This is a SPN AU snipet that's been laying around on my computer for a while. I like the idea but I've been too busy (and nervous) to write much more. Any feedback would be awesome. In my mind this fic would lead to Wincest. If you're curious about my idea, feel free to shoot me a message and I can tell you more. The title is also temporary.
"Dean. Dean. Dean!"
Muffled grumbles come across the darkness, accompanied by the shuffling sounds of someone turning over in bed. "What, Sammy?" a grumpy voice finally asks after some under the breath curses.
"I can't sleep," Sam answers, sitting up in bed now that his brother is awake. Well, at least partially. He can barely make out Dean's shape across the room. The loft they share is spacious enough but the single little window didn't let in nearly enough moonlight to illuminate more than a lonely square of floor.
"Well I can. Good night," Dean huffs and Sam can hear and vaguely see his brother rolling over to face away from him. Sam doesn't let this deter him. He silently creeps across the rough wooden floor boards to his brother's bed where he flops down with long limbs spread wide. The bed is a simple wooden thing large enough for no more than one so he lands half on top of Dean.
Dean immediately lets out an angry shout and shoves at Sam but his sleep laden limbs don't manage to displace him from the bed. More explicatives follow before Dean finally scoots over enough for them to cram alongside each other face to face. Sam grins in the dark. He and his brother have always been close and sharing a bed had been common place for them until Dean got old enough to declare himself too 'mature' to sleep with his little brother. Sam misses it sometimes, not that he would risk telling Dean and being ridiculed for being a girl.
"What is it, Sam?"
"I can't sleep. I'm nervous. About tomorrow," Sam whispers. He listens for any signs of their dad being woken by the noise but heard nothing down in the house. It takes quite a bit to wake their father after he has gotten deep into his drink like he has tonight.
"Don't be. The Choosing isn't a big deal. The priests take you into the church where they light some candles, say funny things, and then you sit around until they see the 'sign'."
"I know. But what if something goes wrong?" Sam asks, reaching out to touch the spot on Dean's chest where his tattoo is even if he can't see it. Spring has come but it is still cool enough at night for Dean to wear a loose tunic to sleep. Sam knows from the feel that it's Dean's favorite old green one, so faded and threadbare it is almost past mending but Dean insists on keeping it for sleep.
"Like what? None of the gods take you? That almost never happens and if it does you'll go to the High Church and become a priest, or priestess in your case, or something. I can take you there. We'll make a trip of it," Dean replies. His voice is still gruff but Sam hears the underlying attempt at comfort. Nothing would make Sam happier than a journey alone with his brother, but the thought of leaving him to join the church? It makes his chest ache.
"I don't want to be a priest. I want to be chosen by Michael. Like you and dad." Sam tries to keep the whine from his voice. He's almost thirteen, near a man grown. "Even mom was pledged to Him."
Sam is close enough to Dean to feel him stiffen at the mention of their mother. She died when Sam was a baby. He doesn't even remember her, but Dean does. Dean doesn't say anything about the mention though, just shrugs.
"You've been training to fight since you were little. Dad's taken you out on hunts with us. Michael would have to go from being called the Warrior to the Fool if he doesn't pick you," Dean snorts. Sam lets out a little gasp, that's dangerously close to blasphemy, but can't help but laugh as well. Everyone knows Dean is Michael's golden boy, so he can get away with a lot of things others can't. When Dean had his ceremony, at 13 like every child, the candle lit for the warrior god Michael blazed brighter than the priests had seen in decades before going out. The priests said it was like Dean was a hero of old reborn, that in the flames they saw Michael's blade. Sam was 9 at the time, and he remembers the fierce pride he felt, along with a bit of jealousy.
"Easy for you to be so casual about the biggest day of your life. You're the Michael sword," Sam points out. He tries to surreptitiously move even close to his brother but Dean notices of course and wraps an arm around the smaller boy to pull him close as he ruffles Sam's hair affectionately.
"Don't be a bitch, Sammy. Just sleep," Dean says. Sam waits for Dean to shoo him to his own bed but his brother does nothing, just leaving his arm resting heavily on top of Sam. It's as much an invitation as Sam will ever get and he will accept it gladly.
They lie together in the dark, both getting steadily closer to sleep. Sam finds Dean's talk (and more so his presence) soothing his nerves. "'m almost a man. Can't call me Sammy anymore," he murmurs sleepy. Dean just grunts and carefully rolls over to lie on his other side.