schizosamwincester

[schizosamwincester]

Go big or go home :)

[schizosamwincester]

Oh hey! If we're talking about Sam with bad joints, @biromantic-nerd headcanons him with EDS! Here, read their post!

But yeah, you don't have to tell me twice that Dean is aro AF

I've decided that you have seen enough supernatural for me to start bothering you with my wincest Wednesday questions. Please feel free to ignore this if you don't want to do it, and don't feel like you actually have to answer on Wednesday. I do these weekly.

Happy wincest Wednesday!

So. It is a time honored tradition in every fandom to headcanon your blorbos with the same traits as you. Hobbies, kinks, disabilities... Literally anything. As long as it means you get to look at the character and go "it me!" So. This lovely Wednesday, tell me what traits you project onto Sam and/or Dean!

(I already know at least one thing that keeps getting posted in your liveblogs, lol)

- @schizosamwincester

THERES A WHOLEASS WEDNESDAY ABOUT IT???

but, basically,

(a given of a headcanon, but we project regardless)

also sam can have shitfuck joints that flare for no reason. as a treat. get that boy some tensor bandage. he'd look hot in wrist wraps too. a rare plus side of me projecting my fuckass issues onto the characters.

[schizosamwincester]

[schizosamwincester]

Happy wincest Wednesday!

So. It is a time honored tradition in every fandom to headcanon your blorbos with the same traits as you. Hobbies, kinks, disabilities... Literally anything. As long as it means you get to look at the character and go "it me!" So. This lovely Wednesday, tell me what traits you project onto Sam and/or Dean!

- @schizosamwincester

Happy Wincest Wednesday!

As an autist, autism!Sam is so dear to my heart. Finger biting babygirl with deep and narrow interests, even got the fawn and people-pleaser social skillset because as long as you're nice to people, in the short term they tend not to notice that you're Incredibly Weird. The supernatural creature special interest is handy, and probably came about because Sam, as the precious innocent that Dean and John tried to protect from the life and thereby left isolated and neglected, would try to prove himself capable of being a hunter and part of the family (and not a monster himself) by dedicating himself to research. But I really like leaning into how broad that knowledge can be, with how research into such convoluted topics like cryptozoology can go. Sam doesn't just know monsters/signs/how to kill them, but also where their myths originated, how they affected surrounding cultures/religions throughout the ages, if there are sister myths and how they're different. And he's got incredible beef with any new age and sci-fi authors who tried penning an authoritative book on supernatural creatures and didn't do as much research as he did - and he knows these authors by name. (...cryptozoology was neeeeeverrrr my special interest nooooooo....) I also think Sam has an attitude towards art/drawing that's similar to my own. Canonically, we know that Sam can draw, especially in the early seasons (and John doodles a fair bit in his journal too, in a similar black and scratchy style, unless John was tossing his journal over to Sam and telling him to draw him a werewolf on the margins). I personally ascribe to 'the easel in What Is And Should Never Be was Sam's and not Jess' ' and I think that Sam has had a number of romantic partners who tried to encourage him as an artist (Jess and Brady taking him to student art exhibits, Sarah talking to him about art history and styles, Amelia might have tried to sign him up for a community center watercolors class). But, Sam would never describe himself as an artist, he just draws. He isn't trying to convey anything, he doesn't want to really invest a lot of energy or time or identity to the hobby, he just wants to doodle on some scratch pads to ease his own boredom or to serve a function.

For Dean, I don't mean to, but as a socially repulsed autist it's hard for me to write extroverted or non-anxious characters, and for some reason Dean's my outlet for that on the first draft. And sure, I think Dean can be worried and can be very aware that he doesn't fit in with or relate to most of the people around him because of what he knows and what he's been through, but most of the time when I'm in Dean's head and planning for the team to meet with someone, he's the one that's like "I don't waaaaaant tooooo it'll go baaaaaaad they'll try to kill my Sammyyyyyy" I also like giving Dean a service kink. Like, he'll ask "Was it good for you?" every time, but he looks forward to hearing that he blew someone's mind arguably more than getting off himself. He wants to hear and know, in depth and for himself and with every sense and full honesty, that he's pleasing his partner in ways that will make them remember him fondly for weeks or years to come. Also, related to autism!Sam, I like giving Dean ADHD traits that my wife has, so Dean doesn't really enjoy reading long books and he can get some words switched around, and he *needs* sound stimulation or kinetic outlets at all times. Bouncy leg!Dean is something that can be so precious.

Thank you for the ask! There were a couple things I didn't even realize I had projected on the boys XD

[schizosamwincester]

remembered this and took endless psychic damage

[schizosamwincester]

Here I am, posting something similar like the fibro post... this one goes out to my psychotic folks🫶

[schizosamwincester]

Do I make myself write tonight or not? On the one hand it's been a while. On the other... It's been a while

[schizosamwincester]

(╹ -╹)? so what would your suggestions for writing an aplatonic character be?

Hmm... Okay well, maybe this is a bad point to start off on, because it involves me making an assumption about whoever is reading this, but I'm going to start with it anyway because it's what I thought about first. I figure that if you're asking this question, there's a pretty high chance you're some flavor of aspec. I think alloplatonic aces and/or aros are the ones most likely to want to give other aspecs representation. And if that is the case and you are somewhere on the a-spectrum, the biggest thing I can say is that if you ask me, all aspec experiences are the same. Like yes, the way society treats romance, sex, friendship, family, etc are all different and so being aro, ace, apl, afam, etc are all different, but so many of the basic experiences repeat.

You hear a lot of aces and aros talk about how they either picked someone at random to say was their crush as a kid, or they just picked the person who seemed nicest. They weren't aware that other people didn't choose one by some method, they had actual feelings for them they couldn't control. Similarly, when I ended up in different classes and a different lunch than all my friends in school and quickly discovered that if I didn't want to have lunch alone, I needed to make new friends, what did I do? I found a person who had a lot in common with me (at the time, being very good at school and coming from a conservative Christian background) and went "yeah, I should probably try and be her friend." There was absolutely no emotional desire—it was just logic.

And a lot of this applies to all queer identities, honestly. How many stories do we hear about someone coming out as bi, and their mom says "oh, I just thought everyone was interested in girls and boys?" We all just assume that our experiences are normal. So just as a trans person might have assumed that everyone feel disconnected from their bodies or an aromantic might assume that crushes are exaggerated to create drama in media, an aplatonic might assume that everyone only really cares about their friends when they're there and doesn't miss them when they're gone. They probably aren't going to understand why some people are so reluctant to try new things if they don't know anyone there, because to them, whether they're surrounded by strangers or friends doesn't make much difference. Etc.

So that's one thing I'll say. You can very much take your own experience of what queerness is like and map it onto the norms about friendship.

I think one thing that is important to mention is that if we are comparing to other aspec experiences, you'll see a lot of narratives, both in fiction and real life, where aro and ace characters have never been in those kinds of relationships because they never wanted them. That's almost impossible to have as an aplatonic. Even if you were the kid who was ostracized for one reason or another, there's always that one exception. People will try to adopt people who have no friends. People will declare themselves your friend even if you just see them as "that person I carpool with to rehearsal and talk to sometimes." It is almost never socially acceptable to say "no, actually I don't want to be friends." If you're a child, you'll often get punished for it; if you're an adult, you usually have to nod along to whatever they say and pretend to care and hope that eventually they notice that you'd prefer to be left alone. Obviously aplatonics with friends and who like having friends exist (hell, I'm one) but even those who don't tend to have someone just because it is extremely hard to be completely left alone if you participate in anything at all. And even if we might not consider the people we do hobbies with or talk to sometimes friends, that doesn't always go both ways.

And of course, you do need some kind of support network in the world. If you're alloromantic, aplatonic, and monogamous, you might want your partner to be the person who meets all of your needs and is everything for you... but that might not be practical. They might not like that. And if you're not in that kind of relationship, you may end up having friends for utility. It's easier to find a sexual partner if you can go along with also being their friend. Again, you might want someone to talk to about a hobby or shared interest, and in order to get that, you also have to perform the role of friendship.

The whole idea of friendship needing to have a purpose or reason or place is a big thing to me. Like, as a kid, I didn't make any friends in my dance classes for years, and I didn't care because in my eyes, I wasn't there for socialization, I was there because I liked to dance. So who cares? But meanwhile, at lunch in school? Friends have a purpose at lunch. You need a place to sit, and you need something to entertain you while you eat. So finding people to be with at lunch is important. Recess is the same way. At work? I have absolutely no interest in being friends with my coworkers. I'm at work to do work. Even if I have downtime, I still generally want to spend it on some other kind of "work" like writing. If I want to friend, that's a separate activity. I friend in my free time.

So to me, being aplatonic means I think about people's specific roles in my life and what they fill, instead of just the vague idea of friendship and that I like having people around. One friend is useful as a writing partner who I do writing sprints with. Another is nice because they're in a different time zone, so they're often awake and around during the part of work where I get bored and all my friends are asleep. Another has known me through all my mental health struggles and is generally a great listener, so they're useful to talk to about that stuff because they already have all the necessary context and immediately understand things. And yeah, as I mentioned before, another is just a really good lay, but we aren't going to only screw for twelve hours straight, so friendship does happen in the breaks in between.

And a final note — being aplatonic means I really don't mind leaving people behind. If someone moves away? I enjoyed them while it lasted, but I'm not going to be super inclined to keep things going. There are plenty of other fish in the sea. A play I'm in ends, so I won't be seeing that group of people every day anymore? Even though I really enjoyed working with them, I'm not going to mind or miss them especially. If someone actively ends a friendship with me? Well that's different. That's a form of rejection, and could be the result of me hurting them in some way or an argument that went badly. All of that is going to sting, if nothing else, because it's a form of failure. I did something wrong. But if circumstances change or we just grow apart? I'm not going to mind.

I've said this before, but that's the aplatonic story I'd really like to see. So many stories are about people who go on some big quest or adventure, and in the process it ends up creating these strong unbreakable bonds between them. They're closer than brothers now. They will never be separated again. You can see that everywhere from Lord of the Rings to Shrek and Donkey. I want to see the story where the group gets along well and they accomplish everything they set out to do, but at the end they all go their separate ways again. There aren't any hard feelings. If they run into each other again in their travels, they'll greet each other happily. They wouldn't mind working together again. But they aren't trying to stay together or stay in touch, either. It happened, and now it's over, and they're more than happy to move on.

... Shit that was long. Well I hope it was helpful!

[schizosamwincester]

What if I said that Dean Winchester was possibly on the Aromantic spectrum

[schizosamwincester]

i think its cute that they made dean jerk off to softcore magazines and hentai and silly casa erotica dvds when in reality he'd be so desensitized to porn the stuff he watches to get off is borderline illegal. leg in a bear trap and punches in the face to cum type of shit. he's got friction burn on his dick he probably needs to smell povidone iodine to cum

[schizosamwincester]

And here is where I disclose that this was inspired by me considering the dynamics of Misha/Jensen/Jared (who are listed in A/B/C order)

You know how in rock-paper-scissors, rock beats scissors, but scissors beat paper, but paper beats rock? I think we should make that a thing but in shipping triads. So like, character A tops character B if they fuck, but character B tops character C, but character C tops character A. I think that would be very funny and interesting.

[schizosamwincester]

Idk, seemed like a fun question

[schizosamwincester]

shoutout to everyone with forget disorders (adhd, DID/osdd, ptsd/c-ptsd, asd, dementia/alzeheimers, schizophrenia, other psychotic disorders, major depressive, chronically ill/phys disabled people with brain fog, people with long-Covid, natural memory degradation, and etc.)

[schizosamwincester]

I was going through tonight and leaving comments on stuff I never commented on and found a perfect example of this. The Freedom to be Loud. If you are into reading fic where Sam Winchester gets sexually abused as a child, I cannot recommend it enough. Just a great example of how much better it is to show nothing.

it’s probably just personal preference, but i find that in stories about abuse, especially child abuse, i get more mileage out of ones willing to lean into implication rather than play it up for the viewer. it’s almost like there’s this voyeuristic separation between the audience and the situation the minute things become too obvious. subtlety out the window and someone getting slapped across the face, you know? not that that’s not unrealistic, that happens, but that it becomes like the violence of an action movie. feels bad, but you know it’s not really happening.

i remember this book we had to read in high school that just had pages upon pages of physical child abuse, all extremely detailed, constant, relentless, downright gory. i don’t know if it was a good book. i know that i started skipping whole sections because i wasn’t getting anything out of it. it just kept going. i already knew what would happen. there wasn’t anything i added by witnessing it.

it feels unnatural to see it all out in the open like that. on a page or on the screen. because that’s not how that happens. that’s not how it happened. it happens when people aren’t looking. when the door shuts. when you’re home and you don’t have any way to get help. no one’s looking and no one’s listening and it’s happening just out of sight.

so it always feels like a stronger story the less you see, to me. maybe that leaves things up to the audience too much, and some of them will deny it’s even happening, but. well. and the characters don’t get frozen in place for their assigned moment of martyrdom where they take a beating for our catharsis, to reassure us that we’d recognize what was happening if we could see it. everyone’s the person getting kicked, and no one has to worry about if they saw themselves in the one doing the kicking. but if you don’t get to see it, you have to decide for yourself that it happened. that it matters. does that make sense?

[schizosamwincester]

I don't want to sound like an ass, but if there's one thing I don't understand, it's when I post a fic and the post on here gets like, 10 notes. And then I check the fic and it has 3 kudos. Like. So are people liking and reblogging fics they just didn't actually read? Or are we not leaving kudos on stuff anymore? Because I think either liking a fic enough to reblog but not to kudos or reblogging a fic you just straight up haven't read are both very strange. Like I get when people reblog with like #to read (or that one account that rbs me sometimes that's just someone's reading list) but most of the time it's just regular old likes and reblogs. From people who seemingly didn't actually read the thing. And I just don't understand why you would do that.

[schizosamwincester]

in season 5 sam and dean should've been like "we'll be vessels for archangels sure but we wanna switch" n michael and lucifer are both like "??? no?? fuck you????" and everything else still happens

[schizosamwincester]

No, but imagine after Dean's death, Sam goes to Dean from another universe just to see his brother's face again.

After Dean’s death, Sam stays in the bunker for a week.

He puts all the books back in their places, mops the floors in the library and the kitchen, packs his things into bags and throws out the trash.

He enters Dean’s room on the last day before he leaves. The soft pillow still smells like Dean — a mixture of aftershave, acrid gunpowder, and the faintest hint of something Sam has no name for. To himself, he always identified it as Dean's scent.

He spends four long hours in the room. First, he forces himself to release the pillow from his grasping fingers, and then begins to slowly and carefully collect Dean's things. The old, worn records become one pile, the magazines and newspaper clippings another. Dean's clothes are scattered all over the room, from the closet to the desk, and Sam puts on one of Dean's shirts, inhaling deeply, trying to catch the last of his scent. Sam carefully packs the photographs that Dean has kept all this time into a tin box and puts them in the bag with the important things. He still doesn't dare to touch his brother's unmade bed or remove the bedding. When Sam leaves the bunker, Dean's room is the only evidence that someone lived there.

Surprisingly, he has a lot of options of where he can go. A couple of days ago, Jody had carefully hinted that she and the girls had made room for him in their house, while Garth had openly told him that he was afraid to leave him alone and would be very happy to have Sam over to his house soon. Sam had even received an invitation from Cesar and Jesse, who had promised him a warm welcome, which Sam had carefully declined. Right now, he had only one place he wanted to go.

Finding them wasn't as hard as Sam had feared. They hadn't gone to Brazil, as Dean had advised, but had just settled in California, and Sam thought with a chuckle that Dean would have something to say about that.

The drive takes more than a day, and when Sam closes his eyes from exhaustion, he doesn't check into a motel, but instead curls up in the front seat of the Impala, leaning against the window and trying to get a few hours of sleep. Miracle is snoring loudly behind Sam, and it's the only thing that gives Sam some semblance of comfort.

When he pulls up to their house, there's only one figure at the door, and Sam tries to shake off the uncomfortable feeling of grief he's been hiding all this time. He knows the person he's here for is probably waiting for him inside.

Sam gets out of the car a little slowly, as if delaying this moment, although he understands that it’s stupid. He needed it himself, there was no point in being afraid now.

Miracle jumps out of the back seat much more actively and cheerfully than Sam, and then happily runs towards the figure, resting his front paws on the man's stomach and happily wagging his tail. Sam takes a deep breath, following the dog.

"Hey," Sam says first, looking closely at his reflection in front of him.

Sam from another universe looks much better than he does, he is sure of it. The man bun still sits firmly on his head, a light silk scarf is tied around his tanned neck, but the most important thing is his gaze, which is not burdened by loss and loneliness. The only thing Sam can accurately detect in another's eyes is sympathy, but Sam tries to pretend that he doesn't notice it.

"We thought..." the other Sam begins, but then trails off, distracted by Miracle, who is still happily curled around his legs, not at all confused by the fact that his owner has an exact copy of himself. "We thought that it might be best if I met you alone," the other Sam finally breathes out, shrugging.

Sam is grateful for that. He'll probably need at least a few minutes to gather his strength to step foot inside their house.

"He's waiting for you inside," the other Sam continues, nodding slightly towards the room. "I'll hang out here. Keep company to..? "

"Miracle," Sam says immediately, stroking the dog's ear. "His name is Miracle."

"Miracle," the other Sam repeats, smiling and shaking his head understandingly. "I hope he likes our frisbee," and then the other Sam steps away from the front door, patting Sam on the shoulder encouragingly and calling the dog to him.

Sam takes a few deep breaths before finally stepping inside.

The house they had acquired was clearly different from the bunker, but most likely not so different from the house in their world. The bright entryway flows smoothly into a spacious living room with sophisticated design and decorations, but Sam walks past it, not concentrating on the obviously expensive furniture and fancy plants in pots hanging on the wall.

Sam finds him in the kitchen. Two mugs of steaming coffee are on the table, the baby blue curtains are fluttering in the light breeze from the open window, and he’s standing with his back to Sam, but even so, Sam feels his breath catch and his eyes begin to sting unpleasantly.

Dean turns to him slowly and carefully, as if he's afraid to scare him, and then his lips stretch into a slightly sad smile and he awkwardly pushes one of the mugs towards Sam, as if making the first move.

Sam doesn’t try to fool himself with hopes and deceptions. He knows this isn't his Dean, he always knew it, even when he first dialed their number to arrange a meeting.

This Dean was softer and gentler, his brows not furrowing at random moments, and his green eyes not lined with bruises and tired lines from lack of sleep. His hair seemed lighter than his Dean's, and even his quirky clothes (seriously, who wears a cardigan in the California heat?) softened the angles of his body. The final piece of the puzzle is his voice — calm, melodic, and as soft as he is.

"Hey, Sammy," sounds too loud in the quiet kitchen, and Sam involuntarily flinches, but immediately tries to control himself, although it’s not easy.

It's not his brother, he knows that, he's been telling himself that the whole long drive here, but it's still Dean. It's still his big, green eyes framed by long, fluffy lashes, it's still his sharp nose and soft, full lips. It's still his big hands, which always looked smaller next to Sam's. It's still Dean, just not the one Sam can pull into a hug and stay there forever, never letting go.

"Hi," Sam finally breathes out, and then clears his throat to get rid of the tremor in his voice. He steps forward tentatively, not taking his eyes off Dean, to which Dean only nods approvingly, pulling out one of the high chairs and offering it to Sam, sitting down on the chair next to him and clutching his mug in one of his hands.

Sam tries to come up with some kind of coherent sentence in his head to start a conversation, but he can't. His eyes dart hungrily over Dean's face, and all he wants at the moment is to bury himself in his arms and hear his big brother's voice tell him that everything will be okay, but Sam knows that would be a lie. There will never be such a thing as "okay" in his life again, without Dean it's just impossible.

"How are you holding up?" Dean finally asks quietly, breaking the silence first, and Sam curls his lips into a half-smile, half-grimace, shrugging uncertainly. It's kind of ironic that Dean asks him how Sam is coping with his death.

"I'm holding up," Sam answers simply, and that's almost true.

He hadn't counted how many times he'd cried out loud this week, and grasped at his hair painfully, trying to pull himself together. He hadn't counted how many times a day he'd eaten, or how many hours he'd slept, none of it made any sense. Deep down, Sam supposed he hadn't slept a wink in seven hellish days.

"That's good," Dean breathes, looking down for a second, his long lashes casting faint shadows across his face. Sam automatically reaches out to touch him, but quickly pulls himself back, gripping his knee tightly instead, trying to compose himself. And Dean notices it, of course he does.

This Dean may be less traumatized and less guarded, but Sam is sure that even in another world, another Dean cared about another Sam the same way his Dean cared about him.

"You can touch me if you want. It's okay, kiddo," and as if to prove his point, Dean holds out his hand first, palm up, offering it to Sam. It's a few slow seconds before Sam dares to touch it. He carefully places his hand in Dean's, biting back a sob when Dean squeezes his hand in his own, then laces their fingers together, covering Sam's hand with his other hand on top, giving him the warmth and comfort Sam needs.

"Okay?" Dean asks, and when Sam nods, Dean hums approvingly, squeezing Sam's hand again. "You want to talk?" Dean asks again, his older brother instincts clearly kicking in. And Sam wanted to. He wanted to talk the whole way here, wanted to say everything he hadn't had time to say back in the barn, but when Dean asks, he shakes his head no, sniffling and pressing his lips together. It's getting harder and harder to hold back the tears. "Then can I talk?" Dean asks carefully, as if he were approaching a frightened, wounded animal, trying to convince it that he wants to help. This time Sam nods in agreement.

"Okay," Dean says, exhaling and shrugging. "When you called... I'm not going to lie, at first I thought it was an invitation to a party or something," Dean tells him with a small chuckle, and Sam can't help but chuckle back. "But then when we arranged to meet up and Sam, my Sam, hung up. We kind of cried together," Dean admits, and somehow Sam understands him perfectly. They might be the same people from different worlds, but they weren't close, and yet Sam doesn't feel like Dean's confession is weird or out of place. It's comforting, it lets him know that Sam is not alone. "I'm not going to tell you that you're strong and that you can handle anything, I'm sure people you know have told you that and you know that yourself. But Sam... Sammy," one of Dean's hands falls on his cheek, and Sam feels a few traitorous tears escape his eyes, rolling down his cheek and hiding under Dean's palm. "If you ever need anything, we're here, okay? I'm here."

And when Sam finally lets his guard down, shaking with sobs, Dean doesn't hesitate a second, pulling him into his arms and, just like his Dean, running his hand through his hair, stroking and soothing.

This Dean doesn't smell like his Dean. Instead of aftershave, Sam feels a light trail of cologne, the sharp smell of gunpowder is replaced by the smell of freshly baked goods, which is completely unusual for his Dean, but deep down Sam feels something similar to his brother, and he presses himself closer to the other Dean, trying to inhale as deeply as possible, to fill his lungs with this smell so that it stays there forever.

"Let it all out, Sammy, like this," Dean whispers in his ear, and Sam obediently follows his words, habitually trusting his older brother's voice, listening to his instructions. "It will be okay, kiddo, you'll see."

"It can't be okay because he's not here," Sam sobs, and it feels like he's finally admitting it to himself. "It feels like I can't breathe properly without him. It physically hurts not to have him around." Sam's voice is shaky and muffled from the way he's still burying his face in Dean's shoulder, but Dean keeps holding him tight and gentle, running his fingers through the tangled hair at the back of his head.

"I know, Sammy. Trust me, I understand."

"And all I want to do is give up and just be with him again. It doesn't matter if it's heaven or hell, I just need to be with him and tell him all the things I never got to tell him in the time we had. But I know that's not what Dean wanted, and that's the only thing keeping me here. But it's getting harder and harder to hold on, and I can't."

Sam notices too late that Dean has shifted their position slightly, so that their foreheads are touching and they are sharing the same breath. It should feel strange and wrong, this Dean is not his Dean. This is a stranger with his brother’s face and voice, but Sam is too broken and desperate to care. He meets Dean’s eyes across from him, and at this close he notices that they are not as green as his brother’s. The other Dean has little blue flecks and his eyelashes seem more brown than black, but when the other Dean gently tucks Sam’s long hair behind his ear, Sam cries louder and harder, no longer thinking about how the other Dean and his Dean are different. Instead, he tries to focus on the ways they are alike.

"Tell me what you didn't get to tell him," Dean says, and it doesn't sound like an order or advice, it sounds like an offer, like a chance to fix everything, and at this moment Sam is ready to grab at any opportunity to somehow calm the raging pain inside. "It's okay, Sammy, I'm here, tell me."

"I think about you every night and I can't stand the thought that I can't come into your room and fall asleep in your arms anymore. I've been in love with you since I was sixteen and every year I've loved you more and more and I know that I'll never stop loving you because it's impossible. I missed you even when you were around because I always didn’t have enough of you, but now that you're gone I miss you every second, every damn moment and I just want it all to stop and make it easier for me, but at the same time I know that you were the only one who could make it better. You were always the only one, Dean, and I don't know how to be without you because I can't. I can't and don't want to learn to be without you and it's not fair, it's just not fair."

Sam isn’t ashamed of his tears or his words. The line between the other Dean and his Dean has been erased, and now all he can see in front of him is his brother's familiar face, looking at him with tenderness and love. And if this was a fantasy that would last only a few seconds, Sam is ready to believe even that.

When Dean's warm lips touch his forehead, Sam feels his breathing even out slightly. Dean kisses his closed, wet eyelids, and Sam feels his heart squeeze less painfully than before. Dean kisses the red tip of his nose, and Sam squeezes it out of habit, the way he always did when Dean kissed him there. Finally, Dean's lips touch his cheek, and Sam slowly comes to his senses, remembering where he is. The other Dean looks at him uncertainly, and they both understand. His Dean would have left one last kiss on his lips, but his Dean is gone.

"There you go, Sammy, it's okay," Dean soothes, cupping his wet face in his warm, soft hands, and Sam whimpers, wrapping his fingers around Dean's wrists, holding him close. "Come here," and the next thing Sam knows, he's back in Dean's arms, calming down.

They don’t know how long it’s been. Sam continues to quietly cry on the other Dean's stupid cardigan as Dean slowly strokes his hair and back, bringing him back to his senses. The other Sam doesn't bother them during this time, and deep down Sam is grateful for that. The other Sam probably understood him better than anyone else.

"You're not coming back, are you? Is this our last time?" Dean whispers, still not stopping his soft, overly gentle caresses. Sam manages to squeeze out a quiet "yes" only after a few minutes.

He doesn't want to think about how exactly Dean realized it. He doesn't want to think about what gave him away, his voice shaking too much or his touching too desperately, but he doesn't see the point in lying about it. Sam had originally intended this meeting as a farewell.

"And I can't change your mind?" Dean asks hopefully, but Sam just shakes his head, closing his eyes and trying to savor the last moments in his brother's arms. The only one who could make Sam change his mind was his Dean, and unfortunately, despite how similar they were, the other Dean wasn't his. "I understand," Dean assures him, but Sam can still hear the disappointment in the other man's voice. He squeezes his eyes shut tighter.

"Tell me it's going to be okay," Sam asks, and he knows it sounds childish. It's the same tone he used to ask Dean to buy him a lollipop or remove a big bug from his bed when he was a kid, but he feels no shame in it now. He wants to be a little brother for at least a few minutes before reality hits him like a big wave and Sam becomes just Sam, an orphan without parents or a brother, a man who has lost the love of his life.

"Everything will be okay," Dean says immediately, pressing a light kiss to the top of Sam's head, and Sam exhales, relaxing. "And I'm with you, always. Wherever you are, I'm always with you, don't forget that. It'll be okay, I promise. It's always darkest before the dawn, right?"

Sam hugs Dean tighter. And when Dean whispers "I love you, Sammy" into his ear, Sam feels alive for the first time in a long time, breathing out "I love you too."

When it's time to say goodbye, Sam gently wipes the tears from the other Dean's face and gives him a genuine smile before quickly kissing his cheek and whispering "be happy." Sam doesn't give him another hug or turn around as he leaves the kitchen. He knows that if he does, he won't be able to leave.

The other Sam is waiting next to the Impala, taking the frisbee from Miracle and scratching the dog's head. When Sam steps into the driveway, the other Sam's head snaps up and he stares at him. Sam is certain that the other Sam knows absolutely everything that happened inside the house.

"Are you okay?" the other Sam asks him cautiously, which seems even more absurd than when the other Dean asked him about it. Sam wipes his wet face and clears his throat before nodding and saying yes. It's not the whole truth, but it's not a whole lie either, and they're both happy with it.

Miracle runs happily toward him, and Sam laughs lightly, crouching down and letting the dog lick his cheek.

"Dean was the one who named him, right?" the other Sam asks, and Sam can't help but look up in surprise at his copy from another world. "Dean... My Dean has been telling me for three months now that he wants a dog. I've been trying to talk him out of it and we've been arguing about what to name it if we ever decide to get one. Miracle was Dean's first suggestion and out of all the others... I liked that one the best."

The other Sam shrugs, as if to say "whatever," and instead of the painful stab in his chest that Sam was expecting, he gets comfort. He and Dean may not have gotten their "happily ever after," but just the thought that in this universe, even if it's another Dean and Sam Winchester, they can live a long, happy life together gives Sam strength and hope.

He gets to his feet and without realizing it, he's holding the other Sam tightly in his arms, patting him on the back in a friendly way.

"Take care of him," Sam asks, and when the other Sam firmly tells him "I promise," Sam steps back, smiling, and opens the back door for Miracle.

Driving away from their house is easier than Sam had feared, and when in the rearview mirror he sees the other Dean walking out to the other Sam and they embrace each other, Sam wipes the last tear from his face and reaches for his cell phone.

He knows that Jody and the girls will be happy to receive his call and visit.