I think one hot summer day after melting alone in a motel room for 3 weeks and after a million and one viewings of the lost boys (on a stolen vhs tape) dean is like sammy. sammy. you have to pierce my ear for me. I’ll get you ice cream if you do a good job sammy do you wanna pierce my ear. and sammy, 11 years old, just starting to enter the fun, feral, and bloodthirsty stage of adolescence, is like. dean I have quite literally never wanted anything more. give me a needle NOW. they sanitize the needle in listerine mouthwash and they don’t have an ice cube, but they’re vaguely aware that a lemon is sometimes involved in the process so they decide to squirt it on dean’s ear AFTER poking a hole in it. they don’t steady the ear with anything and sam overestimates his strength and jams it in so hard it also stabs into dean’s neck and they almost couldn’t pull it out. they’re both screaming. sammy starts frantically squeezing lemon juice all over the side of dean’s face which is making him scream more. john walks in in the middle of this and in a rare moment of picking his battles he’s like alright. as long as that doesn’t get infected neither of you are in trouble. clean up the blood off the sink. jesus christ do you even have an earring to put in there? no, they do not have an earring. that genuinely never occurred to dean<3 john thinks this is genuinely hilarious and finds a safety pin to use instead and reiterates that it Better not get infected. of course this piercing IMMEDIATELY gets infected. it’s very bad, but dean knows they can’t afford a doctor’s trip and neither of the boys wanna bring it up to john and ruin a good memory for him, so dean enters a beanie phase (in the middle of a heat wave) to hide it, and honestly at this point john forgot and just thought the hat was a normal weird teenage fashion fad so he didn’t question it. they had to wait until bobby’s next custody-six-weekends to get to a doctor and bobby yelled at them for an hour straight and insisted on cleaning it out with the medicine himself since they obviously can’t be trusted to take care of themselves, and also made sure to tell the boys that the actual hole was crooked and looked dumb as hell, although dean did find an anti-possession symbol earring on his bedside table the next morning

in support of Black Lives Matter, @jarpadandjensens donated $15, and requested Sam & Dean after Sam’s wall breaks. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post.

The car breaks down in Logansport, Indiana. “She needs some TLC,” Dean stresses, “she doesn’t break down,” and Sam rolls his eyes but, fine. The car needs a repair, in Logansport, and it’s a pretty day, rolling into autumn, and there are pretty good hoagies from the place next to the shop, and Dean is… miserable.

“You think he’s more sad about the car or the fact that you’ve got bats in the belfry?” Sam hears. He ignores it.

It’s a belt, or something. Something with a wrench. Sam knows just enough to change the oil and the spark plugs and the tires, and he can tighten things that need tightening but the car has always been Dean’s domain. Sam likes it that way. He also likes just–sitting here. The shop’s one of those co-op places where greasy dads go to spend some time and gossip, and they all whistled appreciatively when Dean babied the car into the bay, and Dean smiled and shook hands and then got a spot to himself, and tools to borrow. Sam hung back–voice in his ear saying, “Just as well, you are pretty useless,” which he ignored–and when they’d all disbanded to listen to the oldies station and Dean was hip-deep in the car, Sam sat on the cooler with their sandwiches and a six-pack and tried to just be there. To be here. It’s better than any other option.

Keep reading

@spnreversebang​ 2019! The absolutely lovely kimenem stepped up to pinch-hit when my original author had to bow out, and she did me so, so proud! She crafted a slice of dystopian life in a canon-compliant AU. Just perfect.  SCENES FROM THE END, on AO3

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Supernatural Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, John Winchester Additional Tags: Weechester, Preseries, Supernatural - Freeform, Halloween Summary:

Weechesters. It’s Halloween and Dean’s ready to dig into the hidden stash of candy. But first he has to kill the monster that scared his little brother.

In the Bunker’s library

Dean: Come on, Sammy. You need to come clean about this. It’s magic, isn’t it?

Sam: *stares at him incredulously* Magic? 

Dean: Yeah, like some sort of ritual? A spell? 

Sam: *focusing on the laptop screen again* I don’t think there are spells for that. 

Dean: Just ‘cause the spells are ancient doesn’t mean you can’t get modern shit with ‘em. Couldn’t a quarterback do some kind of ritual to make it where they always get a touchdown? Always date supermodels?

Sam: For the last time, we looked into Tom Brady and there wasn’t –

Dean: Something you had Garth set up? Charlie? 

Sam: No.

Dean: Is it ghosts? 

Sam: How the hell would GHOSTS – *rubs the bridge of his nose* Why are you suddenly questioning this, after all these years? 

Dean: *reluctantly* I thought it might be like… in the cartoons, when somethin’ impossible is happening but when someone questions it, it quits workin’.

Sam: *balks in judgment before focusing on the screen again*

(Approximately 5 minutes of blissful silence)

Dean: *clears throat, then asks quietly* Did you… make a deal, like – ?

Sam: Oh my god.*slams laptop closed* No, Dean. I did NOT make a demon deal so that we would always have WiFi.

Dean: Then why won’t you just tell me?

Sam: *mumbling* It makes me happy when you need me to fix it.

Brochester Hijinks Masterlist

Sam: *goes in to wake up Dean*

Dean: *sleeping in the most ridiculous position imaginable, one leg sticking out from under the blanket, mouth hanging open, snoring loudly, a little bit of drool*

Sam: *reaches into his pocket for his phone*

Sam: *opens the camera and leans in so he can get a close-up, and snaps the picture*

Sam: *curses to himself that he forgot to turn off the shutter sound on the phone*

Dean: *startles awake and draws his gun out from under the pillow*

Sam: *pulls back* Dean! It’s me! Calm down.

Dean: *blinks, quickly lowers gun* What’re you doin’?

Sam: You asked me to wake you up, remember?

LATER

Sam: *scrolls through the photos on his phone and opens an album called “bedhead through the ages.” The one from that morning is just a blur of Dean’s outraged face, his porcupine hair, and the gun. It has an abstract, modern art sort of aesthetic.*

Sam: *makes it the lock screen on his phone*

Brochester Hijinks Masterlist

Motel room where the walls are inexplicably covered in paintings of art deco mermaids. Evening.

Dean: Do you still have that stuff Frank sent us about the weird vampire cult we saw in Duluth?

Sam: I emailed it to you right after the job. Didn’t you read it?

Dean: This was an email from you?

Sam: Yeah.

Dean: *flatly* Then no, I didn’t read it. We’ve established this, right? Do you wanna know why I don’t read your emails, Sam? Because —

BEGIN FLASHBACK MONTAGE.

Keep reading

Sam: *groggily walks into kitchen*

Dean: *doesn’t look up, crunching dry cereal loudly, voice clipped* Good morning. There’s coffee.

Sam: *walks past him to get coffee*

Sam: *reaches into the fridge for the milk* Shit. I forgot to get milk yesterday.

Dean: *crunches even louder*

“What’s this?” “It’s, uh, pie? Apple pie.” “You make this? Like, by yourself?” “Yes Dean, I do know how to cook-” “Yeah man, but pies are hard. Gotta get the crust just right or it don’t taste right. Slice up all them apples. Lemme have a – hey, what’d you make this for?” “For you, stupid.” “Yeah I got that, why though? You ain’t made a pie in, well, ever. You got some bad news for me? Did you- oh god, baby’s ok right? You didn’t hurt-” “The car’s fine Dean.” “Thank god. Alright what is it? Spill.” “Nothing Dean, ok. I just wanted to- to make you something nice today. Here, uh, have a slice.“ “Look I ain’t one to look a gift pie in the mouth but I gotta know you’re not dying or leaving me or something.” “Of course not.” “Good. And I ain’t dying. Well, at least not today so-” “Dammit Dean, it’s just. I saw a thing. Online. About today. Apparently it’s, uh, nationalsiblingsdayorsomething…” “Sorry? Didn’t quite catch that.” “Right, uh. Siblings Day? National siblings day. You’re supposed to, uh, celebrate. Your- your siblings. It’s silly. But I thought, I mean, we don’t really do birthdays, or, uh, anniversaries or anything so-” “Sammy- that’s uh. Well that’s really, really corny.” “Dean-” “Don’t interrupt. It’s corny as hell you gotta admit. And real sweet. Thanks. Thank you.” “Yeah. So, ok well here, have a slice?” “Ah yeah. Let’s dig in here. Mmhmmphh mmm. Sam? This is amazing. God, so good. Thanks. For the pie. And, uh, you know, the sentiment. If I'da known I woulda, I dunno, made you a kale-ka-bob. Or something. You- you’re the greatest. Brother.” “Well, yeah. You’re welcome. I love you too. Brother.”

The Big Brother

It was always a toss-up who would get up earlier. Some mornings Sam beat Dean out of bed by hours, but that was usually directly related to how much fun Dean had had the night before, and other times Dean was up at the crack of dawn because they hadn’t eaten enough the day before and he wanted to make sure Sam had breakfast when he woke up.

That was the reason Dean was up well before Sam this morning and when he entered, a bag of bagels and cardboard tray containing two coffees precariously held in one hand, Dean smirked at the sight of his younger brother sprawled in the motel bed, still fast asleep.

Once inside, Dean kicked the door shut behind him. Hard.

Sam jumped, his eyes jerking open and in Dean’s direction.

“Oops, sorry, Princess, I didn’t mean to interrupt your beauty sleep.”

Keep reading

They’re starting to get cleaned up for the night, everybody heading off to their respective bedrooms when Sam notices Jack hasn’t moved from his spot. He’s settled deep into a cushy armchair, legs crossed under him, and he’s staring intently at the fireplace across the room. He doesn’t budge when Sam stares at him for a few seconds, so Sam decides to speak up.

“Hey, uh… Jack?” Jack doesn’t move. “You heading to bed?”

“I’m waiting for Santa.” Jack says it so factually that Sam can only continue to stare. “He’s supposed to come through the chimney,right? On Christmas. Which gives me…” He pauses only long enough to glance down at his watch before resuming his vigil. “Forty-three minutes to wait.”

Despite himself, Sam feels a smile tugging at his lips. He remembers nights of trying to stay up late enough to see Santa come through the door- Dean had told him that’s how it would work, since the motel rooms didn’t have chimneys- and even today after it’s been a little soured, the memory is a fond one. It’s strange being on the other side of this situation, but…

Well, Dean taught him something.

“He won’t come if you wait up for him,” he says, just a hint of teasing in his voice. Jack’s head whips around to look at him. “You need to be asleep. That’s when he delivers the presents, or else the surprise is ruined. Right?”

Jack watches him for a few more seconds, brow furrowed, before he suddenly nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess that makes sense.” With another glance down at his watch, he hops up from his chair and starts hurrying towards his bedroom. “That means I’ve only got forty-two minutes to be in bed.”

Sam barely stifles a laugh as Jack rushes past him, a little pleased with himself. “Don’t hurt yourself,” he calls out after Jack, and slowly starts following him down the hallway to get himself ready for bed.

It’s kind of nice, playing pretend for somebody else. It feels good. Maybe this is why Dean kept his imagination going for so long.

358/365

Eyes

It’s the hunt that will lead to Mary leaving but this is before the children and the bones when they’re in Kinko’s making FBI badges. Usually, Sam makes them but Mary was curious so Dean came too and now, they’ve all gotten a little silly and Dean has threatened to make Sam’s on pink paper and just declared himself (as ‘Roger Daltry’) to be far too good looking to be in law enforcement.

“It’s the green eyes,” Mary says and bats hers exaggeratedly at Sam and then laughs and accidentally snorts. It’s the snort that gets Sam. In his imagining of a mom, he never thought snorky noises. Dean’s all eye crinkles. People are looking at them which is not the point so they try to straighten up.

“Your eyes are hazel,” Mary says to Sam.

“Heterochromatic,” Dean says and Sam had no idea Dean even remembered. Mary looks at Dean and he shrugs. “He came home from biology all jazzed because his teacher told him his eyes were heterochromatic. Means ‘calico’.”

“Your eyes are calico?” Mary asks.

“Sort of,” Sam says. “They’re brown around the iris and blue everywhere else.”

“Let me see,” Mary says and stands on her tiptoes in Kinko’s looking in his eyes while he feels weird and let’s her look opening his eyes wide which makes him feel like he’s staring at her. He can’t believe Dean remembered that. He puts hazel on everything. They were doing simple genetics; Mendel and his peas, a blue eyes and brown and he asked his teacher about hazel. She looked at his eyes and the next class told him about heterochromatia and all the variations.

“Your eyes are gorgeous,” Mary says and smiles. “And you’ve got the shape of my grandmother’s eyes. She was Hungarian. Tatar eyes. Said they were a gift of the steppes.”

It’s a moment suspended in time, his mother looking at his eyes. Then she turns to Dean and says, “You got yours from the milkman.”

At the consternated look on his face she makes that funny snort sound again and covers her mouth with her hand.

Lost Couch

Mamiya 645AF - Kodak Portra 160

@elizabethrobertajones

Sam spots it first, and pauses, doing a double take that starts like checking out and ends in a concerned frown. 

He’s still standing staring at the couch when Jack catches up to him from peering into the still waters of the pond for whatever clues he thought he’d find there. He registers Sam’s expression.

“Do you think this is the shapeshifter?” he asks excitedly, hand moving to the gun tucked into the back of his belt under his jacket. He’s still very excited about hunting a human way.

“No,” Sam says hurriedly. “Never mind, I was just…” he trails off. Jack’s looking at him with such concern that it forces him to push on and speak his mind. “Dean was saying we needed a sofa now, but I don’t think he’ll like this one.”

“Because it’s missing two cushions?” Jack asks, now giving the couch a deeply critical evaluation, determined to understand the nuances of this.

“Because it’s pink.”

Jack looks up and down at Sam. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing, I suppose…”

They pick it up and haul it through the grim park and back towards the car. 

Dean is waiting there with coffees in a cardboard tray, sipping his own. He turns when Jack calls and waves to him, and almost immediately spits out his drink.

“What the hell is that?”

“Sam found a sofa!” Jack says proudly. 

“Yeah, I can see that. It’s not coming home with us.”

“Why not?” Sam huffed, setting down his end and scowling. “You’ve been bitching about wanting one for months.”

“It’s the exact same pattern as the shirt you’re wearing.”

*spittake*

I now need art of Sam sitting on this sofa in his matching plaid shirt.

Car Games

Sam has an entire playbook of alternate tactics for preserving his sanity when stuck on the more meandering cross-country drives.

(read on AO3)

Armistice (13.19 Coda) 

Three beers in, Dean groans his way to his feet, mumbling something about needing to piss and hoping that musclebound asshole didn’t bust a kidney. 

Whatever flimsy conversation they’d been sharing wilts as Dean shuts the bathroom door behind him, whistling.

“Rowena,” Sam blurts. “You know I wouldn’t—I don’t want to, I mean—I wouldn’t kill you. I’d rather die.”

“Oh, I imagine there’s a great many things you’d rather die than do, Sam Winchester. Your life might not be the one in the balance. We both have people we’d kill for.” 

Her eyes settle on the torn buttons at his collar and then slide over to the closed bathroom door, behind which Dean is urinating loudly and whistling a very butchered rendition of “Three Blind Mice” for no reason Sam can fathom.

“If it helps, there are few people I’d trust more to be the one to end my life.” An awful smile passes over her face. “We both know there are worse ways to go.”

They’ve both experienced them. Sam has spent more time dying than he’s been alive. He nods. “I won’t. Whatever—whatever control I have over it, I promise you, I won’t try to kill you.”

She raises a brow.

Sam chuckles. He supposes she’s right. He’s not known for having control over much of anything.

She has long since gone through all the halfway passable drinks in the mini bar. She shakes her empty beer bottle at him, and Sam pops the top off another and passes it over.  “You know, this is the most wretched brew I’ve ever had the displeasure of consuming, and as a witch I think I’m an authority on wretched brews.”

Sam shrugs. He can’t defend it.

“It’s a bit of a relief, to be frank,” Rowena says, but she’s looking away while she speaks.

Sam tips his head. “How?”

“As long as you don’t kill me, I’m immortal. If every iteration of my story ends with you, it means he can’t kill me. Let’s take this fight to Lucifer, Sam. He damn well deserves a taste of his own medicine.” 

Her eyes flash with the power she’s gained, and Sam smiles. “Yes, he does.”

more fic  |  ao3 account

Weechester ficlet (you know you want it)

Fic: Comes Around

Author: jonny_vrm (elmo_loves_me)

words: 837.     Sam and Dean Winchester.    Gen.

When Sam was eight, his favorite food was licorice. Not exactly a food, but Dean can remember saving every penny, scooping quarters off of sidewalks and nickels out of change jars, just to buy Sammy a cheap pack of licorice whips.

Dean didn’t have a favorite food.

  (read more here)