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jinkieswouldyoulookatthis · 2 years ago

Text

Rolling

Just a hunt fic with lots of weirdly close brother moments.

Words: 4395

Relationship: Just the brothers being weirdly close, no wincest, no smut, but this definitely qualifies as weirdcest.

Warnings: Drug use, recreational drug use, illegal drugs are illegal... Mmmkay?

Read it on AO3 here

The door opened and Dean stepped into the motel room, tossing a small, brown paper bag onto the crappy table in front of Sam’s laptop. Whatever was in it made a soft, rattling thunk. Sam looked at it and then up at Dean as he closed the door.

“What’s that?”

“I figured out how to find our killer.” Dean said as he pulled out the other chair and sat across from Sam.

“How?”

“What is the one thing that our witnesses who claim to have seen the shadow figure had that the other witnesses didn’t?”

Sam blinked at him for a moment, thinking. “I don’t know, what?”

Dean grabbed the bag, opened it, and pulled out an unlabeled orange plastic pill bottle with a few caplets in it, and tapped the bottle down onto the table. Sam picked it up and shook it while Dean crumpled up the bag and tossed it into the trash can. “Two points!”

“What are these?”

“MDMA.”

“Ecstasy?”

“Yup.” Dean watched the wheels turn in Sam’s head for a second before pulling out a folded paper from his jacket pocket. He held it up before tossing it down on the table. There was a phone number and the name Jeni written on it. “Open it.”

Sam gave a little huff of air out his nose with a shake of his head and looked at his brother who shot him a quick bragging sort of grin before shrugging. Dean never ceased to be Dean. Sam picked up the piece of paper and unfolded it.

“So our latest vic was rolling his ass off, right?” Dean said, matter of factly.

The contents of the toxicology report Sam was holding verified this to be true.

“So I thought back to our witnesses, the two who said they saw a ‘tall, thin, shadowy figure that flickered across the dance floor’ right before it attacked poor Dylan,” he tapped the newspaper clipping that was on top of the paperwork that Sam had stacked neatly next to his laptop. “Their pupils were dilated and were also really easy to get talking, like, they would not shut up. That one guy just kept going on about the song that was playing as if it was connected somehow, A club like that? With our victim’s system full of molly?” He flicked the report. “The official reports on all of these deaths have been that they were drug related, like that somehow explains how eleven people’s hearts just burst.”

“So you think they could only see it because they were high?” Sam asked dubiously.

“It’s not that far of a stretch. Drugs have been used since the beginning of time to alter states of consciousness as parts of religious and spiritual practices, vision quests and all that, right? Well, Ecstasy alters perceptions, for sure.”

“Huh. That’s actually… that’s not a bad theory.”

“Don’t sound too surprised there, Sammy.”

“No it’s just…” Sam laughed, “leave it to you to pick up on the recreational drug use angle.”

Dean smiled broadly at that. “I told you, man, that was all research. And I believe I said that it would come in handy someday too, didn’t I?”

“Yeah. You did.” Sam shook the bottle again and his brow furrowed. “So you bought these so that we could…” He trailed off, not entirely comfortable with where he saw this going.

“If the pattern holds, then there will be another attack tonight and you and I will be there, ready for it. Because if we aren’t, if we don’t stop it, someone else is gonna die and we’ll have to wait until next year to try again.”

“Ok, yeah.” Sam still sounded unsure and Dean looked at him, really looked at him for a second.

“Wait, you never…?”

Sam swallowed, brow furrow deepening, spots of red blooming on his cheeks, “No.”

“Oh shit, Sammy! No wonder you’re so uptight. It’ll be good, great even. We’ll gank the baddie and then just feel good about everything for a while. Of course the come down is a bitch. But knowing you, you’ll love that part, have a reason to be all moody and broody.”

Sam huffed another puff of air out his nose and pressed his lips together in annoyance.

***

The intimidatingly beefy man working the door had given them a look and just paused, blocking the entrance. Dean flashed him a smile and nonchalantly held his hand out, a neatly folded $50 held against his palm. With the briefest of glances, the bouncer shook his hand and when he let go the $50 had miraculously vanished and they were waved in past him.

As they walked into the club, the house music was loud and, well, it was loud and bassy, that’s about all Sam could say about it. Mostly dark, but with flashing, strobing lights and already a small sea of people milling about, some dancing, many drinking, forming little clusters and cliques around the space. Everyone looked like they belonged in the club, lots of skin and make-up, gelled hair and tanned muscles. All the bright colors glowed in the black lights that were scattered around. He followed Dean who had headed right towards the bar.

“Dean, we look like townies.”

“Yeah, we probably should have gone easy on the plaid. Oh well. I don’t think it’ll matter any way.” He bought two bottles of water from the bartender and handed one to Sam, followed by one of the caplets.

Before he could start to overthink the situation, Sam swallowed it with a gulp of water and saw Dean do the same.

“Alright. We’ve got twenty to thirty minutes, let’s scope the place out.” Dean indicated that he was going to go one way and wanted Sam to go the other. “Meet back here.”

Sam looked around, focusing on seeing through the flashing lights and movement. The music was an incessant pulsing on his eardrums and it was so loud it actually made his jeans vibrate as he passed speakers that were painted black to match and blend in with the walls. A lifetime of disciplined practice kicked in and the chaos toned down enough that he could really see the people around him and the layout of the place. He made note of doors and hallways, making educated guesses about where they’d lead. He found fire alarm pulls and where the emergency lighting boxes were. He kept a mental tally of faces and body language. He identified groups that had obviously come here together as well as individuals who were probably hoping to find someone to leave with later.

It took him about 10 minutes, the place wasn’t complex and the night was still young enough that it wasn’t completely packed yet, but he didn’t want to rush. Many well thought out plans had gone sour because of careless errors. So he took his time and made sure he did the job right. Dean was already back, leaning against the bar when Sam joined him.

They discussed the layout of the place and that they hadn’t seen anyone or anything suspicious looking. Although some of the usual paranormal tells were of no use here. EMF would be going off regardless of any supernatural activity, thanks to all the wiring for the lights and sound system. And of course spotting a flickering light would be next to impossible. But they’ve been doing this long enough that sometimes they can just tell.

“Ooh, hello.” Dean said with a smile.

Sam followed his gaze. A sun-kissed blonde was dancing and laughing with another girl. Toned, tan skin barely concealed by a top that was just a sparkly draped scrap of fabric that looked like it was being held on by magic, and a short, short leather skirt slung low across her hips. She should have been a model, and if she wasn’t then something wasn’t right with the universe. Sam raised his eyebrows, actually impressed. His brother’s appreciation for the female form was typically generous and undemanding, but, “Wow, yeah.”

Dean leaned a little towards Sam, “Sarah Adams in Galveston.”

“What?” Sam’s mind scrolled back quickly to a memory already a decade old. “Why? She looks nothing like Sarah Adams, Dean.”

“I know, but Sarah was hot! In that bathing suit, sitting up in the lifeguard chair, blowing her whistle…” His eyes shut for a second. “Mmm.”

Sam laughed. “What made you think of her?”

“Tan skin always makes me think of her. That was one hell of a hot summer. Did I ever tell you about the time I gave her a ride home from the mall? Dad had let me use the car…”

“Meaning he was asleep and you took it without asking.”

Dean continued as if he hadn’t heard the interjection, “...and she was walking. It was nine o’clock at night and it was still like 90 degrees. And she was wearing these little cutoff jean shorts and one of those stretchy shirts that just hug around the chest with no straps or anything.”

“A tube top?” Sam supplied.

“Oh yeah! You know the best part about a tube top?” and he gave Sam one of his patented cheshire leers.

Sam couldn’t help but smile back, knowing this was going nowhere good. “What?”

“Easy access!”

Sam rolled his eyes and laughed. He’d heard all about Dean’s exploits with Sarah Adams. She was all he’d talked about for months. Anytime their dad wasn’t around, he’d start in, regalling Sam with ever more exaggerated tales. Each retelling bringing a new level of disturbing detail to make the twelve year old Sam blush.

Sam wasn’t twelve anymore.

“Probably not as easy as that.” and he nodded at the blonde who was grinding back into a guy with gelled up spiky hair wearing tight black jeans and a partially unbuttoned white shirt. He had one hand on her hip, holding himself against her, and the other up under the scrap of fabric passing as her top.

Dean’s eyes widened and his lips went from smiling to forming a perfect O before he blinked and closed his mouth to swallow thickly.

The music pulsed and the couple moved with it.

“Oh, her friend doesn’t look happy though.” Sam noted and leaned a little closer to Dean, nodding towards the curvy brunette in a skin-tight red dress who’d been dancing and laughing with the blonde a few minutes ago. She tried to say something to her friend but was ignored. She tried again and got a shake of blonde hair in response. The guy scowled and said something abrupt.

“Oh, she’s getting mad.” Dean said.

The brunette was fuming and pulling on her friend’s arm. The blonde shook her off with a smile and turned around, plastering herself to the guy. Even though they couldn’t hear over the music from where they were, they saw the brunette shout her friend’s name as she stomped her foot.

“She’s kinda cute when she’s angry.”

“You get the feeling this isn’t the first time this has happened?”

Dean tugged on the front of his shirts, pulling the fabric away from his body a few times, “I bet Blondie does this all the time.”

“And she asked her friend to keep an eye on her, to stop her if she did it again?” Sam guessed.

“Nope.” Dean said with confidence. “Her friend is just tired of getting ditched when they go out but Blondie promised it wouldn’t happen this time. But now that she’s here, with the music, and a good looking guy, who okay, maybe he’s a douchebag, he looks like a douchebag, but he’s into her and she really needs the validation.”

Sam looked at his brother. That was surprisingly astute and not what he would’ve expected. Sometimes he forgets how intuitive Dean is, how he just seems to get how people work.

“Here she comes.”

Sam looked back into the crowd just as the brunette stormed over to the bar just past Dean. She got the bartender’s attention and ordered a drink. Dean had turned around as the bartender set the drink in front of her. He slid some money across the bar and leaned down towards her just a bit. “It’s on me.”

She looked up, annoyance blinked away quickly as she took in his face and easy smile.

Sam couldn’t see Dean’s face, but he could see hers and he already knew what she was facing. Dean might’ve never been able to get folks to trust him when he was being sincere, they always seemed to suspect him of something, but in settings like this, when he smiled at you, you felt it all the way down and it made your breath catch and your heart beat a little harder. Yeah, he might not earn trust easily, not like Sam always could, but Dean could seduce a snowman without hardly trying.

“Thanks.” she said and took a sip of her drink.

“You ok?”

She glanced back at her friend who was one step away from having sex with the guy on the dancefloor. “Yeah. She does this. I don’t know why I keep coming out with her.”

“Well, you are way too pretty to be someone’s chaperone, especially if they don’t really want one.”

Her cheeks burned red as she took a sip of her drink, but then she smiled as she swallowed. “You know what? I am. I look good tonight!” Confidence flared in her eyes, “Do you want to dance?”

Dean leaned in close to her and Sam couldn’t catch what he said. Dean gently ran a finger across the back of her hand as she wrote her number on a napkin and handed it to him. “Call me when you get done with that,” she said.

“You bet.” he said as she took her drink and sauntered off. Turning back to Sam he whistled, tucking the napkin into his pocket. “She’s a little firecracker!”

“How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“She went from fuming to prowling in like, five seconds!”

Dean laughed, “Oh that? That’s easy. Anger and horniness are like this.” and he held up two fingers pressed together. “She just wanted to be seen too, wanted to feel desirable.” He shrugged. “Man, I bet she is fun in the sack.”

Sam laughed. It was an honest laugh, lacking any of the lingering resentment or jealousy he usually felt when his brother picked up women.

Dean leaned back against the bar next to Sam, close enough that their shoulders were touching. “Picking up women isn’t hard if you keep that in mind. They want to be seen and made to feel like they’re wanted, appreciated. Some of them will shoot you down, but it’s nothing personal, just the wrong time and place.” He took a sip of his water and looked around the club. His laid back casanova vibe slipped for a moment as he scanned for anything hinky.

There were more people now, easily twice as many as when they’d come in. Sam realized that he’d started to sweat and wished that he could take off his jacket, but considering the sawed off shotgun the jacket was concealing, he kept it on. Sam knew that Dean would have never tipped a bouncer fifty bucks to get into a club, at least, not without trying a twenty first. But in all likelihood, the guy was going to lose his job tonight, thanks to them, so he’d just gone high. To hell with it.

A woman squeezed up to the bar to Sam’s right. Normally, the close contact would make him feel uncomfortable, self conscious, like he was taking up too much space, but she smelled really good and her voice, when she ordered her drink, had surprising depth to it, like Kathleen Turner in Romancing the Stone. She paid for her drink and brushed against his hand as she walked away, the fabric of her shirt was soft.

“It’s getting to be about that time. You see anything yet?” Dean said, his breath ghosting over Sam’s ear as he leaned in. They looked around.

“Nothing unusual yet.” Sam said, looking past Dean and down the bar towards the entrance before noticing that Dean was looking at him. Dean licked his bottom lip, curling it in and then slowly letting it roll back out. His eyes were dilated so much that just a thin ring of green showed.

“How’re you doing?” He asked.

Sam thought about it for a second before saying, “Good. I’m doing good.” And he meant it. For the first time in longer than he could remember, he felt all the weight lift off of his shoulders. He felt like he could breathe freely, like he could feel the air going out of his lungs carrying away the constant fear. Dean smiled at him and he felt all the hundreds of thousands of smiles from their past sweep over him. All the times that Dean made him laugh, and he realized that was almost never an accident. Dean had always seemed to know when the tension was too much, when Sam had been scared, when he was angry, and had also known just how to lighten the mood. Sam smiled now, thinking back on it all, and Dean’s face just lit up.

“Ugh! Get a room!” someone shouted and Sam looked up and around. Blondie and Douchebag were still grinding away out there, oblivious to the mixed reactions of the people around them. There were some, mostly guys, who were watching like they were hoping the two really would start having sex right there. But there were also a lot of negative looks, head shakes, and people pointedly avoiding the area. And then he saw it.

“Dean.” he said as he straightened up.

“Yeah I see it.”

A thin, shadowy figure had just flickered past the couple, moving off to one side of the room with a sense of purpose.

“Go.” Dean ordered and Sam took off towards the fire alarm pull that was on the wall near the restrooms. Dean followed the shadow, trying to spot its target before it got to whoever it was, pulling his sawed-off free from its bindings under his coat, but keeping it out of sight.

Just as he spotted a group of what seemed like high school kids that were right in the path of the creature as it flit through the crowd between strobes of the multicolored lights, the music suddenly cut out and the piercingly loud scream of the fire alarm went off. Dean had the shotgun out and trained on the shadow just as the pulsing, strobing lights stopped and were replaced by brilliant pools of emergency lighting around the edges of the space.

People stopped in stunned confusion.

“Fire! Everyone out!” Dean boomed and the crowd around him flinched.

“He’s got a gun!” a woman shouted and the people around him pushed back and started running towards the exits.

Dean stayed focused on the shadow. It turned on him and flickered closer. As soon as he had a clear shot, no one between him and it and no one immediately behind it either, he squeezed the trigger and the shotgun let loose an explosion of blindingly bright light.

“Fuck!” he shouted, his eyes stinging and shutting too late. Blinking furiously, he tried to look around but it was no use, his vision was blown out by the flash and he couldn’t see anything but the after image of the blast.

A coldness spiked through his chest, right into his heart. He gasped with the pain and fell to his knees. It was like an icicle stabbing him through, cold then burning, then searing pain. He couldn’t breathe.

“DEAN!”

A sun exploded right over his head and everything went black.

Sam fired his second shot point blank into the dissipating shadow, his eyes shutting just before and reopening as soon as the glare from the phosphorus started to fade. He had no way of knowing if he’d killed the thing or not, was still not convinced that a shadow could be killed, but it appeared to be gone, at least for now. At his feet, Dean gasped like he’d just surfaced from a long dive underwater.

“Dean! Are you okay?” He asked as he grabbed his brother by the front of his shirts.

Dean coughed. “I’m getting really tired of things squeezing my heart! Shit that hurts!”

“Come on.” and Sam hauled his brother to his feet, scooping up the second shotgun and pulling Dean towards the back exit. If the bitchy quality of Dean’s voice was anything to go by, and a lifetime spent together told him it was, Sam knew that Dean was going to be fine. God knows they’d both learned how to take hits. Sure enough, by the time they got out into the alley, Dean was walking unassisted. By the time they got to where the Impala was parked, he was laughing.

“I told you it was a shadow person!”

Sam shook his head but found he couldn’t wipe the relieved smile off his face. “Yep, you were right.”

“Of course I was right.” the driver’s side door creaked loudly as he opened it and slid in behind the wheel, as easy as breathing.

The passenger side door gave an answering creak. Sam tossed the guns down onto the floor behind the front seat and took off his jacket, dropping it over them before folding himself into the passenger seat.

Both doors squeak/banged shut at the same time. The car roared to life.

“And how about those phosphorus rounds, eh?”

“They really seemed to do the trick.”

“Yeah they did! I’m still see streaks though, hope that fades fast.” and he gunned the car down the alley and away from the sound of approaching sirens.

Sam sat back and stared out the window, enthralled with everything they passed, the streetlights, signs, buildings, cars, people, houses, sidewalks, the bits of broken glass that glittered at the edges of every intersection, weeds growing in the cracks and crevices, the obligatory lone shoe laying forgotten on the shoulder of an on ramp. And all the while, Dean sang along with his well-worn Led Zeppelin Physical Graffiti cassette. His exuberant renditions pulling Sam’s attention away from the passing scenery and making him smile.

Although when he sang, “In my time of dying, want nobody to moan, all I want for you to do is take my body home, so I can die easy,” a wave of sadness rolled through Sam. Sometimes music hit too close, you know? But then the beat dropped and Dean was grinning and drumming on the steering wheel and the passing headlights were lighting up his face in time with the song and Sam let himself be buoyed back up. There’d be plenty of time for worries and regrets later, he felt too good. He knew it was just the drug in his system, stripping away the burden of his life, he didn’t care.

The night was cool, bordering on chilly, but the air was crisp and the sky was clear and they had driven with their windows down. It took about an hour for Dean to get out of the city and find a secluded place to pull off the road.

He killed the lights and shut off the engine, the radio going silent with it. Out here, far enough away from lights and traffic, the stars cast a soft glow on the trees and tall grasses and everything was hushed and still.

“Come on.” he said, slapping the back of his fingers into Sam’s knee with a flick of his hand before opening his door and climbing out of the car.

As Sam grabbed his door handle, Dean popped the trunk and then shut it almost immediately. Then he opened the back driver’s side door and dug around in the cooler that was sitting on the backseat. Sam got out and stood up, amazed at how good it felt to stretch his legs out.

“Hey.” Dean said. “Catch.”

Sam caught the beer can as it sailed over the car.

Dean rolled down the back window and closed the door. There was a loud crack and hiss when he opened his beer and took a long drink as he walked towards the front of the car.

Sam knew this routine. It was a star gazing night.

“Hold this.” Dean held his beer out for Sam to take. Once his hands were free he shook out the old, green, Army blanket that he’d gotten out of the trunk and spread it out over the hood to, “Protect the paint.”

Once they were stretched out on the car, heads resting up against the windshield, legs stretched out the length of the hood, Sam cracked open his beer and took a sip. Realizing how dry his mouth was, he took a longer drink. The cool liquid was downright glorious. For the first time he looked at the can, it was a Margiekugel, nothing unusual, but he didn’t remember it ever tasting this satisfying before.

After several long minutes of silence, Dean pointed at the sky, his beer still in his hand, “Orion.”

“You always start with the easiest one.”

“He’s the hunter, that’s where it starts.”

“Okay. Canis Minor.” Sam pointed.

“The Big Dipper.”

“The Little Dipper.”

“Mars.”

“Mars is a planet.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s not the game, Dean.”

“Fine. Cassiopeia.”

“Jupiter,” he felt Dean side-eye him, “in the constellation of Virgo.”

“Show off.”

“I don’t know that one, where is it?” Sam said, deadpanning it.

“Uranus.”

They both laughed and drank their beers, just the two of them, laying in the dark under the stars.

The wool blanket was warm and scratchy against Sam’s fingers when he laid his left hand down on it. But the feeling was fascinating and he absentmindedly brushed his fingers back and forth. When Dean relaxed and rested his beer down, his right hand curled loosely around it, Sam’s fingers brushed his knuckles. Neither of them seemed to care. Everything felt so completely right that it lulled them into a contented silence.

After a while, the last drops of beer warming on his tongue, he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the car. “Another?”

“You know it.”

Next Chapter>>>

#Hey look I wrote a thing!#spn fanfic #spn fan fiction #weirdcest #gencest #no wincest #but it kinda leans that way in the way the show kinda leans that way at times #dean winchester #sam winchester #the winchester brothers #being their emotional enmeshed selves #cw drugs #tw drugs

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powerosewaterpuff · 2 years ago

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Dean and Sam AU with a bigger age gap between the brothers

Warning, if you are a freak wincest shipper get away from me and this blog I do not want you here and I never will! Bye!

anyways these are a few headcanons that came into my head instead of studying for my midterm which is a common theme. once again they are brothers and they also have a poignant parent-child relationship but in this little AU they have a bigger age gap like 7 years in-between them. anyways heres some random ideas enjoy and yes the grammar is awful its alright

dean remembers when his father backhanded him when he was 15, he had done it so many times before that dean didn't even react, not even a flinch. but sam was watching, sam was fucking watching. john had never hurt dean in front of sam, because dean begged him not to, that sam would not have to see it and dean wouldn't make a single noise and he wouldn't misbehave again. this time john was to blearily drunk out of his mind with tequila running through his veins when he knocked dean to the floor. dean cant look at sam, he cant. he wants to scream out of rage when sam runs over to him and fucking shields him, this tiny little brother, who still has rosy cheeks and tiny arms curled around dean's head pressing him against sams little chest that is heaving in panic. dean was useless, a useless sack of shit who couldnt protect his baby whose trying to protect him from the man looming over them. sam, who has tears running down his face (dean is convinced he’s dying, he has never felt a pressing pain like this in his chest before from the second he saw sam’s eyes glisten with tears), turns to their father and silently stares at him. john moves, ever so slightly and dean snaps out of the shocked haze he was in and grabs sam, pulling him down to his chest and curling around him. he presses his face into sams hair, roughly pressing a kiss to his head trying in his pathetic state to comfort his baby. dean's eyes still turn up and glare at his father. not in front of sam not in front of fucking sam we had a deal and this was not fucking it.

john stumbles back, hastily trudging out of the motel room. they stay in this position, curled around each other, holding on tightly trying to hold the other together in a misaligned attempt to protect. it wasn’t until the growling of the impala began to fade into the distance did sam shift in deans hold. he whispers in this little soft voice that is trying so hard not to cry it makes dean tear up; dean r you ok? do u want ice dee? dean cant stand it, he cant. he scoops sam up and situates him on the bed them kisses both of his cheeks, his slip of a nose and his forehead. he presses his face into sam’s little pudgy stomach and holds him, holds his baby close to him. he wants to say hes fine, the words gurgling in his throat but somehow unable to come out. the only thing able to crawl out his tightening throat was sammy. sammy sammy im so sorry sammy

eventually he pulls away and pushes sam's fringes out of his face and wants to break the lamp to his left when he sees the worry shining so brazenly in sam’s eyes. he whispers that hes okay, that he doesnt have to be scared. dad will never do that to him, do you understand that? its ok sammy. sam possibly looks even MORE distraught and begins babbling abt how hes worried abt dean what if daddy does it to you again dean? does ur cheek hurt u didnt answer me dee, im sorry.

dean pulls his kid up, and stumbles over to the kitchenette to bring a pack of frozen peas that ached when they came into contact with his now swollen bruise. he presses another kiss to sams thankfully untouched cheek. he keeps reassuring sam, that dean is fine his cheek is fine, everything is okay. do u know why im okay sammy? bc ur here with me. I have my little buddy here and thats all I need, isnt it. but sammy, sweetheart, if daddy ever does this to you and im not here, you tell me? do u understand me bud? you have to tell me. sam huffs asking why its ok for dean to get hit but its a big deal if he does. dean scoffs softly, (sam doesnt know the extent dean would kill himself for him.)

dean mumbles that sam is like a little angel and sam rolls his eyes but dean urges him to listen. he says the day sam was born it was to bless dean with an angel, and now he has it and his job is to protect this little angel. sam doesnt believe him for one minute but feels so so warm and protected with dean speaking to him like this, softly without a hint of teasing but all this honey tenderness that felt like it had sam cocooned in its eternal glow. sam leans forward gently, and gave the most gentle kiss to deans bruised cheek and said dean always does that when he gets hurt. dean cant help but cuddle closer to his brother while he scoots onto the counter, curling his whole body around sam, and not for the first time wishing he could just hide him in his aortas and vena cava's so nothing could hurt him.

dean cheers like crazy at sammy's soccer games. he cant help it bc look at his fucking boy go! sam has always been fast, able to out run and flip through anything. he’s the smallest one on the soccer team but he weaves and ducks through everyone, scoring three goals consecutively and absolutely pissing everyone off. dean would whoop and cheer while sammy danced around after scoring a goal. that’s my boy did you see my boy?

when sam was around 3 and dean was 10, sam became obsessed with sumo wrestling bc it was the only thing playing on the sports channel at 12 am and sam thought it was the absolutely coolest thing he had ever witnessed in his three years of living. he would beg and prod at dean to wrestle with him and dean took it as an opportunity to show his little brother a little well needed big brother humility. dean never lets sam win, he doesnt want it to go to his head! it becomes an ironic ritual even when sam is 10 and dean is 17 and their wrestling on the ratty couch of their rented apartment, or when sam is 12 and dean is 19 with sam pouncing on deans back and declaring a sumo wrestle in which dean calls him a little goddamn cheater and they wrestle throughout bobby's living room. it wans and ebbs and flows throughout the years but once a sumo wrestle was declared one cannot back down.

they were always very cuddly growing up. deans chick flick shit really only applied to others, not exactly sammy (no matter how much dean insisted upon it). when sammy was a baby all dean wanted to do was cuddle and coo at how cute sam was, to just feel his warmth like a soft quilt on his own small chest. a lot of times in motels they had to sleep on the same bed, which always ended up in their limbs tangled together in a warbled mess sam becoming dean and dean becoming sam. an endless continuum of a person split in two yet somehow still a conjoined whole. an infinity sign. two loops forever intertwined by a single crossing that could thin and stretch but was forever unbreakable. touch was always a crucial part of their brotherly relationship as children, a critical reassurance of existence. sam’s baby hand curled around firmly in deans own. dean sprinkling sam’s face in kisses, his little nose and on his eyes lids, on top of his downy hair and over his brow then twice on each cheek, each rose coloured cherub cheek that made dean want to cry bc that was his baby (dean was sams motherfatherbrother after all). he would tickle sammys armpits and press kisses into his cheeks while sam giggled and laughed. im going to eat these cheeks, im gonna eat it im gonna eat it! deanieee deannn! the world could rise and set, but dean was happy.

dean remembers the time they got kidnapped by a cultist group when they were younger. dean--a wild bull of an 18 year old and sam a little 11-12 year old and he’s too young and too small and dean hates his father for doing this to them sometimes, for doing this to sam.

they approach sam and dean is screaming his voice hoarse, because they cannot touch his brother, dean would rather fucking die, he takes the beatings but firmly stays in front of sam, crawling back when he is thrown against the wall, bc that fear in his brothers eyes is so much worse than the broken ribs grating from the inside of his chest. that fear has him in a chokehold bc if his brother isnt okay then dean isnt okay and his brother has to be okay. if he isnt okay then what is the worth of being okay, what is the worth of fucking being if sam isnt okay. john manages to reach them and dean is barely breathing but he sees a bruises forming on sam and he feels like crying, hes in the back, deliriously slurring that sam needs to be taken care of while their father grips the wheel, jaw locked with eyes numbingly focused on the road. sam is quietly crying and reassuring him that HE is okay but dean isnt and dean needs the help, then dean murmurs that sam is bruised, that his little baby brother is bruised and he needs an icepack, that sammy, kiddo, please dont cry, you know how much it hurts me when you cry.

dean, with shaky arms that arent quite working pulls his brother into a hug, trying to soothe him while he coughs up blood and sam begins to get into hysterics and john just keeps driving and driving.

john leaves them at bobby’s, and bobby whose face goes pale and feels the irresistible urge to lunge forward and snuff the life out of john winchester’s lungs. to watch that fucking man feel the suffocating hell that he feels when he sees dean keeping his brother close, insisting that bobby check him first, that he will not get checked if sam isn’t.

bobby tries his fucking best to reason with dean but even through delusional and delirious pain he is insisting with this dazed but somehow steely gleam in his gaze that sam needs to be taken care of first. sam even tries to reason but dean shushes him quietly, running a battered hand through his unruly hair and keeps his eyes on bobby who rues the day he got to know the winchesters. he comes back with a few icepacks and band-aids galore for sam who insists he can do it on his own. dean visibly relaxes, tension releasing ever so slightly from his shoulders and finally lets bobby help him but his eyes are focused on sam, quietly and hoarsely instructing him on how to place the icepack properly, that he needs to wipe that cut with alcohol. at one point he tries (fails) to get up to help sam apply to alcohol but bobby pushes him firmly back against the bed, and sam considers leaving the room so dean doesnt have to focus on him. dean practically yelps a hoarse no, that he'll shut the fuck up fine but sammy please stay in the room ok? sam huffs but nods. jaw tight and eyes drilling holes into the wooden floor beneath him.

when dean is bandaged and laying down in the bed, he stretches a hand out, waving for sam to come over when he sees sammy’s little head pop into the room. sam approaches the bed gingerly, a vengeful anger at those people that hurt his brother searing his eyes. dean insists on sitting up despite the needless and stupid protests from sam, letting his tightly wrapped hand cup his little brothers face decorated with little band-aids. dean pulls his brother into a half hug, with sams forehead pressed against his chest. sam snakes his arms around his brother, gently as to not agitate the wounds. sam doesnt even realize until a few seconds into the hug that dean is shaking, his head shoots up fearing the worst but deans face is twisted in rueful disdain, regret and anger. he places a kiss onto sams springy curls, whispering that if this happens again, do not argue with dean abt getting taken care of first. sam’s chest puffs up and he spits out in an incredulous tone that what dean just said was the stupidest thing he’s ever heard. dean does not rise to the bait, simply stating that this will not happen again, but if it does, sam gets help first for himself and there is no debate. do you understand sammy? no fucking debate.

sam stays quiet, and dean doesnt push for an answer, just holds him brother to him as he reassures himself that he’s alivealivealive and life is still worth living. next day, dean hovers around sam even though he needs rest but what he thinks he needs is reassurance that his brother is ok, alive and well. sam keeps trying to tell him that hes fine but dean just shakes his head and quietly watches him. john comes back in five days and says its time to go, bobby raises hell but its hard to raise hell against a man who thrived in it. john just tells his boys to get in the back of the impala and that they were going, okay? sam wants to argue and fire is swirling in his tongue, dean gives a yessir and tells sam to go grab deans stuff from upstairs. the look dean gives him is undebatable, one that means sam has to stand down, for dean. once they sit in the back of the impala, their dad says in this quiet voice that sam does not like one bit that they are going to stay in north carolina for a while so get comfortable. dean grabs an old blanket from bellow his seat and wraps it around sam wordlessly, pulling him closer to dean. he asks if sam wants some music to sleep. sam, who just wants to light this stupid impala on fire and watch this life he hates burn into the ashes of the night, nods. he nods and curls up next to dean who places the old headphones on his head attached to the beat up barely working walkman that can only play a loop of three songs. everybody wants to rule the world by tears for fear. africa by toto. and black dog by led zeppelin. sam starts to fall asleep to everybody wants to rule to world with dean turning up the volume while john works up a rabid rant abt the stupidity of their misstep in getting caught. dean can take it, he would prefer sam stay peacefully sleeping for this part though.

sometimes - no all the time, sam is the only thing that keeps dean going. when hes tired down to the essence of his bones, sam will walk in from school, and gush over a book he was reading or insistent they play basketball out in the courtyard bc jeremy showed me some moves i can fucking beat you dean! or when sammy was so little and young and used to give deans drawings and sloppily made bracelets with tight hugs and a whisper of how much he loved dean. he once told dean when he was five and dean was around 12 that he didnt need john, not as long as he had dean. dean gave him a pat and a big smile but cried himself hoarse in the bathroom after that, then came out and saw sam sleepily trying to keep his eyes open whilst reading a childrens book and crushed him into a hug.

when sam openly with no conditions or accusations told him that he loved dean, that dean was the best big brother in the world, dean knew that only sam could ever love him unconditionally, that sam deserved everything in this world and he would ensure that sam had everything he could have even if he wanted to keep him close to his chest at all times. sammy doesnt complain and dean hates it, he hates that sammy isnt complaining abt the shit he has to go through. when they get older and sammy does start to bitch and complain its never towards dean, its always towards their father. sammy could be a little pain in the ass, complaining abt mundane shit like fucking boredom and how he deserved to go on hunts or how hunts were awful whatever he decided that day or year). but never once did he complain abt the food he had to eat, or the clothing he had to wear or the shoes that were tearing at the seams. sam would always thank dean, even if the only thing he had breakfast lunch and dinner was fucking coco puffs.

dean would then take matters into his own hands (he had always been a natural pickpocket) and would watch as sam got proper food the next day. he didnt care that his stomach was aching from the hunger, it would just have to be satisfied with sammy being able to stay healthy. sam would quietly say that dean should eat too, and when dean started to spill out hastily made fucking lies sam would start to beg that dean eat, dean assured him that he'll eat after dont worry sammy. (sam intentionally left stuff on his plate bc dean would not go get smth to eat and he knew dean ate sams leftovers). dean continues to make sure sammy survives, but he worries. he worries so much because dad didnt leave enough money and the motel doesnt have heating and sammy is so skinny, so fucking skinny that the wind would blow him over if he stood outside too long enough. they dont have money for haircuts so dean will always do sammy's hair, and sam did whine and moan and they’d get into little petty fights bc you cut too much u ass, but sam would always thank dean at the end of it, giving his brothe hug. sam didnt know what dean would do so that sam would just happily hug him like that for the rest of his days, the things dean would endure if that was what he had to do to gain that.

(Again this is just a random smattering of headcanons i wrote late at night with nothing better to do so enjoy! I’m arab and I tend to project our family customs and affection habits onto others. we are incredibly affectionate with family with constant touch and words of reassurance being prominent so i tried to show that with the boys here esp bc they have a bigger age gap meaning dean feels even more like a parent. this is NOT gencest or wincest or incest they are brothers. point blank do not argue with me. just bc u ppl arent used to close family dynamics where love is affectionate and that affection not weird and disgusting doesnt mean the rest of us are like that. on a lighter note again the grammar is ass idc this isnt one of my uni essays)

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