Just scribble backups...
When was the last time I did one of these?
Damn.
What happened to the whole backing this shit up here so I wouldn't lose/delete it by accident?
*blinks*
And why have I been private-locking pointless entries I make?
Aw man, don't tell me I'm developing a sense of shame. Argh! Must fight back!
---
He falls back, panting, on the mattress. Content, and sloppy-limbed from orgasm. Content.
This is something familiar, warm, comforting.
Not. Not *fantastic*, not the heat, love, sweetness that it was with Jess, but he doesn't think of his brother like that. Loves him, yes, not loves him. Would kill, die, fight beside, before or behind him, for him.
He thinks about that sometimes. What it means to love someone, or love them. It's more than devotion, comfort, sex. How you could love someone as a best friend, have them be someone you'd want to know for the rest of your life, and still not have 'it'.
Because he fucks Dean. Is fucked by him.
Familial bonds gone down an unfamiliar route, and yeah, it should screw him up, but he's long come to terms with it. That even if it's fucked _up_, it's a symptom, not a cause, not something he can build up the outrage for, in even his pissiest moments, to blame Dean *or* himself for. They were just kids.
And now, of course, they're not. And for a while that was enough of a reason to stop, but then those reasons went up in flames, and it's just a relief to *have* some relief, with someone who you know cares about you, loves you, would protect you.
And Dean would, does, and always has.
---
Why'd you do it?
It felt good.
---
Sam never got the difference between the lies and rebellion that didn't, that didn't *matter*, and the ones that *did*. That Dean might have fucked around behind Dad's back, that he *did* have disagreements with him, but that there was a time and a place, and that time was not *ever* anytime, anyplace, relating to the mission.
He wondered if it was his fault. He and Sam hiding this from Dad, making Sam think that it was ok to go behind his back, disagree to his face about everything else. A knot in his stomach from everytime he couldn't mediate between Sam & Dad, and they got in another stupid fight. They were both stubborn sons of bitches, couldn't even see how similar they were. Couldn't ever just let go. Not their anger, not their guilt.
---
*quiet gasp*
Shhhhh.
Shut up.
You shut up.
*thwap*
Hey, I thought you wanted to... You know.
---
Leprechauns in Nevada?
A land of gamblers and fools, all chasing for their pot of gold, and precious, precious few rainbows.
---
threesome, with girl, dean 69'ing. plotless porn.
Holy. Holy. Holy fuck. Gasping above him.
She was trying to suck his cock.
He could tell exactly how well he was doing when he ran the broad flat of his tongue there, flicked it here, by just how badly she was sucking his dick.
She'd been managing a respectable length down her throat, licking the head (oh yeah, she really liked cock), which had progressed to her just moaning around his dick, and was now just lying her head in the cradle of his hip, panting and gasping, on the brink of another orgasm as Sam's cock slid in and out of her, pushing her along, into Dean, Dean holding her hips in place for Sam, for himself, as he sucked lightly.
I'll get her ready for you. Condom breaks. On pill. Should use the big ones.
(??? Wait, what did this mean? Sam has a donkey dick? o_O Cum? Why would I mention... Ohhhhhh. Uh. Possibly a little hardcore, or at least, totally guy-porn. Just them getting off on fucking a girl with their brother's cum or something, as proxy wincest a threesome as you can get)
---
"Oh please, I know you're not brothers."
Deans mouth opens then flicks over to a forced grin. "Yeah, you got me..."
---
The warlock with mum plot idea - I can almost work with it, but then it mutates into angst-puppy again.
Like, I can get behind some witch being really quite evil even if they only cast love spells. Have you any idea the kind of shit that could do?
(Check out the suicide rate for this town).
But - why both of them? Why not just one? On the assumption that that really *will* fuck up their relationship.
(So, just how much _do_ you love your brother?)
Ok, so. If it was Sam, it might, *might* just work out ok. Kind of. Maybe. If it was permanent.
But it wouldn't, because Dean would initially resist, knowing Sam was under a spell, but Dean can never deny Sam anything, so he'll succumb and be *blissfully* happy right up until the spell wears off.
And then Sam will be all cold and backlashy, and he won't say anything, but there'll always be this *distance* between them.
Or. It hits Dean. And oooo, this could go a number of ways based on the pre-conditions. One way, nothing much *appears* to happen, but with the witch, Dean will be vicious, *so* vicious and snarky. Take it off. Take it away. If you *can*, with a curl of his lip.
Because it hasn't changed. Not really. Dean's been fighting it so long that it's only a little worse, still bearable. Does Sam know? When he looks at Dean? Does he wonder why it isn't worse? Why it 'apparently' hasn't worked?
No, he knows. And Dean's *Dean*, his brother, he won't, kinda won't, hold it against him (but he'll always use it to get his way), it's just one of all the things he didn't want about this life, that he doesn't think too hard about.
Or, Dean does go all doe eyed for the first time. Or fails to hold it in. And Sam will hold it against him, because he's the older one, he's *supposed* to be able to. And there'll always be that gap. And if Dean had never thought of Sam that way before, he'll always have the guilt that he did. And there's something about attraction, that once you've found something attractive, it's hard to convince yourself later that it's not.
---
Provenance Timeline?
Dean froze.
"Sam, if you ever really thought that, I...
I promise, if you wanted me to, I would go away and never bother you again."
"Aww, Dean..."
"Because I would _never_ - I wouldn't have..."
"Dean -"
Dean's jaw clenched, and he shook his head, "I've given myself the guilt-trip, ok? I was only ever ok with it because I thought _you_ were."
"Look, you didn't..."
Sam breathed out.
"You were right.
I'm not angry at _you_ Dean. I just wish. I just wish we could have been more normal, alright?"
Dean grimaced.
"I can still wish we _hadn't_ done that stuff, ok? And that's not about you."
Dean stared at him incredulously, "How is that not about me, Sammy? I'm the one who did it!"
"No, *we* did it.
Dean, you never did anything I didn't want you to. But don't you see? We should never have _been_ in that position.
If we hadn't been moving us around so often, _maybe_ we would have gotten that kind of messing around out of the way with _other_ kids. _Maybe_ it wouldn't have lasted so long. Maybe if it wasn't for all our '_family secrets_', you wouldn't have been the only person I felt close to."
"Oh, great. Now we're back to blaming Dad again."
"Yeah, well maybe it was about Dad."
"No. No Sam.
Maybe our whole _family_ shouldn't have been in the 'position' of having some Demon burn our Mother to death on the fricken' ceiling, but y'know what?
Shit. Happens."
*Sam sits on the bed, and looks at the floor*
I just wish that I didn't look at you sometimes and _forget_, ok? Forget that all the stuff we did as kids wasn't normal, and that and that it _isn't_ ok to want it now.
*The tension just drains from Dean's posture, but his face goes all mournful.*
"Oh Sammy..."
*Dean sits down on the bed, and pulls Sam into a hug, Sam all hunched and bent into it. Sam pulls, struggles to get away for a moment, but Dean just tightens his grip.*
"Shhh, Sam. It's ok, I got you."
*Sam stops struggling, and slowly relaxes. Head's turned into Dean's shoulder, it's not sexual, just comfort. Dean just holding Sam. Not rubbing his back (yet), they're still guys, and trying to play it cool.*
*Sam sniffs slightly.*
"Sometimes I feel like such a dork." says Sam, his voice muffled.
*pause*
"That's 'cause you are a dork, Sam."
*There's a slight, muffled choke-laugh*
[Aww man, Dean might otherwise be freaking, but more than that, he can tell Sam _needs_ him, so he kicks into big-brother mode. I think I love him when he's being all 'big-brother'-ish.
Also, what's with me wavering between the not-USTy, then setting myself up for some good UST, and then blowing it all again? My brain likes the angst, not the sex. :P But, no, really. In my head, this is enough. Sam's getting all fucked up in the head about it, but when you get underneath all the 'cesty thoughts, all he _really_ wants, is... a hug. *beats inner-sappy-bunny-with-a-stick*) It's just, that's how they er, used to show affection. And I think in this moment, unconsciously or not, that's what Dean's picking up on.]
Remember what I always told you.
"You think too much?"
Yeah, that too. It's just. You're getting all screwy about this, and it ain't helping. Just
(Let it go? Crap. *facepalm* Yeah. I totally did.)
---
(Uh... this was. Mutual amnesia fic??)
"What possessed you to do that?" 'Christo' Sam burst out laughing, and Dean grinned briefly, then they both stuttered to a stop as everyone else stared, bewildered, and he realised he wasn't sure why that had seemed funny, what it meant ('God') and he didn't think Dean was either, by the look on his face.
---
(Shhhh...
Yeah, it. It didn't work. It's buried. I'm not even trying to touch it)
Sam was falling, falling back, falling down, eyes closing, onto...
his bed.
*Their* bed. Blue sheets, not crisp, but still new, the smell of her on them, clean. Time slowing as he lands, filled in this moment with his relief at being home, their own room, no more monsters and ghosts, but the comfort of this strived-for, not-familiar life. Even if Dean - well. Dean. His fairy-tale sibling turning up in the hot dark, like a nightmare, illogical, irresistable, but gone in the light of life here, study, interviews and alarm clocks.
He rests. It feels like he's been tense for so long, that he hasn't been home is so long, but he has, hasn't he? Yes. It's been - only a weekend.
Something lightly hits his cheek. He twitches, reflexively, and another - lands a quick moment later. It's not a moth, some insect, it's a drop of liquid. What?
Sam opens his eyes, staring straight up at a familiar roof, known cracks and - Not.
Familiarity warring with disorientation, producing shock that floods through him.
Jess.
Bleeding. Dripping. Across her waist, and - mouth open like she's screaming oh god, she's screaming and flames, billow like bright flowers, flowing outward from her midrif, flowing outward against the ceiling like a lapping tide, rising (descending) fast.
And a million thoughts are flying though his head at once, coherent and inane - I thought she was in the bathroom. She can't be. Like Mom. I'm sorry Jess. I've got to get her down. But I came back for you. Isn't there a stool in the kitchen? This isn't my life.
NOOOOOOOO!
But Dean's there. Warm? No, cool - against him. Shielding him already from the heat of the flames, and tugging him. You don't understand Dean. I have to get her off the ceiling. Verbal impulses short circuited into a visceral cry, struggling limbs no match against Dean, pushing against his body, irresistable, breathing tight and painful.
He has to try, try to save her, fighting in Deans arms, and it's... it's not enough. If only he pushes just a little bit harder, cries just a little bit louder, he might be able to -
Wake up.
Still being held down by Dean, skin against skin, his chest hurting, struggling in his arms until he realises that that this isn't a dream, Dean really is pinning him, they're in bed (together, and he feels a gut twist of guilt again) and forces himself to stop, still tensing up.
"It's ok... it's ok Sammy" And he can hear Dean's soothing murmur now, over the beating of his heart in his ears.
"It was. It was a dream" Sam mumbles.
Dean's moving, pulling them into a more comfortable seated position, rather than the strained tableau Sam had woken up in, and makes a small grunt.
"I figured, Sam. Want to - I mean.", Dean pauses, stumbles over his words as he starts a familiar phrase from their childhood, "Uh, want to talk about it?"
"No, just uh. It was just a dream."
Dean nods, and Sam forces himself to relax, taking the opportunity to pull back slightly.
He feels guilty, he knows he's feeling guilty about Jess, that he's doing this with his brother, that he couldn't leave the box they'd closed when he'd left for Stanford well enough alone. He's ruled by more than his dick, he's ruled by some fucked up sense of familiarity, of family, but it's still wrong, he knows it, and his subconscious is reminding him, throwing Jess, Jess dying in his ace. Well, it's too late to feel guilty about it now, and there's. There's nothing he can do.
Still, when Dean touches him lightly on his back, and says softly, 'Do you wanna... uh, again?', Sam leans away just slightly, before smiling a bit, to reassure Dean, says "No, I think I'm done for the night, and besides - we should get moving again in the morning."
and leans into his familiar warmth, "No, I'm cool - that woman in white got me good."
"Yeah." says Dean quietly. "You did good, y'know?"
"Yeah I know," says Sam. "Just... it's been good to see you again, y'know? I missed you."
Dean didn't say anything, but he gave Sam a gentle squeeze, not putting too much pressure on Sam's chest, and spooned up behind him. Sam thought to himself, he might feel guilty, but it was worth it, worth it to see Dean again, and drifted off to sleep.
---
Dad's in a small box.
Given the choice, they'd all go for cremation, and this - this is what John would have wanted, but it's still jarring. The last he'd seen of John had been him, in the front seat of the car, and now - now this.
He'd never even seen the body.
That's why it doesn't feel real. Dad's just... off on a hunt somewhere, and he has to remind himself that he's not, he's just ashes now, but how - how could that be a person, be his Daddy?
***
Sam...
Sam?
Dean managed to open his eyes, blinking a few times as
his vision wavered in and out. Struggling to remain conscious. Beep... Beep...
There was someone standing over him. Have to find out...
"Sam?"
The blur turned.
"Is... sammy?"
Breathe.
"Muh - my brother?"
"He's ok. He's suffered some injuries but..."
That was all Dean heard, clinging desperately to'ok', relaxing and he sunk back under again, exhausted.
---
They'd never been friends as kids, would never have thought of themselves like that. They were simply all each had.
They told each other about everything, not because they liked each other, but because there was no one else to tell.
They hung out together, and tried not to piss each other off *too* much, because they'd move again, and then it'd just be back to them.
They weren't even similar, but they had each other's backs.
The first time Sam heard someone refer to a sibling as a 'best friend' he was really weirded out. Because Dean knew him better than anyone else and he wasn't. Felt offended that someone else wouldn talk about a family member that way.
They're family. It doesn't matter if you like them or not, they have to be there for you anyway, that's the whole point - right?
---
*dean, perving at Sam from the bed, while Sam, wrapped in a towel, gets some clothes from his bed*
*Sam stops*
Hey Dean...
Dean stops, looks up guiltily.
"Dean!" Sam stares at him.
"You were totally just checking me out, weren't you?!?"
*automatic look of outraged innocence on Dean's face*
"What? No!"
*Dean pauses for a second, to figure out what Sam just said*
"Oh, wait - ok. Well yeah, I might've been..."
*Sam makes funny faces*
"Hey, you filled out.." says Dean with a shrug.
I can't believe you
Oh, come on - it's not like I'd *do* anything"
Do you have any shame?
---
it's a dream, when they were children, giggling and going to play in the
shed, then suddenly it's a grown up dean, and he's kissing him etc.
It's... not going bad. That's the best thing. There's the nightmares, and the nightmares, and the (yet more) other nightmares, and then there's this - which. Ok, isn't normal, but, at least he isn't afraid of it.
Although, maybe he should be.
(i have these dreams, and everythings normal, until it's not,an then something bad happens (describes), and then I have these dreams...
Do you remember (the shed)?
Ummm, yeah? Said Dean, cautiously.
then we're - y'know, but then your're older all of a sudden, you're you now, and we're...
then what happens?
I wake up.
That's it.
I keep expecting it to be, I dunno. worse or something. i mean, compared to my other dreams... I shouldn't feel as much relief as I do.
(Morphed into, what?)
When he wakes, he's shaking and sweating. Just... just like his (other?) nightmares.
It. It feels like he's gotten off easy. He should be nauseous, or worried about how abnormal it was, but he has to resist the hysterical urge to giggle at the thought. Compared to his other dreams, it was nothing. Just his subconscious fucking with him. (Fucking him).
Sam is wearing thin, wearing open, bags under his eyes. An ache in Dean's heart because he can't, can't make it better for him.
He sleeps fitfully, wakes shaking, and as much as Dean would like to be there for him, at least one of them needs to get a full nights sleep. He's awake when Dean goes to sleep, and when he wakes in the morning too.
He wakes to a touch. No, not a touch, more like... a small and gentle wind. Moving precisely over his skin, like a
(Ha! Riiiight... Powers fic - Sam molests Dean in his sleep. :D)
---
Unknown, dealing with the unknown (mythical, supernatural, it hides in shadows, uncertain shapes), being unknown (strangers in every town, foreigners to every type of normal, no recognition on the faces they pass), walking, unknowing, not knowing, why them? Why this? Why now, and why then? Pawns in games bigger than them, shadow creatures playing by rules, always, of course, unknown.
Trying to pattern match, trying to find solutions. Sam Winchester, earthly arrival: beltane 1982, departure: unknown.
Destination: unknown.
Just wanting a goal, a dream, something to hang onto. Possesiveness, territoriality taking over when they can't be certain of so much. Impala: known. Cheap identical hotels: known. Leather jackets, cheap sunglasses, guns, knives, holy water, sleep deprivation: known.
Working with known variables, routine - eat, sleep, hustle pool, get laid, research, day after day of known, known, known, to try and make up for the spine shaking adrenaline response of dealing with the unknown.
---
It's none of your business, Sammy.
Dad's died, and now you just happen to be fucking Bobby. Is there something you wanna tell me, Dean?
You... Don't even go there, Sam.
Why the hell not? You seem to be.
---
(ha, sex pollen again...)
There's some small, rational part of his mind trying to get his attention, bugging him, something... wrong.
This. What is he doing? He doesn't do this, right? It's Sammy, and it's a guy, and with a guy and that, that feels like it should be gross, or dirty or something, right?
But it's Sammy. And he laughs at that part of his brain for being so stupid, because it's Sammy, and he's changed his nappies, and washed him, and tended his scraped knees, and wrestled with him in the mud, and Sam can be covered with dirt, but he'll never be gross or dirty. This is Sam, just Sam, clean and sweat and skin, and he remembers how soft his Sammy's skin was as a kid, holding him close and breathing him in, home and comfort, and Dean's, Dean's to protect.
And there's something bugging at him, but he lets it go, in a wave of Sam, Sam, Sammy.
This must be ok, because he'd never hurt Sammy. He'd spar, and hit him, but he'd never, never hurt him, and not. Not gonna hurt him now. No, he'll make it feel so good.
And he won't hurt Sam now, no, he'll make it good. So good.
He's just got to touch him, smell him. Nuzzling at his skin, and Sam is whining now, all soft and hard against him, still struggling, but hitching up into Dean's motions.
Are we wrestling?, Dean thinks, momentarily confused again as to where he is, what he's doing.
He's glad that - that Sam isn't tapping out, because it feels so good, Sam straining underneath him. The way Sam shakes when he bites him just there.
He's not even trying to swallow (the spit in his mouth), just drooling, spit-slick all over (his?) cock.
He takes a breath and gulps, swallows (his) cock down, forcing his throat open choking, unable to breathe, throat tightening reflexively around
---
Uh, Sam mocking Dean, because he actually *owns* Chuck Norris 'action pants'.
---
Xander/Spike - Buffy.
Get me some alcohol.
No, just. Go to sleep.
I'm tied up in a bathtub, you wanker!
...
I'll give you a blowjob for some beer?
What?!
Hey! I'm - I'm not gay.
Hey, I never said *you* were, mate. I'm the one offering the blowjob, right?
Wait, so you're...
What? I'm a vampire. We're amoral creatures, us. Or is it immoral?
One or the other.
Just a few beers?
Oh come on, I know you *want* it.
I thought we'd just agreed that I *wasn't* gay.
Nah, I just said I hadn't *called* you gay.
Then.
See, now?
You're so bloody gay, you're practically gagging for it. Actually, if that's what turns your crank, we could do that instead. One beer.
But, y'know. Blowjob, right?
We don't have to breathe, you know.
---
I need you to tell me no, sam. I'd never hurt you, but I need you to stop me.
I can't, I can't stop Sam. I need you to tell me.
I can't...
You can't what?
Tell you to stop. I don't want you to.
*Dean groans*
Fuck Sam.
---
Fighting off monsters, stuck behind (a desk?), scratched, and Dean's been hit by a succubus. Possibly both of them.
Sam, there's uh, totally all sorts of good reasons I'd never ask you for a blowjob, right?
... Yes.
Right.
Fuck Uh. I think that succubus got me *good*.
Just. Hang on and I'm sure there'll be some cute nurses in your future.
Nurses? Ha! At this point, I'd take a hairy paramedic.
---
Story:
Sam gets swapped into an alternate universe. But it's close, really *really* close. There's just a few things out of wack, not that many really, and just on a personal level. a few scars, a few different meals, fucking his brother... you get the idea.
Starts off, Dean's point of view. Wakes up to find other Sam coming over to grope/kiss him. Freaks out.
I wouldn't *do* that.
How could it. How could it not *change* things more. How could I have that and it still be the same?
Sam wakes up, in Dean's bed. A little perplexed.
Looking at the room.
Things out of place. Pulls a gun on Dean. Dean is cautious, calming, (I'm not possessed bro, and you shouldn't be either) and then freezes. Staring at Sam's hip.
"You're not my Sam"
"What? No, *you're* not Dean! Uh, my Dean?"
"..."
"..."
"Uh, glad we can agree on that then."
[edit: i hat j00 LJ!
Why do you let me post something, if you're just going to crop it without warning, next time I go to edit it?]
Damn.
What happened to the whole backing this shit up here so I wouldn't lose/delete it by accident?
*blinks*
And why have I been private-locking pointless entries I make?
Aw man, don't tell me I'm developing a sense of shame. Argh! Must fight back!
---
He falls back, panting, on the mattress. Content, and sloppy-limbed from orgasm. Content.
This is something familiar, warm, comforting.
Not. Not *fantastic*, not the heat, love, sweetness that it was with Jess, but he doesn't think of his brother like that. Loves him, yes, not loves him. Would kill, die, fight beside, before or behind him, for him.
He thinks about that sometimes. What it means to love someone, or love them. It's more than devotion, comfort, sex. How you could love someone as a best friend, have them be someone you'd want to know for the rest of your life, and still not have 'it'.
Because he fucks Dean. Is fucked by him.
Familial bonds gone down an unfamiliar route, and yeah, it should screw him up, but he's long come to terms with it. That even if it's fucked _up_, it's a symptom, not a cause, not something he can build up the outrage for, in even his pissiest moments, to blame Dean *or* himself for. They were just kids.
And now, of course, they're not. And for a while that was enough of a reason to stop, but then those reasons went up in flames, and it's just a relief to *have* some relief, with someone who you know cares about you, loves you, would protect you.
And Dean would, does, and always has.
---
Why'd you do it?
It felt good.
---
Sam never got the difference between the lies and rebellion that didn't, that didn't *matter*, and the ones that *did*. That Dean might have fucked around behind Dad's back, that he *did* have disagreements with him, but that there was a time and a place, and that time was not *ever* anytime, anyplace, relating to the mission.
He wondered if it was his fault. He and Sam hiding this from Dad, making Sam think that it was ok to go behind his back, disagree to his face about everything else. A knot in his stomach from everytime he couldn't mediate between Sam & Dad, and they got in another stupid fight. They were both stubborn sons of bitches, couldn't even see how similar they were. Couldn't ever just let go. Not their anger, not their guilt.
---
*quiet gasp*
Shhhhh.
Shut up.
You shut up.
*thwap*
Hey, I thought you wanted to... You know.
---
Leprechauns in Nevada?
A land of gamblers and fools, all chasing for their pot of gold, and precious, precious few rainbows.
---
threesome, with girl, dean 69'ing. plotless porn.
Holy. Holy. Holy fuck. Gasping above him.
She was trying to suck his cock.
He could tell exactly how well he was doing when he ran the broad flat of his tongue there, flicked it here, by just how badly she was sucking his dick.
She'd been managing a respectable length down her throat, licking the head (oh yeah, she really liked cock), which had progressed to her just moaning around his dick, and was now just lying her head in the cradle of his hip, panting and gasping, on the brink of another orgasm as Sam's cock slid in and out of her, pushing her along, into Dean, Dean holding her hips in place for Sam, for himself, as he sucked lightly.
I'll get her ready for you. Condom breaks. On pill. Should use the big ones.
(??? Wait, what did this mean? Sam has a donkey dick? o_O Cum? Why would I mention... Ohhhhhh. Uh. Possibly a little hardcore, or at least, totally guy-porn. Just them getting off on fucking a girl with their brother's cum or something, as proxy wincest a threesome as you can get)
---
"Oh please, I know you're not brothers."
Deans mouth opens then flicks over to a forced grin. "Yeah, you got me..."
---
The warlock with mum plot idea - I can almost work with it, but then it mutates into angst-puppy again.
Like, I can get behind some witch being really quite evil even if they only cast love spells. Have you any idea the kind of shit that could do?
(Check out the suicide rate for this town).
But - why both of them? Why not just one? On the assumption that that really *will* fuck up their relationship.
(So, just how much _do_ you love your brother?)
Ok, so. If it was Sam, it might, *might* just work out ok. Kind of. Maybe. If it was permanent.
But it wouldn't, because Dean would initially resist, knowing Sam was under a spell, but Dean can never deny Sam anything, so he'll succumb and be *blissfully* happy right up until the spell wears off.
And then Sam will be all cold and backlashy, and he won't say anything, but there'll always be this *distance* between them.
Or. It hits Dean. And oooo, this could go a number of ways based on the pre-conditions. One way, nothing much *appears* to happen, but with the witch, Dean will be vicious, *so* vicious and snarky. Take it off. Take it away. If you *can*, with a curl of his lip.
Because it hasn't changed. Not really. Dean's been fighting it so long that it's only a little worse, still bearable. Does Sam know? When he looks at Dean? Does he wonder why it isn't worse? Why it 'apparently' hasn't worked?
No, he knows. And Dean's *Dean*, his brother, he won't, kinda won't, hold it against him (but he'll always use it to get his way), it's just one of all the things he didn't want about this life, that he doesn't think too hard about.
Or, Dean does go all doe eyed for the first time. Or fails to hold it in. And Sam will hold it against him, because he's the older one, he's *supposed* to be able to. And there'll always be that gap. And if Dean had never thought of Sam that way before, he'll always have the guilt that he did. And there's something about attraction, that once you've found something attractive, it's hard to convince yourself later that it's not.
---
Provenance Timeline?
Dean froze.
"Sam, if you ever really thought that, I...
I promise, if you wanted me to, I would go away and never bother you again."
"Aww, Dean..."
"Because I would _never_ - I wouldn't have..."
"Dean -"
Dean's jaw clenched, and he shook his head, "I've given myself the guilt-trip, ok? I was only ever ok with it because I thought _you_ were."
"Look, you didn't..."
Sam breathed out.
"You were right.
I'm not angry at _you_ Dean. I just wish. I just wish we could have been more normal, alright?"
Dean grimaced.
"I can still wish we _hadn't_ done that stuff, ok? And that's not about you."
Dean stared at him incredulously, "How is that not about me, Sammy? I'm the one who did it!"
"No, *we* did it.
Dean, you never did anything I didn't want you to. But don't you see? We should never have _been_ in that position.
If we hadn't been moving us around so often, _maybe_ we would have gotten that kind of messing around out of the way with _other_ kids. _Maybe_ it wouldn't have lasted so long. Maybe if it wasn't for all our '_family secrets_', you wouldn't have been the only person I felt close to."
"Oh, great. Now we're back to blaming Dad again."
"Yeah, well maybe it was about Dad."
"No. No Sam.
Maybe our whole _family_ shouldn't have been in the 'position' of having some Demon burn our Mother to death on the fricken' ceiling, but y'know what?
Shit. Happens."
*Sam sits on the bed, and looks at the floor*
I just wish that I didn't look at you sometimes and _forget_, ok? Forget that all the stuff we did as kids wasn't normal, and that and that it _isn't_ ok to want it now.
*The tension just drains from Dean's posture, but his face goes all mournful.*
"Oh Sammy..."
*Dean sits down on the bed, and pulls Sam into a hug, Sam all hunched and bent into it. Sam pulls, struggles to get away for a moment, but Dean just tightens his grip.*
"Shhh, Sam. It's ok, I got you."
*Sam stops struggling, and slowly relaxes. Head's turned into Dean's shoulder, it's not sexual, just comfort. Dean just holding Sam. Not rubbing his back (yet), they're still guys, and trying to play it cool.*
*Sam sniffs slightly.*
"Sometimes I feel like such a dork." says Sam, his voice muffled.
*pause*
"That's 'cause you are a dork, Sam."
*There's a slight, muffled choke-laugh*
[Aww man, Dean might otherwise be freaking, but more than that, he can tell Sam _needs_ him, so he kicks into big-brother mode. I think I love him when he's being all 'big-brother'-ish.
Also, what's with me wavering between the not-USTy, then setting myself up for some good UST, and then blowing it all again? My brain likes the angst, not the sex. :P But, no, really. In my head, this is enough. Sam's getting all fucked up in the head about it, but when you get underneath all the 'cesty thoughts, all he _really_ wants, is... a hug. *beats inner-sappy-bunny-with-a-stick*) It's just, that's how they er, used to show affection. And I think in this moment, unconsciously or not, that's what Dean's picking up on.]
Remember what I always told you.
"You think too much?"
Yeah, that too. It's just. You're getting all screwy about this, and it ain't helping. Just
(Let it go? Crap. *facepalm* Yeah. I totally did.)
---
(Uh... this was. Mutual amnesia fic??)
"What possessed you to do that?" 'Christo' Sam burst out laughing, and Dean grinned briefly, then they both stuttered to a stop as everyone else stared, bewildered, and he realised he wasn't sure why that had seemed funny, what it meant ('God') and he didn't think Dean was either, by the look on his face.
---
(Shhhh...
Yeah, it. It didn't work. It's buried. I'm not even trying to touch it)
Sam was falling, falling back, falling down, eyes closing, onto...
his bed.
*Their* bed. Blue sheets, not crisp, but still new, the smell of her on them, clean. Time slowing as he lands, filled in this moment with his relief at being home, their own room, no more monsters and ghosts, but the comfort of this strived-for, not-familiar life. Even if Dean - well. Dean. His fairy-tale sibling turning up in the hot dark, like a nightmare, illogical, irresistable, but gone in the light of life here, study, interviews and alarm clocks.
He rests. It feels like he's been tense for so long, that he hasn't been home is so long, but he has, hasn't he? Yes. It's been - only a weekend.
Something lightly hits his cheek. He twitches, reflexively, and another - lands a quick moment later. It's not a moth, some insect, it's a drop of liquid. What?
Sam opens his eyes, staring straight up at a familiar roof, known cracks and - Not.
Familiarity warring with disorientation, producing shock that floods through him.
Jess.
Bleeding. Dripping. Across her waist, and - mouth open like she's screaming oh god, she's screaming and flames, billow like bright flowers, flowing outward from her midrif, flowing outward against the ceiling like a lapping tide, rising (descending) fast.
And a million thoughts are flying though his head at once, coherent and inane - I thought she was in the bathroom. She can't be. Like Mom. I'm sorry Jess. I've got to get her down. But I came back for you. Isn't there a stool in the kitchen? This isn't my life.
NOOOOOOOO!
But Dean's there. Warm? No, cool - against him. Shielding him already from the heat of the flames, and tugging him. You don't understand Dean. I have to get her off the ceiling. Verbal impulses short circuited into a visceral cry, struggling limbs no match against Dean, pushing against his body, irresistable, breathing tight and painful.
He has to try, try to save her, fighting in Deans arms, and it's... it's not enough. If only he pushes just a little bit harder, cries just a little bit louder, he might be able to -
Wake up.
Still being held down by Dean, skin against skin, his chest hurting, struggling in his arms until he realises that that this isn't a dream, Dean really is pinning him, they're in bed (together, and he feels a gut twist of guilt again) and forces himself to stop, still tensing up.
"It's ok... it's ok Sammy" And he can hear Dean's soothing murmur now, over the beating of his heart in his ears.
"It was. It was a dream" Sam mumbles.
Dean's moving, pulling them into a more comfortable seated position, rather than the strained tableau Sam had woken up in, and makes a small grunt.
"I figured, Sam. Want to - I mean.", Dean pauses, stumbles over his words as he starts a familiar phrase from their childhood, "Uh, want to talk about it?"
"No, just uh. It was just a dream."
Dean nods, and Sam forces himself to relax, taking the opportunity to pull back slightly.
He feels guilty, he knows he's feeling guilty about Jess, that he's doing this with his brother, that he couldn't leave the box they'd closed when he'd left for Stanford well enough alone. He's ruled by more than his dick, he's ruled by some fucked up sense of familiarity, of family, but it's still wrong, he knows it, and his subconscious is reminding him, throwing Jess, Jess dying in his ace. Well, it's too late to feel guilty about it now, and there's. There's nothing he can do.
Still, when Dean touches him lightly on his back, and says softly, 'Do you wanna... uh, again?', Sam leans away just slightly, before smiling a bit, to reassure Dean, says "No, I think I'm done for the night, and besides - we should get moving again in the morning."
and leans into his familiar warmth, "No, I'm cool - that woman in white got me good."
"Yeah." says Dean quietly. "You did good, y'know?"
"Yeah I know," says Sam. "Just... it's been good to see you again, y'know? I missed you."
Dean didn't say anything, but he gave Sam a gentle squeeze, not putting too much pressure on Sam's chest, and spooned up behind him. Sam thought to himself, he might feel guilty, but it was worth it, worth it to see Dean again, and drifted off to sleep.
---
Dad's in a small box.
Given the choice, they'd all go for cremation, and this - this is what John would have wanted, but it's still jarring. The last he'd seen of John had been him, in the front seat of the car, and now - now this.
He'd never even seen the body.
That's why it doesn't feel real. Dad's just... off on a hunt somewhere, and he has to remind himself that he's not, he's just ashes now, but how - how could that be a person, be his Daddy?
***
Sam...
Sam?
Dean managed to open his eyes, blinking a few times as
his vision wavered in and out. Struggling to remain conscious. Beep... Beep...
There was someone standing over him. Have to find out...
"Sam?"
The blur turned.
"Is... sammy?"
Breathe.
"Muh - my brother?"
"He's ok. He's suffered some injuries but..."
That was all Dean heard, clinging desperately to'ok', relaxing and he sunk back under again, exhausted.
---
They'd never been friends as kids, would never have thought of themselves like that. They were simply all each had.
They told each other about everything, not because they liked each other, but because there was no one else to tell.
They hung out together, and tried not to piss each other off *too* much, because they'd move again, and then it'd just be back to them.
They weren't even similar, but they had each other's backs.
The first time Sam heard someone refer to a sibling as a 'best friend' he was really weirded out. Because Dean knew him better than anyone else and he wasn't. Felt offended that someone else wouldn talk about a family member that way.
They're family. It doesn't matter if you like them or not, they have to be there for you anyway, that's the whole point - right?
---
*dean, perving at Sam from the bed, while Sam, wrapped in a towel, gets some clothes from his bed*
*Sam stops*
Hey Dean...
Dean stops, looks up guiltily.
"Dean!" Sam stares at him.
"You were totally just checking me out, weren't you?!?"
*automatic look of outraged innocence on Dean's face*
"What? No!"
*Dean pauses for a second, to figure out what Sam just said*
"Oh, wait - ok. Well yeah, I might've been..."
*Sam makes funny faces*
"Hey, you filled out.." says Dean with a shrug.
I can't believe you
Oh, come on - it's not like I'd *do* anything"
Do you have any shame?
---
it's a dream, when they were children, giggling and going to play in the
shed, then suddenly it's a grown up dean, and he's kissing him etc.
It's... not going bad. That's the best thing. There's the nightmares, and the nightmares, and the (yet more) other nightmares, and then there's this - which. Ok, isn't normal, but, at least he isn't afraid of it.
Although, maybe he should be.
(i have these dreams, and everythings normal, until it's not,an then something bad happens (describes), and then I have these dreams...
Do you remember (the shed)?
Ummm, yeah? Said Dean, cautiously.
then we're - y'know, but then your're older all of a sudden, you're you now, and we're...
then what happens?
I wake up.
That's it.
I keep expecting it to be, I dunno. worse or something. i mean, compared to my other dreams... I shouldn't feel as much relief as I do.
(Morphed into, what?)
When he wakes, he's shaking and sweating. Just... just like his (other?) nightmares.
It. It feels like he's gotten off easy. He should be nauseous, or worried about how abnormal it was, but he has to resist the hysterical urge to giggle at the thought. Compared to his other dreams, it was nothing. Just his subconscious fucking with him. (Fucking him).
Sam is wearing thin, wearing open, bags under his eyes. An ache in Dean's heart because he can't, can't make it better for him.
He sleeps fitfully, wakes shaking, and as much as Dean would like to be there for him, at least one of them needs to get a full nights sleep. He's awake when Dean goes to sleep, and when he wakes in the morning too.
He wakes to a touch. No, not a touch, more like... a small and gentle wind. Moving precisely over his skin, like a
(Ha! Riiiight... Powers fic - Sam molests Dean in his sleep. :D)
---
Unknown, dealing with the unknown (mythical, supernatural, it hides in shadows, uncertain shapes), being unknown (strangers in every town, foreigners to every type of normal, no recognition on the faces they pass), walking, unknowing, not knowing, why them? Why this? Why now, and why then? Pawns in games bigger than them, shadow creatures playing by rules, always, of course, unknown.
Trying to pattern match, trying to find solutions. Sam Winchester, earthly arrival: beltane 1982, departure: unknown.
Destination: unknown.
Just wanting a goal, a dream, something to hang onto. Possesiveness, territoriality taking over when they can't be certain of so much. Impala: known. Cheap identical hotels: known. Leather jackets, cheap sunglasses, guns, knives, holy water, sleep deprivation: known.
Working with known variables, routine - eat, sleep, hustle pool, get laid, research, day after day of known, known, known, to try and make up for the spine shaking adrenaline response of dealing with the unknown.
---
It's none of your business, Sammy.
Dad's died, and now you just happen to be fucking Bobby. Is there something you wanna tell me, Dean?
You... Don't even go there, Sam.
Why the hell not? You seem to be.
---
(ha, sex pollen again...)
There's some small, rational part of his mind trying to get his attention, bugging him, something... wrong.
This. What is he doing? He doesn't do this, right? It's Sammy, and it's a guy, and with a guy and that, that feels like it should be gross, or dirty or something, right?
But it's Sammy. And he laughs at that part of his brain for being so stupid, because it's Sammy, and he's changed his nappies, and washed him, and tended his scraped knees, and wrestled with him in the mud, and Sam can be covered with dirt, but he'll never be gross or dirty. This is Sam, just Sam, clean and sweat and skin, and he remembers how soft his Sammy's skin was as a kid, holding him close and breathing him in, home and comfort, and Dean's, Dean's to protect.
And there's something bugging at him, but he lets it go, in a wave of Sam, Sam, Sammy.
This must be ok, because he'd never hurt Sammy. He'd spar, and hit him, but he'd never, never hurt him, and not. Not gonna hurt him now. No, he'll make it feel so good.
And he won't hurt Sam now, no, he'll make it good. So good.
He's just got to touch him, smell him. Nuzzling at his skin, and Sam is whining now, all soft and hard against him, still struggling, but hitching up into Dean's motions.
Are we wrestling?, Dean thinks, momentarily confused again as to where he is, what he's doing.
He's glad that - that Sam isn't tapping out, because it feels so good, Sam straining underneath him. The way Sam shakes when he bites him just there.
He's not even trying to swallow (the spit in his mouth), just drooling, spit-slick all over (his?) cock.
He takes a breath and gulps, swallows (his) cock down, forcing his throat open choking, unable to breathe, throat tightening reflexively around
---
Uh, Sam mocking Dean, because he actually *owns* Chuck Norris 'action pants'.
---
Xander/Spike - Buffy.
Get me some alcohol.
No, just. Go to sleep.
I'm tied up in a bathtub, you wanker!
...
I'll give you a blowjob for some beer?
What?!
Hey! I'm - I'm not gay.
Hey, I never said *you* were, mate. I'm the one offering the blowjob, right?
Wait, so you're...
What? I'm a vampire. We're amoral creatures, us. Or is it immoral?
One or the other.
Just a few beers?
Oh come on, I know you *want* it.
I thought we'd just agreed that I *wasn't* gay.
Nah, I just said I hadn't *called* you gay.
Then.
See, now?
You're so bloody gay, you're practically gagging for it. Actually, if that's what turns your crank, we could do that instead. One beer.
But, y'know. Blowjob, right?
We don't have to breathe, you know.
---
I need you to tell me no, sam. I'd never hurt you, but I need you to stop me.
I can't, I can't stop Sam. I need you to tell me.
I can't...
You can't what?
Tell you to stop. I don't want you to.
*Dean groans*
Fuck Sam.
---
Fighting off monsters, stuck behind (a desk?), scratched, and Dean's been hit by a succubus. Possibly both of them.
Sam, there's uh, totally all sorts of good reasons I'd never ask you for a blowjob, right?
... Yes.
Right.
Fuck Uh. I think that succubus got me *good*.
Just. Hang on and I'm sure there'll be some cute nurses in your future.
Nurses? Ha! At this point, I'd take a hairy paramedic.
---
Story:
Sam gets swapped into an alternate universe. But it's close, really *really* close. There's just a few things out of wack, not that many really, and just on a personal level. a few scars, a few different meals, fucking his brother... you get the idea.
Starts off, Dean's point of view. Wakes up to find other Sam coming over to grope/kiss him. Freaks out.
I wouldn't *do* that.
How could it. How could it not *change* things more. How could I have that and it still be the same?
Sam wakes up, in Dean's bed. A little perplexed.
Looking at the room.
Things out of place. Pulls a gun on Dean. Dean is cautious, calming, (I'm not possessed bro, and you shouldn't be either) and then freezes. Staring at Sam's hip.
"You're not my Sam"
"What? No, *you're* not Dean! Uh, my Dean?"
"..."
"..."
"Uh, glad we can agree on that then."
[edit: i hat j00 LJ!
Why do you let me post something, if you're just going to crop it without warning, next time I go to edit it?]