#ler!sam

There were a few things that were capable of illuminating dark spaces. You know, the normal things—lightbulbs, sunlight, perhaps a flashlight—but if you were to ask Sam, he would have said Bucky’s smile.

It was an incredibly rare sight to see, and if you did happen to be around when Bucky relaxed enough to do so, you should consider yourself extremely lucky. Not one of those halfhearted smirks, either—his real smile was like seeing a spring flower open its petals to the sunlight after keeping itself hidden and protected for so long.

But Sam could count on one hand how many times he’d seen that expression on Bucky’s face, and that, in his mind, was absolutely unacceptable. Bucky was a part of his family now, and he had been through so much. He deserved to free himself of the protective walls he’d built up, but Sam knew that getting through to him was much easier said than done. Maybe there was a way that was guaranteed to make Bucky crack a grin? But that seemed nearly impossible. He barely even saw his lips twitch when he told any jokes, even when he thought they were genius! Maybe—

“Earth to Sam?” Came Bucky’s deadpan voice, his steel blue eyes fixed skeptically on Sam’s daydreaming expression. He blinked out of his thoughts and looked toward the super soldier who was sitting on the couch next to him, TV remote in hand that had just paused the show they were watching in the living room of Sam’s house.

“You practically begged me to watch this, and you’re not even watching it yourself.”

Sam adjusted himself on the couch, crossing one leg over the other before he replied.

“Yeah, sorry. Just thinking was all.”

Bucky raised a brow. Sam wasn’t really one to be quiet—that was his job. Him being so zoned out like that was abnormal for him.

“About what? I said your name three times and you didn’t even hear me.”

Sam gave a light shrug, his gaze more on the TV than on Bucky now that he’d reached over to unpause it.

“Just you. Your staring problem. That and the fact you never smile.”

Bucky gave a light scoff, leaning back against the couch cushions. He knew about the staring problem, but he smiled. Right?

…Well, he couldn’t really remember when he’d last smiled genuinely, but whatever. He still did it. Occasionally.

“What? I smile.”

Sam turned his head to look over at Bucky with a look on his face that said ‘are you serious?’

“No, you don’t. Sure, you’ve smiled, like, once or twice in the entire time I’ve known you, but that’s not nearly enough. You gotta let go of yourself, man.”

Bucky huffed through his nose, turning toward the TV, not particularly wanting to hold eye contact with Sam at the current moment.

“Whatever. Doesn’t matter if I smile or not.”

Sam gave a scoff of his own. Bucky was always so closed off—with good reason, to be fair—but it was irritating to Sam. He wasn’t irritated at Bucky, necessarily, but more so at himself for not being able to coax the super soldier out of his shell. He supposed he just needed time and patience, but Sam wasn’t feeling all that patient. He just wanted him to crack a smile, that was all!

“It matters to me. And Sarah, because apparently your stupid ass flirting made her soften up toward you. I told you to quit trying to charm my sister.”

Bucky’s lips twitched just a little at the mention of Sarah. Her boys loved him the second they met him for some reason. He supposed he did allow himself to smile just a bit when he played with them.

“See? Why don’t you do that more often?” Sam asked, gesturing to the very slight quirk of Bucky’s lips that was on his face with a wild wave of his hand, which disappeared as soon as Sam pointed it out. Bucky was like a turtle—you moved too quickly, and he shrunk back into his shell.

“I’m gonna make you smile. I know I can. I’m the king of comedy. Here, listen to this…”

——— An exorbitant amount of time later… ———

Bucky sat, his stupid expression still as stony as it was thirty minutes ago. Sam had told literally every joke he could possibly think of, and Bucky hadn’t even let out so much as a huff. Sam was at his wits’ end. Maybe he’d never be able to get it out of him—not by forcing it, anyway.

“God, you’re impossible.” Sam groaned, leaning back against the couch in defeat.

Bucky simply shrugged. He knew that Sam wouldn’t be able to make him smile—not for real, anyway. But he’d wanted to let him try anyway, just to see him get frustrated. He was a bit of a little shit like that.

“Guess you’re not as funny as you think you are.”

Sam scoffed, throwing an offended look in Bucky’s direction. He could feel the smugness radiating off of him, even if he didn’t show it in his face.

“I am hilarious, actually. You’re just made of stone. Seriously, is there just concrete in there?” Sam huffed, reaching over to jab at Bucky’s side a couple times, expecting a slap and an irritated mutter for him to knock it off.

And—well—he did receive that, but not entirely in the way he was expecting.

Bucky tensed underneath Sam’s fingers, letting out an odd sort of choke mixed with a grumble. He smacked his hand away, shooting a glare at him—but it was weak. Sam had finally caught Bucky off guard.

“Don’t touch me like that.”

Sam raised his brows, a smirk beginning to form on his face. He knew what was going on—after all, being the tickle monster was one of his favorite ways to play with his nephews.

“Like what? Like this?” Sam asked, his hand darting out to poke into Bucky’s side while he still could, a shit-eating grin on his face now.

Bucky kept his lips stubbornly shut this time, as he was more prepared for Sam’s mischief.

“Shut up. Get your hand off me.”

Sam only chuckled, and Bucky could tell from the change in his body language that he was planning something—but that something wasn’t all that mysterious.

“You wanna know what I was really thinking about? How I could finally get your ass to smile for once. How convenient that the best method just walked right up into my arms…”

Bucky shifted where he was sitting, and Sam knew he didn’t have a lot of time before his friend bolted. He had to be fast—Bucky was always far too on guard to be able to ambush him.

“Don’t you even think about it.”

Sam huffed, eyes narrowing, smile still in place.

“I’m thinking about it.”

He lunged forward and tackled Bucky down onto the couch before the super soldier had time to react. He managed to get his human arm pinned down, knowing that he probably wouldn’t be able to keep his vibranium arm in place despite his best efforts.

Bucky’s expression was something between flabbergasted and a weird sort of offense—like the fact that Sam was able to catch him off guard and pin him was a personal attack. He struggled against Sam’s grasp, feeling color rise to his cheeks at the position they were in. He was about to shout at him to get the hell off, but he didn’t have the time for that. Sam’s free hand was already finding its way to Bucky’s waist and giving it an experimental squeeze.

Bucky immediately went silent, his breath held in his lungs, resisting the giggles that he felt rising in his chest—warm, fizzy, unfamiliar. He didn’t know what to do with the feeling—the only thing he knew right now was that he didn’t want it escaping.

But Sam was insistent. His fingers crawled from Bucky’s side to his stomach, vibrating into his belly through his shirt, squeezing into it with his thumb when he found a particularly ticklish spot near his hip.

“S-Sam—!” Bucky managed, his eyes squeezing shut before he was unable to hold his laughter in any longer. Sam pressing his thumb into his hipbone was too much. “I’m gohonna kill yohohou—stohop!”

Sam blinked as he listened to Bucky’s quiet but very real giggling. He hadn’t heard this sound ever before out of him.

It was warm and surprisingly bright for a man like Bucky—Sam found it akin to being bathed in warm sunlight after a very long day. He should do this more often, he found himself thinking—though he didn’t really think about the implications of that.

“I’m really scared,” Sam chuckled, his hand squeezing into his hip and drilling his fingertips into the skin of his stomach above it. “You’re a big tough guy, huh? Big ticklish super soldier?”

“Shh—shuhuhut uhup! Get ohohoff!” Bucky laughed, kicking out his legs to try and push himself out from underneath Sam’s weight. His vibranium hand grabbed at the wrist of Sam’s hand that was tickling him, trying to pull him away—but then he found himself thinking about it.

The last time he’d been pinned underneath another person, he had been stuck with HYDRA. He didn’t get to make choices then, didn’t get to have autonomy then. He was constantly being pinned, held down, reminded that he was under control.

Now, being in that position once again, Bucky’s first instinct was to fight. To beat off the person holding power over him. To make sure he never allowed himself to be that weak again.

But this wasn’t like that. Sam was his friend, someone he trusted greatly and had opened up to so much lately. He was playing around, not trying to make him feel weak or overpowered. Besides, he’d outright told him why he was doing this—he wanted to see Bucky smile. Laugh. That was the purest form of affection that one could show to another—making them happy because they cared about them.

Maybe he shouldn’t resist so much. Maybe… he could let go, even if only a little bit.

So Bucky’s hold on Sam’s wrist loosened. Now, he was only holding onto it for the sake of keeping himself grounded in something while the rest of him got lost in laughter he never really allowed himself to experience.

Sam noticed. He softened at the way Bucky’s expression went from tense to a little more relaxed—like he was trying to stop fighting that smile that made him look so joyous, so bright. His own mischievous smile softened into one of affection as he continued to squeeze along his waist.

Experimentally, Sam released Bucky’s human arm, bringing it down to begin tickling along his ribcage on that side. He expected to be immediately pushed off, but he was surprised.

Bucky grabbed onto his wrist, like he did with his other arm, but didn’t really push him. He just sputtered out empty threats, his laughter increasing in volume when Sam’s other hand dug into his ribs.

“Sahaham! You piece of shihit! I’ll—“

“What, shoot me?” Sam said, raising his brows down at the super soldier underneath him. “You need to come up with some better threats. They’re too predictable. Makes me think you don’t actually mean them.”

Bucky didn’t answer, because he knew Sam was right. He didn’t mean any of them.

“Just—just stohohop it! You’re suhuch a—AH!”

Bucky’s laughter heightened once more when Sam’s left hand crawled up his ribcage into his remaining underarm area, prodding into the soft skin that usually remained protected.

“WILSON!” Bucky exclaimed, giving a particularly hard thrash that nearly threw Sam off. Sam beamed, knowing he wouldn’t be able to keep Bucky down for much longer, but he enjoyed the sound of his friend’s unrestrained laughs too much to quit just yet.

“Wow, last-naming me? I must have really pissed you off. Let me help you with that,” Sam mischievously offered, his fingers wiggling deeper into the muscles of Bucky’s underarm and making throw his head back with a cackle.

Bucky finally managed to gather enough strength to buck his hips which tossed Sam off, causing him to land on the floor next to the couch in a laughing heap.

The super soldier pushed himself up to rub at his face, realizing that it was sore from smiling. The last time he’d felt that was… back in the 40s, before his military draft… before everything. Sam was the one who had brought that feeling back to him, after so many years of nothing but cold and pain and suffering.

And now Bucky looked toward the floor, where Sam was still giggling to himself while he pulled himself up to stand. He couldn’t help the thought that popped into his head while he gazed at the smile on Sam’s face.

I love that moron.

In fact, Bucky loved him enough to stand up himself and crack his knuckles in a playfully threatening way—he’d gathered his composure incredibly quickly.

“You’re dead, Sam.”

Sam found himself letting out a nervous chuckle, knowing he couldn’t talk himself out of this. He just took off and jumped over the couch with incredible agility and a burst of giddy energy, Bucky thundering after him immediately after.

From the passenger seat, Dean doesn't even look up from the weapon cleaning cloth he's been idling with, but his voice is laced with dry, older brother judgment. "That's three, Sammy."

"I'm fine," Sam croaks, his voice thick with sleep. He clears his throat, hopping his bottom up in the seat, straightening his back. "Just a pothole."

"A pothole that stretched for twenty feet and rattled the hell out of my ass? Yeah, right. Pull over."

"Dean, seriously, I'm alright. We're only an hour out from the motel." Sam grips the wheel tighter, staring fiercely at the rain-slicked asphalt, trying to force his brain into alertness.

"Yeah, and an hour is plenty of time for you to put my car into a ditch. Pull over, Sam."

"I said I've got i—"

"Sam. Pull. O–ver." Dean's voice shifted from casual teasing to that low and unyielding command that leaves no room for argument.

With a frustrated sigh, Sam gives in. He blinks through the rain, guiding the Impala onto the gravel shoulder. The tires crunch loudly before coming to a stop. Before Sam can even shift into park, Dean is already unbuckling, throwing his door open into the cold, rainy night and jogging around the hood. Sam groans, unpinning his long legs from the pedals, and slides across the bench seat into the passenger side.

Dean slips into the cabin, slamming the door shut behind himself. He shook his head like a dog to scatter the raindrops from his short hair, and grips the steering wheel with an obnoxious, theatrical sigh of relief. He shifts the car back into drive, pulling them smoothly onto the empty highway.

"Unbelievable," Dean scoffs, immediately settling into a smug rhythm. He taps his fingers against the leather wheel, glancing over at Sam with a grin. "Ninth grade, all over again. Can't even keep your eyes open for a three-hour stretch. You're a weakling, Sammy. A giant, delicate snowflake."

"Shut up, Dean," Sam mumbles. He reaches down, yanking the lever to lower his seat back, reclining it until he's basically lying down. He rolls onto his side, facing away from Dean and closing his eyes to block out the road light. "Just let me sleep."

"Oh no, you don't get to sleep through your shame," Dean chirps, entirely unbothered by Sam's dismissive attitude. He leaned back, with one elbow resting casually on the window frame. The very picture of his effortless mastery. "I mean, look at this. Rain pouring down, visibility next to nothing, road greasy as hell. Am I complaining? No. Cause a real driver can handle any circumstance."

Sam lets out a soft, mocking huff into his jacket collar, keeping his eyes shut. "Right. You're a hero, Dean. Put it on a resume."

"I'm serious! Remember that hunt in Missouri? When that crazy ass black pickup truck was tryna ram me off the ridge? I was driving through a mountain pass, in a blizzard, and I still didn’t lose traction."

Sam rolls his eyes, finally opening them just a crack. He turns his head back toward the driver's seat, a sleepy, skeptical smirk playing on his lips as he shook his head.

"Or what about the time in Pontiac? We had three cruiser tails, roadblocks on the interstate, and I navigated us through an alleyway that was literally three inches wider than this car. Did I sweat? No. Did I scratch the chrome? Not a scratch. I can drive under any condition, Sam. I could- I could drive with my eyes closed. I could drive while being strangled from behind by a demon and still parallel park perfectly. It's a gift."

Sam lets out a low chuckle, shifting his weight. He's starting to wake up now, purely fueled by the sheer absurdity of Dean's unraveling ego. "Oh, really? Any circumstance? What about that time the car got infested with cursed cicadas, hm?" He cocked his head to the side expectantly.

That does it. The last comment broke the last thread of Sam’s patience.

Dean’s posture stiffened. His face reddening slightly. "That was different! Those things were crawling inside my shirt! Besides, I kept the car upright. You, on the other hand, get a little sleepy because it's past your bedtime."

"Alright, that's it," Sam mutters. With a sudden, explosive burst of energy that completely belies his earlier exhaustion, Sam straightens up in his seat. Before Dean can even register the movement, Sam lunges across the center console. His long arms shoot out, his massive hand landed squarely on Dean's flanks as his long fingers instantly dug furiously into the soft flesh right above Dean's hips.

"Kh- gh-h-hEY!!" Dean jolted violently. His shoulders snapping up to his ears as a sharp, high pitched gasp ripping from his throat.

"Any circumstance, huh?" Sam teased, a wicked, wide grin splitting his face. He didn't let up, his second hand joined the first. Fingers kneading relentlessly into Dean's ribs and sides, finding the exact spots through his layers of flannel and leather.

"D-dahamn it, SaHAM—!" Dean squeaks, his composure completely shattering into an absolute mess of breathless laughter. His knees knocked together frantically under the steering wheel, and his foot twitched on the gas pedal, causing the impala to roar and lurch forward.

The car veered sharply to the left, crossing the yellow lines. Dean tried to grasp the wheel steady with his left hand, but Sam takes notice and immediately shifts his right hand, driving his fingers directly under Dean's armpit.

"Whoa! Look at that focus, Dean! You're drifting!" Sam laughed, his voice full of mischievous delight as he ruthlessly tickled his brother's sides.

"Sahammy! No, seriously! AhaHAh— grr..sstop it! I'm driv—aghh! I'm driving, Sam!" Dean exclaimed harshly, trying to shrink away from the onslaught. His back desperately arching off the seat as he squirmed against the leather. He uses his right elbow to desperately try and shield his ribs, but Sam's reach was too long. Dean's face was bright shade of red by now. His teeth bared in a wild, helpless grin as he gasped for air. The Impala swerves back to the right, the tires clipping the wet gravel of the shoulder with a loud crunching sound.

"Get oho— Get off me!!" Dean manages to bellow, bringing his forearm down hard, finally slamming his elbow into Sam's chest and shoving him forcefully back across the console into the passenger seat.

Sam fell back against his door, breathless from laughing. His chest heaving as he watched Dean panickly steer the car back into the center of the lane.

Dean panted heavily, his heart hammered against his ribs. He glares at the road, his knuckles absolutely white as he stabilizes the car. "Are you insane!?" Dean barked, though his voice still had a breathless and shaky tremor to it. "That wasn't funny at all, Sam!"

Sam just leans his head back against the headrest, letting out a loud, blooming laugh. "Oh, yeah? What happened to 'any circumstance'? I thought you could handle a demon strangling you from behind?"

"That is totally different and you know it!" Dean snapped, adjusting his grip on the wheel, his eyes darting to the rearview mirror.

Suddenly, Sam's laughter cut off. His amused grin vanished from his face as he felt the heavy sensation of the brakes being applied hard. The Impala's nose dipped and the car skidded slightly on the slick asphalt before Dean ruthlessly guided it onto a wide area nestled deep within the black silhouette of the forest. The tires kick up a spray of mud as the car comes to a sudden, violent stop.

The engine idles with a low, menacing rumble. The rain drummed furiously on the roof. Meanwhile Sam shifted uncomfortably against his seat at the abrupt stop. "Dean? Why'd you stop?"

Dean didn't answer immediately. Instead, he slowly turned his head to face Sam with a dark, terrifyingly joyful smirk plastered across his face. "You think you're pretty clever, don't you?"

"Dean, look, we're-...on a dark highway and we need to get to the motel—" Sam blabbered, his voice dropping an octave as he instinctively tries to unbuckle his seatbelt in case he'll need to run away from his brother, right into the heavy downpour. His back pressed flat against the passenger door, realizing too late that he had nowhere to run.

"Nah, the motel can wait," Dean says, unbuckling his seatbelt with a sharp click. "You wanna test the theory? Let's test the theory." With a feral grin, Dean threw himself across the console. Because of Sam's reclined seat, he is completely trappe. His long legs tangled up under the dashboard. Dean landed heavily on top of him, pinning Sam's thighs with his knees, and immediately diving his hands straight into his stomach.

"AhAH! DEAN!—" Sam shrieked as a deep, bubbly laughter suddenly exploded from his chest. He instantly curled inward like a folding chair. His hands shooting down to grab his brother's hands to protect his midsection, but, oh, Dean was relentless.

"Oh, what's the matter, Sammy?" Dean taunted at him. His fingers flying in a blur as he targeted the sensitive skin right along Sam's stomach and hips. "Can't handle a little distraction?"

"StahaHAahap it! Hahah—Dean, plehease!" Sam gasped as his body thrashed wildly against the car cabin, occasionally kicking and hitting the walls and windows yet to no avail. His huge and tall frame shaking the entire Impala, making it creak rhythmically. His hand darted forward, subconsciously launching to hit Dean purely out of reflex, but Dean slyly dodged his attack and shifted his ministrations way lower. His fingers dug into Sam's thighs, squeezing the muscles as he nearly got kicked by it.

Sam's eyes went wide, and a loud, breathless cry escaped him. He threw his head back against the headrest, his back arching off the ground, completely defenseless as his arms lose all the strength. "OH MY— NOHOT THEhere! D-DeHEan, please!—"

"Oh, so the thighs are the secret weapon tonight, huh?" Dean laughed, completely victorious. His own residual adrenaline turning into pure, vengeful glee. He kept the merciless rhythm up, teasing and digging into Sam's softest spots until the giant younger brother is reduced into a gasping, squirming mess.

"ALRIGHT!! DEHEean, alright! I give, I give!" Sam gasped out as his tears from laughter welled in the corners of his eyes. He desperately tried to curl away from Dean's crawling fingers. Realizing he's completely overpowered and needs to deploy his ultimate defense mechanism. "You're— ghah.. you're the best driver in the world, Dean! Seriously!" He suddenly wheezed out.

Dean paused. His fingers hovered just millimeters above Sam's twitching knees. A triumphant, wicked grin broke across his face as he squinted down at his brother insistently. "And?"

Sam swallowed hard, his chest heaving as he took in a desperate gulp, keeping his eyes glued to Dean's hovering hands. "And... and nobody else could've kept the impala on the road just now. Your reflexes are insane."

Dean's ego thoroughly inflated, but he didn't pull back just yet. He wiggles his fingers teasingly, making Sam tense in anticipation. "And?..."

"And you have absolute flawless focus under any circumstance!" Sam practically yells, throwing his hands up in total surrender. "Satisfied, jerk!?"

Dean chuckles, thoroughly pleased with himself. He gave Sam's ribs one final, playful poke just to make him squeak, then delivered two condescending pats to Sam's flushed cheek. "That's what I thought, bitch." Dean muttered, sliding back over the console into the driver's seat. He shifted the car back into drive, and flipped the headlights back on, cutting through the heavy rain. "Now go to sleep, snowflake. Big brother's got the wheel."

Sam let out a long, shuddering sigh and slumped heavily back into the leather seat, completely spent from Dean's ruthless onslaught. His muscles went totally slack, and he didn't even bother to fix his crumpled jacket or adjust his awkward, reclined posture. Lulled by the steady rhythm of the wipers and the engine's low hum, he closed his eyes and drowned in a deep, sweet slumber, dead to the world before Dean could even shift back into drive.

–––

(BONUS)

The steady drum of rain from the night before had finally trickled out. Only leaving behind a crisp, heavy mist that hung low over a desolate gas station parking lot. It was ridiculously early. The kind of dawn where the sky is just a bleak and washed out grey and the sun hasn't even bothered to show up yet.

Inside the cramped station shop, the fluorescent lights buzzed with an annoying, high pitched hum that made Dean's head throb. He tossed a couple of bills onto the counter, scooping up two plastic bags that clinked with cold beer cans and smelled heavily of cellophane wrapped breakfast burgers and stale coffee.

"Have a nice day," the pimply kid behind the register mumbled, not even looking up from his phone.

"Yeah, spectacular," Dean muttered under his breath, turning on his heel. He pushed the glass door open with his shoulder, a little bell chiming above him. He stepped out into the damp morning air, muttering to himself. "Has this kid never seen a gym or a shower in his life?..." Dean grumbled, rolling his shoulders under his leather jacket to shake off the stiffness of a six hour drive.

He walked out onto the cracked asphalt, his boots crunching on the wet gravel, but stopped short when his eyes locked on the car.

Sam was already out of the impala. He was perched casually against the hood of the car. His unnaturally long legs crossed at the ankles and his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets. He was staring blankly into the tree line. His broad shoulders hunched slightly against the morning chill. As Dean approached, Sam turned his head, his eyes instantly narrowing to tiny slits against the sudden, pale brightness of the overcast sky.

"Look who’s alive," Dean called out, a smirk instantly finding its way onto his face. "Morning, sunshine."

Sam completely skipped the greeting, his voice still rough and gravelly from sleep. "Did we pass the motel?"

"Duh," Dean said easily, popping the trunk of the Impala and tossing one of the bags inside before walking over to the passenger side. "You were sleeping like a giant, drooling baby, Sammy. Didn't have the heart to wake you up just to drag your oversized body into another crappy bed."

Sam just shook his head, a faint, exhausted sigh escaping him. He didn't bother arguing. Instead, he leaned forward, ignoring Dean's explanation entirely as his eyes locked onto the plastic bag still in Dean's hand. "What’d you get?"

Dean didn't answer. Instead, his smirk widened into a full blown, wicked grin. "You know," Dean chuckled. "Maybe I should start tickling you before bed more often? Cause, you've slept like a rock. No tossing, no turning, no nightmares. It's actually pretty convenient."

Sam’s eyes snapped from the bag straight to Dean’s face, his expression deadpan and completely unamused. "Go to hell, Dean." Sam muttered. His voice pure of long suffering resignation of a younger brother who knew he was never, ever going to live last night down. He snatched the breakfast bag out of Dean's hand and rounded the front of the Impala. They opened their doors in sync, before climbing inside the cabin.

Sam settled into the driver’s seat, instantly adjusting the rearview mirror to fit his height, while Dean buried himself into the passenger side with a blissful sigh. The key turned in the ignition, and the car answered with its familiar, deep engine growl, immediately pumping welcoming heat into the car.

Dean eagerly unwrapped a cellophane covered burger, but as he shifted around on the leather seat, a smug grin crawled right back onto his face. He glanced over at his brother, who was already shifting the car into drive.

"Ooh," Dean purred around a mouthful of breakfast, shifting his weight. "Nice and warm over here. You must've just crawled out of bed, Sammy. Which is great, cause I think I've earned a little shut-eye after my legendary, rock-solid driving through that treacherous night, don't ya think? Care to give your big brother a little ride?"

Sam just rolled his eyes, gripped the steering wheel firmly with both hands, and smoothly pressed down on the gas, pulling them back out onto the empty highway. This time, he was going to make damn sure he didn't give Dean any excuses to test his focus.

You were resting quietly against Sam on the couch, the glow of the bunker’s lamp painting everything in a soft light. His arms were wrapped around you in a warm embrace, steady and comforting.

He whispered, “You seem a little tense. Mind if I try something?”

You gave a shy nod, heart fluttering.

Sam’s fingers pressed gently — not sweeping or brushing, just a slow, deliberate, light touch right along your ribs.

You bit your lip and couldn’t help but let out a soft, startled giggle.

Sam’s eyes sparkled with surprise and delight. “Oh, wow. You’re definitely ticklish.”

You buried your face against his chest, cheeks hot. “I— I didn’t mean to laugh…”

He chuckled softly. “It’s okay. It’s kind of adorable.”

Without rushing, he continued, carefully tracing tiny circles with just his fingertips, making sure to keep it feather-light and non-teasing. You squirmed a little, your giggles shy and breathy, muffled against him.

“See? Nothing to be embarrassed about,” he murmured, brushing his lips against your temple.

You tilted your head slightly, a quiet squeak escaping as his fingers wandered a little further up, toward the curve just below your arm. Your shoulders tensed, and you tried to curl in on yourself with a sheepish whimper.

“Right there, huh?” Sam said gently, his voice soft and amused. “Okay, I’ll stay here.”

He kept the touches slow and sweet, fingertips dancing with care as you giggled softly into the fabric of his shirt.

“Sammm,” you whined, your voice still wrapped in laughter, “th-that’s not fair…”

“I’m not trying to be mean,” he whispered, nuzzling your hair. “You’re just so cute when you laugh like that.”

You let out another sweet giggle as he circled back to your tummy, hands resting there with warm affection. Then, after a pause, his fingers twitched gently — just enough to make you wiggle and squeak again.

Sam smiled into your hair. “I could get used to this.”

You peeked up at him with flushed cheeks and wide, fluttery eyes. “You’re being so gentle…”

“I don’t want to overwhelm you,” he said softly. “But I want to keep hearing that sound. That little giggle of yours.”

Your lips tugged into a bashful smile, your head tucked under his chin. “It’s… kinda nice.”

That was all the permission Sam needed. He resumed his soft tickles with patience and warmth, thumbs brushing your sides, occasionally grazing just under your ribs — never too much, never fast. Just enough to make you melt and giggle quietly as he held you close.

And every time your breath hitched in a sweet little laugh, he held you tighter and smiled wider.

Sam’s eyes were already threatening to close as they tried to stay focused on the words.

It had only been a few hours into their research session and the younger Winchester already felt like beating himself over the head just to get a few seconds of rest. If they could just figure out WHAT they were hunting, they could track it down, kill it, and be on their merry way. He just had to stay awake…

Despite his weariness, the youngest Winchester forced himself to stay conscious, flipping page after page like he had no other choice. Then, he saw it. Or rather he read it…

His eyes lit up with relief. He slammed his hands on the table and propped himself up, all sleepiness leaving his body as the words sunk in. He was eager to tell his older brother, who had been researching in an armchair on the other side of the room.

“Hey, get this! So, the campers heard their friends call-” He paused when he heard a snore on the other side of the room.

“Dean?” He called, but he didn’t receive an answer.

His gaze wandered from the table to the small living area. Sure enough, Dean was comfortably reclined, his head tipped back against the chair as he snored.

The younger Winchester’s expression instantly morphed into a scowl.

Typical… of course Dean was sleeping instead of ACTUALLY helping for once.

“Dean.” Sam grumbled, only to receive no response.

Dean was out cold, his jaw slack and mouth wide open. The sight boiled Sam’s blood a bit. His brother was over there napping while he broke his back searching for answers to their mystery.

His eye twitched and he tried again. “Dean!”

But Dean just continued to snore, unbothered by his brother’s calls.

That was the final straw.

Sam got out of his chair, the legs screeching against the wooden floors, though that didn’t seem to disturb Dean’s rest either.

If his brother wanted to be a lazy pain, then Sam would just have to teach him a lesson. He casually pattered over, not bothering to tiptoe since the hunter didn’t seem to be waking any time soon.

When he reached the elder’s destination, he took one last look at the sleepy expression before making his move…

“WAKE UP!!” He shouted as he dug his fingers into the older man’s ribcage, wiggling between the bones and showing no mercy.

If nothing else woke him, the tickling sure did. The shorter hunter shot up and flailed like a fish out of water, his eyes widening to the size of dinner plates as his sleep was rudely interrupted.

“SAMMY?! W-WHAT THE HEHEHELL?!”

Dean barked, arching his back and shoving at his brother’s hands. The reaction was more than satisfying to Sam.

“Seriously? Thought you could just sleep through the research and leave it all to me?” Sam huffed.

The tickling was relentless and sudden, giving the older Winchester no time to adjust to the sensations. He was barely awake and he was already screeching like a banshee… Sam could’ve at least had the decency to start with a less ticklish spot. His little brother could be such an ass… unlike him, who napped and let the younger do all the boring work.

“DAMMIT, SAMMY! STOHOHOP!!”

The younger brother let out a snort, enjoying having the upper hand. He should sneak attack his brother more often…

scribbling up to Dean’s armpits and scratching at the hollows. The change in spots tore a frantic shriek from the older man’s throat.

“Are you kidding?! I have so much revenge I need to catch up on!” Sam grinned, scribbling up to Dean’s armpits and drilling his thumbs into the sensitive hollows. The change in spots tore a frantic shriek from the older man’s throat.

It took almost as much effort to look annoyed as it did to stay awake.

How was he supposed to stay irritated when his big brother’s wailing laughter was echoing off the walls like that?

“You deserve every second of this, jerk!” He exclaimed, no longer able to keep the grin off his face. Sure, he was still pretty ticked, but he definitely felt some relief flowing through him as his fingers scurried up and down Dean’s sides, over his stomach, and up to his armpits again.

But then Sam decided he wanted to hear his brother REALLY scream… he deserved it after all.

The elder could feel the taller’s nimble fingers scampering down his flanks and hovering threateningly in one spot… just above his hips.

Dean’s eyes widened and his flushed cheeks went pale.

“S-Sammy, you wouldn’t…” He muttered, a shiver shooting down his spine as his eyes latched onto his hips as if watching them would keep them safe.

There was almost a pleading look in his gaze…

Sam gave a cheeky grin. He would almost look sweet and innocent if he weren’t threatening Dean’s most ticklish spot.

“Oh…” He smirked, raising his hands and raising them so they floated right above the bones.

“I would.”

With that, he latched onto his brother’s hips, drilling into the divots and shooting electric sparks through his body. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t flinch at the frantic yell, followed by loud, boisterous cackles.

“SAMMY, YOU SONOVA BIHIHITCH!!!” Dean bucked his hips and kicked his legs, shoving at his brother’s hands and doing whatever he could to save his horribly ticklish hips from the torment.

Sam snorted, continuing the playful torture. “You shouldn’t really be name-calling in this position…”

“SUCK A- OH MY GOD, STOHOHOP!!!”

As the vengeful attack went on, Sam felt a sense of justice… he also felt far less annoyed.

Eventually, Dean was wheezing and gasping for breath, so Sam decided to have mercy. He pulled his hands away and gave a smug smirk, crossing his arms and sitting on the couch.

“I don’t wanna hear you bitching about my little naptime after that whole debacle…” The elder grumbled, wiping a hand over his face.

The younger hunter simply rolled his eyes and leaned into the couch.

“Whatever… can you just try to help out a little more? It kinda feels like I do all the work sometimes…”

Sam’s admission made Dean feel defensive, but he could tell his brother was serious… was he really that bad? He couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty.

He gave a reassuring smile. “Yeah… sure, Sammy.”

“Wait- really?” Sam asked, shocked. He expected Dean to fight back more…

Dean nodded, giving his brother a pat on the shoulder.

“Yeah… I guess I was being a bit of a jerk. But that doesn’t mean you’re not a little bitch for tickling the crap outta me.” He smirked.

The younger hunter blinked before accepting the situation. His brother was ACTUALLY taking responsibility for once.

“Well, anyway… I found out what we’re up against.” He said with a proud expression, sitting up straighter as he prepared to share his findings.

Dean raised a brow before leaning back, giving Sam the floor. “Alright… shoot away, Sammy.”

With a confident grin, Sam leaned forward…