#it could def be filthier but I'm counting this as a first attempt.

[typinggently]

wincest but seasoned with The Boys vibes

inspired by this post.

part 2

—

There’s a lot of talk about the Winchesters. Excellent hunters, destructive maniacs, obsessive adrenaline junkies. Objectively speaking not the best people to be around. None of that really prepares you for how fucking tall they are, though. Sam’s giant hands dwarf the machete as he tilts it, gets acquainted with its weight. "You tried it yet?“

Matthew shakes his head, not taking his eyes off Sam’s hands. Scraped knuckles, ugly fucking watch. "Don’t get a lot of shadow walkers. Too sunny, I guess.“ He hadn’t really meant to contact them, but he’s got too little experience and not enough manpower to take out an entire swarm of the fuckers. So he’d called Anderson who knows Mike who knows Parks who knows Jefferson who knew that the Winchesters were in the area. So here they are now, rummaging through his shit and weighing the 40%copper, 60%gold blade he’s been working on for the better part of a year in their big paws.

"Huh.“ Dean nudges a half-finished blaster with the tip of his muddy boot. It clatters and he pulls back, looking up with one of those pornstar grins that Matthew had gotten sick of approximately ten minutes after they walked into his workshop. "Well, good thing you called. We’ve had a few encounters in our time. Besides, this thing looks awesome.“ He throws a covetous glance Sam’s way, who shakes his head without even raising his head, blade firm in hand. A pouty sigh. "Man, you suck.“

—

Sam doesn’t look any smaller standing in the doorway, his right forearm resting against the upper doorframe, the left hand on the doorknob. His jeans are sitting low on his hips, unbuttoned, and he’s shirtless, his chest gleaming in the golden afternoon. Could be water, could’ve just gotten out of the shower, but Matthew can smell him, fresh sweat, salt and skin. He’s still wearing the watch. "Hey, man. Did’t we say seven?“

"Yeah.“ Matthew clears his throat. "Sorry to interrupt. I just — I followed a new trail and I’m about eighty-nine percent sure that they’re below the old cinema. If we move now, we can scoop out the place before nightfall.“

"Nah, no problem. And that’s great work, man, awesome.“ There’s a lot of muscle mass that Matthew’s not looking at, a flushed chest, pink scratches down his abs, fresh. "We’ll be ready in five, yeah?“

"Make that ten,“ Dean says somewhere inside the room. Sam turns his head, gaze lost somewhere Matthew can’t see from this angle, doesn’t want to see. A twitch in his eyebrows, then a quick flash of his tongue before he sucks on his lower lip, drags his teeth over it. Pink and gleaming wet.

"Yeah,“ he says, then turns his head to Matthew again, a rushed, dimpled smile. "Make it ten.“

Before Matthew can reply, the door shuts in his face. He stands, dumbfounded and still a little dazed, golden skin and musk-sweet sweat, dimples and pink scratch marks.

The slow cadence of Sam’s voice carries through the flimsy wood. No sound of the lock turning, but Dean answers, low and closer, now. The door shakes with the weight of a body shoved against it. Pornstar laugh and Matthew startles, steps back. Kind of regrets asking Judy about her daughter’s ballet rehearsals while she bagged his bell peppers, kind of regrets calling Anderson.

—

"Huh.“ Dean nudges Matthew with the tip of his boot, soaking the dirt on his boots with blood. "That’s ironic.“ In the pale-flickering light of his flashlight, the gleaming-wet intestines spilling out of Matthew’s clawed-open belly seem to writhe and pulse. Dean pulls his foot back.

Sam hums, shifting on his knees to wipe the blade on what remains of Matthew’s shirt, getting the worst of quicksilver-shimmering shadow walker blood off before it gets too sticky. "Didn’t have to happen.“

"Yeah, well. No one asked him to walk tits first into the bunch of em. That’s collateral. And hey —" Dean watches the way the blade flashes in the light, "You lose some, you win some.“

"You’re not getting the machete, Dean.“ Sam squints, turns the blade again, apparently satisfied with his work. "Not like we get a lot of walkers. And anyways, you damn well know you always aim too high. If this hits bone, it’s shattered. And we’ll have to take care of it, this guy isn’t going to make us a new one any time soon.“ A nod towards Matthew’s pale face, freckled with blood.

"Man, c’mon.“ Dean pouts, makes it pretty. Doesn’t even get a glance, so he adds some honey to his voice, sweetens the deal "I’ll torch him?“

Sam doesn’t respond, gets up with his eyes still on Matthew. Dean narrows his eyes. Not quite playful yet, just — challenging, maybe. "Ok, what about this. I do the torching and I blow you on the way back to the motel?“

A pause. Sam flicks his eyes towards him at least, throws him the lighter. Dean catches it, grins. Score.