#disabled dean winchester

[dean-winchesters-adhd]

Just posted the last four chapters of my autistic!Dean fic, Celebration Day‼️Wrapped up at 37,300 words.

Also there's another story for this AU with Destiel and background Sabriel called The Watchers which I recently rewrote. Check it out!

[dean-winchesters-adhd]

I promise I'm posting an update before the end of this month! This is my Regarding Dean s12 Destiel AU fic if anyone's interested 💙💚

omg it’s FAN FICTION FRIDAY

Reblog and promote a fic of yours <3

[rainydrawstuff]

You know what they say… that freckles are kisses from angels ✨ (x)

[420over69days]

These idiots again, your honor

[hells-plaid-angel]

 Carson McCullers - The Heart is a Lonely Hunter

[atlas-assbutt]

Imagine if Cas was a hunter and he kept bumping into Dean on hunts. Like they become hunting partners after a bit. Sam is still in Stanford. No apocalypse, no handprint. Cas would still be able to listen to angel radio, because he’s a fallen angel and doesn’t know it. He and Dean forge their own destiny.

[chvoswxtch]

texas heat

pairing: dean winchester x disabled!female reader

summary: when the texas heat causes a bad flare up in your body, you lose your temper with dean. but that doesn't stop him from taking care of you.

warnings: swearing, angst, dean being a charming fucker, fluffy ending

word count: 2.9k

a/n: a huge thank you to my darling @mars-rants-a-lot for trusting me with this, and being so informative and helpful to make sure this was as accurate as possible. i hope this brings the comfort you were looking for. this one's for you. 🖤 as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

Being in the car for three hours straight did nothing to help the sour mood that you had woken up in. Despite changing sitting positions several times to the extent your body could handle, you couldn’t seem to get comfortable in the Impala. Not only did your lower back feel incredibly stiff, like a tense rubber band that had been stretched entirely too thin, there was also a sharp pain aching in your knees. Someone might as well have taken a white hot iron to them with a vengeance.

When Dean pulled the Impala into the parking lot of a motel, you didn’t wait for him to assist you in getting out like you normally did. Instead, the second he shifted the gear into park, you pushed open the passenger side door, antagonizing the sting of merciless arthritis even further along the column of your wrist as if you had tossed a lit match into a bone dry field. Putting your cane down firmly on the concrete, you attempted to use it along with the door handle as leverage to push yourself upwards. The Texas heat was even more unforgiving as it seared your skin without a layer of glass protecting it, and you could already feel sweat beading along your hair, like some kind of saltwater crown.

While you were struggling and sweltering, Dean had quickly jogged around to your side, pushing the door open further and ducking down to be eye level with you. 

“Whoa, easy there sweetheart. Lemme help ya.”

He wore that dazzling toothy grin that you adored so much, and his subtle charming dimples that settled above the edges of his lips were on full display. Dean was already reaching out to place his hand on your waist to help you get out of the car, just like he had done a thousand times before. But between the blazing heat and the searing pain spreading throughout your body like catastrophic wildfire, you didn’t find it nearly as endearing as you normally did. 

It snapped the final paperthin straw of patience that you had. 

Shoving his hand away spitefully with all the force you could muster in your agonizingly sore wrist, you narrowed your eyes into vexed slits and glared up at Dean.

“Jesus Christ, Dean. I’m disabled, not helpless. Can you just back off?”

The bright smile on Dean’s lips fell harder than an angel from grace, and clouds of shock and perplexity suddenly cast over his handsome features. It was as if his crisp green eyes had turned sour with dejection when your acidic words reached his heart, leaving searing scars in their angry path. Dean Winchester, who had spent his entire life hunting monsters and demons and every kind of evil imaginable, was completely frozen on the spot. You had never lashed out at him before, and he couldn’t produce a single clue in his brain to figure out what he had done wrong to upset you. 

Getting out of the Impala on your own was harder than competing in an Olympic sport you hadn’t trained for, and it only depleted your energy even further. The ground seemed to be wobbling under your feet the way a bridge in a fun house would, and you abruptly began to rue your decision to stand up so quickly after sitting in a car for three hours. The wind was knocked out of your lungs by your own impatience, and the weight of your frustration settled on your chest brick by brick with every step you attempted to take. The unforgiving stiffness in your wrist made it extremely difficult to grasp the handle of your cane. Medusa might as well have turned your hand to stone with the way you couldn’t move your fingers under the handle of the cane, or grasp it at all. 

Every little thing only fueled your resentment towards your own body, and it made you want to scream. Not even three minutes of trying to walk towards the motel room on your own, and your heart was palpitating furiously beneath your rib cage while you floundered with panic trying to breathe. The sun’s rays nearly blinded you, forcing you to tilt your head down, afflicting you with a sense of vertigo that had everything around you spinning faster than a rogue carousel. A dull headache began to throb at the base of your skull, rising louder in volume the more the extreme heat depleted your body of hydration, rendering it a barren desert. The sweat streaming down your skin was almost molten, and it caused your clothes to stick uncomfortably to your body like a foreign second skin.

Dean’s name was caught in the back of your throat, but your mouth was so dry, and your tongue felt like it had shriveled three sizes, that you couldn’t get it out. The sound of your cane clamoring against the concrete barely registered in your ears, and for a moment, your vision went completely black. But as you felt yourself free falling into some kind of abyss, a pair of strong arms caught you.

Floating in and out of consciousness, the comforting pressure and warmth surrounding you made you feel like you were wrapped in your favorite anxiety blanket. But then you smelt the familiar cologne of gunpowder, whiskey, and mint. You knew exactly who that scent belonged to. You would recognize the melody of Dean’s steady heartbeat anywhere. It had lulled you to sleep on several occasions. An arctic blast suddenly nipped at your heated cheeks, and it caused you to sigh in content feeling the way it lowered your body’s internal temperature. 

The moment you felt the pressure and warmth becoming faint, your eyes snapped open, and you stared up at Dean in pure panic. He took in the alarm written clearly on your features, and reached out to gently take your hand as he bent down slightly to adjust the pillows behind your head.

“I’m just gonna go get your bag, alright? Be right back.”

The soothing timbre of his unspoken promise soothed your anxiety slightly, and Dean’s protective gaze remained on you while he rounded the motel bed and headed for the door. He liked to keep an extra bag for you in the Impala just in case you were ever running low on anything. You had once made the joke that he could do a pop up weapons depot and a hospital right out of his trunk. 

In record timing, Dean was crossing the threshold of the motel room and was over to you in less than four strides. Sometimes you forgot just how fast he was. Those adorable bowlegs could really move. There was a look of pure concentration embedded on his sharp features while he pulled out various items from the bag. His petal pink lips were pursed slightly in a faint pout, chestnut brows were drawn together, and the crystal green of his eyes had darkened considerably in a way you’d only seen when he and Sam were getting ready for a hunt.

“Dean-”

“Don’t talk. You need water.”

The faint croaking of your dehydrated vocal chords barely registered any volume in the quiet hotel room. Meanwhile Dean’s gruff command seemed to echo off the tacky red and orange art deco wallpaper that was peeling at the crown molding and baseboards. You watched him remorsefully as he mixed a strawberry electrolyte packet with a bottle of water and shook it mercilessly. He always remembered to get your favorite flavor.

Dean twisted the cap off the water bottle and set it on the night stand for a moment. Snaking his arm behind your back, he carefully sat you up gingerly, positioning the pillows behind your back and neck to allow you to sit up comfortably. After placing a heating pad against your lower back, he delicately lowered your back against the pillows and grasped two pain reliever pills between his thumb and index finger and held them in front of your mouth.

“Here, take these.”

“Dean-”

“Don’t argue with me when I can see how much pain you’re in. Take ‘em.”

You knew better than to argue with him when he had his mind set on something. Parting your lips just enough for him to drop the pills into your mouth, you gazed up at him softly as he brought the bottle of water to your lips and gently slipped his left hand into your hair to cradle the back of your head.

“Drink the whole thing. Take your time.”

The juxtaposition of Dean being so firm yet so gentle with you at the same time always amazed you. It was rare you ever saw him treat anyone else like that, and it made you think he reserved it just for you. Your heart wanted to believe it was because he cared about you, really cared, and that he wanted to spark that fuse of friendship to explode into something colorful and more like you did. But your brain dismissed that it was simply because you were disabled and that you were vital to him and Sam as their person behind the scenes. 

After finishing the entire water, Dean set the empty bottle down on the nightstand and turned the heating pad on medium heat. The bloom of warmth slowly started to ease the ache in your lower back, and you were suddenly aware of the pain in your jaw from clenching it so hard during your grueling POTS flare up. Dean swiftly but tenderly removed the braces from your wrists and knees to allow your body to sink into relaxation. He carefully removed your shoes and slipped tall compression socks on your feet before unfolding your weighted anxiety blanket and placing it over you delicately and tucking you in.

The air was still thick and tense with your treacherous treatment of him earlier, and the guilt pooling in your stomach nearly made you nauseous. He didn’t deserve that. He was just trying to help you. He was always trying to help.

“Dean, I'm sorry.”

Dean’s entire body language changed as soon as he heard the tears in your voice. His broad shoulders visibly relaxed beneath his forest green flannel, and his hardened features morphed into a soft look of empathy. His eyes were back to their normal shade of enchanting green, and they were shining with understanding and compassion. Letting out a deep exhale through his nose, Dean took a seat on the bed next to you and hunched over slightly, resting his elbows on his denim covered thighs.

“You got nothin’ to be sorry for.”

“I was mean-”

“You weren’t mean. You’re havin’ a bad day, and you’re struggling, and I didn’t catch it. I’m the one that should be sorry.”

Leave it to Dean Winchester to try and shoulder the blame for something that was nowhere near his fault. Emerald guilt was already forming around the outer rim of his irises, and even though there was still a lingering flame nipping at the nerves in your wrist, you stiffly reached out for one of his hands. As soon as Dean caught your fingers in his peripheral, he instinctively enveloped your hand delicately in his larger one. His hands were always so warm, and even though they were a bit rough with scars and callouses from a lifetime of trying to be the best soldier, to you they felt soothing and were a sense of tangible comfort.

“Listen to me. What happens to my body is not your fault. It’s out of your control just as much as it’s out of mine.”

“We were on the road for three hours straight. I shoulda stopped, given you breaks from sittin’ so long. I shoulda made sure there was enough refrigerant in the tank. The A/C wasn’t hardly blastin’ a damn thing. I shoulda just left you at the motel in Arkansas-”

“You said you didn’t want to leave me alone because Sam-”

“I know, and I didn’t. But better you bein’ in a nice cool motel than fuckin’ Texas. The heat here’s too much for you, sweetheart. I shoulda known how it was gonna hit you. I shoulda made sure you were drinkin’ your electrolytes the whole ride-”

Giving his hand a gentle squeeze to halt his self-condemnation, he finally met your gaze. A tender smile graced your lips as you shakily lifted your hand up to place on the side of his cheek, enjoying the slight tickle of his coarse scruff against your palm. He instantly leaned into your touch, and his body deflated slightly in content at the contact. You brushed your thumb along his sharp cheekbone to the best of your ability and let out a gentle sigh, shaking your head slightly as you gazed at him in adoration.

“You take on too much, D. The weight of the world isn’t yours to carry.”

“I’m not worried about the world. I’m worried about you.”

The firmness in his deep voice and the intensity of his gaze nearly knocked the wind out of you all over again. You weren’t used to him being so serious unless it was regarding a case or something with Sam.

“I’m alright-”

“You blacked out.”

“And you caught me and took care of me, like you always do.”

You were too exhausted to argue with over the over six feet of pure stubbornness sitting in front of you. The electrolytes were steadily getting rid of your cotton mouth and foreboding sense of dehydration, and the heating pad felt marvelous against your agitated lower back. The motel bed surprisingly did not feel like it was made of cardboard, and the pillows Dean had placed around you almost felt cloudlike. As you closed your heavy eyelids and let out a deep exhale, you could still feel Dean’s intense gaze on you, and an idea to melt the icy tension suddenly popped into your head.

“You know D, there is actually…one thing that I think would really help me right now.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to contain your grin, hearing Dean shuffle closer on the bed. Even though your eyes were closed, you knew exactly what look of concern and curiosity was plastered on his features.

“What is it, sweetheart?”

Peeking one of your eyes open, you stared up at him with faux innocence.

“Well…I mean…I don’t want you to go out of your way, you do have a case to work-”

Dean shook his head firmly and gestured with his chin down in your direction.

“Tell me whatcha need.”

Letting out an overly dramatic sigh, you brought your hand up to place the back of it against your forehead, like a damsel in distress in an old Hollywood movie, as your lips pursed into a distressed pout.

“Salted Caramel ice cream.”

Dean’s expression of concern quickly vanished into a deadpan look that let you know he was absolutely and completely done with you, and it made you burst into stomach cramping laughter. Dean tilted his head back to stare up at the ceiling in exasperation, as if he was silently asking God why me.

“And I thought Sammy was dramatic.”

When he swiftly stood up from the bed, you attempted to hide your grin while staring up at him in faux annoyance. 

“Hey, you have to be nice to people that are disabled.”

Dean arched one of his chestnut brows as he turned his head to stare over at you in a playful look of defiance.

“Not if they’re a brat.”

When he opened the door to the hotel, you couldn’t help but giggle at the look on his face.

“Oh! You know what would also really help? Frescas con crema. But make sure it’s-”

“Strawberry. I know. Drink your damn salt water. And do not put on Criminal Minds.”

“Why not?”

“Because I know how you sweat when that one guy with the dorky haircut and permanent frown shows up.”

“You mean Hotch?”

Dean pursed his full lips in slight annoyance seeing the grin on your face and the slight purr to your voice when you said his name. Tilting your head to the side slightly, the mischievous grin stretched further over your lips.

“You know Dean, you have that exact same ‘dorky’ haircut.”

Dean let out a dry scoff and crossed his arms across his chest, face twisted up in absolute rejection.

“No I don’t. Mine is way better than his.”

“You’re kinda frowny sometimes too. And you do have an FBI badge.”

Dean’s expression melted slightly into a look of recognition, like a lightbulb had gone off in his head. Before you could tease him anymore about it, he grabbed the remote and placed it on the tv stand across the room, pointing an accusatory finger in your direction.

“No TV, take a nap.”

“But Dean!”

“Nap, young lady!”

As Dean shut the door behind him and you watched him through the window stalk over to the Impala pouting like a child, you couldn’t help but laugh. Once the roar of the engine faded down the street, you pulled your phone out of your pocket and smirked to yourself as you opened an app to pick up on the last episode of Criminal Minds you had left off on.

“Sorry, D. You’re not coming between me and Hotch.”

[fanonsupremecy]

So my sister @poetry-geek got me rehyperfixated on supernatural but specifically dean winchester and jensen ackles and everyone's gotta deal with it now lol so heres my little hyperfixation rant: APPARENTLY jensen ackles who plays dean winchester has adhd and depression. And that just validates me in so many ways. No wonder dean is so AuDHD coded... AND apparently he struggled with reading as a kid and even though I can't relate, because reading was actually one of my giftings as a kid, I appreciate that he talked about it because I knew so many other people with neurodivergencies who had a hard time with it and so i know there are people who can relate to it and that makes me happy to see representation and real life neurodivergent people we can look up to this year.

[disabled-dean]

Dean wears knee braces head-cannon expanded: they're the kind of compression sleeves that are worn under his clothes so no one usually sees them- until he's like doing laundry or whatever one day and Cas walks in on him and immeadiately gets a nosebleed and has to pretend that angel radio just short circuited to save face

[boywifesammy]

i absolutely love the permanent injury wincest fics on ao3 and my brain is going BUCKWILD thinking about possible plot points to write…

imagine. the car accident at the end of season 1, but sam ends up with severe injuries & brain damage. john still makes the deal for dean’s life. he whispers to dean that this was for the best, keep him safe, and if you need to, kill him, and dean knows he’s talking about sam, unresponsive and comatose in the other room. then john dies and leaves dean behind with sam. sam wakes up disoriented and confused. he’s lost a lot of speech ability, and use of his legs. after his dad dying in the hospital, dean is in a rush to get them both out before whatever got him gets around to them too.

so he takes sam to bobby’s. sam uses crutches and can’t form full sentences and has emotional outbursts at the littlest of things. it’s not the put together sam that dean knows, hell, it’s more like the whiny, teenage sam from his childhood who was full of piss and vinegar and too much teenage angst to contain. it’s the repressed rage that sam holds coming out all at once. dean realizes that sam is actually extremely angry and frustrated inside, and this new shift in his mental ability is taking a big toll on him and making him feel worthless.

dean just lost his father, and lost so much of his brother as well, but sam still keeps him grounded. when he’s not working on baby, he’s in the house, helping sam around, feeding him, clothing him, talking with him for hours on end to keep him occupied. he’s all dean has left.

bobby is worried. he tells dean to get sam medical attention, that he needs speech and physical therapy, that he can’t be there for sam 24/7. dean denies it all. he says that if he isn’t there for sam, no one will be, because they’re all each other has left. sam is all that dean has left and he’s not letting him get hurt again.

keep sammy safe, dean’s heart says, but there’s that terrifying reminder of his father’s last words, kill him if you have to. dean can’t even fucking fathom why his father would tell him such a thing. he wanted him to kill sweet little sammy, who can’t string together a sentence and asks dean to make him pb&j’s for lunch. that’s who sam is to him now; the little boy from his childhood. it gives him something to do. something to focus on. keep sammy safe. dean needs purpose, direction, a task in life, and now his father is dead and his brother is hurt and what else is he except the caretaker?

dean doesn’t understand why his father would say that until the psychic episodes start. sam has awful migraines and premonition nightmares that he wakes up from crying and screaming, incoherently babbling about what he saw. and when he gets too overwhelmed or nervous, he’ll curl up into a ball, or scream, or cry, and the room will go to chaos. bottles flying, windows breaking, tables rattling, and this awful feeling in the air like sam is trying to rip dean’s lungs out of his chest. dean’s the only one who can calm sam down during his episodes. he gets even more protective of sam, much to bobby’s displeasure.

at this point, bobby is starting to get really worried. sam isn’t getting any better, if anything, he’s getting worse, constantly stressed and on edge, physically exhausted, angry with the world and angry that his body and mind won’t do what he tells them to. he’s worried about dean. dean who spends all his time with his little brother, calling him sammy and kiddo as he dresses him and feeds him and wipes the tears off his cheeks. it makes bobby feel sick. there’s just this… strange look in dean’s eyes. it’s love, sure, but it’s also obsession. absolute captivation. he looks at sam like he’s the whole damn world, and bobby’s worried that as far as dean is concerned, he is.

dean knows that sam lost a lot of cognitive and emotional ability. it’s why he treats sam like little sammy from when they were kids— something sam hated at first but begrudgingly learnt to accept— and it’s why he’s able to be so gentle and sweet with him in a way he could never be with his sam from before. but the thing is, sam’s still sam. he’s big and he’s a pain in dean’s ass and he’s so damn beautiful that it makes dean feel sick inside. so he indulges a little. he touches sam, strokes him a little during washroom breaks, and sam likes it. he’s pent up and frustrated and all he knows is that dean is safety and good feelings so it only makes sense that dean is making him feel good in another way. and dean convinces himself that sam would have always wanted this, and maybe he had, but there’s no way to know for sure. all dean knows is that they’re both safe, and happy, and that’s all that matters.

of course, bobby eventually finds out about it. that’s when all Hell breaks loose, and shit hits the fan.

this idea has been rattling around in my brain for a long long time now so pls let me know if it’s something you’d be interested in reading and i’ll throw it on my wip pile…

[dean-winchesters-adhd]

Just posted chapters 4 & 5 of my Regarding Dean fic!

Sam and Dean are having a rough go of it, but Cas is there to support Dean (emotionally and physically 😏) Enjoy & let me know what you think!

[mrcowboydeanwinchester]

bisexual transgender hard of hearing hunter dean winchester i love you. man completely caught between the binaries, pushed to the verges of society, in every part of his being. no wonder he spends his life feeling so lost every time he finds an identity it names him a ghost

[anarchomuffin]

a lot of the trans dean fic i've seen has had him be put into a man's body post-hell, and while i understand the need to give him a "happy ending" like that, i feel that him staying in the body he has is so much more interesting for his character. i think that it's so much more fascinating to represent dean as a trans man who doesn't ever fully transition, because i don't think that he would ever be able to in canon. and the idea that dean being put in the "right body" (especially by cas who in those fics is often a cis partner) just feels off to me.

[little-ditsy-dreamer]

Spn imagines for disabled reader

Hi, so, I had brain cancer. My surgery in December to remove it did a lot. I’m disabled now and ik there's a lot of people who want to be included, like me. This is for you <3 let's share in some happiness together. XoXoXo stay strong, babes!

Any Disability

Being Disabled And Living With The Winchesters Would Include

Then paying lots of attention and taking careful care of you

Them reassuring you that you're normal and like every other hunter

Not letting you come on hunts to keep you safe

You of course hate that, but they're just looking out for you

You do lots of research to help out

Dean always going easy on you and making sure not to hurt you when play fighting

For people who can't walk/ need help to walk

Dean actually driving the speed limit when you're in the Impala

Sam giving you piggy back rides if you're tired or somewhere isnt handicapped accessible

Sam getting books down for you from high shelves

Dean dropping you off at PT every week

Both encouraging you and helping you get stronger (if you use a walker) or pushing you around to spare your arms (if you use a wheelchair)

Sam always rushing into a room if he hears a thump to make sure you didn't fall

Dean always buying things to decorate your walker/wheelchair

Double vision disability and hearing sensitivity

Sam making you wear an eye patch even when you dont want to

Dean always making sure he has your sound proof earmuffs

Dean turning down his music, ONLY FOR YOU, you are the exception.

Dean being happy to drive you around anywhere since you cant drive

Sam holding your hand to guide you around when you cant see

BONUS! I've never had trouble with hearing but you guys deserve happiness too <3

Sam learning sign language for you

Ok, with you not being able to hear, Dean can play his music as loud as he wants. You can still feel the vibrations and see him sing though..

Both tapping your shoulder so they don't startle you

Them never talking unless you can see their lips

Dean always forgets you cant hear though and has conversations expecting responses that will never come

[drfrankensteinvsthequeerborgs]

Dean's sleeping, sober, and tries meditation for a whole 5 seconds? love that for him, really wish this was a good sign and not the calm before the shitstorm

[moony-mai]

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