Faith, Love, Hope
Title: Faith, Love, Hope
Rating: Explicit
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Summary:
Jack needs a little reassurance that Sam and Dean aren't angry about Mary.
Sam needs to be reminded that Dean will always come for him.
Dean needs to know that Sam believes him.
Warnings and enticements: Wincest, explicit m/m sex, angst, domestic Winchesters, possible spoilers for 14.17 and 14.18
Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Jack Winchester
Notes:
This story is a bit of a mash up based on Game Night and the preview that aired after it. Maybe I'll get Kripke'd, maybe I won't--but don't say you weren't warned.
Also, this is mostly @thorkiship18 and @asimplepiemaker's fault...blame them.
That night, Jack doesn’t show up for their nightly reading time the way he usually does. Sam’s not surprised, given what happened--Mary is still in the hospital, Castiel is gone, possibly forever. Dean’s pain and grief over Mary had been overwhelming, but Sam’s kept it together so far, refusing to give into his grief, or the terror of almost losing Dean again. He can hold on for now, for as long as Dean needs him to.
So Sam doesn’t say anything when the time they usually start comes and goes, just sighs and makes a note to try to reassure Jack tomorrow, make sure he knows that he’s still safe and welcome here in the bunker.
But Dean has other ideas.
“Where’s Nougat?” he asks, a little grumpy because he’s become a creature of habit since they started staying at the bunker pretty much all the time. He’s already stripped down to his favorite t-shirt and his soft, worn sleep pants, the ones that cling to him like they love his ass and thighs as much as Sam does, and that make Sam think decidedly unbrother-like thoughts. “Isn’t he usually here by now?”
“He might need some space,” Sam says diplomatically, trying to focus on anything but how much he wants to push Dean back onto the bed and-- “Or think that we do.”
Dean’s brow furrows as he picks up on what Sam’s not saying. He gets up without another word, heading for the door despite Sam’s worried Dean?
He comes back a few minutes later with the kid in tow. Jack’s uncertain smile makes Sam’s heart ache but he doesn’t comment, just scoots over on the king-sized bed so that Jack can sit in his usual spot between the brothers, bumping shoulders and elbows along the way. It’s a tight fit for three grown men, and Sam supposes it would seem a little odd to anyone who didn’t know the backstory. But reading to Jack had helped him stay calm when he was younger, and helped him learn more about the world and how to make a place in it.
Now, of course, Dean is a creature of habit, and Sam can’t deny that he enjoys it as well. He picks up their book off the nightstand so that they can pick up where they left off, but Dean interrupts him.
“I picked out something different for tonight, Sammy,” he says. The book is clearly old, but not ancient--something that was modern when the bunker was still in regular use no doubt.
Sam opens the cover, not sure what to expect. Inside is a beautifully illustrated cover page listing a variety of fairy tales both familiar and new. “Beauty and the Beast,” Sam reads, and Dean nods, pleased that Sam knows where he’s going with this.
“I like this story,” Jack says, voice low. “Even the monster finds someone to love him.”
“You’re not a monster, Jack.” Dean’s voice is surprisingly firm, and laced with compassion. “Everyone in this room has done terrible things, things we’ll always regret. We all carry that weight and responsibility. It’s what you do afterwards that matters, Jack. And I know you'll do the right thing.” His voice breaks a little at the end, and Sam can’t possibly love him more than he does right now.
“Dean’s right, Jack,” Sam says quietly. “We still--” He looks over at Dean, who just smiles, fond and a little sad. “We still love you.”
Jack’s eyes glow a little--tears glinting in the soft light, a power in their own right. “I love you both too.”
Sam nods, throat tight. “Once upon a time, in a faraway land, there was a Prince,” he reads. “The Prince was cruel and capricious and cared little for anything but pleasure and merriment, though his heart could occasionally be moved to compassion. But alas, there was no kindness to be found on the cold winter night that the witch came to call…”
Sam continues reading the story, not surprised when Jack’s eyes begin to droop. He leans heavily into Dean, who puts an arm around his shoulders, and Sam’s not really surprised when Dean’s breathing starts to even out too. It’s been a long, hard day--really fucking hard, and it’s no wonder everyone is exhausted. Sam briefly considers just letting Jack stay where he is--it’s not exactly the most comfortable sleeping conditions, but far from the worst. But in the end, he can’t do it. He needs Dean, needs to curl up in his arms and feel safe. Needs to wake up knowing that Dean is safe.
Sam places the book gently on the nightstand and eases away from Jack, who’s curled up against Dean like the child he really is. Dean’s lashes flutter when Sam carefully slides his arms around Jack’s shoulders and under his knees and lifts, but Sam doesn’t think he wakes--and Jack barely even stirs. Jack doesn’t sleep often, but when he does he sleeps like an exhausted toddler, dead to the world until his energy is replenished.
Jack turns into Sam’s shoulder willingly, his fingers uncurling from Dean’s shirt to fall limply at his side. It’s not the easiest carry, but Jack’s room isn’t far and Sam...Sam has carried far heavier burdens. He eases through the doorway, humming softly under his breath as he crosses the few steps to Jack’s room and carefully lays him down on his narrow bed. It’s still a mess from the last time he slept, sheets and blankets kicked and bunched at the foot of the bed. Sam shakes them out and covers him gently, resisting the urge to kiss Jack’s forehead like he’s twelve.
Dean’s waiting for him when he slips out of Jack’s room and closes the door behind him, arms and ankles crossed as he leans against the wall. He’s on Sam the second he steps away from the door, pushing him against the far wall to lean up and whisper, “Do you have any idea--any idea at all--how fucking hot that is?”
Sam smiles, his hands finding Dean’s hips automatically, fingers spread wide over the firm give of Dean’s ass. “What?” he teases, pulling Dean even closer and kissing the groan right out of Dean’s mouth. “Tucking Jack into bed?”
“I--that too,” Dean says, briefly derailed. “I like all that domestic shit when you do it. But--”
“But you mean this.” Sam shifts slightly and lifts, pulling Dean up and settling his thighs around his waist. Dean makes a sound that Sam knows he will deny to his dying day and attacks Sam’s mouth, both hands in Sam’s hair as Sam carries him toward their bedroom. Dean’s already half hard, his dick pushing hotly against Sam’s stomach.
“Fuck yes,” Dean growls, kissing him again, and all Sam’s plans for sleep are just gone. He kicks the door shut behind them and tosses Dean onto the bed, only briefly distracted from stripping by the flutter of Dean’s lashes and his soft moan as he gets a hand on himself.
Dean pulls off his shirt as Sam crawls up the bed toward him, lets Sam hook his fingers in the waistband of his sleep pants and slowly pull them down and off. “Get ‘em wet,” Sam tells Dean breathlessly when he’s done and Dean obediently opens his mouth, lets Sam slide two long fingers between his lips. He sucks like he’s got Sam’s dick in his mouth, lips plumped obscenely around them as he licks and sucks them in til he’d be gagging if he had a gag reflex left. Sam pulls them free with a whispered groan and Dean smiles smugly, teeth sinking into his lip as Sam rubs over his opening and pushes in. Sam bows his head to take Dean into his mouth as he works him open, the taste of precome bursting bitter and salty across his tongue. It’s fast and dirty and probably not nearly enough, but Dean’s already whisper-shouting Sam’s name as his hips come off the bed. One hand tangles tight and harsh in Sam’s hair, holding him in place as Dean fucks his mouth with short, sharp thrusts and Sam lets him, swallows everything he can until Dean is spent and panting underneath him.
“Need you,” Sam whispers when he can, voice rough and hoarse. Dean shivers at the sound, tugs Sam up to kiss the taste of himself out of Sam’s mouth as Sam pushes in fast and hard, buried to the hilt in one long slide. Dean makes a low pained sound that Sam knows means don’t stop and he doesn’t, driving into Dean’s body over and over as Dean holds him close and pretends he doesn’t know the salt that lands on his skin is more than just sweat. It doesn’t take long, Sam as desperate as Dean to feel, to be reminded that they didn’t lose this time, that they’re both still alive and together. Sam buries his face in Dean’s throat as he comes, marking him inside and out, and Dean doesn't complain, just holds him.
“Shh. Sam. Sammy. It’s okay, I’m here.” Sam knows he’s crushing Dean, tries to pull out and away but Dean just pulls him closer, big brother instinct telling him that Sam still needs him.
“I can’t lose you.” Sam knows Dean understands what he means, what he can’t say. What if she takes me? What if she takes you? How will we find each other again if we're in the empty?
“You’re not gonna lose me,” Dean promises, and Sam can’t help believing him utterly. “I will always find you, Sammy. You have to trust me on that.” He kisses Sam, and Sam knows that’s not a promise either of them can keep. But his heart and his breathing slow anyway, reassurance flowing over him with every stroke of Dean’s hand in his hair and press of Dean’s lips to his.
They’ll find a way.
Rating: Explicit
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Summary:
Jack needs a little reassurance that Sam and Dean aren't angry about Mary.
Sam needs to be reminded that Dean will always come for him.
Dean needs to know that Sam believes him.
Warnings and enticements: Wincest, explicit m/m sex, angst, domestic Winchesters, possible spoilers for 14.17 and 14.18
Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Jack Winchester
Notes:
This story is a bit of a mash up based on Game Night and the preview that aired after it. Maybe I'll get Kripke'd, maybe I won't--but don't say you weren't warned.
Also, this is mostly @thorkiship18 and @asimplepiemaker's fault...blame them.
That night, Jack doesn’t show up for their nightly reading time the way he usually does. Sam’s not surprised, given what happened--Mary is still in the hospital, Castiel is gone, possibly forever. Dean’s pain and grief over Mary had been overwhelming, but Sam’s kept it together so far, refusing to give into his grief, or the terror of almost losing Dean again. He can hold on for now, for as long as Dean needs him to.
So Sam doesn’t say anything when the time they usually start comes and goes, just sighs and makes a note to try to reassure Jack tomorrow, make sure he knows that he’s still safe and welcome here in the bunker.
But Dean has other ideas.
“Where’s Nougat?” he asks, a little grumpy because he’s become a creature of habit since they started staying at the bunker pretty much all the time. He’s already stripped down to his favorite t-shirt and his soft, worn sleep pants, the ones that cling to him like they love his ass and thighs as much as Sam does, and that make Sam think decidedly unbrother-like thoughts. “Isn’t he usually here by now?”
“He might need some space,” Sam says diplomatically, trying to focus on anything but how much he wants to push Dean back onto the bed and-- “Or think that we do.”
Dean’s brow furrows as he picks up on what Sam’s not saying. He gets up without another word, heading for the door despite Sam’s worried Dean?
He comes back a few minutes later with the kid in tow. Jack’s uncertain smile makes Sam’s heart ache but he doesn’t comment, just scoots over on the king-sized bed so that Jack can sit in his usual spot between the brothers, bumping shoulders and elbows along the way. It’s a tight fit for three grown men, and Sam supposes it would seem a little odd to anyone who didn’t know the backstory. But reading to Jack had helped him stay calm when he was younger, and helped him learn more about the world and how to make a place in it.
Now, of course, Dean is a creature of habit, and Sam can’t deny that he enjoys it as well. He picks up their book off the nightstand so that they can pick up where they left off, but Dean interrupts him.
“I picked out something different for tonight, Sammy,” he says. The book is clearly old, but not ancient--something that was modern when the bunker was still in regular use no doubt.
Sam opens the cover, not sure what to expect. Inside is a beautifully illustrated cover page listing a variety of fairy tales both familiar and new. “Beauty and the Beast,” Sam reads, and Dean nods, pleased that Sam knows where he’s going with this.
“I like this story,” Jack says, voice low. “Even the monster finds someone to love him.”
“You’re not a monster, Jack.” Dean’s voice is surprisingly firm, and laced with compassion. “Everyone in this room has done terrible things, things we’ll always regret. We all carry that weight and responsibility. It’s what you do afterwards that matters, Jack. And I know you'll do the right thing.” His voice breaks a little at the end, and Sam can’t possibly love him more than he does right now.
“Dean’s right, Jack,” Sam says quietly. “We still--” He looks over at Dean, who just smiles, fond and a little sad. “We still love you.”
Jack’s eyes glow a little--tears glinting in the soft light, a power in their own right. “I love you both too.”
Sam nods, throat tight. “Once upon a time, in a faraway land, there was a Prince,” he reads. “The Prince was cruel and capricious and cared little for anything but pleasure and merriment, though his heart could occasionally be moved to compassion. But alas, there was no kindness to be found on the cold winter night that the witch came to call…”
Sam continues reading the story, not surprised when Jack’s eyes begin to droop. He leans heavily into Dean, who puts an arm around his shoulders, and Sam’s not really surprised when Dean’s breathing starts to even out too. It’s been a long, hard day--really fucking hard, and it’s no wonder everyone is exhausted. Sam briefly considers just letting Jack stay where he is--it’s not exactly the most comfortable sleeping conditions, but far from the worst. But in the end, he can’t do it. He needs Dean, needs to curl up in his arms and feel safe. Needs to wake up knowing that Dean is safe.
Sam places the book gently on the nightstand and eases away from Jack, who’s curled up against Dean like the child he really is. Dean’s lashes flutter when Sam carefully slides his arms around Jack’s shoulders and under his knees and lifts, but Sam doesn’t think he wakes--and Jack barely even stirs. Jack doesn’t sleep often, but when he does he sleeps like an exhausted toddler, dead to the world until his energy is replenished.
Jack turns into Sam’s shoulder willingly, his fingers uncurling from Dean’s shirt to fall limply at his side. It’s not the easiest carry, but Jack’s room isn’t far and Sam...Sam has carried far heavier burdens. He eases through the doorway, humming softly under his breath as he crosses the few steps to Jack’s room and carefully lays him down on his narrow bed. It’s still a mess from the last time he slept, sheets and blankets kicked and bunched at the foot of the bed. Sam shakes them out and covers him gently, resisting the urge to kiss Jack’s forehead like he’s twelve.
Dean’s waiting for him when he slips out of Jack’s room and closes the door behind him, arms and ankles crossed as he leans against the wall. He’s on Sam the second he steps away from the door, pushing him against the far wall to lean up and whisper, “Do you have any idea--any idea at all--how fucking hot that is?”
Sam smiles, his hands finding Dean’s hips automatically, fingers spread wide over the firm give of Dean’s ass. “What?” he teases, pulling Dean even closer and kissing the groan right out of Dean’s mouth. “Tucking Jack into bed?”
“I--that too,” Dean says, briefly derailed. “I like all that domestic shit when you do it. But--”
“But you mean this.” Sam shifts slightly and lifts, pulling Dean up and settling his thighs around his waist. Dean makes a sound that Sam knows he will deny to his dying day and attacks Sam’s mouth, both hands in Sam’s hair as Sam carries him toward their bedroom. Dean’s already half hard, his dick pushing hotly against Sam’s stomach.
“Fuck yes,” Dean growls, kissing him again, and all Sam’s plans for sleep are just gone. He kicks the door shut behind them and tosses Dean onto the bed, only briefly distracted from stripping by the flutter of Dean’s lashes and his soft moan as he gets a hand on himself.
Dean pulls off his shirt as Sam crawls up the bed toward him, lets Sam hook his fingers in the waistband of his sleep pants and slowly pull them down and off. “Get ‘em wet,” Sam tells Dean breathlessly when he’s done and Dean obediently opens his mouth, lets Sam slide two long fingers between his lips. He sucks like he’s got Sam’s dick in his mouth, lips plumped obscenely around them as he licks and sucks them in til he’d be gagging if he had a gag reflex left. Sam pulls them free with a whispered groan and Dean smiles smugly, teeth sinking into his lip as Sam rubs over his opening and pushes in. Sam bows his head to take Dean into his mouth as he works him open, the taste of precome bursting bitter and salty across his tongue. It’s fast and dirty and probably not nearly enough, but Dean’s already whisper-shouting Sam’s name as his hips come off the bed. One hand tangles tight and harsh in Sam’s hair, holding him in place as Dean fucks his mouth with short, sharp thrusts and Sam lets him, swallows everything he can until Dean is spent and panting underneath him.
“Need you,” Sam whispers when he can, voice rough and hoarse. Dean shivers at the sound, tugs Sam up to kiss the taste of himself out of Sam’s mouth as Sam pushes in fast and hard, buried to the hilt in one long slide. Dean makes a low pained sound that Sam knows means don’t stop and he doesn’t, driving into Dean’s body over and over as Dean holds him close and pretends he doesn’t know the salt that lands on his skin is more than just sweat. It doesn’t take long, Sam as desperate as Dean to feel, to be reminded that they didn’t lose this time, that they’re both still alive and together. Sam buries his face in Dean’s throat as he comes, marking him inside and out, and Dean doesn't complain, just holds him.
“Shh. Sam. Sammy. It’s okay, I’m here.” Sam knows he’s crushing Dean, tries to pull out and away but Dean just pulls him closer, big brother instinct telling him that Sam still needs him.
“I can’t lose you.” Sam knows Dean understands what he means, what he can’t say. What if she takes me? What if she takes you? How will we find each other again if we're in the empty?
“You’re not gonna lose me,” Dean promises, and Sam can’t help believing him utterly. “I will always find you, Sammy. You have to trust me on that.” He kisses Sam, and Sam knows that’s not a promise either of them can keep. But his heart and his breathing slow anyway, reassurance flowing over him with every stroke of Dean’s hand in his hair and press of Dean’s lips to his.
They’ll find a way.