#pre series sam/dean

[loversofthegrave]

pre-series wincestcore 🖤🩸

#wincest #making out in truck stop bathrooms #always sharing a bed when johns gone on a hunt #<3 #teenchesters #sam/dean #🖤🩸 #pre series sam/dean #spn #supernatural

[completelymindfucked]

#samdean #dean winchester #sam winchester #wincest moodboard #wincest #wincest edit #deansam #Pre-Stanford Sam Winchester #Pre-Series wincest

[tsukiyo-7]

Yes, I will stay here for awhile For I need a break A break from the pressures of life And everything that lays in the palms of life's hands

He may have hit his grow spurt but he's still Dean's baby.

#I'm practicing drawing their yourger selves #my first weecesters drawing was hideous let's face it #kids and teens are hard to draw :c #wincest #gencest #weecest #samdean #pre series #dean winchester #sam winchester #sketch #spn #supernatural #spn fanart #🐭 #the song is Gently by Slipknot btw

[samdeancrimespree]

there’s something about wincest in the pre-slash era (whenever that is) where i think the dynamic is: one of them does not have sex with men. doesn’t think of them that way, because it feels too dangerous, too easy to slip into those fantasies he keeps locked away. and the other one fucks guys, but only ones who are eerily similar, carbon copies to his brother. the type of resemblance that would turn most siblings off. and the roles could go either way, for either of them. just… the dynamics of the different types of desperate “unrequited” feelings and the way they try to get away from them.

like. dean getting drunk and making out with some tall, long haired guy at a bar. nasty desperate hands down the back of the guys jeans, stifling a sigh that his ass isn’t quite round enough to be sam’s. he has blue eyes, not brown, but dean isn’t looking at his face anyway. fucking not-sam rough in the back of the impala, moaning baby and cutting off before brother, saying sam’s name when he cums, trying not to stare at the army figure in the ashtray. hating himself for it, swearing off it, but always crawling back, chasing the high like an addict. feeling deep in his soul that sam was right to leave, that he’s better off without his sick freak of a brother.

sam being into girls with short hair, accidentally hitting on lesbians because he struggles to be attracted to anything not wearing a crew cut, flannel and work boots. he’s sick, he knows, that’s part of why he had to leave. frosh week drunk, he lets a guy flirt with him, because he’s just tall enough, just different enough, that sam can give himself plausible deniability. his lips are too thin, he’s too gentle, he smells like axe and fake leather, but sam needs something, and this is all he can get. it’s going fine, until the guy— too late now to ask his name— goes for sam’s belt and sam feels like he’s going to puke. the wrongness of it comes over him all at once, like a fever or a hex. clarity pierces his drunken state: not dean’s hands, not dean’s voice, not dean, wrong. at least it gives him an excuse to back out, a good reason to lock himself in the bathroom and sit on the floor, trying to determine if the dry heaving is cheap beer or grief.

girls are— safe. long hair, soft hands, sweet and gentle and nowhere close to 6’1. this way, there’s nothing reminding sam of the absence, nothing pushing against the barrier he’s made around what he really wants. he can be normal.

he knows it’s dean after the first strike, knows his footsteps and his breath and the outline of his shoulders, even now, even in the dark. but sam doesn’t stop fighting, because he’ll have to stop touching dean, and sam can allow himself this one thing, after so long. dean’s leather jacket on sam’s bare arms is making him dizzy, and sam lets dean take him down, the beginning and end of sam’s understanding of desire. a reminder, familiar like dean’s rough palms on his wrists, his weight pinning sam, his shit-eating grin and drawled easy, tiger; sam has never been normal.

#ok my last rb just reminded me of this #ive been thinking about it a lot #in my stanford pining era #it could go the other way too…. Sam searching for replacements #and dean being like ahaha i don’t like Guys wtf 🧍‍♀️ #also. if the one doin the fucking won’t kiss the guys #hhghhhh #wincest #hc #pre series #mars.txt #my writing

[pentacentric]

the deadly heatwave in the summer of '99 wasn't entirely bad, if you asked dean

...

#feral winchesters who smoke and have scars and bruises and leave beds utterly filthy #yeah teen sam wore briefs dean liked them #sam winchester #dean winchester (arm) #spn fanart #teen sam #pre-series spn #wincest #myspnfanart

[hisbrotherskeeper]

John doesn’t know what size clothes Sam wears. Stopped buying them years ago.

Dean is the one taking Sam to thrift stores and shoplifting sweatshirts from Walmart when Sam is in school. Dean buys them big—room to grow.

He’s the one feeding his little brother anyhow, and can sense it in his bones that Sam will keep on growing like a weed, bigger than him, bigger than John. Better than them, too, he thinks. Sam’s different and good and full of potential and that scares Dean as much as it makes him proud.

#supernatural meta #dean winchester #sam winchester #sam and dean #big bro loves his baby sammy #pre series wincest thoughts #wincest

[talltalesandbedtimestories]

Branded Heart - PodFic Version

@ashtraythief came on to @idlingintheimpalapodcast to discuss fanfic and the writing process. I was lucky enough to narrate one of her works - a short pre-series pre-slash story titled Branded Heart. Click the link to listen.

#podfic #spn fanfic #pre slash #sam x dean #podcast #pre series

[highfunctioningflailgirl]

In Good Hands

Dean is eighteen and bleeding out on the carpet of a seedy motel room when it happens. He’s going to blame it on his malfunctioning brain later on, on the concussion that accompanies the through-and-through in his thigh. On the drugs that will be coursing through his system when he comes to, many hours later, in a hospital bed, miraculously alive. But right here, right now, left for dead, with unconsciousness licking at his vision, it’s a remarkable moment, even with everything weird he’s already seen in his life.

Dean has no illusions about the severity of his injuries. If his father or even Sam were here, he’d stand a chance. But they’re on a food run and oblivious to the attack on Dean or the fact that his femoral artery has been severed and is pumping his life juice onto the smelly brown carpet.

He’s tried to use his belt as a tourniquet, and in spite of the blow to his head and the room spinning around him like crazy, he’s managed to get the belt around his thigh, but he’s too weak to pull it tight enough and keep it that way. Hell, he can barely see what he’s doing, and his fingers are slick with his own blood.

Dean’s phone is on the floor, screen smashed and as dead as he will be soon.

His heartbeat spikes in a brief burst of panic.

No chick flick moments.

The fear in his chest begins to flicker. It fades in and out, along with the room. He’s tired. So, so tired. The pain in his leg lessens. His hands are tingling. His eyes are slipping closed.

I’m sorry, Sammy. I’m sorry, Dad.

Dean hears his heart thrum in his ears. Hears it flutter. No– there’s an actual flutter. He feels a gust of air. What…?

Dean forces his eyes back open. The room is bright. Too bright for Dean or his oxygen-starved brain to understand what he’s seeing: a shape, a being, haloed by light. Curved black shadows spread out behind it. Are those…?

Dean cannot finish the thought. It unravels, dissolves. Dean’s eyes close.

Something touches him on the shoulder. He senses heat. Brightness penetrates his eyelids. Warmth floods him. A feeling of safety. Of being caught and held.

The pain goes away.

Blackness comes.

XXX

“We found you just in time,” John Winchester tells his son the day after, sternly, as if the attack had somehow been Dean’s fault. “The doctor says it’s a miracle that you’re not dead. If you hadn’t tied that tourniquet…”

His father breaks off, and Dean, drowsy from the meds, doesn’t realize that his dad is fighting tears. Or that Sammy is standing by the side of his bed, lanky, timid and big-eyed.

Floating on morphine, Dean tries to hold on to the memory from last night, to the light, the presence, the touch, but it gets lost, erases itself to a flutter, a whisper…

“Some angel must’ve been watching over you,” he hears his father say as he slips back into sleep.

A/N: I am obsessed with the idea that Castiel had been assigned to watch over Dean long before he rescued him from hell.

#suptober23 #no.4 #nimbus #fanfiction #pre-series #supernatural #dean winchester #castiel #john winchester #sam winchester #spn #blood cw #hurt/comfort #hurt dean

[supernaturalkickparty]

I wrote a teenchesters one shot!

Read here

90s teenchesters through John's POV. Video rentals, John being home for a change, weirdchesters/teenchesters.

A thought past through my head last week when talking to the bestie about Sam and Dean renting movies and it remained a thought until the muses bitch slapped me and I made this one shot.

It's just cute domestic pre series fluff.

Written for the bestie @fandom-hoarder because she's amazing and listens to all my ramblings and ideas and I love her.

#ash writes #sometimes #teenchesters #gencest #gen fic #pre series #teen sam winchester #teen dean winchester #john winchester #john tries #90s vibes #weirdchesters #spn fic #john winchester pov

[mothgardens]

i need angsty sam winchester fic recs PLEASE

i want to write them but alas i have writers block so i must do indulgent reading

#pre series angst is so real and heavy it hurts #i need so much #like i need analysis on john and sam as characters BADLY #and dean and sam being brothers and all cute #but also fighting and shit bc close quarters all day #and long car rides with the three #and UGH #i need to write :( #supernatural #sam winchester #spn #dean winchester #please talk to me about supernatural #sastiel #castiel #sabriel #destiel #chuck shurley #john winchester

[majordemonblockparty]

pre-series mutual oral fixations sam & dean though. pen cap chewing, gum snapping, room-key/credit card in his teeth dean; nail biting, cuticle ripping, hoodie cuff gnawing sam. dean who spends most of his teenaged/young adult years cockwarming his baby brother to sleep; sam who falls asleep fastest with his own fingers or the collar of his t-shirt tucked between his teeth 'cause it's just habit at this point. if dean's not halfway down the bed, one arm draped across sam's belly, bared by the shirt rucked up under his armpits, that prefect-size sweet baby brother dick tucked in tight between his cheek and tongue, sleepy-gentle and languorous with his touches, then sam's sprawled over him, the cord of the samulet twined through his fingers and the pendant held golden-retriever-with-an-egg careful in his mouth.

#dean winchester #sam winchester #wincest #pre series #she speaks #this will not leave me be

[loversofthegrave]

teenage sammy grappling with his intolerable attachment to his big brother one shot<3

1998, South Carolina

Summer hits full on like a hammer, shrivelling the last spring grass into whiskers of pale straw. John has them situated this time in South Carolina in the middle of a buttfuck nowhere trailer park. Sam huffs out a whoosh wafting a strand of his shaggy, greasy hair and scuffs his knock-off beat up converse into the dry dirt, the path leading up into their new home for the next week or two.

John recites his customary speech, Dean nods, ‘Yes sir’ as Dean always does. He’s John more often than dad these days. John gave Sam a name when he was born then left, like a background actor in a movie, cut from the film roll. The rumble of the impala and he’s gone.

Spider plants hang from pots on the wide trailer porch. Chipped ceramic ornaments of butterflies and lizards were placed outside. Inside, the shabby floral wallpaper and checkered armchair. The tattered cotton curtains blowing gently, and the cross hung on the wall, wonky. It was like a polaroid from the 70s, all orange hues and clashing patterns.

“What a dump,” he said gritting his teeth.

“It’s not so bad,” Dean shrugs “Kinda cozy,”

Dean’s eyes like hawks observing their new home, finding quick exits, salting the windows and doors. Safety first, look out for Sammy, like the good toy solider that he is.

Sam knows Dean can’t help it, the urgency, the attentiveness, to keep safe, guard his little brother. Sam would be lying if he said he wouldn’t want it any other way, he hopes it’s a two-way street.

Truth is, being in each other's pocket is all they’ve ever known. Dean is Sam’s brother as much as he is his only friend, his father, his mother, all rolled into one. Dean's hands being a caress and a fumbling worry of a mother’s. Dean who changed Sam’s diapers, who soothed teething pains with nimble fingers, tender rocking's and forgiving scoldings. It was all him, not a woman with satin blonde hair and porcelain skin nor the man with the grief-stricken furrowed brows and whiskey sighs. No, it was the kid with the goofy grin and the shoulders weighed down heavy with more liability than a kid should ever know, now turned leather jackets and calloused hands, felon fingers, summers caress dotted upon the bridge of a nose. Summer has always been extra generous to him, he thought, kind of face that weighs heavy on a teenage boys heart.

Looking at Dean is like hallucinating like looking through the lenses of kaleidoscope, soft orange and pink hues from the sun dipping into the horizon of the late summer dusk framing his head like an angel but an angel in the flames. An angel that could be Gabriel but an angel that could be Lucifer too, like he would readily delve into the deep, dark hell as he would fly up to the lofty, illuminated places. And Dean would for Sam.

Dean was Sam’s first everything, and it’s no surprise Sam would want that forevermore.

Sam can’t help it, this craving, it’s insatiable, like an itch irritating him under new stretched teenage skin. If he itches and itches, scratches with blunt anxious bitten nails until he draws blood. But the blood he revels in, the curving, cutting and slaughtering himself to fit into the groove of Dean’s heart, he would do anything, and he knows Dean would do the same but not in the ways Sam yearns for. Sam knows, he knows it’s twisted, he knew as soon as he was enrolled in school and how not everyone else feels that way about brothers. But he doesn’t care, not when Dean is the only grace he was given in his world of destruction and ruin, his pure drop in an ocean of chaos. Damn it if the lord doesn’t forgive him, heaven and hell are just words to a hopeless boy like Sam. When his brother looks at him, he decides to wage holy war.

But Dean doesn’t know, not really, he knows Sam loves him but no more, no less, too frightful Sam would scare him fiercely, that he would leave Sam here, loose his grace, and what is Sam without his grace? Just an empty vessel, an angel damned from heaven, forever. Think he’s sick, corrupt, disgusting. Only Sam can be the one to know this about himself, swallow the key if he must. He tries his best to shelter away these parts from Dean, distancing ever so slightly, it just makes the craving worst, he thinks, withdrawal.

So, he lives with Dean, in his shadow. Watches him, envies him, wants to be him, wants to be with him, under him. Watches him waltzing around the kitchen with sultry hips after this week's easy fuck. Probably some white trash bimbo Sam thinks harshly, doesn’t know what it truly means to have him, a boy, a man, like Dean. He goes for anything with legs and a mouth in a 1-mile radius, puts it out to anything, anyone but Sam.

“You stink Dean,” Sam mumbles under his breath

“That’s the smell of champions Sammy” Dean grins, easy and careless, throwing a wink over his shoulder. Sam shoots daggers into his back.

This is their dance, Dad goes on a hunt for a couple of weeks, Dean and Sam are holed up in a shack and they pretend that this is their normal, habit, but it’s not, they we’re and forever born in motion. Dean enrols Sam into the local (another) high school, Dean gets a short-term job working with his hands to hold them over until Dad gets back, this time at the garage. They make small talk with strangers when necessarily and act according to their roles, relocates the suspicious eyes on Sam’s stitched up hand me down t-shirts and Deans violet blooming bruises from training and hunts, keeps social services off their back. But they fit in OK around this truckers town so Sam holds it rigid, this vexation, lewdness, this jealousy brimming. Puberty is fucked, Sam likes to blame it on that.

~

It’s Friday, the shutters of the trailer are open and wide. Sam’s in makeshift shorts that were once jeans that he cut at the knees one town ago. The radio is static, and The Mama’s & The Papa’s is being carried through the thick-cut air, ‘you've got everything I need, and nobody can please like you, you baby and who believes that my wildest dreams and my craziest schemes will come true?’

Sam’s growth spurt mixed with food stamp fed spindly legs are propped up on the coffee table barefoot, toes wiggling, as he shovels spoonfuls of store brand cornflake knock offs in his mouth. Dean comes in wafting of oil and summer sweat after being outside tinkering with the ford pick-up truck Dad sorted out with a local hunter before he briskly left. He slaps the bottom of Sam’s foot with his greasy rag. Sam grunts.

"Up and at 'em or you're gonna be late" Dean lectures, parenting.

Sam rucks on an old 1975 Black Sabbath tour shirt that used to be Dean's that used to be Dads, now faded grey and bobbling. Pokes his feet into socks with his right toe sticking out of the hole, laces up his shoes and climbs into the passenger seat of the pick-up. Dean drops Sam off at the Pine Springs High and told him he'd pick him up, told him to ‘give ‘em hell’.

Pine Springs High was full of scraggy kids, Beavis and Butt-head boys, girls busty and leggy. Sam befriends one friend, a skinny freckled boy with thick rimmed glasses. His name is Davey. They were sat next to each other in science, dissecting a frog. Sam figures cutting open this frog is harder than the ghouls they slaughter. What did this frog ever do to anyone? Davey was informing Sam on the anatomy, pointed out the chambers of the heart, the ventricle. He seemed interested in trying to impress Sam with how smart he was. "You know a lot," stated Sam.

He smiled. He was a boy who wanted to be seen. Sam suspects with certainty he’s not in these careless halls of teenagers reeking of hormones and wariness of social status.

High school is not as gentle with kids like Sam and Davey. But Sam can tackle it, give as good as he gets. That’s what he’s been trained to do, what their dad trained him to do, those sparring sessions with Dean every other day doesn’t go to waste, as much as Sam likes to grumble and whine. The decomposition ghost of a girl in a tatty white dress with fine needlepoint lace trimmings from the 1820’s has more oomph in her thump than any of these teenagers.

Even in a Gas-mart town like this one full of greasy kids with dirty fingernails Sam still is stared at by clusters of kids. Maybe it’s the adequate collection of bruising on his body from said sparring and Victorian decomposition, or maybe it’s the fact he’s an outsider (he’s always the outsider) but Sam doesn’t mind. Cleanliness and godliness are deceptive, he’d rather wear his wounds, his ugliness. No fooling, he was torn and stitched.

~

Dean picks Sam up, sees the mop of brown hair and downcast face amongst the sea of chattering high-spirited kids. It reminds Dean of when he encouraged him to go to a classmate's birthday party in kindergarten, timid little Sammy protested but Dean encouraged his little brother to go, nervy on all he was missing out growing up. When Dean went to pick him up at McDonald's he spotted him, dejected, eyes glazed over. Other children around him screaming and sliding into pits filled with coloured balls. It splintered Dean to his core.

When Sam is in arm reach Dean tousles Sam's hair, and he gets a whack of the hand and a gruff in response.

“How’d it go Sammy?” Dean asks, hefting himself up into the driver's seat.

“Fine.” Sam replies, quick, sharp. “And it’s Sam,” he stresses.

Dean doesn’t know what it is these days but there’s a slight ache, a gnawing. Sam used to look at Dean like he hung the stars just for him. That Dean was God’s own reflection but now there’s a distance, an interspace and he doesn’t quite know what to do with it. At first, he thought maybe it’s teenage hormones or pheromones or whatever the fuck, but Dean never remembers being that sulky as a teenager. Maybe he never got the chance. When he tries to touch Sam, he flinches, scurries away like he just spooked a rodent. Used to revel in it, they practically grew up in each other's arms. Was still sharing a bed in the motels until two years ago.

Dean would never admit it out loud to him, but he misses Sam. Misses that constant comfort of touch and affection.

They stop off at a local diner on their way back to the trailer park, Sam questions if they have enough money for the month to eat out, Dean tells him not to worry. All wooden panels, red and white checkered table clothes, a sign that reads, ‘lumber jack pancake special for $5.95!’ Dean eyes it up, breakfast at dinnertime, their lives never have rhythm or reason anyways. They slide into a booth of worn leather, Sam on one side, Dean on the other.

Sam orders a panini with ham and cheese and fries, Dean the lumber jack pancakes. When they arrive by a shy petite waitress with inky dark eyes and blushing blotted cheeks, Dean swipes a fry off Sam’s plate just to receive another swat. Any touch is better than no touch, bad attention better than none.

Sam doesn’t miss the way the waitresses' eyes linger on Dean’s profile. If he shoots a frosty glare her way Dean doesn’t have to know.

~

The sun with no forgiveness, a parched sky, the hillsides with purple wilting drifts of milkweed, dotting the cracks of the gas-station and garage. It was Saturday, Sam was at the garage while Dean worked. Tucked in a corner sheltered from the suns ruthless beat with his library copy of Catcher In The Rye he couldn’t return when John dragged them out of the motel inn at dawn a town back. Sam said he felt guilty, Dean told him to stop being such a law-abiding citizen.

He gazed at Dean, could smell his sweat, sharp and strong, a man, Sam’s brain applied helpfully. He was wearing overalls, wiping workman sweat from his forehead. Sam wanted to lick him, taste the salt and summer kissed skin. He knows he’s disgusting. At this rate Sam thinks he should stab his eyes out, so he can’t look. Burn his skin off, so he can’t touch.

~

The next Sunday, Sam sleeps in late. He finds Dean slouched on the floral couch, stretched out like a housecat watching TV. It’s always a rarity to see him in a relaxed stance, undisturbed, a recess to the constant chaos of their lives. It settles something steady and peaceful within Sam with just a hint of sadness. He mumbles a drowsy good morning and trudges to the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

He pisses in the toilet, sluggish, holds himself up steady with a hand against the tiles. The splash of his piss hitting the water too loud in the quiet murmur of their trailer.

Washing his hands, he moseys around in the medicine cabinet above the sink. Inside, aimless trinkets left behind by previous owners. Tweezers with a single gemstone on them, antibiotic ointment, outdated eyedrops.

Sam finds a small capsule behind an empty bottle of aspirin. He reaches for it, revealing a lipstick, the cheap kind you pick-up at Walmart for $5.

He holds it in his hand, stares. Turns it in his palm, opens the lid with a subtle click and rotates the base.

The lipstick itself is a cherry red, obscene kind of red. The type he sees on hookers lingering around the corners at motels when he slips out at dusk to buy Dr Peppers from the vending machine with the quarters Dean made him pocket.

The garish fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, whirring like insects as he watches them showcasing their chests and unveiled legs. They always look cold, Sam thinks.

Sam looks up and scans his face in the mirror, holds the lipstick close to his nose, sniffs it. It smells like wax and chemicals, half suspected it to smell like strawberries and an angel's kiss or something, screws his nose up.

Without much reflection he smears the cherry red lipstick onto his lips, it's messy and askew not as neat as he sees on the girls in Dean's skin mags. He sets down the lipstick onto the sink and looks at himself, really looks.

The glaring red on such a boyish face like Sam's feels lewd and indecent. He feels slightly silly, embarrassed, his cheeks stain a weak scarlet. He wonders what others would think of him like this, Dean, his dad.

God, dad would probably be appalled, call him a sissy, punish him by making him do triple the training. Make him run for miles under the blazing sun.

But Dean, what would Dean think of his little brother like this? If Sam just waltzed right out of the bathroom now and stood dead in the line of Dean's vision. Would he stammer? Get all flustered and struck-dumb? Would he look at Sam and think of him as those girls he promenades to the impala, the motel room when he thinks Sam's asleep and not hanging onto every grunt and sigh coming from Dean's throat. Stores them in the hollow of his heart, imprinted on it just as sacred as the Holy Bible is to a priest.

Would he want to tenderly caress the shape of his mouth, smear the lipstick, make Sam looked wrecked? He inspects the long plains of his body, like scorched landscape, bronzed from June’s boldness.

Sam’s been trying to get used to it, his recasting body. Finally losing his baby fat, almost catching up to Dean in height much to Dean’s dismay. Just he doesn’t carry the newly stretched limbs well, feels like a puppet and someone else is yanking the strings. He hasn’t thought about it much, how others perceive him, how Dean perceives him.

Sure, Sam’s had his first kiss and fumbled under a girl's shirt in Indiana last year, let him touch her boobs. She wore lots of eyeliner, wore black bulky boots and liked Alice In Chains. Sam creamed his pants as soon as he got a soft plump handful, she didn’t seem to mind so he tried not to feel too embarrassed. He couldn’t wait to tell Dean (lied to a reasonable measure) for him to be proud of him. Dean let Sam have his first beer after he told him, “Since you’re a man now,” Dean announced, “Don’t tell Dad,” He winked. Sam never tells John their secrets.

But other than that, he’s a bit clueless, still bashful when girls look his way. Isn’t fabricated like Dean, heavied bottom lip into effortless grin that make’s girls drop and fractures their porcelain hearts, little unconsciously brutal but never intentional to be so. Sam would let Dean smash him into smithereens, shards of broken ceramic all over the tiles, if he’d wanted.

He thinks about the woman who supposedly left the lipstick here, he decides it’s an older woman, barefoot in a simple dress in the tail end of summer, her feet and the palms of her hands showed pale pink against her sunburnt skin, looked ornamental. He decided she had many lovers, wore it for them, wonders if Dean would be one. Wonders what she would think finding out a gawky teenage boy was trying on her bygone lipstick.

Wonders what it would be like to wear this for Dean, his lover.

Dean compulsive, gluttonous with the want of Sam, gushing his hands over the sides of his body, the pull of his rutting teenage hips. The neediness he sometimes gets in that platonic brotherly way bordering on hysteria whenever Sam’s hurt. All his senses submerged entirely by Dean Dean Dean, his touch, his smell, his hot breath.

Sam shoves a frantic hand down his pyjama pants and briefs, wrenches his dick with crazed tugs. Comes that exact same time there’s rough banging on the door, Dean shouting, “Come on Sam, you’ve been in there forever!” rattling the door with his presence.

Sam leaps, grimacing at the mess he made in his pants, swiping a towel and cleaning himself up in rapid motions. Rubs off the lipstick with the back of his hand, scouring his mouth.

“You jerking off in their little brother?” Dean calls out, muffled slightly through the thick wood of the bathroom door, amusement laced in his tone.

When Sam is sure he’s cleansed himself of any misdemeanours and removed all crucial evidence he swings the door open and shoulders past Dean muttering, “No Dean, I wasn’t jerking off.” How much of that Dean believes is out of his control. He pockets the lipstick.

#I wrote a wincest thing #teenchesters #should i write more #i did write a whole story to this like 13k words but I didnt like it much in the end but #here is a snippet #sammy pov figuring his feelings for his brother out #wincest #wincest one shot #weecest #weecest one shot #wincest fanfic #supernatural #spn #sam/dean #sam winchester #dean winchester #pre series sam/dean

[completelymindfucked]

#dean winchester #samdean #sam winchester #weechesters #teenchesters #summer teenchester #wincest moodboard #pre series wincest #wincest

[underthebednotebook]

Pre-series Dean likes to brush Sam's teeth probably.

He likes to hold Sam's chin and tilt him down telling him that he is making sure that he doesn't get any cavities because they are uninsured and can't really stop at a dentist like normal people would.

So he just gets Sam's toothbrush up in there, with Sam struggling and telling him to 'fuck off Dean I'll do it myself', starting with the bottom teeth and moving upward, taking his sweet time in watching the toothpaste mixed with drool run down the side of Sam's mouth and onto his fingers.

He finally lets go when Sam struggles enough to grab the toothbrush from him and do the job himself, finishing the job in a sloppy fashion (Dean would have done a much better job) and telling Dean that he needs to keep his hands to himself more often and that his teeth were fine but Dean isn't really listening he's just rubbing Sam's spit between his fingers as if it could dissolve into his skin faster.

Yadda yadda Dean keeps Sam's toothbrush, yadda yadda, Sam approaches Dean the next few nights with his toothbrush and a 'you do it better' excuse that leads to them most likely making out and then denying it happened in the first place.

#spn #wincest #weirdcest #I wish i wish with all my heart #that we get some pre-series dean content cause this dude woulda been so weird #just so weird #and Sam too but Sam tried to hide it #while Dean wore it like a badge of 'yeah this is me and my weird family' #I want Dean to be so weird but Sam to be even weirder because he mostly likely defended Dean's action by going #"Yeah my brother is just weird but I get like that too' #like he wouldn't brush Dean's teeth if given the chance

[samdeancrimespree]

samdean having the same blood type is so important to me like icb we never saw them giving each other blood transfusions.

it would’ve been john’s idea at first… sam gets a serious injury on one of his first hunts and he’s losing blood but they’re in the woods and john— calm, ignoring the obvious horror and self-blame on dean’s face— orders dean to the car, go get the first aid kit. dean’s out of breath when he gets back, silently taking over putting pressure on sam’s wound, entire focus on keeping him awake, you’re okay sammy, just look at me. he barely takes notice of john until he’s pulling dean’s left hand off sam, pushing up his sleeve. dean doesn’t even glance at him until he feels something stick in his forearm. that’s when he looks, seeing plastic tubing and needles. he makes brief eye contact with his father, understanding despite never going to a doctor before, and turns back to sam. sam barely reacts to the needle in his arm, just a weak flutter of eyelids, and dean sits there in shock until john smacks him on the side of the head, ordering him to stand up. dean obeys, already a good soldier at 17. he stands over sam like a guardian angel, watching his blood travel down the tube into sam’s veins as john sews the hole in his abdomen shut.

john knows from looking at him that he must be lightheaded, but dean still insists on helping sammy back to the car, sticking close to him like he’ll die if he lets go.

both boys in the backseat, pale from blood loss, but alive. sam’s head is on dean’s shoulder, and deans arm is around him, blood-stained fingers dragging up and down his arm slowly, soothing.

john doesn’t even argue about them sharing a bed that night; he’s too tired. dean refuses to leave sam’s side for a moment, washing the blood and grime off sam’s face, hands and stomach without doing the same for himself. they fall asleep with sam’s face almost against dean’s chest and dean’s arms tight around him, feeling him breathing.

once they know they can, they do it a lot. dean offering when it’s really not necessary, and sam letting him, both pretending they don’t just enjoy sharing everything about themselves.

and Maybe when they get a drop of blood on their hands they just lick it off instead of dirtying their clothes and Maybe that’s where sam got his taste for blood from but who am i to say

#dean gets a violent reminder that sam actually Is still tiny and delicate and dean could lose him #and dean hates john for bringing his baby on the hunt #i just know john was happy about the two of them having the same blood type…. even when they were babies #i love field medicine as long as it’s This #they’re such freaks #ik for demon blood plot purposes this wouldn’t happen but idc man #do you think that sam drank rubys blood and missed how deans tasted #weirdcest #wincest #weecest #samdean #blood kink #mars.txt #teenchesters #pre series #my writing

[samanddean76]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Supernatural (TV 2005) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, John Winchester Additional Tags: Pre-Series Dean Winchester, Pre-Series Sam Winchester, Pre-Series John Winchester, Kinktober Prompt: Cuddling, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester Cuddling, Cuddling, Dean Being The Very Best Brother To His Sammy, Cuddling - Winchester Style, Protective Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester Series: Part 17 of SPN Kinktober 2023 Summary:

Dean needs to hold Sam close. But this isn't cuddling, or snuggling, or some chick-flick moment worth of tender emotion. No, this is Winchester style. The way it should be.

@spnkinkevents  SPN Kinktober 2023

#wincest #@spnkinkevents #spnkinktober2023 #Kinktober Prompt: Cuddling #pre-series #dean winchester #sam winchester #john winchester #Winchester Style Cuddling #spn #supernatural #ao3 fanfic #archive of our own