I’ve been following you around my entire life. I mean, I’ve been looking up to you since I was four, Dean. Studying you, trying to be just like my big brother. So yeah, I know you. Better than anyone else in the entire world.
Tag: they’re brothers or something
sometimes I think of how sammy at thirty has a big brother who still takes care of him and cooks for him and looks at him like he’s four and the cutest little brother on earth
and I think of how dean at thirty-five has never fathered a child most men at thirty-five have, but still has a kid who still looks at him sometimes like he’s the answer to everything, whom he raised with every bit of love he’s ever had, who loves him and needs him as big brother best friend dad mom everything
and then I just
They don’t say “I love you” but they say “hey lunatic” and “c’mere” and “you got this.” They say “bitch” and “jerk” and “you come back.” They don’t say “I love you” but if you listen closely, they do.
Let’s show them we are better
Even talking about all he did for Sam he looks at baby Sam with such fucking love
i tried cutting the ropes, tried letting go, but you're still the only one that feels like home
Supernatural + lyrics
All I want is nothing more
To hear you knocking at my door
‘Cause if I could see your face once more
I could die a happy man I’m sure
It’s hard to survive when your life could be over in a second.
Second version | more graphics by me.
a stitch undone
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: Teen
Length: ~3k
Summary:
Years go by, all containing more of the same, and Sam feels himself unraveling. At least, he thinks he does, in the moments he can remember. Linear timelines don’t exactly make sense to him anymore. He isn’t sure how long they can keep going like this–despite the rumors, they are only human.
On AO3 (notes, too, didn’t put them on the post bc minor spoilers to fic)
Dean had made a point to put as much distance between them and Arizona as possible. Sam sometimes wondered at Dean’s keen skills of avoidance. They were uncanny.
They had struck a Northeastern path across the ‘States, skittering from one interstate to the other and lurking in motels when they had the cash. Sam had a theory that there were only fifty-two or fewer real motels in existence, and each hunt, week by week, brought them to another. At this point, they’d cycled through the lot of them several times over. Each time Sam saw the same green bedspread with those little mosslike circles crowding close to one another, he became a little more nauseated.
Backup bloh 