#kloswritting

but... it was more than that. he never really told dad. he never really told dean either. that's one of the thing he never talked about with his brother, really.

but sometimes he wished - so badly - that he could talk about it with someone, someone that could understand him.

because it was more than the dreams - weird and painful and dark dark dreams that became real. it was more than the gut-feelings he always had. it was... everything else.

it was in how he could hear the murmurs in the wind, the whispers in the forests, the stories told by the birds' songs, the meaning of the shapes of the clouds and the ancient wisdom of the stars.

it was in how he could understand the rain and the stones and the blood.

and how it could understand him too.

it was in how sometimes, after the awful dreams he had, he would whispers in the middle of the night, he would pray - to the moon to the night to the energy that was always lit in his very core - he would pray that his brother and father would make it out alive of their hunt.

and they would. they always would.

he never said anything. not to his father, not to dean.

sam winchester always knew he was... not normal.

still a goth after all those years back on the road with dean. less chains, less platform boots, and less very shorts short with fishnets, but still goth.

always dressed in black, a chain or two around his neck, few piercings on his ears, one on his nose. longer hair he always ties into a bun. skin covered of tattoos, and scars.

when he's feeling it, he wears mascara with black eyeshadow, just a little.

Dean looked up from his laptop' screen where he was looking for some case, and frowned.

"Why're you smilin'?" he asked.

Sam turned away from the cheap calandar that was already there when they arrived at the motel and shrugged, avoiding his brother's eyes.

"For nothin'."

Dean made a sceptical noise.

"C'mon. Spill. " but Sam stayed silent. "Sammyyy, c'mooooon."

Sam rolled his eyes, and decided to say something, just to make Dean shut up.

"It's June."

Dean went still for a couple seconds, looking at him like he'd just grown a second head and then said slowly :"Yeah..... it is... did you just learn the different months of the year or something?"

Sam scoffed. "Of course not, idiot!"

Dean threw his hands in the air, dramatically :"So what's so special about June that makes you smile?!"

Sam, feeling irritated by his brother constant questioning, said without thinking : "It's pride month, that's why, you dumbass!" He turned away and started to search for a book in his school bag that was on his bed, determined to ignore his brother.

But then almost a whole minute passed in silence, without Dean saying anything, so Sam turned back around, facing his brother, his heartbeat starting to get accelerate.

Dean was staring at him, a look of concentration on his face. His brother wasn't stupid, he was surely starting to understand some things : Sam never went out with any girls and was never interested in them, always making disgusted noises when Dean talk about the stuff he did with them. And now he basically admitted that he was happy it was pride month. Dean was going to understand, and Sam hadn't meant to say that, not like that not right now.

"Hey, Sam. Sammy."

Sam took a sharp breath, realizing he was about to have a panic attack and that he needed to keep breathing and calm the fuck down. He looked back up to his brother, who was still sitting on the chair, near the window in front of his laptop.

"You... You're one of the... I mean. You're part of the... The pride?"

It was so unlikely Dean to stutter and hesitate when talking that it took a few second for Sam to understand what he'd asked. He was also surprised Dean hadn't say any slurs. But Dean continued to talk before he could answer.

"I mean it's cool. Like it's fine. No judgment. If you are I mean. If you're not it's okay too."

There was an awkward pause, and Sam was really trying not to laugh. Or cry. He wasn't sure. He decided to say something, Dean was starting to look real uncomfortable.

"Hum. Yeah. Thanks, I guess. I... I'm not totally sure, though? I don't really have a label right now, but I'm probably not into girls."

His brother nodded, and so did he.

Dean cleared his throat and then said : "Well,... Don't forget to use protection alright? No matter the gender. Hey, I can look it up for ya if you want? I can find you some videos and all...."

"Ew! Dean, no! Stop talking!"

Dean started to laugh and tapped on the keyboard of his laptop, saying the words outloud as he wrote them : "Gay..... Po...r.. n."

first he used matches, that he stole from dad's bag. then he took dean's lighter and kept it, dean noticed and didn't say anything ; he didn't mind.

but then, little pieces of paper weren't enough, so he burnt bigger things. building campfires and throwing old useless thing in it ; old toys, old clothes, sometimes even books (it was mostly the bibles he found in motel room's drawers).

it wasn't enough though, the smell of burning papers or fabric or plastic, he needed to feel the heat, to see the flames, to see the bright oranges and yellows and reds and blues.

burning corpses during hunts weren't really fun, he couldn't stay watching the thing burn, they always had to leave fast.

it wasn't enough.

the first building he burnt down had been an abandoned wooden little house in the woods that was outside the town they've been staying in. for a second he hesitated to run inside of it, inside the house on fire, and he had a feeling of déjà vu.

but he watched the house burn down until all was left was ashes. (and inside of him were ashes too)

in the next town they stayed at, in the middle of a night, he burned down the church.

buildings were alright for a while. but it still wasn't what he wanted, he wanted flames and heat all the time, he needed it.

(he wanted to come back into the fire dean took him out of.)

so he decided what he was going to burn next.

the next morning, a boy with golden eyes burnt down the world, opening the gates of hell, releasing flames that devastated everything, every beings. the whole world was burning and finally, finally, sam winchester knew that was what he had always wanted. the fire he wanted to start and watch since he was taken out of this house on fire all those years ago.

the whole world was burning at his feet and he felt like a fire had started within him as well, as if flames were now running in his veins instead of blood.

they’re too far away from each other. he tries to reach out for his brother, try to catch his hand, his arm, try to say something, anything.

his mouvements are too slow, his vision is too dark. he tries to keep his eyes open, to see him, to see his little brother, because he knows. he knows that this time, what he sees now is the last thing that he’ll see alive.

“sam... sammy?”

his little brother is still, his eyes on him.

“i love you.”

but he’s already gone. so dean closes his eyes, and lets go.

---

he opens his eyes. he’s in the car, and he feels no more pain. outside, it’s nightime, the sky is full of stars. heaven. finally.

he turns his head toward sam, because he knows he’s there, where else would he be if not by his side ?

sam smiles at him and says :

years later, dean still use the nickname, but less. it's more when something bad happens and they both need comfort.

but then. then sam was posessed by lucifer and gadreel. and everytime dean called him his 'angel' he would clench his jaw but say nothing because dean loved to call him like that. so he just close his eyes and breath and think about some other stuff. but he can't stop himself from reacting. when he hears the nickname, he trembles, tenses, sometimes a memory from the cage flashes behind his eyes.

the nickname triggers him. he knows it and he knows he should tell dean. but again he doesn't want to hurt his brother because of the shit he went through.

one day, they are both lying in bed, it's late at night, and sam is just about to fall asleep. dean's just next to him and he knows that his brother's looking at him. he feels dean's fingers drawing symboles on his back.

'sam?'

sam doesn't answer, and even if he wanted to, he was to tired to speak or move.

'sammy? angel.'

sam open his eyes and inhale sharply. dean's hand stop moving and he asks:

'you alright?'

sam closes his eyes, but open them again because behind his closed eyelids he sees a pair of wings. he nods. dean sit up slowly and looks down at him.

'no, tell me.'

sam's tired. all he wants is to sleep and forgot about it, and he knows that since his brother noticed something was wrong he was going to ask about it till he speak. so, looking right into his brother's green eyes, he says:

'when you call me.. angel, i know you like this nickname, and so do i. well, so did i. it's just... with lucifer and gadreel, it makes me... uncomfortable. i'm sorry.'

dean frowns and says: 'sammy, you should have told me... shit i am the one who's supposed to apologize here. i didn't even noticed...'

sam grabs dean's arm and say softly: 'don't apologize, please. it's not your fault. neither mine. it's just... what it is.'

they both stay still and quiet for a minute, staring into each other's eyes. dean slowly lies down on the bed again. he take a deep breath, turn his head toward sam and, with his eternal grin; 'gotta find you a new nickname now, sammy.'

sam chuckles. dean rolls till he is on top of sam, and he kisses him, twice on the lips, on his pointy nose, both of his cheeks, on his dimples. sam's smiling.

'what do you think of baby boy? or sweetheart? maybe... honey?' he added the last one with a high pitched voice, imitating a old woman.

sam snorted 'shut up and kiss me.'

dean lean down and his lips were almost touching sam's when he said 'okay. honey. '

'if i die, what would you do?'

dean, who's cleaning the guns, sitting on a chair at the kitchen table, stops what he's doing and looks up. sam is on the bed they share, playing with the knife dad gave him a few towns ago.

'you won't die sammy, the hell are you talking about?'

sam rolls his eyes, put the knife on the bedside table and sit crosslegs on the mastress. then he adds: 'yeah but what if i do? what would you do?'

sam stares into his eyes, into his soul and dean answers: 'i'll bring you back.'

'how?'

'i don't know. i'll find a way.'

'and if you can't?'

'i'll join you.'

sam gets up, and walk slowly toward dean, and dean can't help himself but think about the way sam walk, with so much grace and power, like a pretator, yet so young, and he shivers. sam's standing right in front of him, so close that he can feels sam's breath on his face.

sam sits on his lap, arms around his neck, and dean put his hands on his waist.

'the two of us against the world, right? whatever happens?'

'whatever happens, sammy.'

i was tagged by @writinginslowmotion (@ohnoitsthebat) @writinginthesecrettrees & @fussysammy and i have to post the last line i wrote!

"i sit up slightly, look around me. the corpses of demons are slowly turning to ashes, and in a few hours there will be nothing left. i'm surrounded by ruins made of stone, with no visibility on the rest of the battlefield, but i know we have won. i can see the wolves prowling near the bodies, seeing who is dead and who is not, who to save and who to finish. i don't know how long it has been since the beginning of the attack, and i don't remember how i got here, in the middle of the ruins. i only know that i'm covered in blood, but fortunately, it's not mine."

okay, so this is not just one line, but i wanted to give a context. it's about my book btw, and from the point of view of jo owen <3