Hiii, time for yet another chick flick moment. My fav. Anyway, thank you for all the kudos and for the comment, I live for it :)) please leave suggestions you'd like me to write or if you'd like to see some with Sam comforting Dean, etc. Enjoy!
The case they're working is baffling, even for seasoned hunters like the Winchesters. A string of brutal killings in a small town in Colorado has left the locals terrified and pointing fingers at everything from wild animals to supernatural creatures. Dean and Sam have been holed up in a dingy motel room for days, chasing down leads that always seem to lead to dead ends.
The latest victim, a young woman named Emily, was torn apart under the full moon just a few nights ago. The local authority of interest, a gruff man named Sheriff Johnson, reluctantly agreed to let them investigate after Sam presented him with their credentials. Dean suspects the sheriff has seen things he can't explain but is too proud to admit it, and there isn't exactly a good way to push it.
As they interview witnesses and gather information, Dean notices the tension building in Sam like a coiled spring. His brother is on edge, snapping at interviewees and barely sleeping. They're in the sheriff's office, going over the details of the latest attack when Sam's patience finally snaps.
"You're not telling us everything," he accuses, his voice tight with frustration. "There's more to this than you're letting on. People are dying, and you're sitting here covering it up!"
Sheriff Johnson's face turns red with anger. "I've told you everything I know, kid. Now get the hell out of my office before I arrest you for obstruction of justice!"
Dean steps forward, placing a calming hand on his shoulder. "Sam, let's take a walk."
But Sam is beyond reasoning. He's had enough of the lies and the half-truths. "No! We're not leaving until you tell us what you know!"
Dean can tell they're on the brink of disaster. Sam is about to spill everything—about monsters, about the things that go bump in the night, and he can't let that happen. With a firm grip on his brother's arm, he pulls him out of the sheriff's office and into the cool night air.
"Sam, stop!" Dean says urgently, his voice low but firm. "You're gonna blow our cover, man. You can't just go around telling people about monsters."
Sam wrenches his arm free, his chest heaving with anger and frustration. "Dean, people are dying! We can't just sit back and pretend like this isn't happening!"
Dean steps closer and looks Sam in the eye. "I know, okay? I know. But we can't help anyone if we're locked up in jail. You're better than this, Sam. You're smarter than this."
They stand there for a moment, the tension between them palpable. Dean reaches out, pulling Sam into a tight hug. He slightly stiffens at first, caught off guard by the embrace, but then he relaxes. His anger hasn't subsided, but Dean's presence offers a momentary anchor.
"I can't do this anymore," Sam grinds out through clenched teeth with a thick voice. "I'm so tired of losing people, of not being able to save anyone."
Dean tightens his grip. "I know, Sammy. I know."
Sam pulls back slightly, meeting his eyes with a fierce intensity. "We have to find whoever—or whatever—is doing this. We can't let them get away with it."
"We will. But right now, we need to regroup. Get some rest. Tomorrow, we'll hit it hard again."
Sam hesitates, then nods curtly. "Fine. Let's go back to the motel."
Dean keeps a supportive hand on Sam's shoulder as they walk back to the Impala.
The drive back to the motel is tense, the weight of their unspoken frustrations filling the car's cabin. Sam sits brooding in the passenger seat, jaw clenched, while Dean keeps his eyes on the road, mind racing with thoughts of their next move.
They arrive at the motel in silence, both men weary from the day's confrontations and the mounting pressure of the case. Dean leads the way to their room, unlocking the door with a heavy sigh. As they step inside, Sam throws his duffel bag against the wall with a frustrated grunt.
Dean watches as Sam paces back and forth, a storm of emotions brewing beneath his surface. "Sam," he starts cautiously, "you need to calm down. Getting worked up like this won't help."
Sam rounds on him, eyes blazing with anger. "What do you expect me to do, Dean? Sit back and do nothing while people keep dying?"
Dean steps closer, his voice firm yet gentle. "No, but punching walls isn't going to solve anything either."
Before Sam can retort, he stalks towards the bathroom. Without a word or a thought, he slams his fist into the mirror above the sink, shards of glass scattering across the floor. A sharp pain shoots through his hand, but he barely registers it amidst the surge of adrenaline.
Dean rushes to his side, grabbing Sam's injured hand. "Dammit, Sam!" His voice is laced with worry and frustration as he inspects the cut on his brother's knuckles, blood trickling down his fingers.
Sam winces as his anger evaporates into regret. And a little bit of embarrassment. "I'm sorry," he mutters, his voice tight with guilt. "I didn't mean to…"
Ignoring Dean's attempts to assist him, he stoops to pick up the scattered glass, intent on cleaning up his mess. But in his haste, he cuts his palm on a particularly sharp shard, adding to the blood already staining his hand.
"Sam, stop!" Dean's voice cuts through the air with authority, a rare display of his big-brother-command voice. He strides over and firmly pulls Sam away from the mess, guiding him to sit down on the edge of the bed.
Sam looks up at Dean, shame and frustration written across his face. "I messed up, Dean. I shouldn't have—"
Dean interrupts gently but firmly, "You lost your cool. It happens. But right now, I need you to sit still."
Sam reluctantly obeys, sitting with his head bowed as Dean retrieves the first aid kit. He carefully examines his injured hand, noting the deep cuts on his knuckles and the additional laceration on his palm.
Dean's touch is steady and reassuring as he cleans his wounds, the antiseptic stinging but necessary. He works methodically, focusing on each cut with a calm determination. Occasionally, he pauses to adjust Sam's position or offer a reassuring squeeze on his shoulder.
Once the wounds are cleaned and bandaged, he sits beside Sam on the bed. He wraps both arms around his brother's shoulders, pulling him into a warm embrace. The younger leans into Dean's chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart against his cheek.
"You're okay, Sammy," Dean mutters softly, his voice a soothing reassurance. "I've got you."
Sam nods silently, feeling a lump form in his throat. Dean's embrace is comforting and grounding, a reminder of the unwavering strength they find in each other. Tears threaten to spill from his eyes, but he holds them back, overwhelmed by the elder's unconditional support.
Dean's arms around him are like a shield, enveloping Sam in safety and warmth. He lets himself relax into his hold, feeling strangely small in the comforting embrace of his older brother. It's a rare vulnerability, allowing himself to lean on Dean without the weight of their burdens pushing him down.
As they sit together in silence, Sam begins to feel the urge to let go, to release the emotions he's been holding back. Instinctively, he tightens his grip around Dean's waist, afraid to lose this lifeline of comfort and stability.
Dean shifts slightly in response, a subtle movement to ease the tension in his own muscles. He glances down at Sam, noticing the fear in his eyes, and hesitates for a moment, uncertain of how to proceed.
Feeling Dean's hesitation, Sam's grip tightens even more, a silent plea not to be left alone with his turmoil. He understands the unspoken plea, the need for reassurance and connection.
Without a word, Dean pulls him back into his embrace, holding him securely against his chest. Sam exhales slowly, a shuddering breath that releases some of the tension coiled in his chest.
Dean's arms around him are a steadfast anchor, grounding Sam in the present moment. His touch is gentle yet firm, a silent promise that he's not going anywhere.
They stay like that for a long while, the room filled with the quiet rhythm of their breathing and the steady beat of Dean's heart. In the warmth of his embrace, Sam finds solace for the first time in days.