#mlmsam

Sam carrying little!Dean Jr.

I still think about Jessica.

At first, Sam sees her only in nightmares--pinned to the ceiling, slashed open and on fire, her face perplexed and agonised and desolate all at once. Then he sees her when he’s awake, standing on street corners and motel parking lots, hair fluttering in a non-existent breeze. It’s only in flashes and for a short period of time, so Sam chalks it up to a grief reaction and carries on.

Jessica keeps coming to him, however.

In his dreams, Lilith wears her face, then Lucifer. At first, he is repulsed; he would jerk out of bed and go straight to the toilet, retching until his stomach is empty. Slowly, however, he learns to accept it, and then welcome the way she feels tucked under his arm, even as she digs her nails into his chest and whispers poison in his ear. She is the first to come to him when he withdraws from demon blood, stroking his face with cool hands; she is the last to leave when he staggers out of the panic room and collapses into his brother’s arms, too weak to even stand.

In the Cage, Lucifer comes to him as Jessica if he’s feeling particularly charitable.

Jessica is tucked away in his mind as a safe harbour when the Wall cracks and Sam’s mind literally shatters into pieces; she comes to him even when he rejects that safe harbour, holding his body and soul together with spit and a prayer. She kisses him when he’s tormented by Lucifer’s apparition on one hand and the Leviathan on the other; when Dean dies, Jessica turns brighter, sweeter, and tells him: I’m waiting for you, Sam.

And Sam, numb, empty, driving the Impala half-blind with tears, tells her: I’m coming.

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Aww, I plan on drawing more too, I am just kinda depressed at the moment to get any shit done. There’s more coming with Sam, maybe featuring other characters as well, but it’s full operation to get enough motivation to move.

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5. Who is most likely to carry the other?

I mean, Sam’s more able to carry Dean. I always laugh when I imagine Dean trying to carry Sam, especially bridal-style--sure, it’s possible, but there’s just... so much of Sam to manage. He’d be whacking Sam’s head into doorways and dropping all that leg. Not exactly graceful. (Though he might actually be entertained by that.) However, considering that they’re more likely to prank each other than be romantic, I definitely imagine Sam carrying Dean like a sack of potatoes, while he weakly punches Sam in the ass and thigh and demands to be let down, and Sam laughs until he can’t keep walking anymore and they sink to the ground in an undignified pile. What the hell was that? Dean would demand, panting, and Sam’s laughing too hard to answer.

6. What is their favorite feature of their partner’s?

Sam loves Dean’s... whole body, but particularly that pretty back, broad and muscular down to the plump curve of his ass, down to his thick thighs. He’s got a great trunk, not sculpted but solid, and just soft enough that there’s a bit of give when Sam sinks his fingers in. I don’t think Dean is nearly so visual as Sam--he’s tactile, loves the physicality. He likes the feel of Sam’s muscle, likes the hefty length of his dick, but also, privately, he also just can’t get enough of Sam’s face. The lines of his cheekbones, his jaw. The slant of his eyebrows. Not something he’d ever admit, but he watches Sam’s face before his body.

25. Who needs more assurance?

I mean. Have you met Dean Winchester. Sam occasionally suffers times when he’s sure Dean can’t stand him--season 8, all of it, comes to mind--but for the most part he’s rock-solid. Meanwhile, Dean’s constantly falling apart with the certainty that he could go, that he could die, and somehow Sam would be okay. As though Sam’s only sticking around for Dean’s benefit, as though Sam wouldn’t tear open the earth to get Dean back. He constantly has to be reminded. Luckily, Sam’s willing to remind him. (Lately, I think that’s gotten a lot better. They’re solid, they trust in the love the other bears. If I were to pick one to wobble, though, it’d absolutely be Dean.)

30. one headcanon about this OTP that mends [a broken heart]

Depends how broken the heart is, but: Sam secretly finds Dean’s snoring super endearing. He can’t necessarily sleep through it, and they keep separate bedrooms at the bunker for a reason, but whenever Dean falls asleep and he’s making that low kkkkkk in the back of his throat, Sam can’t stop grinning. He’s got a recording on his phone, and he has played it at Dean pretending to be irritated that it kept him awake, but he loves it. It’s just that Dean’s so--relaxed, when he’s asleep. He completely gives himself over to it and decades just drop off his face. Sam could keep him in bed, always, and be perfectly content.

DO IT! DO IT FOR SAM

there isn’t much that ruby remembers of her human life. outside of the magic that tied her soul to hell, she only gets flashes of that life–cold mists rolling over a magnificent landscape, bonfires crackling and spitting sparks into the darkness, the flapping of cloaks and the rustle of thatched roofs in the breeze. it has been centuries since.

hell was… curious. see, in this universe, earth, heaven and hell operate on a constant feedback loop (of souls, i guess), each evolving with the advancements in the other. hell, in particular, shuffles through multiple leaders, each remaking the hellscape in their own image. crowley’s been king for quite a while now, and. as far as ruby is concerned, his efforts are… anodyne: not entirely unclever or ineffective, but too steeped in the trivial and the… human. there are pockets of hell that especially powerful demons transform to their liking, torturing souls with cheerful, old-fashioned sadism. alastair was one of them; lillith another. and on top of all of this, whispers about lucifer never ceased; in his myth, ruby rediscovers all that she’d hoped and prayed for all those centuries ago. her devotion to him is a straight, clear line through every home she has ever lived, undistorted by change of regimes, divided loyalties or even the threat of banishment. when she gets the chance to play perhaps the most pivotal role in the coming of the apocalypse and the rise of lucifer, she grabs at it with both hands.

topside, ruby has never bothered much about the meatsuits she possesses. pushing their human consciousness, kicking and screaming, to some shadowed part of their mind while using instincts and language and knowledge burned into their neural pathways to navigate the world around her takes but the merest shift of her will; she doesn’t really think consciously about it. that’s until sam, and she’s forced to commit to the nearest compromise that she can find. 

being inside coma-girl is… different. she’s been brain-dead for a while; her neural pathways are interrupted by vast stretches of scorched brain tissue. ruby can no longer afford to go auto-pilot; she has to occupy this body with all of herself. it is a good home–young, beautiful, and from what she’s observed of sam, of his Type. but even more than that, it is ruby, more than she’s ever been in hundreds of years, and it thrills her beyond belief that this magnificent vessel for the being that she is devoted to loves her. her heart thunders at every carefully scuffed-out gap in the salt lines; the sure and deliberate ways sam handles his weapons, but never against her; the warmth of his lips over a bleeding wound on her arm and the way his hand shakes when he reaches up to wipe his mouth afterwards. she is cultivating for her lord and saviour his ideal home, and she can think of no greater act of devotion.

sam wonders sometimes, she can tell. he asks her, once, “y’know, i don’t get it, ruby. whose side are you on?”

“ours, sam.”

his frown relaxes. “oh,” he says, “we have a side of our own, do we?”

“our very own,” ruby says, and thrills to the glint in his eye.

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