#winchester boys
i still cant believe it’s real.
Schau dir “Sam and Dean Welcome to the good life” auf YouTube an
Sam and Dean “Welcome to the good life!”
Supernatural Fanart in 2020? Wild
Jfc, I just got on Tumblr, and I find out Dean DIED!?!?!
What the hell happened last night?!?!?!
Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester
Pairing: none, it’s gen
Setting: Season 11
Shotout: Special thank you to the amazing The Tinglenator for correcting my story!
No More Tears
Sam breathed in deeply, biting his lip as he averted his eyes and fixed them on the yellow, sickening triangle that was forming on the tile floors opposite to him. It was easier on his eyes to sit in semi-darkness, but the pounding, heated throbbing of his head never lessened. He ground his teeth together hard enough to pull a muscle, if only in an effort to stop the pain from overpowering his senses completely.
It was almost enough to make Sam spill his guts out, but not quite.
And that was enough of a win right now.
There was a thud from somewhere in the other room, followed by a half-muffled curse- then, silence. Sam tried to get his hands out from under his curled-up legs with all the grace and strength of a newborn foal, and instead of standing up, he found the ground rocking below him. His only attempt at moving sent pain exploding throughout every inch of his brain; his equilibrium had been downright fucked. He resigned himself to staying seated, his eyes listlessly roaming the room, until a familiar profile came into view.
“Sam, hey,” Dean said roughly, the strain in his tone byling how worried he was. “What the hell?”
Faster than what seemed possible, a palm splayed out on his chest and he was gently forced backwards against the cold, cracked bathroom tiles. His breath hitched on contact, and he immediately began sifting through the haziness of his mind, trying to form coherent thoughts.
There is only one word that manages to make it past his lips. “Dean.”
“Right here, man,” Dean said, his hand resting on Sam’s heaving chest for a moment longer. It felt like the only thing grounding him right now, but it was comforting enough that his tense muscles relaxed under the reassuring weight. Dizziness threatened to overwhelm him again when he glanced up at his sibling’s face, looming over him, constantly fading in and out of focus.
Sam lazily blinked owlish eyes at him.
“S'it just the head?” Dean rumbled, with a hint of urgency.
Sam nodded as much as he dared. It might have come out to an inch, at most. His brain felt like it wanted desperately to crawl out of his skull, and he had to keep his mouth shut from the same feeling in his stomach, because there was no guarantee he wouldn’t puke all over Dean. Right. The fuck. Now.
His heartbeat was throbbing so loudly in his ears that, for a moment, it was all he could hear while Dean crouched down low beside him, their knees bumping into each other through the lack of space in the cheap bathroom. The sweet scent of gunpowder came along with Dean as he leaned in close; Dean, with his usual style of fresh, dry cologne. Underneath it all was a faint and familiar leather smell.
Carefully, Dean started searching his way over his head, fingertips gingerly working through his sweat-dampened hair. Sam hissed a vague protest when they drifted over the back of his scalp. “Sorry, kiddo, sorry,” his brother whispered, breathing into the crown of his hair.
Sam was trying to hold still as the pain continued pulsating through him, searing and alive.
“Close your eyes,” Dean prompted, voice low and steady.
It was quietly irritating because the world was dark anyway, and he could only vaguely see certain blurry shapes, one of which happened to be his brother - thank God- while the rest might be any number of things. He finally obliged and slid his eyes shut, feeling the cold border of the bath bite into his neck as he inched farther over the tub. Dean’s shoulder brushed his upper arm then as he half kneeled, half leaned over the tub.
A harsh, white noise filled the air, but then the pressure decreased.
Sam was hit with an unexpected rush of tenderness as his brother gently smoothed back his long hair, where it had been stuck to his forehead. It was followed up by a barely audible, “Okay, careful now.”
It shouldn’t have been surprising when lukewarm water hit the back of his head, wetting the sweat-soaked and blood-coated strands of his hair, but he still had to hold back a gasp.
“Easy, easy,” Dean soothed him, brushing one hand through his hair.
Sam didn’t have to see to know that the drain swirled with pink-tinged water almost instantly, soon to be sickly discoloured by ash and gravel. Maybe a chunk of his scalp went down with all that.
It certainly felt like it.
Images flashed through his head in a dizzying sensation. Something began to slip down along his ear, slowly, tracing his neck and soaking the hem of his collar. For a second, he was convinced he’s bleeding out on this grimey old bathroom floor and there was nothing he could do but let it happen.
His brother cursed loudly, then the water got shut off. A drip drip drip loudly echoing in the room.
“Hold on.”
Sam wasn’t sure how much time had passed- just that he spent it wishing his brother would come back faster. But then the hand rematerialized, now cupping the back of his head, slowly tugging him upward before something cosy and soft draped around his shoulders. His neck was tucked in tightly, some of the towel having made it up to the front to rest on his chest. Then Dean slowly lowered him back against the rim.
The pipes began to moan again before spitting out their contents. There were splashes of water, a high squeak of the faucet. It all dulled the hum in his ears.
Absently, Sam felt his brother’s hand ghost over his face before it settled on his forehead, just above the hairline, warm and steady.
“This okay?” Dean’s voice was in his ear, and he felt the tickling exhale of breath against his skin while another round of hot water trailed over his scalp, drenching his strands of brown hair into a black tangled mess.
“Yeah,” he whispered and then swallowed thickly, doing his best to focus on Dean’s voice.
“Good, that’s good,” Dean mumbled, as if just to put out some comforting words.
His brother was quiet for a moment as he directed the spray around his hairline, chuckling a little.
“You know what, Sammy?” he asked cheerily, his light tone at odds with the tension in his body, “Your shiny princess hair will be flawless for once.”
Sam wanted to protest, wanted to say “It’s Sam”, but his lips were numb, and the moan that was building at the back of his throat rolled off his tongue before he could stop it.
The steam eventually thickened, moistening the air surrounding them. There was relief in the bone-deep ache as it settled over him like a blanket, fingers working through his hair, his mind fading into dullness and the foggy pain-free illusion of rest.
The voice slowly droned out.
It was easy to let himself fall.
Distantly, he felt calloused hands touching his face, cupping his cheeks and jaw and Sam squinted through heavy eyelashes, struggling to make sense of the blur that weaved in front of him. There were lips moving over bright teeth, caked in darkness. Blood? Blood. Has to be. Damnit.
His eyelids fluttered closed again, dragged down by an undefiable weight.
The words barely reached him, sounding muffled and far away as if underwater. “Hey, hey, this is no time to sleep.” A light tap on his skin.
“Sammy, hey, c'mon, look at me,” the voice urged, tight and higher now, just enough for Sam’s eyes to slowly trace back to it. A few good, tense seconds passed before his wandering gaze finally found those bright green eyes that were frantically searching for his. “That’s my boy,” the voice praised, a hand clasping his jaw one more time.
Dean. Of course it was Dean.
Sam continued to stare at his brother’s face, twisted in a tight grimace of worry and uneasiness. He looked tired. And his skin- his skin was tight in contrast to the rest of the dark room. It’s only then that he notices the deep gash above the eyebrow, leaving an ugly dark trail down his temple and neck.
Sam clumsy tried to reach out, meaning to find Dean’s face. But it was harder than he expected, his limp feeling oddly disconnected from his body, and fuck, since when did his arm weigh that much? His uncoordinated fingers uselessly grasped empty air until they eventually latched onto the hem of his brother’s flannel shirt.
“Dean-” he choked out, twisting the fabric tightly in between his fingers.
Dean loosened his hold on Sam’s jaw, and covered the hands clinging to his shirt, squeezing slightly. He cleared his throat, a ghost of a smile flickering across his face. Sam noticed that the matching wrinkles were missing. “I’m good, I’m good.”
The room seemed to be tilting to one side, doing a sudden flip over. Sam meant to push himself away, he really did. But it was like his energy had been completely drained, a raw sort of exhaustion slowing his movements into a haze. He barely had time to tilt his head as his stomach twisted, feeling hot bile burning his throat, probably fucking suffacating- but then strong hands were turning him forward, holding him in place.
“Shit.” Dean muttered next to him, trying to shift his weight as Sam heaved between a pile of tangled limbs. He was pretty certain that the titles didn’t get the full fit.
“Don’t worry,” was all he heard over the rush of blood in his ears, as he allowed himself to adjust to the change in positions. His eyes squeezed shut with a tight intensity as his head hung low, a wet strand of hair loosely hovering in front of his face.
Water was slowly trailing down his cheeks- though it might as well have been tears.
“Just breathe,” Dean rambled into the darkness, repeating soothing nonsense. His hands warm and heavy on his shoulder. “You’re okay, just breathe.”
Sam’s breath came in harsh pants as he worked himself through the pain, his heartbeat reverberating through his whole body. He felt more light-headed with every deep breath he laboured to drag in. Barely moving, his purposeless fingers remained fastened in the fold of Dean’s shirt, awkwardly trapped between them.
But Dean didn’t pull away, and Sam simply held on.
Will always hold on.
Dean: No, I don’t know any bisexual people.
Dean:
Dean: Wait a minute…I am bisexual! :o
