#can be weecest

[samnarc]

Sam having trouble sleeping so he goes to Dean's bed, creeping under the covers and whispering his name until Dean wakes up.

All Dean knows is Sam is super close to him in his bed. But he can't just go back to sleep without comforting his little brother.

They end up tangled in each others limbs, Sam with his arms around Dean and his leg hiked up against Dean's thigh, keeping him as close as possible as they sleep together in peace.

[motelsnleatherseats]

By the time John gets back from his hunt, he can tell that his boys were far passed the point of no return. Dean can hardly look him in the eyes without donning a shameful expression, like he can smell the sin coming off him, and Sam's more flighty than usual, keeping as much space as he can between him and Dean as if the sudden distance compared to their usual closeness wasn't a red flag.

Sam's got a bandaid at the juncture of his shoulder and neck, but John can see the outskirts of bruising peeking out from the edges, tiny broken blood vessels darkening the skin caused by careless teeth and lips. Dean's refusing to take off his jacket despite the heat with the collar turned up to shield the obvious marks of blunt nails that were dragged down the nape of his neck and between shoulder blades. Only one bed looks slept in, the other exactly how it was when he left.

A few days go by before they let their guard down a bit, now back in each other's personal space, but John can see the way they look at each other. Dean spends too much time gazing longingly at his little brother every chance he gets, and when he's driving and looking at Sam in the rear view mirror, John has to remind him 'eyes on the road, Dean' more times than he should in the span of a few hours.

They pull off to a gas station to fill up and grab something to eat, and John heads inside, sees the boys head off to the bathroom together around the back, and already he can sense trouble. He gives them a few minutes, but when they're taking longer than they should, he marches his way to the bathroom and calls out for them, one stall occupied, two pairs of feet suddenly scrambling.

Sam's hair is disheveled and Dean looks like he's expecting to get throttled, panic evident. His cheeks that were momentarily red ago were draining color. John cocks his head towards the door in a silent demand that they leave and get back to the car. Sam rushes out but John grabs Dean by the lapel of his jacket and pushes him against the tiled wall before he had a chance to skirt passed him. He can feel his eldest go rigid, face scrunching up some like he's expecting to get hit, but John exhales a rough breath, releasing his hold on him.

"Never in public, do you understand me? And if you're going to mark each other up, get better at hiding it."

Dean stares in shock for a moment like his brain is trying to process what the hell was happening. John can see him trying to make sense of it, to come to the realization that yes, he knows, and he's not going to beat the daylights out of him for putting hands on Sammy.

"Do you understand me?"

"Yessir."

John takes the keys from Dean and lets him leave first to join his brother at the car. He takes a moment to splash his face with some water before scrubbing over it a sigh. Those young, careless boys. What was he going to do with them?

↳ a continuation of this post.

[winbred]

how fanfics write sam and dean when theyre found out by John in their teenagers: sam begging for John to leave dean alone, dean lying and insisting that he forced sam so sam gets no punishment and fearful for each others lives.

how fanfics write sam and dean when theyre found out by John as adults: god dad WAKE UP its 2020 I can Fuck my brother if I want to. Tsk, look at this idiot. Mad his children are incestuous. God. Get fucked John. Kill yourself. Come on [insert either brother] lets Go back to rubbing clits.

[samofmine]

how many times do you think sam used "please? for me?" on dean? especially growing up, batting his eyelashes and giving him the Puppy Eyes™️ and acting like he could fit in dean's pocket?

can't we stay here for another month? will you please ask dad? please? for me?

can you cancel your date and stay in tonight? please? for me?

and dean didn't even stop to think about it before he did what sammy asked because there's nothing sam could ever ask of him he wouldn't do or give or kill but at the same time he would get so annoyed because sam knew exactly the power he had over him. but eventually he came to terms with it and got used to the idea of having sammy as both a brother and a religion and just accepted his fate.

"please? for me?"

"amen."

[adeaddogsdove]

read a fic the other day about sam and dean spending that week after john dies at bobby’s, and the sweet rottie rumsfeld being involved which got me thinking how much i headcannon sam as a dog person. hope to god i did this image of sam justice.

It’s hot and the sun beats down unforgiving as ever, but Dean spends all day out working on Baby. It’s for the car of course, because he needs the car. But it’s also so he doesn’t have to face Sam.

The heat drowns out his thoughts, turns him into some zombie that’s only goal in life is to fix the car. It makes him sick, makes his head hurt if he thinks too hard about it. He probably wouldn’t feel as sick as he does if he let Sam close enough to remind him to drink enough water.

His tan lines are starting to show from wearing an old mildewy white tank top, one that he’d found in the corner of Bobby’s laundry room. His jeans have soaked with sweat, and then dried, so they’re sticky and cool as they cling to his legs. Usually, he wouldn’t be this unclean but there’s a drought so Bobby’s been unnecessarily anxious about laundry.

It’s been four days — maybe three, maybe even five. Dean doesn’t know, the heat makes time pass in weird ways. He finds himself going out under the car early in the morning; and his body carrying him back to the house for dinner just before the sun sets. Counting days hasn’t exactly been his top priority.

Usually, the sound of Sam playing with Rumsfeld lulls him into that state. The door clinks open from across the yard, just barely audible over the sound of Dean’s music. Rumsfeld will bark at Sam once, and Sam will usually laugh. The ball gets thrown, sometimes hitting one of the cars in the yard — which usually makes Dean’s awareness flicker with urge to tease Sam for having bad aim.

But Rumsfeld clambers through the dead cars to get the ball every time, so Dean absentmindedly wonders if Sam does it on purpose just to make her work for it.

Sam will play with her like that for a while, with the occasional pause to walk down the yard in search of Dean. Which Dean knows Sam thinks he doesn’t notice. He does, he just choses to ignore or forget it most times.

She’ll lap at a bowl of water after the sound of her steps across the creaking porch, and Sam will praise her for it before going in for lunch.

Dean went in for lunch the first day they were here because Bobby was still home. Dean’s sure that the tension between the brothers is what chased him away on a ‘meet-up’ with some other hunters.

After Sam finishes lunch he either organizes shit in Bobby’s living room (Dean doesn’t know how he knows this, but the information sits in his memory like its been branded there. He gathers he’s maybe spent time looking in the window of the house from against Baby) or, Sam finds a book and comes back outside despite the raging heat.

Sam will stay there, silently, until Dean comes inside before sundown. Somehow, Sam always knows to go in just a few minutes before Dean wraps up. And then they eat dinner in silence until one goes upstairs to the guest room they used to sleep in as kids, and the other promptly takes their turn on the couch.

Today, Dean hasn’t heard the door to the house open once. Rumsfeld’s getting impatient, Dean could hear her pacing and whining.

It’s not all that abnormal, Sammy’s a big boy. He’s allowed to have freedom to do whatever he wants. But it has Dean on edge, enough to break through the barrier of his fever-dreamed haze.

He could easily barge in the house and complain about Rumsfeld whining for being the reason of asking why Sam’s not played fetch with her — to inadvertently ask what’s wrong with him, why he broke routine.

But that would take effort, and lead to a real conversation that Dean doesn’t think he’s ready for. Because’s he’s fine, he absolutely is, talking about it would only disrupt his fine state.

So he doesn’t go inside to check on Sam, he goes back under Baby and continues his work, hoping for the sun-haze to take over his brain so he stops thinking again.

It’s probably hours later when he breaks through it again, having just finished the task he set out on early that morning. He doesn’t have Sam to gage what time it is, so he doesn’t know if it’s after lunch or not.

The yard seems to be void of the sound of Rumsfeld, which makes him uneasy because the sound of her collar is always clinking with the rhythm of her pants.

Dehydration plagues his mouth, and makes him dizzy when he clears his throat. He rolls the creeper out from under Baby, and forces himself to stand. It makes his head pound unforgivingly.

Dean wipes his hand with a rag, searching the yard for Rumsfeld — who’s nowhere to be found.

He clears his throat again — immediately regretting it, then sets the rag down on the wood bench and forces himself to walk up to the house.

Minus the absolute crave for water, his stomach rumbles in hunger, angry at him for having skipped so many lunches.

He forces himself up the old creaky steps, and draws the screen door open before pushing his unwilling body into the slightly cooler house.

Dean doesn’t hear signs of Sam upon immediate entry, and he neglects to look for him until he gets to the fridge and manages a bottle of water.

The fridge feels only a few degrees cooler than the air in the house, but the water bottle he picks up cools his hand down the rest of his body like frost spreading on a late October night. He shivers in his place.

The action of unscrewing the cap and bringing the bottle to his mouth happens on instinct, and gulping down the cool liquid brings life back into his body. He groans softly, chugging the bottle down — minus a few drops that escape from his mouth and down his chin.

He pops off it with a desperate breath, crunching up the bottle and throwing it into the open paper bag on the floor next to the trash can.

Sam’s name sits heavy in the back of his throat, nearly having made it’s way out when he turns. His breath is ripped from his chest, forcing the name to die in his throat.

Sam’s asleep on the couch, Rumsfeld promptly atop him like it’s where she’s meant to be. She’s not even allowed in the house unless she’s being fed.

Sam’s limbs are too long to fit on the ugly brown couch, one of his legs is propped against an arm, and the other moulds his neck to mimic a pillow. His other leg hangs off the couch, dangles just above the surface of the old wood floors just like one of his arms.

It can’t be a restful sleep, Dean wouldn’t be comfortable sleeping like that — but Sam looks more peaceful than he’s been since he was at Stanford. The warm — clearly afternoon — sun beams in through the louvered shades, caressing his soft features just perfectly.

He’s not angry, or upset, or even happy — he’s just there. Peaceful, relaxed. Perfect. He’s perfect.

Rumsfeld covers him like a ratty blanket, drooling against one of Sam’s stupid geek shirts that he loves so much. The arm not dangling off the couch clutches her fur, just above her collar where there must be a sweet spot that she likes to be pet.

The image of Sam calling her up onto the couch, getting himself comfortable, and petting her till they both dozed fills Dean’s chest with a kind of warmth he hasn’t felt since Sammy was just a snaggletoothed sticky mess that looked up to him like Dean was the fuckin’ sun.

In this moment, Sam looks like more than just the sun. He’s fucking divine — angelic. The sun clings to his skin and his hair that looks two shades lighter — because they’re one. It finds every bit of open skin — the spot where his shirt’s been hiked up and his hip shows, his arms and neck — all scattered with gleams of pure warmth and light.

Dean doesn’t consider himself religious, threw the idea of anything but horrible away when his mom had died the way she did after reminding him night after night that their family was blessed. But Sam’s restful state, his soft and mesmerizing features almost has him on his knees.

Rumsfeld doesn’t wake, doesn’t even seem to graze the surface of a stir — she lets Dean stare. Lets him stand there and gape at the two of them.

Sam’s breathing is soft — just like Dean knows his voice would be if he took the few steps forward to wake him.

He is soft. He is delicate. He is the boy that Dean fell in love with at the age of innocent. He is nothing but perfect; even when he strays from his usual self in times of anxiety and trouble. He is everything that Dean would kill for and die for, just from a silent pleading look — and from so much less. He is Dean’s everything.

Dean doesn’t know how long he stands there, doesn’t know how long he watches Sam and Rumsfeld just breathe in their sleep, but he does until his knees and his hips ache, and until the sun shining in is turning a dark orange. He does until Sam stirs awake, softly turning in his spot to rub his eyes open just like he did when he was 10 years younger.

Dean melts at the soft mewl he lets out, and melts even further at the less soft groan when Rumsfeld turns to lay fully on her side atop him.

He can’t find it in him to move from his place, even though he suddenly feels guilty for watching Sam as long as he did.

Sam huffs at the rottie, scratching behind her ears before turning — he looks surprised to see Dean at first, his eyes flickering back and forth between him and the dog before he softens and shifts to sit up as much as he can under Rumsfeld’s weight.

“Dean,” he says gently — and it’s exactly the way Dean knew he’d sound when he woke.

“Sammy,” Dean says back — exasperated to finally speak his brother’s name, but just as supple as Sam had.

He has the urge to whisper it again, to say his brother’s name over and over like a prayer because Sammy is something that deserves to be worshipped.

He doesn’t. In fact, he stands there, unsure of what to do with himself; go up to Sam, and touch his face — whisper his name like a desperate plea, kiss him softly — or leave, let the moment be remembered and burned into Dean’s brain as how gorgeous his little brother is, with no mistake to taint it.

Sam seems to not know either, so they stay there in silence. Dean’s legs aching and screaming at him to just sit down for a minute, Sam’s messy hair and face painted with the fading sun — and Rumsfeld dozing away.

For a second, the flashes of Dean on his knees in front of that very couch feels so real he thinks he might actually be there, that he might’ve actually manned up and done what he craves so badly to do.

But then the fridge ticks, and Sam clears his throat, and Rumsfeld jolts awake, suddenly starved for her dinner.

They don’t part unkindly — Sam tears his eyes from Dean’s, and the moment ends as harmoniously as it could’ve.

Dean regrets not having gotten on his knees for his brother the moment they sit down at the uneven table for a dinner they’ve had for the last several nights.

He regrets not showing Sam how badly he worships him.

He regrets it, He regrets it, He regrets it, He regrets it.

But he can’t bring himself to change it.

They eat in silence, maybe Sam having moved on from the moment just as much as Dean had — and Dean’s still sure he can feel the still air, and the cramp in his legs, and the hunger in his belly for more than just the food promised for dinner — but instead the heavenly being that is his little brother.

They don’t talk about it, but after dinner they gravitate to the couch together — where somehow Sam ends up leaned against Dean in the way he had when they were younger and only — still — had just each other.

They don’t talk about the way that Dean slowly snakes his hand over Sam’s body to find one of his, desperately seizing the palm that is so much softer than his. They don’t talk about the implication of it, or where it would lead if they managed to take the next step — they don’t talk about the trouble of what would happen if Bobby found them like this, with Rumsfeld at their feet in the house she’s not allowed in unless she’s being fed — and with their hands, hearts and bodies intertwined.

[lambmotifz]

am i the only one who doesn’t like normal/regular wincest au

because all the supernatural storylines are the main factor that makes their dynamic so special. wincest without horror elements just. isn’t wincest

[biggentlemenking]

Pretty criers. Pretty crier Sam. Dean likes watching him and gently drying his tears, maybe licking them. But to do that he needs Sam to cry. Would he hurt him? Maybe with words? Or would he make others hurt him. Manipulate him so that he would come cry in between Dean's arms every time something happened. Since they were kids probably. Sam never grew out of it, Dean never let him. Dean calling Sam 'his crybaby' while kissing him all over the face to comfort him.

[lilacpaperbird]

lying feebly in bed, hooked up to an IV drip. the fluid bag reads "weecest somno fics". the doctors mutter worriedly; they don't have enough supplies to keep me alive much longer

[blacknidstang]

Going insane these days anout weecest a little, just thinking about sweet sweet things

Iike dean eating out teen sammy, bent in half and crying with painful grip on dean's hair. Thinking about teen sammy riding dean's thigh, his own limbs too long and pointy making it so awkward but they are both so turned on beyond their mind. Thinking about yet-to-be legal sammy always on his knees BEGGING Dean to face fuck him so rough he'd gag and drool obnoxiously and hold him down as he chokes on cum. Thinking how it would be Sam who pushes and pushes. Sam who wants Dean to RUIN him in most horrific ways and he would beg on his knees for it

[frecklesndimples]

sam & dean

((sam just camped out in there four more years ))

[samnarc]

Sam and Dean sharing a computer and it leads to Dean finding searches of "is it normal to be in love with my big brother." All he can do is make the first moves after finding out, enjoying how Sam gets nervous and flustered around him.

[motelsnleatherseats]

Wincest Discord

Let's kick off Wednesday with an invite to all Wincest fans on discord! Come check it out and join!

[animangalover-writes]

So I had a dream about wincest(being obsessed with each other as always lol)

I was half asleep when I wrote this so bear with me

So I had this dream where some monster essentially got to sam and manipulated his world into his like ideal world. And his ideal world was him being a kid again with Dean taking care of him, just them in this little house. The same perfect day played over and over again, like a time loop. And somewhere outside this house is the real Dean, caught a time loop of his own, as he continously breaks into this little house to try to get to Sam and free him. But this monster always gets to him first and catches him off guard. It's like he doesn't remember the last time he was in the house, like it always feels like the first time setting foot in it, because the creature uses the same move over and over to kill him(but like, he doesn't really die, its more like this world is its own little pocket dimension and every time dean dies he wakes up outside of it again). And ever time, kid Sam hears something, but the monster/kid Dean tells him it's ok and they ignore it.

By the way, the monster in my dream is basically like this black-grey sentient goop(think Venom) that can morph itself into anyone it wants, and is hanging in weird strands all around the house that Sam doesn't notice. But dean does, and even though he tries to avoid stepping in it, it always catches his foot and essentially Webs his hands and gun in place, disarming him, then slams him against a glass mirror or a wall hard enough that it kills him.

Anyway, somewhere outside of this loop, Dean is vaguely aware that this monster always catches him with the same move, and the only reason he dies every time is because the surprise attack makes him too unsteady to shoot it, and catches him at a point where his footing is off, so he's easy to take down. But every time he enters the house again, he forgets what he learned, and it takes him down all over again. He admits to someone unseen that the reason it takes him down so easily/catches him off guard is because he's alone, aka Sam's not there to help him.

At some point, Sam starts becoming more aware that something is off, and that things are too perfect.

This is where the dream gets kind of fuzzy, but essentially Sam becomes aware enough and, still as a kid, sees adult dean walking through the house and calls out to him, confused. This time, Dean sees Sam and looks utterly relieved and says "Sammy..." like he's so happy to have found him. But this distraction causes the monster to catch him off guard again. It catches his foot and grabs his hands in its weird goo, but Sam is here now, and he sees this creature for the first time. So he yells out to Dean to move a certain way that gives him enough leverage to shoot the creature(this was mentioned as something dean always knew would help but always forgot when in the house).

Meanwhile, the monster actively tries to get into Sam's mind again and tell him, as young Dean, that everything will be ok so long as he let's him kill this intruder who's trying to hurt them. Finally it stops working on Sam and he becomes his real age again.

Some fight happens in between that I didn't really get to see, but the outcome was this: they managed to hurt the creature by working together, now that Dean wasn't alone, he doesn't die and actually gets some good shots in. At some point, Sam rushes the thing and the only reason it doesn't hurt him is because it grew some sort of attachment to him during the whole thing, and so he's the only one that it would let kill it(feels like a metaphor for Sam and Dean's real codependent obsessive relationship).

Anyway I don't remember much after this so that's basically all I have, so yeah.(also ignore any typos, I didn't edit this. I just woke up)

[samofmine]

i have an idea for a fic but idk if anyone would read it if i actually write it so help me out

sam is 12 when he goes on a hunt with dean and john after begging them to bring him along. it's a vamps nest that preys on humans and keep moving towns after they kidnap and murder their victims.

so, they find them, or actually they find them, the entire plan they went through to catch them off guarded going downhill. a fight starts and two of them get john, 17 year old dean grabs his gun and starts shooting, which is not enough to harm them but it gives john a queue to fight back.

they manage to kill the two vamps but then they look around and - where's sammy?

dean looks to the side just in time to see one of the vamps, the oldest one, drag a mouth covered sammy inside a black van, grinning at him. they start shooting, but its too late. they run to the car to try to chase them but one of the vamps busted the tires.

dean tries to run. he is terrified, heart sunk to his stomach, can't hear or see anything around him but the damn van.

john finally reaches dean and stops him, telling him to calm down, they'll get him, they'll get him back.

they don't.

john dies on a werewolf hunt a few years later.

dean never gives up on trying to find sam. never. not even after john gave up, saying there was no way he was still alive.

10 years later, he finally finds something. two small towns, sets of kidnaps and murders, same m.o.

he's more prepared now, knows how to take the vamps down easily.

he walks into the nest wanting to take revenge. ready for that.

what he was not ready for, though, is finding sammy, taller and with not as much baby fat on his cheeks but definitely sammy. alive. turned.

they have turned him instead.

dean tears the nest apart, killing each and every vampire. sam tries to attack him.

"sammy, no!" he cannot kill his brother. oh god, he would rather die by his hands.

but then, something clicks at sam's mind when he hears the nickname.

"d-dean?" his voice is shaky, so much deeper than the one dean still hears in his dreams everynight.

but it's definitely his voice.

dean can't help but pull his vamp little brother into a bone crushing hug. finally.

[lilacpaperbird]

you know what, the kid!sam that exists in my mind and is in love with his brother does write angsty poetry in hidden journals. and he's angry but he's also sad. and he's bitchy and talks back but he's also sensitive and cries hidden under threadbare motel blankets. he's a sad weird kid who feels lonely. even when I think about canon kid!sam, more images of him looking dejected or lonely or resigned or about to cry come to mind than of him lashing out in anger. and I love his bitchy argumentative side but have we forgotten he's also sensitive. we're talking about the kid who cried when he discovered monsters were real, the kid who had an imaginary friend, the kid who couldn't read stories about holy heroes because he felt unclean and unworthy, the kid who wanted to be in the school drama club and whose english teacher told him he had a talent for writing, the kid who felt there was something profoundly wrong with him and could never be normal, the kid who prayed in secret every night, the kid who felt he was a disappointment to his father because he didn't want to be a hunter. that kid was more sad than angry. so I can see that kid!sam in love with his brother and being emotional and emo about it. I mean being in love that young already makes you act like an angsty sappy pining mess, imagine being in love with your brother. that sam rolls his eyes and slams doors, but he also spends hours looking out the impala's window while sad punk love songs blast through the headphones of his walkman. that sam crosses his arms and barks something at dean when he comes to pick him up from school, but what dean doesn't know is that earlier that day his little brother had doodled a heart around his name on his maths notebook before hastily crossing it out

[zmediaoutlet]

happy wincest thursday, liz!! what do you like to see in weecest fic?

aww yay, happy wincest thursday to you as well!

Hm hmm. Weecest. Well -- maybe it's more instructive for me to think about what I don't like to see, up to and including:

any kind of sexkittening. Just... no. Lolita Sam can also fall into a sewer where nothing's #aesthetically on point.

too-sophisticated attitudes about sex & relationships where it feels like they're blue-collar Cruel Intentions characters. You know? Even if Dean's fucked around (or been fucked, all around), he's still ~20 and therefore an idiot, and Sam's ~16 and therefore even idiot-er, and I want them to fumble around and be confused and have their emotions come as an overwhelming surprise, because they're kids! what's the point of weecest where they're not kids?

speaking of fucking around -- I don't like it when they're like way too experienced. There was this tendency in particularly older fic for Dean to have been fucking college girls since he was 14 or whatever the hell (have to assume that was written by teenagers, because anyone over 22 is going to look at a 14 year old and go 'ah, an infant') -- and even if Dean's been doing sex work of some kind, it feels goofy if that's like way ott standing on a corner misery porn rather than a series of opportunistic one-offs. Sam and Dean are both way too normally socialized (honestly, they really are) for it to be some goofy grodelord backstory of that type.

and so, following that, I do like to see some kind of normalcy (assuming we're going for a canon-feeling fic, which is always my pref). Sam should have some awareness of school & what normal people are like; Dean should be fretting about food and money and the car -- so they aren't existing in some weird incestuous oubliette where the rest of the world disappears, because Sam and Dean just don't do that and especially didn't when they were younger. Sam's got a school friend, Dean's got a girl at the grocery store he flirts with. I find wincest (either adult or wee) so much more interesting when they exist in a real world and move through it more or less competently and yet still turn inward to the family. Choice is always cooler than inevitability.

following again from normalcy: if a fic includes the conversation about how incest is illegal and either character says anything like the nothing we do is legal anyway, who cares?, I am exiting out and really considering doing the Ron Swanson meme of throwing my computer into the fucking dumpster. GOD. NEVER AGAIN. There's a reason I avoid first time fics, lol.

sorry I went into a brief rage blackout there -- uh, following again from normalcy: they do need to be aware of the incest thing being a problem but I don't want it to be necessarily about incest qua incest... which doesn't make a ton of sense as I write it out that way, but it's a tonal sweet spot that I'm looking for. Of course they should be weirded out and it should be intense and they should be overwhelmed (per the above bullet point), but given that they're kids I don't want them to have like a full adult horror at what the incest means. Worried John will find out and freak, sure -- knowing it has to be a secret, of course -- knowing that it's weird and probably gross, definitely -- and yet the hormonal tide they're being sucked into is too vast for all of that stuff to fully matter. I absolutely definitively do not fucking want Dean to say something like but we're brothers because no shit, of course they are, and there's something more tangled going on here.

If you haven't sensed it by now, I'm an infuriatingly picky fic reader. But I guess what all of this boils down to is the thing that's my preference in all fic: for them to feel like Sam and Dean Winchester from the canon of Supernatural, and for the setting of the fic to matter. I want it to matter that they're kids and I want it to feel like kids and not shitty fake Characters instead of people. High school settings where everyone's an overwrought and overwritten 27 year old suck. I'm not trying to watch Euphoria here; give me Sam Winchester age 15 being so confused and horny and upset and in love that he nuts in his shorts and Dean panics and then hugs him because he doesn't know what to do, either, because he's nineteen years old. Someone should probably get a noogie at some point. Idk.

Seriously though, the legal issues of incest thing: I will throw you into the sea.