Tag: wincest

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!

But Dean taking Sam to bars because he LOVES it when Sam is drunk enough to use his considerable height and weight to his advantage to throw Dean across the nearest flat surface available, nearly ripping Dean’s jeans off in his haste to fuck Dean, doesn’t even bother to remove his own clothes. Dean loves it when Sam’s drunk, loses all those inhibitions he stubbornly holds onto when he’s sober, fucks Dean without even complaining about not wearing a condom, slamming Dean HARD against whatever Dean’s being fucked into (could be the wall, a table, a bed, Dean doesn’t really care at that point) and DAMN Dean comes so hard he sees stars, and when Sam comes deep inside him after, he always yanks Dean’s head back to growl all the possessive words he wants to scream whenever someone makes a move on or touches Dean, because Dean is fucking HIS, no one else’s, HIS to fuck and to claim until neither of them can stand the next day. And Dean soaks up and hangs onto every word.

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.