Sam sets two steaming cups of coffee down to the
bedside table and sinks down to the bed, careful not to wake Dean just yet. He reaches
out and touches his brother’s neck: he’s warm with sleep and comfort beneath
Sam’s touch.It’s sweet and simple: absolutely perfect.
Dean stirs, and his eyes draw open. Sam’s heart aches
in the loveliest way because Michael is gone: it’s Dean in there, looking up at him; a soft, sleepy smile spreading
over his face. Dean stretches with the air of a spoiled cat, rubbing his face
into Sam’s hand.“Hey,” Sam whispers. It’s so calm and quiet and Dean
is so soft, and the happiness that flares in Sam’s chest is almost frightening.
The moment feels so perfect and frail that he’s afraid he’ll shatter it just by
speaking.“Hey,” Dean murmurs back, the fullness of his mouth warm
against Sam’s palm. “I smell coffee.”“Yeah. I made pancakes too.”
Dean pushes himself up on his elbows, winces a little,
and looks at Sam properly. “Instead of brushing your hair?” he asks flippantly,
his raspy voice achingly familiar and affectionate. “It looks like an animal crawled
onto your head and died there. One of these days I might lose it, you know. Seize
a pair of scissors and cut it all off.”Sam laughs as he catches a glimpse of himself in the
mirror across the room. His hair is a long, tangled mess around his unshaven,
pale face. He drags a hand through his dirty strands, pointlessly. “Grooming
hasn’t been a top priority lately.”The mirth fades from Dean’s face at that, and he
reaches out. Sam swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing beneath Dean’s soft touch. “Yeah,
I can tell,” Dean says, quietly. Can’t remember ever seeing you with a beard like
this before.”Sam’s fingers curl around Dean’s wrist. The pulse beneath
his fingertips is quick and fluttering, and it makes Sam’s entire body thrum
with want: he wants to feel that heartbeat in his bones, wants to feel it
against him forever, wants to become one with that soft, perfect rhythm of Dean.He tugs his brother closer, feels Dean gasp a little
against his face as his hand comes to rest on Sam’s shoulder. Sam cradles Dean’s
head in his hand. Dean’s naked chest is warm against Sam.“I’ll get rid of it,” Sam promises against Dean’s
mouth. “The hair stays though.”“Mm,” Dean murmurs in agreement, fingers tangling in
the hair of Sam’s nape. His eyes find Sam’s. Dean looks so certain, so kind, and Sam wants to cry. “Hey,”
Dean adds gently. “So do I.”Dean slowly kisses the shaky little sigh of relief
from Sam’s mouth.Soon, the coffee goes cold beside them.
Tag: wincest
Teenage Dean with his quick wit, his gorgeous looks, his car that has everyone staring when he drives by. Teenage Dean being the one every one wants whether they admit it or not. Teenage Dean being the one everyone wants to hear say that they’re his.
Teenage Dean being the guy who could have anyone, and being stupidly in love with the one he shouldn’t. His lanky, quiet, shaggy haired, beautiful, beautiful little brother.
In the aftermath, Dean forgets all about the bullet.
It drops onto the floor of his room with a metallic “plink!” when he tosses his jacket onto the back of his chair. He hears the sound, but he’s busy yanking the t-shirt stained with too many bodily fluids from too many people over his head and hurling it (with a little more force than needed) in the direction of his garbage can.
There’s dried blood on his stomach. He doesn’t want to think about whose it might be, so he looks for distraction and finds it in the glint of steel on the floor.
He stoops and picks up the bullet, rolling it in the palm of his hand. It’s innocuous enough now, harmless and innocent in his grasp, but this little thing nearly cost him Sam. Nearly cost him everything.
He remembers telling Sam through gritted teeth that they’re going to keep this one, that it’ll be a memento. Looking at it now, he can’t think of anything he wants to remember less than today’s events.
He closes his hand around the bullet, making a fist, and storms out of his room, shirtlessness unheeded.
Sam is in bed, doing as he’s told for once. He’d begged for a shower but Dean had been inexorable, threatening to strap Sam down. He’d do it, too. They both know it.
He’s in bed, but not asleep – Dean supposes he’ll give his brother that one. He’s poring over some book with tiny-ass writing that is too small for the feeble light of his desk lamp, but Sam’s a stubborn bastard.
Dean figures that stubborness may have been all that kept this room from being empty forever, so he doesn’t say anything.
As Sam jerks his head up, concern for Dean’s abrupt entry overlaying the exhaustion on his face, Dean stalks over to the bed and holds out his clenched fist. Perplexed, Sam reaches out. When his fingers brush over Dean’s, slowly uncurling the tightly-held digits, Dean does his best to ignore the shiver that rolls down his spine at the gentle touch.
Sam looks down at the bullet and then up at him, eyes glimmering with something Dean can’t put a name to.
“I know I said we’d keep it,” Dean says gruffly, covering the tremour in his voice with roughness, “but I don’t want to see it again. Ever.” He frowns. “Unless you do.”
Sam takes the bullet in too-clean fingers – Dean had seen the blood caked in his nailbeds, knows that Sam would have scrubbed his hands to rid himself of any trace – and rolls it for a few seconds before setting it on the bedside table. Wordlessly, he turns back to Dean, the same hand outstretched, waiting.
When Dean puts his own hand in Sam’s, his brother tugs him forward, pulling him bodily into the bed, dragging him along until he’s spooned right up against Sam’s warm chest. He can feel Sam’s heart beating, strong and steady, and he presses back into the rhythm, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes.
Sam’s arms come around him, solid and comforting, and Dean closes his eyes against the reflection of the lamp on the bullet and loses himself in his brother’s embrace.
Sam is dangerous when he gets like this: feigned bashful
and doe-eyed, pink lips shiny with spit as he looks up at Dean from beneath
dark lashes. “Dean,” he says, whining like a brat, “I want to. Haven’t tasted
you all week, I know you want to.”“Wanted to fuck your mouth for days, Sammy,” Dean
tells him, long fingers tangling in Sam’s hair. ”But dad’s gonna be back soon. Next
case he leaves for, I promise. The things I’m gonna do to you, baby brother. Gonna mess you up.”“You know how fast my mouth gets you off, big brother,”
Sam says, filthily: he’s just a kid. “Dad’s
not around.”The thing is, John is.
John’s stiff with dread behind the front door,
takeaway pizzas going cold in his arms as he tries to keep the bile down his
throat. He thinks of the backseat of the Impala, of single beds to save money
and of warnings not to let anyone close – family
first, we’re leaving town, don’t get attached.He thinks of Dean’s young face; sweet and determined: “Sammy comes first.”
John feels his knees go weak and he leans against the
door when he thinks of Sam’s first steps, first words, first kiss and first fuck, and he thinks of Dean’s clear,
green gaze always searching for Sam. He thinks of Sam and Dean’s clothes always
smelling the same; he thinks of them tangled together everywhere; from cradle
to motels to cases to funerals, and
he wants to cry.John thinks about little Sam who’s never been on a
hunt but whose wrists are constantly bruised and about how many times he’s told
himself it’s just a trick of the light when his boys share looks that make John’s
chest go cold.He thinks of the vengeance he’s fed them and of the whiskey
nights he hadn’t been there to stop his sons from walking hand in hand into a
darkness so compact John wouldn’t be able to follow.He tries to think of Mary; of the sound of her voice
and the planes of her face but he finds that he can’t because holding onto her
memory is like water in a clenched fist, and all he hears is Dean and Sam
behind the door.“Okay Sammy,” Dean says, breathlessly. “Kneel, baby. I’ll
give it to you.”John falls to his knees with a soft thud.
On the other side of the door, his youngest boy does
the same.
au where dean doesnt just raise sam, he absolutely spoils him
letting him crawl onto his lap well into his teens, hand feeding him snacks as they watch movies, sleeping in the same bed whenever sam asks, stealing pretty things in stores across the country
it’s the one thing he doesn’t give in to john about, and after a while, john doesn’t want to deal with dean’s bargaining and sams looks of contempt
when john reunites with them in s1 he hopes that their time apart has changed them but hes sick to see theyre almost worse
he can see the looks waitresses and witnesses give them, how they stick too close, how dean growls if someone looks at sam wrong
when theyre alone in motel rooms together, the tiniest pretenses that they had are lost and they curl up naked together, touching and whispering promises into each others skin
what was it like?
like growing flowers in my chest and
forgetting to pull out the weeds.(x)
humming-metallica-in-the-tardis:
“Wait a second… did i just have sex with my brother?”
{pause}
“Eh whatever, it was good.”
WHAT IS AIR
Backup bloh 