Preface

Deprivation
Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/17161283.

Rating:

General Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

Gen, M/M

Fandom:

Supernatural

Relationship:

Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester

Character:

Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester

Additional Tags:

Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Codependency, Codependent Winchesters (Supernatural), Sharing a Bed, Stress Relief, Stressed Sam, Comforting Dean Winchester, HARD gen, Wincest if you squint, Platonic Cuddling, Season/Series 14 Spoilers

Language:

English

Collections:

2018 Supernatural & CWRPF Holiday Exchange

Stats:

Published: 2018-12-25 Words: 3,339 Chapters: 1/1

Deprivation

by fogsrollingin

Summary

Takes place around S14E5 "Nightmare Logic."

Sam's stressed. He's forgetting to eat and people keep waking him up the minute he salvages time for some shut-eye.

Dean's there for him.

---

Secret santa exchange gift for amberdreams! (SPN J2 Secret Santa - spn-j2-xmas on LJ!) You're the best!

Notes

Happy Yule & Merry Christmas!

Secret santa exchange gift for amberdreams! (SPN J2 Secret Santa - spn-j2-xmas on LJ) You're the best! And thank you for modding the SPN Reverse Bang! I went with your love of gen & codependency ;)

Happy readings!

This fanwork has been posted to AO3.org, a website that databases fanworks for free & without ads. If you are told this fic is behind a paywall, that's super false and most definitely a scam. AO3 is a fanworks database run by the Organization for Transformative Works (OTW), a U.S. federal nonprofit. Please consider donating so they can keep the lights on in here 😊

See the end of the work for more notes

Deprivation

It was late in the afternoon and Sam had just finished Skyping with Tanya a state over. She was on a hunt, living out of her car, and she’d still asked him if he was doing okay.

“Always,” he’d huffed with a reassuring smile. They’d signed off soon after and when Sam got up he was thankful he’d moved to the corner of the room so no one could see him getting over a dizzy spell. Not enough food and quick elevation like standing up too fast had done this to him before. He took the imperative for what it was and got himself to the kitchen. He grabbed whatever was labeled for him or his brother. One of the perks of having Dean for a brother was always having something quick and fast - and admittedly sometimes gross -to eat in the fridge from his leftovers. This time it was shrimp fried rice. After he gave it a spin in the microwave Sam made it back to his bedroom without any interference. Thank goodness for small mercies.

He did his best to eat slowly with as much water in between bites as possible. His room was quiet save for the sounds of his own chewing and drinking, sustenance and hydration, until he felt well enough to do more than just hunch over his food eating, staring at nothing. He leaned back against the headboard and pulled his phone out to check his messages when Dean knocked once and opened it.

“Oh shit, hey,” Dean stopped the minute he saw his brother, Goodwill bag dangling from his fingers. “Sorry. Didn’t know you were gonna be in here.”

Sam’s brows furrowed and he shrugged.

“S’my room,” he said, mouth full. “Get out,” he added playfully.

Dean grinned and stepped back to lean against the door jamb. “Got you some stuff,” he said, swinging the bag over. Sam tried to catch it and failed but it landed on the bed next to him.

“Oh wow,” Sam murmured, carding through a couple soft flannels. “Thank you.” He felt some thicker fabric below and pulled it all the way out. “A hoodie?” Sam huffed. He looked at his brother skeptically.

“I remembered you used to wear hoodies a lot,” Dean shrugged. Sam nodded. His brother wasn’t wrong. It was just that Sam had last worn a hoodie over ten years ago.

He spread it out on the bed. It was a slightly faded maroon pullover, decent stitching, but most importantly it had an unusually well-worn softness to it.

“It’s nice. Soft,” he whispered, voice cracking on the last word and it sounded comically more emotional than he’d intended. What was getting into him today?

He expected Dean, ever the overly observant brother, to mess with him on it but to his surprise Dean wore a fond smile.

“You’re welcome,” he replied kindly, turning to leave. “Oh and hey, enjoy my food,” Dean added, pointing at the takeout box with the giant letters ‘DEAN’ scrawled in his handwriting on the side. Sam gave a laugh and half-hearted wave as Dean disappeared down the hall.

Sam waited until Dean was far enough down the hall to try it on.

He found himself reveling in that rare sensation of the sleeves actually fitting him.

Might be official Dean was the best brother ever.

---

It was a good thing Sam had taken an evening nap after his meal. He probably would’ve slept the whole night through but what were the chances of that?

He’d been awoken a quarter past eight by a harried-looking Dave, one of his best researchers, who was flipping out over his friend Louis who’d missed his check-in. Sam only had to hear the tone of his voice to get himself moving. Rolling up out of bed, he marveled how deeply he’d been asleep. He couldn’t even bring himself to reassure Dave through his frantic report. Rather he just blinked through it, moved like he was sore all over, and put whatever conscious energy he had into understanding the man.

“Okay,” Sam rasped, pressing a light palm on Dave’s back as they walked out of his bedroom side by side. The man - couldn’t be more than mid-twenties - looked up at him, eyes wide and scared and hopeful and entirely too dependent on Sam’s advice. “It’ll be okay. Cell phones get broken all the time during hunts,” he explained. He hadn’t forgotten about Maggie but it was still pretty true and Louis’s anxiety wasn’t going to help Sam anyway. “We’ll reach him. Where was he staying?”

They walked into the map room and it was blessedly empty for that time of night. Just a few committed stragglers in their own worlds of research, clearly uninterested in being disturbed. The library had a few more people camping out on the chairs and floors but they were all either hushed whispers or reading silently and keeping to themselves.

Sam sat down at the head of the table and worked on tracking Louis. Dave took a chair nearby and tried to learn what Sam was doing through his anxiety. 

The digital era had barely begun when everything had gone to hell in their world so by now Sam was used to strangers other than Dean hovering over him and his laptop as he worked. It’d be an understatement to say there’d been an adjustment period for Sam. He hadn’t realized how patient and capable his older brother had been about watching or listening to something the whole way through before asking questions. In the beginning teaching them there’d been quite a few times Sam had begged off to refill his coffee or take a break after having been bombarded by questions.

Sam had kept it together enough to gain the respect he had - to get nicknamed ‘Chief’ which he loved - but he’d still felt untethered without Dean. Without his brother, just thinking of him and his advice during the worst of it was likely to choke Sam up as much as it would anchor him. It was the paradox of having a brother who was simultaneously his biggest strength and worst weakness.

So it had been hard but now even with as little sleep as he was getting, even forgetting to eat like he kept accidentally doing, it was so much better than it used to be. Those early days of teaching rudimentary technology to the survivors were in the past and most importantly, he had Dean back.

After trying a few other things like calling straight through to Louis’s motel room and talking to the nascent hunter's friends in the bunker or by phone to see when they’d last talked to him, with Dave’s help Sam eventually got the man’s password and hacked into his Google account. He found his cell phone’s last recorded location before it was turned off: a different motel than the one in which he was staying.

Sam pressed his lips together with a small, tired smile as Dave sputtered.

“Th-that’s not his motel room! What could’ve happened that-” Dave stopped when he looked at Sam. “Oh. I’m an idiot.”

Sam chuckled and shook his head.

“You’re not. Last you heard he was near one of the murder scenes,” Sam offered but Dave was already shaking his head.

“I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have woken you up for this.”

“No I want you to. You did the right thing,” Sam insisted. “And I’m happy this turned out fine. All’s left to do is talk to Louis next time about checking in. Unless he wants us discovering more evidence of his extracurricular activities,” Sam added wryly and Dave gave a self-conscious laugh.

“Thanks, Chief,” he replied softly, looking at Sam with so much admiration and trust and like Sam had just lived up to all of it.

Sam clenched his jaw and did his best to smile. There were so many of them here in the bunker and all of them had different ways of approaching Sam. Regardless, all of them had the highest expectations. Sam’s daily mantra was “I can handle this” and he damn well did. He was proud of himself most of the time but for some reason, right now wasn’t one of them.

“You have dinner yet?” Sam asked because Dave was still gazing at him. 

“Not yet. I think Rosa and Mark made some stew for everybody earlier during dinner time.”

“You should go get yourself something to eat,” Sam suggested evenly. Dave considered, then nodded.

“I’ll get you a plate, yeah?”

“Oh no,” Sam sighed, “I’m good. I ate,” and when Dave seemed reluctant and Sam figured his eyes were probably red-rimmed and bloodshot or something, he added “I’m just tired,” and realized it was the wrong thing to say. Guilt plastered itself all over Dave’s face and he opened his mouth. “Don’t even think about apologizing. Just, please, okay?” Sam smiled, hoping his eyes could twinkle with good-natured warmth despite signs of sleep deprivation. Dave blew out a sigh, returned the smile, and disappeared off towards the kitchen.

Sam’s eyebrows ticked up in surprise. It was another thing he was still trying to figure out. Sam had hidden plenty from Dean, even health-related stuff like the trials years back, but Dean was still way harder to pull one over on than any of the survivors. He was sure it was because they weren’t his brother but it was still a new kind of ability, how easy it was to lie and reassure (usually in tandem).

Sam pushed his laptop forward on the table, hunched over and propped his head up with his hand, fingers spread across his lips so it’d look like he was thinking when really he was just staring at nothing, trying to get up the energy to move. He didn’t know for how long he was just sitting there when he heard his brother’s voice behind him, soft and scratchy like he’d just woken up.

“Hey,” he muttered. Sam closed his eyes and neglected to respond. “Sammy,” Dean added, his voice right behind him now.

Instead of coming over to sit next to him, Sam startled when he felt Dean’s hand tug at his hood. He’d forgotten he’d put it on right after Dean had given it to him. 

The hoodie tugged again, constricting his throat, and Sam smiled in remembrance. Dean had always done this to tease him when he’d been a kid. A wave of nostalgia flowed through him, deepening his smile as he ducked his head and leaned backwards towards Dean so he could breathe better. He needn’t have though because Dean moved his hand up into his hair, warm palm and fingers massaging his head.

When Dean didn’t stop, Sam froze, expression utter bewilderment as he tried to wrap his head around the fact that Dean was standing right next to him in front of everybody carding his fingers through his hair. But as soon as the thought was out, Sam was done questioning it. Dean’s hands were warm and his fingers gentle as he’d move Sam’s hair one way and smooth it down before repeating the process a different direction. Sam closed his eyes and leaned forward to relish in the impromptu massage, Dean’s hand moving with him. At some point Dean stepped up closer and pressed his waist against Sam’s side.

No one had touched Sam with this kind of affection or soothing effect in months and as he took a deep breath and let it out, Sam was mortified to realize his eyes were prickling and he nearly choked on an exhale.

“Hey,” Dean whispered, noticing, his voice so low even Sam could barely hear it. Dean pulled his hand from Sam’s head and moved it across his shoulders, pulling Sam to the side against him.

Sam fought the emotional crack that had come out of him. He leaned against Dean's waist but he shook his head, angry over the unreasonable flood of emotions, and rubbed his eyes. To his horror, his fingers came back wet with tears. Dean bent down, face close to Sam’s, making Sam so aware that Dean was scrutinizing his every expression. “Sammy, what…” Dean trailed off.

Sam shook his head again, clenched his jaw, and whispered back an apology, a reassurance he was okay.

“Yeah, right,” Dean huffed, and Sam’s face screwed up for being called out. He kept it together though. Sam couldn’t fall apart in the map room in front of everyone no matter what effect Dean had on him. 

Damn it, he hated Dean for not just taking his word and letting this go. He also loved and needed Dean so much for the same exact reasons.

Sam sniffed, covered his mouth with his hand, and wrapped his arm around Dean’s waist from where he sat, squeezing it in a silent plea.

“C’mon Sasquatch, I wanted to show you something in the archives,” Dean muttered. It was only loud enough for those nearby to hear if they were paying attention, the perfect way to speak if you want people to think you’re telling the truth. It was so thoughtful, Sam acknowledged, that Dean knew not to draw attention to them while Sam was obviously compromised here. Thinking about it, Sam was comically ready to break down again.

Sam had no idea whether it was the hoodie or Dean’s kindness or what exactly was going on but it was like all this stress and fear and pain that Sam hadn’t even known he was carrying was surfacing and flooding him and it was just Dean - only Dean - keeping him together until they could get somewhere just the two of them. And safe where the highest expectations of strangers were nowhere to be found.

Sam tried to swallow the lump in his throat as he got up and followed Dean down the hallway to the archives - their rooms along the way.

Dean opened the door to his and pulled Sam inside, checking both sides of the hallway clear before shutting the door. He turned to Sam.

“Are you okay?”

“Are you okay?!” Sam sniffled, stepping back against the wall for its support. “Why did you… with my hair?” he sputtered.

“Why does it matter? Why are you crying about it?”

“I’m not crying,” Sam gritted out. Dean made a face.

"Are we just telling lies now?"

Sam folded his arms and refused to speak to that, eyes still glistening as they looked anywhere but Dean.

Dean deflated and came closer. Sam bristled as his brother boxed him in against the wall.

“Look, Sam. Are you okay?” Genuine concern colored every syllable.

Sam pressed his lips together, jutted his jaw out like he had something to prove.

It was a battle of wills between them. Sam pressing against the wall away from Dean and putting on his bravest face. And yet Dean deconstructing everything about it with his searching, solicitous gaze. It held neither objectivity nor judgment, just affection, a clear intent to figure out what was wrong and an urgency to fix it for no other reason than that Sam was his brother.

Sam felt his nose twinge, his eyes prickling. “I need to sleep. That’s all,” Sam hedged shakily.

"Okay, Sammy." Dean's voice was surprisingly light and casual, putting Sam at ease. "It's not a big deal. C'mon." Dean took Sam's hand and some awful instinct from the depths of Sam's childhood had him instantly clasping back.

Dean pulled the sheets down then stood to face Sam, expectant. "Get in," he ordered.

"Yeah," Sam laughed. He froze when his brother kept looking at him. "Seriously?"

Dean gave his mattress a once-over.  "What's wrong with it?" 

“Dean. I’ll go sleep in my room." Sam’s tone suggested he was far too old for what Dean was suggesting.

As he turned to go, Dean grabbed his wrist.

“Nuh uh. People can find you in your bedroom. Like, uh,” Dean started snapping.

“Dave?”

“Dave!”

Sam rolled his eyes. Dean was never going to care much about these people. Sam was caring enough for the both of them though and somewhere inside, Sam had to admit that he liked the reputation of cat-like indifference and unpredictable hostility that Dean was building up of himself among the others. It was an odd sort of mystique, and when Dean would only deign to speak or work with Sam, it came off like it was because Sam was even more impressive than he actually was.

Or maybe it was just that Sam liked being Dean’s favorite.

Dean had been getting his bed set up further while Sam had slipped into his own thoughts, probably accustomed to Sam going off on his own tangents when he was as exhausted as he was.

“Here look, see? It’s great!” Dean offered, finished pulling the military corners out and fluffing the pillows. He sat down on the side of the bed closest to Sam. “And the smart foam, right?” Sam sighed and gave a reluctant nod. Dean’s voice went soft and sincere. “I just want you somewhere they won’t find you. Just for a night. And you know they’d never come into my room like Dave did with you earlier."

Sam chuckled, imagining Dean’s reaction if anyone other than Sam were to pull a stunt like that.

“There’d be blood,” Sam breathed heavily and Dean gave a lazy laugh in agreement.

Sam inhaled deeply, considering, and Dean kept silent and patient. “Okay,” Sam relented, pulling his phone and setting it on the nightstand. Dean grinned and scooted over to the other side of the bed, patting the side Sam was approaching. Sam froze.

“Wait, you’re gonna…” he trailed off.

“Yeah dude. You’re not kicking me out of my own bed. Now get in here.”

Sam made a face but by this point he was too tired and stressed to argue.

It was a good call. The minute he slipped under the covers and turned on his side, his back facing Dean, his older brother immediately started fiddling with his hair again and Sam was sort of in heaven.

It was hard to be so close in a bed and stay subtle, so Sam nixed his self-consciousness and wriggled his way closer to Dean. So that his brother wouldn’t have to reach so far to touch his hair, obviously. And Dean was warm. And he wasn’t bony thin like Sam so he was softer to lean into…

Sam wasn’t surprised when he woke up on his side wrapped around Dean who was still lying on his back. Sam’s head was dipped down against Dean’s chest, arms bracketing Dean’s sides and one knee over and one knee under Dean’s legs.

Dean’s farthest arm was clasping Sam’s across his chest, the other was looped under and around Sam against his back. Dean’s mouth was agape, eyes slightly open and Sam could see his pupils moving in the deepest state of sleep. Affection swooped through Sam when he realized Dean never slept so well. It hadn't been just him then. Dean found this as comforting as he did.

Sam didn’t dare move. They hadn’t slept together like this in ages and he wanted to just keep this for a few moments longer if he could.

This was soft and quiet and Sam felt so peaceful and complete. Like everything was so simple and gentle and everything outside was easy to solve. Sam closed his eyes and latched onto his brother a little tighter, Dean unconsciously returning the pressure pushing against Sam’s back.

That night they slept for ten hours straight. It was some sort of record.

From that point on Sam went to Dean's room whenever things were getting too much.

Dean would be sympathetic but really more just happy to get the amazing sleep he always got when Sam was with him.

And as for the survivors, maybe they knew and maybe they didn’t. Either way, Dean made sure they never got the impression they could come into his room for anything short of an apocalypse.

Afterword

End Notes

Thank you so much for reading! If you can spare a sec, please comment or kudos!

Happy holidays!!!

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