#corrupteddean

i love both of the ideas and i plan on writing both of them but which one to write first, i’m leaving that up to y’all. y’all can make the hard choice.

url: | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 10+ | sam’s hairicon: | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 10+ | dean’s freckles | selfietheme: | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 10+ | the bunkerposts: | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 10+ | anti possession tattoooverall: | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 10+ | the whole damn showfollowing: no, sorry | now!! | yesss | TO HELL AND BACK

There were monsters and terrible things hiding in the dark but he always managed. They were supposed to be hunting the things lurking in the dark and he was pretty good at that. But it was before the Cage and hell and Lucifer and everything that happened down there. It was before the hallucinations jumping at him every second he closed his eyes to take a breath. He’s never been afraid of the dark before the whole world dropped at his head and now things changed and he can’t.

Sam knows it’s a stupid, irrational fear-- pretty much like his fear of clowns but he just can’t help it. He tried. He wishes he could change it, he wishes he could be as normal as a hunter but it’s hard and painful and he just doesn’t want to deal with this anymore. It’s too much, all the time. Dean doesn’t really understand this, and Sam is tired of trying to explain. Explaining wouldn’t change anything, wouldn’t make him feel better or less scared.

Sam feels his blood freeze in his veins when the lights in the bunker go out all of sudden, leaving him trapped in a dark hole and suddenly he can’t think, he can’t breath. He knows there’s nothing coming to get him, he knows nothing can’t hurt him there in the safety of his room but his brain keeps betraying him, keeps sending waves of pure fear through his body.

It’s too much-- this is too much, and he feels trapped, suffocating, drowning.

He doesn’t hear himself screaming, pleading for Dean but in a moment his big brother is there to save Sam from himself just like always, strong arms wrapped around his shaking body, the little light coming from his cellphone barely enough to make Sam remember how to breath again. He slumps against Dean’s chest, pulls him closer until there’s not enough room between them but he doesn’t care. He can’t do this alone, not anymore--

“Hey, it’s okay.” Dean whispers, nurses his baby brother as if he were still a baby, and Sam forces himself to relax, to feel Dean’s body against his, to listen to the shushed words. “I’m right here, Sammy. I’m not leaving you.”

“I’m sorry... I’m sorry...”

“It’s okay baby, you’re okay. You’re not alone.”

Dean keeps talking, keeps Sam close even after the lights come back and there’s nothing to fear anymore. Dean may not understand how this feels, but he’s trying real hard and doing his best all the time, and Sam couldn’t be more grateful. Sometimes he feels like he doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t deserve his big brother but now it’s not the time to think about it.

Now Dean is kissing his face gently, pulling his mind away from the irrational fear bumping through his veins, and Sam feels like melting under his touch.

“I love you Sammy. I love you.”

This is good. They are good, for now.

Dean is serious, sitting straight and looking like he’s working in another case-- and this is half weird, half funny because they’re supposed to be on a short vacation or whatever. Sam isn’t sure how he should feel about this. so he just hums in response, turning a page of his magazine. He can’t remember why he’s even trying to read it, but he’s grateful for Dean’s interruption.

As weird as it is.

“Why do you never say ‘yes’?”

Oh. So that’s the reason behind Dean’s sudden behavior. Sam has believed they’ve got that settled a long time ago.

He can’t remember when Dean started asking, really. Maybe after Stanford and Jess, maybe when they first kissed in the back seat of the Impala when Sam was 13. At first it was just an innocent joke, something they threw around only to have something to look for-- a promise of sorts. They’d always be together, day after day, as long as Dean kept asking and Sam kept refusing, and it was good. No matter how fucked up their lives were, they still had a constant there, keeping them together.

But then time flew by, things got even more fucked up than ever and with everything the world had thrown at their faces, somewhere down the road that question turned and twisted into something meaningful, real and deep as a fresh wound. Despite Dean’s best efforts, though, Sam’s answers has never changed.

‘You goin’ to marry me today?’

‘Ask me again tomorrow.’

Dean is still staring, still waiting for Sam’s answer, and Sam sighs, pushing the magazine aside to look up at his big brother. Their eyes lock for a second or two and even if there’s a thousand and one things Sam could say, there’s only one answer he’d always pick.

“Because if I did, I’d never get to hear you ask again.”

No, scratch that. He’s going to kill Sam, that simple. It’s not like Sam doesn’t really deserve it. They had talked and finally made an agreement and well… now things are bad. Real bad.

Sam wonders, for a second, if he should kill himself before Dean gets home. At least he could make things quickier and a little less messier. Unfortunately the devil seems to be summoned by his thoughts, and in the next second his big brother is entering the room. Sam gulps.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself.” Dean replies, smiling easily. He’s relaxed and in an obvious good mood, so maybe, just maybe Sam can escape that one– but he’s a Winchester and good luck isn’t something they have. “Is everything okay, baby?”

“Yeah, sure.” Sam says, even if things aren’t okay at all. He hopes his anxiety doesn’t show on his face. “So, I know you said only one cat, but listen–”

Dean isn’t really listening. He’s whistling softly, too happy about some random reason, and Sam is starting to freak out because his big brother is just going to enter the goddamn room and…

“Dean– wait, don’t open the door!”

Too late.

The moment the door is open, a dozen stray cats escape the room and hide everywhere across the Bunker. Not that it really matters right now, not with Dean staring at Sam with such an unreadable expression that Lucifer would back away. Sam licks his dry lips, suddenly feeling like a 10 years old again.

“…I can explain.”

“You better start talking, then.”