#soft samdean

but instead dean just looks down at the floor, seemingly in thought, but not quite in a defeated way. he looks back up at sam with a sort of acceptance on his face. sam is almost scared of what might happen next. the last time a fight ended in silence deans fist came swinging up to meet sam’s jaw.

but instead dean’s face goes timid. he looks sort of sad. “i don’t want us to fight.”

sam would have responded with a snarky comment from the adrenaline of the fight if he weren’t so shocked by dean’s drastic change in tone. he stutters then nods, “uh- okay,” shifting his feet. this felt weird, different.

dean nods as well. he really does look.. sad. maybe regretful.

sam then watches as dean moves forward, and in a swift, awkward motion he wraps sam in a hug. it’s soft, tender. it’s not hard, masculine. quick. dean seems stiff in it, as if tensing himself for sam to shove him off. and although that is sam’s first reaction, out of instinct from the way other fights would normally go, he doesn’t. in fact, he tentatively hugs him back.

dean relaxes immediately, and then sam almost melts into the soft body of his brother’s. this was so different, because with every passing second there was a ticking in sam’s head. every time they hugged, this ticking would be present. it served as an unconscious marker in which it would be too vulnerable, too intimate to not let go at this point. and when that timer goes off, he makes sure to let go. he thinks dean has the same timer.

but this time, sam lets the warning sounds go over the limit. he lets them fade away in his mind. he lets himself appreciate this moment with his brother. at least until dean lets go. and dean will let go. any second now. he initiated it. sam will just wait. but dean doesn’t move.

he just deepens the hug, clinging tighter onto sam. sam really is so surprised, he almost laughs. “d-dean,” he huffs, “are you alright?”

dean responds in a daydreaming sort of voice. “i’m good sammy. i don’t want us to fight.” the shoulder of sam’s shirt muffles some of his sounds.

“yeah you said that,” but sam doesn’t press it. he just holds dean. and dean holds him. and it’s painstakingly intimate that every nerve in his body is yelling at him to create a border, to defend and to fight because he shouldn’t rely on someone. he shouldn’t crave this. but he does. his big brother pressing his warm, comforting body against him just feels so. good.

it feels familiar. like when dean told him he used to crawl into sam’s crib at night when he was a baby, and hold him tight against his chest. he said sam would always stop crying after that. sam wonders if this is what that felt like.

sam tucks his face slightly into dean’s collarbone, breathing in his scent through the fabric of his t-shirt. he drags his fingers slowly over dean’s back. it’s gentle. nervous.

he swears he feels dean tremble when sam’s finger traces his spine. sam’s breathing seem to involuntarily match dean’s, in a rhythm.

and in this moment sam realizes he could stay here forever. this is all he needs. all he would ever need. just his big brother, with him. close to him. they don’t even need any words. just each other.

sometimes, on particular nights, one of the brothers will sneak into the others bed, slipping almost silently into the covers, needing to be closer. maybe they’ll make the excuse that they can’t hear from that far away. or that it’s so damn cold tonight. either way, they’re always gone by the morning when the other brother wakes up, making him wonder if they ever really shared a bed last night.

but the lingering smell, and barely noticeable imprint in the sheets, the waking up with an unexplainable content feeling, soft and sweet in his chest, tells the brother they really did share a bed.