samerton

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fruity

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Y’know that ai manga filter thing on the tiktok? Y’know how you can load a photo in?

Y’know I couldn’t resist:

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I love weirdcest bro. I love it even more when Sam and Dean are just oblivious to it. Bobby catches them just holding hands while they watch TV and just sort of stares. They notice him there, but their fingers don't separate. It doesn't feel weird or wrong or bad because Sam got hurt, and holding hands is just convenient because it means Dean can keep checking his pulse, because he needs to. It's the only thing that settles him down.

Or when Mary returns, and is living with them in the bunker. She watches Dean cook dinner. Sam's sat at the breakfast bar watching with what she could only describe as adoration in his eyes, a soft smile on his lips. It feels off, but she scolds herself. Tells herself it's a good thing that her boys care for each other so much. But then Dean leans over with a spoon, guiding it to Sam's mouth with that same sort of fondness, and her uneasiness grows until she leaves the room and waits to be called in for dinner.

Or when John walks into the motel room late one evening. One of the three beds in empty, and his eyes land on his boys sharing a bed. Dean's got his arms curled around Sam in an almost protective manner, and Sam is curled up against his chest. Sam's seventeen, Dean is twenty two. John figures the embarrassing position was unintentional. Convinces himself of the fact so clearly that he snaps a photo on his phone to use as blackmail, before 'accidently' kicking the bed and jolting the pair awake. Dean's arm remains around Sam while the brunette blinks blearily, and his oldest starts reaching for his gun.

"Just me, sorry guys. Knocked into the bed. Probably a good thing," he joked, gesturing to them.

Sam looked confused and tired, remaining slumped against his brother. Dean looked pissed. He hadn't moved the arm situated around Sam's waist, and John can't stop fixating on it.

"Just go to bed, dad," Dean sighed, lying down as the adrenaline left him. He brought Sam down with him, who went easily, returning his head the Dean's chest.

"...right," John muttered, heading to the bathroom.

He deleted the photo, and resisted the urge to burn the phone completely.

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Part of the reason Sam left for Stanford was to get away from Dean.

He didn't want to. God, he hadn't wanted to.

But he needed to do something. It didn't matter how much he tried to stop wanting his brother, it never worked, he couldn't do it.

Sometimes he could lie to himself, convince himself that whatever they had was finished and he could be normal, but then they would be fighting and it would lead to clothes being torn off and marks on his neck that felt taunting as he caught sight of them in the mirror, kissed deeply onto his skin. They burned. He tried smearing holy water over them once, convinced himself in his alcohol muddled haze that it would wash them away. Cleanse his sins.

Dean had found him a sobbing wet incoherent mess on the bathroom floor, tears and holy water and vomit all over.

He tried sleeping in his own bed, but it just led to him crawling in beside his brother in the early hours of the morning, exhausted and desperately chasing the sleep he knew he'd only find in Dean's arms. (Dean was always awake when he did, and Sam liked to think the problem was a mutual one.)

"We need to stop," gasped between desperate kisses, because dad had been around too much and God help him, Sam needed Dean to touch him.

He tried praying. He got on his knees and begged God or whoever the fuck to heal him. Carry him from evil, make him pure and devoid of sin.

But then Dean would pull him up from his knees, manhandling him onto the bed, kissing him softly and leisurely because dad wouldn't be back for a few days and they had time to be slow.

Sam felt disgusting. He always did, and he always swore it was the last time until the next. When he was around Dean he couldn't control himself, that nagging itch in his brain begging to just let go.

So he applies for college. He writes his application letter between rounds of sex, and prays again.

On his last night, Dean refuses to touch him at all, and he's supposed to be happy but he's not.

For a while, it works. He can pretend wanting Dean was just some weird fucked up physcosis, some symptom of their upbringing he couldn't control. It wasn't his fault, and he wants to scream it.

He doesn't want his brother anymore and it's so fucked that part of him is saddened by it.

He meets Jess. He thinks he loves her. He ignores the ways they are so, so similiar.

Dean comes crashing back into his life, talking about dad and tackling him to the ground. Sam can feel it. He can feel the pangs low in his stomach, and he fights it for all he's worth.

Dean doesn't touch him.

Sam avoids eye contact and proximity and keeps up his mantra of needing to get back to Jess and his apartment and school and life.

That life goes up in flames, and Dean touches him. Grabs and pulls and holds him to his chest as he drags him from the fire.

Later that night, he's too exhausted and drained to lie to himself.

Dean gets them twin beds in the motel. Sam's remains perfectly made.

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Sam Winchester in every episode: Home (1x09)

All right, Sari, take your brother outside as fast as you can, and don’t look back.

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Hey, I just wanted to say thank you for your kind comment :) it’s been three years since I made that post and I am doing. So much better now. Looking at your blog, it seems like you may be going through some tough times too, but I know you can get past them! I believe in you :)

I've never had someone message me about a comment I've made!! Glad to hear you are doing better now :) thank you for taking the time out of your day to message me :) I appreciate that!

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I know you probably hate me, but god do I wish I could call you and make sure you’re safe and happy

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I wrote an entire post for you. I wrote it hoping you would see it, not caring who else would...

I always know I'm starting to get bad again when I think of you. You somehow magically appear again; Facebook memory, Twitter post, Instagram pic. Like clock work.

You changed as much as I did...

You broke me in the past. You will not break my future.

I wrote a post for you. Deleted it. And made this one. I'm not battling this again....

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I forgot how much I missed my Tumblr... Idk why I ever left!!

#imbackbitches #not that anybody asked #personal

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Awh that's just wrong! 😂

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