#catnipster69 drabbles

[catnipster69]

Psychosomatic

@spn20fest Week 4: Two of Us Against the World

Sam wanted Dean to leave, he did—to save himself, to leave Sam in this sterile room to rage and thrash and slit his wrists with broken glass and bleed out his poisoned blood. Or whatever it was that Croatoan zombies did when they stopped being themselves and instead joined the stepford-asshole hive mind.

But when Dean locked them both in, Sam let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Dean wasn’t going to save himself; he wasn’t going to leave him.

Sam hated that he was glad. Was the virus already affecting him? Spreading through his veins, making him the vector of his brother’s destruction? Or corruption?

Sam felt a recklessness bubbling up. “Dean, don't do this. Just get the hell out of here.” Sam wanted to infect Dean with his sickness.

“No way.”

“You can keep going.” Sam wanted to hold him close and never let go.

“Who says I want to?”

Sam took a step forward—

There was a knock on the door.

*

Hours later, after the doctor gave him the all-clear—no virus, no effect at all, actually—Sam looked at his brother and wondered what the hell was wrong with him. Because if it wasn’t an illness that made him want Dean this way, then it was just Sam.

It didn’t occur to him to wonder what Dean was thinking when he locked that door on the outside world.

[catnipster69]

Jump the Shark (with Missing Dialogue)

Dean whispers so their newly found brother, Adam, can’t hear, “Listen to yourself, man.”

“You think I’m wrong?” Sam has that smug look on his face that Dean hates.

Dean responds, “I think it's too late for us. This is our life. This is who we are, okay? And it's fine. I accept that. But with Adam, he's still got a chance, man. He can go to school. He could be a doctor. He could marry someone, and not have”—he gestured between the two of them—“you know.”

Sam is angry now. “What makes Adam so special? That he should be allowed to love someone outside of his own family?”

Dean, offended, says, “What, are you jealous of the kid?”

“Are you?”

“...We didn’t have a choice. But Adam does. Adam doesn't have to be cursed to only have sex with his brother. Brothers.”

Sam says, with resignation, “He's a Winchester. He's already cursed. He’d better get on board with the brother fucking, or—”

Dean declares, “No. Maybe I don’t want to share you! Whatever's hunting Adam, I’m gonna find it.” 

“You already looked everywhere, Dean. And I get it, I do. A threesome sounds complicated.”

Dean, finally feeling like they’re on the same page, says, “Well, then I’ll look again.”

happy wincest wednesday everybody! 🎉once again tumblr is rolling out the welcome mat for us 🥹 so nice to feel appreciated

this week, your quest is to click here and then reblog this post with your favourite wincest scene/line/moment from the random episode it gives you!!

bonus points if you get bloodlines or if you take your episode and make something from it, eg. a new post with screencaps or a quick ficlet (or a meme. i hand out bonus points like rice at a wedding.)

[catnipster69]

Lore is Lore

“I never thought I’d say this, but that giant tentacle monster that wanted to copulate with us was unsexy.” Dean shook his head and rubbed at his hands with a wet wipe.

“‘Copulate,’ huh?” Sam grabbed a wipe from the package.

“If you think I don’t know every synonym for a sex act in the English language plus a few in Japanese, then you don’t know me at all.” Dean threw the wipe on the ground. “Point being, I was expecting a little more—I dunno—finesse.”

Sam raised both eyebrows now. “You know monsters are generally pretty gross. Did you think your anime porn was actually going to be accurate for tentacle monster behavior?”

“Lore is lore, Sammy.” Dean pulled a tarp out of the trunk and laid it down across the front seat. Wet wipes weren’t going to cut it.

“Porn is not lore.” Sam pulled off his shirts and unbuckled his belt. “Wait. Are you saying that if the tentacle monster hadn’t been coated in neon yellow slime, and if it hadn’t smelled like roadkill, you’d have been fine when it tried to impregnate you?”

“No! Probably not!” Dean kicked off his boots and shimmied out of his soiled jeans.

“Probably not?” Sam kept his underwear. He looked forlornly at the pile of ruined clothes on the ground when he climbed into the passenger seat.

Dean joined him in the car, not a stitch on him. “I mean, sometimes, according to the porn lore—“

“Not a thing,” Sam interrupted.

“—it can feel good to, you know, be impregnated. You see, the tentacles fit your body just right, and they secrete powerful aphrodisiacs like, uh, sex heroin. Doesn’t sound so bad.”

Sam looked at Dean’s obvious boner. “Porn lore, huh? Maybe you could show it to me when we get back to the bunker. So I can learn. For next time.”

Dean leered at Sam and turned the key. The engine roared to life. “I have so much to teach you, Sammy. So much.”

[catnipster69]

Nuts & Bolts

Dean was deep in the guts of Baby’s engine trying to identify a rattle. Nothing obvious that he could see; maybe if he just tightened those nuts. He called out, "Hand me that socket wrench."

He felt the nut with his fingers and waited for Sam to hand him the wrench. After a minute and no wrench, Dean stood up, careful not to hit his head on the hood. “Socket wrench?”

Sam was just standing there, wide-eyed. Then he blinked and looked down at the tool chest. He rummaged around for a bit until Dean reached in and grabbed the wrench.

“What the hell, Sam.” He turned back to the car, bent over, and got to work. “What were you doing? Looking at my ass?”

“…Pshh! No!”

Dean paused for a moment. Then he got back to work on those nuts. He might have adjusted his stance slightly, just because. In case anyone was watching. 

[catnipster69]

Escalation

Sam called to Dean from the bathroom, "Does this look like mold to you?"

Dean was busy with his duffel. “Who cares?”

“I care, Dean. I don’t want to get a foot fungus.”

Dean laughed. “Remember when you got that toenail crud that made your shoes smell like cheese?”

Sam glared at him. “Yes, I do. I do remember that.”

“Fine, I’ll look. But I don’t know what I can do about it.” Dean bent over and looked at the shower floor. “Where?”

Dean realized too late—he started to straighten, but Sam was already behind him. When Sam slapped his ass—hard—Dean had to grab the shower door to stop from falling forward.

Sam cackled. “You’re such a sucker! That’s four vs. two. You’re falling behind, jerk.”

“Shut up, bitch.” Dean rubbed his butt cheek and wondered how the latest prank war had become an ass-slapping contest. Whatever. It was just what brothers did.

He had an idea for his revenge, though. He’d see how Sam liked having his ass slapped in the shower—without the benefit of clothing to soften the blow. That’d show him. Yup. It was just what brothers did…

[craftablegame]

Ditto. This is my heart for these wonderful brothers written down. And I am a post pandemic fandom joiner, but dang the early wincest fics really hit SO right. I love everything about this, especially the spectrum of loving their platonic canon love, and fandom slashy interpretations. My absolute favorite is the “them (as in each other) as an exception to being straight.”

@catnipster69 once recced me a soulless!sam ficlet/drabble here on tumblr that captured my feelings on this perfectly, if not heartbreakingly. I’m hoping she may find it for me or I will. I think I reblogged it. Gahhhh.

I don't post about it on this blog, I know I have a sideblog for this,, but I think y'all should know that wincest (yes the supernatural brothers) is my otp. I love them so much i love sam and dean I love their weird little relationship and their platonic love and the slashy sexy fanon interpretations. I love them with a queer reading, I love them as an exception to being straight. I love their angst and their fluff, stories of abuse, stories of fake dating, stories of there was only one bed (of which there abound). I love how they love each other more than anything else in the world. I love how their love saved the world.

I love the history of the fandom, the lore. Richard Siken fanfic titles, AO3, omegaverse. All the things that sprung from this great wealth of fanworks, this old and beautiful fandom.

I just thought I should say that. I'm feeling a lot of love for wincest and the old guard supernatural fandom right now.

[catnipster69]

Close Quarters

There were only so many cold showers Sam could take before Dean would start wondering. Even though there was an unspoken rule that shower time was sacred, that didn’t mean Dean was unaware.

But Sam was having a hard time lately, constantly in close quarters with his brother, who in the anemic cooling of the A/C had taken to lounging on his bed in his boxers and a wife beater fresh out of the 4-pack they’d picked up at K-Mart.

When the A/C gave one last whine and a clunk, they both groaned.

“This motel sucks.” Dean lifted up his shirt to fan himself.

Sam stared.

Dean looked at him speculatively. Then he gestured with his chin and said, “You should strip down. You look like you’re gonna die of heat stroke.”

“Uh…”

“Dude, when did you suddenly get shy?”

“I’m not shy.” Sam pulled off his shirt to prove it.

Dean raised an eyebrow. “And?”

Sam still had his jeans on, which he very much didn’t want to take off. “I’m not doing a striptease for you, Dean!”

Dean rolled his shoulders. “Your funeral.” Then he pulled his waistband a couple of inches lower, exposing a thin line of pubic hair. “What, it’s hot!”

Sam thought, Yes it is. So very, very hot. Sam jumped up and went to the bathroom. A cold shower sounded good right about now.

“Don’t use all the hot water!” Dean called after him.

That wouldn’t be a problem.

[catnipster69]

A Late Gift

Dean found the small, wrapped package hidden in the weapons box under some lame-ass girlie gun that he’d never even picked up all these years. It was hard to know how long it had been there, considering.

It was about 3” x 2” and wrapped in—what do you call it—paisley wrapping paper. He weighed it in his hand; it had heft. “Saaaam?” Dean called as he walked through the bunker looking for his brother.

“I’m in here!” He heard Sam faintly from the direction of the library.

When Dean came in, Sam’s expression changed from curiosity to shock.

“So I guess this is yours, then.” Dean held up the box that Sam obviously recognized. “Let me guess. Something for Amelia.” He couldn’t stop the disdain from creeping into his tone.

Sam frowned. Not Amelia then.

Dean should be relieved, but... “Don’t tell me it was for Ruby. Good lord.”

Sam finally spoke up. “Jesus, Dean. I would never.” He shook his head, offended.

“Oh. Oh. I’m sorry, man. I—I didn’t know.” Jess. He held the box out for Sam to take. Dean felt like he was walking on glass shards the rare times Jess came up.

Sam took the box and gave Dean a look he couldn’t recognize. “No… Not Jess.” He ran his fingers through his hair and said, as though to himself, “I can’t believe I forgot about this.” Then he addressed Dean. “It was for you. Remember that last Christmas before you, uh, you know, went to Hell? I was going to give it to you then, but it seemed—I don’t know. I was embarrassed to give it to you.”

Dean frowned. “Yeah. I remember you got me a candy bar and motor oil.”

Sam nodded. “I hid this away, and then you died, and I never thought about it again. But”—he handed the box back to Dean—“Merry Christmas, Dean.”

Wow. His heart was beating in his chest. It was like going back in time to just before they admitted to each other how they really felt. He tore the paper off and hinged the box open. “Is that a Rolex?!” He picked the watch up and admired the steel band and black watch face. “Please tell me you stole this…”

“Of course I stole it.”

“That’s my boy.” Dean slipped it on his wrist and thought he could get used to the heft. Then he thought about the present he had tucked away in his room for Sam. It wasn’t going to be up to snuff now. But he didn’t think they’d accept a return for the large-sized stainless steel butt plug he bought. Oh well.

[catnipster69]

All Better

“What are you doing?”

Sam looked up at Dean across the motel room. He took his thumb out of his mouth to answer, “Huh? Just researching.” He gestured at the pile of books to his right and at the laptop in front of him.

“No, not that. That.” Dean pointed at Sam’s mouth.

“Hmm?” Sam took his thumb out again and looked at it. “Oh, my thumb? I got a splinter. I haven’t gotten around to dealing with it yet.” He shrugged and resisted putting it back in his mouth.

Dean tsked and got up. “I’ll be right back.”

Sam went back to his reading and, engrossed, he was startled when Dean gently pulled at his hand, which had made its way back to his mouth. Dean dragged a chair close and slid the lamp over so he could examine Sam’s thumb in the light.

“I see it.” Then, with surgical precision, he pinched with the tweezers and held up a tiny splinter before exclaiming, “Hah!”

But instead of letting Sam’s hand go, he lifted it, looked intently at a small bead of blood, and after a pause, he brought Sam’s thumb to his own mouth. Sam watched, astonished, as Dean parted his lips and placed Sam’s thumb on his tongue. Then Dean closed his mouth and sucked.

“Uuurgh,” Sam uttered. He felt Dean’s tongue twirl around the tip, over the pad where the splinter had been and around the nail bed. Dean proceeded to explore the entire top joint with his tongue, pursing his full lips and licking around the knuckle.

Too soon, Dean removed Sam’s digit from his mouth with a soft pop. He cleared his throat and said, “There. All better.” Then he picked up the tweezers and the first aid kit from the Impala and left the room quickly.

Sam’s cock throbbed in his jeans. And it was true, his thumb didn’t hurt at all anymore. Or at the very least, he had other things on his mind to distract him.

[catnipster69]

Intrusive Thoughts

Dean groaned when the alarm went off, but he rolled out of bed all the same. Old habits and all that. Dad believed in an orderly life, and Dean had no choice but to fall in line. Crazy to think that Sam used to pull the covers over his head and throw a hissy; look at him now, as regimented as Dad ever was.

“Hey, Sam.” Dean stood outside the bathroom door while Sam took a leak. “You ever considered just—not setting an alarm? We don’t even have a case right now.”

Dean heard Sam shake off the last drops and flush the toilet. Sam opened the door, and Dean shimmied past his brother into the bathroom. He stood in front of the toilet and pulled himself out.

Sam washed up at the sink and looked the other way. “You could at least wait until I’ve left the bathroom. Jeez.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Nature calls, Sammy.”

Sam dried his hands on his shorts. “Every second counts.”

“What?” Dean asked over the flush of the toilet.

Sam leaned against the doorframe. “You asked why we set the alarm. You never know when an hour, a minute, a second will be the difference between life and death. Never sleep any longer than you have to.”

Dean plugged in the electric shaver but didn’t turn it on. “That was word for word what Dad always said.”

“Well, he was right.” Sam turned on his heel and went to dig for clothes in his duffel.

Dean looked in the mirror and turned on the razor. He shook his head and got to work on his stubble. Sammy quoting Dad. Wonders never ceased.

Sometimes, Dean wanted to salt and burn the alarm clock, leave the guns dirty, grow out his beard, pull Sam’s towel off after a shower—but he didn’t.

He washed the hair down the drain, unplugged the razor, and wrapped the cord tightly.

[catnipster69]

Damn Gravedigging

Dean spat in his palm and wrapped his hand around his dick, but the callus at the base of his middle finger chafed. “God damn gravedigging,” he grumbled. He pulled up his pants, flushed the toilet unnecessarily, and opened the door to the motel bedroom.

Sam looked up from his laptop. “Done already?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you usually take longer to jack off.”

Dean crossed his arms defensively. “You listening at the door or something?”

Sam smiled. “I just know you that well.”

Dean looked down at Sam’s hands, wondered if they were smooth. Great. Now he couldn’t get the thought out of his head: Sam putting one of those mitts on Dean’s hard cock, silky but firm. Strong.

“Um, maybe I’ll take a shower.”

Sam smirked and nodded. “Have fun.”

In the doorway, Dean turned to Sam. “You have a dirty mind, Sammy.” Then he closed the door to give it another go. 

[catnipster69]

We Two Monsters

The mug shattered, sending ceramic shards flying.

“You’re getting real good at that,” Dean said approvingly as he wrapped his arms around Sam’s waist from behind.

Sam tilted his head to give Dean access to his neck. A sharp pain before warmth spread straight to his dick. He insisted, “Just a little taste, Dean. I have to practice more, and you know how tired I get when you…”

“When I drink you till you’re desperate and begging me to fuck you? Thought you liked it when I did that.” Still, Dean stopped and rubbed the tiny drops of blood away from the puncture on Sam’s neck.

“Mmm,” Sam mumbled, halfway there just from Dean’s brief drink. Then Sam concentrated on the next piece of kitchenware on the fence, a glass with a Biggerson’s logo on it. It shattered into a thousand slivers. He didn’t even feel a headache anymore when he used his powers this way.

Dean still had his hands on Sam’s hips. He pressed his hard length against Sam’s ass and purred, “You taste better and better, little brother.” And Dean bit hard at Sam’s neck. 

Sam woke up with sticky shorts, a pain in his neck, and arms numb.

“I got you, Sammy, I got you.”

Sam opened his gummed up eyes to see Dean helping him down from where the Djinn had been bleeding him. “Dean?”

“It wasn’t real, Sammy. It was just a fantasy the Djinn gave you…” Dean carefully sat Sam down on a crate. “What was it, anyway? You seemed real happy from what I could see.”

Luckily, Sam was adept at lying.

[catnipster69]

A Really Cold String Bean

A cold wind blew in from the north, cutting through Sam’s canvas jacket and making him shiver. He hugged himself to stay warm and looked at Dean’s leather coat with envy—maybe the only time in his life he’d done so.

“I don’t suppose we could call it a day soon?” Sam’s teeth chattered embarrassingly. Dean put down the binoculars he’d been using to spy on the vamp nest down in the valley below: a rustic cabin that looked warm and cozy, and Jesus, Sam really was freezing if he thought a vamp nest would be cozy.

Dean looked at Sam appraisingly. “You know, maybe if you ate something other than leaves and tofu, you’d have some meat on you; you’re like a—a really cold string bean.” 

The best Sam could manage in response was a roll of his eyes. Even his brain was frozen solid.

“C’mere.” Dean stood up and started to take off his leather coat—Dad’s leather coat.

“Wha—What are you doing?!” Sam asked incredulously.

Dean came over and swung the coat around Sam’s shoulders, pulling on the lapel to fit it in place. “There.” He stood back a step and looked Sam up and down. “It looks good on you.”

Sam didn’t know how to read Dean’s expression, and Dean turned away before Sam could figure it out.

“Let’s get back to the car. I’m freezing.” Dean started the trudge back to the Impala.

Sam watched Dean’s muscles move under his shirt and noticed how his jeans fit the curve of his upper thighs as he moved over the rough terrain. Sam was warm from Dean’s body heat and the extra layer, and—finally—his brain caught up.

Suddenly, Sam was too hot.

Dean turned back. “You coming?”

Sam nodded and hurried to join his brother.

[catnipster69]

It’s Part of the Genre

Taking the dream root was freaky as hell, even though this wasn’t Sam’s first time. The last time he’d taken it—they’d taken it—was before they were together, but it still dug up things he’d wanted to keep to himself.

Now that they’re together, Sam’s nervous about what the dream world will reveal. But Dean has been unconscious for over 12 hours, and this is his best bet to break him out of the curse.

Sam chokes the dream root down; this time, he’s mixed it with pineapple juice in a (futile) attempt to mask the flavor. But the root is bitter, and it doesn’t help that he clipped some of Dean’s hair for the concoction, which causes that slithery feeling in his throat and on the back of his tongue.

The transition between being awake and dreaming is seamless. He can only tell that he’s inside the dream now because Dean is no longer on the cot in the infirmary. The bunker seems brighter while simultaneously being slightly out of focus at the edges. He hears music in the distance, so he gets up to find the source.

He follows it to Dean’s room. The door is open, and Dean is throwing his blankets and pillows on the floor in a corner. A record is playing, and it’s soft and mellow: Air Supply. Dean is wearing his sleeping pants and a black T-shirt. He looks up at Sam, confused.

“What the fuck is going on, Sammy?” Dean is still piling things up, his clothes now since he ran out of bedding.

Sam comes into the room, and that’s when the smell hits him: cinnamon and baking cookies, but strong, like he’s inside the oven with them. He sniffs at the air like a dog, and he’s immediately hard. “Does it smell like snickerdoodles to you?”

“What? What are you talking about?” Dean has stopped piling and is on his knees in the—the nest. He’s looking over his shoulder at Sam, and Sam wants to knock him forward, pull his pants down, and fuck him hard, like a rutting animal.

Sam chokes up, but manages, “This is a dream, Dean. You need to wake up. Remember that woman? She was a witch.”

Dean is now chest down on the pillows. Sam has grown even harder somehow, and when he touches himself, it’s extra hard at the base of his cock, swollen maybe. He takes a step towards Dean, who is coyly looking over his shoulder.

“I feel weird, Sammy. I should wake up?”

Sam thinks to himself, Don’t wake up, don’t wake up, don’t wake up.

And then he is sitting next to the cot. Dean is on his elbows, surprised look on his face.

Later, Sam finds Dean in the kitchen. “So, it looks like our witch was a fan. There’s a whole fan fiction thing where, um, people are like, um, animals.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Animals that smell like snickerdoodles?”

Sam rubs at his face. “Yeah. It’s all part of the genre.”

Neither of them speak of it again. Sam sometimes wonders if Dean was wet down there, in the dream. And was it just the witch imposing her will, or was there something inside Sam or Dean’s subconscious?

For weeks afterwards, Sam has an urge to lick at Dean’s lubed up hole, but he knows it would just taste like lube. Probably.

[catnipster69]

Nerds

Sam had been chatting online with some like minded people, and apparently there were enough of them in Kansas to plan an actual “IRL” meetup.

“I don’t understand why you need online friends. You have me!” Dean insisted as they drove to PiranhaDave’s house in Salina.

“You shouldn’t take it personally. Everyone needs friends; that doesn’t mean you’re not my ‘person.’ Just—you don’t always want to talk about who’s better, Kirk or Picard. Or how to train for a marathon. Or, I don’t know, whether serial killers are possessed by demons or are just evil humans.”

“That’s because I’m not a fucking nerd!”

Sam pursed his lips. “You’re just making my point for me.”

Dean huffed. “Well, I don’t see why I have to come to this thing with you. I’m not going to have anything in common with anybody.”

“Really?! You’re coming because you insisted that I could be walking into a trap set by ‘werewolves or vampires’ or, uh, ‘werepires.’”

“Damn straight.”

When they pulled up to the nondescript brick ranch house, there were a few cars already parked. Sam grabbed 2 six-packs from the cooler in the back seat, and he and Dean walked to the front door. It opened before they could ring the doorbell.

The 20-something man looked up at Sam and asked skeptically, “Lawboy?”

Sam blushed. “Yeah, it’s Sam.” He held out his hand to shake. “And this is my—this is Dean.”

PiranhaDave (“Dave”) invited them in and directed them to the kitchen for the beer. It was a small group—five other guys of all ages standing awkwardly around the snack table exchanging small talk and sizing each other up. Dean grabbed beers to hand around. Sam got roped into a discussion about Game of Thrones. When he came up for air, he saw Dean holding court with a 50-something dude and Dave, who were making egregious heart-eyes at Dean.

The pizza arrived, and they watched an episode of TOS, and even Dean seemed to enjoy it. Sam handed out more beers, and Dean poured vodka into glasses of orange juice he must have found somewhere. Sam would be driving home tonight.

Dean found the Led Zeppelin vinyl and started a sing-a-long using a beer bottle as a microphone. Sam looked through Dave’s classic video game collection. When people started saying their goodbyes, Sam rounded Dean up with an arm around his waist. Dean stuffed some chips and guac into his mouth on the way out, and he hugged Dave and Louis and Jim, all while talking about the fried pickles he was going to bring to next month’s gathering.

Sam crowded Dean against the passenger door and leaned in for a long kiss. Then he drove them home while Dean lounged in the passenger seat making heart-eyes at Sam. It was a good night. 

[catnipster69]

You Can't Go On

Dean stumbled out to the parking lot, drunker than he thought or just feeling the beating he earned after he tried to hustle that biker. His ears rang, and he couldn’t see out of one eye, thanks to the fist he hadn’t seen coming. Now, he just wanted to get to the car and lie down.

Somehow, he made it and leaned against his Baby. He fished in his jeans’ pocket for the keys, which he fumbled and dropped to the pavement. They may as well have been launched into the sun; no way was he bending over and making all the blood rush into his pounding head.

Last ditch, he tried the handle, and the door flung open, almost tipping him onto his ass. He pulled himself upright and thanked the Dean from four hours earlier for being an idiot and failing to lock the door.

With his last operating brain cells, he shook some Advil out of a bottle and swallowed four pills dry. Then he found a rag and pressed it to his forehead to stop the drip, drip, drip of blood. He pressed his palm to the Mark, and it just felt like a scar. It was quiet for now. Finally, he pretzeled himself horizontal and welcomed darkness.

Some hours later, he peeled his gummy eyes open and stared into Sam’s face: annoyed, concerned. Dean sat up and regretted it. The Mark pulsed, still dull, but give it time. Sam chided, “You can’t go on like this.”

Dean agreed. But he and Sam probably had different ideas about what “not going on” would require.