Fic: Smooth
Title: Smooth
Genre: Wincest
Rating: PG
Word count: ~500
Summary: What if Dean quit drinking and was through withdrawal and his hands were too unsteady to shave himself and he was ashamed but Sam was all, Dean you are so strong and impressive and oh boy do I love you, let me shave your pretty face
and Dean was like okay
roque_clasique's prompt at hoodie_time's Winter/Holiday themed Dean-focused h/c comment-fic meme
AN: My huge thanks to whit_merule for the beta.
It's just been two days. But two days of living hell, Sam figures, for Dean, who finally, finally, decided that he should quit drinking for his and Sam's sake after he almost ran over a reindeer in the middle of the day. Dean has been so determined and positive and he must have been like, oh, it's nothing, drinking or not drinking, he can switch it on and off as easily as he does his flashlight. But from the sound of it, he isn’t faring too well. He's been puking his ass off all night and day since yesterday, he's not been eating, and he keeps shaking as if he were wearing tremors as his second skin.
And this morning he has spent maybe two hours in the shower when Sam suddenly hears a grunt and a low moan.
"Dean, you okay in there?" Sam half climbs off his bed. He’s slowly sitting down again when there's no answer, when he hears "Aw, shit!" from the other side of the door.
"Dean!" He shoots out toward the shower and would break in if not for Dean’s attitude towards personal space. Sam knocks, no, bangs, at the door. "Dean, are you all right?" When there's still no answer, Sam calls out again, "Dean, answer me or I swear I'll knock this door down."
One second, five, and Sam jumps in, slightly flushed at the fact that it's not even locked, but there's no smart remark coming at him for his words or his silly act. In fact, there's no sound at all. What he finds is Dean sitting on the toilet, slumped with his shoulders sagged, looking down at his hands, with blood splattered on his face.
Blood...
Belatedly Sam leaps to Dean, kneeling in front of his brother - the hell with personal space. He grabs Dean's chin and tilts his face up.
"Jesus, what's happened to you?" He thumbs the bloody cheek. They look like shaving cuts. "Dean?"
Dean refuses to look at Sam.
"I - I can't stop this."
Sam follows his brother’s eyes and takes in the sight of Dean's quaking hands.
"I can't do this anymore. Sam--"
Sam grabs both his hands and holds them tight. “No, Dean. You can. You should trust me on this.”
As expected, Dean pulls his hands back and jumps up, pushing past Sam. Sam closes his eyes briefly, turning to follow his brother with his eyes.
Dean snatches the razor in front of the mirror and points it to his face, but his hand can’t stop trembling.
“Shit,” he curses, gritting his teeth.
Sam rises quietly and comes up behind Dean, catching their reflections in the mirror, taking the razor from Dean’s hand. “Let me, okay?” His fingers find Dean’s chin and turn Dean to face him. He dips the razor into the bowl of soapy water that Dean had been using earlier and slowly begins to smooth it against Dean’s two-day stubble. Dean says nothing, simply submitting to the way Sam turns his face here and there. Sam swallows hard and fights to not look back into Dean’s eyes that are boring into his.
---
Genre: Wincest
Rating: PG
Word count: ~500
Summary: What if Dean quit drinking and was through withdrawal and his hands were too unsteady to shave himself and he was ashamed but Sam was all, Dean you are so strong and impressive and oh boy do I love you, let me shave your pretty face
and Dean was like okay
roque_clasique's prompt at hoodie_time's Winter/Holiday themed Dean-focused h/c comment-fic meme
AN: My huge thanks to whit_merule for the beta.
It's just been two days. But two days of living hell, Sam figures, for Dean, who finally, finally, decided that he should quit drinking for his and Sam's sake after he almost ran over a reindeer in the middle of the day. Dean has been so determined and positive and he must have been like, oh, it's nothing, drinking or not drinking, he can switch it on and off as easily as he does his flashlight. But from the sound of it, he isn’t faring too well. He's been puking his ass off all night and day since yesterday, he's not been eating, and he keeps shaking as if he were wearing tremors as his second skin.
And this morning he has spent maybe two hours in the shower when Sam suddenly hears a grunt and a low moan.
"Dean, you okay in there?" Sam half climbs off his bed. He’s slowly sitting down again when there's no answer, when he hears "Aw, shit!" from the other side of the door.
"Dean!" He shoots out toward the shower and would break in if not for Dean’s attitude towards personal space. Sam knocks, no, bangs, at the door. "Dean, are you all right?" When there's still no answer, Sam calls out again, "Dean, answer me or I swear I'll knock this door down."
One second, five, and Sam jumps in, slightly flushed at the fact that it's not even locked, but there's no smart remark coming at him for his words or his silly act. In fact, there's no sound at all. What he finds is Dean sitting on the toilet, slumped with his shoulders sagged, looking down at his hands, with blood splattered on his face.
Blood...
Belatedly Sam leaps to Dean, kneeling in front of his brother - the hell with personal space. He grabs Dean's chin and tilts his face up.
"Jesus, what's happened to you?" He thumbs the bloody cheek. They look like shaving cuts. "Dean?"
Dean refuses to look at Sam.
"I - I can't stop this."
Sam follows his brother’s eyes and takes in the sight of Dean's quaking hands.
"I can't do this anymore. Sam--"
Sam grabs both his hands and holds them tight. “No, Dean. You can. You should trust me on this.”
As expected, Dean pulls his hands back and jumps up, pushing past Sam. Sam closes his eyes briefly, turning to follow his brother with his eyes.
Dean snatches the razor in front of the mirror and points it to his face, but his hand can’t stop trembling.
“Shit,” he curses, gritting his teeth.
Sam rises quietly and comes up behind Dean, catching their reflections in the mirror, taking the razor from Dean’s hand. “Let me, okay?” His fingers find Dean’s chin and turn Dean to face him. He dips the razor into the bowl of soapy water that Dean had been using earlier and slowly begins to smooth it against Dean’s two-day stubble. Dean says nothing, simply submitting to the way Sam turns his face here and there. Sam swallows hard and fights to not look back into Dean’s eyes that are boring into his.
---