rating: [various, I tend to use the canadian ratings system]
characters/pairings: Sam, Dean, John, Missouri, OFC(s), OMC(s); Sam/Dean.
warnings: [slash set]: wincest, non-angsty character death, genderfuckery, angsty character death, denial, language, questionable consent, unquestionable consent, schmoop and almost!porn. Also, I know - I know, drabbles are exactly one hundred words each, but I kind of bent the rules a wee bit. :)
This drabble set is divided into two parts - slash and gen - and they'll link each other at the end. Just want to make sure nobody accidently reads anything that wish they didn't. :)
wordcount: total - 10,000.
feedback: This was a huge exercise for me, so commenting with concrit, favourite lines, general impressions, etc. would be so very helpful. ♥
note: This is the SLASH part. The GEN set is here. // full introduction here.
BLANK | sam/dean, 14a, apocalypse!fic
hey hey, how do you think the world's gonna end?
's mystery. you really want to know?
yeah. maybe. sure, why not?
they spoke quietly, stretched out on the impala's hood. it was still warm, and when they looked up at the sky it was like a too-thin blanket draped across a lamp; all worn and bits of light. they lay as close as they could without touching.
sam looked over at dean and dean checked his watch.
a minute left, dean whispered, and sam moved just enough to lace his fingers through dean's and hold on hold on hold...
they heard something in the distance.
CONTENT | pg, sam/dean preslash. set during 'scarecrow'. schmoop.
He wasn't sure what to do. He thought about what Dean said - "admire that," and "proud of you," and what Dean didn't say - "hell I wish-"
Meg was sleeping on a couch on the other side of the bus terminal, and he didn't want to wake her (didn't want her to hear.)
He could hear a low yeah, Sammy? growl and he didn't know what to say. He could hear Dean breathing, quiet and even, and it suddenly felt too close, too intimate.
"Uh - nothing. Just... checking to make sure you're okay. And everything."
"We're okay, Sam." Dean reassured.
"Okay," Sam breathed.
DETERMINED | pg, sam/dean pre-slash.
"Die in peace?!" Sam muttered to himself, as if he couldn't believe what Dean was saying. Cracking jokes about haunting his ass, being so easy with it all; so goddamn accepting. Almost as if it would make Sam feel better, maybe make it easier to go back to Stanford or something.
Sam might sneak in a hospital window later, maybe sit by his brother just so that he'd know he wasn't alone. Maybe Dean would figure out that Sam didn't want to exist in a world where Dean didn't exist either. Or something like that; something he'd never say out loud.
REFRESHED | RELAXED | RELIEVED | pg, sam/dean preslash.
Dean had seen the barn off the interstate - it had no paint left and the visible metal sheeting was rusting right off. It was better than nothing, and they'd been on the road so long Dean was almost too scruffy. He shut the headlights off and rolled down the gravel driveway. They paused to listen, but it was quiet. Sam hopped out and slid the barn door open.
There were doves nesting the rafters. Probably mice, too, but it was going to be okay.
"C'mon." Dean said. The hay smelled almost fresh, as if had just been cut instead of sitting there decaying. Sam brought a couple of blankets from the car, and they both laid down, side by side. Their legs touched, hip to ankle, and the hay felt warm beneath them. Dean fell asleep but he kept waking up because of the barn's cracks and echoes he couldn't place. Sam didn't fall asleep for hours but when he did nothing but the sun woke him up.
That probably when Sam took the picture. Sun coming up, light streaming in just a little. It fell across Dean's body, following the same lines as the arm across his chest. The light caught at Sam somehow and he couldn't exactly explain exactly anything. He kept the picture on his phone and he thought about it when there was nothing else to think about.
Sam lies in the hayloft beside his brother. He hears the horses below them whickering at each other, and he moves just enough to touch Dean.
"Hey, you remember that barn?" he whispers, "the one with the sun through the rusted-out siding-"
"Yeah, I remember." Dean interrupts. He thinks about the picture Sam took, and what he saw when he looked at himself through his brother's eyes.
SINFUL | pg, sam/dean preslash.
Dean glared at Sam, that jerk - licking at that hot fudge as if it was friggin' God's gift to humanity.
"Bitch, get a room." He was irritated and he didn't want to examine too closely why.
"...I don't wanna be right." Sam finished, and Dean didn't realize he'd been paying more attention to Sam's mouth than to what he'd been saying. That pissed him off even more and he attacked the sundae in front of him with vehemence.
Dean looked up. "What?"
Sam's eyes were unfocused and he'd paused mid-lick. He shook his head hard and looked away.
AROUSED | 14a, sam/dean preslash.
Sam shifted in on his barstool, uncomfortable and hot and not knowing exactly what was going on but he wasn't about to question it - questioning it would lead to a lot of stuff he really, really didn't want to deal with. It was probably just that he hadn't looked at anybody for so long, hadn't flirted much at all. Except for Sarah, but Sam wasn't sure she should count because she was awfully convenient. Too convenient, actually. He didn't trust it.
Sam looked back over at Dean, bent over the pool table long and easy and fuck.... Sam shifted again.
ANXIOUS | sam/dean, pg, "john finds out" drabble.
Sam smiled at Dean, something that half meant it's impossible for me to love you more and half meant my idiot.
John was watching his sons, bemused by their hell-raising, but that look- John caught it, and he choked on his coffee.
He cleared his throat. "Something you want to tell me?"
Sam tilted his head, said "no, sir" real easy and John wondered if either of them knew what they were doing, if they realized what was happening between them.
"Dad?" Dean asked, and John shook his head.
"You can try lying to me - might work - but don't bother lying to yourselves."
BOUNCY | sam/dean, pg. dialogue!fic.
"God, Sam, you're worse than a kid with a new paintgun."
"Are so. Dude, just - stop it! And put your pants back on!"
"You really want me to?"
"... no. Damnit."
"Dean, seriously. Just try it. You'll like it, I promise."
"No. You do it if you want, but-"
"Dea-an! It's not fun unless you're playing too!"
"What are you, twelve?"
"When was the last time you did this, huh?"
"Put the-- damnit, Sam! I could have broken something!"
"Oh come on. Just this once."
"Fine. Bring it on. Bitch."
"I will. And do you think we could get more pillows? It's not much of a pillowfight with only two."
CONFUSED | pg, sam/dean, alternate scene from 'untitled (a stanford fic)'
Dean breathed sign of release, and Sam stepped into his arms - in front of God and John and everyone.
John turned away very slowly, heat from the fireplace warming his arms and his back, just like he was sure it was warming his sons' skin.
He could hear them breathing, hear his boys whispering things he wasn't supposed to hear - something about a bird, about a window and light spilling - he stopped listening and his children stepped apart.
He could feel the apprehension in the air. He turned to face them; they were defiant, eyes shining and fists clenching, daring.
EMBARRASSED | sam/dean, wee!cest, pg.
Sam flushed, red blooming from his forehead to as far as Dean could see.
"Sam. Sammy, it's okay, it's no big deal, we'll duck out early and the maids will take care of it. It's okay." Dean's voice was calm, reassuring, seventeen years old and still cracking on low vowels.
"No, Dean, it's not- that, okay? It's-- I don't know, I'm confused, I think, I mean, it wasn't a--"
Dean cut him off there. "You don't have to tell me, okay? It's alright." He caught Sam's elbow before Sam could turn. "Seriously. I-- I get it. Okay?"
"Okay." Sam sighed and he looked away.
ROMANTIC | pg, sam/dean, schmoop.
This is a Neruda poem, Sam whispers softly and Dean doesn't move but he does make a little ??? sound.sino así de este modo en que no soy ni eres,Dean grins and doesn't say anything; wraps his arm around his brother and lays his head back down on Sam's shoulder.
tan cerca que tu mano sobre mi pecho es mía,
tan cerca que se cierran tus ojos con mi sueño.Not like this in a world where I'm not and you aren't either,
So close that your hand over my chest is my hand,
So close that your eyes fall shut as I fall asleep.
TOUCHED | UNCOMFORTABLE | pg, sam/dean
Sam was always afraid that they were going to get smited to death whenever they did this, but they needed to stock up on holy water and sitting through mass was always the best way to get on a priest's good side.
They sat at the back, eyes forward with shoulders and knees touching almost casually. The mass was very old fashioned, nearly completely in Latin but they followed it regardless. The church was almost empty.
When the mass was over, they went up to talk to the priest, see if they could charm some supplies of out of him, maybe some weapons blessed, maybe some extra holy water. The priest looked at them carefully.
"I've heard of you two." he said, and started shuffling back towards his study, reaching up to grab a few flasks of holy water and handing them to Dean easily.
"Your situation isn't... ideal..." The priest said quietly, and Sam was startled to realize he'd been leaning into Dean. He started to move, but the priest was much older and wiser than either of them gave credit for. "... but God judges you based on intentions anyways." Dean caught Sam's wrist and the priest smiled softly.
WORRIED | pg, sam/dean. wee!Winchesters + present!Winchesters.
Sam kicked his legs out and the swing eased forward.
"Whatcha doin'?" Sam said, and Dean looked up from his bench.
"Guarding the perimeter."
"Oh." Sam kicked at the gravel. "You can do that from over here, right?"
"I guess." Dean said, and he moved to take the swing beside Sam's.
"Dean," Sam said. Dean didn't move away from the window. "What are you doing?"
"Guarding the perimeter," Dean whispered. Trucks rolled by outside and the wind made the curtains shift.
"You can do that here," Sam stated, and he patted the bed beside him.
"I guess." Dean said, and he moved to lie down beside his brother.
CHEERFUL | CHIPPER | sam/dean, pg. drug!fic.
Sam isn't sure where Dean procured the weed, and he didn't want to ask, either.
"Caleb." Dean told him anyways. "Didn't you know he grows it in that shed that's always locked?"
"I thought he kept the in-case-of-apocalypse ammo in there. Like the shed's labelled?" Sam closed the door behind them - they were on the second storey of a beach shack motel in Louisiana, and it felt hot, like everything was drugged and heavy already.
"Who labels a shed 'in-case-of-apocalypse?'"
Sam threw the lighter at Dean's face. "You sure this is a good idea? We're after this tricky-- and we're in-- I mean, doesn't it feel slow to you already? Like the air's all heavy and-- just--"
Dean rolled his eyes. "God, Sam, it's like you can't talk anymore. Shut up and pass me the papers."
"Those are for making your own cigarettes, though." Sam looked confused, and Dean shrugged.
"Who says they've got to be tobacco? 'Sides, this way's less suspicious. Last thing you want is this joint hanging off your--"
Sam slid in front of him, and finished rolled the cigarette. "Let me."
"Okay." Dean whispered. Sam lit the cigarette and took a hit. Then he sealed his lips over Dean's and breathed into Dean's mouth.
VULNERABLE | 14a, sam/dean. schmoop.
Dean's sleepy green half-closed eyes were too far away when Sam woke so he tugged Dean closer.
"...'mm sore." Dean complained softly. It was sunny outside and light was shining through, warming their bellies. Sam ruffled Dean's bed hair.
"Love me anyways." Sam asked, and touched the patterns of light on Dean's chest, tracing old white scars and new red marks he knew he'd find on himself if he looked.
He heard Dean mutter yeah, I do muffled through their pillow, but then Dean moved ruthlessly, laughing hard and then kissing slow; limbs and lives hopelessly impossible to untangle.
GUILTY | GOOD| 14a, sam/dean.
Dean took spanish in high school. He did pretty okay because spanish was derived from latin and he was too familiar with latin. He supposed that he could have taken italian or french just as easily, but he figured that spanish was more practical. Sounds nice, too.
He didn't think about it while Sam was gone, because thinking about it reminded him of all the time he'd spent helping Sam, something he suspected was more of an excuse for attention than actual need. He didn't like thinking about that, either.
Now that Sam was back, he thought about how the words sounded to him, how their meaning and context changed with every use.
Like now, when he has Sam stretched out over the hood and he whispers caliente. Or when Sam has him in the backseat and he thinks lleno.
Like later, when they're back in the motel room and he has Sam tucked against him, wrapped tight, hands splayed across bellies and low murmurs and he thinks warm. Or when they're in a booth at a twenty-four hour diner and he looks at Sam across from him, shamelessly stealing fries and coke after he finished his salad and juice, and he thinks full.
OKAY | OPTIMISTIC | PEACEFUL | 14a, sam/dean.
Their days worked in cycles.
Lunch meant that they'd have been up for hours, working a job or researching or driving, whatever. They'd stop just long enough for Dean to grab something grease-drippingly delicious and Sam to grab a salad and an extra fork.
Afternoons they spent prepping for whatever was going to happen that night - Dean would clean his guns if they were planning to kill something, Sam would visualize the win if they were planning to hustle at pool or something. Together, they'd go over the plan and then they would execute it. Not always perfectly, but more often than not it would go more or less right, like they expected.
Afterwards, after killing or fighting or hustling, they'd fuck. It'd be teeth and hard and too much too fast, adrenaline and we're we're still alive alive alive echoing a firefight in their veins and arteries.
They'd sleep, wrapped up together, hands saying mine mine mine.
In the morning, neither of them would say anything about it, although Dean would shift a little, press his mouth against the fading marks along Sam's collarbones. Sam would touch Dean's split lip gently, saying things he''d only say in this dawn soft and heartsure hour before they owe anybody anything. Sometimes he'd realise there weren't any bruises on either of them, not from each other, not from whatever they hunted. It'd be good, and he'd feel safe, and he knew Dean would get that, wouldn't have to say anything else.
They'd stretch, get up, Dean would leer as Sam got dressed, Sam would smack Dean's ass playfully, and Dean would invariably take him up on his offer. They'd get themselves ready, strap on knives and guns, and then they'd step out and start driving or researching or whatever. They'd get lunch.
And then they'd do it again.
AWAKE | 14a, sam/dean, post-finale. character death (john)
Later, Sam will remember that when he woke up, the first thing he recognized was the realization that he couldn't ever leave his brother; he's in fucking love with his brother.
Later, Sam would wonder if the irony was too much; the realization hitting him like a goddamn truck. It'll be bitter in his mouth; he'll spit it out.
Later, when they've grieved for their father, when they've spilled secrets like blood over the backseat, when they've realized that they've never fucked but always made love, Sam'll wonder if that's what he needed; a mack truck to the heart.
PLAYFUL | PLEASED | PRODUCTIVE | sam/dean, schmoop. pg.
Dean watched a lot of movies. A lot. It kind of surprised Sam at first - before he'd left, Dean would catch a flick now and again - but now it more like four times a week. Sam noticed that Dean would watch everything too, a completely indiscrimate viewer. Stupid straight-to-video Hallmark Entertainment movies could make him laugh just as hard as more common staightforward comedies.
Sam had no idea how Dean managed to find a drive-in at the edges of every town they visited. It was a gift, really, and the ways that Dean always managed to sneak in or charm his way in were unholy. Seriously, truly unholy.
They were in Green River, Wyoming, taking care of the last of the restless few spirits that apparently couldn't hear no. Rock salt took care of them without a whole lot of effort, and when Dean realised that they were done and it was only eight, a ridicious grin stretched out his lips and he rocked back on his heels.
"Coming with, Sam?" Dean asked, and Sam didn't really have to ask where. They saw a second-run cinema on the way into town, and Sam knew that in about twenty minutes they'd be in there, back row, eyes half on the screen and half on each other.
Dean doesn't do tender, at least not in the way Sam usually expected. Actually, it would have creeped him out, but driving to the theatre, buying tickets in a rundown, used-to-be-plush lobby and Sam waited until no one could see him before he slid his hand down Dean's back and rested it at his hip.
"Is this a date?" Dean joked, and Sam bent to press his lips below Dean's ear. "Dude, stop it."
"Shhhh, management says no talking in the theatre." Sam whispered, and he tugged Dean down.
CYNICAL | CURIOUS | 14a, sam/dean.
It's not like they ever talked about this; it's not like he was expecting anything - not until he saw Dean's hand slip up some skirt and something knifetwisted in his chest.
He clenched his jaw and ordered another beer.
Dean figured he'd get a more of a reaction, especially knowing how possessive Sam was, how the marks on his throat wouldn't fade. He was surprised that whatever girl he was flirting with didn't notice, but the bar was dark and he didn't expect much anyways.
Sam slammed the impala's door; it squeaked harshly and Dean grimaced.
"What was that all about?" Sam hissed, and Dean shrugged, pushed open the motel door.
"Nothing," he said shortly, "nothing at all."
"Didn't look like nothing to me." Sam said sourly, and he followed Dean into the room.
"I'm here, aren't I?" Dean flipped a light, and caught Sam's expression, something that said mine mine mine.
"You were jealous," he stated, "jealous of some girl?"
"So?" Sam asked belligerently.
"You were jealous, huh?" Dean repeated, happy and cracked wide open smile.
"Like I can help being that hot, dude." Dean said, muffled through a pillow. It was an apology and promise wrapped up together.
Sam grinned, and he wondered what Dean's laughter tasted like.
ECSTATIC | sam/dean, 14a, post-finale.
Dean laughed - and laughed and laughed - and Sam grinned because the sight of the Impala, in grey primer paint that looked pink in sunrise light, really was kind of funny and it was in one piece and they were in one piece and it was fucking great, fucking awesome.
"Pink!" Sam choked out, and Dean caught him by the waist and dragged him over to the car. "Pink!" Sam repeated, and Dean smiled, big and geniune, bumping his hips against Sam's.
"Alive." Dean said, and tangled his fingers through Sam's, happy and not trying to hide it. "Alive." Dean repeated.
SATISFIED | SILLY | SURPRISED | sam/dean, sort of. utter fluffy mostly-dialogue crack. 14a.
"You have got to be kidding me." Sam said. The sign on the front of the church said 'pre-marital counseling, all couples welcome.'
"C'mon, Sam. Where's you sense of adventure?" Dean grinned and opened the door. "After you."
"Fuck off." Sam scowled, and Dean poked him.
"Not 'till the honeymoon, baby."
Their mark was a middle aged man of about forty who was about to marry a pretty twentysomething and the ghost of his dead wife was Very Displeased.
"I feel like I would do anything to make her happy." The man said, and the girl grinned. The counselor looked at Dean next.
"You haven't said anything yet."
Dean's eyes widened. "Uh, about how I feel?"
"Yeah. Be honest."
"Oh. I love him?"
"That sounds like a question."
Dean paused. "I'd die for him."
"You're serious, aren't you?"
Dean saw Sam grinned at him, as if they were sharing an inside joke but Dean wasn't laughing.
"Yeah, yeah I am."
Dean looked startled, as if he'd be shocked again. "Sam- I, ah, I didn't mean-"
Sam stepped away easily, and his hand lingered at Dean's side. The ghost of their mark's dead wife flickered out of view for the last time.
"Fucking counselors. Fucking PDA's." Dean wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and he thought about how his thumbs looked against Sam's cheekbones.
"This job sucks."
Dean laughed for the first time since they went in. "I'm not touching that line with a ten foot pole, either."
"Let's never speak of this again." Sam stated, and Dean nodded briskly. "You know, I had no idea-"
Sam wrapped his arm around Dean's shoulders and leaned in. "Also, you taste like coffee and maybe chocolate. Mmm."
Dean swatted Sam's ass lightly and laughed. "Sam!"
IMPRESSED | INDESCRIBABLE | 18a, sam/dean. powers!fic.
Sam bit his lip, and Dean shuddered in his seat.
"What the fuck was that?" Dean snapped. Sam could see the bite marks on Dean's lower lip and he knew he put it there; he didn't know what that meant or why that was kind of okay.
"Don't." Sam looked out the window, closed his eyes, and sat back. He rested his hands across his lap and Dean bucked against the seat; the car skittered across the line and Dean breathed heavily.
"What are you doing?" Dean hissed, an edge in his voice that was about to cut through Sam's skin. "What are you doing?!"
Sam opened his eyes and thought of all the times Dean had his back. He thought about what that meant - to always be so fucking willing. To always be ready to take a hit, to be bleeding all over and still check on Sam first. He traced his fingers along the side of his thigh, his jaw, his lips, the inside of his arm and he knew Dean could feel everything.
"Do you want me to stop?" Sam asked quietly, looking out of the window at the dense forest.
"No." Dean whispered. "No, don't ever."
ENTHRALLED | EXCITED | sam/dean, 18a, first time.
Dean closes his eyes, and Sam whispers I know because he's always been able to read Dean's mind, just like that. They sit in the Impala, it's dark and Dean desperately wishes for more light. Sam is almost under him, almost above him, and everything between them is clear. It's good, it feels good.
Sam's hands are warmer than they should be, as if he's pulled his sleeves over them to keep the cold away. The windows are fogging up and they haven't even touched yet, haven't even moved yet. Dean isn't sure quite what exactly he's supposed to be feeling, but he's pretty sure that okay and yes and please please aren't it.
He feels as if he's never done this before - gotten to know someone like this. Not true, of course, but he definitely hasn't felt hot and hard beneath his hands, never like this. He hasn't felt slick and warm quite like this before. Never been stretched open like this, never been filled like this before, never expected to open his eyes and see Sam there all dark and glad, fucking joyful.
This was it - this was fucking it - and he was scared and confused and ready.
KINKY | r, dean/anybody you want, baby. questionable consent.
Dean hissed in his throat because the gag in his mouth wouldn't let him make any other sounds. He probably would have struggled if the tongue around his cock didn't feel so damn good.
He bucked against that mouth anyways. He could feel nails hard against his lower back and it fucking hurt but he didn't really care because this whole 'not knowing who?' was kind of really hot and every grunt and moan that shuddered out of his body was dirty and harsh and necessary. That tongue licked up his scratched ribs and those hands tangled in his hair.
FLIRTY | GIGGLY | HAPPY | sam/dean, slightly underaged (sam = 17), 18a, schmoopy porn.
Dean poked Sam in the ribs, and Sam laughed; the whole car shaking.
"Shhh!" Sam whispered, and Dean shot a glance at the motel door a block behind them, as if sleeping John would hear them and wake up. "C'mon, c'mon," Sam smiled, "we haven't got all night." He tugged at Dean's belt buckle and it gave easily. Dean fumbled as he unlocked the impala, and they slid in one after another, not bothering to start the car or even move it, just getting into the backseat; impatient and laughing. Sam started unbuttoning Dean's shirt while Dean eased Sam out of his, working the bone behind Sam's ear with his teeth, stretching out above him. Sam wiggled down, let Dean take over while he arched up against his brother. Sam tugged Dean's jeans down just far enough, ran his hands up Dean's back and down again.
Dean's hands were hot against Sam's waist, held him down while he flipped open Sam's belt, palmed Sam's cock through his jeans hard and more than kind of perfect. Dean backed up a little and bent, tracing his tongue around Sam's navel and down, under Sam's cock, slicking it up from base to head.
"Oh," Sam gritted out, "you're going to-"
"Yeah, I am," Dean said, and he refused to think this might not last forever. The air in the impala was fogged and the streetlights had turned on, shining on them harshly and relentlessly, this is unmistakable.
Sam traced the cut lines of Dean's abs. "What are you waiting for?" he laughed, and at that Dean relaxed.
"You." he stated, moving up to straddle Sam's hips, give him enough leverage to grab the lube he'd hidden underneath the front passenger seat.
"You always had me, duh." Sam stated. Dean grinned and reached back to slick himself up.
"Good," he whispered, "good."
CALM | sam/dean, r.
Sam wasn't with anybody like that. Somehow he thought that if he tried - if he ever got close and somebody's cock was up his ass - he'd shudder with the wrong name on his lips.
Dean wasn't with anybody like that, either. He hadn't been with guys, period, 'cause he knew he'd come panting with the wrong face at the front of his mind and something'd slip and wouldn't that be embarrassing?
It wasn't as easy or as hard as they imagined when they came together with the right name and right face, twining together like lovers. Like closer than brothers.
<<< GEN set