#young dean winchester

[jayjay-thejet-plane]

MORE “ABOUT A BOY” DEAN CUZ THE WORMS ATE MY WHOLE BRAIN

hi sorry im back, i cannot stop thinking about tiny touchstarved dean clinging to sam (he hasnt felt this safe since before mary died) and sam just carrying him around the bunker all day (they both pretend its the other who doesnt want to let go but its definitely both of them)

pt.1 pt.3

transcription below

D: This is boring, can we watch a movie or something?

S: … Sure Dee, do you want popcorn?

D: Yeah. And beer

S: Not giving you beer baby

D: … im not a baby

S: Sure you aren’t

[gaytedlasso]

lit by neon motel signs

[their-we-go]

dean and sam, headed home from school in the snow

(a scene from my butch dyke dean and gay sam fic, exiles among you)

[mandoriana]

Dean Winchester of the first season is my favorite twink to draw.

[lightofraye]

It's Thursday!

(Another twofer and I always giggle at this scene. Sam's like "Uh... thanks." Hehe!)

[surethingsis]

The glare brothers

Suptober day 1: autumn

Based on a screencap from Ginger Snaps the best movie ever made probably and the most autumn flick ever

Reference under the cut

[foxiepot]

Returned from the house of madness (the psychward) and I'm dropping some

young!Dean fan art because i feel like he's underappreciated

[yoannspn]

Wildflowers are dead flowers by Yoann

Summary: Six-year-old Sam has a “date,” but there’s something not quite right about her. Words: 7,602. Notes: Written for the Supernatural Summergen 2024 and a gift for Septembers_coda.

As always, thanks you for the kudos, likes, comments, etc... They mean a lot to me. <3

[hitori-alouette]

have some love  by fullvoid

This painting is a commission I did for @casgore​‘s fic "have some love", which is part 4 of their series "you’re my favorite kind of night"

If you are a murder husbands enthusiast, don't miss this fantastic series!!!

AO3 Link

[reigningqueenofwords]

The Hotter Sister

Word count: 300

Read on AO3

Just like with most things that involved the Winchester boys, it all started with something stupid. Dean was arguing with Sam over who’d be the hotter chick. He was convinced it would be him. There was no way that Sam would ever be a hot chick. Sam, on the other hand, told Dean he’d be a hideous woman.

Squabbles like this between the 17 year old boy, and his younger, 13 year old brother weren’t all that uncommon. Usually, John would come break it up, telling them they needed to look out for each other, or a new topic would be brought up.

Not this time. John was out, leaving the two teenagers to themselves. Then came the two words that would always get each of them going.

Prove it.

Now, they both knew that actually becoming a woman, especially for the sake of an argument, wasn’t possible. Dean had some balloons left over from Sam’s birthday. “Boobs.” He smirked, tossing two to Sam.

“Are you sure you’re the older brother?” Sam asked.

Dean laughed. “You just don’t want to admit that I’d be the hotter sister.” Sam’s face turned sour, glaring at his brother. It was a stare down as they worked on blowing up their balloons, trying to make the second match the first as close as possible. Sam put his in first, turning his shirt into a belly shirt. He took them out, complaining about the way they felt.

Rolling his eyes, Dean put the balloons in his shirt, striking a pose. Sam lost it. Dean had a grin on his face, hearing his little brother laugh. Just as he posed again, John opened the door and looked between his sons. “Ya know what…I don’t want to know…” He muttered to himself, walking right back out.

[ellen-reincarnated1967]

Not sure if I ever posted this fic

Prompt- Reader is a Junior in High School and has a vision of her parents’ brutal, yet supernatural deaths. She immediately calls her best friend, Dean Winchester, a Senior, who comforts her the only way he knows how. Fluff and some supernatural death.

For @fightingalongwinchesters

You were sitting in your AP English class, revising your paper on The Great Gatsby, as your teacher assisted others with their assignments. You daydreamed about the great love story inserting yourself into Daisy’s shoes. Oh to have someone look at you like he looked at Daisy! That wasn’t to say you didn’t have a few takers; but they didn’t do anything for you. They didn’t make your heart race, they didn’t make you forget to breathe, and they sure as heck didn’t make you want to doodle your first and their last names together with little hearts and swirls. Right on cue, you felt your cell buzz in your back pocket, and as you scanned the room, to make sure your teacher wasn’t looking, you pulled it out to see a text from your best friend, Dean Winchester. Now Dean, he made you laugh, he made you feel safe, and best of all, he wasn’t the player all the other girls in the Senior class made him out to be. In fact, you would never mutter this aloud, but he was just as big a nerd, as his little brother Sammy. He just kept his intellect to himself; using snark, bravado, and his good looks to mask it.

Bio is KILLING me, Smalls

You had to chuckle, Dean would never quote gangsta rapper, Notorious B.I.G. No, it was his nickname for you, because you were a whopping 5’4 to his 6’1. However, that didn’t stop you from replying back,

You’ve got nothin’ on Gatsby, Biggie

Dean sent you another text within seconds, geesh, his Biology class must really be kicking his ass today. You smiled a goofy grin as you read one of the lines from non other than The Great Gatsby. “Geek” you muttered under your breath.

“Angry, and half in love with her, and tremendously sorry, I turned away.”

You were about to shoot him another text, when you heard your teacher fast approaching from the back of the row you were sitting in, and quickly stashed your cell in the front pocket of your messenger bag.

“Y/N”, her squeaky voice made your jaw ache, “would you mind helping Jenna with her final draft, while I peruse your modifications on The Great Gatsby paper you so brilliantly have written?”

“Sure thing, Ms. Calloway,” you slid your foot toward the messenger bag, kicking it further under your desk, so she didn’t hear the buzzing, indicative of another text from Dean.

Another twenty minutes passed by as you assisted Jenna with her outline for her final draft and with each second ticking by on the large clock above the classroom door, you found yourself battling the onslaught of a migraine. The words were starting to jumble together as you attempted to proofread Jenna’s awful handwriting, orbs of light began to flash in front of your eyes, nausea began to creep it’s way up your throat, and that’s when it hit you; stabbing pain in your right temple. You grunted in pain as you white knuckled the desk, Jenna’s voice distant albeit she was inches from your face. You’ve experienced auras before with your migraines, but this time, with each jolt of pain, images began to flash in front of your eyes. You were only getting glimpses, but with each one, the more they became violent.

Blood splatters against the linoleum.

Another jolt of pain; another image.

A woman’s screams, the man in the kitchen grabbing at his throat as blood begins to seep through his graying fingers.

Jolt!

The man falls to his knees, gasping for air that won’t come. Arterial spray splatters across your vision as the woman’s abdomen is slashed and her throat too is sliced.

Jolt!

Claw marks on the refrigerator, bloody handprints, the woman’s final attempt to leave a message, her bloody fingers, slowly and haphazardly scribbling letters onto the floor near her dying body.

Jolt!

A photo. The three of you posing in front of your house. Your house. Your mother. Your father. Your freshman face.

“Oh my God, no!”

You wretched onto the floor of the classroom, screaming in between sobs, as you came to the harrowing conclusion that what you just saw, what you had just seen, was the murder of your parents. You didn’t know what to do; classmates were trying to assist you, but you swung your arms and kicked your legs out in frustration, fury, bitterness. You found your bag under your desk and somehow, without any recollection, found yourself locked inside the girls’ locker room. You maneuvered yourself so that your back was against the door, knowing you couldn’t run home, you turned to the only person you trusted. With shaking hands, you texted Dean.

Girls locker room. I need u. NOW.

Dean stared at the screen on his cellphone, sensing your urgency, hefted his backpack over one shoulder and beelined to the door. Before his teacher could even get out his last name, Dean was out the door and sprinting to the girl’s locker room. He stood in front of the door and looked around the hallway to see if anyone was around and tried to push open the bulky wooden door. Something or someone was jamming it from the inside. He cursed under his breath, reached into his back pocket for his lock picking set, crouched down to see the keyhole, and began to wiggle the lock open.

Inside you felt the door being tampered with and your flight or fight instincts kicked in. You backed up, watching the lock go from horizontal to parallel, and stepped to the side. You caught your breath, swung your fist and connected knuckles to nose cartilage.

“Jesus, Y/N,” Dean held a hand to his now bloody nose, “what the hell?”

“Dean!” you jumped into his arms, your eyes swollen from crying, and wept into his shoulder.

“I didn’t know, I th-thought you were goin’ to k-kill me too,” you sniffled into his navy and green flannel.

“Kill you?” Dean held you at arm’s length and looked at you with such concern, “Y/N, why would you think that?”

“Dean, I need to tell you something, and you’re goin’ to think I’m crazy, hell,” you laughed to yourself, “I think I’m goin’ crazy.”

“Look at me,” Dean lifted your chin gently, “ain’t nothin’ you can tell me that is goin’ to make me think that.”

_____________________________________________________________________________

After Dean successfully lifted you towards him from the top of the lockers and out the locker room windows, you raced to the parking lot. You began to rattle off every detail of those images and the painful migraine, Dean never interrupting. He was so calm. You waited for him to tell you that what you saw was just a figment of your imagination. That what you saw, what you felt with each vision, never happened. Instead, Dean asked you if you had ever had one of these visions before, how long were you getting migraines, had you ever smelled rotten eggs in your house, did the lights flicker, and his list just kept getting longer and more exasperating. You never noticed that he had pulled out his cellphone and sent a quick text.

“Dean!” you snapped at him, “What would any of that have to do with what I saw?”

“We need to go see if they are alright, please, I just need to know my parents are okay.”

Dean sighed at the incoming text, fidgeted with his steering wheel, refusing to look you in the eyes. He finally looked up at you after you huffed more than five times, aggravated with his silence.

“You can’t go home, Y/N,” he whispered, “you can’t ever go home.”

“What are you sayin’, Dean,” you swallowed a lump of despair, “Dean, what do you mean I can’t go home?”

“They’re dead, Y/N,” Dean pulled you into his strong arms, his father’s leather jacket, wrapped around your shaking shoulders, “my dad’s there now with Sammy.”

“Why would they be at my house, Dean?”

“Because, Y/N, this is what we do, it’s what we know,” Dean couldn’t believe he was about to tell you about the “family business”.

______________________________________________________________________________

Dean’s cell phone began to ring after he told you everything; every detail of his life up until they moved to your hometown two years ago. It was the longest they stayed in one place, his father finally coming to terms with how his sons needed an education. “It’s my dad,” he raised the phone to his ear, “Yes’sir,” Dean nodded, “she’s safe, yes’sir, okay.”

“Dean? you looked up to him with wide, Y/E/C, eyes, shell shocked, “What now?”

“Now, Princess, you come home with us, and we’ll take care of everything,” Dean grabbed your hand and caressed small circles with the pad of his thumb across your skin, “Let me take care of you.”

“You’d do that,” you asked him, a small smile appearing on your lips, and you quickly let it drop, “why would you do that for me?”

“Because, Y/N, you’re my best friend, I love you, I’m in love with you,” Dean shrugged, “have been since you helped me with that book report on Cider House Rules.” You couldn’t believe what was happening; your world was falling apart and your best friend just admitted that he loved you.

And then he quoted The Great Gatsby again and your heart did what you could only in your highschool years of knowledge classify as a backflip, right there in your chest.

“The loneliest moment in someone’s life is when they are watching their whole world fall apart, and all they can do is stare blankly.”

“Let me be your eyes, Y/N,” Dean kissed her, “let me help you feel again.”

[gaytedlasso]

love the way you wear that dress

making everyone upset

craving your candy lips

all black finger tips

looks so good I’m annoyed

make me wanna get undressed, boy

Dress - Charlotte Sands

~

Written on the back of the photo:

This boy was made to wear dresses. Almost makes me upset at how it looks better on him. That shy confidence sells it. Still didn’t get him to wear the red lipstick, but he did agree to a little nail polish

Summer of 1998 with Rhonda Hurley

[their-we-go]

a single room and a phone call in the springtime of '97

(a scene from my butch dyke dean and gay sam fic, Kodiaks)

[wckdfallenangcl]

⠀

⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀then⠀ 🐺 now

⠀⠀⠀

⠀

[deansguns]

occasionally possessed by artistic ability

[xxshotgun-weddingxx]

I’ve seen a lot of people give their opinion on why Sam is so afraid of clowns, so I’m gonna give my two cents as well:

(This is half my headcanon on why he has a phobia of clowns, but also half fanfic..so take it)

(Also the read more thing is to save space, I promise it’s (maybe) worth it)

When Sam and Dean were in their early-middle preteens (Sam was roughly 6-8, Dean was roughly 10-12), John took them on a case at a carnival. Since they weren’t young children anymore, John let them come along undercover at the carnival as a normal father and kids. John then left Sam and Dean near the clowns (the clown tent thing) while he went to investigate further. After a while of their father not returning, Dean got bored of babysitting his little brother, so he snuck off away from him (either to go flirt with some girls or to have a go at the carnival games). Once Sam realised that Dean had gone, he was growing distressed as his brother and dad had just left, and even if they were to return, Sam was currently alone. The clowns that were nearby probably noticed this, so they decided to try and see if he was okay. And what better way to cheer up an already distressed kid than to sneak up behind him and lift him up in the air like that one scene from the lion king. Sam obviously wasn’t expecting this, so he screamed when he was suddenly picked up from behind, but because the carnival was crowed with overworked, stressed parents with their young needy children, no one seemed to notice..or care. The clowns tried to calm him down, the small group of them gathering around him after the clown, that picked him up, put him down, they all started asking him questions, and he was already terrified, so strangers with strange faces with strange costumes wasn’t the most calming environment. And just to make things better, it’s starting to rain, the clowns start asking Sam if they can take him to the security area, but of course, because of the rain, the face paint on the clown’s faces are starting to wash off, probably because of the cheap, washable paint they used. Sam, being only young, was terrified as he saw a few of the clown’s faces start to run off their face and proper pink skin starting to surface instead of the pure white on each of their faces. Right before Sam is about to scream, John bursts through the crowd with Dean, they get Sam and they start to leave, but Sam will always be scarred with the image of the face paint slowly running down the clowns faces.