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The Wanting Comes In Waves

All Sam/Dean, All The Time

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Fic: Whole Week of Love 2 (Sam/Dean, G to R)

Title: Whole Week of Love 2
Author: smalltrolven
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: varies G to R
Author Notes: Not my characters, only my words.
Summary: Series of 7 short stories based on my wincest headcanons written for Wincest Love Week.

Read over on AO3

Caught In A Rainstorm

It’s the worst time for a downpour like this to happen. Right when they were about to flush out the lake monster. Sam’s out on a small motorboat herding it towards Dean on the shore. Neither of them can see each other in the dim evening light. And they definitely cannot see the monster, which seems to have gone deep enough to skip the pounding rain and rising winds.

The monster’s gone and Sam can barely make out Dean waving his arms wildly, guiding him to shore. Dean wades out towards the boat, grabbing the hull as Sam cuts the engine. They both pull it onto the rocky beach and secure the lines the best they can in the driving sideways rain. Sam notices then how soaked he is, even through his fancy new rain jacket that Dean had spent the week teasing him about. Dean looks even more soaked through in his canvas jacket, gone sodden and heavy with water.

Sam throws his head back and laughs, water hitting the back of his throat, making him cough and then laugh some more. Dean grumbles at first but then joins him with deep, satisfying belly laughs that leave them both breathless and still very wet. Without any warning Dean’s arms are snaking around his waist, cold hands tracing along the skin at the top of his soaked jeans. Clammy palms lie flat on the small of his back making him arch his body into Dean’s, seeking heat or relief or something.

Dean’s hands disappear from Sam’s skin and wrap around the back of his neck, tugging him down into a kiss as wet as any they’ve ever shared in a shower. But this time it’s not nice warm water in a cramped motel bathroom, it’s cold, pelting rain that isn’t letting up but getting even harder as their kiss deepens. Sam huddles over him like he can protect his brother from the torrent beating into them. Dean melts into him, bringing more heat from the friction as his body moves against Sam’s.

The storm seems to keep up with the increase in their passion, the water running into their ears and eyes, smearing with the saliva between their lips.
Sam finally pulls away enough to take in some oxygen, resting his forehead against Dean’s. He licks the raindrops off of Dean’s eyelashes making Dean squirm, then he noses his way over to Dean’s ear where he bites the lobe, tugging at it a bit. Dean gasps and thrusts his hips into Sam’s. Sam chuckles as he soothes over it with his tongue.

Dean groans then and pulls him back in for another kiss. This one even rougher, more demanding, as they batter against each other, like the wind and rain pounding against them. The force of it makes them waver but they hold on to each other, standing strong together against the storm, heedless of it now, heated up with the passion that is just as primal and unstoppable. Sam can feel the rhythm between them turn into a race to the finish and he doesn’t hesitate to grind harder against Dean.

Lightning hits the water near the center of the lake, a boom of crashing thunder rolls over them. The energy from the storm gathers and pushes them on, their hips bucking against one another’s wildly, hands clutching and pressing, lips never parting. Sam feels the burning heat of his own release before he realizes he’s coming and grabs Dean’s ass, stilling it so he can feel his brother shudder against him. They slump against each other, now drained and sated, but still kissing just as urgently.

Dean pulls away enough to look up at Sam through the rain dripping off his eyebrows. “That was the wettest kiss I think I’ve ever been a part of.”

Sam laughs and hugs him close. “Think we should head back and try to get dried off?”

Dean nuzzles into Sam’s neck and sighs, lethargic and dopey. “Doubt there’s enough towels in the whole motel.”

Sam shivers then, loss of body heat from the cold rain finally catching up to him. Dean hugs him close then grabs Sam’s hand in his own clammy wet one and starts running back towards the Impala across the rocky beach. The lightning strikes again out over the water and Sam stumbles in surprise. Dean’s arm is around his waist before the thunder booms, holding him up, keeping him safe. Sam wraps his arm around Dean's shoulders to do the same, thankful that Dean's still his and still here to hold.

Sand Between Our Toes

They always loved the cabins that Dad would leave them in during the summer months, especially if they were near bodies of water. Usually there would at least be a small beach, but always too rocky to lay down for long enough to be relaxing. But once, they ended up on the Atlantic, out on one of the lonely points of Ocracoke Island in North Carolina. It was just a teeny beach shack, but it had a beautiful, sandy beach that they had all to themselves while Dad was off hunting some spirit in one of the historic homes.

Sam was thirteen and just learning how hard it was to completely hide how he felt about his big brother. Dean turned red then freckled all over no matter how much sun block he had Sam rub on his back. Just to have excuses to lay hands on each other they sparred more than they strictly needed to, shared a bed even though Dad was never home, and were within an arm’s length of each other for the whole month. It was one of the best times they’d shared together in years.

Dean felt the closeness start to come back that he’d missed sharing with his brother that had come after he’d hit puberty. He’d tried to keep things the same between them, but it wasn’t until that summer that he realized what had changed wasn’t just his problem. Sam thought he was hiding how he felt, but Dean had seen that look of desire in so many girl’s eyes by then it was hard to deny. Sam was beautiful, perfect, everything that Dean wanted and needed. But he was too young and it wasn’t the right thing to do.

Sam forced the issue one night when they were star gazing on a blanket out in the dunes. The only sounds the steady crashing of the waves and Dean’s voice weaving his stories about the stars. Sam felt all of his want rise up in an unstoppable current, moving his body before he was fully in control of himself, his lips ended up crashing into Dean’s with bruising force. Dean recoiled at first, obviously in pain, but then he returned Sam’s kiss with tenderness and passion.

And that’s why Sam and Dean will always love going to the beach.

Broken A/C

It’s the middle of summer. And they’re in the desert. Because of course they are, that’s how shitty their lives go. Sam knows this. He should know this by now. And any relief he thought they’d have in the motel room from the heat evaporate as soon as the A/C knob comes off in his hand. The unit doesn’t even turn on. Dean complains to the motel manager, but gets a too-bad-it’s-Sunday kind of answer. So they’re totally screwed on that. At least they have A/C in the Impala, Dean had re-charged the cooling system so it’s great driving to and from the various dig sites they’ve been searching for the chupacabra nests or breeding grounds or whatever they should be called. Dean tries to drive slowly so they can soak up the coolness in the Impala, store it up for the hot night ahead.

“I’d rather just drive through the night than try and stay in this shit-hole tonight,” Sam says, slamming the flimsy door closed against the evening heat.

Dean rattles the green cooler, full of sloshing ice, water and beer bottles. “We’ll drink these, it’ll be fine.”
Sam flops backwards onto the bed, spreading his limbs out so nothing is touching and sighs. He knows he’s being a jerk, but it’s too hot, and there’s sand in his socks and his hair is stiff from the salt left behind from sweating all day. He closes his eyes and listens to the familiar sounds his brother makes puttering around the room. Then there’s something new, He’s not taking first shower, he’s running a bath? Sam sits up and looks at Dean standing in the bathroom doorway. He’s only got his boxers on, his whole body shining with the sweat from being in this furnace box and he’s got his head tipped all the way back, frenching a beer bottle for all he’s worth. It makes Sam go even hotter all over just seeing him like that.

“Are you really taking a bath? Isn’t it kind of hot for that?” Sam asks, unable to hold back the curiosity.

Dean picks up the green cooler and clink and clanks his way into the bathroom, his only answer is throwing his boxers out the open door towards the bed.

Sam hears the splashing that must mean Dean is sitting in the tub. He has to see this, because he can’t remember the last time he’s seen Dean in a bathtub. It’s a lot bigger than the usual motel bathtub, but then he recalls that Dean had booked them into the “honeymoon suite” as a joke, so it’s a two-person Jacuzzi. His brother beckons him in and scoots back against one end making room.

Sam sheds his clothes in the space of a few heartbeats and then is relaxing in the giant tub; and gasping at the surprising coolness of the water.

“Say it, just say it, Sammy. I’m a fuckin’ genius,” Dean says, handing Sam a recently opened beer.

Sam takes the beer and clinks it against Dean’s. “I’m too hot to argue it, you are a genius.” He drinks half of the beer, feeling the coolness slide down inside to match the blessed coolness on the outside and doesn’t care about the broken A/C one bit.

Last Summer Before Stanford

Sam’s summer seems like it’s over before it’s really started. He’s been so focused on making as much money as possible to save up for his first year at college. That and keeping the college secret from his family, mostly Dean of course. He already knows what Dad will say, he’ll say no, hell no, and then he’ll say fine then get gone and stay gone. But Dean—Dean is the question mark, Sam’s not sure how he’s going to react to the news and so he’s been avoiding thinking about how to handle it all summer. Choosing instead to spend as much time as he can with Dean, just doing dumb stuff, hanging out, learning some new rope-knot-tying survival tricks, and engine maintenance.

Every time his brother says anything about how great it is that he doesn’t have to worry about school any longer his heart contracts, cringing along with his stomach with the knowledge that he’s going. He’s gone in a month, no now it’s two weeks. Where has the time gone, a haze of working at the community college library, christening the back seat of the Impala with the end results of waiting too long to finally have “real sex” with Dean and taking as many pictures as he can sneak of his brother on a series of those shitty disposable cameras. He’s got five of them, full of pictures that need to be developed, it’s going to be a fortune, but he’s going to need them to get through the upcoming separation. It won’t be the same as having a living breathing Dean with him, but it will be all that he’ll get.

There’s a few weeks there where he toys with the idea of asking Dean straight out to come with him, to leave Dad and hunting behind, to choose him once and for all. Some goofball idea of a happily-ever-after for them in California which makes exactly zero sense but is so tantalizing to imagine. Halfway through the summer Dean starts acting strange, almost hurt, putting space between them, it feels like a breakup that no one has talked about. Even Dad notices and tells Dean to cut it out, that he has to communicate to do the job well. Dean grumbles and pretends to get along, but it’s not the same. It’s like Dean is wearing a Dean mask, performing his roles of dutiful son and big brother, and lover.

When Sam finally tells Dean, it’s three days before the day stamped on his bus ticket to Palo Alto. They’re lying in bed together, wrapped up in the sheets, sweaty and sated, drowsy with the afternoon heat. As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Sam can feel his brother’s body tighten up with a protective tenseness. Dean’s only answer is silence for a long time, longer than Sam can stand. He encourages Dean, begging with his eyes the best way he knows how.

“I knew Sam, I’ve known for like a month,” Dean says, looking anywhere but at Sam.

“You went through my stuff?” Sam asks, bristling with annoyance at the invasion of privacy.

“You applied to college without even bothering to tell me?” Dean answers with a hollow meanness that sounds false to both of them.

“I didn’t know how to. I’m sorry for not telling you. But I’m not sorry for getting into school and going, I can’t do this anymore,” Sam says.

“I never should have let us go here to this,” Dean waves a hand at their twined-together naked bodies.

“That’s not what I meant. I’d never have survived these last few years without you finally letting me in, really, Dean. You saved me by letting us be together like this. I meant I can’t do the hunting thing, I just can’t, not like you or dad.”

Dean doesn’t say anything, but his face goes blank and he withdraws. It’s like he’s not even present even though his body is still wrapped around Sam.

“Dean? Aren’t you going to say anything?” Sam asks, not really sure what he wants Dean to say.

“I’m—proud of you, Sammy. I really am. You deserve this, to get away from this,” Dean says, the ‘and to get away from me’ silent but read loud and clear by Sam.

“Thanks, that means a lot. And I wish…” Sam says, stopping himself from saying it out loud.

“Don’t ask me, please, Sammy, don’t do that to me,” Dean begs, holding on tight to Sam, hugging him tight so Sam can’t see his face, but he can feel his brother’s body shake with emotion.

“I’m going to tell Dad tomorrow when he gets back. Will you be here?”

“Yeah, of course. Someone’s gonna have to sweep up all the broken shit,” Dean jokes, hollow and sad.

“It’s going to be okay, Dean,” Sam says, holding his big brother together as he shakes apart in his arms.

It goes as predicted with Dad the next evening, and they end up spending the night in the Impala, parked at the darkest edge of the bus station lot. Dean finishes a bottle of whisky and doesn’t say much. Sam just holds him, lying to himself that it will be okay, that Dean will be okay without him. It’s just starting to dawn on him that this might break his unbreakable brother. He hadn’t considered that possibility before. Dean had always been the permanent force in his life, that nothing could change or touch. His heart hurts at the thought that this might be harder on Dean than he’d ever imagined.

They part at dawn over bad coffee in styrofoam cups, and microwave breakfast sandwiches. Dean hands him his duffle, gives him a last hug and tells him to stay safe.

Sam holds on as long as Dean allows it, then whispers a goodbye into the skin of his brother’s neck. He’s crying too hard to be able to see Dean as the bus pulls out, digging through his duffle for a kleenex he feels the corner of an unfamiliar leather binder. He pulls it out and sees that it’s a photo album filled with all of his undeveloped pictures. Dean’s face on every page, smiling, scowling, lustful the whole range of emotions in-between. A final gift from the man who has given him everything that’s ever mattered in his life.

First Holidays Abroad

The one and only time they’re ever out of the country (besides Canada that is), is their quick trip to Scotland to dig up Crowley’s bones. While they’re there, it happens to be the week before Christmas and since they’re all done with the job for Bobby, Dean figures Sam will want to celebrate. It’s the first time they’ve had the opportunity really since the Christmas before he’d gone to hell himself and he remembers how having a normal Christmas is important to Sam.

Sam goes out to one last museum before their flight the next day, so Dean has some time to get a celebration together. He spends some time out in the shops searching for small decorations for a pine branch he’s ripped off of one of the trees at the back edge of the park near their accommodations. The small room with the high ceilings and the shared bathroom down the hall looks nice once the twinkle lights are strung up. He waits with the Scottish version of eggnog, more whisky than anything else and this is surely the place for it, until he falls asleep in front of the tv waiting for Sam to return.

Sam wakes him up, crashing back into the room, heedless of the noise so late at night. The twinkle lights are still on and he can see Sam look at them and tilt his head in this new questioning way he has, always makes him look like a dog. Can he really not know it’s Christmas?

“Hey, you almost missed Christmas,” Dean says, clicking off the tv.

“Oh, is that what this is supposed to be?” Sam asks, gesturing at the decorations and lights.

“Yeah, it’s…uh been a while since we’ve gotten to celebrate. Thought you’d be into it,” Dean says, trying to hide his disappointment. He’d thought he’d get one of those Sammy smiles he’s missed seeing for more than a year.

“I didn’t get you anything, well, here, have this I guess,” Sam says, unwinding the new wool tartan plaid scarf from his neck and draping it around Dean’s.

It’s warm and soft, a little damp from Sam’s sweat and it smells like home to Dean. He ties it tighter and looks up at his brother. “Thanks, Sammy, I love it,” he says. He grabs up the plastic bag wrapped present from the side table and hands it over, “this is for you.”

Sam finally sits down on the bed next to Dean and holds the crinkly package for a moment before opening it up. He pulls out a deep green t-shirt with something printed on it. Sam unwraps it and holds it up to see the design. “Is this supposed to be a greyhound?”

“Yeah, it’s in a Pictish carving style, since you like dogs, and you had that shirt ages ago. Thought you’d like it. There was table outside the liquor store with some little old Scottish ladies for some racing greyhound rescue organization, they were selling them.”

“It’s…uh, cool. Thanks.”

Dean’s heart breaks a little, he’d been so excited to see Sam’s response to the shirt. Thought he’d love everything about it, and it seems like he could care less. “You want any eggnog?”

“Just a straight whiskey would be fine, I ate a lot while I was out.”

Dean pours him one, and Sam downs it without even savoring it.

“Hey, that’s the good stuff, man. You’re supposed to at least taste it!” Dean protests.

“Sorry, I’m just going to hit the sack. Early day tomorrow,” Sam says, standing up abruptly and heading into the bathroom.

Dean looks around at the lights and decorations and feels like a fool. It’s never going to be the same between them, it’s so much clearer after tonight, his Sam, so distant and almost robotic in his emotions is hiding something from him. Something big.

The bathroom door opens and Sam’s enormous form fills the doorway, framed in the darkness behind him. He looms and pauses, examining Dean.

For the first time, Dean feels a small frisson of fear ripple through him. His brother is unfamiliar when he should be the most familiar thing in this whole room here on the other side of the world.

Sam walks forward into the light and pulls Dean up from the bed into a hug, he kisses him with the usual passion, but ends it before Dean can push it any further. “Hey, I’m sorry about before. The uh..way I reacted to the Christmas stuff. It was just, well it surprised me, how much it made me remember that one we had before you went to Hell. I appreciate it Dean, I do,” Sam says, letting go of Dean and climbing into his own twin bed.

“Good to know, night, Sammy, Merry Christmas,” Dean says, staring at his brother’s back under the covers.

“Merry Christmas, Dean,” Sam says.

Dean finishes off his eggnog and the rest of the bottle of whisky, and decides this is still better than last Christmas, when he had to pretend for Ben and Lisa that he wasn’t missing half of his heart.

Camping During A Hunt

It hasn’t been that long since the whole Cassie thing, and Sam still isn’t over it. He can’t understand Dean just leaving her like that when he’d obviously wanted to stay. But then his brother hadn’t answered him when he’d asked about whether it was worth it to do what they do and give up a chance with someone like her. Sam recalls that smile Dean had flashed him, how it had made him shiver with a want he hadn’t felt since his high school days. He’d tried so hard to let all that go, hoped it would fade away, it’s not like he can just leave like Dean just did. Running away from his feelings wouldn’t work, because Dean would come after him. He’s just going to have to pack all that away again, lock it down tight.

That all goes to hell when they’re out in the Shawnee National Forest, tracking a black dog through the rocky cliff sides. It’s late at night by the time the thing is dead and burned, the stars are out, they’ve made camp for the night and Dean is insisting they share a joint he just found in the bottom of the camping mess kit. His argument that they’re out of whisky makes sense, probably because Sam is worn down by the long day’s hike. Backs propped up against a log, feet stretched out to the small fire, Dean lights up the joint and passes it over. Sam looks forward to sinking down into the mellow until he starts coughing from his very first hit like an amateur.

Dean shakes his head and chuckles, he grabs the joint back from Sam and thumps him on the back.

Sam drinks down some water and sighs. “Guess I’m out of practice.”

“Here, remember, how we used to do it?” Dean asks, scooting over until they’re plastered right up against each other, he leans over Sam, takes a deep hit and seals his lips over Sam’s. Sam opens his own lips in surprise and breaths the smoke in deep. There isn’t a thought in his mind except how damn soft Dean’s lips are, how warm, how perfectly they fit his own. He reluctantly pulls away enough to finally breath out the fragrant smoke.

“That better?” Dean asks, voice husky with smoke and what sounds like desire.

Sam shakes his head at himself, it’s not desire, he’s high already, Dean wouldn’t…until he does. Dean leans back over without the pretense of sharing another hit and just kisses Sam.

“Now it’s better,” Sam murmurs against Dean’s cheek.

Dean wraps an arm around Sam’s waist and holds him close. “Now you know why I’m here and not back in Missouri.”

Sam wishes he could see Dean’s face, make sure he’s serious, that he means this utterly life-changing thing. “You mean it?”

Dean chuckles and doesn’t say anything, just leans into Sam and kisses him again, achingly gentle. Sam’s turned inside-out with the softness of it, his big macho brother being so sweet and slow with him. He tries to turn the kiss into something more, something harder, rougher, in case Dean changes his mind, but Dean keeps guiding him back to the slow lane.

“We don’t have to rush anything, Sammy, ‘m not goin’ anywhere,” Dean whispers.

Sam relaxes then and holds his brother closer, lays his head on Dean’s shoulder and looks up at the stars like they’ve done a thousand times before. Everything’s changed, everything’s the same. It’s all better now.


It’s not the first time Sam’s tried to sneak a pet into their living quarters. But it has been about twenty years since it happened last. But Dean remembers. All the hysterical tears over every left-behind momentarily adopted stray, cats, dogs, a hamster and even a rat once. That rat was the last straw, Dean had finally agreed with Dad on that one. But Sam’s always wanted a pet, whenever he brings it up, Dean tends to suggest a fish tank, because he knows the worst thing for his brother would be having a pet die on him while they were away on a hunt. And how attached could someone get to fish? Even Sam with his big heart and endless amount of love to give out couldn’t get too sad if some fish died. Right?

He gets woken up by a jingle that’s out of place in the bunker. It’s not a ring tone on one of their phones, or an old mechanical alarm going off, it’s a metallic jingling sound. Metal tags clinking together on a collar. He can also hear Sam shushing someone and trying to be sneaky. He has this distinctive shuffle when he tries to sneak, it’s pointless when you’re that big, but he’s never told Sam that. Lets him think he’s being stealthy, so he can catch him off guard when it counts most.

Sam slides back into bed before Dean rouses himself the rest of the way. Sam’s whole body is cold, so he’s been out for an early morning walk. No longer running these days, his knees finally crapped out on him. But he rambles almost every morning, comes back dew-soaked with tales of the sunrise and how loud the birds were. Dean doesn’t get it, never has, never will. But at least Sam reliably makes him coffee, good coffee. He can smell it then. Not coffee. Wet dog. There is nothing else that smells like that.

Sam’s cold hands are roaming around his skin, and Dean tries not to flinch away, enjoying the contact. His brother wraps one hand around him and begins a nice, steady good-morning kind of rhythm. Dean doesn’t say anything but he moans a little to be encouraging, make sure Sam doesn’t stop. Sam speeds it up a little then, and Dean doesn’t care if there’s five dogs in the bunker at this point. Not when Sam’s hand is so perfect and slick and tight and Sam’s biting the back of his neck and it’s perfect. Dean comes hard and fast, lower back cramping a little at the shock of it. Sam finishes himself off while Dean watches, it’s like the best sort of porn, right in his own bed.

When they’re done and cleaned off, Dean finally sees Sam’s face. He’s happier than he’s seen him in years maybe. Hopeful even, and he’s missed that look, makes him remember how Sam had looked ten or twenty years ago. Before it all got so hard. Between Sam’s knees and his own, they’re not as great a hunting team as they used to be. And the long drives are starting to get to him too. It’s been quieter after Amara and Chuck had bailed, like something had rebalanced itself in the world. Not as much to hunt, not as much call for their services.

“So where did you stash the dog?” Dean asks, before even saying good morning.

“Good morning to you too,” Sam mock-pouts.

Dean kisses those perfectly pouted lips and asks again, “Where is it?”

“It’s just temporary, I swear. I couldn’t leave him in the rain like that,” Sam says.

“Bring him in here then, lemme meet him,” Dean says.

“He’s still drying off in the bathroom,” Sam finally admits, heaving himself back out from under the covers and holding out a hand to Dean.

Dean grabs on and hoists himself up to standing, wiggles his feet into the slippers that are so necessary to stand the cold Bunker floors. He wraps his wool robe around himself and follows Sam to the bathroom. The dog has pulled all the clean towels down from the shelf and arranged them in a sort of nest. His sleek black head lifts slightly when they come in and his tail wags with that dog-hopefulness that reminds him of Sam. He leans down just enough to hold out a hand for the dog to smell.

“He’s a cool mutt, what’d you name him?” Dean asks, smiling up at Sam.

Sam looks momentarily stunned at his brother’s dog acceptance. “Um, Kilgore.”

“You were reading my Vonnegut again, huh?” Dean asks, grinning like he’s won the lottery.

Sam smiles back at him and wraps an arm around his waist. “Yeah, that name, just something about it.”

And that’s how the Winchesters finally get out of hunting, without a serious injury (again) or someone dying (again.) There’s just something about having a dog depending on them to be there every day, rain or shine. It wasn’t ever possible to quit for each other, but Kilgore is here now and he needs both of them. Sam to walk him, and Dean to spoil him rotten. It’s a much better way to end up than with a fish tank full of fish that don’t come when you call.

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Oh my gosh, that last one! All of this is just such wonderful, wonderful stuff! Thanks for sharing!

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