at first he was something sam idolized

anonymous asked:

How bout a pretends-to-be-dating fic? It's pretty self explanatory but just a little fic where they're only pretending at first but then they fall in love.

A new state, a new crappy house, a new school. Its a chance to start over and Sam is relieved.

“Ready for a new school, Sam?” Dean smiles bright, green eyes watching him.

Dean’s gotten more muscular, his chest so strong and shoulders broad. Sam wishes he would fill out like that.

All he’s got is floppy brown hair and ever changing eyes. He barely passes Dean’s waist.

“I guess, Dean,” Sam mumbles as they stand in front of the school. Dean’s arm slung prospectively around him as he leads him up the steps.

He already sees the way the girls eye his brother, hungry eyes and the licking of lips is familiar.

“Look, if you need anything you know I’m around, Sammy,” Dean smiles.

A couple girls behind them ‘aww’ and Dean winks back at them. They giggle and walk up ahead and Sam watches them.

“They are so cute together,” one of the girls say.
“I know, gosh, the older boy is so brave. He doesn’t even care that the guys here will kick his ass if they find out he’s gay. The boy is so gorgeous too,” a blonde girl says
“I kinda feel bad for the smaller one. Look how tiny he is compared to his boyfriend,” a dark haired girl smirks, looking back at him. The girls look back and smile at Sam too.

“Wonder how he takes it, the older boy is huge. Can’t be easy when–”
“Oh my gosh, Jane! Shut up, he’s right there,” the blonde girl gasps.

Sam blushes at Jane’s words. He knows just what she’s talking about and she smiles wickedly at him.

“Yeah, you’re right. Besides, bet he takes his big boy just fine,” Jane smirks and Sam chokes on his own spit.

The girls take a right into a classroom. Dean pats him on the back hard.

“You alright?” Dean asks.
“Yeah, I just–let’s go,” Sam huffs.
“My class is right here, baby boy,” Dean smiles, stopping at the same class the girls did.

A couple of boys look at Dean weirdly as they walk in but as Sam looks up, he’s watching the blonde girl. Sam just nudges at Dean before walking down the hall.

Throughout class Sam thinks about those girls. He thinks about Jane. She was pretty with a dirty smirk. He can’t imagine what they were talking about, he’s only kissed one girl and it wasn’t all that great. How could they think that he and Dean–God.

“Hey,” its a kid with black and glasses. His energy screams ‘nerd’.
“Uh, hi,” Sam answers as he pushes through the crowd to get to lunch. To get to Dean.

The boy follows him through the crowd but its like the people are never ending.
“There’s something wrong,” the boys says over the noise.
“Why do you–” Sam is interrupted by the sound of Deans voice.

“Come on then, bitch!” Dean growls.

Sam pushes through the last line of people, breaking into the formed circle.
Dean stands there, bloodied and righteous. His green eyes are wild and his knuckles split open.
There are four boys on the floor and Sam can’t help but be amazed. He steps over to Dean, tugging at his leather jacket.

“Look, its his little faggot boyfriend,” a boy in the crowd says.

Dean just drags Sam out the lunch room and into a boys bathroom. Sam doesn’t say much, just helps clean the blood from Deans nose and off his knuckles.

“Sam?” Dean sighs.
“Yeah?”

Dean turns to look at him with all the seriousness and walks into Sam’s personal space.

“As far as everyone out there is concerned, you’re mine, baby boy,” Dean says.

Sam just nods quickly up at his brother. Deans eyes glint in the dull bulb light.

A week later, when the Impala drives off from where it drops them off, Dean’s arm slips from his shoulder to his waist, tight and possessive. It makes Sam blush hard and put his small arm around Deans waist, too, as they walk up to the school.

Sam sees Jane, her smirk knowing and her eyes bright. Sam just keeps walking as people watch.
As they walk down the hall he feels big, can feel the jealousy off the girls in waves and the anger of boys. He knows they won’t touch him, not in front of Dean.

When he’s about to stop at Deans first period class, Dean tugs him along, all the way down to the end where Sam’s class is located. The way Dean pushes him against the wall beside the class is scandalous. The girls squeak and walk past while the boys stare in awe.

“See you later?” Dean breathes against his lips.
“Dean, you-we–” he gets cut off when Dean presses those sinful lips to his, steals his innocent from his lungs, his soul. Sam whimpers and presses up against his brother and its so wrong. No one knows they’re brothers, but they do and they’re eating each others faces in the hallway.

“Excuse me,” Sam’s teacher clears her throat and Dean separates from him.
Sam is left gasping for air and clinging to Deans jacket.

“Sorry, ma'am,” Dean smiles, boyish charm. Even his teacher sees it, Sam can see it in her face.

Dean kisses him softly once more before swaggering off down the empty hall. Sam smiles sheepishly and steps into the classroom. Sam feels good. He’s the girl’s god for dating a hot senior and the boys damnation for tainting what could have been their idol. He’s welcomed in with girls, but the boys are plotting.

He doesn’t care, his boyfriend is still hot.

Another week later, he sits out on the field alone, the bleachers cold under his ass. He figures Dean is off with a girl who hasn’t heard Dean is “gay”. Maybe Dean made it clear he was bisexual.

Sam waits and takes out his English homework, figures Dean will come up and call him a nerd or something when he finds him.

But the first person to block the path of the sun on his paper is a boy named Blake. Three other boys stand behind him.

“So, you’ve got a boyfriend, huh, Winchester?” Blake taunts. His friends laugh too.

“Well, we’re going to beat you straight,” Blake hisses, cracking his knuckles.

Sam just closes his book and stands.

Sam just happens to whoops their asses. Sam just happens to break Blake’s teeth in when he thinks of Dean and the way he kissed Sam dirty and deep as he fingered him open last night. Sam just happens to smile at the way Dean looks at him when he’s got busted knuckles from defending himself, just happens to love the way Dean kisses him as they walk away.


Sam just happens to love his brother too much.


That night, Dad leaves out to drink. He won’t be back till real late and its only ten.

“We got a couple hours, sweetie,” Dean breathes in his ear as fucks Sam slowly.

Dean doesn’t know how they got to this in so little time. Doesn’t know when he began to get hard over the dimples in Sam’s cheeks or the blush he gets, or Sam’s pretty eyes.

Dean can only look at Sam as he speeds up and listens to Sam’s breath hitch beautifully and cry out as he creams himself on Deans cock.

Dean covers the rush of emotion he gets with a hard kiss to Sam’s lips, he doesn’t know he’s still telling Sam he’s in love with him.

Their last day there, a senior girl tells Dean he’s a sick fuck when she notices that he and Sam have the same last name.

“I was helping the office with attendance and it turns out you’re his brother!” The blonde and blue eyed girl hisses in his face.

“I’m a hero! I save lives!” He yells at her as she storms down the hall.

Her friends glare at him for a second till their eyes snap down beside him.

He looks down when he feels Sam’s arms curl around him, his baby boy sneering at the girls.

The girls don’t see the way the brothers look at one another in the middle of the crowded hall.

When the Impala is roaring down another highway at three a.m. and the boys are in the back, curled up with one another, Dean tells Sam he’s in love with him. Not with his mouth, but with his eyes.

Music blades out the speakers and their Dad sings with it.

Sam smiles, dimples deep. That’s how he tells Dean he feels the same.


—-

I’m sorry anon, I was so busy today. I hope this is good.

His Angel

“He said you’d never love me.”

Dean, still dim with post-orgasmic haze, lethargically turned to face the man (or rather, man-shaped entity) lying next to him.  It was the first thing Cas had said all evening, other than varying renditions of Dean’s name.  

“Wha?”  he said stupidly, still breathless and not really processing the remark. 

“Lucifer, I mean.  He said you’d never love me,” Cas repeated, tone and expression utterly unreadable, his usual poker face still fixedly in place.  “Not the way I wanted you to.”

At present, it was December, the coldest night they’d had in years, and the two had just made love for the first time.  

Their relationship had edged firmly away from “platonic” months prior, if it could ever have been described that way to begin with, not with some grandiose confession of love, but with shoulders smushed together in restaurant booths, gazes held too long, hands touching one another and not moving away. 

It began with Dean’s “friendly” suggestion that Cas start spending nights in his room, all for the innocent and magnanimous reason that he “must get lonely, just wanderin’ around the bunker all night.”  

Miraculously, however, they wouldn’t actually make love until weeks afterwards.  For once in his life, Dean seemed content to take things slow.

Now, Dean looked at his – boyfriend?  Lover?  Partner?  None of the terms seemed quite right – unsure of what to make of the statement or how to reply.  Consolation never had been Dean’s greatest asset. 

“When he was…inside of me,”  Cas continued.  “He’d sometimes visit me to pass the time.  Torment me.  He lived in my head for months, it was more than enough time for him to learn how I felt about you.”

If he didn’t know already, Dean wisely decided not to add.  In retrospect, neither he nor Cas had been the subtlest tools in the shed.

“He said…he said you and I were like dog and master.  That you were my whole world, but I would only ever be a fraction of yours.  And he said you only kept me around because I was useful to you.” 

Dean swallowed.  He felt like he should say something, anything, but he didn’t have the faintest clue what to say.

Luckily, he didn’t need to pontificate much further on the matter, because Cas continued,  "When he got bored of that, he moved on to showing me memories of you.  Of things you said and did.  Things to demonstrate how little you cared for me.“

”…Like what?“  Dean hesitantly inquired, not sure he really wanted to know.  

"Harsh words, mostly:  your…critiques of my hunting skills.  Calling me a sissy, and a coward, and a baby in a trench coat.

In spite of the gravity of the situation, Dean had suppress a chuckle at the bitterness behind the remark, and opened his mouth to point out that these brusque remarks were the kinds of things he said to everyone.  

“When you said…” Cas went on, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.  "…When you said nobody cared that I was broken.“

Dean’s mouth immediately fell shut, suddenly dry.  He hadn’t been sure Cas remembered that, and he’d been hesitant to remind him – the last thing he needed to do was remind Cas what a colossal dick he’d been back in those days.  

"For Lucifer, torment of all kinds is an artform,” Cas continued.  "And when he saw the distress these memories caused me, and he showed me them on repeat:  he showed me the day you made me leave the bunker, forced me to relive how utterly hollow that moment felt.  He showed me the day you told me we couldn’t work together, the day you accused me of soliciting the suicide bombers.  He showed me the day you…you beat me, under the Mark of Cain’s influence.  That moment when I felt sure you were going to kill me.“ 

Cas’s eyes closed, shuddering faintly at the unpleasant memory.  "On days when he was feeling particularly frustrated, he would take it out on me, by showing me those memories over and over.  Eventually, Dean, I…I started to truly believe the things he told me:  that I really was a dog, whose only purpose was to serve you.  That…”

Jerkily, he turned his head to look at Dean.  He wasn’t crying – Dean wasn’t entirely sure if angels could cry, or if that kind of emotional inexpressiveness was just another one of Cas’s aspergers-esque idiosyncrasies.  But his crystaline blue eyes were wide and sad, and unless Dean was completely mistaken, unusually damp.  

“…That you would never love me.”

Dean swallowed.  There was so much he wanted to say, to explain his actions, his reasoning, why for so long, he felt so inclined to push Cas away.

He wanted to explain the firmly-ingrained self-loathing, how he’d been raised during a time in which men who loved men were considered to be the lowest form of vermin the human race had to offer.  

He wanted to explain the first and only time John had ever caught him with a boy, how he had looked at Dean with such complete and utter disgust that it had taken months to get him to look at him like a human being again, much less his son.  

He wanted to explain the days when food was scarce and money was scarcer, when John was nowhere to be found and the art of hustling pool was a skill Dean had yet to master, when the only remaining option was to get on his knees behind the truckstop for whatever greasy lowlife was willing to pay him for it.  

He wanted to explain how filthy that had made him feel, how he’d spent hours gargling with mouthwash afterwards to try to get any remnants of the taste out of his mouth, and hours more scrubbing his skin raw in the shower in a fruitless effort to feel clean again.

He wanted to explain how that shame had carried into his adulthood, how hard he’d worked to suppress his attraction towards men (or anything that looked like one), how frustrated he’d been when this proved futile.  

He wanted to explain how easy it had been to blame – Cas, with his bluer-than-blue eyes and endless sea of stubble, whose full, chapped lips Dean couldn’t seem to stop imagining against his own – to push him away and force the feelings down, carefully hidden behind a thick layer of self-imposed manliness and misdirected anger.

He wanted to explain that he had always cared he was broken, and that he always would, but that he couldn’t admit that to himself.  Not then.  Because if he had, he would have also had to admit to himself that he was broken because of Dean.

He wanted to explain that Cas was the single most important thing in his world, albeit in a different way than Sammy:  Sam was Dean’s charge to protect, but Cas was his idol.  Something to be worshiped and adored, and prayed to in times of trouble.

He wanted to explain everything.  But the words caught in his throat, clogging in their stampede to get out.

So, he said the simplest thing he could think of:  

“I love you.”

Cas looked at him in disbelief, and it occurred to Dean that this was the first time he had said this out loud.  He’d wanted to say it years ago – once, he almost had, while Cas was still under Naomi’s influence, and Dean’s usual bravado failed to get through to him.  But for whatever reason, he couldn’t seem to get the words out, like some dick of a script adviser was preventing him from saying them.  

“I need you” had seemed like a healthy alternative, though in retrospect, it was a cheap substitute.

“I love you, Cas,” he repeated, relishing in the unexpected freedom of saying it out loud.  "I’ve loved you since the moment I saw you.  Since you pulled me out of hell and made me whole again.  Since the first time I heard your voice, even though it damn near blew out my eardrums,“ he added, with a short huff of laughter at their unfortunate first meeting.  Sobering slightly, he went on,  "I used to wonder if…y'know, when you were putting me back together again…you left a little bit of yourself inside.  Your grace, maybe.  'Cause back then, it was the only reason I could think of, for how I felt about you:  like you were a part of me.  And suddenly, I couldn’t remember what my life was like before I had you.”

Dean,”  Cas murmured, the name sounding like sacrament on his tongue.  Like that four-letter word was the single most precious thing in all of creation.  

And to Cas, maybe it was.  

The next thing Dean knew, he was peppering tiny kisses all across the stubbled jawline, straddling his angel once more.  His angel – Dean liked the sound of that.  Somehow, none of the other terms (lover, boyfriend, partner) seemed to work for what they had.  

“I love you,” Dean murmured, in between kisses.  "I love you, Cas.  God, I love you so much.“  Now that he’d started saying it, he could seem to stop.  

"Dean, is this…”  He felt Cas’s throat contract as he swallowed.  "…Is this a dream?“

Dean chuckled, smiling against the soft, prickly flesh of his angel’s neck.

"Well, I hope not, angel,”  he grinned, returning to his ministrations.  "‘Cause if it is, I’m just gonna have to say it all again as soon as I wake up.“

My Bucky Barnes Headcanon

He loves David Bowie, all the periods, his favorites songs are Changes and Young Americans. He knows he has a future friend or not when he asks “How do you feel about Bowie?”. He punched a guy in a bar when Bowie was insulted, Steve and Sam had to drag him out and Tony paid the damages while laughing. When he first stolen glances at Darcy Lewis, she was listening to her iPod and he could see she was mouthing the lyrics of “Oh you pretty things” he knew he had to introduce himself to her.

When Darcy, after 8 months of relationship with Bucky, went to Stark to ask him to help her for his birthday gift, Steve knew something big was going to happen and he had the confirmation when the idol, the myth, the man himself came to congratulate the Winter Soldier for basically being born at the party.

Barnes just plain lost consciousness and Tony took a selfie with him on the floor. The rest was a brawl with Steve defending his best friend and everyone else trying to stop an impending murder.

Darcy and Bruce just chilled out with David Bowie and talked about his paintings.

anonymous asked:

Yeah i think the most important thing to take away from the 7 years thing (though really, 7 exactly? They could've picked any number of years if it didn't matter) is not to get caught up in technicalities over whether it's been exactly 7 or closer to 8 years for Cas and Dean; the point is, they showed us two hunters who have been settled "in the life" together for roughly the same amount of time Cas and Dean have known each other. A pretty good while, is the takeaway. So it IS possible, Dean!!

Yeah, I’ve been happy about that all week. :)

Dean had a chance to think about the last seven years of his own life, which he’d already been primed to do in that exact scene when Cesar commented that they’d heard of the Winchesters, but also heard they’d been killed. Dean replied that it was a long story, looking down at the table in front of him like it was all flashing back through his mind.

So yeah, that 7 years was probably something Dean was really thinking about. It’s been about that long since Lucifer got free the first time too, and here he is walking the earth again. It seems like the show is spending a lot of time making Dean (and Sam, but in this particular scene it’s focused on Dean) think about his past lately.

He learned the horrible truth about one of his childhood idols (who seemed like more of a crush than an idol, even). Stories about his past have been coming out for several seasons now (going back to 9.07, and probably even earlier), where both he and Sam are reexamining bits of their past and reevaluating them from a new perspective. Like the story in 10.17 about his dad rescuing him from CBGB now seems to have a darker undertone to it than Sam remembered, based on his reaction to hearing it again. And it all ties back to what Dean said in the confessional in 10.16, where he really seemed to be thinking about his own life in ways he never had before.

This is the season of You Can’t Outrun Your Past, so I’m looking for every possible way that could be relevant, and giving Dean a specific time frame to consider while he’s already thinking about the past seems like a perfect way to remind us that yeah, he’s definitely thinking about his own past seven years now, in relation to Jesse and Cesar hunting together for that long.

Follow your heart, Dean.