It's Okay Sammy - Supernatural fanfic
Title: It's Okay Sammy
Rating: PG-13 maybe, just for language
Words: 2,475
Disclaimer: Owned by Kripke and CW and what not, just not by me.
Pairing: Sam and Dean (though only slightly Wincest)
Summary: Sam and Dean through the years, and how they like to cuddle. There might be a sequal, but they could probably stand on their own.
Note: This is the first Supernatural fanfic I have written. I just cranked this out in a few hours. I was new to the fandom last November, and caught up with all the episodes by January. And now I've just started to get involved with the online fandom, so I don't have any friends but I'm trying, here. Anyway, hope you like this!
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Nine- year-old Dean woke in the middle of the night to a shift in weight on his bed. He didn’t bother to roll over; he already knew it was his five- year- old brother Sammy crawling in beside him. He felt Sammy press his face in between Dean’s shoulder blades, and his little hands clutched at the back of Dean’s shirt. His legs curled up behind Dean’s and this felt comfortable.
“Dean…” Sammy whispered into his back.
“Mmm…?” Dean answered sleepily.
“When’s Dad coming back?” This was one of the standard middle-of-the-night questions Sam usually asked, along with “Why don’t we have a mom?” and “Why don’t we have a house?” and other variations. One time Sam asked “Is Pastor Jim our mom?” which made Dean giggle, even though Sam was being serious. Dean told him no, that was a stupid question because only girls can be moms.
Dean sighed into his pillow, and kept his eyes shut. Tomorrow would be their first day back at school here in Pastor Jim’s town, and Dean wanted to get some sleep.
“I don’t know, Sammy,” he mumbled “He just left yesterday. It’ll be a while.”
“Awright,” Sammy mouthed into Dean’s back. And that was that. They both drifted back to sleep.
In the morning, when Pastor Jim came to wake them up for school, he never said anything about them being in the same bed. They were only brothers, after all. He never blinked an eye, just told them to get up, get ready, and don’t forget to make your beds. Because even though Sam ended up in Dean’s bed before the end of the night, he was always in his own bed to begin with and therefore left it disheveled.
~ ~ ~
Dean remembers when he was a bit younger than Sammy, before the fire, when he used to sleep in his parent’s bed and snuggle up next to their mom. Not every night, but whenever he had a bad dream, or heard something in his closet, or under his bed. His mom would always tell him there was nothing there, that she had made sure, but he still stayed in their bed anyway. He felt safe there.
Sammy had tried to do this with their father, once. The first time their father had taken them to a hotel (though he didn’t let them stay there by themselves) Sammy had just turned four and Dean was eight. Dean and Sam were sharing a bed, and their dad had the other. The minute that the lamp was turned off, Sam jumped out of bed and climbed in next to their father. John only rolled away from him and said “Sam what’re you doin’? Get back in your own bed and get to sleep.”
After that was when he started cuddling Dean. Not while they were with their father though. Only when they stayed at Pastor Jim’s. Or as they got older, and stayed in motel rooms when their dad went out on hunts.
~ ~ ~
When Dean was twelve and Sammy was eight, they had been staying at some random Comfort Inn for about a week while their dad was out on a hunt. Though Dean sometimes felt that his brother was a pain in the ass, he still didn’t kick him out of his bed at night.
John came back in the middle of the night. He kept as quiet as possible because he didn’t want to wake the boys. He turned on the bathroom light which flooded into the other room and shone onto one of the beds; the sheets were down, but it was empty.
Immediately John thought the worst; something had happened to one of his boys, or maybe both if the other bed was empty as well. He raced to the other side of the room and switched on the light in a heartbeat. He saw Dean sleeping in his bed and shouted at him to get up.
Dean sat up in a second, bleary-eyed and a bit panic-stricken. “What?!” he said, his voice cracking from sleep and the peaks of puberty.
Then John saw him; a small form on Dean’s other side huddled under blankets. He had been curled up so closely to Dean that Dean’s size hid him from view. Relief flooded him, but soon after, he was filled with anger.
“Jesus Christ!” he exclaimed “You can’t stay in your own God Damned bed?! Thought something had happened to you, Jesus Christ, grow up already! You’re old enough to stay in your own bed, damn it!” He seethed, and went into the bathroom, still muttering curses under his breath, and something about pansy sons.
Dean knew that his father didn’t mean half the things he said, not really. It was mostly the stress of the job that made him throw fits of rage, and say hurtful things. Dean understood this, but Sammy didn’t; Sammy didn’t even know what their father’s job was yet, and he got especially upset when their father yelled at them like this, when there really was no reason for it.
Dean heard a small hiccupping sob next to him and looked to see tears streaming down his little brother’s face. “I’m sorry Sammy,” he told him, running his hand in a circular motion on Sam’s back in order to comfort him, as his shoulders shook. “Dad, doesn’t mean it,” he whispered, “It’s okay, I’m here.”
Sam’s sobbing halted, and he tried to wipe his still brimming eyes, when a shout came from the bathroom of “You better be in your own damn bed when I get out there, or someone’s gonna get their ass whooped!” By ‘someone’ he probably meant the both of them.
Sam jumped a mile out of skin at the sudden shout, then quickly scrambled into the empty bed, and covered himself with the blankets. Dean shut the light off and lay back down, hoping that their father would just go straight to the couch after he got out of the bathroom; which he did. Dean was grateful.
This one night didn’t stop Sam though. It just taught him to take precautions: call his father’s cell every night before they go to sleep and if he picks up, he would be home that night; if he didn’t, cuddle up in Dean’s bed.
~ ~ ~
It was just another hot night in the middle of August; a couple of months after Sammy had turned twelve. They hadn’t heard from their dad in a few days even though he had promised they could help out on the next hunt. Though Dean secretly thought this was unlikely and their dad was just humoring them.
The humidity was high, and they both lay in separate beds in nothing but their boxers, on top of the blankets. They had all the windows open, and Dean could hear cars passing by on the highway. It felt impossible to fall asleep.
He then heard a shuffling of sheets, and he knew what was coming; Sam’s weight shifted the bed as he lay down, Dean’s back towards him as always. “Ugh, Sammy,” Dean groaned “body heat makes things hotter.” But he didn’t move to shove him away.
“No, Dean,” Sam’s breath was hot on Dean’s bare flesh, right between his shoulder blades. “Feel,” Sam placed his hands on Dean’s mid back, and Dean’s muscles tensed and he shivered at the sudden change in temperature, but honestly it felt good, because Sam’s hands were ice cold, and slightly wet.
“See?” he asked brightly.
“Sam, how…?” Dean began, but Sam then draped a wet, ice cold washcloth over Dean’s side and onto his stomach. Dean gasped at the cold at first, but it still felt good. He rolled over onto his back, on top of Sam’s hand. Sam lay on his side facing Dean, and Dean splayed the washcloth out over his chest, and sighed. Sam snuggled into Dean’s side, Dean’s arm stretched out behind him.
“Eww, your hairy armpit stinks.” Sam told him, but didn’t bother moving.
“So do yours,” Dean told him nonchalantly.
“No, ‘cause I put on deodorant, unlike you.”
“Stop complaining, you love it.”
Sam just laughed.
They passed the washcloth back and forth between each other every few minutes. The heat became bearable as the washcloth kept them wet. They were comfortable enough to finally be able to fall asleep.
~ ~ ~
Dean thinks he knows the exact night it stopped. The cuddling, and sleeping in the same bed thing; yeah, that. It was another hot summer, two years later, and Dean had begun to feel a bit uneasy. He had begun to think, no, to realize that no one else did that. Something he should have realized a long time ago. It wasn’t normal for brothers to do that; sleep in the same bed, freakin’ cuddle!
Yet it wasn’t just for Sam anymore; on the nights that their dad was with them, Dean had trouble sleeping, and he knew Sam did as well. They talked on those nights; just their voices floating in the dark, while John snored on the couch. Sometimes John woke up yelled at them to shut it. They would, until he started snoring again.
Dean wondered sometimes what would happen if John came back to the motel unexpectedly one night and found them like he did that night many years ago. Dean guesses he’d flip shit. But he also wonders what his dad would think; hell, what would anyone think, really? And honestly, Dean doesn’t like to think about that.
One night, Dean lost his virginity to some local girl he met at the nearest convenient store to their motel. He hadn’t gone out looking for it, it just sort of happened. She invited him to her place that night for a party she was having while her folks were away. He was thinking about asking Sam to come with him, but he didn’t want to have to baby sit his fourteen year old little brother the whole night. Even though Sam insisted that Dean wouldn’t have to baby sit him, he could handle hanging out at a party, Dean didn’t want to let him hang out at a party, where everyone would be older than him, and who knows what they would do to him, if Dean wasn’t around. So that was that, and Sam was stuck at the motel the whole night watching nothing on T.V., thinking about what Dean must be up to.
When Dean returned around two o’clock in the morning, Sam was already in bed. Dean was slightly drunk; Sam could tell by the way he stumbled around their motel room in the dark, clumsily stripping down to his boxers, and flopping onto his bed. He didn’t say anything to Sam, so Sam figured Dean thought he was already asleep.
Sam slid out of his bed, and smoothly slid onto Dean’s, and fit in flush up against Dean’s back.
“Dean, how was the party?” he whispered.
Sam’s breath was hot on Dean’s bare skin, and it was no longer in between his shoulder blades, but on the back of Dean’s neck and it sent shivers up Dean’s spine.
“Sammy,” he shuddered.
A minute ago he was feeling like the king of the world. He just banged a really hot chick, for the first time, and there was bound to be more in the future. He was thinking how he could get used to a life of banging hot chicks, and not having to worry about emotional attachments, and how very sweet that would be. Then Sammy crawled into bed beside him, and he hated himself. Sammy crawled into bed beside him, like he had done almost every night for ten years, and now recently Dean had to start having these weird thoughts. Sick, perverted thoughts, that no one should ever think about their little brother ever, no matter how old their little brother may look, and Christ, age is not the deal, he’s his freakin’ brother! And that’s just. So. Wrong.
“Dean did you hear me? How was the party?”
Dean’s neck burned, and he could feel Sam’s bare skin pressed up against his bare skin, and in every place where they touched, Dean’s skin burned, and he just couldn’t take it any more, he couldn’t take it, he had just got out of bed with a girl, and now he was in bed with his brother, and his warped mind kept throwing images at him, he tried to shun them out, but he saw them clear as day, things he had done with that girl, but instead that girl was Sammy, and he hated himself, hated himself, so he rolled over and shoved Sam away from him.
Sam almost fell off the bed. The look of pain, and shock on his face was almost worse, almost, but not quite. Dean still hated himself, and he couldn’t look at Sammy’s unbelieving face, couldn’t stand it, so he rolled back over and curled up in a ball. And Sam got into his own bed. And they never spoke of it again. And Dean thinks, yeah, that was definitely the last night.
~ ~ ~
At twenty-six years old, Dean finally has his brother back, after two years of not seeing him at all. He’s happy about this. He won’t admit it, but he’s really missed Sammy. It feels like old times again. He’s missed those days, where they’re all a family, and they’re all hunting together, except, minus their dad. And minus all the arguing. He doesn’t miss the arguing.
Except now, Sammy has nightmares. And Dean knows they’re obviously about Jessica, no matter what Sam says. Dean hates at night when he hears Sam thrashing around and there’s nothing he could do about it. He thinks back to when they were younger; if Sam ever had a nightmare then, he’d be okay, because all Dean would have to do was tell him it was okay, that he was there, so it was okay, and Sam would just tangle his hands into Dean’s shirt, and he really would be okay. Dean often wishes things could be that simple now; that Sam would just slide into bed next to Dean. But he hadn’t done that in eight years. And it might just be really awkward if he did now.
So Dean knows there’s not much he could do about Sam’s nightmares. He tries to get him to talk about it, but that doesn’t really work. So the only thing he can do is let Sam deal with it on his own. And during the day he tries to make up for it, by just them being brothers again. And for now he’s okay with that. And he thinks Sammy’s okay with that too.
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End Note: Hope you liked it! Comments are really appreciated! And I'm sorry if they were OOC in anyway, I tried my best. And if John seems OOC at all, I really just based him on how my own dad acts, so. *shrug*
Rating: PG-13 maybe, just for language
Words: 2,475
Disclaimer: Owned by Kripke and CW and what not, just not by me.
Pairing: Sam and Dean (though only slightly Wincest)
Summary: Sam and Dean through the years, and how they like to cuddle. There might be a sequal, but they could probably stand on their own.
Note: This is the first Supernatural fanfic I have written. I just cranked this out in a few hours. I was new to the fandom last November, and caught up with all the episodes by January. And now I've just started to get involved with the online fandom, so I don't have any friends but I'm trying, here. Anyway, hope you like this!
____________________________________________
Nine- year-old Dean woke in the middle of the night to a shift in weight on his bed. He didn’t bother to roll over; he already knew it was his five- year- old brother Sammy crawling in beside him. He felt Sammy press his face in between Dean’s shoulder blades, and his little hands clutched at the back of Dean’s shirt. His legs curled up behind Dean’s and this felt comfortable.
“Dean…” Sammy whispered into his back.
“Mmm…?” Dean answered sleepily.
“When’s Dad coming back?” This was one of the standard middle-of-the-night questions Sam usually asked, along with “Why don’t we have a mom?” and “Why don’t we have a house?” and other variations. One time Sam asked “Is Pastor Jim our mom?” which made Dean giggle, even though Sam was being serious. Dean told him no, that was a stupid question because only girls can be moms.
Dean sighed into his pillow, and kept his eyes shut. Tomorrow would be their first day back at school here in Pastor Jim’s town, and Dean wanted to get some sleep.
“I don’t know, Sammy,” he mumbled “He just left yesterday. It’ll be a while.”
“Awright,” Sammy mouthed into Dean’s back. And that was that. They both drifted back to sleep.
In the morning, when Pastor Jim came to wake them up for school, he never said anything about them being in the same bed. They were only brothers, after all. He never blinked an eye, just told them to get up, get ready, and don’t forget to make your beds. Because even though Sam ended up in Dean’s bed before the end of the night, he was always in his own bed to begin with and therefore left it disheveled.
~ ~ ~
Dean remembers when he was a bit younger than Sammy, before the fire, when he used to sleep in his parent’s bed and snuggle up next to their mom. Not every night, but whenever he had a bad dream, or heard something in his closet, or under his bed. His mom would always tell him there was nothing there, that she had made sure, but he still stayed in their bed anyway. He felt safe there.
Sammy had tried to do this with their father, once. The first time their father had taken them to a hotel (though he didn’t let them stay there by themselves) Sammy had just turned four and Dean was eight. Dean and Sam were sharing a bed, and their dad had the other. The minute that the lamp was turned off, Sam jumped out of bed and climbed in next to their father. John only rolled away from him and said “Sam what’re you doin’? Get back in your own bed and get to sleep.”
After that was when he started cuddling Dean. Not while they were with their father though. Only when they stayed at Pastor Jim’s. Or as they got older, and stayed in motel rooms when their dad went out on hunts.
~ ~ ~
When Dean was twelve and Sammy was eight, they had been staying at some random Comfort Inn for about a week while their dad was out on a hunt. Though Dean sometimes felt that his brother was a pain in the ass, he still didn’t kick him out of his bed at night.
John came back in the middle of the night. He kept as quiet as possible because he didn’t want to wake the boys. He turned on the bathroom light which flooded into the other room and shone onto one of the beds; the sheets were down, but it was empty.
Immediately John thought the worst; something had happened to one of his boys, or maybe both if the other bed was empty as well. He raced to the other side of the room and switched on the light in a heartbeat. He saw Dean sleeping in his bed and shouted at him to get up.
Dean sat up in a second, bleary-eyed and a bit panic-stricken. “What?!” he said, his voice cracking from sleep and the peaks of puberty.
Then John saw him; a small form on Dean’s other side huddled under blankets. He had been curled up so closely to Dean that Dean’s size hid him from view. Relief flooded him, but soon after, he was filled with anger.
“Jesus Christ!” he exclaimed “You can’t stay in your own God Damned bed?! Thought something had happened to you, Jesus Christ, grow up already! You’re old enough to stay in your own bed, damn it!” He seethed, and went into the bathroom, still muttering curses under his breath, and something about pansy sons.
Dean knew that his father didn’t mean half the things he said, not really. It was mostly the stress of the job that made him throw fits of rage, and say hurtful things. Dean understood this, but Sammy didn’t; Sammy didn’t even know what their father’s job was yet, and he got especially upset when their father yelled at them like this, when there really was no reason for it.
Dean heard a small hiccupping sob next to him and looked to see tears streaming down his little brother’s face. “I’m sorry Sammy,” he told him, running his hand in a circular motion on Sam’s back in order to comfort him, as his shoulders shook. “Dad, doesn’t mean it,” he whispered, “It’s okay, I’m here.”
Sam’s sobbing halted, and he tried to wipe his still brimming eyes, when a shout came from the bathroom of “You better be in your own damn bed when I get out there, or someone’s gonna get their ass whooped!” By ‘someone’ he probably meant the both of them.
Sam jumped a mile out of skin at the sudden shout, then quickly scrambled into the empty bed, and covered himself with the blankets. Dean shut the light off and lay back down, hoping that their father would just go straight to the couch after he got out of the bathroom; which he did. Dean was grateful.
This one night didn’t stop Sam though. It just taught him to take precautions: call his father’s cell every night before they go to sleep and if he picks up, he would be home that night; if he didn’t, cuddle up in Dean’s bed.
~ ~ ~
It was just another hot night in the middle of August; a couple of months after Sammy had turned twelve. They hadn’t heard from their dad in a few days even though he had promised they could help out on the next hunt. Though Dean secretly thought this was unlikely and their dad was just humoring them.
The humidity was high, and they both lay in separate beds in nothing but their boxers, on top of the blankets. They had all the windows open, and Dean could hear cars passing by on the highway. It felt impossible to fall asleep.
He then heard a shuffling of sheets, and he knew what was coming; Sam’s weight shifted the bed as he lay down, Dean’s back towards him as always. “Ugh, Sammy,” Dean groaned “body heat makes things hotter.” But he didn’t move to shove him away.
“No, Dean,” Sam’s breath was hot on Dean’s bare flesh, right between his shoulder blades. “Feel,” Sam placed his hands on Dean’s mid back, and Dean’s muscles tensed and he shivered at the sudden change in temperature, but honestly it felt good, because Sam’s hands were ice cold, and slightly wet.
“See?” he asked brightly.
“Sam, how…?” Dean began, but Sam then draped a wet, ice cold washcloth over Dean’s side and onto his stomach. Dean gasped at the cold at first, but it still felt good. He rolled over onto his back, on top of Sam’s hand. Sam lay on his side facing Dean, and Dean splayed the washcloth out over his chest, and sighed. Sam snuggled into Dean’s side, Dean’s arm stretched out behind him.
“Eww, your hairy armpit stinks.” Sam told him, but didn’t bother moving.
“So do yours,” Dean told him nonchalantly.
“No, ‘cause I put on deodorant, unlike you.”
“Stop complaining, you love it.”
Sam just laughed.
They passed the washcloth back and forth between each other every few minutes. The heat became bearable as the washcloth kept them wet. They were comfortable enough to finally be able to fall asleep.
~ ~ ~
Dean thinks he knows the exact night it stopped. The cuddling, and sleeping in the same bed thing; yeah, that. It was another hot summer, two years later, and Dean had begun to feel a bit uneasy. He had begun to think, no, to realize that no one else did that. Something he should have realized a long time ago. It wasn’t normal for brothers to do that; sleep in the same bed, freakin’ cuddle!
Yet it wasn’t just for Sam anymore; on the nights that their dad was with them, Dean had trouble sleeping, and he knew Sam did as well. They talked on those nights; just their voices floating in the dark, while John snored on the couch. Sometimes John woke up yelled at them to shut it. They would, until he started snoring again.
Dean wondered sometimes what would happen if John came back to the motel unexpectedly one night and found them like he did that night many years ago. Dean guesses he’d flip shit. But he also wonders what his dad would think; hell, what would anyone think, really? And honestly, Dean doesn’t like to think about that.
One night, Dean lost his virginity to some local girl he met at the nearest convenient store to their motel. He hadn’t gone out looking for it, it just sort of happened. She invited him to her place that night for a party she was having while her folks were away. He was thinking about asking Sam to come with him, but he didn’t want to have to baby sit his fourteen year old little brother the whole night. Even though Sam insisted that Dean wouldn’t have to baby sit him, he could handle hanging out at a party, Dean didn’t want to let him hang out at a party, where everyone would be older than him, and who knows what they would do to him, if Dean wasn’t around. So that was that, and Sam was stuck at the motel the whole night watching nothing on T.V., thinking about what Dean must be up to.
When Dean returned around two o’clock in the morning, Sam was already in bed. Dean was slightly drunk; Sam could tell by the way he stumbled around their motel room in the dark, clumsily stripping down to his boxers, and flopping onto his bed. He didn’t say anything to Sam, so Sam figured Dean thought he was already asleep.
Sam slid out of his bed, and smoothly slid onto Dean’s, and fit in flush up against Dean’s back.
“Dean, how was the party?” he whispered.
Sam’s breath was hot on Dean’s bare skin, and it was no longer in between his shoulder blades, but on the back of Dean’s neck and it sent shivers up Dean’s spine.
“Sammy,” he shuddered.
A minute ago he was feeling like the king of the world. He just banged a really hot chick, for the first time, and there was bound to be more in the future. He was thinking how he could get used to a life of banging hot chicks, and not having to worry about emotional attachments, and how very sweet that would be. Then Sammy crawled into bed beside him, and he hated himself. Sammy crawled into bed beside him, like he had done almost every night for ten years, and now recently Dean had to start having these weird thoughts. Sick, perverted thoughts, that no one should ever think about their little brother ever, no matter how old their little brother may look, and Christ, age is not the deal, he’s his freakin’ brother! And that’s just. So. Wrong.
“Dean did you hear me? How was the party?”
Dean’s neck burned, and he could feel Sam’s bare skin pressed up against his bare skin, and in every place where they touched, Dean’s skin burned, and he just couldn’t take it any more, he couldn’t take it, he had just got out of bed with a girl, and now he was in bed with his brother, and his warped mind kept throwing images at him, he tried to shun them out, but he saw them clear as day, things he had done with that girl, but instead that girl was Sammy, and he hated himself, hated himself, so he rolled over and shoved Sam away from him.
Sam almost fell off the bed. The look of pain, and shock on his face was almost worse, almost, but not quite. Dean still hated himself, and he couldn’t look at Sammy’s unbelieving face, couldn’t stand it, so he rolled back over and curled up in a ball. And Sam got into his own bed. And they never spoke of it again. And Dean thinks, yeah, that was definitely the last night.
~ ~ ~
At twenty-six years old, Dean finally has his brother back, after two years of not seeing him at all. He’s happy about this. He won’t admit it, but he’s really missed Sammy. It feels like old times again. He’s missed those days, where they’re all a family, and they’re all hunting together, except, minus their dad. And minus all the arguing. He doesn’t miss the arguing.
Except now, Sammy has nightmares. And Dean knows they’re obviously about Jessica, no matter what Sam says. Dean hates at night when he hears Sam thrashing around and there’s nothing he could do about it. He thinks back to when they were younger; if Sam ever had a nightmare then, he’d be okay, because all Dean would have to do was tell him it was okay, that he was there, so it was okay, and Sam would just tangle his hands into Dean’s shirt, and he really would be okay. Dean often wishes things could be that simple now; that Sam would just slide into bed next to Dean. But he hadn’t done that in eight years. And it might just be really awkward if he did now.
So Dean knows there’s not much he could do about Sam’s nightmares. He tries to get him to talk about it, but that doesn’t really work. So the only thing he can do is let Sam deal with it on his own. And during the day he tries to make up for it, by just them being brothers again. And for now he’s okay with that. And he thinks Sammy’s okay with that too.
_____________________________________________
End Note: Hope you liked it! Comments are really appreciated! And I'm sorry if they were OOC in anyway, I tried my best. And if John seems OOC at all, I really just based him on how my own dad acts, so. *shrug*