Prompt: S8 Sam and Dean being all cuddly and fluffy and caring with each other because they are together and alive after everything, and they enjoy every second of it.
God, just resting, just lying down and not doing anything, not worrying about anything. The absolute peace of it, Sammy beside his big brother, curled around him like uncooked macaroni, just breathing in the smell of leather on his naked chest, leather and a smell that was Dean’s alone—like a mix of the impala and the bunker and cheeseburgers and rum and it all summed up together to equal a scent that meant home to Sam.
These last few months have been anything but easy—there’s been trials and gates of hell and blood and death and they just needed this. To be close. To be together.
Dean’s wide awake, savouring this time, running his hands up and down Sam’s bare back, leaving goosebumps in his wake. How could someone so sturdy feel like he was something so fragile to Dean? How could Sam, 6 feet 5 inches of pure Winchester genes, be so damn vulnerable?
Dean shivers. He’d almost lost him, again. So many times, it seemed like they were always fighting just to be together, to be safe and happy. God forbid something goes right for once.
And yeah, maybe outside the world was ending and the angels had fallen and hell had probably frozen over, but here, in the bunker, wrapped up in each others limbs with the soundtrack of heartbeats and deep, even breathes, everything was perfect.
