#wincest curtainfic

[crooked-sleep]

Day 12 - Beginning of the End [Pt. 2]

hello!! last gift today (anonymously, at least) — man i can’t believe it’s over! i have had so much fun this year and it’s honestly been so great, and i really hope we can become friends after this!!!

warnings: nsfw; top!dean and bottom!sam; more fluff than you know what to do with. apologies if there are any formatting errors, btw, i wrote this one in my notes app because my wifi is total shit today and i’m leeching off my dad’s hotspot.

—

Dean is putting the finishing touches on the chicken he’s just taken out of the oven when he hears the characteristic rumble of the Impala’s engine. Good, Sam’s home. and hopefully he remembered the pie and the beer. The rest of the grocery Dean can go without — who needs that much milk anyway? — but pie and beer are absolutely crucial.

He hears the bunker door clang shut, and a moment later Sam calls out, “Dean?”

“In here!” Dean yells back, sprinkling the last of the garnish on the chicken.

Two seconds later Sam appears in the entrance to the kitchen, hair messy and cheeks pink from the wind outside. He’s got two brown bags balanced in one arm and a plastic-covered platter of pie in the other, and Dean immediately makes grabby hands at it. “Gimme!”

Sam hands it to him, rolling his eyes, and Dean sets it down on the counter before taking the rest of the bags from Sam. Sam clears his throat expectantly, tilting his head, and it takes Dean a second to remember what he’s supposed to do. “Right, yeah,” he mumbles, and then kisses Sam’s cheek.

Sam beams, satisfied, and then says, “Chicken looks great.”

“It better, the seasoning was a pain in the ass,” Dean says as he puts the grocery away. “How about you go get rid of your coat and then we can start, huh?”

“Um,” says Sam, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I’m good, man, I’m starving. Let’s start now.”

Dean frowns. “You sure, man?”

Sam nods so quickly his hair flies. “Yeah, yeah I’m sure,” he rambles. “Chicken looks amazing, man, why wait? Let’s have it right now.”

Dean narrows his eyes at his brother. “Yeah?” he says. “I don’t know, man, I’m smellin’ a rat. What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything!” Sam says at once.

“I don’t believe you,” Dean tells him squarely.

And then Sam’s coat meows.

There is silence for a few moments, during which Sam’s face goes from “I am innocent please believe me” to “Oh no I see you getting suspicious” and finally settles on “okay okay fine I might be a little guilty.” Dean narrows his eyes further and crosses his arms, waiting Sam out. Sam bites his lip, eyes impossibly wide and soft, and Dean feels himself beginning to go weak at the knees.

Don’t, he tells himself. He wants you to give in. Resist, dammit!

But fuck, not even the most monstrous creature on the planet could resist Sam when he looks this fucking sweet and innocent, and Dean is only human.

He’s just about to give in when Sam’s coat meows again, and that, for some reason, makes Sam cave first. “Okay, okay, fine!” he says, and pulls out an honest-to-God kitten from his coat pocket. It’s so impossibly tiny that Sam’s hands cover it completely, almost as if he’s afraid Dean’s gaze will vaporize it.

“Sam?” Dean says, deadpan. “Were you seriously trying to smuggle a whole-ass kitten past me?”

“I couldn’t not rescue him, okay, he’s so small!” Sam says defensively, cradling the kitten to his chest. “It’s so cold outside and he was all alone and I didn’t see his mom anywhere and I felt bad, okay!”

“Sammy,” sighs Dean. “You brought home three dogs last month. The month before that it was a fucking rooster. And now a cat? You wanna make our home a zoo? Is that what this is?”

“He’s so tiny, Dean,” Sam says earnestly. “He won’t survive on his own. I couldn’t just leave him.”

The puppy eyes have been upped to 11. Dean hadn’t even thought that possible. The last time Sam had looked like this he’d been literally five and begging for ice cream. Dean’s knees are weak again, dammit, even though he’d told himself a rooster and a puppy ago that he was going to be stronger the next time.

“Please?” Sam says, and has the audacity to stick his bottom lip out a little. “I promise he won’t bother you, Dean. You won’t even know he’s there.”

“That’s what you said when you got Alan,” Dean reminds him, referring to the rooster. “Now he wakes me up every morning by screaming. It’s also what you said when you got Harry, Ron, and Hermione. I didn’t say a thing when you gave them all geek names, and now there ain’t a single slipper unchewed in this house.”

“Well, Bruce won’t scream or chew your slippers, I swear!” Sam says.

“Bruce?” Ahh, fuck it, Dean is disgustingly weak. “You named him after Batman?”

Sam nods. “Yeah. Wanna see?” He holds his hands out, letting Dean look.

The last of Dean’s resolve crumbles at the sight of the kitten, so damn small and — fuck it, adorable. He is so dark that he looks like a little piece of the void, resting in Sam’s hands, tiny body rising and falling with each breath. His eyes are bright green, and despite himself, Dean finds himself falling in love.

“Can we keep him?” Sam asks softly.

Bruce looks up and lets out the tiniest of yawns before stretching and settling again in the palm of Sam’s hand. Dean notices the look on Sam’s face as he watches the kitten, and sighs inwardly. No way he can refuse something that makes Sam look like that, so genuinely carefree and happy.

“Yeah,” he says in the end. “We can keep him. But no more strays,” he adds.

“Promise,” Sam says at once, and then beams at Dean. “Thank you, thank you so much!” Covering Bruce with his other hand, he leans in and puts a messy kiss on the corner of Dean’s mouth.

“Yeah, yeah,” says Dean, already knowing that this isn’t the last stray, not by a long shot. Damn Sammy and his soft spot for all lost and helpless things. “That cat better behave, or it’s your ass on the line. Come on now, let’s eat before it’s cold.”

—

Dean’s lying in bed reading when Sam enters. Without looking up he asks, “Everything all right?”

“Yeah,” Sam answers softly. “Alan and the dogs love Bruce.”

“Good,” says Dean distractedly, still mostly focused on the article he’s reading about Chevelles. “You gonna come to bed now?”

Instead of responding, Sam plucks the iPad out of Dean’s hands, locks it, and puts it aside. That succeeds in getting Dean’s attention. He looks up, and immediately his mouth goes dry.

Sam is naked, hair damp and curling around his face, and he’s got that soft, needy sort of look in his eyes that Dean can never resist. Without waiting for Dean to respond, he climbs up on Dean’s lap, straddling his thighs, and hooks his fingers in the waistband of Dean’s pajama pants.

“Can I?” he asks, before going any further.

Dean swallows, and nods.

Sam smiles down at him, and pulls down his pajama pants. Dean raises his hips a little to help Sam. His cock is already half-hard, his body responding to Sam’s weight on him.

Sam leans in and kisses Dean, hands already working on stroking Dean to full hardness. “Thank you,” he whispers between kisses. “You never say no to me. For anything.”

“Can’t,” Dean confesses, placing his hands on Sam’s waist and stroking his thumbs up and down Sam’s hipbones. “Never could say no to you, baby.”

Sam smiles, small and intimate, and kisses the bridge of Dean’s nose. “I appreciate it, you know,” he tells Dean. “I always do.”

“I know,” Dean tells him with a crooked grin. “That’s why I’m getting laid right now.”

Sam laughs at that. “No, that’s not why,” he tells Dean, and then puts his hands on the headboard, bracing himself as he raises his hips off Dean’s lap.

“Wait, don’t you need prep?” Dean asks, hands still on Sam’s waist as he positions himself.

Sam shakes his head. “Did it already,” he tells Dean, and then sinks down, taking all of Dean in one go. Dean moans at that, head falling back against the headboard. “Wanted to be ready for you,” Sam says, and wriggles a little.

“Too damn good to me, you know that?” Dean groans, tilting his head forward to kiss Sam’s collarbone. “Always know what I want, what I need. I never haveta say a damn word.”

Sam rolls his hips, earning a bitten-off groan from Dean. He’s tight, always is, just the way they both like it, and no matter how many times they do this, to Dean it never stops feeling like he’s coming home. He trails his hands upwards from Sam’s waist, caressing his sides, and brushes two fingers lightly over one nipple. Sam sighs at that, his entire body flushing. All these years and it never ceases to amaze Dean how sensitive Sam still is to his touch.

“Dean,” Sam says, sounding a little breathless. He hasn’t stopped moving since he sat down on Dean’s cock — rolling his hips, bouncing a little, arms bracketed on either side of Dean’s head. His cock rubs against Dean’s shirt, leaving a damp trail of precome that Dean just can’t bring himself to care about.

“Yeah, Sammy,” he says, grabbing Sam’s waist again and holding it so he can thrust up and meet Sam halfway. “Yeah, baby.”

Sam presses his lips together as he bows his head, hair falling into his face. He bites out a moan when Dean thrusts up into him again, and that’s how Dean knows he’s hit Sam’s sweet spot.

“Again?” he asks.

Sam nods. “Please,” he says, so close to begging already. “Please, Dean.”

Dean kisses him, long and slow and absolutely filthy, pressing his tongue into Sam’s mouth and taking control. Sam lets him, his hands falling to Dean’s shoulders, and Dean lightly flicks one of Sam’s nipples, grinning when Sam moans into the kiss.

He could gladly do this all night, he thinks dazedly. Just sit here and tease Sam, coax these lovely reactions and those gorgeous moans from him, inch him to the edge until he’s sobbing Dean’s name and begging to come. They’ve done it before, on lazy days and lazier nights, no hurry and no rush, no obligation to the world outside or even any awareness of it. These moments always make Dean feel like the two of them are the only people in the world, and no one else matters.

No one else could ever matter, he thinks, compared to Sam, his beautiful, sweet Sammy. For the rest of their lives, for all the rest of eternity.

He steadies Sam with a hand on his hip and then thrusts up hard into him, taking control of their movement. Sam lets him, giving himself over completely, and Dean tangles his free hand into Sam’s hair, pulling a little as he fucks into Sam. His little brother loves it, head thrown back as he moans, loud and uninhibited, and the sound goes straight to Dean’s cock.

“God, Sammy,” he breathes out. “So beautiful like this, you know that? So damn pretty.”

Sam doesn’t look capable of replying with words. His hands tighten in the fabric of Dean’s shirt at his shoulders, and his legs are shaking, thighs quivering around Dean’s waist, and Dean knows he’s close.

“It’s okay, darlin’,” he tells Sam, kissing the side of his neck. “Come.”

“I’ll ruin your shirt,” Sam gasps out. His eyes are closed and he seems lost in pleasure, cheeks flushed and nipples hard, lips bright red and parted.

“Mm, don’t care,” Dean tells him, fucking him hard and fast and taking care to hit the spot that he knows will make Sam come apart. “Come, Sam.”

And Sam does, spurting hot and sticky in the space between them, making a mess of Dean’s shirt as he predicted. His whole body seems to contract, tightening further around Dean, and that’s more than enough for him — one thrust, two, then three and he comes too. Sam whimpers at the sensation of Dean’s come inside him, Dean’s hand still in his hair, and then goes boneless, collapsing on top of Dean.

“Hey,” Dean chuckles, wrapping his arms around Sam and kissing the side of his head. “Get up, Sasquatch, you’re heavy.”

Sam mumbles something inaudible but he rises, sliding off Dean’s softening cock and off to the side. Dean takes his shirt off, using it to clean up Sam’s belly, thighs and ass, and then throws it to the ground. “C’mere,” he tells Sam as he slides down the bed so he’s lying down, and wraps an arm around Sam from behind, pulling him into his chest.

Sam lets himself be wrapped in Dean’s embrace, his fingers tangling with Dean’s on his belly. His body is loose, relaxed, his head heavy, and Dean knows he’s half-asleep already. That’s one thing that has never changed in all these years — there’s no better sleep aid for Sam than some good old-fashioned fucking.

There’s one thing Dean wants to know, though. “Hey,” he says.

“Mm?”

“You said this wasn’t just to say thanks,” Dean reminds him. “What was it for?”

“‘S our anniversary,” Sam tells him sleepily.

Dean frowns. “No, that’s not today.”

“No, not us,” Sam clarifies, wriggling backwards until there’s no space between his back and Dean’s chest. “Retirement. Been a year.”

“Oh.” Dean blinks. He had no idea it’d been that long already. “Man, time really flies, huh?”

“Mm-hmm,” Sam hums in agreement. “Let’s hope we get many more.”

“Yeah,” says Dean, and tightens his hold on Sam. He doesn’t say it out loud, but even if Billie were to come for them tomorrow — or, hell, right this instant — he’d die a happy man. He’s lived his life, he’s done his part, and now he’s got nothing to do but live. And maybe this isn’t the conventional apple pie life he wanted, but it’s real, and he gets to spend it with the love of his life, his damn soulmate — and that’s better than anything he could ever have asked for.

—

And he doesn’t reconsider it even when Sam brings home a fucking parakeet two months later, though he’s sorely tempted to. Still, he figures, watching in resignation as Sam tries to train Joshua the parakeet to say “Cristo” — it’s still perfect. His life, despite the alarming amount of animals in it now, is perfect.

And then Sam catches him looking, and smiles, wide and so beautiful and bright and radiant, and Dean thinks, fuck it. There’s not a damn thing he would change about any of it. There’s not a damn thing that needs changing.

They’ve got all the time in the world.

—

so there it is!! i’m not gonna say the end, because i really do not want it to be. instead i’m just gonna say thank you, for all the fun i’ve had and for how much you’ve made me smile with your wonderful comments and your general sweetness. i really truly hope we can continue to be friends even though wincestmas has now come to an end.

lots and lots of love, wincestmas anon (who will soon not be anonymous at all) ❤️

____

@thelegendofwinchester MY FRIEND! I’m so glad we found each other! This was the most amazing end to Wincestmas that I could have asked for!  I just need one thing. What did Bruce look like? Was he orange and striped by any chance? (I’m j/k. But really, I DO want to know.)  

This has been the MOST fun! I’m so glad we became friends on this amazing journey. You are stuck with me forever. And now, of course, I’m going to write a “just because” fic for youuuuu. (So let me know what you like!)

This was honestly the sweetest thing and I’m so happy that I participated in this challenge. Thank you, thank you, thank you for making my start to 2020 so fun and Wincesty! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

#wincestmas #12daysofwincestmas #I finally get to meet my santa and they are AMAZING #wincest #wincest fic #wincest curtainfic #all the wincest feels #submission

[lewishamil10n]

I tried to send you an ask and accidentally unfollowed you asdlfsjshgsjd 🙈) but anyway! What’s the curtain fic about?

fucking tumblr asdsdf it’s truly a Hellsite lmao

ah the curtainfic is hopefully a humorous story! it’s wincest, and i basically had this idea of them living their nice and quiet life in retirement... until one of sam’s exes from stanford shows up because he desperately needs a place to stay after a bad divorce, and dean is immediately like NOPE. NO. shenanigans ensure. the ex is a bad roommate and dean has jealousy issues lmao

ask me about my WIPs

#thanks for the ask!! <3 #kyler #kylermalloy #asks

[crooked-sleep]

Day 4 - I'm Going to Make This Place Your Home

hello! hope you're doing well today :D here, enjoy some domestic winchesters for today's gift!

---

It's the little things that make the bunker home instead of just one more place to stay. Dean starts small, when they move in; he begins with his room, decorating it to his liking, the way he would lay awake at night and imagine in his younger years. At the time it had been an impossible fantasy, but now, with each poster he puts up and each item of clothing he places in the dresser, it is a welcome reality.

They've got a home now.

After his room is done, Dean moves on to the kitchen. He sorts through every pot and pan he finds, separating them into piles according to how usable they are. He figures out how to use the old-fashioned fridge, stove top, and oven. He dusts the whole place top to bottom, and when he's done, he goes online and orders a toaster, a microwave, and a coffee machine. He even throws in some cookbooks.

He hunts down the keys to every car in the garage and puts them up on a board, neatly labeled with the cars' names and, where relevant, model and color. He dusts off the old gramophone in the library, and tinkers with it till he can get it to work. He buys some records on vinyl to go with it, too.

It takes a couple weeks, but it's surprising how at home Dean already feels in so little time. He assumes that it's the same for Sam -- his brother certainly never says anything that would lead him to believe otherwise -- but comes to a rude awakening one sunny morning, almost a month after moving in.

Sam is out running, and Dean has been thinking about doing the laundry. He's got a basket balanced on his hip as he walks into Sam's room, intending to gather up his brother's laundry -- and then he stops short.

Sam's room is almost entirely bare except for the bed, the dresser, and a desk. Shit, Dean's seen better furnished jail cells. Even the sheets on the bed are plain white, faded almost beige with age. Sam probably found them in a storage closet somewhere, ran them through the washing machine, and put them on. Unlike Dean, who actually went shopping for sheets.

Sam's duffel is by the foot of his bed, and Dean frowns when he realizes it's packed. He puts the basket down and moves to the dresser, and pulls open a drawer only to find it empty. At least Sam's toothbrush is present in its holder on the sink, but that doesn't provide Dean with much comfort.

It looks far too much like Sam is planning on leaving.

He corners Sam when he returns from his run. Sam has barely taken three steps into the kitchen, sweaty and flushed, when Dean demands, "Why haven't you unpacked?"

Sam freezes, deer in headlights. "What?"

"I went into your room to get your laundry," Dean tells him, "and I just happened to noticed that you haven't unpacked. Why?"

"I just... didn't get around to it," Sam answers vaguely, not meeting Dean's eyes.

"Sam, we've been here a month," Dean points out. "And we've been on, what, three hunts? We've had nothing but time!"

"Well, I just didn't do it, okay?" Sam says, moving around Dean so he can get himself a glass of water. "Why does it bother you so much?"

"Because it looks like you're going to leave," Dean snaps, and then regrets it immediately when Sam goes completely still.

"What?" Sam asks, voice barely above a whisper.

"Sam--" Dean tries, but he doesn't know what he'll say.

In any case, it's clearly too late. Sam lets his outstretched hand fall to his side, and asks, voice brittle, "You think I'll leave you?"

"No, I just--"

"You just what, Dean?" Sam asks. His voice cracks on his brother's name, and Dean notes with horror that his eyes are filling up. "You think I'd do that? Just leave you? You have that little faith in me?"

"Sammy, no, it's not like that," Dean tries again.

"No?" Sam asks. "Then what is it?" He swallows. "Because to me it looks like you just don't trust me, Dean. And I--" He pauses, swallows again, and looks away before continuing. "I just don't know what to tell you that'll convince you. I don't even know if I can."

"Sammy," Dean says, heart sinking, but Sam's already shouldering past him, out of the kitchen and in the direction of his room. Dean watches him go, and exhales slowly as he realizes that he's just fucked up. 

Sam chose him over Amelia. Sam took on the Trials instead of him. He knows Sam won't leave him, and he knows that they're in a better place now than they have been in a while. Except -- except now it looks like he's gone and screwed it up, made Sam think that he doesn't have faith in him.

He's got to fix this, somehow.

---

He knocks on Sam's door a few hours later, after he's given Sam enough time to himself. "Come in," Sam calls out on the third knock, sounding hoarse and tired, and Dean lets himself in.

Sam is sitting on the bed, back against the headboard, holding a book in his hand that's still open to the first page. He looks like he's been sitting there a while, going by the creases in the bedsheets.

"Hey," Dean says quietly.

"Hey," Sam answers after a pause. He doesn't look at Dean.

"Can I sit?" Dean asks, gesturing towards the bed. He's very careful not to look at the duffel at its foot.

Instead of answering, Sam moves aside without a word. Dean sits down, and takes a moment to go over his words carefully in his head before he speaks. "I'm sorry," he begins. "It's not that I don't trust you, or that I don't have faith in you. It's not like that, Sammy, I swear. I was just... I was scared, all right?"

"But why?" Sam asks, shutting his book with a snap and putting it aside.

"Because I'm a dumbass, all right?" Dean answers. "I know it's not like that, but sometimes I get insecure, okay? And I hate it, and I know it's not how things actually are, but seeing your shit all packed up just scared me, okay? God, Sam, I can't help it, man. What am I going to do without you?"

"But I'm not going anywhere!" Sam tells him, finally turning to face him. "Dean, the reason I didn't unpack is not because I want to leave you! It's because -- because this place doesn't feel like home to me, okay? And I know you've settled in," he adds before Dean can speak. "And I'm happy for you, I am. But it just doesn't feel right to me. I'm scared I'll get comfortable here and then it'll get taken away from us, and I'm scared that it won't last. It's just easier for me like this, because this way it won't hurt if we have to leave."

The confession takes Dean enough by surprise that for a few moments he doesn't speak. Sam continues watching him, mouth downturned, eyes dull in the lamplight. He looks tired, and worn down, and sallow, and it stings Dean that some of it might be due to him.

"I don't know if we can stay here forever," he says in the end. "But we can stay here for now, Sam. And that's good enough for me. We've never had a home, man. And I don't know if this is it. But I'm willing to try, and see how that goes. And, look." He takes a deep breath, and then reaches out to take Sam's hand, feeling gratified when Sam lets him. "You told me that you see a light at the end of the tunnel. You promised me you'd take me to it. Now I'm asking you to let me do that for you. I can make it home, Sam, but I don't want to do it if you're not in it with me. All right?"

Sam hesitates a little, looking torn. Dean gives him time, waits patiently as Sam thinks his words through, and tries not to feel anxious, tries not to think about what he'll do if Sam doesn't agree.

And then Sam squeezes his hand, and says, "Okay, Dean. I trust you."

Dean smiles at him, slow and soft. "You in?"

Sam's answering smile is a little uncertain, but there are dimples, and that makes it more than enough for Dean. "Yeah, Dean, I'm in."

"Good," says Dean forcefully, and leans in to peck Sam lightly on the lips. "Am I forgiven?"

"Yeah," Sam says with a little grin. "You are."

"Enough that you'll let me sleep here with you tonight?" Dean asks, only half-teasing.

"If you want to," Sam answers.

"I want to," Dean tells him, and kisses Sam again when he smiles.

---

He makes more of an effort to include Sam in his decor adventures from that point on. He helps Sam add his favorite books to the library, and between the two of them, they manage to install enough signal boosters in the bunker so that the whole place has Wi-Fi coverage. He teaches Sam how to use the stove, and takes him shopping for bedsheets and small decorative items and other things to brighten his room up with. Predictably, Sam just buys a sun lamp and several potted succulents, the nerd, but it counts, and Dean's just happy Sam's taking initiative instead of letting Dean do everything for him.

Dean also helps Sam unpack his duffel. He sorts Sam's weapons out while Sam organizes his clothes in the dresser, and then he makes a list of more things he can get Sam, like a nice towel rack and maybe a phone charging stand.

It takes more time for Sam to settle in than it did Dean, but eventually, he stops moving about the bunker like he's a guest. He starts helping out more around the place, going through the old archives and making some sort of organizational system for all the books in the library, and helping Dean around the kitchen sometimes, cutting up vegetables while Dean cooks, making grocery lists and (to Dean's delight) adding his favorite tea and leafy rabbit food to it. On clear days they go for walks outside, just exploring the area, and Dean takes Sam's hand in his and intertwines their fingers casually at every single opportunity he gets. He always pretends not to see the way Sam smiles when he does that, but it lights him up from the inside.

Slowly, but surely, the bunker becomes home. Not because Dean now has most of his things unpacked and settled, or because he has a place to cook and a room to call his own -- but because Sam is right here with him, finally learning to live in a space rather than just exist in it.

In spite of that, though, it's never really been about the bunker itself. Dean's home has always been Sam. And now he knows that Sam's home has always been him, too.

---

sometimes s8 feels just slap you in the face, huh? hope you liked this!! <3

--wincestmas anon

—

Oh goodness thank you Santa! I needed this little slice or curtain fic in my life. You’ve captured Dean’s domesticity so well. Thank you, thank you, thank you! ❤️

#wincestmas #12daysofwincestmas #wincest #wincest curtainfic #this is adorable #it’s as if my heart is under Sam’s sunlamp #which i realize makes me a cactus #but i digress #read this fic! #submission

[crooked-sleep]

Day 11 - Beginning of the End [Pt. 1]

hi oh my god i can’t believe it’s almost over! i’m gonna miss writing you things! (maybe i’ll do it off anon ;D)

—

“Last chance,” Billie says, looking down at Sam as he kneels in the dirt, a frighteningly still Dean cradled in his arms. “After this, no more deals. No more summons. The next time I see either one of you, I reap you. Oh, and one more thing,” she adds.

“What?” asks Sam desperately. “I’ll do anything, anything, just tell me–”

“Let me finish, Sam,” Billie says, not unkindly. “I know you and your brother. The moment you use a spell, the moment you get an angel or your nephilim to heal you – deal’s over. I reap you instantly. You want to live? You do it like every other person on this planet. No shortcuts. No loopholes. Are we agreed?”

“Yes,” Sam says at once. He doesn’t even need to think. He can’t, not when Dean is in his arms, cold and lifeless. “Yes, Billie, it’s a deal, just - just bring him back, please–”

She kneels down next to him, and puts two fingers to Dean’s forehead. Inadvertently Sam’s grip on him tightens, as if he can somehow share his lifeforce with Dean if only he held him tight enough. Billie notices, going by the faint smile on her ageless face, but does not comment.

She gets back to her feet, dusting her coat off. A second later, Dean gasps and then coughs, jerking back to life in Sam’s arms. Immediately Sam moves, unwrapping his arms from around Dean so he can frame Dean’s face with his hands. “Dean?” he says, voice wet with desperation.

“What the hell happened?” Dean rasps out, pressing a hand to the bloody patch over his belly. “Sammy – did I die?”

Sam bites his lips, and then nods. “Yeah,” he whispers, and then his voice cracks.

“What did you do?” Dean asks at once. “Sammy, what did you do–”

“I called Billie,” Sam replies, looking up – but she’s gone. 

“Billie?” Dean repeats. His hand is still pressed to the spot where the fatal gunshot wound had been just a minute ago. “Swear to God, Sammy, if you did something stupid–”

“I–”

Dean, it seems, is not in the mood to let Sam finish. “Did you make a deal, Sam?”

Sam nods wordlessly, biting his lip again.

Dean slumps, hands going to hold his head up. “God, Sammy,” he says, voice muffled behind his hands. He sounds broken down. “What is it?”

“I didn’t sign my soul over or anything,” Sam tells him, cautiously reaching out a hand to put it on Dean’s knee. “Her deal was that she’d bring you back, but it would be the last time. And - and we’re not supposed to summon her ever again, or use a spell to heal ourselves, or even let an angel or Jack do it. If we do, she’ll reap us on the spot.”

“That’s it?” Dean asks after a moment, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “She doesn’t want anything else?”

Sam shakes his head. The movement makes his hair come loose from behind his ear and fall in front of his eyes. “No. She just said that if we live, we do it like every other person on the planet. That’s it.”

“I don’t know, Sammy,” Dean says with a frown. “Seems too damn easy. Too good to be true.”

“It's Billie,” Sam points out. “She’s as transparent as they come, Dean, she’s never lied to us or tried to deceive us. For lack of a better word, I’d say I trust her to hold up her end of the deal.”

“Yeah, but–” Dean begins.

“I don’t care,” Sam interrupts fiercely. His voice is shaking, and he doesn’t give a shit, not when Dean's alive, and Sam’s own heart is slowly coming back to life, too. “I don’t care, Dean, God, you died–” He stops short. There aren’t words. No matter how many times this happens, there are never going to be words.

And Dean gets it, anyway. Words aren’t necessary to begin with.

“Sammy,” Dean says, and this time he sounds tender. Sam looks up, shaking his head slightly to get his hair out of his face, and finds Dean giving him a small but genuine smile. He looks indescribably fond. “C'mere,” he says, beckoning, and it’s like Sam has only been waiting for the chance; he all but throws himself at Dean, only dimly aware of how cold the ground is or that it’s started to rain. 

Dean’s arms are around him instantly, one hand coming up to brush Sam’s hair behind his ear, and his lips are on Sam’s temple as he whispers, “It’s okay, man. It’s okay.”

“What was I supposed to do?” Sam asks. His voice is now trembling so much it’s a miracle Dean can understand him. His entire body is shaking, in fact, and it feels like Dean’s arms around him are the only thing keeping him from falling apart. “How was I supposed to live without you? I can’t, Dean, I can’t–”

“Sammy, hey, it’s okay,” Dean repeats, soothing, as he cradles the back of Sam’s head. “It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s okay.”

Sam takes in a deep, shuddering breath, and decides to believe Dean. “Yeah,” he whispers into Dean’s shoulder. “Yeah, Dean.”

—

“It’s not a bad deal, all things considered,” Dean says when they’re in the car, the town miles away in the rearview mirror. They didn’t stop for anything more than a quick shower, and now they’re back on the road, driving in the direction of the bunker and keeping an eye out for any place to get food from on the way.

“I honestly didn’t care at the time,” Sam tells him. “I know I should’ve, but–”

“Hey, man, I get it,” Dean interrupts. “Not saying it’s a good idea, but I get it. God knows I’ve done it several times myself. Which I guess gives me the experience needed to say – it’s not a bad deal. No souls involved, we don’t have any favor hanging over our heads, and we don’t owe her. That’s actually pretty good.”

“Yeah,” Sam says after a moment. “Gonna have to be more careful, though. We can’t afford any more close calls now.”

There is a silence as Dean appears to digest this. Sam keeps watching him, marveling at the rise and fall of his chest, at the familiar way he holds himself in the driver’s seat, eyes flicking to the rearview every now and then.

He doesn’t say it, but if Billie had asked more of him, demanded his soul and his heart and everything else in him – he’d have given it. Without question. Without a second’s delay, he’d have given it, and it would have been a small price to pay for Dean’s life.

“Look, food,” Dean says, cutting into Sam’s train of thought. Sam blinks and looks up through the rain-spattered windshield to see a neon sign up ahead.

“Oh, good, I’m starving,” Sam says, and it’s true; he is. He just had been too preoccupied with Dean’s death and Billie’s deal to realize it.

It’s late, and there is only one other car in the parking lot when Dean pulls up. They rush indoors, trying to avoid the rain as much as possible, and seat themselves at the table by the window, all exits in clear view. Dean orders a hamburger with curly fries on the side and an extra-large milkshake; Sam orders a chicken salad and, when their meals arrive, steals Dean’s fries off his plate every now and then.

“Why didn’t you just get your own?” Dean asks, fingers closing around Sam’s wrist before Sam can take his fries for the fifth time.

“‘Cause it’s more fun taking yours,” Sam tells him, trying to tug his wrist out of Dean’s vice grip.

“They ain’t free,” Dean tells him, not giving in to Sam’s efforts at all. He appears irritatingly unfazed, in fact, like Sam’s got no more strength than an enthusiastic toddler.

“What do you want?” Sam asks, momentarily halting his struggle.

Dean grins at him across the table and then half-rises, leaning in to give Sam a quick peck on the mouth before sitting back down. “That’s it,” he says, releasing Sam’s hand.

Sam’s too surprised to reach for the fries again. “What was that for?” he asks, lips tingling pleasantly where Dean’s mouth had just been.

“Can’t kiss my man just ‘cause I feel like it?” Dean asks rhetorically, still grinning, and then adds, “It’s nothin’, man. Just – thanks, I guess.”

“For what?” Sam asks after a stunned pause. “What I did – I’d do it again. A thousand times if I have to.”

He’s expecting Dean to argue, but his brother just smiles at him again and says, “I know.”

Sam stares at Dean for a few seconds, and then decides not to overthink it. Instead, he treats himself to a few more of Dean’s fries, and returns Dean’s sappy fond smile, and feels wrapped in warmth in a way that has nothing to do with the space heaters set up in the diner.

They’re down to sharing Dean’s milkshake when Dean says, “You know what, Sammy?”

“What?” Sam asks.

“We should retire,” Dean says. He doesn’t say it like he’s asking a question, or like he’s only considering the idea; he says it firmly, sure of himself, like he’s already thought it out.

“Retire?” Sam repeats. “You mean that?”

Dean nods. “About time, ain’t it?” he asks. “There are no more impending apocalypses or any overpowered, egoistic entities to worry about, Sammy. And hell, for the rest of it, there’s plenty of others hunters to do the job, man. We’ve done more than our fair share, I’d say it’s time we call it. What do you think?”

“I…” Sam trails off. “I think it’s a great idea,” he says a moment later, and then smiles widely at Dean. “Retirement… you really mean it, Dean?”

Dean reaches across the table to take Sam’s hand. “Yeah, baby, I do. About fuckin’ time. The more I think about it, the more I realize Billie’s right. We gotta do it like everyone else now. Get old and fat and all that. And ain’t no one else I’d rather do it with than you.”

Sam laces his fingers through Dean’s and squeezes, his smile brightening even more. “That sounds perfect to me,” he says quietly, and his soul lights up when Dean smiles back.

—

They go to bed in Dean’s room right after they arrive home, even though it’s past sunrise by now. There, they undress each other slowly, and Dean colors Sam’s skin in hickeys, and Sam runs his hand all over Dean’s body and counts his pulse, their breaths falling in sync. And then Dean takes Sam to bed, opens him up with sure fingers, soft words and gentle kisses, and presses into him like they’ve got all the time in the world. And Sam wraps his limbs around Dean, enveloping him, and cradles the back of his head as Dean makes love to him, unhurried, content, both of them lost in a haze of pleasure, aware only of each other. Dean kisses Sam as he comes, Sam’s shout lost to Dean’s mouth, and then he kisses Sam’s cheekbone, and his jaw, and his collarbone, and whispers his name into his skin when he, too, climaxes.

Afterwards they lie in a sweaty tangle of limbs, the sheets coming up to their waists, and Sam puts his head on Dean’s chest so he can keep listening to Dean’s heartbeat, the constant reminder of the life in him. His body is sore, from the hunt and from the drive and from the sex, but his chest feels light and airy, and his skin feels electric at every point where Dean’s touching it. He thinks he never wants to leave this bed again, that he wouldn’t mind just staying here forever, tangled up in Dean’s warmth. It comes as a pleasant jolt when he realizes that he doesn’t have to; they’re retired now. They can do this for as long as they want. Hours on end. Days. Forever.

Sam raises his head, smiles at Dean, and kisses him before lying back down. “Happy first day of retirement, Dean.”

Dean chuckles, running his fingers through Sam’s hair, brushing it behind his ear as he whispers, “Happy first day of retirement to you too, Sammy.”

—

part 2 tomorrow!! 

i’ve always loved to think about the two of them retiring together, once the world is finally okay again. i don’t know if they’ll get to do it in canon – i really, really hope they do – but whatever happens, it won’t stop me from fantasizing! after everything they’ve been through, the least they deserve is a little peace, honestly.

re: your walmart story – my condolences for the loss of your friend <333 like you’ve said, at least you’ve got fond memories together to look back on. it was a really funny story and i’m glad you got to experience that with your friends :)

love, wincestmas anon <3

____

Dean! Best idea you’ve ever had! I cannot wait to see how they settled into apple pie life in part 2! This was so well written, as usual.

And OMG I hope you’ll keep writing for me. Sorry, but I am a very greedy girl. I’m def going to write you something too when this is all over. You’ve spoiled me WAY too much with these pressies! You are the literal best! - Love, Sin

#wincestmas #12daysofwincestmas #wincest fic #wincest curtainfic #oh my heart #submission