pairing: wincest


It’s been years. Long, full years that have passed since the Winchesters took their last breaths. It was a frosty night, filled with blood, sweat and tears as Sam held his bigger brother’s hand just before his own world went black.

All he hoped for as his last wish was that wherever he was went, Dean would be waiting for him. It didn’t matter if it were heaven or hell, it just mattered to him if they were together because even in death he just couldn’t imagine being without Dean.

At this point in time, the Impala still stood where Dean had driven it last. It was untouched. Except for the bubbles of rust on her once pristine, shiny, black body and the long grass weaving its way inside the place that once used to be home.

It was still home.

Their souls tied to the car, like she was stitched into their very being. The only other constant in their lives except for each other. Things are simpler now, both of them existing between worlds. Made of smoke and stories. Most nights they just sit on the hood of the car, watching the stars in complete silence just like they did in life. It was weird the way they just needed each other to be okay.

Then one day, Sam watched a boy walk up to the car, his fingertips trailing over the roof. The same admiration and glee he often noticed in Dean’s eyes when he saw cars, sparkling in the eyes of someone that reminded Sam of who he used to be.

Before he knew it, Baby was hurtling down highways again, carrying two men that reminded Sam of his own life. Saving people, hunting things, the family business. Dean would often mess with the stereo, the soundtracks to their lives blaring through the speakers as the legos rattled. It reminded the new hunters of the history they were apart of and the history they were going to make.

Sprawled out in the backseat, Sam’s head on Dean’s lap as they listened to the young hunters in the front, who were completely oblivious to their presence.

“You know who’s car this was? It belong to Sam and Dean. The Winchesters. The goddamn Winchesters.”

“No way. No frikkin’ way. There’s no way they would have left this beauty.”

“I heard they died.”

Sam tilted his head upwards to look at Dean. There’s a smile on Dean’s face that made his heart warm.

They never die. Not really. At least not forever.


Here’s a fic to add to my Kink List, #75 Inventing a secret sex language to use in public, requested by anon.

Summary: Dean has gone undercover as a bartender for a case, and Sam very much likes the way he is dressed.

warning: Wincest, nothing explicit but highly flirty/sexy/implied

word count: ~1100

Sam walked into the bar where Dean was undercover, hoping to be able to speak to his brother alone. He’d found some interesting information about the bartender Dean was working with, and needed to make sure his brother was on high alert, especially behind the bar and in the back room when he was alone with the guy.

The bar was packed; there was some local event happening in the town for the weekend, which was why they had been so quick to hire Dean as a temporary employee without much thought. It had been a lucky break on their part, but also made it tricky in tracking the monster doing the killings with so many strangers in the town for the event to look into.

Sam found a place to sit at the bar, hoping that he could catch Dean’s eye to get him to come chat for a second.  He looked around the room, eyes searching for the dirty blonde head of his brother –

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Wincest Writing Challenge: Not Forgotten

Written for @wincestwritingchallenge Round 9: Summer

Prompt: waterballoons

Pairing: Wincest (gen)

Partner: @erza155hasleftthebuilding

Rating: Teen

Tags/warnings: PTSD, including flashbacks/panic attacks

Summary: Sam didn’t like water any more

On A03

Beta: thanks, @nisaki-chan!

Note: Thanks to the mods for letting me post a second prompt, much appreciated!

There are kids playing outside the motel, despite the late hour. They’re shouting and laughing, having a great time, and it takes Dean back to days when he and Sam had been so carefree; alone and irresponsible in a motel forecourt with nothing else to worry about other than having fun. Those days had been few and far between, to be honest; particularly for Dean, who’d often spent them worrying about Sam; how he was going to feed Sam, whether the school was going to pick up on the fact that he and Sam were alone, worrying about how he was going to clothe Sam, and above everything else always worrying about whether their Dad was safe.

Those days are long gone now, of course; he feeds and clothes Sam through hustling pool, illicit poker games and credit card fraud, which is all much more under his control. He worries about Sam in other ways, of course, but usually if Sam is in danger Dean is just in front of him, literally shielding his little brother with his body.

That hadn’t been true recently. Sam had been taken from him, stolen by a bitch with a bad accent, and Dean hasn’t quite gotten over the shock of losing him or the joy of getting him back. Sam still hasn’t talked about what really happened in that basement, and from experience, Dean knows he probably won’t unless there’s a very specific reason to do so. Nevertheless, Dean has picked up on tiny things; the way Sam doesn’t seem to like the rain now, the way he flinches away from heat, the fact that he always asks Dean to light the matches when they burn bodies, the fact that his showers are as short he can make them. Dean might not be well educated or as smart as Sam, but he can put two and two together well enough to draw some pretty clear indicators that the answer is four.

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The world smells like cigarette smoke and a breath of whiskey, but they’re used to it. Sam stopped asking him to stop smoking months ago. He needs his fix, his brain demanding a slowdown. A break. He needs his mind numb from the horrors that face him everyday.

They both drink the whiskey, taking turns until the fifth is empty. It helps to numb the pain, and tastes familiar on each other’s tongue. Sam wanted to find a better way, but nothing else comes close. They try to stay clean, for fear of a witness’ distrust. But the smoke lingers; on them, on the car, on everything they touch.

It’s never been enough though; the whiskey dries up, the prices keep going up. The cases fall apart, their relationship too. Until it’s separate hotel rooms, stolen cars, and a couple broken souls desperate for help to draw them back together.

Their love would have to be enough.

my personal little headcanon for the “jerk” “bitch” thing is that when they were younger the boys got into a big argument over something silly, and Dean was fuming so he accidentally let “bitch” slip from his mouth, and Sam was so hurt and shocked he tried to think of the worst insult to fire back at Dean, but being so young the worst thing he could think of was “jerk” so he spit it at Dean like a curse word and Dean just couldn’t help but giggle bc his baby brother was so pure and clearly couldn’t have a mean bone in his body if he tried, and Dean giggling made Sam giggle too so then “bitch” and “jerk” just became this loving playful thing between the two of them ;.;