#dean winchester has tattoos

[strwbryshortie]

skipping around but here is Suptober day 10, “Close Shave”

When I read this prompt I immediately thought of Michael!Dean and his dapper dangerousness

This is painted with India inks and coffee on Arches cold press paper.

[deancodedinthewater]

Skin Part 4

Rebecca had been more than willing to talk to him which was far more than he could ask for given what she had been through. She had offered him a beer and they were both sitting on her sofa, discussing what had happened. Sam had explained everything to her. Everything. Why he had lied. Why he had had to go to the crime scene, despite it being sealed. What had attacked her.

She didn’t seem to believe him but she was at least listening to him. Which, again, was more than he could ask for.

“So, say this shapeshifter is real,” Rebecca said, cradling her own beer between her hands and crossing her legs. “By the way, you know you’re crazy? But, um, say it’s real. How do you stop it?”

Sam sighed as he sipped on his beer. “Silver bullet to the heart.” 

“You are crazy. “ Rebecca laughed and flipped her bottle in her hand so she was holding it by the neck. She whacked Sam on the back of the head with it.

-

Back in the sewers, Dean got to work untying Rebecca. “What happened?” he asked, gently removing the gag from her mouth.

Immediately, she started crying. “I was walking home,” she said, tears dripping off her chin. “And everything went white. Someone hit me over the head, and I woke up here just in time to see that thing turn into me.” She gasped out a sob. “I don’t know, how is that even possible?”

“Okay, okay,” Dean said, placatingly as he finished untying her hands. She swiped her hands over her cheeks and under her nose. “It’s okay. Come on. Can you walk?” Rebecca nodded. “Okay, we’ve gotta hurry. Sam went to see you.”

-

Sam woke up to the shapeshifter looking like Dean again as it finished tying him up. They were in the kitchen and as soon as Sam was securely bound, the shifter started to wander the space.

“What are you going to do to me?” Sam asked him. The shapeshifter glanced back over at him as he started going through drawers.

“Oh, I’m not going to do anything,” he said, a vicious grin cutting across his brother’s face. “Dean will though.”

“They’ll never catch him.”

“Doesn’t matter,” The shifter said, with a shrug. “Murder in the first of his own baby brother? He’ll be hunted the rest of his life.” The shapeshifter pulled a kitchen knife out of the drawer and ran a finger along the blade. With his knife selected, the shifter dragged Sam by his bound hands back into the living room, where he threw him down on the ground.

“I must say,” the shapeshifter began as he moved over to the drinks cabinet. “I will be sorry to lose this skin. Your brother’s got a lot of good qualities.” Sam was mildly horrified by the implication of that sentence. Even more so when he saw the shifter run a hand down his body. “You should appreciate him more than you do.” 

The shifter poured himself a whiskey and held the glass out in Sam’s direction. “Cheers,” he said before downing the glass and jabbing his knife into the edge of the pool table.

Sam saw an opportunity. He raised his legs to his chest and kicked the shapeshifter in the back of the knee. He crumpled to the ground. Sam struggled to his feet and used the upright knife to cut the ropes binding his hands. As the ropes broke apart, the shapeshifter stood. Sam grabbed the knife and swung it at the shifter.

Grabbing Sam’s arm mid swing, the shifter twisted his elbow until Sam dropped the knife. He used the leverage he had with that arm to force Sam to the ground.

“Oh you son of a bitch,” the shapeshifter said. Sam kicked at his legs again. He scrambled to pick the knife back up and cut the ropes binding his ankles together. The shifter leapt at him, fighting dirty. He grabbed at the knife and tried the same move again. Sam wrapped a leg around the shifter’s and pushed with his free hand. They both hit the ground hard, Sam on top pinning the shifter down.

“Not bad little brother,” the shapeshifter said, with Dean’s smile on his face.

“You’re not him,” Sam snarled. The shifter tried to buck him off but Sam held fast. They tussled on the floor for a moment longer before the shapeshifter threw Sam off and he hit a bookshelf. It shattered with the force he hit it at and an avalanche of books fell on top of him.

“Even when we were kids, I always kicked your ass,” the shapeshifter said, picking up a pool cue from the rack on the wall. Sam stood, ready. The shifter swung the cue at him and Sam ducked, a light fixture behind him shattered.

Sam dodged again as the shifter came at him with the cue. Sam threw a book at him. The shapeshifter growled and lunged for him, knocking both of them into the coffee table. He pinned Sam down in a chokehold and started squeezing.

“Hey!” Dean’s voice came from a different direction. The shapeshifter glanced away and then released Sam, standing. Sam gasped for air and turned to see his brother, his actual brother, with his gun raised.

Dean fired his gun twice, right at the shifter’s heart. The shapeshifter collapsed.

Rebecca ran in behind Dean, she saw Sam still lying on the coffee table and rushed to him. “Sam!” she yelled as Dean walked over to the corpse of the shifter and ripped his necklace from its neck. He glanced over to Sam and Rebecca and nodded.

-

The next day, they went back to Rebecca’s house to say goodbye. Dean was standing by the car, plotting their route on a map as Sam stood with Rebecca, just talking.

“So this is what you do?” she asked. “You and your brother - you hunt down these kinds of things?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” Sam replied, shrugging. He glanced back at Dean.

“I can’t believe it.” Rebecca shook her head in disbelief. “I mean, I saw it with my own eyes. And, I mean, does everybody at school - nobody knows that you do this?” She frowned up at him and Sam put his hands in his pockets.

“No,” he said, simply.

He saw the next question coming before Rebecca even opened her mouth. “Did Jessica know?”

Sam turned away. “No, she didn’t.”

“Must be lonely.”

“Oh, no. It’s not so bad,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. He surprised himself in the fact that he meant it. It was lonely sure, but he had Dean at least. And they got to meet some interesting people. “Anyway, what can I do? It’s my family.”

Rebecca laughed. “Well, you know, Zack and me, and everyone at school-” She gave him a soft look, resting her hand on his forearm. “-we really miss you.” The hand on his arm turned into a proper hug, which he returned.

“Yeah, me too,” Sam said into her hair. They both pulled away.

“Well, will you call sometime?” Rebecca asked, smiling up at him.

“It might not be for a while,” Sam said and Rebecca nodded. She waved goodbye to Dean, who waved back, gave Sam one last hug and made her way inside. Sam turned to the car and walked over to Dean.

“So, what about your friend Zack?” Dean asked.

“Cops are blaming this Deanna Winchester person  for Emily’s murder,” Sam said and Dean laughed.

“Never been more glad to have not changed my name legally,” Dean said, still laughing. “Now my deadname is actually dead.”

Sam laughed too. “They found the murder weapon and Zack’s clothes in this guy’s lair, stained with Emily’s blood,” Sam continued. “Now they’re thinking maybe the surveillance tape was tampered with. Yeah, Becca says Zack will be released soon.” He smiled and Dean rolled his eyes as they both got in the car.

-

Dean glanced at Sam in the passenger seat a little while later. He sighed and turned down the music, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. “Sorry, man,” he said.

“About what?”

“I really wish things could be different, you know?” Dean explained, the tapping he was doing turned into an actual beat. “I wish you could just be... Joe College.”

Sam shook his head. “No, that’s okay,” he said, shifting till he was facing Dean, his back half against the door. “You know, the truth is, even at Stanford, deep down, I never really fit in.”

“Well, that’s ‘cause you’re a freak.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Sam said, rolling his eyes.

“Well, I’m a freak too,” Dean added. “I’m right there with you, all the way. Maybe even a little further.” Sam laughed.

“Yeah, I know you are.” There was a comfortable silence between them and Sam pulled out his phone, thinking the conversation was over.

“You know, I gotta say,” Dean said, breaking the silence and Sam looked up at him. “I’m sorry I’m gonna miss it.”

“Miss what?”

“How many chances am I gonna have to see my own funeral?” They both smiled at that.

“The funeral of a life you were never meant to live,” Sam corrected and Dean laughed. They drove on in silence.

Masterpost

[beebox-illustrations]

Sammy and Dean having breakfast for dinner, waiting for John to return.

Somehow the thought of how little Sam must have eventually stopped asking when their dad‘s gonna return makes me really emotional 🥲

Had a busy weekend so here we are with a belated post! Have a fantastic week✨🌻

[zer0expektation]

◇

lone funeral

[xcrcf1xxx]

more fanfiction fanart!!

here's dean from an exercise in 'worthless' by glassedplanets

[schizosamwincester]

In case anyone was wondering, the real Dean Winchester is not covered with tattoos, but he does have 3.

[theworstcwshow]

If I was writing supernatural I would have Dean tattoo Cas's name on his arm in large cursive letter and a heart over the i

[quietwingsinthesky]

thinking about angel banishing sigil tattoos on Sam & Dean, but in order to make them effective, they have to be tattooed with their own blood. Which apparently leads to the body reabsorbing the tattoo after a few weeks, so they’d have to do it constantly to stay safe. Sam & Dean committing to this ritual every few weeks… tattooing themselves in their own blood or maybe even each other’s…

[sasanka-27]

Jackles new haircut but make it Dean Winchester (prompt by me)

[raevenswritingdesk]

The Women in White - Chapter 1: Prologue

(Series 1, Book 1 of Wayward Sons: a Supernatural re-imagining)

Warnings: supernatural themes, violence, blood and gore, graphic depictions of violence, death, character death

Summary: Estranged brothers Sam and Dean Winchester were trained by their father John from a young age how to hunt the creatures of the supernatural. Years later, the night before Halloween, Sam is visited by his older brother. Turns out, their father has mysteriously disappeared on a recent hunting trip. The creature in question? The same monster that killed their mother, 22 years ago. A darker alternate re-imagining of the pilot episode of Supernatural. The Winchester boys you love, but just a little to the left of how you know them.

Notes: Soooo turns out this is the first thing I'm posting to ao3 on this account (and this tumblr writing wise) and what better way to kick it off than with what's most likely going to be a rather lengthy series if I actually commit to it and don't give up halfway through (fingers crossed that doesn't happen lol). This primarily started out as a writing exercise; a passion project and a way for me to explore my writing style in a creative way through one of my favourite shows. I'm an aspiring author and what better way to practise my skills and prepare myself for (hopefully) the future than to do a re-write/re-imagining of the series that still has the internet in a choke hold even years after its rather…uNique ending shall we say. I'm not entirely sure how I'm going to go about this just yet, whether i do it episode-by-episode of every episode, or if I just focus on main plots but we'll see how this first episode goes and figure it out from there, shall we? Let me know what you think and let's go on the shitty joyride together :)

Next ->

Read on Ao3

November 2nd, 1983…

During the day, John and Mary mainly kept to themselves, but if you were to ask any neighbour, any at all, they would all tell you stories of how lovely the young couple were. They were quiet and kind, and were more than happy to raise their two young boys that way in the peaceful American suburbia. To an outside eye they appeared like the perfect happy family.

If only things were that simple.

Mary Winchester loved her boys. With all the tragedies the young mother had faced in her life, the smile on their little faces whenever they looked at her was the blessing she never knew she craved, but that she'd give anything to have again and again. As she carried her eldest into the family nursery that night he sported this very smile; eyes a little dreary from sleep but happy. Oh so happy

“Come on Dean,” she whispered, flicking on the lights. “Let's say goodnight to your brother.”

The young boy had already stirred, turning his small body towards the the door as she set the older of the two sons down, his previous fatigue withering away as he perked up and ran to the wooden crib across the room.

“G’night Sammy,” Dean smiled, leaning over the side of the crib to kiss his brother's forehead.

Resting her hand on his shoulder, Mary leaned over the crib to kiss her baby boy as well, brushing his fine hair back as she did so. “Goodnight my love.”

“Hey Dean,” a masculine voice called from the doorway, causing the pair to turn.

“Daddy!” Dean squealed, running to his father who scooped him up in a tight squeeze; his dark hair messy and eyes sullen from the day's events, but a loving expression plastered on his face nonetheless.

Whilst Mary was all freckled smiles, wild  blonde hair and even wilder eyes that had seen much more than their owner would admit, her husband was the exact opposite. John was smoke and whiskey, dark features and even darker clothes, with eyes that screamed ‘get back’, but if examined close enough, held an aspect of warmth and playfulness that threatened to melt that cold exterior away. And it was that warmth that Mary saw as he played with the sandy haired boy in front of her, holding him upside down by his feet as he giggled in protest.

“So what do you think Dean? John chimed, bouncing the now upright boy on his hip. “Think Sammy here’s ready to toss around a football yet?”

Dean just laughed in response, shaking his head. “No Daddy.”

“Thought not,” John chuckled.

“You got him?” Mary whispered, passing the two on her way out of the room.

“Yeah, I got him.”

John hugged Dean closer to his chest as he reached for the light-switch.

“Sweet dreams Sam” he spoke, voice softer than a whisper as the room went dark, not noticing as he walked away that the small night light next to his son's bed had begun to flicker. Or that mere moments after he left, that the clock behind his crib would fail to ever tick again.

…

Mary awoke to the sound of static, with flickering lights gracing her vision as she stirred. Turning to face the baby monitor on her nightstand, she groaned; a familiar concoction of love and annoyance settling in as she rubbed her eyes. 

“John?’ she called out, before turning with a sigh to see the right side of their bed unoccupied.

Making her way down the hall, Mary began to shiver, her white nightgown failing to keep out the sudden chill of the house. Did we leave a window open?

As the young mother opened the door to the nursery she noticed her husband had already beat her to it; his tall silhouette standing over their child's bed, cradling the little bundle of blankets in his arms.

“Is he hungry?” she yawned, leaning against the door frame as her drowsiness caught up with her.

The man, obscured by the shadows of the night-lit room, turned; raising a slow and precise finger to his lips without taking his eyes of of baby Sammy.

“Shh.”

Part of her wanted to protest, but with her limbs too tired to comply, all that came out was a soft chuckle.

“Well, all right, join me when you’re done.”

Turning back the way she came, Mary only got about half way down before something caught her eye, a light; its bulb flickering in and out like a rhythmic heartbeat in the night. Curious, she approached it and hummed, tapping on the glass until the pulsing steadied. Squinting at the bulb skeptically, Mary turned her attention to the stairwell across from her, strange lights once again grabbing her eye as she noticed faint light bleeding out of the living room downstairs.

Frowning, Mary made her way down the steps to investigate. First the bulbs and now this? She thought to herself. We only just replaced them and no one should be down here, has the TV decided to quit too?  Poking her head around the corner, the mothers frustration turned into relieved sigh as before her lay John sprawled out in his recliner with some old war movie murmuring on the TV to an unconscious audience.

John must have fallen asleep watching it she thought, smiling and reaching for the remote to turn it off. She was about to fetch a blanket to tuck the sleeping man in before it dawned on her.

Wait…

If Johns down here…

Then who was upstairs?

Without a second thought, Mary Winchester rushed back up the stairs, not caring when she tripped on her dress or missed a step; not bothering to wake John in her panicked dash.

“Sammy! SAMMY!” she screamed, heart racing as she flung open the 6-month-old’s door once again. She was about to yell again, fear consuming her thoughts when she suddenly stopped short at the scene before her.

It was only then that John Winchester woke, startled to life by the sound of his wife screaming from the floor above.

“Mary?” John called out, taking in his surroundings as the eager pull of sleep left him.

Silence. 

“MARY!”

The young man erupted from his chair, paying his aching limbs no heed as he scrambled up the stairs to his wife's aid. Bursting through the once again closed nursery door he was greeted with an empty room; no occupants except for tiny Sam in the corner, seemingly untouched.

“Mary?” he called again, soft and pleading as he cautiously entered the room.

Approaching Sam's crib slowly, he leaned over to check on the young boy, stroking his head. “Hey Sammy, you okay?”

Suddenly, something dark and damp landed on the sheet next to the boy's head, causing John to falter. He reached across to touch it - wet and warm - and as he did so two more droplets fell on the back of his hand, the dark crimson staining his skin as he realised what it was.

Blood. It was blood.

John felt his breathing hitch as he dared glance at the ceiling above, not sure what to expect, and not in any way prepared for the horrific truth.

There on the ceiling, sprawled out like a lifeless doll, was Mary; the stomach of her once ivory nightgown, now a bloody scarlet. Her once bright eyes now glazed over and wide in a forever frozen state of shock.

The man fell to his knees, his trembling body no longer able to hold his weight as he struggled to breathe. The figure was limp and pale - barely human - but it was unmistakably her.

“No! Mary! NO! ” he cried, as the fresh blood continued to drip down on the room from above, as if the universe were making a morbid mockery of his tears.

Sam began to whine in the crib behind his father as the ceiling of the nursery suddenly ignited, hungry flames engulfing the form of his mother. 

John just stared, his body frozen in place as his voice died in his throat; unable to do anything but watch as the woman he loved disappeared from view in the raging fire.

The young father, grieving too fast and too soon, only barely snapped back to his senses as Sam's cries turned into wails, scooping the young boy up hastily on shaking legs and bolting out of the smoking room.

Rushing from the scene behind him, John managed to all but knock over Dean, who had left his room to investigate the matter, hair still tousled from sleep.

“Daddy?” the young boy murmured, his tiny voice placid, yet full of concern.

Without answering, John shoved Sam into Dean's arms in a panic and grabbed him by the shoulders.“Take your brother outside as fast as you can Dean you hear me? As fast as you can and don't look back! Now go, Dean, GO!” 

Dean simply stared up at his father for a moment, a thousand emotions stirring in his small head all at once. But with one look at his baby brother - small, defenceless, and clearly distraught - he nodded, taking off down the stairs as John turned towards the fiery room once more.

With a shaking breath, he called his wife's name one last time, before running head first into the flames.

As Dean burst his way through the front door he wasn't sure which was louder; the cries of his brother or the approaching sirens in the distance. The 4 year old was just as concerned, and just as distraught, but he didn't show it. He didn't know what was happening and he didn't know what this all meant but that didn't matter right now. Instead, he simply focused on comforting his baby brother against his chest.

“Shh it's okay Sammy,” he whispered, gazing up at the fire now blazing out of the nursery window. “It's gonna be okay.”

[strwbryshortie]

Finally finished my Lucifer!Cas to go with Michael!Dean 🥰🖤

Wanna follow my art and/or support me?

Clickieeeeee 🥰

[deancodedinthewater]

Skin Part 3

“You think he found another way underground?” Sam asked as he stopped by the trunk of the car, turning back towards Dean as he spoke.

“Yeah, probably,” Dean agreed, stepping up to Sam and holding his hand out. “You got the keys?”

Sam reached into his pocket and pulled them out. Halfway to handing them over, he pulled his hand back. “Hey,” he said, hand hovering awkwardly between them. “Didn’t Dad once face a shapeshifter in San Antonio?”

“Oh that was Austin,” Dean said without hesitation. “It turned out to not be a shapeshifter, it was a thought form. A psychic projection, remember?” Sam felt a wash of relief. Dean hadn’t been grabbed.

“Oh right,” he said, tossing the keys to Dean. “Here you go.” Dean caught them lefthanded. Sam turned, eyes widening. Dean had injured that shoulder less than a week ago and Sam had had to deal with him tossing and turning in his sleep just last night.

Dean opened the trunk and stared down at the weapons there. He laughed.

“Don’t move!” Sam yelled. Pointing his gun at Dean. Dean’s eyes widened when he saw the gun. “What have you done with him?”

“Dude, chill,” the fake Dean replied. “It’s me, alright?”

“No,” Sam said, finger twitching on the trigger. “I don’t think so. Where’s my brother?”

“You’re about to shoot him,” Dean yelled right back. “Sam, calm down.”

“You caught those keys with your left,” Sam said, gesturing with his gun. “Your shoulder was hurt.”

“Yeah, it’s better,” not Dean said. “What do you want me to do, cry?”

“You’re not my brother.”

“Why don’t you pull the trigger then? Hm?” the shifter said, stepping closer to the barrel of Sam’s gun. A move that screamed Dean but Sam didn’t lower his gun. He kept the sights trained on Dean’s chest. “‘Cause you’re not sure. Dude, you know me.”

The shapeshifter in his brother’s form stepped closer again. Sam firmed up his stance. “Don’t.”

The shifter paused and gave Sam Dean’s patented annoyed look. He swung a crowbar and whacked Sam in the chest. Sam doubled over. The shifter swung again, this time for his head. Sam crumpled like a house of cards.

-

Sam startled awake in a room he didn’t recognise. The first thing he noticed was his neck and hands were bound to a wooden post. He tugged at the ropes on his hands experimentally. A hand, wearing a metal ring that left a cut, backhanded his cheek. Sam groaned, trying to pull away and saw his older brother. No. The shapeshifter standing above him, hand raised ready to slap him again.

“Where is he?” Sam yelled, tugging at the ropes harder now. “Where’s Dean?”

“I wouldn’t worry about him,” the shapeshifter growled, squatting in front of him and giving him a mocking smirk. “I’d worry about myself if I was you.”

“Where is he?”

“You don’t really wanna know,” the shifter said, chuckling as he turned away from Sam. “I swear,” he added, shaking his head. “The more I learn about you and your family- and I thought I came from a bad background.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asked. “Learn?” The shapeshifter froze. He doubled over in pain, grabbing the sides of his head. The way he moved reminded Sam of Dean when he was overstimulated, all sharp and hard as if closing off physically would reduce the stimulus. Sam just frowned at him.

A moment passed and the shapeshifter’s posture relaxed. He turned back to Sam, that mocking grin back in place. “He’s sure got issues with you,” he said, tapping his own forehead. “You got to go to college. He had to stay home.” He laughed. “I mean, I had to stay at home. With Dad.” He stepped forwards, hand twitching as if he didn’t quite know what to do with it. “You don’t think I had dreams of my own? But Dad needed me. Where the hell were you?”

“Where is my brother?” Sam replied.

The shapeshifter leant over, right in Sam’s face. “I am your brother.” He stepped away again. “See, deep down I’m just jealous. You got friends. You could have a life. A flat chest.” He tapped his chest with one hand. “Me? I know I’m a freak. A tranny. And sooner or later, everybody’s gonna leave me.” He backed away, hands still clutched to his chest.

“What are you talking about?” Sam asked, eyes wide.

-

Dean laughed in Sam’s face. “What am I talking about?” He shook his head. “You left. Hell, I did everything Dad asked me to, and he ditched me too. No explanation. Nothing. Just poof.” He mimed an explosion. “Left me with your sorry ass. But still, this life? It’s not without its perks.” He laughed again. “I meet the nicest people. Like Little Becky.” He turned back to Sam. “You know, Dean would bang her if he had the chance. Probably her brother too. Let’s see what happens.” He smiled at Sam, all teeth, and threw a sheet over him.

He made his way over to Rebecca’s house at a leisurely pace, the car making this trek so much easier than scurrying through the sewers, as he thought on the Winchester boys. Lonely without Daddy. They were certainly something. And learning that he wasn’t alone? That there were other non-human things out there? That gave Dean a sense of relief. 

“Oh, hi,” Rebecca said when she opened the door after he had knocked. And that brought another sense of relief. He was more than likely going to get away with it again.

“I know what you’re going to say,” Dean said.

“Oh, you do?” Rebecca asked, leaning against the door frame with her arms crossed.

“Well, no, not exactly,” Dean admitted, leaning into the mannerisms of the original. “But I can take a guess. Get off my porch?”

Rebecca laughed. “That’s about right.”

“I admit it, we lied,” Dean said to her with a smile. “Thought I’d try to explain myself. Sam told me not to come, but, you know, I thought, what the hell, I have to try.” She let him in and Dean grinned behind her back.

-

Sam twisted his hands in the ropes and tried to pull them apart but they wouldn’t give. He banged his head against the pole behind him. “Damn it.” His wrists were chafing.

There was a noise from behind him and then a cough. Sam turned as best he could.

“That better be you, Sam, and not that freak of nature,” came his brother’s voice.

“Yeah, it’s me,” Sam replied with a laugh. Over in the corner, just visible if Sam pulled at the rope around his neck, he saw Dean throw off a white sheet of his own. “He went to Rebeeca’s looking like you.”

“Well, he’s not stupid,” Dean said as he worked his hands free of his own ropes. “He picked the handsome one.” Sam frowned at him but decided against commenting as he went back to work with a renewed vigour. “Yeah that’s the thing,” Sam continued. “He didn’t just look like you, he was you. Or he was becoming you.”

“What do you mean?” Dean asked as he finally got his hands out.

“I don’t know. It was like he was downloading your thoughts and memories.”

“You mean like the Vulcan mind meld?”

“Yeah, something like that,” Sam agreed as Dean made his way across the room, in a pair of grey sweatpants and a white t-shirt. Just like in that area of the sewer there were piles of clothes strewn all over the floor here. “I mean, maybe that’s why he doesn’t just kill us?”

“Maybe he needs to keep us alive,” Dean suggested. He came up behind Sam and undid the rope around his neck before starting in on his hands. Sam rolled his head forwards as soon as he could and sighed in relief. “Psychic connection or something.”

Dean worked quickly on Sam’s hands and Sam rubbed at his wrists. They were red and throbbing from the ropes but it would fade soon enough. 

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, standing up. “Come on, we gotta go. He’s probably already at Rebecca’s.”

Dean glanced around and pointed at a nearby window with his thumb and a nod of his head. Sam climbed out and dropped down to the street first, Dean a few moments later.

“Come on,” Sam said, panic rising in his throat. “We gotta find a phone, call the police.” He started running down the street hoping for a phone booth.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa,” Dean yelled, darting in front of him and putting his hands up. “You’re gonna put an APB out on me!”

Sam just shrugged. “Sorry.”

Dean sighed and glanced over his shoulder. “This way,” he said and started running. Sam following.

-

Rebecca cradled her glass between her hands and stared at Dean with a mix of confusion and disbelief. “So, you’re saying that there’s something out there that made itself look like my brother.” Dean nodded, humming his agreement. “What’d you call it?”

“A shapeshifter,” he replied. Rebecca laughed and rolled her eyes at him. “Yeah, maybe we’re crazy. But what if we’re not?” He rolled his wrist towards her and gave her an almost pleading look. “I mean, you said it yourself that Zack was in two places at once. Now, tell me how that can happen.”

She had to hand that one to him. “Okay, so, this thing-” She started, shaking her head at herself for actually starting to believe this. “It can make itself look like anybody?”

“Well, what is it? Like a genetic freak?”

“Maybe.” Dean laughed. “Evolution is about mutation, right? So, maybe this thing was born human but was different. Hideous and hated. Until he learned to become someone else.” Rebecca glanced away, uncomfortable with the direction this conversation was going in.

“It’s funny. I kind of understand him,” Dean continued, smiling a secret little smile. He’s all alone- close to no one. All he wants is for someone to love him. He’s like me.” Rebecca shifted further away from Dean on the sofa. “You know, everybody needs a little human touch now and then. It’s so hard being different.” Dean reached across the gap and tucked her hair behind her ear. 

Rebecca pulled away. “You should go,” she told him.

Dean leant across the space between them and whispered in her ear. Before he could even finish Rebecca stood, horrified. “You are disgusting! Get the fuck out of my house!”

“Rebecca, just calm down,” Dean said, standing to meet her.

“Calm down?” Rebecca demanded. “What is fucking wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me?” Dean asked, sounding more scandalised than he had any right to be. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m calling the police,” Rebecca said, crossing the room and picking up the phone. Dean followed her. He grabbed the phone and threw it to the ground. Rebecca screamed and tried to run but she tripped on the cord for the phone. Dean straddled her, taking all too much pleasure in the act she was sure of, and began wrapping the telephone cord around her hands.

“Give me your hands,” he demanded, grabbing for them. Rebecca screamed louder. “Shut up!” Dean whacked the receiver over her head and that was the last thing she knew.

-

“You’re a nice girl, Rebecca,” Dean said, spinning the knife in his hands and pacing around Rebecca’s bloodied form where he had tied her to a chair in her bedroom. “I mean, I liked you. Believe me, that makes this harder.” He stopped in front of her and held up his knife, twisting it so the low light seemed to glint across its polished surface. “But I gotta do what I gotta do.” He stepped towards her but turned when the sound of a shattering door reached them.

Rebecca tried to scream around the gag he had tied around her mouth.

 “Shh,” Dean said, pressing his knife to her throat. He heard footsteps coming up the stairs and decided it wasn’t worth it. Dean crossed the room and peered out of the door to see a  SWAT team facing in the wrong direction. He dodged past them into the other bedroom, closing the door softly behind him.

His eyes scanned the room looking for an escape and they fell on balcony doors. Hurrying across the room, Dean opened the doors and was just about to step out when the door behind him burst open.

““Freeze!” yelled one of the SWAT team, Dean lifted his knife. “Don’t move! Drop the knife. Keep your hands where I can see them. Drop it!”

Dean turned slowly, knife still raised. He made sure that these guys saw every detail of the face he was using. 

“Hold it right there!” the officer ordered.

Instead, Dean grinned and threw his knife at the officer. The rest of the SWAT team opened fire on him. Dean kicked the nearest one into the doorway, blocking the rest from coming in, before he turned to the open door and jumped off the balcony. He rolled as he hit the ground and set off at a sprint.

“Come on! Come on! Go! Go!” yelled the SWAT team leader from the house as gunshots struck the ground around Dean. He kept running.

He dropped down the first manhole cover he found. In the safety of the sewer he stripped off the clothes he had stolen and then dropped to his knees. Already, he could feel his bones shifting inside. The shirt came off easily enough and then after that came the skin. He screamed as his shoulders cracked into a new shape.

-

Sam and Dean stood in front of a television store window, watching as a news report played on every screen. Sam, despite having been the one to suggest this, was absolutely terrified of what was about to happen. Dean seemed much calmer about it now.

“An anonymous tip led police to a home in the Central West End,” the reporter said. She held papers in front of her but looked directly into the camera. “Where a SWAT team discovered a local woman bound and gagged. Her attacker, a white male, approximately 19-25 years of age, was discovered hiding in her home.” The video feed on her switched to a static image. A sketch of Dean. The sketch made him out to be a little more square jawed and otherwise just ever so slightly off.

Dean pulled a face. “Man, not only did they get my age wrong but that’s not even a good picture!”

“It’s good enough,” Sam said, starting to walk off. He tucked his hands into his pockets and tried to fold himself in half to draw less attention. Dean followed, fingers rubbing at the empty space on his finger where his ring would normally be.

“Man!” His brother repeated. There was a splash behind him and Sam half turned to see Dean shaking out his foot after having stepped in a puddle.

“Come on,” he said, covering his eyes and looking away from Dean. “They said attempted murder. At least we know-”

“I didn’t kill her,” Dean finished, stepping around the puddle this time. They continued to walk.

“We’ll check with Rebecca in the morning, see if she’s alright,” Sam said after a pause where both of them just thought about that sentence.

“Alright,” Dean agreed, stopping them on a street corner and looking in every direction. “But first I want to find that handsome devil and kick the holy crap out of him.”

Sam turned to his brother with his hands held out to either side. “We have no weapons,” he said. “No silver bullets.”

“Sam, the guys walking around with my face, okay, it’s a little personal,” Dean snapped back, stepping into Sam’s space in a way that would have been intimidating if Sam wasn’t taller than him. “I want to find him.”

“Okay,” Sam agreed, nodding. He fully understood why Dean would want to find this guy. “Where do we look?”

“Well, we could start with the sewers.”

“We have no weapons,” Sam repeated. “He stole our guns, we need more.” They both paused, thinking. Where could they find weapons? Specifically silver bullets. Sam looked up as a revelation hit him. He grabbed Dean’s shoulder. “The car?”

Dean stared at him blankly for a moment and then Sam saw the lightbulb flick on behind his brother’s eyes. “I’m betting he drove over to Rebecca’s.”

“The news said he fled on foot,” Sam explained. Suddenly this hunt was seeming much less hopeless. “I bet it’s still parked there.”

“The thought of him driving my car.” Dean shuddered. 

Sam rolled his eyes. “Alright, come on,” he said as he started to walk in the direction of Rebecca’s house.

“It’s killing me,” Dean continued.

“Let it go,” Sam told him, patting his back sympathetically.

-

When they came around the corner and Dean saw his Baby sat sparkling on the side of the road he hopped on the spot and pointed at her. “Oh, there she is,” he said in relief. “Finally something went right tonight.”

Dean had spoken too soon for as soon as he said that a police car pulled up alongside the Impala. “Oh crap,” Dean said as he turned around and saw another one parked a few yards away. He shifted paths again, heading towards a fence. “This way, this way,” he told Sam urgently.

“You go,” Sam said. “I’ll hold them off.”

“What are you talking about?” Dean snapped. “They’ll catch you.”

“They can’t hold me,” Sam said with a shrug. “Just go, keep out of sight. Meet me at Rebecca’s.” Dean threw himself up and grabbed the top of the fence, one leg over it when Sam spoke again and he turned. “Dean, stay out of the sewers.” Dean didn’t answer and dropped down the other side. “I mean it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean yelled back.

As Dean ran for it he heard an officer yell, “Don’t move! Keep your hands where I can see them!” Dean kept running.

He lay low nearby until the cops moved on. With no guards around his car he could get to the trunk and gather some gear. “I’m sorry, Sammy,” he said as he popped the trunk and pulled out a gun. “But you know me- I just can’t wait.” He loaded it with silver bullets and then tucked it into his waistband. Before he shut the trunk he grabbed a silver knife, just in case.

Stocked up, he made his way down into the sewers and followed a vague trail of skin and blood till he came to a room, more of a chamber really, filled with candles - some lit and some burned down - and chains. Dean stepped over piles of rotting flesh and puddles of blood that were scattered across the floor here as he examined the chamber at large. Everything here seemed to form some kind of torture chamber or maybe the shifter just used this room to change. That, at least, would explain all the gunk.

Behind him there came a noise. A rattle of metal and a rustle of cloth. Dean turned and saw a doorway. He lifted his gun and very warily made his way through into a smaller area. This one was almost an actual room. In the corner he saw a figure. Covered by a white sheet.

Dean slowly pulled the sheet away and found Rebecca, her feet and hands bound with rope, under it. Startled, and not sure what to do, Dean asked, “Rebecca?”

Masterpost

[wereallassbutts]

Listen I know we all like to talk about dean with tattoos being a missed opportunity but lets be real if they had given dean winchester tattoos in the Year of Our Lord 2005 he would have gotten tribal tats and a racy pinup on his bicep that he would name Angela and pretend to talk to

[figthoughts]

random sam and dean headcanons *ೃ༄

⭑ sam winchester has an emotional support water bottle. probably one of the big 2L ones. dean often threatens to hit him with it.

⭑ dean winchester hates the taste of toothpaste. but loves peppermint gum. sam prefers spearmint.

⭑ dean winchester uses his brother’s toothbrush from time to time. he doesn’t care. but sam does. a lot.

⭑ sam winchester prefers his hair long because he likes the motion of tucking it behind his ears.

⭑ dean winchester once tried wearing eyeliner. john winchester hated it.

⭑ sam winchester has never smoked a cigarette.

⭑ sam and dean winchester are both right-handed, although both ambidextrous when it comes to handling weaponry. dean sometimes wishes he was left-handed.

⭑ dean winchester thinks his nose is funny-looking. it’s the first thing he sees in the mirror.

⭑ sam winchester loves tofu. dean hates it with a fiery passion.

⭑ dean winchester never replaces the toilet paper when he finishes the roll.

⭑ sam winchester used to collect bugs as a kid. his favourite bug is still a stick insect.

⭑ dean winchester hates beanies.

⭑ sam winchester often absentmindedly cracks his fingers. dean tells him it’s disgusting, that it’s unnatural.

⭑ sam winchester was going to get a tattoo during his time at stanford, but decided against it when he saw the needle.

⭑ dean winchester likes people laying on top of him.

A/N: these are the most stupid and random headcanons i could come up with LOL i love making stupid posts like this

[zer0expektation]

do you think when Sam and Dean were getting their tattoos, Dean slapped the absolute shit out of Sam's to 'make it stick better'?

[willowsages-blog]

the charming man: Dean Winchester x female reader

Warnings: demon Dean x innocent female reader

“It’s not going to fit.” You say warily.

“We both know that’s not true.”

Dean's sitting in front of you, hand lazily moving up and down. You raise an eyebrow.

“Are you forgetting you took my virginity like only a week ago?”

He smirks at that, hand movements speeding up slightly.

Dean has spent the past week fucking you, spending all his free time trying to get you in bed with him. He seemed to be insatiable, having had a taste of you and not wanting to let go.

You were brushing your teeth one evening when he comes up behind you, snaking his arms around your waist.

You smile around your toothbrush, always welcoming the presence of your boyfriend. You had just figured this was his typical clinginess, wanting to be beside you every minute he can until you fully take him in through the mirror, noticing his appearance was different.

His hair was tousled as if he’s been running his hands through it for the past couple of minutes, and he was already planting sloppy kisses along your neck, trailing from your collarbone upwards.

He’s suddenly murmuring into your ear, “Wanna see you on top of me, angel.”

Everything you two had done for the most part has been pretty standard, missionary every night and alternating sloppy head in the morning.

You hadn’t ventured too far into the sex world, and now that he was bringing new positions up, nerves were starting to ignite in your stomach.

“ I, I don’t know how.” You admit, knowing that that was already obvious to him. However, you were still caught up in wanting to impress him and make every new experience for you even better for his years of experience.

“Don’t care, I’ll show you.” He mumbles, still focused on marking up your neck, moving on to another side when he gets bored of the other.

Which is how you found yourself standing in front of him, you still in bra and underwear as he’s completely naked.

He’s stroking himself, watching you like you're his own personal playboy, and you can’t help but clench your thighs at the imagery.

“C’mere.” Dean grabs your waist, pulling you, so you’re directly on top of his upper thighs. You squirm slightly, and Dean can feel you dripping onto his leg.

“Why don’t you want to?” He’s not teasing you, just simply wanting to understand your boundaries and ease any nerves.

“Are you forgetting the part about you being too big?” You roll your eyes.

While he had been able to bottom out since the first time, it still was a stretch, and he had to prepare you every time, fingering and eating you out before he could finally chase his own relief.

You were unsure how you were going to be able to focus and be in control like how he clearly expected; you were so used to him guiding you through everything.

You trusted Dean, knowing that he would never settle for anything less than the best for you.

And you know this was all still part of a deep-rooted insecurity of him having more experience than you, but he leans up to kiss you deeply,

and you’re moving on his thighs again, dragging wetness across his tattoo. He groans lowly in his throat, looking down at the small wet spot on his leg before looking back up at you.

“Want you to fuck me. Please - angel.” There’s something so pretty about the way begging sounds coming from him that you nod, knowing that he could drag you to hell and back if he asked nicely enough.

You lean in to kiss Dean, feeling brave, and slowly slip your mouth open, tongue brushing against his. You position yourself, so you’re sitting on top of him as he trails his kisses down your neck and chest, leaving dark marks along the way.

“ I know you’re wet for me, want it just as much as I do.” He murmurs after a particularly harsh suck on your collarbone, dragging a finger under your clothed center to prove his point.

You buck your hips slightly, missing the way he drags his finger, so it just barely brushes your clit, and Dean gets the message, pushing one finger in between your slit.

You’re used to this, familiar with the way he fingers you and stretches you out so you can take all of him.

He adds another and then another, watching at the way your body takes three of his thick fingers.

In his defense, he is patient. He curls his fingers inside of you, repeatedly moving as you continue to leak more and more for him. You moan slightly, chest arching into him.

You keep moaning, louder and louder, until your cumming all over his hand, only the first orgasm of the night.

“Fuck, you sound so pretty for me, angel.” Your face heats up slightly, hiding in his shoulder while he sucks your arousal off his fingers shamelessly.

You’re still not used to his excessive praising even if your body reacts differently. Still,

it does light a fire in you, wanting to keep hearing the sweet compliments come out of his mouth.

He's helping you get undressed, unclasping your bra and tearing your underwear off until you push him back,

making sure he’s flat against the bed and rising so your pussy is directly above him.

Dean watches intently, eyes never leaving the way you slowly sink down on him.

He lets you get adjusted, getting used to the fact you can feel every throbbing inch of him. You both let out a soft moan,

his head falling back when you slowly rise back up.

You get to the point where only his tip is still inside you before dropping back down again, slowly grinding up and down his dick.

It’s not breakneck, nothing too incredible, you still trying to get used to the pace and too wrapped up in your own head on what’ll make him feel good.

, Dean, however, is in his own world. On Cloud 9, as he watches you drag yourself up and down, up and down.

His eyes are glued to where the two of you are connected,

trying to commit every single moment to memory, so he never forgets this.

“Look so fucking good like this.” He growls, placing a hand on your ass, not doing anything but to ground himself in this euphoria he seems to have found himself in.

He leans up to suck on your nipple, harshly sucking on your tit while playing with the other.

You whine loudly, rhythm faltering as his tip grazes against your g-spot.

“Fuck, Dean. So big.” The only thing that comes to mind, is because he is. Even underneath you,

you feel overwhelmed by just him: by his body, by his dick, by the twisted look of pleasure on his face,

by the low grunts that keep spilling out whenever you twist your hips a certain way. It’s overwhelming, and his presence seems larger than life when he’s stretched out like this underneath you.

He wraps an arm around your waist, noticing how your pace is slowly starting to falter as you get tired, and starts thrusting up into you, planting his feet so he can reach even further and deeper than before.

Your moans pick back up, watching as his face is set in concentration.

It’s funny how you had set out on making this night about him, and yet he’s grinding his hips into yours, set on making you cum before him.

He smiles smugly up at you, watching as your eyes roll back when he thrusts deep inside.

“Shit, Dean. I thought I was supposed to be - fuck” You whine out the last part loudly, him moving his hand down to rub your clit. “ S'posed to be fucking you.”

He doesn’t say anything, choosing to watch your body tremble slightly above his. Between your tits in his mouth, him rubbing your clit, and the incessant rolling of his hips, your orgasm is fast approaching.

Your nipple pops from his mouth, nipples wet and shiny from his spit as he looks up at you with his pupils blown.

“Wanna see you cum all over my dick instead.” And if his actions before didn't do it, how fucking wrecked his voice sounds causes you to squirt harder than you ever have before,

your orgasm lighting every part of your body alive as your body trembles on top of him. You moan loudly, collapsing on top of him as ragged breaths come out of you, trying to catch your breath.

Dean keeps thrusting underneath you, too close to his own release to want to stop and feel the way you squeeze tightly around him, your own high forcing his body into overdrive. He’s snapping his hips relentlessly, and it’s almost too much for your body to handle, pubic bone brushing your clit into overstimulation.

You whine out, not knowing whether it’s for him to stop or keep going. But one look at the fucked out, determined look on his face gives you your answer for you.

“Baby,” you purr. “Cum.” It’s a simple demand, but it’s enough to get Dean to falter, Cumming deep inside you as he grinds through his orgasm. He lets out a deep, guttural moan, you are getting used to the familiar feeling of him pulsing inside you.

He leans back onto the pillow, you falling on top of him. Both your chests rising and falling in tandem, as you listen to his erratic heartbeat try to find a steady rhythm.

“Have I ever mentioned how fucking hot you are?”

“Once or twice, yeah.” You mumble, sleepiness falling over you.

“You’re fucking incredible. That- that - was fucking incredible.” You start to grow shy under his constant praise and are quick to point out his work as well.

“Even if you did half the work?”

“Next time, you can be in charge,” Dean promises.

You smile wickedly, not even trying to hide the mischief in your eyes.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”