dean taking care of a recovering sam (◡‿◡✿)
dean touching sam’s shoulders and face and back and arms and constantly asking after his wellbeing to reaffirm what he said in the church about putting sam in front of everything (✿◡‿◡)
dean coming up behind sam’s chair to pull sam’s hair back into a ponytail so it doesn’t get in his eyes when he’s researching (✿♥‿♥)
dean making sure sam eats well and gets a lot of sleep and feels safe and calm (♥‿♥✿)
dean truly realising how fragile sam’s self-worth and self-image are and making a point of consistently showing sam how much he loves and trusts him
(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧
The moment when you realize how frantic Dean must have been when he got the call from Sam, when he heard nothing but the clatter of plastic and the sharp crack of a skull on wood and silence.
How he must have burst into the room yelling for Sam; how he must have seen him lying motionless, sweaty, and sick on the ground; how he could feel the heat emanating from Sam’s skin without even touching him.
He must have half dragged, half carried Sam into the bathroom, relying on knowledge gleaned from medical dramas and the offhand remarks of a military father to know what to do next. Raiding the hotel ice machine with shirts, hands, towels, whatever he could find that would carry ice, and dumping it into the tub.
He probably held Sam’s head in his lap while the bathtub filled, dragging ice over his neck and wrists and murmuring, “Sam, wake up, wake up, please. Sammy you gotta wake up. Your brain’s gonna fry itself, man, get up”.
The terrifying seconds when he submerged Sam, pushing him into the icy water, waiting for him to cool down, to wake up. Wake up Sammy. And the knee-weakening relief at hearing Sam gasp for breath, not minding the hands pushing him away. Just happy that his little brother is away from deaths edge, that he was able to drag him back in time.
Breathe (2 AM)
Anna NalickAnd breathe…Just breathe,
Oh breathe…Just breathe.
sam being stuck in the bunker for weeks while he recovers (because there’s no way in hell dean is going to let him out until he knows for sure that sam is healthy again), kevin taking care of sam while dean and cas take charge of a hunt, making him food and keeping him company because kevin has been alone for so long and sam has been through so much and the two of them desperately need some positive human contact
kevin trying to teach sam the language on the tablets even though he barely understands it himself, sam following along as much as he can but not really getting it, the two of them giving up and deciding to play card games instead (sam teaches kevin to play poker, kevin teaches sam how to play magic: the gathering)
sam and kevin becoming close friends over the next few weeks, bonding over movies and books and how much they love vietnamese food and hate americanized mexican food, finding that they have a mutual love of poetry and a distaste for shakespeare, sam being completely appalled when he learns kevin hasn’t seen the original star wars movies because seriously, what kind of nerd is he and promptly sitting him down for a marathon
kevin falling asleep and dropping his head onto sam’s shoulder halfway through return of the jedi, sam’s stomach giving an uncomfortable lurch, heart jumping out of his chest at the contact as he realizes oh, oh, he never saw this coming and now he’s completely screwed
sam waking kevin up before he can sleep too long, kevin sitting up with a jolt, shouting something that sounds like “HIS NAME IS DARTH FATHER” and sending sam into a laughing fit before encouraging kevin to go to bed
kevin looking stunned at sam for a moment, heart pounding before stumbling to his room, thinking that he’d do anything in his power to see that gut-wrenching dimples-and-sunshine smile all the time
what do you think about dean choking sam a little bit
what do i think
you mean what do i think about dean straddling sam’s hips and sliding his hands up and up sam’s chest tracing the sharp jut of his collarbones before settling lightly on his neck so that he can feel the way sam’s throat moves beneath his fingers when sam swallows
you mean what do i think about dean leaning down so that his lips are nearly brushing sam’s and he can feel sam’s breath racing against his mouth and he says breathe in sammy, and when sam sucks in a breath he tightens his fingers just enough
you mean what do i think about sam pushing his hips up and writhing under dean’s weight because he knows he’s going to have a pretty purple ring of bruises around his neck tomorrow and his vision’s going a little wavery around the edges and he knows there’s nothing he can do because it’s dean in control and it’s dean who knows exactly when to squeeze and when to let go and he just trusts dean that much
you mean what do i think about dean letting go at just the right moment and stroking his fingertips over the racing rabbiting heartbeat under sam’s throat and smiling and whispering one more time, breathe in sam
I wrap my hands around your neck so tight with love, love.
(( I was listening to this song and all I thought was wincest breath play. It’s my first time writing it, but idk. Wanted to share it. Apologies in advance if it sucks. xo))
“Dean,” Sam breathes in a broken sort of whimper, back arching as his brother moves slowly within him. Dean isn’t usually this tender, but the trials have really been taking their toll on him, and plus the whole being through hell again thing, Dean is being almost uncharacteristically gentle. Sam wraps his long legs around Dean’s waist, digging his heels in as pleasure uncoils itself and snakes its way around every nerve ending in his body. “Dean.” He rocks his hips down onto his brother’s cock, huffing out little breathy sounds of praise.
Above him, Dean runs his fingers down every scar, every mark. His touch sends caresses of fire through him, even through the hardened skin. But for some reason, it’s not enough. Sam knows what he needs; is almost too afraid to ask. He needs to feel owned and protected by his big brother. His life seems to be in everyone’s hands but their own, and that needs to change. He needs Dean to hold the difference between Sam’s life and death in his hands and he needs to feel loved even in the midst of it.
Dean’s strokes deep inside him drag against his sweet spot deliciously and he arches his back, pressing his chest flush against Dean’s, a low keening sound slipping from his lips. “That’s it, Sammy,” he hears Dean murmur, voice barely a whisper, just sitting slightly on their soft groans. Dean’s fingers skitter across Sam’s neck and his hips jerk on their own accord, smearing both their stomachs with clear, sticky precome. His breath hitches, and there’s a faint roaring in his ears. This is what he needs.
Of course, his brother gets it. His brother almost always gets it. He looks down at him, green eyes dark with lust but shimmering with something else. “Gonna give you what you need, Sammy,” Dean growls, leaning to bite firmly on Sam’s pulse point, causing the younger brother to cry out Dean’s name and clench tightly around Dean’s cock, pulling a low, rough groan out of the other brother.
Dean pulls up, starts fucking into Sam faster, harder, deeper, but still tender and Sam isn’t sure how Dean does it. His brother’s hand snake up his torso, tweaking his nipples, until his thumbs come to rest in the hollow of Sam’s throat. He inhales deeply, nods at his brother, and almost melts when feels Dean’s strong, capable hands tighten around his neck. This is what he needs.
His brother is still moving into him with quick, brutal but gentle strokes, even as his hands close around his throat completely. Sam’s body is already reacting to the restriction of oxygen. He fights against it slightly but relaxing into it, thrusting his hips down onto his brother’s cock, and raising his hands to dig his nails into Dean’s back. “That’s it, Sammy. So good, so fucking good for me,” he hears his brother say, but he sounds far away and all Sam can concentrate on is how good his brother feels, hot and throbbing inside him. Dean’s thumbs press into the hollow of his throat, effectively cutting off his air supply and he’s cork-screwing his hips and Sam can’t last much longer.
Dean pushes his thumbs up, squeezing his fingers around the column of Sam’s neck hard and Sam almost chokes with how good it feels; that’s when Dean pulls his hands away. That first rush of oxygen almost hurts and it’s what brings him over the edge, his orgasm hitting him with almost painful force. He calls out Dean’s name in a raw voice as his whole body shudders and tightens around Dean and that wrings the orgasm out of his brother and he’s coming, hot and throbbing and deep, inside Sam.
Sam gasps for air, reveling in the burn of his throat, glorying in the fact that there are going to be marks tomorrow and Dean would have caused them, out of pure love for Sam. Dean pulls out slowly, and Sam whimpers at the loss. “You okay?” Dean asks, touching the steadily purpling marks on Sam’s neck. “Haven’t wanted that in a while.”
He pulls his brother in for a long kiss, the kind of kiss that says all the things you can’t. “I’m fine,” he replies. “Never better. Come sleep.”
They arrange themselves in such a way that Dean’s hand is resting on Sam’s neck. And due to the way Dean sleeps, said hand will tighten sporadically at various intervals. It’s dangerous, but they’ve tempted fate a thousand times already. As they fall asleep, Sam knows his life right now is literally still in Dean’s hands. And he’s never felt safer.
He's Got Legs
It always begins with a book.
Dean doesn’t admit it, would rather rip out his own tongue, but he buys books; old and used and tattered tattered, he leaves them around in the motel room, unassuming, and he waits. He lets them lay out, lets them rot in dust and stale motel air because he knows, he knows exactly what will happen.
It’s specifically left on the ground, because when Sam bends over, reaches with gentle fingers does Dean look over, lets a hand fall onto his groin because he loves it, unashamedly loves the view that Sam transforms into, jeans stretched over long muscle, tightened, outlining, giving Dean a perfect view of Sam’s legs, miles of long limbs.
Castiel doesn’t dream. He doesn’t sleep either, but Sam thinks it’s strange to be in a relationship like theirs and not know what it’s like to sleep next to each other. Castiel pretends for Sam’s sake, and though he lies too still and breathes too evenly, it brings Sam comfort in the night to feel Castiel nearby.
He doesn’t dream, but with Sam lying so close and with his heartbeat carrying with it the pulse of life, Sam dreams for him in washes of warmth and color. Castiel can push the nightmares back and leave only sweetness and marvels at the idea of lying paralyzed while the mind conjures images for the soul’s entertainment.
He doesn’t dream, but when he’s away from Sam for one night or several, Castiel finds that he misses it.
