll eat it up - they already think I'm a sociopath, after all, and molesting my younger brother would fit right in with that. You'll be out of jail in a year or so, and you can get on with your life."

"Dean, they'll throw the book at you! Incest would be the least of it. You really think I want to just 'get on with my life' knowing you're stuck inside and labelled a pervert because of me?"

"You got a better idea?" asked Dean, one hand clenching tightly into a fist. "Cos it's that or we both rot inside."

Sam shut his mouth with a snap and glared at his brother. There was another tense silence, and Richard could see Sam's brain working overtime, looking for a solution. After a minute or two, he turned back to Richard.

"When we looked at Lawrence v. Texas in college, the lecturer said that the verdict called into question laws prohibiting incest, polygamy and other similar crimes. Is that right?"

"I guess so," replied Richard, uneasily.

"Then that's what we'll do," Sam said firmly. "We'll fight this on the grounds that interfering in our private, consensual sex lives is unconstitutional."

"You have to be joking," said Richard. "We do that, it's going to be the Supreme Court. I don't have the experience to run a case that big."

"You've done pretty well so far," argued Sam. "And if you managed it, think what it would mean for your career."

Richard hesitated. That was true. Something like this could really give him a boost into the big leagues.

Sam seemed to take his pause as an agreement. "And I think if I ask, my old professor might help - he seemed pretty worked up about the implications of Lawrence v. Texas."

"Sam," said Dean slowly, "you're crazy."

Sam turned to him with a grin, but Richard could see tension in the line of his shoulders. "You said it yourself, Dean - we're not ashamed. Why should we react as if this is a crime?"

"Oh, I'm not saying we shouldn't do it," said Dean, smirking back at his brother, "I'm just saying - you're crazy."

Sam gave a relieved laugh and a half-shrug, as if to say 'well, what were you expecting?' and turned back to face Richard again. "What do you think?" he asked.

Richard sat for a moment and thought it over. Visions of being laughed out of the profession vied with the idea of the glory of winning a case in the Supreme Court and changing a law that would have ramifications for the whole country. He still couldn't shake the twist of disgust in his stomach at the thought of two brothers having sex but his father had always said that you had to gamble in order to get ahead in life. "This is going to get really messy," he warned them.

Sam just grinned. "Being a Winchester is all about things getting messy," he said.

Dean snorted. "Jesus," he said, amusement flooding his voice. "We're all insane."


Chapter Text

Dean sent the first letter, written on the first day they were in prison.


This really sucks. You okay?





Sam replied as soon as he got it.


I'm fine. Don't do anything stupid. I'm pretty sure if we get a good lawyer, we'll be okay – most of their evidence is pretty circumstantial.

Seriously, don't do anything stupid.





After that they exchanged letters pretty regularly. Apart from the occasional meetings with their lawyer, or when they were in court, it was all the contact they had with each other.


Everything's fine.

I called my old professor, and when I told him about our case, he agreed to help. Well, first he was uncomfortable, and said, 'Really? Your brother?' a lot, but once I got him past the initial shock, he agreed to help. He's going to send some research he's got to our lawyer, and I think if we need him, he'll come and testify for us as an expert witness.

I spoke to our lawyer as well, and we've worked out a few ideas for the case. You're not going to like them, but at least think about them before you completely reject them, okay? Balmoral thinks that the prosecution are going to be working the 'sex with your brother is a sign of psychological fucked-up-ness' angle quite hard, and he wants to combat that by having a couple of psychologist expert witnesses, as well as the legal ones.

Thing is, they'd almost certainly want to talk to us. Both of us, about our relationship.

Yeah, I know, but Dean, this could really help the case – if we can prove that we're not psychologically warped, and that things between us are normal balanced and good not hurting either of us, then we'll be one step closer to proving there's no reason for it to be illegal.

Just...just think about it, okay?

Hawkins got released on Tuesday, so I got a new roommate yesterday. He's called Buller, and he's kinda nervous but trying not to show it. I asked what he was in for, and he told me he shot a man just to watch him die, so I'm thinking petty theft and definitely his first time inside. I told him I was in over gun law technicalities, but given the way he's looking at me as if I'm about to snap and cut out his liver with this pen right now, I think some of the other guys told him a different story.

It's dinnertime now – probably that gross chicken thing again. Man, I swear, I'll never complain about diner food again when we get out of here.

From, Sam




Billy Crystal

You're crazy, right? No way I'm talking to a shrink about my fucked up relationship with my little brother. Quit being so disappointed – you can't honestly think I'd do it. Find another way to stop us spending our lives inside.

This is a couple of days late because I was in Solitary. Yes, again, no need to roll your eyes. Someone here found out about the new charges, and I got jumped by a bunch of guys who thought that fucking your brother somehow makes you a pussy. Proved them wrong though – while I was in Solitary, they were all in the hospital wing.

You're right about everybody thinking that incest means I've got to be hurting you. People keep accusing me of taking advantage of you. I'm older, so of course it's all my fault - as if I could ever make you do anything you didn't want to. I'm getting kinda sick of being treated like some kind of kiddie-fiddler. I mean, you were 22! Plenty old enough to make your own damn decisions about whether or not you were going to jump your poor, innocent older brother while he was drunk.

Buller sounds like a pansy. I'm guessing the incest thing has only made him more nervous. Tell him if he does anything to hurt you, your crazy older brother will bust out just to track him down and take him apart.

If you really think it's important, I guess I'll speak to a shrink. It's got to be better than life in this shithole.

Take care of yourself,

De Niro


Chapter Text

When both the Winchester boys were inside, Bobby heard from them far more than he ever had when they were out and free. They didn't have anyone else to call, after all, not with both of them locked up, and only an idiot doesn't use all the chances at outside contact that he gets when stuck in jail.

Sam always called sometime between three and four on a Thursday afternoon, and Dean was around eleven on a Saturday morning. Bobby tried to always make sure he was there for their calls, even when he was in the middle of a job. He knew what it was like to call a hunter and get no answer, and the automatic assumption you always made. He figured the boys probably had enough things to worry about without adding his possible death to the equation.

The boys had been inside for a year or so, and their release dates were slowly creeping closer when Bobby first got an inkling of what was about to happen during one of Dean's weekly calls.

Dean started with asking how Sam was – hell, they both always asked about each other first, and had taken to leaving little messages with Bobby to pass on, as if he was some kind of answering service.

“He's fine,” Bobby told Dean on this particular Saturday. “Said to tell you that he thinks Thursday's meatloaf was Soylent Green.”

Dean laughed. “Yeah, I'm pretty sure he's right. Man, I can't wait to get out of here and eat some decent food. Nice big burger, all the trimmings, extra onions...” His voice trailed off.

“Only another few months,” said Bobby. “Me and Sam will take you out and treat you soon as you're out.” Sam was scheduled to get out about a month before Dean, and had already told Bobby his incredibly detailed plan for his first day out, which included a long, hot shower in a room he could lock from the inside, the most expensive coffee he could find, and going for a run through the woods behind Bobby's place. Both boys seemed to be taking it as a given that Sam would come and stay with Bobby in the gap between his release and Dean's, but Bobby wasn't going to complain. Being taken advantage of was what family was for, after all.

“Yeah,” said Dean, slightly awkwardly. “About that...might not be a few months. Might be longer.”

Bobby groaned. “What've you done now, boy?”

“Nothing!” protested Dean. “Well, okay, nothing recently. They've dragged up something else to charge us with.”

“Thought they'd run out of crap to throw at you,” Bobby grumbled.

“Yeah, us too,” said Dean tiredly. “There just always seems to be something more.”

“Well, what is it this time?” asked Bobby. “Anything that's going to stick?”

There was a long silence from the other end of the phone. “Yeah,” said Dean slowly. “It's...we're pretty obviously guilty. Sam and the lawyer have a plan, but...we might be stuck in here for another few years.”

“Years?” exclaimed Bobby. “Jesus, what've they got?”

“Uh,” said Dean, and then there was a muffled thump. “Gotta go,” he said in a rush. “My time's up.”

“What?” frowned Bobby, but there was only a dial tone before he could point out that he knew exactly how long Dean had, and they weren't even halfway through it yet.

“Well, that was mighty suspicious,” he said to himself, hanging up his phone. What the hell have those boys gotten into now?




Rather than waiting for Sam's phone call to find out what the hell was going on, Bobby drove down for his visiting hours. He didn't usually bother because it was a long drive for half an hour of stilted conversation in front of a bunch of prison guards, but something told him that he'd need to confront Sam face-to-face to get some answers.

“Hey, Bobby,” said Sam, sounding pleased to see him. “You in the area for a job?”

Bobby ignored the question and fixed him with the same look he'd used when the boys were kids who couldn't keep their grubby paws out of the cookie jar. “What's this I hear about you being charged with something new?”

Sam winced. “Um,” he said, glancing around the room at the other convicts and their visitors. “It's probably not going to be anything to worry about. We've got a plan.”

“Yeah, that's what Dean said,” said Bobby. “I've known you boys long enough to know that you having a plan is exactly when I should start worrying.”

“Hey,” said Sam indignantly. “The thing with the fire hose worked, didn't it?”

Bobby snorted. “That was nothing more than a miracle,” he pointed out. “And you're dodging the issue. What is it you've been charged with?”

Sam looked down at his hands, his fingers tightly linked together. “Um,” he said, then seemed to run out of words.

Bobby sighed. “Come on, kid,” he said. “It's not going to be anything I haven't heard before.”

Sam snorted. “I wouldn't bet on that,” he muttered, then took a deep breath and looked up. “We've been charged with incest.”

Bobby felt his eyebrows rise up to where his hairline used to be, and he found himself lost for words for the first time in years.

Sam grimaced and looked back down at his hands. “We, uh...when they arrested us, they kinda burst in on know.” He shrugged one shoulder. “So they've got the testimony of all the arresting officers. And, um, some other people.”

“Incest?!” repeated Bobby hoarsely.

“It's okay,” said Sam, still staring at the table. “Our lawyer's pretty sure we've got a case to get it thrown out on the grounds that the law is unconstitutional.”

Bobby held up a hand. “Stop a minute,” he growled, and tried to get his head around what he was hearing. “You and Dean were having...were doing that?” he asked.

“Uh, yeah,” said Sam. He finally looked up. “It's not...we just...” He shook his head in frustration, then took a deep breath. “It's nothing wrong,” he said firmly.

“Right,” said Bobby, sarcastically. “Course not. Not like you're brothers or anything! Jesus, Sam, what the hell?!”

Sam shrugged. “It's Dean,” he said a little helplessly, as if that should answer all Bobby's questions. “It's's just something we do.”

“For how long?” asked Bobby incredulously.

“A couple of years,” said Sam. “We were drunk and...”

“No,” said Bobby firmly, holding up a hand. “I don't need to hear it.” There was silence for a long moment, then he sighed. “Christ, Sam. You boys are going to be the death of me.”

“Do you think we're sick?” asked Sam, sounding very young. Bobby sighed again, thinking about all the times he'd thought to himself that the Winchester boys were too close to each other, and that it was going to come back and bite them all in the ass one day. He remembered watching one or other of them throw themselves into harm's way to save the other almost every chance they had; the way they always looked to each other first, before anyone or anything else; the way their concept of personal space had never seemed to include each other; and he wondered why he hadn't suspected anything before.

“No, guess not,” he said tiredly. He wasn't about to walk away from them over something like this, so he guessed he was going to just have to suck it up and try not to think about it too much. “I don't want to hear any details, though.”

Sam made a face. “I can't imagine ever wanting to give you any.”

“Keep it that way,” growled Bobby. He glanced around the room again, and noticed for the first time the way the other convicts were glaring at Sam. “Guess not everyone's as accepting as me,” he said.

Sam shrugged. “Nothing I can't handle,” he said.

“Wait,” said Bobby, his ears catching up with his brain after the shock of Sam's revelation, “what did you say the plan was?”

“To get the incest statute struck down as unconstitutional,” said Sam, as if it was going to be simple. “There's precedent in the Lawrence v. Texas case,” he added. “No one's getting hurt, so it's just the law getting involved in our private sex lives.”

“Jesus,” said Bobby, shaking his head. “That's even dumber than the plan with the fire hose.”

Sam grinned. “That plan worked,” he reminded Bobby. “This one will too.”

He sounded completely confident, but Bobby couldn't help thinking that it was going to take more than a miracle to persuade the Supreme Court.




The next time Dean called, he greeted Bobby with his usual, “Hey, Bobby,” but he sounded nervous and Bobby knew Sam must have let him know that he'd been to visit him.

“Dean,” he replied, keeping his voice neutral. He'd spent the last few days trying to wrap his mind around this thing, struggling to contain the mental images and the queasy feeling that the whole idea gave him. It'd had been easy to tell Sam that it was okay when he hadn't really had time to think about it, but now, hearing Dean's voice, all he could think was you had sex with your baby brother.

“How are you?” asked Dean, skipping his usual enquiry after Sam.

“I'm surviving,” he said. “Dean...” He tried to think of more polite way to put it, then figured that he'd never pussy-footed around with them before, and there was no good reason to start now. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I wasn't, really,” muttered Dean.

“That's pretty damned obvious,” said Bobby.

“It's's Sam,” said Dean in a strained voice.“I couldn't have said no. It's a good thing, Bobby. I know that's hard to see from the outside, but it really isn't anything bad at all.”

Bobby sighed. “Jesus, Dean.” He remembered the helpless way that Sam had said it's Dean, and wondered how it was possible for two people to be so wrapped up in each other that not even a tiny chunk of common sense could get in between.

“Come on, Bobby,” said Dean in a way that wasn't quite pleading, but wasn't far off either. “Don't be narrow-minded about this.”

Bobby snorted. “I'm pretty sure this doesn't come under narrow-minded.” he said. “Even the most liberal guys are going to be a bit creeped out.”

“Yeah, but you know us,” pointed out Dean. “You know I wouldn't hurt Sammy.”

“Yeah, I know,” agreed Bobby. “Which is why I told Sam I'd be a character witness if you boys need it.”

There was silence down the phone for a moment. “Yeah?” said Dean, and Bobby could hear the relief in his voice. “Thanks, Bobby.”

“Yeah, well, you're family,” said Bobby, then made a face to himself. “Not, you know, like you guys seem to mean family, though.”

Dean's laugh was shaky. “Yeah, that's a whole world of no,” he said. “So, you saw Sammy? How's he look?”

Bobby sighed to himself, and set about putting Dean's paranoid mother-hen instinct about Sam to rest, wondering why he didn't see this thing between them earlier.




It took Bobby a lot of thinking before he could honestly say he was okay with it, but he got there eventually. Knowing the boys like he did, and hearing how much they missed each other whenever he spoke to them, he found he was able to shove all the instinctive that's wrong out of his mind, and just concentrate on knowing that they were everything to each other. So long as he didn't think about the sex, he was able to accept that.

It wasn't until a month or so later that the media caught on to what was going on, and headlines started to appear screaming things like 'Pervert Brothers Seek To Repel Incest Law.' Bobby was in his local bar, having a quiet beer with a couple of his friends the first time the Winchesters' mugshots came up on the TV.

“Hey, aren't they friends of yours?” asked Nancy the barmaid, and turned up the volume.

“...and Dean Winchester both admit to a sexual relationship going back several years, but claim that the law has no right to interfere in their private lives. Nicholas Kyle, chief prosecutor on the case, said in a statement today that the law is very clear on the subject of incestuous sexual relations, and that he sees no reason in this case to change it.”

The bar went very quiet. “They've been in here several times with you,” said Clive, one of the regulars, slowly, looking at Bobby.

“You know about this?” asked Burt.

Bobby shrugged. “They're good boys,” he said. “Doesn't make any difference to me what they get up to in private.”

The silence grew colder. “It's disgusting,” said Nancy firmly.

Bobby snorted. “It's no one's business but theirs,” he said, because that was something he'd been sure of since he'd first talked to Sam. Even when he didn't understand, it didn't mean he thought they should be punished for it.

Nancy made a shocked noise. “You can't condone this...this depravity?” she said.

Bobby drained his beer. “They're good boys,” he repeated.

“I think it would be best if you leave,” said Clive, standing up. Burt copied his motion and took a threatening step towards Bobby.

Bobby stood as well, and pulled on his jacket. “Fine,” he said shortly. “Guess all the stereotypes about small towns are right.”

Burt scoffed. “Brothers having sex is sick,” he said. “Must be something wrong with you that you can't see that.”

Bobby shook his head at that, but left the bar without saying anything else. The last thing he needed was to get beaten up by people he counted as his friends. Or who he'd used to count as his friends.

He remembered how worried Dean and Sam had been about telling him about the charges, and wondered just how many friends they'd have left after this. Not that they'd ever had many to start with, but now it seemed like everyone was going to be against them. And, it seemed anyone who stood by their side.

Bobby shoved his hands in his pockets and headed back home. It seemed like he'd been facing off against overwhelming odds, side-by-side with the Winchesters for years. This wasn't really going to be any different.


Chapter Text

Sam could hear the chanting coming from outside the courtroom, but he couldn't make out any words because there were two groups competing against each other, trying to shout through each other's slogans. He could guess at them though, after a month's experience. The groups that supported him and Dean tended to use 'Let Brothers Love!', while the other, larger group usually just yelled 'Perverts!' as loudly as they could, as if that was an argument that would win over the judge.

Sam eyed the judge, who seemed to have aged twenty years over the course of this case, wondering if he was thinking that they were perverts. He was shuffling paper while the whole court watched him, holding their breath. Sam could feel Dean's leg jiggling slightly where it was pressed next to his, but he was showing no other sign of nervousness, slouching back in his chair as if their whole future wasn't about to be decided.

Mr Balmoral, their attorney, was rather more obvious about his apprehension. Sam had to admit that he'd done an extremely good job of representing them, arguing the case that consensual adult incest was not a crime, and that sending the Winchesters to jail for it would be a violation of their human rights and against the constitution, but he'd put his whole career on the line in order to do so. The verdict was probably almost as important to him as it was to Sam.

The judge put down his piece of paper and cleared his throat. Dean's leg started to bounce harder, until Sam put his hand on it, holding it down.

"The decision of this court is that the intimate, adult consensual conduct at issue here was part of the liberty protected by the substantive component of the Fourteenth Amendment's due process protections. In the matter of consensual, adult sexual situations, the state cannot justify its intrusion into the personal and private life of the individual, not even where the individuals are siblings. The law prohibiting consensual, adult incest is therefore struck down as unconstitutional."

The court erupted in noise, and Sam turned to grin at Dean, clenching his fist against his thigh with glee. Dean smirked back at him as if he'd never had any doubt about the verdict. Sam couldn't stop himself from laughing with sheer relief, and Dean's smirk broadened to a grin, then he grabbed Sam roughly by the shoulders and kissed him, hard and passionate. Sam didn't hesitate for a second, he kissed him back with just as much heat and passion, pouring all the tension of the trial into it. He dimly heard cameras going off behind him, and the part of his brain that was still able to function let him know that this moment was going to be splashed all over the front pages of almost every national newspaper tomorrow, but he couldn't bring himself to care, not now it was legal for him to want Dean like this.

The bang of the judge's gavel eventually made itself heard through the hubbub, and Sam tried to pull away from Dean. Dean just held on to his face harder and kept kissing him as if he was dying, until Sam elbowed him in the stomach and pulled away. Dean sat back slightly, and gave him a lazy, heated look that promised all kinds of things as soon as they were alone. Sam felt himself flush all over, and turned back to face the judge before he just jumped Dean right there and then.

The judge was regarding him with vaguely disapproving eyes, and Sam felt embarrassment wash through him. "If everyone is quite finished," started the judge, dryly. Sam cleared his throat and shifted slightly in his chair. He didn't hear most of rest of the judge's speech, because Dean kept moving closer and closer to him in slow degrees, the warmth of his body burning through Sam's clothes and making his skin tingle.

When the judge had finally finished citing cases, explaining his reasons, specifying exactly how the law now stood, and banged his gavel again to signify the end of the trial, the court broke up in excitement again. Sam didn't move though, couldn't move as realisation rushed through him. They weren't going to jail, and they'd changed the law - completely rewritten the law books so that they could still have this.

Dean nudged his shoulder after a moment. "Come on, Sammy," he said, "Let's go face the masses."

Sam realised the crowds outside were now making twice as much noise as they had been earlier, and it sounded as if the anti-incest groups were baying for blood, probably his and Dean's. He couldn't really bring himself to care, though, and turned to grin at Dean again. "Let's go have hot legal sex."

"Dude," said Dean, "You read my mind."

They stood up and left the courtroom.




Chapter Text

Karen has been working the evening shift at the same motel for almost twenty years, although it feels much, much longer. Nothing ever changes - the same tired truckers pass through, the occasional family on a cheap holiday, sometimes a business man who didn't have the sense to book ahead at the only decent hotel in town. The motel Karen works at hasn't been decent since before she was born.

When the two men walk in, she recognises them immediately, but she can't quite place where from. They're both handsome, especially by the standards of small town life, and she wonders if she's seen them in one of the magazines that she reads under the desk on long, quiet nights. She always looks at the pictures of local beauty queens and small town girls who made good, and wonders what she could have done to be where they are now.

"One king, please," asks the one with the smug grin, his hand resting on the other's hip as if he'd forgotten it was there, and suddenly Karen knows exactly who they are. The Infamous Winchester Brothers.

It's the picture that was splashed all over the front pages of every newspaper that springs to her mind first - that public, over-the-top kiss inside the courtroom - and she can feel her throat closing up from horror just at the thought of it. That they're here, right in front of her, and that they've done that is enough to make her want to throw up.

"You're not welcome here," she snaps without pausing to think about it, without wondering if Mr Hamilton, the owner, would object to her turning away paying customers.

That wipes the cocky look off his face. "What?" he spits out, his eyes narrowing.

"You and your," she has to pause before she can bring herself to say it, and she knows her disgust hangs heavy in every syllable, "brother are going to burn in the darkest circle of Hell, and I will not have you on this property."

He gapes at her, and the tall one - she can't remember now which one is Sam and which one is Dean - is glowering at her so darkly that she believes what the papers said about them, that they are dangerous killers as well as sick freaks, even if they did somehow get off most of the charges. For a moment she thinks she's about to be killed, then he grabs his brother's belt, pulling him back and away.

"Come on, Dean," he says. "We'll go somewhere else."

They get back in their ridiculously macho car - whole world knows what you're trying to compensate for now, she thinks smugly - but they don't leave immediately. They sit staring at her, and Dean says something that makes Sam clench his jaw and shake his head in one short, sharp gesture. Dean thumps a fist against the steering wheel, and then, finally, they're driving away, and she lets out a breath she didn't know she was holding in.

She locks up early, not caring if Mr Hamilton finds out, and calls a cab to come and take her home, even though it's only a few blocks and she can't really afford it. Somehow she just doesn't feel safe walking home through the dark tonight.

When she gets home, back to her shabby one-bedroom apartment, she locks her door and windows and tries to think of someone she could call who might come and stay the night with her, but there's no one. Even her sister has moved away, not that they'd spoken much even when they lived in the same town.

Karen stays awake most of the night, kitchen knife clutched in her hand as she flinches at every strange noise, and thinks about what her funeral would be like if she was killed tonight, how her death would be splashed across the newspapers. Incest Killers Strike Again! Arlington Woman Dies Fighting Off Psychopaths!

When the dawn comes and she's still alive, she's almost disappointed.


Chapter Text

Love Thy Brother


Dean and Sam Winchester, infamous as the brothers who broke one of society's oldest taboos by falling in love, and then rewrote the law books in order to follow their hearts, are not what you might expect.

Far from being the amoral rednecks that some sections of the media have painted them, they both come across as charming, polite young men, although there's a glint in Dean's eye and a sudden brusqueness when the conversation takes a direction he doesn't like. Sam is more relaxed, all six foot five of his frame sprawled out across the sofa without shame.

In fact, that's the first thing that they both make clear from the start:

"We're not going to apologise for this," says Sam (26).

Dean (30) agrees. "If God didn't want me to fuck my brother, he wouldn't have given Sammy such awesome cock-sucking skills."

Sam visibly chokes at that and reaches out without looking to hit the back of his brother's head in a move that looks practiced.

Dean protests, but without much heat, and Sam's legs fall further open until his knee is pressed against Dean's. It's the only physical sign of their affection throughout the interview, but you'd have to be oblivious to miss the fondness that tinges all their interaction.


Dean and Sam Winchester



The first question I ask is the one I've been wondering about since I first read about their case in the newspaper, thinking about my own siblings and trying to understand the impulse behind taking that unthinkable step.

"How did this start in the first place?"

"We were drunk," says Dean, as if that's all the explanation needed.

"I was really drunk," admits Sam. "I don't even remember it."

"He's a real light-weight," says Dean confidingly. "Two beers and he's singing karaoke."

It's something I can imagine my older sister saying about me, and I'm almost expecting another hit from Sam, but instead he just laughs. "Well, apparently, that time I skipped 'My Heart Will Go On' and kissed Dean instead."

It's hard to imagine ever being drunk enough to kiss any member of my family, but when I point this out they both just shrug in a disconcertingly similar way.

"Well, it wasn't like I'd never thought about it," admits Sam.

"It's just a product of our weird childhood and overly close, slightly claustrophobic domestic situation," parrots Dean sarcastically, paraphrasing some of the articles that have been written by psychologists in the months since the Winchesters became national headlines.

"Which is bullshit," points out Sam. "The Westermarck effect is seen between people who grow up close together, and Dean and I grew up really close - surely it should be stronger in us because of that, rather than absent?"

Dean gives him a gob-smacked stare. "Dude, how do you know all this shit?"

Sam rolls his eyes in a way that instantly reminds me of my younger brother. "You think I realised I wanted to fuck my brother and didn't do research into it?"

Watching the two banter, you can see the underlying bond between them, just the same as any other pair of siblings, albeit stronger. The difference is unexpectedly subtle - no blatant ogling of each other's assets, or romantic hand-holding and adoring looks. The love between them shows in half-hidden smiles and an unexpectedly warm edge to their teasing.

"Do you see each other as brother or lover first and foremost?" I ask, and the response is immediate.

"Brothers," says Sam firmly.

"He's always going to be my little brother before anything," agrees Dean. A moment later, he adds, "But not in a perverted way. Uh, beyond the whole incest thing - I mean, he's an adult and everything. I didn't even think about any of this stuff until he was at least twenty two."

Sam laughs. "Dean's a little worried that people are going to think he's a paedophile," he explains.

Dean scowls at him. "You're not the one cast in the role of sicko who took advantage of his naive kid brother."

"I initiated this," Sam reminds him, and Dean turns to me triumphantly.

"See? He started it," he says, and for a moment I'm reminded of my nieces trying to place blame on each other for a fight.

Another thing that several psychologists have posited is that the sexual relationship won't last, and is just a response to the stress of a hard few of years, with the death of Sam's girlfriend and their father, as well as being on the run from the police, events they both refuse to talk about. When I ask if they ever see themselves moving on, or finding someone else though, it’s clear they've never even thought about it.

"Why would I do that?" Dean frowns, and Sam smiles.

"This is it now, for both of us," he says. He's hesitant when he adds, "We wouldn't survive as brothers if this ended, not in the same way as before, and we don’t do well without each other."

"Jesus, Sammy, do you have to be such a girl about it?" mutters Dean, but he doesn't deny or contradict Sam's statement.

As they leave the room, shoulders jostling together and Dean muttering something in an undertone, I decide that maybe both the psychologists and the Winchesters are right. Maybe their sexual relationship is a product of a stressful few years, but their love precedes that by decades, and they're brothers before anything else. I find myself left with a sudden urge to call my own siblings.