Drabbles, Gen & D/S
Agony
Sam thought he knew what agony was. He had grown up withhout a mother, with no friends, and a gun beneath his pillow when his father refused to hold his hand.
But real agony was being unable to save someone as special as Jessica from dying.
True agony was wondering night after night if he could have saved her.
Comprehension
Understanding Sam was like trying to see the real image behind a magic eye. The longer Dean stared, the more cross-eyed he'd become, and still there wouldn't be anything to see.
Dean never gave up. There were times where it seemed the real Sam was within reach - that if he just concentrated a little harder, the puzzle would be solved. But it never did. A piece would slip out of place, and once again Dean would find himself staring at a canvas of unrecognisable colours.
One day Dean would understand Sam. Until then, he'd just have to keep trying.
First
Fifteen years old, Sam watched Dean exit the bathroom with nothing but a towel around his waist and necklace bouncing against his bare chest.
Dean worked fast, and diligently, making his brother come so hard that he shook to his very core. It left Sam gasping for breath, his throat raw from shouting.
They didn't touch afterwards, nor acknowledge that it ever happened. Their father never knew what had gone on beneath the fluorescent lights of room 23. But Sam remembered every moment. He remembered every detail of his brother's body, and how it felt to be pressed against him.
His Odd Way
Dean smacks Sam upside the head. His brother recoils and glares, "What the hell was that for?"
"What? Nothing."
"Nothing?" Sam huffs, "You just hit me."
Dean pauses for a moment to consider it, then shrugs, "I just felt like it."
"Brotherly love?" Sam asks sarcasticly.
"Yea, something like that."