i love supernatural but one of the things they slept on for sure was that good good platonic //physical affection// between the brothers. give me the casual times when sam falls asleep on dean’s shoulder or lap in the impala, or at bobby’s house, or when they’re watching old westerns in a motel. give me the moments when dean drops his head on sam’s shoulder and passes the fuck out after working himself too hard on a hunt. give me the shoulder bumps, the flicks, the pats, the hair ruffling.
give me sam resting his chin on top of dean’s head or shoulder when he’s tired and they’re waiting in line. give me dean grumbling about it but still letting him. give me dean doing the same thing when he’s standing behind sam in a line, too. except he’s resting his forehead on sam’s shoulder blade, because damn it, sammy, you fucking sasquatch. dean secretly loves it, though, because it means that he did something right when he took care of sam, that he helped him grow big and taller than him, taller than dad.
give me dean playing with sam’s hair to soothe him when sam has a migraine or when he’s woken up from a nightmare. give me sam and dean climbing into each other’s beds when the other has nightmares about his respective hell, spooning the other to keep them safe from the outside.
give me dean in the middle of the night scrubbing his hands raw, trying to get the blood from the souls in hell off them. give me sam waking up and sleepily stumbling into the bathroom and dragging dean into his bed, taking dean’s hands and putting them on his neck, because i trust you with my life, dean. these are the hands that steadied sam when he was learning to walk. these are the hands that steadied his own when he was learning to shoot. these are the hands that pulled him from a fire, twice. these are the hands that catch him, and protect him. these are those same hands.
give me dean running his fingers over the scar on sam’s left hand. give me dean scratching through sam’s hair like his little brother is a cat and he’s trying to put him to sleep. give me dean kissing the top of sam’s head when he does fall asleep, or poking his finger into the divot where sam’s dimple appears, like he used to do when sam was little.
give me sam and dean, protecting and loving and domestic. they’ve lived with each other all their lives. they had no one but each other. you cannot tell me that they aren’t physically affectionate.
