dean grins, an unabashed smile he doesn’t usually let other people see.  he gives sam’s ass a hard whack, laughs when sam jumps a hundred feet into the air.

“ready?” dean says, both hands in the “r” hand shape, shaking them gently.  the sign for ready.

sam just gins back at him, trying not to get lost in dean’s eyes.

“you can’t look.  that’s cheating.”

sam rolls his eyes, but does as he’s told, rolls back over so dean has perfect access to the expanse of sam’s naked skin.  this game they’re playing is different.  he doesn’t often use his voice – ever, if he can avoid it – but alone with dean, it’s different.  they sign 98% of the time.  it wasn’t like that a few years ago, maybe longer ago than that…  but they’re so in sync with each other now, dean doesn’t appear to miss talking.

he feels the warm pad of dean’s finger press gentle against the small of his back, a small, straight line, followed by a dot.


dean places a kiss to the globe of sam’s ass.  apparently a right answer.

two lines, a right angle this time.  a circle.  an acute angle.  a stranger shape, has to be some other kind of letter.  dean’s finger sends electric shocks through sam’s body.


another kiss to sam’s ass.

some more strange shapes, letters that sam has to grasp for.


he finally feels dean smothering his skin with his own body, fully enveloped by dean – dean’s scent, dean’s skin.  dean’s kissing his neck.  he holds a fist up and rocks it back and forth – yes.

sam manages to roll over underneath his brother’s body.  he could sign, but he chooses a different path – wants dean to hear it even though he can’t.

“i love you.”

“You deserve everything, Dean.” Sam whispered to his brother who was pinned underneath him, kissing his forehead as Sam rocked his hips forward. Dean wrapped his arms around Sam’s lower back, trying to pull him impossibly close. “More than what I have to give you.” Sam kissed his cheek and ran his fingers through his short hair as he started to move a little faster. Dean was watching Sam, those green eyes wide as he watched Sam move on top of him, bringing them both closer and closer to the edge. He moaned, his breaths were nothing more than tiny huffs of air that feel past his open lips and Dean twitched inside of Sam. “More than what I have to offer.” Sam kissed the side of Dean’s mouth, pulling Dean up to where he was now sitting with Sam straddling his waist in his lap.

“Sammy…” Dean muttered. “You are more than enough to me.“

au where dean decides to enlist in the vietnam war and manages to convince sam to enlist right along side with them. it’s the first time that either one of them has been outside the small state of kansas and they are both filled with wonderment as they watch the land change beneath them. but that all changes the moment that they land in the miskito infested swamp. they’re both handed an ak-47 and told to keep it dry. that was going to be their only friend for the next few months.

Time seemed to stop all together. Everything in the background seemed to fade away. The heat. The humidity. The sun. The fucking rain. The only thing that he saw was his brother dropping to his knees, his hands gripping his stomach that had just been torn apart by a bullet.

Dean didn’t realize that he was screaming, that he was screaming at the enemy to stop shooting at them.

Just stop shooting. Please. Just stop fucking shooting for a minute. That’s all I ask. Please. That’s my brother. That’s my baby brother you bastards.

But the gunfire didn’t stop. Metal and lead still broke through the air and all Dean wanted was to get to Sam. Get to him and get that damn bullet out. Save him, take him away from this place where death hung in the air and back to the safety of their small house back home.

He started to stand from where he had taken cover. He just needed to get to him but someone pulled him back down, his chest slamming back down on the jungle floor.

“What the hell are you doing, Dean?” Hendrickson yelled. “Are you trying to get yourself killed? Stay the fuck down.”

Dean shook his head, trying to stand again but Hendrickson pulled him back down by the front of his uniform. “But that’s my brother. You don’t understand, I gotta get to him. He’s not safe out there.” Dean pleaded.

“Neither are you, soldier. You’re going to be no help to him if you get so pumped full of lead that you can’t walk. If you get shot too, I’ll have to drag both of your sorry asses out of this goddamn jungle and put you back on that plane in a cardboard box. I am not losing two soldiers today. You got that?”


“Stay down and wait, soldier! That’s a fucking order.”

Dean clenched his jaw. Every bone, every muscle, every tendon in his body wanted to do nothing more than to run to Sam and throw his body on top of his and protect him from the hell storm of lead that was happening above him but he couldn’t.

He might be stupid. Like the kinda stupid that drove him to not only enlist in this damn war but also convince his brother to enlist but he wasn’t suicidally stupid. Running out there into that mess would only get him killed.

Finally after what felt like years, the gunfire stopped and it was no more. Before Hendrickson even gave the all clear,  Dean was already running over to the fallen soldier, sliding to his knees.

Sam didn’t look good. Blood covered his uniform. Mud and dirt and grime and even more blood was under his fingernails, coating his arms and face. He was losing color and god, that light that was always in his eyes were starting to fade away.

“Hey… hey, Dean,” his voice was broken, garbled even as he smiled up at his brother who was now blocking that godforsaken sun out of his eyes.

“Hey, Sammy.” Dean replied, moving Sam’s hands out of the way and unbuttoning his uniform. If he could get the bleeding to stop then he would be okay. That’s what he kept telling himself. Stop the bleeding. Save Sammy. “We gotta get you outta here, alright? I can’t get the bullet out right now. We’re still too exposed. I’ll hafta do that when we get back to camp. Do you think that you can hold out?”

But Sam’s eyes were starting to cloud over. He was shaking. Underneath the uniform that was too big for him, he was shaking. Dean couldn’t swallow. There was something stuck in his throat and he just couldn’t.

He pulled at the water canteen that was looped onto Sam’s belt and poured some water on his face, trying to clean up some of the dirt. It had stopped raining. For the first time since they landed here, it had stopped raining.

Dean wasn’t ready to let go of his brother. Not yet. Not when Sam still had his whole life to live. Sam’s eyes were starting to close and Dean grabbed the front of his uniform, shaking his brother, pulling him back to the world.

Sam blinked once. Slowly, not really focusing on anything in particular.

“Sam…” Dean’s voice cracked and if Sam had heard him, he showed no signs of it. His eyes started to close once more and Dean patted the side of his face, trying to keep him awake. “Sam… Sammy, please don’t… you can’t… you can’t go. I won’t let you. Come on, you stubborn son of a bitch, open your eyes.”

His eyes remained shut. The hand that was resting on his brothers chest could no longer feel the heartbeat that should have been beating underneath it.

“Sammy…” He cried out one last time, the sound barely above a whisper and only silence sang back to him.

He had gone numb. His whole body lost feeling. So that was it. This was it. This was how it was going to end. His brother was going to die at the hands of the enemy and he was going to have to rewatch it happen every night he closed his eyes.

He turned to look at Hendrickson, his hand still clutching the front of Sam’s uniform, his eyes completely void of emotion, dead themselves. “I think I’m ready to go home now, sir, if it’s alright with you.”

Don’t You Cry No More - a weecest ficlet

The first time Sam gets badly hurt on a hunt, he doesn’t cry.

Dean does.


There’s blood everywhere, fucking – everywhere and Dean’s screaming Sam’s name, yelling it right in his face and shaking him by the collar of his jacket like he would if they were arguing and he was trying to snap some sense into him, but he’s not, he’s not, he’s just trying to keep him awake.

‘Cause Sammy is fourteen years old, and he doesn’t deserve to die tonight.

“Sammy, Sammy, you can hear me, right? You can hear me, it’s okay, it’s gonna be okay, we’re gonna patch you right up, Sam, you hear? Sam?” Dean rambles, eyes wild and searching Sam’s slack face, fingers cold and shaking and pressing bluntly to the point on his neck where his pulse still thrums gloriously beneath his delicate, unblemished skin.

It’s weak and slow, but it’s there, and Dean clings to it like it’s his very own lifeline.

((continue reading on ao3))

anonymous asked:

could you write something with demon!dean and wincest please?

He’s managed to pin him up against the wall, the knife pressed into his throat not hard enough to break the skin, at least not yet. And he’s smiling. He’s smiling that same damn ‘You won’t kill me, Sammy. You don’t have it in ya to kill me’ smile and Sam swallows hard cause he knows it’s true. He can’t kill Dean. He’s just waiting for Dean to call his bluff.

“You can still fight this, Dean.” Sam sounds as if he’s begging Dean to listen to him, to believe him. “We can fight this. You’re still good. There’s still good inside of you.”

Dean tilts his head to the side, just a little bit and strains his neck closer to Sam’s feeling the bite of the blade as it digs into his skin and cuts the soft flesh. Just a little bit. Just enough to make it sting and he looks completely unfazed by it.

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Sam Winchester’s Diary - Preview

Written by: @honeywincest
Art by: @sketchydean

A collection of diary entries, letters, and poems written by Sam (mostly pre-series) as timestamps. Non-graphic mentions of Wincest. Mostly canon-compliant. Weekly updates. Mostly Safe For Work. Entries will NOT be posted in chronological order.

Possible Trigger Warnings for: incest, mentions of underage sex, underage substance abuse, non-graphic mentions of self harm.

Coming soon.

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Sam trembled softly as Dean ran his fingers over his sides, before getting to his chest. Deans thumbs circled over his nipples once, lips stealing the moans out of Sams mouth.

“We don’t have to.” Dean said softly, kissing the swell of Sams bottom lip.

“I want this. I want you.”

“You left.” Dean said, voice barely more than a breath out.

“But now I’m back.” Sam whispered back. “And I’m all yours.”

“All mine.” Dean gasped out, his voice becoming a possesive growl.

“My body finally ready to be explored.”

“You mean.”

“Was waiting for you, wanted you to be the first.” Sam said, biting his lip as he felt Deans cock throb against his thigh.

“Mine.” Dean growled again, teeth nipping at Sams neck.


“All mine.”

Dean nipped at Sams neck again before sliding down. He had a lot of little brother to explore and he wasn’t going to waste any time.

how the world ends

Killing Abaddon was bloody. Sacrificing a score of innocent humans to ensure the spell keeps Abaddon dead, even bloodier.

When he sucks in warm air, all he tastes is salt and pennies on his tongue.

Details register like glass shards in his skin; he’s standing up, he’s stumbling forward and shit goddamn fuck he can feel that Mark on his hand, the skin itself is curdling and twisting into tight knots that pull at his scalp and follicles like a sinkhole. If there were screams of the people he murdered he’s long since forgotten how they sounded on his ears, no sound but the quiet echoes in his head. It’s nice, the quiet. He’s so used to the buzzing that’s kept on and on in his head, hordes of furious bees that won’t lay off and explain so clearly the reasons for Cain’s hobbies when they met. The buzzing won’t stop, never stops unless he sinks his knife into flesh, snaps a spinal cord or smothers someone’s final breaths.  If he stops, the peace lasts for a few minutes, maybe an hour, before the bees are back and nesting against his cranium with a sting that never fades behind his eyes.

When he kills, it’s quiet. In some sick twisted way, he thinks it’s always been quieter up there when he kills.

He’s lost track of how long it’s been quiet by now.

The spell. He kicks aside someone’s intestines and steps on an arm, bent askew, to grasp for the alter he’d set up.  A recipe, Crowley had explained, slipping it into his pocket with a glance that Dean would have considered pitying, had it been anyone but the King of Hell; A recipe to destroy a Knight of Hell, with all the necessary ingredients.

One Mark of Cain.

One worthy soldier.

One stabbed Abaddon.

Twenty human sacrifices.

And this. Here. Now. The icing on the cake.

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so i think this year for thanksgiving dean told sam that he was thankful for him

and sam blushed and rolled his eyes and said, “dean”

and so then dean dragged sam into bed and slowly stripped him of his clothes and started kissing him all over, his hands and arms, his feet, his legs, his whole face, his chest, his stomach, down to his half-hard cock and sweet little hole and he named each part of sam as he kissed it and said sincerely, “i’m thankful for [this body part]” and it got sam all ridiculously hot and bothered but it ended in orgasms for both of them so it’s okay

tell me your wincest thanksgiving headcanons