Tag: Sam and Dean

Serial killers AU, someone hits on Sam in a bar and Dean doesn’t like it.

“Hello, handsome.” A woman said in a sultry voice, placing her hand on Sam’s arm. If her red dress and designer handbag wasn’t the first thing that screamed trouble, her giant wedding ring and stilettos so high her foot was perpendicular with the floor certainly did. “How about I buy you a drink?”

Sam smiled alluringly. “Thank you.” he said and helped the woman onto the stool next to him. A few drinks and not-so-casual touches later, the woman was happily tipsy and well on her way to getting laid by this giant hunk of a boy. She could feel herself already tingling with excitement. All of a sudden, a shorter but decidedly more attractive man wandered over from the pool table and slung an arm over the giant’s shoulders. 

“Well well well, who d’you got here, Sammy?” The man asked. The woman perked up. She wasn’t anticipating a threesome tonight, but damn if she didn’t want one now that she had seen the two men together. Sam grinned.

“Hey, Dean. This is a friend of mine.” The woman held out her hand, and he took it in his and pressed a lingering kiss to the back. Sam leaned in closer to Dean’s ear.

“I think she wants to go home with us,” he whispered into the shorter man’s ear. The woman shivered in delight. Tonight was going much better than she had planned. Dean nodded thoughtfully.

“You think so?” he asked rhetorically, eyeing up the woman. She straightened up and pressed her arms together subtly, pushing her cleavage out that much farther. “Hmmm…” Dean hummed deeply, his gravely voice dropping in timbre. The woman barely kept herself from drooling. 

“I think that’s a good idea.” he said at last and helped Sam stand. Sam downed the last of his drink and helped the woman off her stool and into her coat, Dean rubbing Sam’s back all the while. They walked out into the parking lot and Dean held the door to his impala open for the woman as she climbed in. She was practically vibrating with excitement as the men took her to a seedy motel nearby. They checked in for the night (the woman was sure the max these men were going to pay for was 2 hours, but she was happily mistaken) and moved into the room they were given. Dean had a duffle bag in one hand, and the woman looked at it curiously. Maybe they had brought along some toys…the woman felt herself get wetter just thinking about it. 

“Why don’t you go take a seat over there for a moment,” Sam whispered into the woman’s ear and motioned to the chair in the corner. She dutifully did as she was told, delicately crossing her legs and placing her handbag by the leg of it. Dean moved behind her, fiddling with the zipper on the bag. Sam sat down on the king mattress, staring at the woman.

Suddenly, a rope flew over the woman’s head and was fastened snugly around her waist and arms. The woman cried out, but something hard hit the back of her head with enough force to make spots dance across her vision. 

“Shut up, bitch.” Dean said coldly, quickly and effectively gagging her with…she didn’t even know what. “The minute you laid your hands on my Sammy, you were dead.” He grabbed her chair and dragged her across the carpet to the center of the room. “And know I get to have a little fun…” he growled the last word in her ear.

Sam smiled and waved from his place on the bed.

“You see,” Dean started conversationally, “Sammy’s been mine since the day he was born. Dad put him in my arms and I knew. It was instant. And I don’t like it when somebody touches what’s mine.” He slid the tip of a knife down her arm, carefully not breaking the skin. The woman shuddered in horror; two brothers were going to kill her for flirting.

“Sam!” Dean snapped suddenly, making the woman jump. Sam hopped up immediately and quickly went to Dean’s side. He wound his arms around Dean’s waist and locked his fingers together over Dean’s stomach, nuzzling his nose into Dean’s neck.

“Yeah, big brother?” he asked darkly.

“Where should I start first?” Dean asked, the knife twinkling ominously in the light. Sam chuckled.

“Her arm. That’s where she touched me first.” Sam squeezed his brother lightly and pressed a quick kiss to Dean’s cheek before stepping back. Dean grinned.

“Shall we begin?”

I want some teencest where Sam wants to drop out of school so he and dean could run away together but Dean convinces Sam to wait until he graduates

(A/N: I don’t actually think of John as this angry a person canonically, but to make the story fit, I made him a physically abusive asshole. Also, super extra secret bonus thing if any of you understand the teacher reference I threw in here!)

Sam walked into his bedroom-of-the-week, eyes still burning and red from his last bout with his father. A bruise was quickly forming on one of his cheeks, and he knew that he wouldn’t be able to go to school the next day because his teachers were very strict on the “no hats/no sunglasses” rule. Ms. Bitters, Sam’s homeroom teacher, was especially stern with rule-breaking. She had once growled at a student when he walked into class chewing gum. Sam shuddered slightly at the memory and chucked his backpack somewhere in the direction of the desk. He wanted nothing more than to throw himself onto his and Dean’s bed and sleep, but he needed to start dinner and do the laundry. 

Sam scrubbed a hand over his face and headed to the kitchen. John hadn’t gone grocery shopping in quite a while, as he was usually too drunk to remember to do so, so Sam had a very limited amount if ingredients to make something half-edible. He knew that asking his father for more would be pointless; once John got to the punching stage of his drunkenness, he was too far gone to do anything else but yell and cry. 

Pulling out his meager ingredients, Sam pondered over what to make. He had some ground beef, half of a loaf of stale bread, and some ketchup. Maybe meatloaf?

As Sam thought, John had wandered into the living room and slumped down on the couch, bottle of cheap whiskey dangling precariously from his fingers. He could hear his younger son banging around in the other room, making an awful racket that sent John’s head throbbing. 

“Saaammmm!“ he slurred, almost dropping his bottle. "Pipe down!" 

Immediately the noises from the kitchen quieted, and John nodded to himself.

"Fuckin’ h’ngry,” he mumbled and rubbed his stomach.

Sam huffed and went about dinner in a very reserved manner. He tried to make as little noise as possible, mixing and cleaning up after himself as though there was a bear in the next room and not his father. When Sam had the meatloaf in the oven, he went down into the basement and grabbed the ancient laundry basket he had found in the moth-ridden linen closet and silently made his way back into the room he and Dean shared. He gathered all their dirty clothes and softly tread towards his father’s room, quickly picking up all the soiled clothing on the floor and bed. He turned to head back to the basement where the outdated washer and dryer sat tiredly and almost screamed when he saw his brother standing in the doorway.

“Jesus, Dean,” Sam whispered angrily. “You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

“BOYS!” John bellowed, struggling to pull himself off the couch. Dean winced at the sound. 

“Don’t worry, Sammy, I got ‘im.” Dean said and practically ran to the living room. Sam shook his head and went down to the machines. He threw the clothing into the washer, poured in a small amount of detergent, and set it going. He checked the timer on the oven on his way back to his room, noted the time remaining, and walked into his room to start on his homework. Which he didn’t have to do. Because he couldn’t go to school the next day. Fuck.

“Hey, Sam?” Dean asked, sweeping into their room like a Greek god personified, brushing his hair back with one of his grimy hands. He had just finished his shift at the auto shop down the street. “I’m gonna take a shower, ‘kay?”

“Yeah, Dean.” said Sam solemnly, sitting down on their dingy comforter.

“Rough day?” Dean supplied, walking over to kneel in front of his little brother and rub a gentle thumb over Sam’s purple and yellow cheek. Sam just nodded. Dean sighed and stood, scratching at his neck awkwardly before grabbing his duffle and heading off to shower. 

Sam flopped back onto the mattress, staring up at the ceiling despondently. If only he and Dean could leave, get out from under their father’s proverbial boot and strike out on their own. But Sam and school, and… but he kind of really didn’t. He could barely go to school anyways, since most teachers frowned on his covering up and anti-social personality. A few had even threatened to call CPS on his dad because Sam had a test that day and couldn’t skip out after his dad had punched him. Sam sat back up, ideas racing through his mind so fast that he could barely catch them all. If school was the only thing holding them back from leaving, then Sam would gladly give it up to run away with his brother. 

Dean breezed back into the room, hair still wet from the shower. Sam jumped up and dragged his older brother onto their bed, motioning for Dean to be quiet. Dean’s eyebrows furrowed.

“What’s up, Sammy?” he whispered questioningly, placing a hand on Sam’s side. Sam warmed under the contact.

“Dean, I have an idea.” Sam whispered back. Dean’s face couldn’t pick between confused and amused.

“Oh yeah?” He asked finally, rubbing his hand up and down.

“I’m gonna drop out.” Sam stated, nodding firmly. Dean’s eyebrows practically shot up into his hair.

“What? Why?” he asked incredulously.

“Because.” Sam said, as if that explained everything. “Then we can leave.”

“Sammy, we can’t leave. You have to graduate.” Dean looked even more confused. Sam huffed.

“I don’t wanna graduate, Dean. Not if it means having to stick around here.” Sam scooted closer to his older brother, putting a meaningful hand on Dean’s knee. 

"Sam,” Dean said reproachfully. “I didn’t finish high school. And look where I am now! Working as a mechanic for some dip-shit who doesn’t know a thing about cars.

"Sammy.” Dean said and took his brother’s face in his hands, careful to avoid the new mark on his precious little brother’s skin. “I want you to have what I couldn’t. I had to drop out to take care of dad; the least you could do is finish and rub that diploma in my face.” Dean smiled sadly. Sam shook his head, reaching up to pull Dean’s hands off his face.

“No, Dean! I don’t want you to have to take care of dad anymore. We should get out of here. Dad can take care of himself, you know he can.” Sam looked into his brother’s eyes pleadingly, cradling Dean’s hands against his chest. 

“Sam.” Dean said and tried to pull away. “We can’t do that to him.”

“Why do you always have to defend him!? He hits me, abuses you; why can’t you just accept the fact that that man out there isn’t our father anymore!?” Sam stood angrily, pointing towards the shut door. 

“But he is our dad, Sam.” Dean said, staring at the wall. “We can’t just leave him now, especially since mom’s anniversary is coming up.” Dean’s voice cracked a little.

Sam sighed and looked down. “Then what should we do?” He asked in a hushed tone, already sounding defeated. He wanted to finish high school, but he could barely go because of all the bruises. 

"First of all, you are going to finish high school.” Dean said sternly, pulling Sam back onto the bed with him. ”We’ll figure out what we’re gonna do after that.” He dragged his brother into a hug, palming the back of Sam’s head.

"Okay, Dean.” Sam whispered into Dean’s neck. “Okay.”

What if, when Sam was just little, Dean came home from kindergarten on Sam’s birthday and gave Sam a little stuffed animal he had begged his teacher if he could have because it was his little brother’s birthday and he really wanted to give him something so his teacher let him keep it. It wasn’t very big; just a small, 4 inch tall teddy bear, but Sam loved it and slept with it always wrapped tightly in his fist, so Dean took up the tradition of getting a stuffed toy for Sam every year on his birthday. He knew dad would scold him if the toy was too big, so he made sure to get small ones that could fit in his pocket, if necessary. No matter what was going on between them, Dean always made sure to stop by a Walgreen’s or local thrift store to pick up an animal for Sammy. The year he thought Sam was dead (Dean didn’t like to think about it), he bought an armadillo one holding a little Arizona license plate that had Sam’s name on it and hung it on the mirror of the Impala. When Sam came back, he didn’t touch it, but when his soul was returned to his body, the animal was gone by the next day. The year Dean was in Purgatory, as soon as he put Benny’s soul back into his corpse, he went to the nearest gas station, bought a duck, and stuffed it into Sam’s pocket when they first met up again. And when Sam settled into his own room (finally) in the bunker, Dean snuck in there one night because he thought he’d heard a noise while Sam was in the library, and what he found almost made his bad knee give out. He saw all the stuffed animals, all of them, lined up in even rows along the bookshelf above Sam’s bed. They were organized by the year Dean got them, the now-ratty teddy bear on the top shelf all the way to the left, and the newest one, a fluffy buffalo on a key chain, on the bottom farthest right. Dean spun around to leave and ran into a wall of Sam. Sam steadied him, looked Dean in the eye, asking if he was okay, and then glanced up to see what had startled his big brother. He spotted the toys and blushed slightly, looking younger than he had in ages. Dean marveled at his brother’s face, unable to process.

“You kept them?” Dean whispered, not quite able to speak up.

“…Yeah. I did.” Sam answered uneasily, trying to gauge Dean’s mood.

Dean stared at the floor for a time, trying to put it all together.

“How?” he asked finally. Sam scratched the back of his head, looking anywhere but at Dean.

“I, uh, had ‘em all wrapped up in one of my old t-shirts at the bottom of my duffle.” Sam told him honestly, staring at the wall. Dean finally looked at Sam’s face.

“How’d they all fit?” He demanded, still trying to come to terms with it.

“Why do you think I had to do the laundry so often?” Sam asked depreciatingly, wanting, more than anything, for this conversation to end. Dean’s breath caught, and he stared at his brother’s chest. Sam watched him quietly, not wanting to interrupt Dean’s thinking. Finally, Dean stepped forward and pulled Sam into a tight, unexpected hug. Sam jerked, but brought his arms around Dean hesitantly.

“Thank you, Sam.” Dean whispered against Sam’s collarbone and squeezed tighter.

But what if Sam and Dean slept in the exact same positions every night, so in tune with each other because of the decades of sleeping in the same bed, one of them spooned up behind the other (the role of “big spoon” changed over the years when Sam got to be taller than Dean and thought it would be more comfortable to be behind Dean. So one night he climbed in behind and they both slept like that ever since)? Even when they fought and slept in different rooms or cities or states they would still curl into bed in position; Sam’s arm tucked under his pillow and other arm thrown out in front of him, his back bent forward slightly to curl against Dean’s even when he wasn’t there, and Dean’s arm closest to the bed curled against his chest, fist under his chin and other arm propped on his hip, as if Sam’s arm was slung across it and their fingers were tangled together. But neither of them could sleep alone very well because Sam’s extremities were like ice at night so he would press his toes up against Dean’s calves and Dean would radiate heat against Sam’s stomach, so Dean’s legs would be too hot and Sam’s chest would be too cold when the slept without each other.

For all the bravado Dean exuded when he talked about his rather extensive sex life, Sam was surprised to find that Dean was, for the most part, silent in the sack. A little grunt here or there, maybe a growl when he really got in the mood, but other than that, he stayed pretty quiet. Sammy, on the other hand, couldn’t keep his mouth shut. As soon as Dean would shoot him that look, Sam would be whimpering and squirming in his chair. He’d moan and clench under Dean’s mouth, whether it was sliding hotly across Sam’s chest and neck or closing over one of Sam’s nipples, and Sam would practically scream once Dean’d sink down onto Sammy’s cock. Dean didn’t mind too much, though. Always gave the neighbors something to do.

Sam and Dean (finally) getting together after Sam turns 18, because Dean just had to wait for Sam to be legal, and Sam happily settling into the routine of hunting, sleeping, and having sex with his older brother. But Sam coming back from grabbing dinner for them both after a routine salt and burn at one in the morning to find Dean on their bed with the waitress from the diner where they had had breakfast that morning, and Sam being so confused, wait, they’re not exclusive? But Dean said that Sam was it. He was the end game, no passing go, that was that. Sam certainly wasn’t even allowed to look at girls, let alone touch them. Dean always kicked Sam in the shin when he looked at a waitress for too long and smacked him upside the head for watching the ass in front of them bounce as whatever random girl walked down the street, always punched him in the arm for letting his eyes slip down to a girl’s chest. But Dean was allowed to sleep with other people? How was that fair? Righteous anger filled Sam as he stormed back out the door, dropping dinner on the table as he went. He strode back to the Impala and climbed into the back seat, debating on whether or not he should just leave Dean’s ass there and drive off without him. But Sam’s stuff was still in his duffle in the corner, and his favorite gun was underneath the pillow on his side of the bed.

Sam sulked in the car for well over 2 hours before the waitress stumbled out of their motel room, so drunk that she could barely walk, giggling on her way back to her car. Sam should’ve keyed it or something. After waiting until the girl left the parking lot, Sam skulked back into their room to find Dean passed out on their bed and the food eaten. Sam could smell the booze practically pouring off Dean, and one look at Dean’s blissed out face had all the indignant anger Sam felt whoosh out of him. Dean looked…happy, not like he did whenever he and Sam went at it. He always looked so worried whenever he fucked Sam, his face always drawn tight and his eyes unreadable, and Sam thought Dean was just concentrating, not hiding whatever he was feeling. So Sam packed up his things while Dean snoozed on, pulling his gun out from under Dean’s head without so much as a sleepy snort from Sam’s drunk older brother. Sam left his key on the table next to an empty take out box and quietly left, headed towards the one place he could; Stanford.

An AU where Dean didn’t come pick Sam up from Stanford when John went missing and Sam being able to save Jess from Azazel, only to find that he and Jess just weren’t meant to be and splitting amicably, no hard feelings at all, and Sam getting his degree in Law. And Dean coming to see Sam graduate, little bitch finally getting what he wanted, and Sam dragging Dean back to his apartment to celebrate, and Sam getting totally shitfaced and drunkenly admitting to Dean his not-so-platonic love for Dean and finding out that Dean reciprocated his feelings, and the boys falling together and having happy, giggly sex because damn Sammy why are you so ticklish? and Dean finally sliding home inside his baby brother, breathing hotly against Sam’s neck, trying to keep from hurting Sam, his little Sammy, his, and Sam rocking up into Dean, whispering in Dean’s ear all the things that he kept bottled up whenever he had looked at Dean’s face and thought about kissing him, wanting to so badly, but thinking it was forbidden. Sam laughing giddily because he can finally have what he’s wanted for so long, can’t even imagine how long, Dean, hugging Dean close until they both lose it, snuggling against Dean afterwards, unable to keep his hands to himself because now he didn’t have to, he could touch as much as he wanted.

I kinda wanna fic where Dean gets cursed by a witch/voodoo priestess and has to suffer as she suffers every month. He gets the cramps, bloating, hormonal rampages, and maybe a whole set of female genitals even forms behind Dean’s own package for those 5-7 days of torture and he gets one hell of a heavy period where no amount of tampons can stop up the flow for more than a few hours. And I want a scene where Dean’s hormones won’t let him not cuddle on the single king mattress in their motel of the week with Sam. (Dean pitched a major bitch fit when Sam was going to get them 2 queens, even though when Dean wasn’t on the rag he only wanted a 2 queen room.) He’s got on one of those heavy duty overnight pads (Sam found them, the girl that he is finally paying off for once, or so Dean says to keep a little bit of his masculinity in tact) and Dean is pressed up tight against Sam, his back practically glued to Sam’s chest, his ass stuck right up against Sam’s crotch, and they’re watching TV but not really watching TV because Sam’s rubbing his hand right on top of Dean’s cramps and it’s not really doing much but the pressure is still appreciated and GOD THIS NEEDS TO EXIST SOMEONE WRITE THIS FOR ME AND I WILL LOVE YOU FOREVER I’LL WRITE YOU WHATEVER YOU WANT ME TO JUST PLEASE PLEASE!