Tag: Weecest

Wincest prompt: Dean sees other girls taking interest in Sammy and makes sure to steal Sam his first kiss. :D possesive Dean is a plus

Dean was headed to chemistry when he heard it.

“Oh my goodness, Jane! The new boy in our government class is so cute!” Dean turned to see a few freshmen girls making their way slowly down the otherwise deserted hallway. 

“I know, right? He’s so adorable! And his dimples, ugh! I wonder if he has a girlfriend.”

“I highly doubt it. He just moved here. And even if he did, she’d be too far away to do anything about it.” the first girl giggled loudly. The girls turned the corner chatting excitedly and disappeared.

Dean, however, was frozen, mind racing at the thought of his Sammy with something as ridiculous as a girlfriend. He mentally backtracked to that time in his life. Quickly doing the figuring, Dean blanched. He had lost his virginity by that time. Even if his brother was decidedly more prudish than Dean, that didn’t mean that Sam hadn’t thought about girls, about kissing them…

Dean stormed down the hallway, his mood now dismal. Sam hadn’t even mentioned being interested in someone, but what if that was because Sam didn’t trust Dean enough to go to him with these kinds of issues? Or maybe he was embarrassed about his lack of knowledge in that particular area compared to Dean? The 18 year old stomped into his classroom and slumped into his seat. Not many paid him any notice, happily carrying their conversations and ignoring the anger practically rolling off the new kid.

The teacher soon silenced the room and commenced class. 

Dean spent the class in agitated turmoil. He had long since accepted his feelings towards his brother as something more than platonic, but that didn’t mean that he had actually thought about Sam with other people. Rage and jealousy boiled under Dean’s skin, and he willed the clock to go faster so he could go and find his little brother. As soon as the bell rang, Dean jumped out of his seat and charged toward their designated meeting spot. When Sam came into view, a little bit of the anger seeped away. Dean wasn’t so much mad at Sam as he was at himself for not realizing sooner that of course Sam could be interested in other people. 

Sam watched as his brother came into view, and noticed immediately that something was off. Had a student said something to piss Dean off? 

“Hey, Dean,” Sam said uneasily.

“‘Sup, Sammy?” Dean replied distractedly, scanning the halls and placing an absentminded hand on Sam’s shoulder. The younger boy warmed under the contact; Dean rarely touched him in public. His love for his older brother far surpassed what was considered normal, but damn if Sam didn’t love it when Dean physically showed his affection. 

“Ready to go?” Sam asked, looking up at his brother.

Dean nodded distractedly and lead Sam to the car, hand never leaving Sam’s arm. Sam inwardly grinned and allowed himself to be pushed towards the impala. He climbed in and threw his bag over the back of the seat, Dean doing the same. 

“Sammy?” Dean questioned hesitantly. Sam paused in his process of buckling his seat belt to look over at his brother.

“Yeah?”

Dean slowly shook his head and threw on his “big brother” grin.

“So, there any girls you dig?” he asked as turned the key in the ignition. Sam’s eyebrows drew together.

“No, why?”

Dean shrugged. “Just wondering.” but he looked a lot more at ease. Sam’s heart started to race at the implications. 

“Dean, does that—? I mean, do you—? That is…” Sam stuttered, fiddling with his fingers and cracking his knuckles. “Were you jealous?” Sam finally blurted and almost slapped himself. 

Dean blinked. “You sound a little hopeful, there, baby boy.”

“Well, I, um… I just—” Sam sighed and dragged a hand through his hair. Dean pulled up to their motel and put Baby in park. 

“Yeah?” Dean encouraged, staring at his little brother. 

“Uh, what I mean to say is, um… yes.” Sam admitted and looked down at his lap, terrified of what Dean’s face was doing. Had he assumed wrong? Dean wasn’t saying anything. Oh god, he fucked up big time. “Dean, I, I’m sorry—”

“Shut up, Sam.” Dean said, and Sam’s eyes snapped over to his older brother. Dean was smiling, well and truly smiling, hope lighting up his eyes. Sam’s breath caught.

Suddenly, Dean lunged, grabbing his younger brother and dragging Sam into his lap. He laughed giddily and pulled Sam in for a kiss. The 14 year old yelped but returned the kiss enthusiastically. 

Out of all the make out sessions Dean had participated in, this one was definitely towards the lower end skill-wise, but Sammy more than made up for it in enthusiasm. His fingers gripped Dean’s shoulders tightly, as if letting go meant getting shoved away, so Dean wrapped his arms around Sam’s waist and dragged him closer. Sam wrenched his mouth away suddenly and dropped his forehead onto Dean’s.

“Thank you.” he whispered. Dean huffed.

“No chick flick moments.”

“Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

Please write me some extra fluffy weecest with lots of Sam’s puppy eyes and awesome big bro Dean ! Thx

(A/N: I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG. I was writing this, had it almost finished, and then the page crashed, so I got super angry and gave up for several days. It’s not as long as the original, and I do apologize for that. I hope you enjoy anyway!)

“Sammy, I’m home!” Dean called out from the entryway of their apartment-of-the-week and threw his keys into the little bowl on the side table as he did so.

“Dean!” the older brother heard from somewhere within the apartment. Running footsteps followed and soon Dean was catching a flying Sam out of the air. “You’re home!” Sam exclaimed and buried his nose in his brother’s neck. The 19 year old chuckled and pulled Sam in closer for a tight hug.

“Hey, baby boy.” he greeted, kissing Sam’s hair briefly before putting his younger brother down. “I brought dinner.” Dean held up a bag of food from the diner up the street. “I got your favorite. Salad with carrots, cucumbers, tomatoes and those crunchy curly thingies you like so much.” Dean held the bag aloft to make his point. Sam snagged the bag and headed towards the kitchen, Dean following close behind.

“They’re deep fried noodles, Dean, how many times do I have to tell you that?” Sam asked rhetorically and put the food down on the table. Dean rolled his eyes but wisely refrained from commenting. He busied himself by setting the table whilst Sam unpacked the food, Sam with his salad and Dean with a burger.

“So how was school today?” Dean questioned when he saw his little brother about to protest his choice of dinner. Sam sighed but decided to drop it.

“Mr. Kropp sat on another tack today. I swear, he must have an army of them on his desk that jump onto his chair to stab him every day.” Sam said around a mouthful of salad and dressing. “And Mrs. Graves is conspiring to fail me. She said that the paper that I turned in last week had ‘too strong an argument.’ What does that even mean?” Sam practically demanded. Dean chuckled.

"Too damn smart for your own good, Sammy.” he replied and ruffled his little brother’s hair fondly. Sam squeaked in indignation and batted Dean’s hand away, but continued eating in lieu of talking again.

They finished their dinner in companionable silence and Sam stayed in the kitchen to wash up whilst Dean sat down in front of the ancient television and flipped over to an episode of M*A*S*H. Sam hurried through his cleaning and joined his brother on the couch, snuggling onto the couch. Dean lifted his arm let Sam burrow into his side until he was comfortable.

They finished the episode, and once it was over, Dean flicked the TV off, throwing his brother a side glance as he did so. Sam sprang up and practically dragged his older brother to their bedroom, slamming the door behind them and pressing up against Dean’s chest. Dean immediately locked their lips together and wrapped his arms around Sam’s waist. Sam moaned into the kiss and raked his nails down the older boy’s sides. He gripped the hem of his brother’s t-shirt and whimpered when Dean wouldn’t let go of the back of his head. When he finally wrenched his mouth away, he threw his best puppy eyes up at his brother, fingering the threadbare t-shirt and tugging on it subtly.

“Dean,” Sam griped. “It’s my turn today.” Dean laughed and grabbed Sam’s ass.

"So it is, baby boy.” he whispered in his brother’s ear and bit down lightly on the lobe. Sam gasped but pushed the 19 year old away again. Sam threw a pouty face at his older brother and dropped to his knees.

“Fuck, yeah, Sammy.” Dean breathed and tangled his fingers into Sam’s hair. The night was going to be a long one, Sam would make that certain.

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.”

I’m taking prompts if anyone wants to send me one! I’ll do anything Wincest/Weecest (except non-con and self-harm/suicide) so send away! I also do “ask Winchesters/Weechesters” (just specify which one you want) 

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.

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.

No but every time Dean gets hurt, whether he gets punched in the face for speaking rudely, or slashed by the monster of the week, or slammed against yet another wall in an abandoned house/asylum/apartment building/whatever, Sammy will always take Dean in his arms and carefully, so careful Sammy, clean away the blood, if any, and patch Dean up as though he were made of the most delicate glass. Sam holds Dean like he’s something to be cherished, like Sam’s holding the world in his hands, and presses a kiss to each and every wound Dean receives, whispers how beautiful and how precious Dean is to him, finishing each patch-up with a kiss to Dean’s lips and a murmured “I love you, Dean.” And Dean counts his scars as little trophies, places where Sam has worshiped his body and made Dean whole again. 

The first time Sam catches Dean smoking, it’s right after they snagged their first black dog. Sam’s got a pretty nasty gash on his cheek, and Dean’s got a few scratches on his forearm, but other than that, they’re fine. Just part of the job. And when Sam sees that cancer stick poking out of Dean’s mouth, smoke curling out from Dean’s nose and lips, Sam wants to run over and yank it away, stomp on it until it was unrecognizable, because how could Dean be allowing that acrid…stuff fill his lungs? It kills so many people, including their great aunt Gene, but Sam had never met her, so he guessed that she wasn’t a very good example. But. Smoking? Sam thought that Dean had better sense than that. They both had to sit through that health class back in Louisiana, didn’t Dean remember that blackened pig’s lung they had brought in for the health fair? But Sam did nothing, hid in the shadows until Dean crushed the butt against the curb he was sitting on and flicked it out into the motel parking lot before heading back inside. He followed a few minutes afterwards, still trying to wrap his brain around it. Stupid Dean and his stupid need to be cool​, Sam grumbled to himself glumly.

Dean was lying on their bed, head propped against his pillow while he watched some movie with enough of a body count to keep him semi-interested. Sam plopped down at the table to do his homework while trying to devise a way of stealing the rest of the pack Dean had to have without getting caught. When Sam was just finishing up, Dean switched off the TV and went over to give Sam a quick kiss before his shower. Dean tasted like smoke, and Sam wanted to hurl from the intensity of it. Dean pulled away, pecked Sam one last time, and wandered over to the bathroom door. Sam sat still for a few minutes, trying to keep his stomach from turning inside out at the residual taste left on his tongue before getting up to search for the pack of cigarettes. He found it buried at the bottom of Dean’s ​duffle​, and crumpled it in his hand when he saw that more than half the pack was already gone. He charged outside and hurled it into the dumpster, his chest heaving in frustration. Damn if Dean found out; he’d better not stick another one in his mouth or God help him Sam was going to punch Dean straight in the face and grind that cigarette into the sleeve of Dean’s favorite leather jacket. That’d teach him not to suck down cancer sticks like it didn’t even matter.

Sam quietly walked back into the motel room, packed​ up his now finished homework and flopped onto his dad’s bed, trying to calm his breathing to a level where Dean wouldn’t notice. Dean breezed back into the room in nothing but a towel, all but whistling from his post-hunt high that Sam never understood but knew was inherently Dean​.​ He bent down to rifle through his duffle and Sam didn’t even care if Dean noticed his cigarettes were gone because Fuck​.​ Him.

Sam could tell the exact moment Dean noticed their absence by the muscles in Dean’s back tensing all at once.

“Sammy?” Dean questioned quietly, his voice laced​ with danger and barely concealed anger. Sam didn’t even fucking care.

“What Dean?” Sam asked, confrontation clear in his voice.

“You know damn well what!” Dean yelled, whirling around to see an equally enraged Sammy. “Where. Are. They?”

“Fuck you, Dean! Don’t you know anything​? Those things will kill you!” Sam clenched his fists at his sides, trying to keep himself from actually attacking his older, fucking idiotic brother. God, Dean was so stupid sometimes.

“Fuck you, Sam! Give ‘em back!” Dean was visibly shaking, barely controlling his rage.

“Dean, c’mon! Your teeth are gonna turn yellow and fall out, your hair and clothes will smell bad, you’re gonna get a bunch of diseases, and you won’t be able to taste anything! Why the FUCK would you willingly suck one of those things into your lungs!?” Sam screamed. He was pissed. Well and truly pissed. If Dean didn’t back down, Sam wasn’t sure what he was going to do, but he knew it wouldn’t be good.

“Because it helps me CALM DOWN!” Dean bellowed and slapped Sam across the face. He didn’t plan on doing it; it just happened. Sam recoiled from the hit, holding his hand against his burning cheek in shock. No matter how bad they fought, Dean had never hit Sam before, not even when Dean came back one night to find Sam cutting holes in his favorite Metallica t-shirt because Sam couldn’t find any paper to make “snowflakes for daddy”. That was when Sam was 3.

“Fine.” Sam said quietly, turning away. “You’ll find your cigarettes in the dumpster.” And with that, Sam stormed out of the room, eyes filled with angry tears.

“Fuck,” Dean said eloquently and slumped down on his and Sam’s bed. He really fucked up this time.