kansaskisses:

kansaskissedlips:

has dean ever carried sam to bed

“Kid, you’re gettin’ too big for this,” Dean tells him when he’s fourteen, skinny and small for his age. He’s fallen asleep in front of the tv, trigonometry book in his lap, and he lays his head in the crook of Dean’s shoulder, breathes in that big-brother smell from his neck. Sam doesn’t think he’ll ever get too big for this. 

“Sam, you got to be kiddin’ me,” Dean grunts at him, and Sam can feel the tremble in his brother’s arms. He whimpers into Dean’s neck, clings to him tight, too hurt to move and he’s sorry, he is, except that it’s been years since he’s been carried to bed, and it’s comforting. 

“Come on, sweetheart, let’s go,” Dean says gently, scooping him up like they’re not grown men, like he doesn’t have inches and pounds on his brother. Sam kisses the hollow of Dean’s throat, lets his eyes drop shut. Dean crawls under the sheets after him, slips an arm around his tummy and tugs him in tight, kisses the nape of his neck. 

Sam will never be too big to be the little brother.