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Thanks for the awesome response to last post, guys! I am definitely doing stuff with that and excited for it. But this little ficlet has been bugging me since 421, so. HAVE SOME WINCEST MAKEOUTS.
What An Amazing Future There Will Be
Sam/Dean, 539 words
spoilers to 421
Ordinarily, when something really epically bad happens, they hug.
It had been getting more desperate as things got worse, as they got further apart, as Sam started to think that maybe he couldn't really hold on to Dean at all. It was scary in a way most of the rest of Sam's life hadn't been, because Sam had always had his big brother looking out for him.
After the apocalypse is done, the dust settled and Sam and Dean somehow, miraculously, alive, it doesn't seem like enough, for Sam to hug Dean. The things that have happened, they're too big, and Sam wants to fix them wordlessly, because he's talked out. He's tired and all he really wants is his brother back.
They just stare at each other for a long time, the feeling of being on the same side again, even though they've never been on different sides.
It's always, stupidly, been fucking Team Winchester. Heaven and hell just came in and screwed them up a little, is all.
"Dean," he starts.
Dean can't even manage a smile. He says, "I know. I look fantastic," like he's so tired he might fall over any minute.
Sam laughs, throat dry, and suddenly, he thinks he has to do this.
He crosses the room, puts his hands on Dean's face, and kisses him.
There are angels right there, and the prophet, and Sam absolutely doesn't care, because it's not enough to hug it out right now. It maybe never has been. Sam's always thought kisses are the most efficient form of communication, more nuanced than hugs, more honest than speech.
They're how you talk about love.
He and Dean have always been awful at that.
Dean kisses his back without hesitation, rough lips against his, days of stubble turning into a beard against his face. It was the apocalypse--they didn't really have time to shave. Their lips just move against each other, a whole world of pain and apology melting between them. Sam moves his hand down to Dean's neck, angles his head, can't let go.
He doesn't notice they're kissing, really kissing, mouths open and tongues brushing, until Chuck says, "Oh man, those girls on the internet are never going to shut up."
He tenses slightly, because he and Dean are making out in front of the host of heaven, and that's kind of--weird.
Dean pulls back instantly, looking torn open, and Sam suddenly, fiercely, absolutely doesn't care who's there.
Dean manages a nervous laugh. "You do know we're brothers, right?"
Sam rests his forehead against Dean's. "Doesn't seem to matter."
"Sammy--" Dean starts, and Sam pulls him back in, kisses him hard, with a real intent, because he knows exactly why Dean stopped, and exactly how much he wants to keep going.
He doesn't say, "I'm sorry," he doesn't say, "I missed you," he doesn't say, "I love you more than anything," because he's been saying that this whole year, his whole life, and it's never gotten through before, and he's sick of it.
Dean's hands tangle in his hair, and there are prophets and angels and corpses around them, but it doesn't matter.
Sam thinks, yeah, they're finally on the same page.
What An Amazing Future There Will Be
Sam/Dean, 539 words
spoilers to 421
Ordinarily, when something really epically bad happens, they hug.
It had been getting more desperate as things got worse, as they got further apart, as Sam started to think that maybe he couldn't really hold on to Dean at all. It was scary in a way most of the rest of Sam's life hadn't been, because Sam had always had his big brother looking out for him.
After the apocalypse is done, the dust settled and Sam and Dean somehow, miraculously, alive, it doesn't seem like enough, for Sam to hug Dean. The things that have happened, they're too big, and Sam wants to fix them wordlessly, because he's talked out. He's tired and all he really wants is his brother back.
They just stare at each other for a long time, the feeling of being on the same side again, even though they've never been on different sides.
It's always, stupidly, been fucking Team Winchester. Heaven and hell just came in and screwed them up a little, is all.
"Dean," he starts.
Dean can't even manage a smile. He says, "I know. I look fantastic," like he's so tired he might fall over any minute.
Sam laughs, throat dry, and suddenly, he thinks he has to do this.
He crosses the room, puts his hands on Dean's face, and kisses him.
There are angels right there, and the prophet, and Sam absolutely doesn't care, because it's not enough to hug it out right now. It maybe never has been. Sam's always thought kisses are the most efficient form of communication, more nuanced than hugs, more honest than speech.
They're how you talk about love.
He and Dean have always been awful at that.
Dean kisses his back without hesitation, rough lips against his, days of stubble turning into a beard against his face. It was the apocalypse--they didn't really have time to shave. Their lips just move against each other, a whole world of pain and apology melting between them. Sam moves his hand down to Dean's neck, angles his head, can't let go.
He doesn't notice they're kissing, really kissing, mouths open and tongues brushing, until Chuck says, "Oh man, those girls on the internet are never going to shut up."
He tenses slightly, because he and Dean are making out in front of the host of heaven, and that's kind of--weird.
Dean pulls back instantly, looking torn open, and Sam suddenly, fiercely, absolutely doesn't care who's there.
Dean manages a nervous laugh. "You do know we're brothers, right?"
Sam rests his forehead against Dean's. "Doesn't seem to matter."
"Sammy--" Dean starts, and Sam pulls him back in, kisses him hard, with a real intent, because he knows exactly why Dean stopped, and exactly how much he wants to keep going.
He doesn't say, "I'm sorry," he doesn't say, "I missed you," he doesn't say, "I love you more than anything," because he's been saying that this whole year, his whole life, and it's never gotten through before, and he's sick of it.
Dean's hands tangle in his hair, and there are prophets and angels and corpses around them, but it doesn't matter.
Sam thinks, yeah, they're finally on the same page.