#weecest ficlet

[abitchandabastard]

Sam had been sick, the sound of sniffles and coughs filling up the cramped living space. He looked absolutely miserable, soaked in sweat constantly and lounging about in his skivvies as to not overheat. Dean was doing everything he could to keep Sam comfortable but there was only so much he could muster up as a twelve year old with no meds on hand and no father around. He wet cut up towels with the freezing cold sink water, the one time he was grateful to not have heating, kept his baby brother close, stroking his hair and massaging his back.

Sam whined constantly, sobbing on and on about how he ‘couldn’t breathe’ and ‘De, do somethin’ and big crocodile tears matched with the most baby faced frown he could manage. Dean couldn’t resist the way his dick stood up, the heat that settled into his tummy. Dean was plenty sexual by now, even at twelve. He knew this feeling, got it everytime he snagged a Playboy or stayed up a little later to watch the night time channels. Dean knew he was a freak, knew he was fucked, fully and completely. He had made his peace with that.

It stopped Sam’s whimpering and whining, at least. Got him to shut up for a few hours, let his little boy cock rest between Sam’s small lips, just the tip pressing into Sam’s mouth, resting on the boy’s little pink tongue.

[supernaturalkickparty]

It starts when Sam's five, they're staying somewhere long enough for both boys to be enrolled for a full school year and John completely forgets to buy them valentines cards and he feels like a shit parent.

He knows Mary would have remembered this sort of thing.

He tried finding a small box of the papercards but everything is gone. He mutters an apology to Sams teacher and she tells him its fine for him not to worry about it and that Sam will be fine.

Its 3:15 and he picks Sam up who's crying, telling him no one wanted to give him cards or share cupcakes with him cause he didn't have anything to give back and the teacher gave him a letter.

The letter explained what Sam had just told him but she let John know that the school has a support group for single parents if he feels up for going, she also left some sweets in Sam's backpack and a card she made for him so he wouldn't feel left out.

Guilt eats at him further when Dean is next to be picked up and he tells John

"I made you the grocery list, it was on the fridge next to the ammo list"

He shouldn't have to rely on his 9 year old to do these kinds of things but here they were.

"It's ok Sammy, look you can have most of my candy and stuff. You can be my valentine, ok?"

John's stomach knots and his heart sinks further, he should have been able to do this for Sam.

The years go by and each and every year he hears Dean ask Sam each and every time.

"Be my valentine?"

That is until Dean hits 13 and then it's all about the girls he's seeing, Sammy's left alone.

He tries even more to include him in things but Sam's different than Dean, he rather be lost in a book than do whatever they're doing.

It's not until Sam's 13 that John notices a change.

They're close again and yet it's like they're hiding something.

It's in the middle of the night that John hears Dean whisper a question to Sam that he hadn't heard him ask in what feels like ages.

"Sammy, be my valentine?"

It feels different, but John can't bring himself to decipher it.

They're close again, that's all that counts.

Every year, up until Sam left for Stanford he would overhear Dean ask Sam to be his valentine and without fail, Sam said yes.

That first month, that first year without Sam is rough, it's not until Sam starts his sophomore year that John notices Dean takes off for a week, he ignores John's calls but sends him a text that he's fine.

He comes back a week later, looking a little worse for wear, hickies covered his neck, bags under his eyes, a sadness he hadn't seen since Sammy left.

After that John is kinda glad he doesn't have to hear that phrase, he isn't sure he can deal with whatever his boys have going on.

[samofmine]

"Stop looking at me like that!" Sam says, high pitched and annoyed, but well, no. Dean very much can't stop looking at him like that.

(aka I couldn't stop thinking about this so here's a weecest with sam in a cropped top and the inner chaos it ensues on dean)

Like what, anyway? He just hopes he's not drooling.

Sam came home an hour ago. He insisted on going shopping for his own clothes, saying Dean never got his right size, the pants looked too baggy and the shirts too loose. Well, forgive him if he doesn't want Sam parading the shape of his body to everyone. He gets enough catcalls from creeps in gas stations and sideroad bars as it is.

But Dean can't really use that as an argument, so yes, go the fuck ahead and buy your own clothes if you're so self sufficient, he said, and oh how it bit him in the ass.

Sam's fashion preference happened to be a pair of ragged jeans, red converse sneakers, and a freaking cropped top. A white, loose cropped top, short enough he can see everything from under Sam's nipples to the curve of his hipbone, loose enough it reveals Sam's collarbones as he moves.

Sammy's stomach. The smooth, milky skin wrapping around his small waist. His hip bones. Hell, even his belly button. Dean feels dizzy.

It's not like Dean's never seen it before. He bathed the kid, changed his diapers, but it's all a distant memory now, since Sam's puberty hit and he started acting like such a girl, shy to even be in the same room as a shirtless Dean, and god forbid Dean ever needs to piss when he's in the shower, because he will be throwing a tantrum before he even gets to step inside the bathroom.

Whatever. It doesn't matter. It would take more than bitchy mood swings and annoying brattiness to make Sam any less endearing to Dean.

He's still his little brother. His baby. Dean's everything.

He's not saying he misses the closeness, the tangled limbs under bedsheets when it was too cold and lying too close together when they had to share a crappy motel fan during a heat wave. But now that all of that is in the past, he simply wasn't prepared to see so much of Sam.

He wants to put his hands on each side of his waist and see if they still fit perfectly.

He wants to brush his fingers under his belly button and see if he can still track the goosebumps running through his body by watching his skin from close enough.

He wants... He wants.

He won't do any of that, though, because he doesn't want to be yelled at and he definitely doesn't want to deal with a moody Sammy for the rest of the week.

So, he stares. Sam has to grant him at least that.

"Looks weird, I know it." Sam looks down, and Dean notices his hands are trying to cover his stomach. "Just stop staring. It's hot today."

Dean blinks. What. What?

"What?" He can't help it. "Why do you think I'm staring? D'you think I'm gonna make fun of you?"

"Well." Sam looks at him, all bitchy faced. "Why else?"

Dean wants to laugh. Or cry. This is ridiculous.

If I could take a picture of you like this and keep it next to my bed so it's the first thing I see everyday, I'd be doing it right now. Seriously. Just give me a camera.

Obviously he can't say any of that. So.

"Why don't you wear a skirt to complete the look?" He teases, but crap, that was not the right thing to say, not just because the image of Sam in a skirt crosses his mind and he feels faint from it, but because of Sam's pained expression as soon as he heard the words.

"You're a jerk." Sam says and lies down on his bed, his back to Dean. He pulls the covers on top of him as if he's trying to hide.

Dean moves before he can even rationalize it. "Sammy, c'mon." He says, sitting on the edge of Sam's bed. "I was joking."

"Leave me alone." He gets in response.

Dean takes a deep breath, tries to go through his mental Sammy manual to see if he has any way of fixing this.

Feels like nothing he can say or do will make any difference.

So, to hell with it.

"You look good." He says. If Sam's gonna be pissed at him anyway, let it be for his honesty instead of his bad jokes.

Sam tenses up under the blanket, Dean notices of course.

"You don't mean that." Sam's voice is smaller, vulnerable, tugging on Dean's heartstrings like nothing else does.

"Of course I..." He sighs in frustration. "Let me see you."

Sam turns to lie on his back just so he can look at Dean, confused. Well, at least he's looking at him.

Dean grabs the blanket and pulls it down.

"Stop! Give it back." Sam whines, pulling it back. He's so goddamn loud, for no reason.

Dean rolls his eyes and holds Sam's wrists to make him stop.

"Let me see you, Sammy." He says, in a way anyone else would think is an order, even their dad, but only Sam knows this is him pleading.

He lets go of Sam's wrists to put the blanket away. Sam lets him.

Dean takes a moment, takes in the sight.

Sam's hands are still shyly on top of his stomach, hiding it.

Dean swallows dry.

He slowly reaches and moves Sam's hand so he can touch him, fingers almost shaking from the excitement, and Sam's stomach clenches under his touch.

He looks up to meet Sam's eyes. He's looking at him, nervous and flushed and beautiful, and Dean wants to keep him to himself, wants to lock them inside this room and throw away the key or fucking swallow it, because no way in hell he's ever going to allow anyone else to see Sam like this.

"You look good." He repeats, not recognizing his own voice, it comes out strangled and pathetic and he has to take a deep breath.

"Thanks." Sam says softly, so damn soft, Dean doesn't think locking him in the room will be enough. He's gonna have to eat him.

He brushes his fingers lightly across Sam's stomach and he squirms, fucking squirms, laughing under him.

"Tickles." Sam whines.

And, well, if doing that will make Sammy lose the scowl, game on.

Dean starts to tickle his tummy, laughing along with Sam as he drinks in every movement.

"Stop!" Sam laughs, grabbing his hand.

The pause in their movements is too long and with their eyes locked Dean forgets to breathe.

"Well, do you believe me?" He says once he remembers, "Or should I say it again?"

"I believe you." Sam says, shyly.

"What was that? I didn't hear it." Dean leans down, closer to hear him better.

"Shut up, you heard me." Sam is still smiling.

"How come you're always avoiding me lately?" Maybe now is not the time to talk about this, he knows Sam's good mood is fragile and he shouldn't be tempting it, but. He has to know.

"I'm not. I just... Feel weird around you."

"Weird?" Dean asks, confused.

"I don't know. Shut up." Sam says, but he's still smiling, even though it's a more nervous smile. "Just... Weird. Like I always want more of it. Don't ask me to explain it, I just know I shouldn't feel this way. I just do, though."

Dean blinks at him, digesting.

"It's probably cause we spend most of the time in small rooms with not enough space even to have personal space."

Nerd, Dean thinks.

But such a cute fucking nerd. He has no idea what he's even talking about but at least Sam isn't tired of him or hates him. He just feels weird, and Dean can totally understand that.

"You're such a weirdo." He says, not holding back his smile. Sam laughs weakly and Dean feels high on it.

Maybe that's why he leans in and kisses his forehead.

He feels Sam freezing under him but it's been so long since he let him this close, so damn long, he can't stop.

He kisses the tip of his nose.

Sam holds his breath.

Dean kisses his chin.

"De?" Sam's voice is so small, Dean is going insane.

When he meets his eyes again he notices Sam isn't looking at him with confusion or annoyance like he expected.

He decides to push his luck.

"What? I can't kiss you, anymore, either?" He says, testing the waters. "When you were little you wouldn't go to sleep without a goodnight kiss from me, remember that?"

Sam groans in embarassment, but he's still smiling, cheeks tainted pink.

"I was a kid. 'M not a kid anymore."

"So I shouldn't kiss you then." Dean raises his eyebrows.

"Why would you even want to kiss me?" Sam says, not meeting his eyes.

Dean can't even register the question. Seriously.

"Have you looked at yourself?" He says. "How could I not?"

He travels his eyes down Sam's body, his stomach drawing his attention again.

He stares for a moment too long.

"You can." Sam says, almost a whisper.

Dean meets his eyes, not sure what he was talking about. Maybe he got distracted, sue him.

Sam notices and rolls his eyes.

"Kiss me, I mean." He explains shyly "Miss your goodnight kisses, too."

And Dean feels himself buzz with excitement, fingers going numb from wanting to reach and touch and hold and do everything at once.

He sighs in frustration and lets his head drop forward, resting his forehead against Sam's stomach.

"You'll be the death of me." He says against Sam's skin. He hopes it's a promise. Only death could free him from this longing. Maybe not even death.

And there they are. The goosebumps.

He smiles. He can't help but kiss him, right on top of his bellybuton. He takes his time, too, letting his lips brush against the skin, breathing in Sam's scent.

Sam is quiet but Dean can hear his breath getting heavier.

He continues.

He kisses every bit of skin he can reach, lips brushing across Sam's stomach from one kiss to the other, never wanting to break the contact.

"Feels weird." Sam lets out a choked sigh.

"Bad weird?" Dean asks, looking up at him.

"Just weird." Sam says. "Probably bad weird. But I like it."

Dean looks at him, words escaping him.

Sam smiles sweetly and cups his face with his hand.

"I like everything you make me feel, De. Even though I hate that I like it sometimes."

Dean leans back to get a better view of Sam's expression, wants to register it in his brain so he can remember it the next time Sam avoids him again.

"Same here, Sammy." He says, simply, because he has no idea how to put into words the relief he's feeling.

He looks at Sam's stomach, places his hands on each side of his waist. Rubs his thumb against his skin.

"Fits." He says, more to himself.

Sam's hand finds his face again, this time under his chin, making him look up.

They're really damn close to each other. Dean's eyes stop on Sam's lips.

Sam is leaning in. His hand move from his chin to hold Dean's shoulder, both hands, and he closes his eyes and he continues to lean in and Dean feels like everything is happening way too slowly but he could never rush this.

Sam kisses him. It's nothing but a peck, but it's enough to awake the monster that's been dorment inside Dean's soul all this time and he can't stop himself from pulling Sam towards him by the neck, to kiss him better, to kiss him harder, to feel his lips against his tongue.

Sam tries to follow Dean's rythm, letting out small whimpers that make Dean even more hungry.

He guides him so they both move on the bed and he sits him on his lap. Sam's arms immediately lock around his neck.

They kiss for so long Dean starts to feel lightheaded, but he still wants more, because it's Sammy, and Sammy is kissing him back and he wants everything Sam gives him and he almost wants more.

After too long but not even close to long enough Dean lies them down, but they continue to trade kisses until Sam falls asleep first, Dean's hands firm on his waist, keeping them close enough they share each breath. Dean decides this, right here, like this, is where they belong. He falls asleep with a smile on his face.

[motelsnleatherseats]

Sam finally got invited to his first party, and Dean couldn't be happier for the kid. For too long had he had his nose buried in books, for too long had he hid his shy and somewhat awkward gaze towards girls behind hair too long. Dean was always wondering when he'd finally dive into a social life instead of just pining for one, and it was comforting to see Sam get excited about the prospect of making friends and meeting girls.

Until it wasn't.

Watching Sam spend too long in the bathroom getting ready made Dean feel a little unsettled. His baby brother had never invested so much time in his looks before, he had never tried to impress anyone outside of tidbits of specifically niche information he could recall off the top of head in some geeky spiel that would only excite the equally nerdy. But now he was combing his fingers through his hair, brushing his teeth just once more before he'd be ready to go, splashing just a little bit of aftershave on his neck despite never bringing a razor to his baby-faced complexion.

Dean was dragging his feet while Sam was impatiently trying to rush him out the door, complaining about being late.

Are you sure you know enough people going? Ugh, yes.

Do you have your blade with you? Seriously Dean, can we just go, please?

You sure you don't want me to go with you? Yeah, cause I really need a chaperone.

Maybe Dean took an extra back road, maybe just drove a couple miles per hour under the speed limit, looking for any excuse to keep Sam by his side a little bit longer. He couldn't help but think tonight would be the night that some cute little thing who barely developed tits over the summer would find Sam just too adorable not to sink her teeth into, and the thought made him stomach-sick.

Once they had pulled up to the party, Dean watched with a frown as Sam checked his reflection once more in the rearview mirror, making sure one hair wasn't out of place.

Don't drink too much. Dean--

Seriously Sammy, just be careful. I'm always careful.

Call me if you need me, okay? I'll be fine.

One more thing.

Dean reached over and curled his hand at the back of Sam's neck, pulling him in to press their lips together, much to Sam's shock and dismay. He gave a petulant whine and even moved to wipe his lips with the back of his hand as he stared at Dean incredulously with a 'what the hell was that for?'

Now when someone asks you if you've ever kissed someone before, you can say yes. You're such a creep, I swear to God.

Dean watched as Sam scoot himself out of the Impala, a disgruntled look on his face as he stormed off to the party, but Dean smirked. No one got to lay claim on Sammy before him.

[writinginthesecrettrees]

Currently thinking of Sam sitting sulking at the motel table while Dean smiles brightly and waves goodbye to Dad. It’s an act, it’s always an act - Sam lives for the days when it’s just him and Dean, no Dad getting in the way and causing fights, and Dean hates being left behind while Dad heads out to risk his life again. The only thing that makes it bearable is Sammy.

Pretty, pretty Sammy, all gawkish limbs and knobby knees and floppy hair and pointy features he hasn’t quite grown into yet. Pretty, pretty Sammy who will swear up and down that two and two makes six if it’s Dad asking, but agrees with Dean when he looks at the midday sky and calls it green. Pretty, pretty Sammy who Dean can’t stop touching, even when Dad’s right there in the front seat or across the table in a diner or barely sleeping in the next bed.

So Dean watches as Dad drives off, until he can’t see the sleek black Impala, until the rumbling growl of her engine doesn’t reverberate in his bones, until he’s sure Dad is gone and he sees some middle aged dick checking in next door, and that means it’s time to play.

Sam’s already abandoned his homework on the table, and his clothes on the floor, and is kneeling in the middle of the bed with sparkling eyes and a pretty, pretty cock pointing up towards what some people think is Heaven. Dean knows that Heaven lies between Sammy’s thighs, dark and hidden and hot, and Sammy’s already got a lubed-up finger teasing into paradise.

“C’mon, Dean, it’s been days and days,” he whines, and Dean can’t even remember moving before he’s on the bed with Sam, pressing him back into the pillows, devouring his mouth and sliding a hand down to slide his fingers in along with Sam’s. He wants to suck and bite a necklace of dark red onto Sam’s throat; knows he can’t because Dad will be back before it could fade, releases Sam’s lips to slide down and make his marks across Sammy’s soft belly.

“Dean!” is the sweetest sound, high and shrill and desperate, as Dean works another finger into Sam’s hole, twisting and rubbing so Sam’s whine turns into breathless scream. “Dean, please, ‘m ready!”

And Dean’s not so sure about that, it’s been days and days and Sammy’s virgin-tight, but Dean can’t deny Sam any longer and certainly can’t deny himself. He nods, presses one last kiss to Sammy’s navel and sits up to yank his shirt off over his head. Sammy’s clever little fingers are working at his belt and fly, shoving his jeans down just enough to pull out his dick and he almost comes at the first touch of baby brother hands on his shaft.

Kneeling between Sammy's thighs, dick pressed against Sammy's pretty, pretty hole, Sam's legs wrapped around his hips, and Sam's face is flushed as pink as his cock, and Dean can never decide if he wants to watch his dick disappear into Sammy or watch Sammy's face during that first slow push so his eyes dart back and forth, trying to see it all. Dean's fingers carve bruises into Sam's hips, white-knuckled grip keeping Sammy still as he pushes into the wet velvet heat, and Sam chants his name like a prayer as Dean sinks into him.

The bed thumps against the wall as Dean fucks into Sam, the ancient box springs whining along with Sam's moans, and there's a banging on the other side of the wall that Dean can't help laughing at. Slams in harder just to punch a shout from Sam that brings a faint "shut the fuck up" from the dickhead next door.

"Touch yourself, Sammy," he says. "Wanna see you come all over yourself. Make a mess," because they don't have much more time and because he loves to watch Sam jack off while he fucks him. Loves to match his thrusts to Sammy's strokes, like it's all Sammy's doing, like he's just a toy Sam can use to get off. Like he isn't the one who consumed his baby brother's innocence. And it doesn't take long, once Sam has a hand wrapped around his dick. a few more thrusts, sloppier than Dean would like, and it's still novel and new when Sammy shoots come all over his own belly. The sound of his pleasure, the sight of it, and the clench of Sam's hole, push Dean over the edge and he thrusts deep and bends down to kiss Sam again, tongue-slick sloppy, as he fills Sam to overflowing.

Their neighbor's been pounding on the door, angry shouts coming into focus as Dean's dick goes soft and slips out of Sam. Sam watches with half-lidded eyes, sleepy and sated, while Dean draws a happy face in the come pooled on Sam's stomach and then licks his finger clean. "You should take care of that," Sam says.

Dean pouts. "Don't wanna. Druther curl up with you."

"I'll suck you off." Sammy yawns. "After a nap."

And Dean would do a lot more than handle some middle aged asshole for a lot less from Sammy, so he pulls his jeans up over his hips, doesn't bother with the fly or a shirt, and walks to the door.

Yanks it open with one hand just as the man is about to start pounding his fist on it again, and shoves his pistol into the man's face with the other. "Problem, dude?"

It's funny how pale civilians can get when there's a firearm less than an inch from their nose.

"uh..." The man swallows, audibly.

"Didn't think so," Dean says and slams the door in his face.

There's something dark and pleased in Sam's eyes when Dean turns back towards the bed, and that's okay because it matches the darkness in Dean. Dean sheds his jeans completely before he gets back into bed with Sammy, nuzzles against the back of his neck as they spoon.

---

Currently thinking of Sam and Dean, packing up in the morning because Dad called and told them to catch a bus to the town he's hunting in, and Dean nudges Sam when he sees movement behind the curtains of the room next to theirs. Asshole, trying to get a look at who Dean was with. Sam grins, and Dean matches it as he bends down, staring unblinking at the window, for a deep kiss.

[nezukohimeoni]

Wincest Drabble: Meeting again ( Wincest)

He hadn't seen Dean since going off to Stanford. Now, here he was, standing on his brother's porch staring at him through the screen door. 

His brother, who he didn't know, was now his new neighbor. 

His wife, Jess, sent him over there to play nice while she was at work. Saying a family, she met one of the members, had recently moved him, and he offered to change her oil as a sign of good grace. Said the man was charming and handsome. 

Kind of had similar mannerism to Sam, she said. 

Too right on the nose. 

"Dean." His raspy voice said. Tinged with surprise. 

Dean, still beautiful as the day he left, leaned against the doorway. He raised an eyebrow at Sam. "Sammy." His big brother grinned. "You filled out nicely, didn't you?" Dean crossed his arms, looking Sam up and down with appreciation. 

"I–uhh." He was holding a freshly baked pie, Jess made, in his hands. His hold on the pan was tightening at each passing moment. His body felt tense. 

His beautiful Omega brother. 

His first knot popped inside of him. 

"Dean." Was all he could repeat. His higher brain function was acting up. He never thought he'd see Dean again. Their Father caught them one night, and shipped him off to Bobby's who eventually helped him get to school. Dean knew he was accepted into Stanford, and they had plans for Dean to visit before the blow up. 

It was only around five years ago that Omegas got their rights, and didn't need an Alpha's approval anymore on legal documents. Dean stayed with Dad, he assumed. Bobby said he had their Dad's number, but never said anything about Dean having a phone number. 

Now, his brother after seven years, was in front of him. 

Dean opened up his screen door. "Come inside. You're going to break that glassware, you idiot." 

Like an lure, he followed his brother's hand gesturing him inside. 

The door swung shut behind him. Looking around, he saw toddler items, but no toddler. 

Dean brought him into the kitchen. He took the pie from Sam, and gently pushed at his shoulder. "Go sit down Sasquatch." He meant toward the kitchen table, and Sam listened. 

He quietly watched Dean. His brother had moving boxes around his kitchen. One box labeled plates, he opened up and took out two places, and took a knife out of the drawer. "How big you want it?" Said Dean. The side of his body was facing Sam from the counter. 

Sam swallowed. "Any is fine." 

Dean chuckled. "Still like me making decisions for you?" He said in jest. Smiling into himself, he cut two pieces and put them on the plates. 

Sam couldn't deny it. He liked to followed Dean around like a puppy. Lost with no direction, just using his nose to make sure Dean was always in high spirits and pleased. 

He wants to smell Dean now. 

Dean walks over to the table, sitting across from Sam. He put a plate in front of both of them with plastic forks. "Castiel hasn't unloaded everything. Half the kitchen is in his car." 

Sam blinked. "Castiel?" He inquired. 

"I guess you can say my mate, but he's a friend. He's an Alpha who wanted a kid, and asked me to carry it." Dean ate a slice. 

"So it's not yours technically?" 

"Oh, no that brat is mine." He chuckles. "But we did it more as a family thing. He's not very close with his father or siblings." He clears his throat. "We bonded over that aspect." He looks into Sam's eyes. 

"You knew where I was Dean." He gazed back. Not touching his pie. 

Dean waves him off. "Not important. Anyway, we decided to have a kid. Painfully boring sex on both sides. He doesn't have a sexual or romantic bone in his body, but is a great parent to Claire. So boom. Work out, and we can walk around without people knowing the truth." 

________

A.N: Just wanted to post something.

[ficforthought]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Supernatural (TV 2005) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Underage Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester Additional Tags: accidental confessions, Angry Sam Winchester, Implied/Referenced Incest, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Teen Angst, Based on a Visual Prompt, Everything is Weecest, i don't make the rules Summary:

Sam's sick of Dean trying to get him to do "normal" teen things, and accidentally lets something slip during an argument.

Based on a gif (in story) that I've been meaning to write fic about since I saw We Bought A Zoo!

[fandom-hoarder]

*bops you on head* self rec fairy here( ☆∀☆)

Self rec 3 of your fav fics that you've written and send this to other fic writers you know

ngl, this is so difficult to answer because i like a ton of my own fic 😂😂😂

I guess I will narrow it down to somewhat recent SPN fic:

and all is right in Dean’s world - Part 5 of my Pushing Boundaries weecest somno-heavy series, at Bobby's house

[and] turn this up on the radio - post finale fic written for Now It's Perfect 2022 ~ A somewhat non-linear telling of Sam’s journey back to Dean in Heaven, and the buoys along the way; inspired by my ficlet “Tennessee Whiskey.”

Unconventional Healing - post-Gadreel wincestiel canon divergence; grace and wings and threesomes, oh my!

[spn-fanfic-reblog-writes]

Art and Drabble requests are Open!

Anonymous asks always welcome!

Acceptable Characters:

Reader—male or female, LGBT+, Chronic Illness, Mental Health, Winchester sibling or nibling, supernatural being, MoL Legacy, etc. (Just ask)

Beau Arlen (Blue Sky)

Alec (Dark Angel)

Soldier Boy (The Boys)

Dean Winchester (No Incest)

Sam Winchester (No Incest)

John Winchester (good parent, yes! No incest)

Mary Winchester (good parent, hunter, yes! No incest)

Castiel/Jimmy Novak (Wings, yes! True form, yes! Unrelated, yes! No Twincest)

Charlie Bradbury

Gilda (Fairie)

Dorothy Baum

Billie (Reaper, yes! Death, yes!)

Death (YES!)

Lucifer/Nick (Wings, yes!)

Gabriel (Wings,yes!)

Balthazar (Wings, yes!)

Bobby Singer

Rufus Turner

Jody Mills, Sheriff

Donna Hanscum, Sheriff

Claire Novak

Kaia Novak

Annie/Alex

Patience Turner

The Barnes Twins (no incest)

Missouri Moseley

Rowena MacLeod (Witchy, yes!)

Crowley/Fergus MacLeod (Demon form, yes!)

Ask me, otherwise

Art

Note: I have not drawn much NSFW and/or tf (transformation, e.g. shapeshifting) but I am trying to get the hang of it.

Pairing: Any, except incest, weecest, wincest, twincest, or weirdcest.

Scene/Situation: Any. Kid ok too. Please realize that detailed scenes and/or backgrounds, require more time. Thank you! Also, reminders or inquiries of asks already sent in are always welcome.

Drabbles/Ficlet

**Minimum word count is 100 words.**

Pairings: I do NOT write incest, weirdcest, wincest, or twincest. I am proship. I don’t ship or kink shame.

Kinks: Regarding NSFW, I am happy to write whatever kink and/or smut you’d like, just realize I don’t know and/or have experienced all the different types of kinks;

Kink Hard Limits: These are no, I won’t write.

vore except for blood drinking (e.g. vampire),

water sports (pee)

feces (poo)

Thank you for understanding and your patience.

Genre/Tags: Any, kid fic good too! except domestic violence, rape, torture unless in minimal referencing

[abitchandabastard]

watermelon and a weecest piss dream

[jadensdixon]

Sam, afraid of Dean after the first time he saw Dean kill a regular human -- No possession, no nothing, and yet he still put a bullet in the old bastard's head.

He stood there, frightened beyond reason, hands shaking. He was still a kid, voice still high and sweet.

Dean's eyes were dark, fixated on his victim. A spark had lit within his soul, a black spark, eating at every bit of light his youth had left him with.

"Dean...?" Sam asks quietly, so quietly Dean almost doesn't hear him.

Dean's head is quick to snap towards Sam's soft voice.

"Sam." Dean affirms.

"What- uhm, what just happened?" Sam's playing with his own fingers, twiddling them and cracking joints and Dean takes notice, a slight rush running through him. He knows he scared Sam.

"Nothing." And Dean is suddenly mere inches away from Sam, breath shaking the kid's eyelashes. Sam keeps his gaze down, looking at the dirt.

"Nothing.. nothing," Dean keeps repeating it, surely only trying to convince himself now.

And then his lips are on Sam's. He could never tell you why, Hell he doesn't know for himself. But he kissed his baby brother, right then and there.

[motelsnleatherseats]

Dean hardly had a moment to reflect on what he did with his brother, because as soon as he had caved to Sam's advances, the kid was practically permanently attached at the hip. If he had been bad before, he was now a certified stage 5 clinger. What used to be two occupied beds was now just one, and Sam had all but forgotten what furniture was because Dean's lap was just that much more inviting.

The hardest part about it was keeping his little brother at arm's length when they were out in public. Sam didn't seem to care, but Dean was all too aware of the raised eyebrows it garnered them when Sam would get handsy. Dean would shoot him warning looks and have to firmly grip his wrist to stop his eager hands, but Sam appeared to take it as a challenge.

Dean climbed into the Impala and closed the door with a sigh, and not but two seconds later felt his little brother's hand on his thigh.

"Sammy," Dean spoke, once again putting a stop by finding the younger's wrist, gripping it lightly. "Look, I know you're.. eager and excited about what we're doing now, but you really gotta tone it down when we're out and about."

Sam's expression soured briefly, something between petulant and pouty.

"Why? No one knows we're brothers," he replied, and Dean exhaled something akin to frustration.

"I know, but I think it's pretty obvious. That's not even what I'm really worried about, you have to remember that you're only 15. It's gonna make me look like some kind of pervert freak into young boys." Plus he didn't want anyone thinking he was gay, not that there was anything wrong with being gay, he just wasn't. Was he? No, he didn't like men, never even thought of checking them out. Sam was the only exception. "Just.. cool it a little, yeah? For me?"

"Okay.."

Sam's reluctant agreeance had Dean feeling a pang of guilt, never truly finding it right to deny his brother anything, but if they wanted this to continue, they'd have to play it safe.

The drive back to the motel was quiet, and Sam had even put some distance between them, crowded closer to the passenger door with his gaze out the window like he was giving Dean the cold shoulder. Dean couldn't bring himself to say anything else, but worry was starting to build. He'd glance over at him in silent pleas to not be mad at him, each lingering moment inciting further culpability.

When they parked, Sam was the first to get out and head into the room, uncharacteristically leaving Dean to follow instead of waiting for him at the door. He was upset, that much was obvious, and the elder now had to wrack his brain to remedy this. This was all his fault, he should have known that crossing that line would only bring trouble. Sam would inevitably end up hurt by his words or actions, because why wouldn't he? Dean allowed him to believe that what they were doing was okay, and he knew deep down that it wasn't. It was illegal. It was immoral. It was selfish.

"Sammy," Dean spoke, his voice already apologetic as he closed the door behind him. Sam had placed himself on the bed he had abandoned in favor of sleeping with Dean, his back to him as he faced the wall. "C'mon, man. I was just saying we need to be careful, that's all." Nothing. He shifted his weight uncomfortably, debating on leaving it alone or trying to get something out of Sam. A notion of understanding, a validation that his concern was heard. But Sam was stubborn and Dean swore he made a valid point, so he heaved a defeated sigh and shouldered off his jacket, setting it over the back of a chair at the table in the kitchenette before he plopped himself on the couch and put on the television for something else to focus on.

A couple of hours must have passed before Sam had finally moved from his spot on the bed, standing now at the edge of the couch, still quiet. Dean glanced up when he caught him in his peripherals, his eyebrows raised expectantly.

"Still mad at me?" he asked, voice soft as his thighs fell apart some, a hand patting his lap in invitation. Sam accepted, moving to settle himself against his big brother, both legs draped over one side before Dean had cradled him like he was comforting a child.

"It just hurt my feelings," Sam admitted and Dean gave a nod of understanding. He could see why it might feel like some type of rejection, and that was the last thing he wanted Sam to feel.

"I'm sorry, Sammy," Dean replied, leaning in to press a kiss to the other's forehead, one hand moving to caress along his side in a soothing manner, settling at his hip. "Can I make it up to you?" He offered, his gaze soft, searching over his little brother's fair features.

"How?" Sam took advantage of his brother's tenderness, arming himself with one of his patented puppy-dog looks, lips in the most tempting of pouts.

Dean lifted his hand up, smoothing his thumb over his cheek bone before his fingers had carded through his hair, cupping the side of his head to draw him in so their lips could meet for a kiss. Sam's hand came up to find respite on the side of Dean's neck, his eyes fluttering shut as they indulged in the warmth and sweetness of each other's mouths. It was hard for Dean to consider any of this as wrong when it felt this good to give Sammy something that no one else could. No one else understood just how delicate his little brother, how much care he truly needed to keep him from ripping apart at the seams.

Dean blindly reached for the television remote and managed to change the channel before finding the power button and turning it off, leaving the only sound in the room the wet sounds of their kiss as they deepened it, Sammy's sweet mewls being muffled against his lips. He angled them so he could lie Sam down against the couch and press his weight into him, his brother's arms coming up and around his neck while his own moved down his slender form, gliding up and under his shirt to follow the bumps of ribs, fingertips pressing possessively into the skin. Sam moaned and Dean drank it down like a sweet nectar, pulling back from the kiss with a low hum of appreciation before he relocated his mouth to younger's throat.

"Dean," Sam sighed, his kiss-swollen lips parted to let out heavier breaths and needy sounds, one hand in Dean's hair at the nape of his neck while the other pulled at the material of the back of his shirt.

"Wanna make you feel good, Sammy," Dean rumbled against his brother's neck, open-mouthed and heated kisses being laid with gentle scrapes of teeth. His hands pushed his shirt up enough to expose the flesh of his abdomen and chest before they found their way to Sam's pants, undoing the button and loosening the material so it could easily slip down his hips. He lifted his head, emerald gaze meeting this brother's darkened one before he guided the hem of his shirt to his lips, Sam's teeth catching it to hold it in place before Dean's lips had descended on him again.

He trailed a warm and wet path down his chest and stomach before he nipped at his hip bone while he worked his little brother's pants down and off.

"You too," Sam murmured as he released his hold on his shirt, wanting equal access to Dean's form.

"I will, baby, don't worry. Gotta take care of you first," Dean promised, positioning himself lower and between his thighs after guiding them apart. Sam's breath hitched as Dean's mouth graced the inside of his thigh, kissing the warm, sensitive flesh as he inched closer to his baby brother's hole. He had eaten pussy plenty of times before, this couldn't be much different, and he was eager to see just want kind of noises he could draw out of the younger.

His hands splayed against his thighs, pushing them open and back some for better access before he gazed at his pretty little hairless pucker, already clenched in anticipation. The first caress was given, and much to Dean's delight, Sam's whole body reacted with a shudder and a whine that made his own cock throb. He laid his tongue flat over the pink flesh, coating it in saliva with slow and languid motions, getting him good and wet before applying previously learned techniques. He circled the tight ring of muscles, slurping tenderly and enclosing his lips around the flesh, feeling Sam's thighs tremble as he continued his efforts, those hushed and needy sounds like music to his ears.

"De-dean.. oh fuck, please.." Sam pleaded, for what exactly, he wasn't sure. All he knew was that he couldn't get enough of the wet sensation between his thighs, making his insides squirm with lust. His cock laid hard against his abdomen and he moved one hand down to stroke himself, the head already stick with pre-cum as Dean continued to eat him out. The wet sounds grew louder as the saliva built up, and Dean was quick to gather and swallow before he pushed his slick muscle into the boy's hole, earning himself a long-drawn out whine as Sam pushed his hips into the sensation.

Dean found Sam's unique taste to be pleasant, and the clenching around his tongue only made him wonder exactly what it would feel like to be buried in his little brother's tight heat, but that would have to be something he only fantasized about for the time being. Though they had crossed that physical and intimate boundary with abandon, doing the actual deed felt too heavy for him, at least for now. There was something too permanent about that action, something too precious to take from Sam just yet if he ever decided to change his mind.

As he tongue fucked his hole, Dean moved one of his hands down to undo his own pants, freeing his cock from the tight confines, throbbing now as he palmed himself while getting Sammy off. It didn't take much longer before Sam was a writhing, moaning mess under Dean's ministrations, hardly needing to touch himself to achieve orgasm, the slick muscle licking him open getting him there quicker than expected. He came with a cry of his brother's name, his own seed painting his abdomen, even shooting up his chest and the bunched up shirt at his collar bones.

Dean slowly removed his tongue from Sam's quivering hole, watching it clench around nothing, slick with saliva. He admired his handy work before he slid his hands along the backs of his thighs again.

"You're so pretty when you cum, Sammy," Dean praised, voice low and lusty as he looked at the blissed out mess his little brother was, panting and trembling. He straightened himself up to his knees, pulling his shirt off and shove his pants down his thighs to be exposed enough for his next move. He gathered Sam's thighs and brought his legs up his chest, pressing them together before he rutted his cock against the smooth skin.

"Dean, please," another soft begging. "Fuck me? I need you so bad," Sam whined, thinking the position he was being put in was so Dean could finally claim him from the inside.

"Not yet, baby, we'll get there," he replied, easing his hips back before he pushed forward, letting his hot and heavy arousal push between Sammy's thighs. Sam gave another whine, though this one was due to frustration, hoping Dean would just cave. But as he watched, he could see the head of his brother's cock thrusting between tightly pressed skin, the sight making his skin flush with heat. It was so erotic, so dirty in the best way.

Dean fucked Sam's thighs, grunts and groans falling from his lips as he kept his gaze locked on his brother's features, watching them as his form bounced a little from the force he was using to get himself off with Sam's body. He could imagine that they were fucking, the way he was laid out for him like that, his features screwed up in lustful pleasure, his tummy and chest painted with cum, the sound of skin smacking against skin pairing deliciously with their moans... it was almost like the real thing.

"Fuck, Dean.. wish you were in me.. don't you want to breed your little brother?" Sam pushed, hoping any of Dean's resolve would eventually fade and he'd give in like he wanted him to. It worked against him though, because Dean's cock gave a painful throb at his choice of words. How did Sammy know exactly what to say to drive him wild? What 15 year old talks about breeding or uses little brother as dirty talk?

"Sammy, god," he groaned, and a few more thrust of hips had him giving a choked sound before he came hard, making a hot, sticky mess between his thighs, his seed painting over his stomach as well. He gave a few follow up thrusts, making sure his balls were thoroughly emptied before he felt himself soften some, slipping free of the hold of Sam's thighs with a quiet hiss. He let Sam's legs fall back, his own form leaning down and over his little brother, taking a moment to catch his breath before he cupped his face again, drawing his thumb over his bottom lip that was gifted with a kiss afterward.

"Where did you learn to talk like that?" Dean asked, genuinely curious, but also always surprised by Sam's antics. The once bookish, almost shy teen he knew suddenly a master of seduction. Sam's cheeks warmed, his gaze averting for a moment.

"Porn," Sam admitted, a coy smile on his lips as he met Dean's gaze again, and Dean gave an incredulous chuckle, eyebrows raised in surprise.

"I've never once seen you even look at a skin mag, what kind of porn are you watching?" Sam groaned in an embarrassed fashion, pushing playfully at Dean's shoulder before he decided against that action, instead gripping him there and tugging him down so he could feel the weight against him.

"I stumbled across the whole fake step-sibling thing.. couldn't stop thinking of you," he replied, his eyes looking expectantly at Dean, wondering if he'd be judged for it. But Dean only looked at him in amazement, a wry smile on his lips.

"You little pervert," he teased and Sam groaned again.

"Says you, who just ate me out and fucked my thighs."

"Touché."

Dean leaned more of his weight against Sammy, leaning in to kiss his lips, glad that after their little tiff earlier that day that he had earned Sam's good graces once more.

"Dean," Sam murmured against his lips, arms curling around his neck. "Thank you."

↳ part 1

[wincestjel]

Fourth of July, 1996

in which repressed feelings come to the surface and years of pining come to a close... sort of.

inspired by the fireworks scene from dean's heaven in 5x16

sam x dean 

- weecest, first kiss, fluff with a lil hint of angst for spice 

words: 1334

read it on archive! 

***

There’s a spark in Sammy’s eyes, and Dean’s not sure he’s ever seen anything quite like it. He’s happy. Really, truly happy, and God, it makes Dean’s chest ache. What he wouldn’t give to see Sam like this all the time. Is this what life would’ve been like had they been raised like real kids? 

They weren’t, though. They weren’t raised like normal kids. Hell, there wasn’t a damn thing about their lives that came even close to normal. Whatever the fuck normal meant anyway. 

Dean’s normal… well, he knows it’s sick, twisted. It’s no life to be raised into, but it isn’t just the monster hunting that makes him different. It’s the way his whole world revolves around his brother, the way he’d give anything to keep the kid safe. He’d give his life for Sam without so much as a moment’s hesitation. 

It’s the way something in him—something he tries so goddamn hard to keep hidden, something so foul and so, so fucking wrong—twists when he sees Sammy light up. 

It’s the way he loves his brother. 

“Come on!” Dean’s pulled from his thoughts. “Let’s go!”

Dean smiles, but it’s weak. There’s a darkness behind it that he hopes, he fucking prays, Sam doesn’t pick up on. Dean’s happy, too. He’s happy seeing Sam happy, but he can’t seem to stay out of his own head. 

“Got your lighter?” Sam’s holding a box of fireworks, looking back at his brother with this look on his face. It’s the best night of his life. He’s almost too distracted to notice the way Dean lags behind, just a little. He’s almost too excited to catch the sad look behind Dean’s eyes, like there’s something more he wants to say. Almost. He doesn’t acknowledge it, though. He knows his big brother well, and if there’s one thing Dean doesn’t like to do, it’s talk about his feelings. It’s like Dean has a moment of clarity, like something passes across him and that smile on his face grows. He’s grinning, but not as wide as Sam. 

“‘Course I do. Come on.” Dean grabs a box from the trunk of the Impala as well. He follows Sam farther into the field, and watches—maybe a little too closely—as the kid gets everything set up. 

Sam notices this, too. Of course he does. He notices everything when it comes to Dean. He notices each and every girl in his revolving door, when redheads become blondes become brunettes. He notices every bottle Dean drinks, how the number grows the more time goes on. He notices the way Dean tries to bury himself in whatever he can—girls, work, and drinking seem to be the most popular—when the two of them get a little too close. 

Too close. It’s an odd thing to think about for Sam. What’s too close for some brothers isn’t close enough for him and Dean. What’s too close for most brothers is their normal. And what’s too close for the Winchester boys? Well, there’s no set answer there. Not really. Not when Dean seems to push and pull, to want everything and nothing to do with Sam all at once.

But that’s not what tonight’s about. 

Sam finishes setting up and when he walks back to his brother’s side, there’s a spring in his step like never before. His smile is almost bright enough to light up the night.

“Fire ‘em up!” Sam shouts, practically jumping up and down. And Dean obeys. 

The first few go off, and the darkness of the night fades away in favor of all sorts of colors. Sam’s not sure where Dean managed to get these, or how he managed to afford them, but he doesn’t care. How can he care when he’s watching the sky light up with so much fucking wonder in his eyes? One after the other, popping and crackling and sizzling. 

It’s quite the show, but Dean isn’t watching. There’s only one thing on his mind, and that’s Sam. Boom. Something inside him goes off, exploding in the night. Boom. He can’t look away. He can’t. He can’t stop thinking about Sam, about—

“Dad would never let us do anything like this!” Sam’s looking at Dean, now, and that light hasn’t left his eyes. “Thanks, Dean. This is great.” And they’re hugging. 

Well, Sam’s hugging. Dean takes a second to catch up, but as soon as he does, his arms are tight around his brother. He closes his eyes, face pressed against soft brown hair, and takes the deepest breath he’s ever had to. He can’t let himself get carried away. It’s not normal, it’s not right to feel like this. 

“Yeah,” he whispers, not even sure if Sam can hear it over the roaring fireworks. A little bit louder, he says, “you’re welcome, kid.”

The hug lingers, lasts a little too long before Dean starts to pull back. He can’t lose himself. Not yet. He can’t let his twisted feelings get in the way of what seems to be the best fucking night of Sam’s life. But Sam stops him. He’s got his fingers wrapped around Dean’s wrists, and he’s looking up at him like…

No. Dean can’t think like that. There isn’t a chance in hell Sammy feels the way he does. Sam’s good. He’s not like Dean. He’ll never be like Dean. 

Sam doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know what he wants to say, or what he could say. It feels like there’s so much hanging in the air between them. But he has a hunch; a gut feeling. He sees the way Dean looks at him when he thinks Sam isn’t paying attention, and he picks up on all the little tiny hints Dean doesn’t even know he drops. He has a gut feeling. 

And that’s when it happens. That’s when all of Sam’s and Dean’s forever-repressed feelings come to the surface. That’s when years of pain and confusion and frustration and guilt are all worth it. That’s when the fireworks cease, but the sparks still fly.

That’s when they kiss.

Sam’s the one who initiates it, going against every goddamn stereotype the two fit into. But Dean reciprocates. God, does he reciprocate. The night is perfect. It’s a fucking dream.

It lasts too long, but not long enough. When they separate, this time, there’s something in Dean’s eyes that Sam’s never seen before. It’s like, for the first time in Dean’s life as a hunter, the weight of the world falls away from his shoulders. When they pull away, they both stand there a moment. Watching, waiting for the next move. What does this mean for them? Nothing’s ever going to be the same—they both know that. 

Sam’s naïve, though. He thinks it’s going to be perfect from here on out. He’s already dreaming up scenarios, fantasizing about running away from their dad and this life and just… be. 

But Dean knows how the world works. He’s older, he’s got more experience than Sammy. He knows there’s no hope for two brothers from a broken home. He knows the best way to keep Sam safe is to keep him at a distance. It won’t happen again. It can’t happen again. He loves his brother more than anything, and Dean knows that loving Sam means not letting Sam love him. Not like this.

He doesn’t mention it, though. Not tonight. Not when Sam’s so fucking happy. Not when everything is perfect and nothing is wrong. 

Dean takes Sam’s hand in his, their eye contact never breaking. He’s happy, too. God, is he happy. There’s a silent agreement as he slips his lighter between his brother’s fingers, as he pulls away and nods. Sam smiles more, if that’s even possible, and he runs over to their stash. 

“Fire in the hole!” he calls out, turns and runs back towards Dean. His heart is pounding, and he’s sure that if heaven really does exist, this is what it’s like. 

[wincestplease]

Hi, could you do one where Sam make himself pretty to go to homecoming (I think that the word) but no one ask him to dance and he has self esteem issues but then big brother Dean is here and dance with him ?? Not really original so I get if you don't want to do it. Thanks anyway !

Sam pressed his back against the wall of the gymnasium, feeling more stupid than he had in a long, long time. 

He, Sam Winchester, getting a fun, normal high school experience? He should have known he doesn’t get to do things like this. 

He’d taken a lot of care, getting ready–checked his appearance twice in the mirror before he left, adjusting his thrifted dress shirt until it fell just right…but he shouldn’t have even come. Homecoming was for normal kids, with normal lives, and as much as Sam wanted to be just like them, he wasn’t. He was just the weird drifter, who’d floated into town a week ago and couldn’t fit in with the rest of the school. 

The fourth slow song of the evening comes on, the lights dimming slightly as everyone on the dance floor shyly pairs up to sway to the music. 

Sam doesn’t bother looking around this time, not like the other three times where he let his heart race in futile hope, thinking maybe someone would ask him to dance. But no one did, and he should have known they wouldn’t. 

Turning for the door to head home and wallow in self-pity, Sam hesitates when he sees an all too familiar figure hovering nervously by the entrance. 

It was Dean, wearing ripped jeans and what Sam thinks is one of dad’s old dress shirts, untucked, with a pair of muddy combat boots. He looks incredibly uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot and scanning the crowd. When he and Sam lock eyes, he heads for Sam’s direction. 

“De?” Sam gapes, “What are you doing here?” 

Dean offers Sam a crooked smile, and Sam’s heart melts just a little. “You thought I was gonna miss out on your first high school dance? No way, Sammy.” 

“It’s lame,” Sam shrugs, staring down at the floor. “No one wants to dance with me, let’s just go home.” Sam heads for the door, but Dean wraps an arm around his waist, tugging him in close.

“I want to dance with you,” Dean admits, his voice low in Sam’s ear. “Sammy, may I have this dance?” 

Sam swallows, turning pink up to his ears. “Uh,” He looked around nervously. no one was paying them any attention, too lost in their own world. “O-Okay,” he stammers.

Dean wraps Sam up in his arms, and they begin a slow shuffle, a little off-beat but still more perfect than Sam could have ever imagined. Dean smelled like shampoo and gun powder, and Sam felt safe and cared for in his arms. 

“Thank you,” Sam murmurs into Dean’s neck. 

In response, Dean just barely, barely presses his lips into Sam’s hair. 

But it happened, Sam felt it, a rush of warmth all the way down to his toes. 

And so, their careful dance, their almost-something-more, continued deep into the night under the watchful eye of the spinning disco ball. 

[thebrotherswholoved]

watch over sammy

When Sam was a baby, John would get pissed because he wouldn’t sleep in the bassinet he bought from a garage sale for a little more than five bucks; no, little Sammy with his cherub cheeks and big eyes would only fall asleep in his big brother’s arms. John’s were too brutish, too rough...too lacking of gentleness and that quality that could only be described as utterly Mary. So, Dean hardly ever let go of his brother and when he did, those green eyes hardly blinked because even though he was a child himself, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad would happen if his eyelids so much as fluttered closed for a second while supposed to be focused on Sammy.

Behind Dean’s boyhood glaze loomed the shadow of doubt and grownup reason ingrained in him by a father so focused on revenge he couldn’t see that his fist was beating its way through his eldest son’s skull. This voice whispered thoughts into his baby ears that Sam would be picked apart by vultures or washed away by an invisible river or mowed down by a speeding car despite being miles from the nearest busy road, and it spooked him so badly that he refused to let his eyes wander from the now-toddling, chubby-cheeked tot.

The nights were the hardest. John would try to pry his sleeping son from the child’s desperate and pleading big brother so he could sleep off the deprivation of rest that was undoubtedly causing this...paranoia. But Dean wouldn’t dare shut his eyes, too petrified of the sandman coming to drown him in the hourglass and allow some boogeyman to catch him off guard, and instead snuck back to little Sammy’s crib once the warden had tried to seal the kid’s fate to watch over him better than any damned angel figurine made of cheap porcelain could.

Eventually, Dean had to fall asleep. The first time it happened, the trio was in the car heading somewhere—even John didn’t quite know—and Dean passed out, slumped against Sam’s car seat and hand still in his lap. The dark and unhealthily purple shadows under the boy’s eyes made him look so much older than his sweet age of six, and John felt relieved when he looked into the back seat in his rear view mirror and saw that nature had done what he had failed to do: tape the torn pages back into Dean’s calendar. If only the sandy blond’s well-deserved nap didn’t end in a piercing scream four hours later that made John swerve, narrowly avoiding hitting a small shrub. The first thing the boy did was start crying followed by him desperately trying to wake up Sam to make sure his mistake didn’t cost the baby his life.

The circles under Dean’s eyes only deepened in hue and in intensity, the exhaustion crescendoing as the years dragged on. Had John cared enough to take his kid to the doctor, he’d probably have been diagnosed with an insomnia of sorts—but all the gruff widower cared about were the callouses roughening his palms and the wide, open, and dangerous road ahead of him. He tried everything: a small dose of Benadryl with their grub, some knockoff NyQuil in his 99¢ gas station apple juice, and hell, he even considered giving the kid a small whack upside the head once or twice to force him to pass out. What worked ended up causing Dean emotional agony as soon as he woke up and started screaming for his little brother, and what didn’t work almost seemed like it was for the best.

Dean’s devotion to his baby brother’s safety maimed him. It cheated him, lied to him, and almost killed him on several occasions. But no matter how much he suffered at the hands of a cruel system of checks and balances trying to steal the infant he dragged from the inferno from his scrawny arms, he can’t find it in him to care. Not when he sees just how happy the kid grew up to be on the good days and how strong he became when things could be better.

He sleeps now, whiskey being his sleep aid and the Die Hard movies his lullaby, but he wakes up every time he hears his not-so-little brother scream his name in his sleep, a desperate cry echoing from inside his nightmares. Instinct tells him to place a hand on his chiselled, heaving chest until his breathing evens out and sing some boyish variation of a Seger song to turn his bad dreams good again, so that’s what he does. For the rest of the night, his duty is to watch over Sammy and protect him from a new evil: the ones inside their minds.

And when he inevitably falls asleep next to his brother atop the comforter, hand still on his chest? Dean’s dreams are good then, because he knows that there’s strength in numbers and that with Sammy by his side, nothing is impossible. Even though he gives his big brother the best bitch face he can muster every time they wake up almost drooling on each other, Sam is grateful for Dean and his canine-like devotion to him. Though he couldn’t possibly know how many exhausted tears were shed and soaked up by the fabric of his baby onesies when he was young, he can understand that in order to make Dean happy, he has to take care of himself. That’s all Dean has ever wanted.

Sam has always had an angel watching over him, but the guardian never had wings to begin with. He wore a way-too-big, hand-me-down flannel shirt, had choppy dirty blond hair, and his under eyes were as dark as the unseen side of the moon. The boy with the demon blood’s guardian angel was, is, and always will be named Dean Winchester.

[klowhispers]

the two of us against the world

'if i die, what would you do?'

dean, who's cleaning the guns, sitting on a chair at the kitchen table, stops what he's doing and looks up. sam is on the bed they share, playing with the knife dad gave him a few towns ago.

'you won't die sammy, the hell are you talking about?'

sam rolls his eyes, put the knife on the bedside table and sit crosslegs on the mastress. then he adds: 'yeah but what if i do? what would you do?'

sam stares into his eyes, into his soul and dean answers: 'i'll bring you back.'

'how?'

'i don't know. i'll find a way.'

'and if you can't?'

'i'll join you.'

sam gets up, and walk slowly toward dean, and dean can't help himself but think about the way sam walk, with so much grace and power, like a pretator, yet so young, and he shivers. sam's standing right in front of him, so close that he can feels sam's breath on his face.

sam sits on his lap, arms around his neck, and dean put his hands on his waist.

'the two of us against the world, right? whatever happens?'

'whatever happens, sammy.'

sam smiles and there's a flash of gold in his eyes, but before dean can think of anything, sam kisses him and he forgets everything.