#anxious!dean

[all-or-nothing-baby]

Angel of Always

_____________________________

I'm not supposed to be weak, ain't in my job description. Taking care of my brother and making sure civilians are safe? That's my whole resume right there. I'm the one who's gotta keep on keepin' on; I'm s'posed to kill the things in the shadows, not be scared of the dark, dammit. Really can't afford to be losin' what little I got left of my mind.

In the middle of the night, parched and hollow as deadwood, skin stretched too far over whiskey-brittle bones and vibrating, humming, like ominous magic fingers on a bed of barren fucking death.

He always knows though. Every time. Even when I hide it from myself—I've spent a lifetime of burying shit but the damn angel, Cas—yeah, he always knows.

Just like I know he always watches me sleep.

But when he ain't around, those desolate times, that's when he shows up in my dreams.

When the world is slipping away though shaking, dog-tired fingers and all the sneering and the screaming is too loud? That's when he's impossibly there, always, holding me up with defiant strength… a cool hand to the back of my neck and grace-warmed breath at my temple; always with words that aren't quite words, not quite leaving dried lavender lips.

It's alright to be frightened, he speaks soundlessly, it's human and it's good. And you? You are good, Dean. You need to know I've got you. You need to know I've always got you and that I'll always have you and that I'm never, not ever, letting go.

Those times I'm not okay, like, really not even fucking close, at least I know bone-deep down it's not quite as dire as it could be because. Because knowing he's out there, somewhere—Castiel, who saved me from hell—yeah,knowing Cas is always out there, always watching over me? That's—well, it's almost enough.

Used to call him a creeper 'cause I'm a asshole. How could I tell him I was fucking terrified? Terrified that one day he might stop watching me. Didn't want that—can't handle that. Don't want it to stop. Not ever. Not ever. I need him, need his presence, always—corporeal or not. Cas is solid. He's like a mountain, even when he's just a whisper. Even when he ain't really there, he's still always, always there. Because he knows I'll always need him. Always.

But does he know? Does Cas know how much I want him? How much I always and will always want him?

Always

     Always

          Always

_____________________________

for @reallyelegantsharkfish... i'm certainly no angel but I got you <3

[samanddeaninpanties]

Prompt: Sam being supportive to Dean when they have to take a plane somewhere?

“Oh my god, we’re gonna die,” Dean gasps, clenching his trembling thighs as the plane takes off. He looks like he wants to run - the problem is there’s nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide from what’s scaring him. The only way out is powering through.

“We gotta ride this out,” Sam says, placing a hand on top of Dean’s. “You’ll be okay. Plane crashes aren’t-“

“Don’t give me stats, college boy,” Dean grouses, turning his hand over so their fingers brush against each other. He’s still breathing too hard and heavy but at least he’s got some of his bite back.

“So what do you want?” Sam asks softly. “Can you slow your breathing at all? Give me some deep breaths?”

“I don’t know. I hate this,” Dean says, gritting his teeth. “A blowjob would be nice.”

“Haha, very funny. But seriously, Dean, what can I do? Maybe I can get you an ice pack. I hear that helps with anxiety attacks,” Sam says and he’s rambling, he knows he is and it’s annoying even to himself but Dean’s talking about blowjobs and Sam can’t handle it. Not here.

Dean takes a shaky breath. It’s not nearly as deep or slow as Sam’s hoping for. “M’serious, though. A blowjob would help more than this touchy feely hippy shit.” He glances at Sam from the corner of his eye.

Why is he -

Oh no.

“Dean,” Sam says, cheeks flaming. Now Sam’s touching his own legs. God.

“Uh, yeah?”

“Controlling your breathing is not hippy shit, first of all,” Sam says, hoping his arousal doesn’t show in his voice. He’s going for irritable. Annoyed little brother.

Dean shrugs. “S’not for me. So, about that blowjob. Think you can find me one?”

Oh.

Sam coughs awkwardly. Dean isn’t talking about Sam doing it. Oh. Well.

“You don’t want a blowjob in a plane, man,” Sam says quickly. “Not as hot as porn makes it out to be.”

“This sucks.” Dean pouts, crossing his arms. “You must be feeling better.”

At least one of them is.

–

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[kansaskissedlips]

Sam's quickened breath makes Dean anxious.

!

[kansaskissedlips]

I think one of the things that makes Dean anxious is the thought that Sam could pick up and leave again like he did when he went to Stanford. And Dean knows he wouldn't be able to be alone after all the years he spent with him after he got Sam back.

AHHHHHHHHH. ;_____;

[kansaskissedlips]

Dean's anxiety isn't new to him; he hardly notices it anymore. He worries about his friends, about the state of the world. He worries about wrinkled shirts needing to be ironed, and he worries about getting sick from inhaling dust every time he sits in the library. But the sharp, metallic ache of anxiety that pumps through him like a heartbeat, that's for Sam. He worries over Sam being happy here, healthy; worries that someday, Sam'll stop giving him that just-Dean smile. But he hasn't-- yet.

OH, NO.

AHHHHH - FEELINGS.

/SHIELDS SELF

[kansaskissedlips]

The thought that some day, Sammy might not need him.

OH, NO. ;_;

[kansaskissedlips]

What makes Dean anxious? Anyone messing with his Baby.

Yes!

[kansaskissedlips]

I think Sam and Dean are actually quite similar in re: to things that make them anxious. Dean needs to know where Sam is, needs to know he's safe. He'd have the same issue with not being able to get a hold of him, you know? Also: I think it would freak Dean out a whole whole lot if Sam was too still while he slept. He doesn't want to be reminded of what his baby brother looks like when he's dead.

OMFG, THAT LAST ONE. AHHHHHHHHH.