White Noise ☆ Supernatural

Character/Pairing: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Wincest
Prompt: 2AM
Date Written: 16/05/2010

He couldn’t sleep.

Simple as that.

How could he? Every time he closed his eyes, he felt panic bubble in his chest and swallowing didn’t settle it. However, while his eyes were open, all he could do was stare at the ceiling. The perfectly speckled ceiling.

The hotels never had that. The inns were just painted over. The motels had water damage. Rolling his head to the side, he noted the beside table next to his side of the bed. No second bed on the other side; just neatly drawn curtains slid across a window. The house smelt of perfumes and candles. Who would have guessed he’d miss the smell of mildew? The bed was comfortable. No lumps, no springs. It didn’t even creak when he shifted.

A sigh to his right.

Quiet and peaceful.


Probably having picture perfect, white washed dreams with plenty of colour and lights. When was the last time Dean had had one of those? Had he ever?

He couldn’t sleep.

Pulling the covers off, he laid them down beside the woman he’d promised to be with and live this glorified apple pie life. Rolling off the bed, he got to his feet and for a moment just stood there. The room was so … full. Everything was so full. Ornaments, pictures, plants. No simple lamp, generic telephone or notepad with the company logo on it.

Nibbling the inside of his lip, Dean slipped out of the room and closed the door silently behind him. Moving to the living room, he sat down upon the couch. A couch. Tired eyes glanced up at the clock and for a moment, he even read the hands backwards. His mind corrected himself.

2 am.

The house was too silent. No noisy neighbors, no snoring; not even white noise from a humming air conditioner.

Reaching for the remote control that still had all its buttons, Dean flicked it on. With the volume turned down to a more familiar softness, he began surfing through them. He was looking for something particular.

There were too many channels.

He pressed on. Then, finally, a familiar looking blue screen flashed on, scribbled with 1-800 numbers and credit card logos.

Infomercials. The background noise to his past 4 years.

Leaning forward, his eyes flicked back and forth across the screen as the scenes continued shifting. Horrible acting, useless inventions and the idiot at the end who takes all the credit.

God, he’d missed this.

Placing the remote on the table, he reached back to pull off the thin blanket draped over the back of the couch. Pulling it over himself, he laid down with his arm tucked under his head for support. The couch had lumps. If he pressed hard enough, he could feel the springs. The material of the cushions had turned stubborn rather then soft with use.

He couldn’t recall ever feeling so at ease.

The thought cut through the guilt that had long since nestled in the pit of his stomach.

He couldn’t sleep.

“God dammit, Sammy.” I’m so sorry, kid.

FIN ★ ☆ ★ Constructive critique always welcome!

Dean Winchester is a Pushover ☆ Supernatural

Character/Pairing: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Wincest
Prompt: Feathers
Date Written: 01/06/2010

The sound of the door clicking and the jingle of keys had become all too familiar. His father was off again and he was left to make sure Sammy was tended to. Young green eyes slid away from the locked entrance and came to rest on the back of his younger brother.

Little Sammy was clutching a plain sippy cup between his chubby hands, fingers still too clumsy for a big boy mug. His own hazel eyes glittered from the flickering images on a television screen. He rocked a bit as he sat, restless nerves playing out the last of their energy. At least, that was what Dean was hoping for. It’d be difficult to help Pastor Jim put him to bed if he was still energetic.

“Dean?” The voice came as a surprise and he realized he’d spaced out.

“Sorry Sammy. What’s up?” He replied, rubbing his own chubby cheeks softly.

The smaller was staring at him with a blank expression, showing no sign of uttering so much as a whisper. Dean simply held his eyes for a long while until finally, he shifted. Wobbling as he used his hands to lift his little body, Sam soon stood before him with the sippy cup dangling in his fingers. He took a long while as he seemed to study either part of the couch that rested beside the elder.

Dean opened his mouth, ready to ask the obvious question when Sammy finally reached out to his brother; a big, goofy grin plastered against slightly crooked baby teeth. “Up!”

A quiet smile tiptoed its way onto his lips and he outstretched his own arms, gesturing back. Taking that extra step forward, Sam raised his arms a bit as Dean hauled him off the floor and into his lap. Once let go, Sam flopped about until he finally settled between Dean’s crossed legs. His eyes returned to the TV, pressing his sippy cup into his thigh as he leaned forward to point.

Dean didn’t fully understand what he’d said, the words too fast and too slurred but he was pretty sure Sammy was trying to explain what was going on in his cartoon.

Wrapping his arms around the tiny form, Dean gave him a quick and firm hug before he relaxed and settled; his hold now a loose embrace. Resting his chin on top of his head, his own eyes soon fell upon the television.

However, his mind wasn’t completely on the hand drawn action.

He wiggled his nose a bit and reached up to brush some of Sammy’s hair down. The soft strands were tickling his nose a bit too much to be comfortable. As he patted it down, he noted just how feather like it was. Reached up to his own, he brush at his bangs. It just didn’t have the same appeal. Maybe it was a toddler thing. Then again, Sammy had always had really soft hair, hadn’t he? So maybe it was just a Sammy thing.

A noise of protest came from his lap and Dean couldn’t help but indulge it. “What?”

Sam wasn’t looking at him but was instead reaching his arms out to the hand that was currently back flattening the younger’s hair down. Figuring that was what was bugging him, he stopped and held his hand out as if to show ‘alright, I’m not touching it’. However, Sam’s eyes following the movement and still he reached for it.

Curiously, Dean lowered it and presented it to him. Immediately, Sammy dug his fingers into the sleeve of his brother’s pajama shirt and pulled. Dean allowed his arm to be guided until Sam had it placed in a very specific location: back around himself.

It was a tugged a bit uncomfortably for Dean so he went to shift only to be met with clamped down fingers and another whiney noise.

“I’m not going anywhere, Sammy.” Dean replied. What reason did he really have to leave, even if he’d wanted to?

As if he wasn’t fully convinced, Sammy’s grip tightened just the slightest. This time, he tried to look back at Dean but nobody wasthat flexible.

Easily defeated, Dean gave the boy a quick squeeze and tickled his sides just enough to emit a thrilled giggle. The grip loosened and Dean felt Sammy’s sippy cup fall against his own leg. Cuddling himself back into a more comfortable position, Dean rested his chin on top of Sammy’s head once more and smiled as the boy settled back peacefully to watch his cartoon.

With a mini furnace pressed between his arms, curled around him in an unconscious, protective manner … Dean had never felt so at peace.

He found himself hoping that every night, for the rest of their lives, it would end like this. Just a moment, no matter how busy a day was. Just him, Sammy and a television set.

What a bright future that would turn out to be.

FIN ★ ☆ ★ Constructive critique always welcome!

Swing of Your Hips ☆ Supernatural

Character/Pairing: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Wincest
Prompt: Hips
Date Written: 02/06/2010

Something Dean had playfully teased him about earlier was actually causing some serious reflection.

Sam was stretched out on the bed, his arms tucked neatly behind his head. A pensive expression crossed his face.

What was his favorite part about Dean?

Physically, that is.

Dean has suggested his lips for certain reasons. Of course, Sam wasn’t about to protest but the more that he thought about it, the more he found it difficult to narrow it down.

He glanced toward the bathroom door which was currently muffling the sound of running water.

With a soft sigh, Sam relaxed and allowed his eyes to slide closed. Tempted by the running water, his imagination conjured up a rather detailed silhouette.

Dean was now as bare and wet before him as if Sam was standing outside the shower.

The fantasy was distracting … but necessary.

Favorite trait … favorite … trait …

Through his mind’s eye, Sam watched Dean run a hand over his face.

Hmm. Eyes? Nose?


Well, he couldn’t really pick out a single part. It was Dean’s entire face that made Sam’s insides tingle. His personality showed through his smiles, his emotions through his eyes. He’d witnessed, on several occasions, that expression melting into comfort only to harden with rage or frustration moments later. He’d watched it light up over the simplest prospects from a free treat to a new breakthrough on a case. On the occasions when Dean would allow it, he loved seeing the look of quiet anticipation when Sam leaned in to claim an intimate kiss. He did enjoy being able to watch that split moment when Dean would unknowingly close his eyes and hitch his breath when Sam slid his hand over the small of his back.

Oh, his back.

Sam watched that shower water trickle across his shoulder blades.

Carefully distributed muscle wrapped neatly by warm, soft skin. The flesh littered with countless scars and forgotten wounds that only made it seem more flawless to Sam.

Flawless because each scar was so Dean.

His brother’s back was the most damaged that Sam had ever seen; both literally and metaphorically.

A strong sense of love pulsed from each permanent blemish.

Dean protected a lot of people and each of those left some kind of mark on his already breaking back. Most of that damage, however, Sam knew was his fault. It was such a stupid big brother complex that Dean had. He never would understand how much guilt he felt every time Dean took a hit for him. It wasn’t even a gentle ‘Oh Dean, I’m so sorry’ kinda guilt. No it was a ‘God Sam, you’re such an idiot’ kinda guilt.

But that was sort of the role of being the younger sibling, wasn’t it? To know and memorize each blow to your protector? To never forget?

.. Mmm …

That sounded a little corny, even for Sam.

Back was a no go. It was too … nostalgic.

His daydream allowed him to follow the water trickling down each limb and he drank in the sight with a quiet smile.

That was it. Right there.

The very center of Dean.

His hips.

Why hadn’t he really thought about it before?

The way that they looked, the way they felt, the way they moved.

How they shifted when Dean twisted around a corner or leaned against a doorframe. The subtle way they would roll in his sleep when he was trying to get comfortable.

How they felt under Sam’s finger when he held them loosely during tiny pecks or messy kisses. Just thinking about it, he could feel the transition between rough jeans to smooth skin. How the muscle surrounding them always gave this tiny little quiver when Sam’s lips brushed against the bone.

How they always fit a little-to-perfectly into whatever Dean wore.

There was a squeak that pierced through his ears and soon the water came to a halt. His silhouette wavered and evaporated away and soon Sam was left with the ghostly remains of a quiet fantasy.

Having come to his conclusion, he waited it out, unsure of what else to do while he lay there.

Finally, the bathroom door gave a slight shove and pushed forward. Out poured a bit of steam followed by a towel clad Dean. No dribbling water but as if fate were trying to laminated his choice, that towel hung so delicately against his hips that it was nothing short of tantalizing.

“What?” Dean questioned, glanced over at him a bit suspiciously. Understandable really, since Sam had clearly been staring and hadn’t exactly tried to cover it up.

He sat up and tossed his legs over the side of the bed with a smile. Motioning toward himself, Sam rolled his wrist. “Come here.”

There was a pause in the way he shifted to move toward his bag rather then Sam before he looked almost … well, like he just thought that was a stupid move. Rolling his eyes a bit, he wandered over slowly, his lips pursed. “I just got out of the shower, Sammy. I’d prefer not to have to go back in.”

Only giving a chuckle in response, Sam reached forward and let his fingers graze across the exposed hipbone. He slid is over until his palm lay against it and he pulled Dean forward just the slightest. Dean made a sort of noise that sounded like he was trying to say something but it had all gotten stuck somewhere along the line. Leaning that distance forward, Sam very carefully pressed his lips on the heat flushed skin.

There it was. That tiny little flutter he could feel just beneath his lips.

He smiled to himself as he pulled back and looked up at Dean. The elder was looking down at him like he couldn’t possibly get any gayer. Pun probably intended.

But … all the same.

Despite his brother’s ability to ruin a moment with so much as a look …

… it was the hips. Definitely.

FIN ★ ☆ ★ Constructive critique always welcome!