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Fic: Comfort
Title: Comfort
Genre: Slash
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Characters: Sam, Dean
Rating: Teen/PG-13
Word Count: 1043
Disclaimer: All for fun, none for profit.
Summary: After the events of "Home" (S1E9), Sam wants to share a bed with Dean the way they did when they were kids.
Warnings/tags: Sibling incest, emotional hurt/comfort, cuddling, pre-slash but with lots of Wincest feels
A/N: Written for the Swan Song Bingo, Home square (season 1).
Read on AO3
***
Dean drove all day after they left Lawrence, wanting nothing more than to put miles between himself and their old home. Even though he’d barely slept the night before, he drank coffee after coffee and forced himself to keep going. Sam was silent in the passenger seat. He seemed to be lost in his own thoughts. He didn’t even try to talk Dean into letting him drive for a while, for which Dean was grateful. No way he could just sit there with nothing to concentrate on, nothing to do.
The November day waned quickly and darkness started to fall. They went through the McDonald’s drive-through for dinner. Despite a large soda, Dean’s eyelids were getting heavy. He started looking for a likely motel.
The second they were in the room, Dean took off his boots, stripped to a T-shirt and boxers, and crawled under the covers. He was out like a light before he knew it.
He awoke with a start a couple hours later. Sam was standing over him, saying his name softly but urgently.
“What is it?” Dean asked groggily. “What’s wrong?” The curtains were slightly open and he could just see Sam’s hunched outline in the lights of the parking lot that filtered in.
“I can’t sleep,” Sam said. “Can I…” He paused for a long moment. “Can I sleep with you? Like when we were kids?”
Dean rubbed his eyes as he tried to think clearly. He was grateful that Sam had added that last sentence. Since Sam had started traveling with him, Dean had become aware of something growing between them. A tension that had been there for a long time, but which Dean had always tried to ignore. It was worse now than when they were teenagers. It’d been easier to push it away, then. To remind himself that Sammy was just a kid.
Sammy was no longer a kid, and their blossoming desire was getting harder and harder to deny. Dean did his best. He was very good at living in denial when he needed to. But part of him always knew it was there, like the thick, portentous feeling in the atmosphere before a thunderstorm. Once, they’d gotten drunk and Sam had put his head on Dean’s shoulder. Dean damn near thought his heart was going to explode from fear and wanting. Nothing had come of it, though. Dean had been profoundly relieved and simultaneously more disappointed than he cared to admit.
Dean didn’t think this was about that, though. Sam knew as well as he did what was humming like a taut guitar string between them. His choice of words had been deliberate. He said like when they were kids, when they habitually shared a bed. They used to shove each other and argue, but in the morning Dean had almost always woken up with Sam curled up against his side. Sometimes his little head was even pillowed on Dean’s chest.
Dean was still afraid of what sharing a bed with Sammy now could lead to, but he didn’t have the heart to deny his brother. They were both spun out from the trip to Lawrence. From seeing their mother’s spirit. How could Dean think to withhold a modicum of comfort? If he was being uncharacteristically honest with himself, Dean could use the comfort of Sam’s proximity, too.
So he said “Sure,” moved over, and pulled aside the covers. Sam exhaled liked he’d been holding in the breath and slid in next to him.
“You better not hog the blankets,” Dean added, because he had to say something to make this less awkward.
“I won’t,” Sam replied softly, so serious that Dean rolled his eyes and felt a little guilty. He expected Sam to stay on the other side of the bed, but once Sam was under the sheets he kept coming, sliding an arm around Dean’s waist and resting his head on Dean’s chest.
Dean froze, wondering if he’d misread this and Sam was going for something after all. Even if he wasn’t, what in the hell was Dean supposed to do with his arms?
“Dude – ” he started uncomfortably.
“Do you remember how we used to do this when we were kids?” Sam interrupted. His voice was thick with yearning and he sounded choked up. “How we used to always sleep together?”
“I remember bruised shins. You kicked in your sleep,” Dean muttered.
“I remember feeling safe,” Sam said quietly. “I thought you could protect me from anything.”
Dean swallowed down a lump in his throat. He let one arm settle across Sam’s shoulders, his other hand rest on Sam’s side. Sam’s skin was warm through his T-shirt. “I wish I could have,” he said, honesty finally breaking through. “World’s not like that, but…I wish I could have.”
“I know,” Sam murmured. He hugged Dean tighter, and Dean was suddenly painfully conscious of the hard line of Sam’s body against his side. He was pretty sure that Sam wasn’t trying to push this into something he couldn’t handle, but he was worried suddenly about his own reaction to the heady combination of Sam’s scent and heat. To the feeling of his brother’s body pressed to his.
“Did you have another nightmare?” Dean asked suddenly. He couldn’t think of a better mood killer than Sam’s weird visions.
Sam moved minutely, clearly discomfited, his muscles tensing. “No,” he said. “Not yet.”
Dean breathed a silent sigh of relief, but Sam was still talking.
“I hate them, Dean,” he whispered fiercely. “I shouldn’t – not when they helped us save Jenny and her kids.” He was breathing hard, trembling slightly. “But I hate them. I don’t want to see those things. I don’t want to be some freak.”
Dean unconsciously squeezed Sam a little tighter. “You’re not a freak,” he said firmly, but inside, he felt shaken. He didn’t like Sam’s visions any more than Sam did. They scared him.
Still, he felt Sam relax slightly.
“Thanks, Dean,” Sam said. He sighed and fell silent.
Dean lay there, listening to Sam’s breathing deepen. Despite his exhaustion, it took him a long time to find sleep once more. But he didn’t mind. Not if he could make Sam feel safe again, even for a few hours.
Genre: Slash
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Characters: Sam, Dean
Rating: Teen/PG-13
Word Count: 1043
Disclaimer: All for fun, none for profit.
Summary: After the events of "Home" (S1E9), Sam wants to share a bed with Dean the way they did when they were kids.
Warnings/tags: Sibling incest, emotional hurt/comfort, cuddling, pre-slash but with lots of Wincest feels
A/N: Written for the Swan Song Bingo, Home square (season 1).
Read on AO3
***
Dean drove all day after they left Lawrence, wanting nothing more than to put miles between himself and their old home. Even though he’d barely slept the night before, he drank coffee after coffee and forced himself to keep going. Sam was silent in the passenger seat. He seemed to be lost in his own thoughts. He didn’t even try to talk Dean into letting him drive for a while, for which Dean was grateful. No way he could just sit there with nothing to concentrate on, nothing to do.
The November day waned quickly and darkness started to fall. They went through the McDonald’s drive-through for dinner. Despite a large soda, Dean’s eyelids were getting heavy. He started looking for a likely motel.
The second they were in the room, Dean took off his boots, stripped to a T-shirt and boxers, and crawled under the covers. He was out like a light before he knew it.
He awoke with a start a couple hours later. Sam was standing over him, saying his name softly but urgently.
“What is it?” Dean asked groggily. “What’s wrong?” The curtains were slightly open and he could just see Sam’s hunched outline in the lights of the parking lot that filtered in.
“I can’t sleep,” Sam said. “Can I…” He paused for a long moment. “Can I sleep with you? Like when we were kids?”
Dean rubbed his eyes as he tried to think clearly. He was grateful that Sam had added that last sentence. Since Sam had started traveling with him, Dean had become aware of something growing between them. A tension that had been there for a long time, but which Dean had always tried to ignore. It was worse now than when they were teenagers. It’d been easier to push it away, then. To remind himself that Sammy was just a kid.
Sammy was no longer a kid, and their blossoming desire was getting harder and harder to deny. Dean did his best. He was very good at living in denial when he needed to. But part of him always knew it was there, like the thick, portentous feeling in the atmosphere before a thunderstorm. Once, they’d gotten drunk and Sam had put his head on Dean’s shoulder. Dean damn near thought his heart was going to explode from fear and wanting. Nothing had come of it, though. Dean had been profoundly relieved and simultaneously more disappointed than he cared to admit.
Dean didn’t think this was about that, though. Sam knew as well as he did what was humming like a taut guitar string between them. His choice of words had been deliberate. He said like when they were kids, when they habitually shared a bed. They used to shove each other and argue, but in the morning Dean had almost always woken up with Sam curled up against his side. Sometimes his little head was even pillowed on Dean’s chest.
Dean was still afraid of what sharing a bed with Sammy now could lead to, but he didn’t have the heart to deny his brother. They were both spun out from the trip to Lawrence. From seeing their mother’s spirit. How could Dean think to withhold a modicum of comfort? If he was being uncharacteristically honest with himself, Dean could use the comfort of Sam’s proximity, too.
So he said “Sure,” moved over, and pulled aside the covers. Sam exhaled liked he’d been holding in the breath and slid in next to him.
“You better not hog the blankets,” Dean added, because he had to say something to make this less awkward.
“I won’t,” Sam replied softly, so serious that Dean rolled his eyes and felt a little guilty. He expected Sam to stay on the other side of the bed, but once Sam was under the sheets he kept coming, sliding an arm around Dean’s waist and resting his head on Dean’s chest.
Dean froze, wondering if he’d misread this and Sam was going for something after all. Even if he wasn’t, what in the hell was Dean supposed to do with his arms?
“Dude – ” he started uncomfortably.
“Do you remember how we used to do this when we were kids?” Sam interrupted. His voice was thick with yearning and he sounded choked up. “How we used to always sleep together?”
“I remember bruised shins. You kicked in your sleep,” Dean muttered.
“I remember feeling safe,” Sam said quietly. “I thought you could protect me from anything.”
Dean swallowed down a lump in his throat. He let one arm settle across Sam’s shoulders, his other hand rest on Sam’s side. Sam’s skin was warm through his T-shirt. “I wish I could have,” he said, honesty finally breaking through. “World’s not like that, but…I wish I could have.”
“I know,” Sam murmured. He hugged Dean tighter, and Dean was suddenly painfully conscious of the hard line of Sam’s body against his side. He was pretty sure that Sam wasn’t trying to push this into something he couldn’t handle, but he was worried suddenly about his own reaction to the heady combination of Sam’s scent and heat. To the feeling of his brother’s body pressed to his.
“Did you have another nightmare?” Dean asked suddenly. He couldn’t think of a better mood killer than Sam’s weird visions.
Sam moved minutely, clearly discomfited, his muscles tensing. “No,” he said. “Not yet.”
Dean breathed a silent sigh of relief, but Sam was still talking.
“I hate them, Dean,” he whispered fiercely. “I shouldn’t – not when they helped us save Jenny and her kids.” He was breathing hard, trembling slightly. “But I hate them. I don’t want to see those things. I don’t want to be some freak.”
Dean unconsciously squeezed Sam a little tighter. “You’re not a freak,” he said firmly, but inside, he felt shaken. He didn’t like Sam’s visions any more than Sam did. They scared him.
Still, he felt Sam relax slightly.
“Thanks, Dean,” Sam said. He sighed and fell silent.
Dean lay there, listening to Sam’s breathing deepen. Despite his exhaustion, it took him a long time to find sleep once more. But he didn’t mind. Not if he could make Sam feel safe again, even for a few hours.