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Prompt: Supernatural, Dean/Sam, Dean wears Sam's hoodie when he needs comforting.
Rating: PG
Warnings: Mild Wincest (chaste kissing)
Sam left a lot behind when he took off for Stanford. Weapons, books, clothes...John told Dean curtly to get rid of everything but the weapons, no more use for a son who wouldn't obey, but for once in his life Dean made his own choice. He ditched what he had to and made room, keeping Sam's books (Dean knew he'd want them later) and his favorite hoodie (two sizes too big, and nothing else would fit him later, the way Sam was still growing).
John scowled but said nothing...still, he started leaving Dean alone, sending him off on his own hunts, and sometimes Dean couldn't help it. He'd dig out Sam's hoodie and put it own, just to try and remember what it felt like to have a family.
Later, after Dad disappeared and Jessica died, having Sam's things was...awkward. Dean discreetly got rid of the books (of course Sam didn't want them, he wasn't a kid any more, how stupid could Dean be?) but he couldn't bring himself to get rid of Sam's hoodie. He didn't wear it any more, of course. That would bring awkward to a level he didn't want to comtemplate, but sometimes, when he and Sam were fighting and all he wanted to do was go to sleep and never wake up, he thought about it.
And then Dean went and fucked up everything. He shot a rawhead with a tazer while standing in a puddle, for Christ's fucking sake, never even stopped to think about anything but getting those kids and Sam out of that thing's way.
When he opened his eyes again, Sam was sitting next to his hospital bed holding the hoodie. There were tears in his eyes, and in his voice, and he was wringing the cloth so hard Dean thought it might tear in his giant, oversized hands. But it held strong, and when Sam left it was lying across the narrow bed like a promise.
Dean stared at it for a long time, sorrow and hope clenched tight in his chest, making it even harder to breath. Getting it on was a struggle, but he felt better, stronger, strong enough to face down the doctor and the head nurse (who WAS hot, but not enough) because Sam needed him back more than they needed him to stay.
The world was grey, washed out and paler than he was, narrowed down to the name of the motel and SamSamSam beating in his heart by the time he made it back. Even Sam was faded and worn, words whispered through a fog as his brother caught him and carried him to the bed.
Nebraska, he heard. Don't worry, I've got you, then Sam was kissing him, first time since he stormed out to find his real life, light and sweet on his eyes and cheeks and Dean sighed. Sam pulled him close with what could be a sob, and Dean relaxed for the first time in what feels like years.
After Nebraska the hoodie went back in the trunk and stayed there.
Rating: PG
Warnings: Mild Wincest (chaste kissing)
Sam left a lot behind when he took off for Stanford. Weapons, books, clothes...John told Dean curtly to get rid of everything but the weapons, no more use for a son who wouldn't obey, but for once in his life Dean made his own choice. He ditched what he had to and made room, keeping Sam's books (Dean knew he'd want them later) and his favorite hoodie (two sizes too big, and nothing else would fit him later, the way Sam was still growing).
John scowled but said nothing...still, he started leaving Dean alone, sending him off on his own hunts, and sometimes Dean couldn't help it. He'd dig out Sam's hoodie and put it own, just to try and remember what it felt like to have a family.
Later, after Dad disappeared and Jessica died, having Sam's things was...awkward. Dean discreetly got rid of the books (of course Sam didn't want them, he wasn't a kid any more, how stupid could Dean be?) but he couldn't bring himself to get rid of Sam's hoodie. He didn't wear it any more, of course. That would bring awkward to a level he didn't want to comtemplate, but sometimes, when he and Sam were fighting and all he wanted to do was go to sleep and never wake up, he thought about it.
And then Dean went and fucked up everything. He shot a rawhead with a tazer while standing in a puddle, for Christ's fucking sake, never even stopped to think about anything but getting those kids and Sam out of that thing's way.
When he opened his eyes again, Sam was sitting next to his hospital bed holding the hoodie. There were tears in his eyes, and in his voice, and he was wringing the cloth so hard Dean thought it might tear in his giant, oversized hands. But it held strong, and when Sam left it was lying across the narrow bed like a promise.
Dean stared at it for a long time, sorrow and hope clenched tight in his chest, making it even harder to breath. Getting it on was a struggle, but he felt better, stronger, strong enough to face down the doctor and the head nurse (who WAS hot, but not enough) because Sam needed him back more than they needed him to stay.
The world was grey, washed out and paler than he was, narrowed down to the name of the motel and SamSamSam beating in his heart by the time he made it back. Even Sam was faded and worn, words whispered through a fog as his brother caught him and carried him to the bed.
Nebraska, he heard. Don't worry, I've got you, then Sam was kissing him, first time since he stormed out to find his real life, light and sweet on his eyes and cheeks and Dean sighed. Sam pulled him close with what could be a sob, and Dean relaxed for the first time in what feels like years.
After Nebraska the hoodie went back in the trunk and stayed there.
