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[supernaturalscribe67]

Hidden Bruises

Words: 7,546

POV: 3rd Person

Pairing: Sam/Dean Winchester x Male!Winchester!Reader [Platonic]

Warning(s): Language, PTSD, Mention of past Rape, Trauma, Sexual Assault, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Mention of Character Death, Azazel

Summary: After the death of their father, Sam and Dean's older brother went missing for a couple of weeks. Eventually, he returned, and everything seemed to go back to normal. When the brothers follow a lead that takes them to an abandoned schoolhouse, Sam and Dean come face to face with the reality of what happened to their brother when he went missing.

Request:

Hello, hope you're having a good day/night

I was wondering if I could request the Winchester's (John/Dean/Sam) x Older brother finding out the Azaseal (yellow eye demon) s/a him and he's been keeping it secret intill they run into Azaseal and he gloats about what he did. (If you don't feel comfortable using yellow eyes that just some strong random demon is fine)

Maybe reader is someone who has always took care of all of them including when John was drunk or injured, took care of both his brothers doing whatever he could

@xweirdo101x

A/N: I'm not dead! Just stressed! These past several months have been horrible, but I'm happy to say I'm back in the groove of writing! This request has been long overdue and I'm sorry that it has taken me so long to get it out, I did not forget everyone who sent in a request! I hope you enjoy the story! Do NOT read if any of the warnings are triggering to you. Keep yourself healthy, keep yourself safe. Feedback is greatly appreciated!

~ Much Love

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“Dude, are you sure you’re taking me down the right road?” Dean asked, brows furrowed as he looked in the rear-view mirror occasionally. 

“I’m sure.” (Y/N) confirmed, gaze focused on Google Maps, which he had cued up for the last thirty minutes of their drive. 

“We’ve been driving the backroads for ages. Never thought an old schoolhouse could be this deep in the countryside.” 

“A lot of people settled here at some point, Dean,” Sam said with a brief shrug of his broad shoulders. 

“Sam’s right. According to local history, the first group of settlers that arrived built make-shift houses deeper in the woodland areas for better hunting and fishing grounds. To accommodate, they built a schoolhouse in the middle of the settlements so all the kids would be able to make it to school a little easier. Once the years passed and all the people started moving away to start the nearby town, the schoolhouse was practically abandoned. There wasn’t any need for it anymore.” 

“Look at you doing your research,” Dean teased with a smirk. 

(Y/N) rolled his eyes. “More than you, asshole,” he mumbled. “Oh! There should be a small clearing up here to your left. Go ahead and turn in there, but we’re going to need to walk the rest of the way,” 

“Are you serious?” 

“Oh, grow up, Dean.” 

“Says the one sitting in the middle of the backseat.” 

“You’re so lucky I love this car as much as you do, otherwise I’d make you drive her into a tree.” 

“You wouldn’t.” 

“Try me, baby brother,” 

“Alright, that’s enough,” Sam waved his hands, cutting them off. “As much as I like seeing you two go at it, now’s not the time.” 

Both Dean and (Y/N) opened their mouths to object but stopped themselves. They each grumbled something incoherent under their breath. Dean returned to the road and (Y/N) looked down at his phone. 

“Are you going to turn here?” He asked. 

“Yeah,” Dean mumbled. 

Dean slowly turned the wheel and edged the Impala onto the beginning of a dirt path. A couple of feet ahead of the car, the path narrowed and was overgrown by trees. Even if the Impala would have been smaller, there was no possible way it would be able to fit down the path. It appeared to be more the size of a hiking or bike trail. Once the car was settled, Dean turned the engine off, the heavy purr dying to a low hum as the heat dissipated. The headlights stayed on for a couple of seconds before going out. 

“Let’s rock ‘n roll,” Dean grunted as he stepped out of the car. 

Sam and (Y/N) soon followed after, the three of them heading to the back of the car. Dean popped the trunk and lifted the cover, revealing their large array of weapons. Each of them took their respective weapons and sheathed them before the trunk was closed with a heavy bang that echoed throughout the trees. 

“Could you be any louder? We don’t know how close the schoolhouse is from here.” (Y/N) grumbled. 

“Bite me,” Dean mumbled. 

“Guys,” Sam sighed. 

(Y/N) held up his hand in surrender. “Fine, fine,” he turned away from his brothers and began to make his way towards the dirt path. 

“You sure it’s down this way?” Sam asked, following after him.

“Yeah, that is, if we assume the coordinates are accurate.”  

“And you’re sure you can trust Google with that?” Dean asked. 

“Same as we trust any other research material. All I know is that it should be in some type of field.” 

Dean nodded, satisfied with the answer. 

They began to make their way down the dark, dirt path, towards the canopy of trees, bent after years of surviving thunderstorm after thunderstorm. As they approached the trees, they pulled their flashlights out, illuminating the path ahead. The treetops were thick and heavy, the moonlight disappearing when they passed the entrance to the woods. 

Thirty minutes filled with dodging bulging tree roots and low tree branches, accompanied by some complaints from Dean about how far they had walked, moonbeams became visible through the upcoming branches. (Y/N) held up his hand, and turned off his light, before he walked towards the clearing. Sam and Dean followed suit, killing the light. 

Past the wall of tree branches, a field became visible. Sat in the middle, about twenty feet away from the group, was an old, dilapidated building. The building sat in front of them, tall and menacing, as if a dark aura circled the decaying brick exterior. It stood three stories tall, some windows broken, and glass surrounding the foundation. The steps out front were cracked with some concrete pieces scattered about near the bottom. The bold lettering that rested right above the front doors was faded, some letters almost invisible, but it was clear that it was supposed to read out the name of the school. (Y/N) couldn’t help but wonder how the interior of the building looked compared to the outside. 

One thing that struck the group as odd, however, was the fact that some of the windows were filled with warm lights, indicating power had been added to the ancient building. It wasn’t until they got closer that they realized a small hum was disrupting the evening crickets in their peaceful song. (Y/N) raised his hand, halting their movements. They got down low, the only cover they had being the overgrown grass that engulfed their bodies. 

“They’re using a generator.” (Y/N)’s voice was low and deep. 

Sam sighed. “And it looks like there’s only one entrance. I wouldn’t trust those windows either. No one knows how long it’s been since they’ve been opened.” 

Dean shook his head. “That’s gotta be against fire code to have one doorway.” He mumbled. 

“The fire code came around in the 1600s, but I highly doubt these settlers cared about it.” (Y/N) muttered. “I’m going to sneak towards the generator and turn it off. You two keep an eye out to see if there’s any movement inside. We can go in then,”

“Got it,” they said in unison. 

(Y/N) gave a brief nod before he headed towards the building, keeping low in case of peering eyes from the windows. Rounding the side of the building, the humming became almost deafening. A dull light illuminated a small patch of grass on the other side of the school. With his eyes glued to the light, (Y/N) swiftly made his way around and to the back. The generator sat against the foundation, rumbling loudly and shaking the earth around it. He grabbed his flashlight from his waistband and shone it on the generator, furrowing his brows as he looked for a way to stop it. Finally, he saw the power switch, took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for the task ahead, and switched it off. 

The power died immediately, the once bright school house going dark in an instant. (Y/N) knew he had to be quick. He made his way back towards the front. Sam and Dean stood at the base of the steps, their weapons drawn. (Y/N) drew his before he joined his brothers. 

“Alright, let’s gank these sons of bitches,” he mumbled, taking the lead as they entered the school. 

It was a lot darker inside than they originally thought it would be. Despite the massive windows in each room, the decades' worth of dust covered the natural moonlight, engulfing them in darkness. They brought out their flashlights, illuminating the entranceway. Their dim lights skimmed over the walls and floors, taking it in as they took careful steps deeper into the school. 

The interior of the school was just as damaged as the exterior. No longer was it a place of learning, but a place filled with debris and graffiti. Artwork and random words riddled the walls in different colored spray paints and many wooden panels lined the floor that were covered in a ripped-up, faded green carpet. The three of them took their time navigating through the mess that was near the front door to get to the main hall. A room was located to the left, which would appear to be the location of the office and the home of the principal when the school was in operation.

A couple of feet away from the front door, there was an archway that led down a narrow hallway as well as a staircase to the right. The halls were a little more clean compared to the entrance. All of the debris was pushed to one side or the other, making it a little easier to navigate through. (Y/N) turned to his brothers and gestured down the hall. 

“You two take this hall and I’ll check upstairs,” he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper, yet booming in the dead silence that surrounded them. 

Dean furrowed his brows. “What? No.” Dean protested, his voice at the same level as (Y/N)’s had been. “We stick together.” 

“There shouldn’t be too many in here. I’ll be fine on my own. You two stick together, and shout if you need help.” 

“But-” 

“Dean,” (Y/N)’s tone was low. “I’m not arguing about this.” 

Dean shared a glance with Sam before he shook his head in disapproval and began to make his way down the hallway. (Y/N) watched them for a couple of seconds before he turned. He stalked towards the narrow staircase, caged in by cracked and deteriorating walls. Other than the small amount of concrete or wood that was scattered around on the stairs that he had to avoid, they were rather clear compared to the entrance. Gingerly, he placed his hand on top of the railing, an old wooden rod that had paint and wood chipped away at it. He used it as a guide as he made his way up and to the second floor. The stairs creaked under his weight, despite his careful steps. 

While he walked, he concentrated heavily on his sense of hearing. With his sight limited, he was relying exclusively on his ears to tell him if anyone, or anything, was near. When he reached the landing, he shone his flashlight down a hall that looked identical to the one Sam and Dean had wandered down. 

The second floor was in the same state as the first floor with scattered debris on either one side or the other of the walkway. Doors lined the walls, some fully opened, and some cracked ever so slightly. One by one, he took a step into every room, shining his light around all four corners. He whispered a quiet ‘clear’ following each empty room he examined. 

All of the rooms were dimly lit with the mixture of (Y/N)’s flashlight and the faded moonbeams begging to go through the dusty windows. Chairs and desks were strewed about, some toppled over, while others rested in, presumably, the same spot they did all those years ago. Those tables and chairs were unknowingly preserving the history of the once-active school. 

It was quiet. Too quiet. A part of (Y/N) wanted to believe that the intel they received might have been wrong, that no demons were haunting the very halls he walked, but the generator out back told no lies. Squatters wouldn’t waste what little money they had on luxuries such as that, nor would they put forth the time and the effort to wire the entire building. The other part of him, the logical side, told him that the demons were good. Sneaky. They knew how to hide and they did it well. He had to be even more focused than he already had been. 

He hoped Sam and Dean were doing okay. 

Perhaps it wasn’t the best idea to split up. 

(Y/N) got to the last room, on the left side of the hallway. He noted that it was the only door that had been shut, making sure to be extra cautious as he reached a hand forward, grasping the splintered doorknob. As he opened the door, the aged hinges creaked, the sound echoing down the hallway, breaking the uneasy silence. The room was noticeably darker than the rest, not an ounce of moonlight visible. (Y/N) raised his light and shone it around the room. He took a couple of steps inside, broken glass crackling underneath his boots. When he shined his light on the window, he noticed that it had been completely boarded up, the remnants of a black trash bag that had once covered it hanging from nails lazily placed along the window sill. 

Just as he got to the center of the room, the door hinges creaked again, loud and eerie. (Y/N) was quick to turn around, but he was only able to catch the final seconds before the door closed. His breathing stopped, heart racing inside of his chest. He listened, closely, but he heard nothing. No footsteps. No breathing. Nothing. 

“Guess who,” A deep, scratchy, all too familiar voice spoke. 

The same voice that plagued his mind and haunted his dreams. 

He froze. 

Like a deer in headlights. 

Then, his world went black. 

*~*

The harsh light wasn’t good for his pounding head. A throaty moan slipped past (Y/N)’s lips as he awoke, vision blurry and eyes watery. He slowly lifted his head, groaning at the noticeable crick in his neck. He could feel that he was slouched in a chair, his back was aching from the posture, but he felt too nauseous and weak to fix it. When his vision cleared, he was able to take in some of the details of the room he was in. It was obvious that the room used to be one of the many classrooms, desks and chairs were pushed to one side of the room, stacked up to the point where they could topple at any moment. A single window stood across the way, the bottom half completely shattered with a puddle of broken shards resting beneath. The chill night air whistled and caressed his face. To his right were two massive floodlights, shining down on him. To his left, were Sam and Dean, bound to chairs the same as he was. 

Sam and Dean. 

(Y/N) quickly sat up, despite the throbbing in his head. In an attempt to move his arms, he could feel how tight the ropes were around his wrists and forearms. The demons were skilled, it seemed. 

“Well, look who finally decided to wake up,” Dean grumbled, his speech coming out slurred. 

He has a concussion. 

“What the Hell happened?” (Y/N) hissed. 

“They came out of nowhere,” Sam mumbled. His eyes were half-lidded, looking as if he was experiencing the same pain as (Y/N). 

“There were too many of them.” Dean finished.

(Y/N) cursed under his breath as he tried to wiggle his arms out of the binds, but it was all to no avail. He was used to being held captive by people who didn’t know how to tie a knot, but the way he was tied up was rather intricate. He wasn’t too sure he would be able to break out of it. 

“How many did you guys run into?” 

“I don’t know, man,” Dean answered. “A dozen, maybe more. You?” 

(Y/N) stopped moving, his eyes cast down to the floor. “Just one,” 

“One? You got taken out by a single demon?” 

“It was dark,” (Y/N) defended himself with a growl. “I couldn’t see anything, I couldn’t hear anything. It was silent.”

Don’t think about his voice. Don’t think about his voice.

“Still, to be taken out by one demon, geez,” Dean mumbled. 

“Look, I don’t have time to argue with you! I’m trying to get us out of here!” 

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about that,” a sweet, sultry, female voice echoed in the room. “You won’t be going anywhere anytime soon,” a demon came from behind them, a wide smile on her lips. 

She walked behind (Y/N), grabbed the knots connected to his wrists and arms, and tugged at them. 

“Did these myself,” she spoke proudly. “Wasn’t too difficult, really. Just seems as if people aren’t willing to teach themselves anything useful anymore,” she pursed her lips, crossing her arms underneath her breasts. 

(Y/N) snarled as the frayed ropes rubbed against his skin, scratching the surface. “If you’re done boosting your ego for five minutes, I’d really appreciate it if you let us go.” He spoke between clenched teeth.

The demon let out a boisterous laugh as she walked around the chair to stand in front of him. “Are you kidding?” She scoffed. “The Winchesters practically fall into our lap, and you think we’re going to let you go? Just like that?” She snapped her fingers. “Now, what would my boss think of me if I did that?” 

“And who, exactly, is your boss?” Dean asked. 

“Oh, you know him. Quite well, actually. He’s so excited to see you all again.” She walked over to (Y/N), the back of her hand brushing against his cheek gingerly. “Especially you.” Her voice was low, menacing. 

With that, the demon left, the click of the doorknob filling the silence. (Y/N) was tense. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest. Gooseflesh littered his arms, the hairs standing up. The panic began to set in. 

Have to get out. Have to get out. Have to get out. HAVE TO GET OUT.

“We have to go.” (Y/N) said, his voice barely above a whisper and shaky. 

(Y/N) began to frantically pull at the ropes, only resulting in them tightening around his arms. His muscles strained, shoulders shifting. Sam and Dean both tried to wiggle out of their confinements. Sam’s movements were slower and more thoughtful than his brothers’. 

“Do you know who she’s talking about?” Sam leaned his head close to (Y/N), voice hushed. 

“Doesn’t matter. What matters is that we get the fuck out of here.” (Y/N)’s voice was louder than it normally would have been, the anxiety flooding his words. 

Sam and Dean shared a look of concern but decided to say nothing. They had never seen their brother so frazzled. Dare they say, scared? If there was one thing that (Y/N) never experienced when he was on hunts, it was fear. (Y/N) was always the one who kept a calm and collected attitude, barked orders, kept victims quiet during stressful situations, and he was the one Sam and Dean always fell back on. It was as if the brother they were bound next to wasn’t the same person. 

They all worked on getting the ropes off of them. Sam and Dean weren’t struggling as much as (Y/N) seemed to, who, at first glance, one would assume had never gotten out of binds before. That was far from the truth. He was, normally, the first one to get out of the ropes, as if he was an escape artist in a previous life. It was rather evident that something was wrong. Terribly wrong. Sam and Dean, however, didn’t have the slightest clue. 

Have to get out. Have to get out. 

CLICK

The door opened, and (Y/N) froze. He was sure his heart stopped as well. Every muscle felt as if they were tying themselves together in intricate knots. The creaking hinges seemed louder than before, almost as if they were teasing him. Laughing at his pain. Mocking him. Or, perhaps, they were warning him. 

Please don’t be him. Please don’t be him.

“Well, well, well…” The voice spoke, amusement evident.

(Y/N)’s blood ran cold. In situations like that, when faced with immediate danger, our brain turns to one of three options; fight, flight, or freeze. You can defend yourself, run away, or accept your fate. Being tied to the chair didn’t give (Y/N) the chance for flight, and there wasn’t an ounce of fight left in his body. So, he sat there, frozen, eyes wide with fear. The last time he was filled with that much fear was when he last encountered the demon. Unfortunately, it hadn’t been that long ago. 

A hand on his shoulder caused him to jump. He knew that touch all too well. It felt as if fire was spreading from the hand, down his torso, and through the rest of his body. 

Azazel turned to stand in front of the three Winchesters, his deep, yellow eyes lingering over (Y/N)’s body. Sam and Dean tensed, their jaws clenched, noses scrunched as they stared down the demon. 

“Yellow eyes,” Dean said between clenched teeth. 

“Oh, come on, Dean, you know I’m much more than just my eyes,” Azazel smirked. “You know, me and my demons were having a fairly good night. Got a lot planned for you, Sammy. Of course, the plan has some kinks to work through, but what plan doesn’t? A peaceful night, nonetheless. Imagine my surprise when the lights turned off. Not only that, but imagine my surprise when I hear who turned it off.” 

Azazel’s eyes scanned over the brothers, but they always wandered back to (Y/N). Each time they did, it felt like he was getting stabbed in the gut. 

“You know,” Azazel continued. “I can’t thank you enough for showing up unannounced. I mean, that’s one less child I need to find,” he gestured to Sam. “Not only that,” Azazel turned to (Y/N), stalking over toward him at an agonizing pace. “But you brought my favorite little plaything.” 

This isn’t real. This can’t be real. Please don’t let this be real.

When Azazel placed his calloused hand on (Y/N)’s jaw, fingers trailing down to his chin, (Y/N) was faced with the brutal reality that everything was real. (Y/N) hadn’t realized how much he had been shaking until Azazel let out a deep laugh. 

“Still scared?” He teased, his tongue poking through his eerie grin. 

“Leave him alone,” Sam growled. “It’s me you want.” 

“Correction, Sam, I want both of you.” 

“Why? What is he to you!?” 

Azazel looked at Sam, then Dean, then back at Sam. His brows raised as a look of realization crossed his face. “Oh,” he cooed, tilting his head to the side as he bent down in front of (Y/N), their noses almost touching. “You never told them, did you.” 

“Told us what?” Dean questioned. “(Y/N), what the Hell is he talking about!?” 

(Y/N) couldn’t speak. He felt as if there were cobwebs in his throat, his lips and mouth dry, and no part of his body wanted to function. Azazel stared into his eyes. Correction: Azazel stared into his soul. The soul that he had left was damaged. Oh, did that fact fill the demon with pride. Azazel’s lips curled up at the corner of his mouth as he stood up straight. He sauntered over so he was standing in front of Sam and Dean.

“Months ago…” Azazel began. “After your dear old Daddy passed, your brother decided to go on a little manhunt, all on his own.” 

Sam and Dean turned their gaze to (Y/N). Sam’s eyes were wide with shock and betrayal, while Dean’s expression could only be described as pure anger. Their minds immediately drifted to the worst possible outcome from that hunt. Their first thought drifted to him selling his soul. Making a deal with Azazel. While that seemed like a possibility, it didn’t make sense, as Azazel still spoke as if he had plans for Sam. What could (Y/N) have done? 

Azazel began to make his way back over to (Y/N), his back straight, his posture intimidating. “After a couple of pathetic weeks of trying to find me, he was finally able to catch up to me.” Azazel stood in front of him. Slowly, he leaned down, his breath fanning over (Y/N)’s face. “Do you want to tell them all of the gory details? Or should I?” 

(Y/N)’s breath quickened, chest noticeably rising and falling at a rapid pace. The panic became evident on his face. Azazel reached a hand up and let it rest on (Y/N)’s knee. 

“Do you want to tell them how you quivered under my touch? How you were shaking and sobbing? How you were crying for them to save you?” 

As he talked, his hand trailed further and further up his thigh, getting dangerously close to his crotch. (Y/N)’s body began to convulse, eyes bulging from their sockets. Whimpers escaped his parted lips as he tried desperately to wiggle away from his touch. 

Have to get away. Have to get away. Get away. GET AWAY.

“Hey!” Sam shouted. 

“Get away from him!” Dean exclaimed. 

“Tell me,” Azazel continued, ignoring Sam and Dean’s loud protests, his attention solely focused on (Y/N). “Do you still hear my voice as you drift off to sleep at night? Do you still feel my fingers digging into your hips? Do you still feel my cock inside that tight little hole of yours?” He grunted as he gripped (Y/N)’s penis through his jeans tightly. 

“No! Please!” (Y/N) screamed louder than he had ever screamed before. Tears rolled down his cheeks freely, painting his face with their wetness. He desperately attempted to get away, not caring that the ropes dug into his flesh, rubbing it raw. His sobs echoed off the walls. 

“That’s right,” Azazel grinned wickedly, teeth and jaw clenched. Somehow, his quiet voice was the only thing (Y/N) could hear. Not the hum of the floodlights, not his brothers’ angry shouts, just Azazel. “Cry, my little pet.” 

“You son of a bitch! I’ll kill you! Do you hear me? I will fucking kill you!” Dean screamed to the point of almost instantly becoming hoarse. 

“Oh, I hear you boys loud and clear.” Azazel pulled his hand away from (Y/N). “And I must say, it’s getting rather irritating. I might just have to take my pet somewhere else to play.” 

“Don’t you dare,” Sam snarled. 

“Well, not now. I’ve worked him up a little too much for me to have a good time playing with him.” He glanced at (Y/N), licking his lips predatorily. “It won’t be any fun making him scream now. Don’t want him to lose his voice too soon. Besides, you two made a mess of one of our rooms, and I need to make sure that everything necessary is accounted for.” 

Azazel continued to stare at (Y/N), obvious amusement etched on his face. The tears continued to fall, but he was silent. His bottom lip wobbled. By the way his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, it was evident he was holding back cries he desperately wanted to let out. Azazel grabbed him tightly by the jaw, tilted his head up, and planted a rough, bruising kiss on his lips. Before Sam and Dean could resume their shouting, he pulled away. 

“I’ll see you soon, little pet.” He purred, fingers trailing over his wet cheeks before he stalked out of the room, not even giving Sam and Dean a second glance. 

Click

Creak

Slam

Silence

The three of them sat there and said nothing. (Y/N) stared off towards the window, head moving from side to side ever so slightly. His brain was foggy and dizzy from the overstimulation. Dean’s jaw was clenched, nostrils flared. His eyes glimmered with a murderous rage. He stared at his older brother - his broken older brother - before turning his attention over to Sam. Sam shared the same look of anger as he did. 

What no one had been aware of was that, while the chaos with Azazel unfolded, Sam had been working on the ropes around his arms. A couple of silent seconds after they were left alone in the room, Sam let out a grunt and pulled his arms apart. The ropes fell onto the floor with a light thud. With determination in his eyes, Sam turned and untied (Y/N) first before going over to Dean. Once Dean was free, he stood, stretched his neck muscles, and then turned for the door, eyes flooded with blind rage. Sam was quick to grab him by the upper arm, stopping him in his tracks. 

“What’re you doing?” He whispered. 

“I’m going after that son of a bitch, Sam, what do you think I’m doing?” Dean retorted. 

“We can’t. There are too many of them, and we don’t have our weapons anymore.” 

“I’ll take my chances,” Dean pulled his arm from Sam’s grasp and turned to leave, but was quickly grabbed by Sam once more. “Let go, Sam.” 

“Dean, I want the bastard dead just as much as you do, even more now, but we’re outnumbered. Plus, (Y/N) needs us.” 

Hearing his brother’s name snapped him out of the trance he was in. Dean snapped his head around towards (Y/N), who was still sitting in the chair. 

“(Y/N),” he breathed, quickly making his way over to him. Sam followed. 

Once they were in front of (Y/N), they could see just how much he was affected. His arms hung at his side lamely, his gaze still set towards the window. They were empty, devoid of any emotion. His cheeks were still stained, and his lips were slightly parted. They had started to swell. 

“Hey, hey, (Y/N),” Dean reached up and cupped his face, turning his head so he would look at him. “Hey, buddy, you’re okay. You’re safe. He’s not here anymore, but we have to get out of here. Can you stand up?” 

Silence. 

Dean slowly nodded. “Alright, Sam, you get that window open and we’ll get out of here. I’ll grab him.” 

Sam moved over to the window, scraping some of the broken glass away from it. He glanced out the window and let out a breath of relief when he saw they were on the first floor. He grabbed the top of the window, lifting it, but it didn’t budge. He cursed under his breath and took a deep breath as he hoisted the window open with all of his strength. The bottom half of the window slammed upwards, causing the wall to shake. He raised his brows and turned to Dean, gesturing him over quickly. 

Dean reached under (Y/N)’s legs and picked him up bridal style. He held him tight and close to his chest as he swiftly made his way over to the window. Sam was the first one to climb out, hissing as the splinters from the window sill embedded themselves into his hands. Once his feet were on the ground, he turned back to the window. 

“Pass him through,” he held his arms out. 

Dean glanced behind him at the door before he helped Sam get (Y/N) through the window. Once (Y/N) was through, Sam cradled him in his arms just as Dean had. Dean moved even faster to get out of the window. When they were outside, they could see, in the distance, the familiar sight of the sun peeking out past the horizon. They shared a glance, examined their surroundings, and then rushed back towards the tall trees at the edge of the field. 

They ran at Mach speed through the forest, hopping over roots and dodging protruding branches. Now and then, Sam would look down at his brother, still held tight to his chest, but the same, vacant expression was always present on his face. Sam was, admittedly, worried for him. He had never seen (Y/N) in such a vulnerable state. He was always the level-headed one, so put together. He was the one that Sam and Dean leaned on in times of trouble, the one that picked them up when they were down, the one to jump to their aid when they needed him the most without any hesitation. 

And here he was, carrying him in his arms, the broken shell of his oldest brother. Never, in a million years, would he have imagined this scenario. To him, it was always supposed to be the other way around, as it had been on multiple occasions. He felt so heavy, but, at the same time, light as a feather, as if Sam could carry him for hundreds of miles if he had to. He would in a heartbeat. 

By the time they reached the edge of the wood, the sky had turned a brilliant pinkish-orange, and mourning doves began to sing their elegant tune. Dean broke out into a wide grin as Baby came into view. 

“Oh, Baby, I am never leaving you again,” he mumbled as he ran his hand over her hood. 

“Dean? Keys?” Sam raised his brows. 

Dean slowly frowned. He patted his jean pockets, then his coat pockets. He grumbled, unzipped his coat, and reached inside. After seconds of searching, he let out a heavy sigh of relief as he pulled the keys out of an inner pocket. 

“Thank God for inside pockets.” 

Sam rolled his eyes. “Just get the door opened.” 

“Right, right…” 

Dean unlocked the car before he rounded the corner to the back passenger’s side. He opened the door.

“How is he?” He asked. 

Sam took a moment to look down at (Y/N). He was so focused on getting them as far away from the school as possible, that he didn’t even notice that he had fallen asleep. Sam felt relief wash over him, glad that his brother didn’t have to experience any more of those negative thoughts he must’ve had. At least, not at that moment. Carefully, Sam navigated his way to the backseat, laying (Y/N) on his side. He made sure not to wake him. With everything he had gone through and all the emotions that had seemingly piled onto him all at once, he wasn’t sure how easy (Y/N) would be to wake up. He must have been exhausted. 

“He’s fine, at least, for now,” Sam mumbled. 

Once (Y/N) was situated in the backseat, Sam stretched, not having realized the strain he had received from carrying him for so long. He closed the door as quietly as he could and took his spot in the passenger’s seat. Dean walked around the car and got into the driver’s side. He was quick to start the car, the rumble of the engine sending vibrations through the seats. Dean pulled off the dirt road and did a U-Turn, heading back into town. 

The first five minutes of the ride were silent. Not even the radio dared speak up. Sam and Dean’s eyes were glued to the road, both of them taking turns to occasionally look back at (Y/N). 

Dean was the first one to speak. 

“We need to get the Hell out of Dodge.” He said. 

Sam nodded. “You’re right. If Yellow Eyes is this close, he’ll waste no time trying to find us. I can go in, pack all of our stuff, and check us out. Then, I say we drive as far away as possible.” 

“I couldn’t agree more.”

Another deep silence. Dean was the first one to speak again. 

“How come he never told us?” 

Sam hesitated for a moment, considering the question himself. He tried to look at it from a personal standpoint. Why didn’t he tell them? They’re family. They tell each other everything. But do they? He tried to look at it from a logical standpoint. 

It was one thing the Winchesters were notorious for; their lack of communication when it comes to their emotions. It was preached to them when they were younger, that emotions were the reason hunters got killed. You had to go in, get the job done, and don’t let it get to you. Then again, a vast majority of hunters are alcoholics, so what does that say about them? They are human, after all. 

What happens when something serious occurs? Something so traumatic that they lose themselves at the first sight of the enemy? That was something neither the hunting life nor their father had prepared them for. At that point, they were lost. 

Sam shook his head. “I don’t know. I mean, you saw the way he acted when Yellow Eyes walked in.” 

Dean’s jaw clenched. “Yeah.” 

“I couldn’t imagine what he was going through, nor what he went through. I mean, if something like that happened to you, would you tell us?” 

Dean opened his mouth to speak but stopped himself. He clenched onto the steering wheel. “No,” he mumbled. 

“Exactly, I mean…” he trailed. “This is fucked up.” 

“Yeah, extremely fucked up. You have no idea how hard it is for me to drive away. I wanna go back there and kill him so bad.” Dean spoke between clenched teeth, his grip on the wheel so tight his knuckles turned white. 

“Trust me, Dean, I get it.” Sam nodded. “But right now, we should focus on (Y/N). He needs us right now, more than anything.” 

Dean looked over at Sam for a second before glancing in the rearview mirror at his older brother’s sleeping form. On that day, he vowed that he would kill Azazel with his own two hands. 

*~*

His vision was fading, black spots decorating his peripherals. Any sound had been replaced with a low buzz. His breathing was staggered and labored. Every inch of his body was on fire as if he was being burned from the inside out. The only relief he felt was the cool concrete that was pressed against his cheek. It felt as if his body weighed a thousand pounds. No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t move. 

Suddenly, the pain shot through his body like a bullet, his muscles and nerves tensing. He opened his mouth to scream, but nothing came out. 

“Aw, isn’t that cute,” Azazel growled from above him. 

(Y/N)’s fear-filled eyes shot towards the sound of his voice. Azazel’s deep, yellow eyes stared into him intently, filled with rage, lust, and desire. (Y/N) tried to scream louder, but, still, no sound came out. 

“Sam! Dean! Help me, please!” He mouthed, hot tears streaming down his face. 

“Look at you trying to call out for your brothers. Well, I hate to break it to you, little pet, but they aren’t here, and they’ll never find you if I can help it.” 

Azazel caressed his cheek before grabbing his hair roughly, yanking his head back. In a flash, a cool, sharp black was pressed against his neck. 

“Now, be a good boy and take it.” 

The pain intensified, lightning shooting through his veins.

Take it. 

Please. 

Take it.

Someone.

Take it!

Help me.

TAKE IT

*~*

(Y/N) gasped as he jolted upright, eyes wide and alert. His chest rose and fell with the rhythm of his pants. In an instant, Sam and Dean were by his side. Dean stood next to the bed while Sam sat next to him. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Sam spoke in a soothing voice, hesitantly reaching toward him. “You’re safe, (Y/N).” 

(Y/N) jerked away from his touch, and Sam was quick to pull back. As (Y/N) attempted to gather himself, he looked around the room. They were in a motel room, although it was different than the one (Y/N) remembered being in. What did he remember? The last thing he could recall was the look on Azazel’s face as he smirked down at him, the look in those deep, demonic eyes. Those damned eyes. He didn’t remember leaving the school, nor did he remember their journey to another motel room. 

“Where are we?” he asked quietly, his voice hoarse and broken.

“Chattanooga,” Dean replied. “A couple hours south of where we were.” 

(Y/N) nodded in acknowledgment. Then it was silent. No one said anything, the only sound filling the room was the electricity coursing through the air from the outdated box TV sat on the dresser. (Y/N)’s gaze was cast down towards the discolored comforter while Sam and Dean shared a glance as if silently urging one another to say something. Finally, it was Sam who spoke up. 

“Look, if you don’t wanna talk about it, we-” 

“He was right,” (Y/N) interrupted. 

Sam and Dean looked at each other before they turned their attention back to their older brother. Dean sat down on the bed opposite (Y/N), and leaned forward, hands folded. 

“Everything he said was true.” (Y/N) swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. 

“So, after dad died…” Sam trailed. 

“When I went AWOL? Yeah. I, uh, I had found where he was. Didn’t take that long, at least, not as long as I thought it was going to take. I was so set on killing him that I didn’t take into account the fact that there might be other demons with him. It was like I was…blind by rage…” (Y/N) lowered his head and twiddled his thumbs. “I was captured pretty easily, I hate to admit. Then, he came in…you know the rest.” 

(Y/N) was unaware of the tears that had begun to form in the corner of his eyes. He refused to look at his brothers. What would they say? What would they think? Would they be disappointed? Disgusted? Betrayed? He didn’t think he could handle what they thought about him at that moment. 

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Dean asked softly. 

(Y/N) glanced up at them, brows furrowed with a look of confusion. Sam and Dean’s expressions conveyed a feeling of sadness. Of hurt. (Y/N) clenched his hands into weak fists and looked down. 

“I’m your big brother. I’m supposed to be the one to protect you guys, not the other way around. I’m supposed to be the strong one. How would you think of me knowing your big brother couldn’t even stop himself from getting raped?” (Y/N)’s voice broke, tears flowing more freely. 

Sam and Dean watched (Y/N) hug himself tightly. Slowly, they began to make their way onto the bed, not wanting to startle him in such a fragile state. With Sam on one side and Dean on the other, they wrapped their arms loosely and gently around his shaking frame. 

“(Y/N), I hope you know that we don’t think any less of you because of this,” Sam said. 

“Yeah, this isn’t your fault,” Dean agreed.

(Y/N) shook his head. “If I wouldn’t have gone after him…” he sobbed. 

Dean shushed him, reaching a hand up to gently caress his head. (Y/N) stopped what he was saying and just leaned against his brothers. The Winchesters were never good with comfort. Get over it, they were always told. Stop being so sensitive. Real men don’t cry, type of narrative. They all just sat there in silence, sobs continuing to fall from (Y/N)’s lips. 

He was always so scared about the way his brothers would react. He decided to take a page out of John Winchester’s book of dealing with his emotions. Bottle it up and everything would be okay, which was completely false. That much was evident back at the schoolhouse. (Y/N) wasn’t okay. Hell, that had been the first moment he had verbally admitted that he had been raped, and it hurt. 

Even though he felt a small sense of security in the arms of his brothers, he still didn’t feel safe. Knowing Azazel, his rapist, was still roaming the world in search of them always kept him on edge. He wasn’t sure he would ever feel peace unless he witnessed, firsthand, the life drain from those yellow eyes of his. After that, he wasn’t certain how he would feel.

“Hey,” Dean’s voice broke the dead silence. 

(Y/N) looked up at him, eyes red, but slowly drying. Dean gazed down at him with a look of determination on his face. 

“We got this, okay? As long as you’re with us, we won’t let anything else happen to you. You’ve been our big brother and protected us our whole lives. Now it’s our turn to protect you.” 

(Y/N) took a moment to look at Dean, then looked over at Sam. He gave a small, brief nod as he pulled them closer for a tighter embrace. 

“Thank you,” he spoke in a hushed tone. 

“Don’t even worry about it,” Sam shook his head. “You would do the same for us.” 

(Y/N) nodded.

“And if there’s one thing I can promise you, (Y/N), it’s that the next time I see that slimy bastard, I won’t hesitate to put a bullet between his eyes,” Dean growled, holding his brother close.

(Y/N) couldn’t help but give a small smile, because, while the Winchesters weren’t good at comfort or expressing their griefs with one another, there was one thing that made them stand out amongst everyone else;

When they promised to kill something, nothing on God’s green Earth could get in their way.

[supernaturalscribe67]

In Plain Sight

Words: 6,968

POV: 3rd Person

Pairing: Sam/Dean Winchester x Male!Winchester!Reader [Platonic]

Warning(s): Language, fear of rejection, brothers keeping secrets, Dean being a teasing asshole as always, Supportive family, The Reader's boyfriend is a total himbo

Summary: The reader has been keeping a secret from his brothers his entire life. The reader is gay, and it was something that he had always kept from Sam and Dean in fear of their reaction. What happens when Sam and Dean stumble upon a moment between the reader and his boyfriend? How will they react?

Request:

Hi! Don’t know if your doing requests or not, BUT if you are can you do one where Dean and Sam have an Older brother who is gay and has a boyfriend but hides it because he doesn’t think that Sam and Dean would approve that he like guys and has a boyfriend, and one night where Sam and Dean go out on a hunt and their supposed to be gone for a week but come back early and find their older brother with his boyfriend passed out on the couch with a movie playing

@hpxmcusworld

A/N: Words cannot even begin to describe how sorry I am for taking over a month to get this out. So much has been going on in my life, specifically at work. I could write a twelve-book series about all the drama that has been going on at work. You guys can't even BEGIN to imagine, especially everything that has been happening in the last week. I mean, it's baffling. Regardless, here's the story, finally! I hope you enjoy! I had a lot of fun writing this!

~ Much love!

(Y/N) laid on the couch in the Men of Letters bunker. A blanket was draped over his body loosely, and the corner of the fabric lay limply on the floor. A box of Kleenex sat on the floor next to the sofa, crumpled-up tissues tossed here and there in a small waste bin placed next to (Y/N)’s head. There was some cheesy medical drama show playing in the background on the television that he was barely paying attention to. 

As the show went to commercial break, the sound of a pair of footsteps echoed down the hallway, approaching the open door. (Y/N) glanced up as Sam and Dean appeared in the doorway, their duffel bags slung over their shoulders. Dean peered in and eyed him. 

“Hey, man, how’re you feeling?” He asked. 

(Y/N) cleared his throat and brought the blanket further up his body, placing it directly under his chin. “Still feel kinda shitty,” he replied, his voice low and scratchy. 

“That sucks,” Dean shook his head. “I’m surprised Sammy and I haven’t got anything from you, yet,” 

“Honestly, me too,” 

“Are you sure you’re okay with staying here while we go on the hunt?” Sam questioned. 

“Yeah, it’s a simple salt ‘n burn. At least that’s what Garth says. You guys will be alright.” 

They both nodded. “Well, we’ll call you when we get there.” Dean gave a brief wave.

(Y/N) smiled softly. “Alright, see you guys later,” he waved at them. 

“See ya’.” They spoke in unison as they walked out of the room. 

(Y/N) turned his head back to the television, but didn’t listen to the line delivery. Rather, he listened to their steps. He listened as they slowly faded in the distance, followed by the heavy sound of the bunker door opening and closing. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest from anxiety and anticipation. Even with how far he was from the garage, he could still hear the roar of the Impala’s engine. He waited as it gradually softened before disappearing from the vicinity. 

When all he could hear was the sound from the medical drama, he broke out into a smile and threw the blanket off of his body, sitting up quicker than he ever had before. He rapidly took out his phone from his pocket and went to his contact list. He dialed the number marked Quinn (Hunter/Cincinnati) and called. 

Quinn was a fellow hunter that he, Sam, and Dean had met when they were on the road a little over two years ago after they got wind of a Wendigo in Ohio. What started as a typical hunting partnership turned into a celebration at the bar, which later turned into a night of (Y/N) and Quinn sharing the same bed. Since then, the two of them would text and call each other, asking each other for advice on hunts, getting to know one another, and, on occasion, scheduling a time and place for them to meet up if they were close enough. It was evident months after the two of them began communicating that they started to develop feelings. It wasn’t just casual sex to let out pent-up frustration, there were emotions behind the act, and both of them knew it. Quinn was the one who spoke up first. When prompted with the idea of making their relationship official, (Y/N) was hesitant, but he couldn’t deny the feeling that welled deep inside of him and accepted. Under one condition;

Sam and Dean couldn’t know. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust his brothers, or feared they wouldn’t like Quinn. Quite the contrary, he knew they would like him. Quinn’s personality was the perfect mixture of Sam and Dean. A badass flirt with the heart of a big nerd. He would fit right into their group. But there was one big secret that he had been keeping from his brothers his entire life, and he wasn’t yet prepared to make it public. 

Sam and Dean didn’t know he was gay. 

True, he never outwardly told them he was straight, but he also never attempted to flirt with anyone at the bar in front of them. Whenever they would question him about it (more specifically Dean), he would always brush him off and tell him how tired he was after the hunt. He never lied to them. He was always tired after hunts. Yet he knew, deep down, that wasn’t the only reason why. He would trick himself into thinking he didn’t know the reason behind his hesitancy, but he knew. 

He couldn’t blame it on any event in particular, but he understood that his upbringing had a lot to do with his reluctance. With the lack of acceptance he saw from his father on a variety of topics and how influential their father was on Sam and Dean’s views - despite what Sam would say - he was anxious about the way his brothers would react if he came out to them. The worst-case scenario always popped into mind when he considered coming out to them. The idea that they wouldn’t accept him, that they would turn their backs on him, and that was the last thing he wanted. He would rather keep himself closeted for the rest of his life than risk it. 

That was why he decided to feign his illness to spend quality time with his boyfriend. He planned to have Quinn spend a couple of days with him, going out with him on different dates, and doing various activities together, and, the day before Sam and Dean would get back, Quinn would head out and be back on the road while (Y/N) would go back to pretending he was in recovery. It was a foolproof plan. 

He was sure of it.

 

*~*

Quinn arrived three hours after Sam and Dean had left. (Y/N) was quick to open the bunker door as soon as the knocking echoed throughout the halls. Quinn had a bright smile on his face. Clad in a loose-fitting plaid shirt, jeans, and combat boots, Quinn stood a couple of inches taller than (Y/N). His black hair was slicked back neatly, just like it was on their first official date, and his beard appeared to have been trimmed recently. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” Quinn greeted in his heavy Midwestern accent. 

“Hey, glad you made it,” (Y/N) reached a hand up and cupped his cheek gently. 

Quinn pursed his lips and shrugged his shoulders. “Had to drive around once or twice because I couldn’t find that little makeshift driveway y’all made, but other than that…” Quinn wrapped his arms around his waist. 

(Y/N) rolled his eyes. “Well, it’s supposed to be hidden.”

Quinn smirked. “And you did a damn good job hiding it,” He mumbled before he leaned down, connecting their lips. 

(Y/N) chuckled into the kiss, his eyes closing. His heart never failed to flutter every time Quinn kissed him. In a sense, (Y/N) felt the same as he did when he was in high school and had a crush on a boy in his class. Whenever Quinn was near him, holding his hand, and kissing him, he could feel the swarm of butterflies flying around in his gut. It was refreshing to his aging mind to feel as young as he did when he was around his boyfriend. 

Quinn was the first to pull away, the smile never leaving his lips as he stared lovingly into (Y/N)’s eyes. He pressed their foreheads together. “So, it’s just gonna be us?” 

“Just us for the whole week.” 

Quinn hummed and kissed his cheek before he stood up straight. “Why don’t you show me around then? I’ve heard some stories about the Men of Letters here and there, but nothing much. I’m kind of excited to see what they have hidden down here.” Quinn stepped past the threshold and into the bunker. 

“God, you sound just like my brother.” (Y/N) mumbled as he shut the door. “Always excited to research everything you find interesting.” 

“Sounds like someone I’d get along with then. I’d love to meet him again someday.” Quinn hinted with a raised brow. 

“Yeah…some day.” 

(Y/N) gestured toward the stairs and began to walk down, Quinn a couple of steps behind him. 

“So, you haven’t told them yet.” It was phrased more like a statement than a question. “I thought you would have told them by now.” 

(Y/N) sighed as he got to the bottom of the stairs and turned back toward Quinn. “I was going to tell them…at some point. It just…never came up.” 

“And, what, this wasn’t a time when it could have been brought up?” 

“You know how I feel about telling them, Quinn.” 

“I know, darlin’, I know. But we’ve been together for almost two years now. It was fun sneaking around in the beginning, but…” Quinn trailed. “(Y/N), I love you, and I see myself wanting to spend the rest of my life with you, no matter how short it will be, but I don’t want it to be in secret.” Quinn slowly took a couple of steps towards (Y/N) and grasped his hands in his. “I want you to be proud of our relationship,” 

“I am proud of us,” 

“Proud enough to tell your brothers?” 

(Y/N) opened his mouth to reply, but he found it nearly impossible to lie to him. He wanted to say that he was confident enough to tell Sam and Dean. Confident enough to finally tell them what he had been hiding from them for years. Yet there was still that voice in the back of his head convincing him otherwise. 

Quinn sighed after (Y/N) failed to answer. “Tell you what? We can talk about it before I leave, okay? How about we use this time to enjoy ourselves?” 

(Y/N) glanced down at their hands for a moment. “You won’t be upset if we don’t talk about it right now?” 

“No, sweetheart, I won’t. I promise,” he smiled. “I love you too much to stay mad at you for long.” 

(Y/N) rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah,” he mumbled. 

Quinn chuckled. “Now, why don’t you show me around?”

 

*~*

After giving a brief tour of the bunker, accompanied by some oohs and awes from Quinn, (Y/N) helped him get set up in their shared bedroom. It was exciting. Even though Quinn was only staying for a couple of days, it would be the longest that the two of them had spent together consecutively, and that meant the world to (Y/N). He considered it his first taste of normalcy. A view of the ‘apple pie life’ as his brother called it. 

Some would argue that the discovery of the bunker should be considered his first experience with a normal life. He permanently had a roof over his head, a place to call home. But it’s difficult to consider the bunker a ‘home’ in terms of ‘normal’ when his job was hunting. He was surrounded by his job, day in and day out, haunted by the spirits of the men who hunted before him. No, home to him was a two-story colonial, painted blue, with a white picket fence surrounding the front and back yards. Sure, the bunker was safe, and kept the dangers away while they had a chance to relax, but it wasn’t a home. It never felt like a home, not truly. At least, (Y/N) didn’t think that’s what a home should feel like. 

Regardless, he had a feeling that, with Quinn by his side for the week, he would get a small glimpse into the reality he could have. A reality where hunting wasn’t a part of his life, where he wasn’t put in harm's way on a day-to-day basis with minimal pay - if you considered credit card fraud and hustling a paycheck. And the mere idea of experiencing such a life, even for a brief moment, sent a level of excitement through him and made him more anxious about the days to come. 

For most of the day, Quinn explored the bunker, asking questions about various artifacts placed on display and getting less-than-satisfactory answers from his partner. His main level of interest was focused on the library, and the variety of research material scattered around the aged shelves. (Y/N) thought it was cute how excited he was, and he didn’t mind that his boyfriend’s attention was mainly attached to the bunker and not him. He had Quinn with him for a whole week, and he was thoroughly enjoying himself just by being in the same room as him. 

They cooked dinner together that night, a basic pasta recipe one of them found online. Something was satisfying and romantic about the entire experience. In a way, they felt like newlyweds, having their first dinner in the very first house they bought together. It truly was as if they were staring through a lens at a reality they could have, and it was peaceful. 

After dinner, the two of them sat in the living room - Dean’s ‘Man Cave’ as he likes to call it - with a movie cued up on the television, blankets covering their bodies, and pillows behind their backs for support. Quinn leaned back against the couch, one leg elevated on the rest of the couch, and one arm wrapped around (Y/N)’s shoulders. (Y/N)’s head rested on Quinn’s shoulder, an arm wrapped around his back, as they watched the movie. A bowl of popcorn sat on Quinn’s lap and the two of them snacked on it occasionally. 

Well, more than occasionally. 

Quinn reached his hand into the bowl but stopped when his fingertips scraped along the buttery plastic bottom. He looked down and noticed the bowl was empty. The movie was only a quarter of the way over, and he knew that the two of them would need more snacks if they were going to make it the rest of the way. 

“Hey, go ahead and pause it. I’m going to go get us some more popcorn.” Quinn gestured towards the TV. 

(Y/N) sat up, grabbed the remote, and paused the movie. Quinn grunted as he stood up and stretched his back. A faint pop could be heard. Quinn let out a satisfied sigh as he looked down at his boyfriend. 

“Do you want anything? Snacks or a drink?” 

(Y/N) hummed. “I put some M&Ms on the top shelf in the glass cabinet. If you wouldn’t mind getting those, that would be great.” 

Quinn furrowed his brows. “The glass cabinet? Why the hell did you put them there?” 

“Trust me, if you know Dean Winchester, that man can snack,” (Y/N) rolled his eyes and shook his head. “I tried hiding my snacks everywhere in my room, but he always managed to find them. I’m waiting for him to find this stash.” 

Quinn chuckled. “Okay, now I know I’ll get along with your brothers.” He turned and began to walk out of the room. 

(Y/N) narrowed his eyes and pointed at him. “If you tell Dean about my stash, I’ll kill you.” 

Quinn pushed his bottom lip out, held up his free hand in surrender, and wordlessly walked out of the room. 

When Quinn left, (Y/N) let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. Even when he wasn’t in the room, knowing his boyfriend was in the same building as him made his heart flutter. A smile spread across his lips as he lowered himself onto the couch, lying on his side where Quinn had been sitting. He pulled the blanket closer to his body and let out a surprising giggle. A part of him felt pathetic for acting as such, but the other part adored it. Loved the way that Quinn made him feel. It only made the connection between them stronger, and that made (Y/N) look forward to their time together even more. 

It didn’t take long for Quinn to return, the scent of fresh popcorn wafting into the living room. Quinn stopped as he passed through the door. He stared at (Y/N) for a moment before he walked in front of the couch. He held the bowl of popcorn in one hand and (Y/N)’s M&Ms in the other. He gestured down at him. 

“I was sitting there,” he smirked. 

(Y/N) raised a brow and glanced down at the couch. “Oh, were you?” He questioned, his smirk placed on his face as he snuggled deeper into the cushion. 

Quinn deadpanned, head tilted to the side. After hesitating for a couple of seconds, he silently nodded, set the bowl of popcorn and package of M&Ms on the ground next to the couch, and began to climb on top of (Y/N). 

“What are you doing!?” (Y/N) exclaimed with an amused, yet startled tone. 

“Laying down,” Quinn couldn’t stop the smile from appearing on his face. 

Quinn laid down on (Y/N), blanketing his body with his. (Y/N) groaned. 

“You’re so heavy!” He whined. 

Quinn laughed. He nuzzled his nose into the crook of (Y/N)’s neck and adjusted himself on top of him. “But you’re so comfy,” 

(Y/N) let out a sigh and looked down at Quinn with raised brows. Quinn glanced up at him and gave him a bright, white smile. (Y/N) smirked. 

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he said as he reached his hand up and began to rake his fingers through Quinn’s soft hair. 

“I know,” 

(Y/N) rolled his eyes. “Well, here,” he mumbled as he shifted under Quinn’s weight. He adjusted himself so his legs were placed on either side of Quinn’s body, and Quinn was lying comfortably across (Y/N)’s chest and stomach. (Y/N) let out a breath of relief. “There, better. Now you’re not so heavy,” he teased.

Quinn glared at him and stuck his tongue out. He then laid his head on his chest gently, eyes cast towards the television. (Y/N) chuckled, his chest rumbling. He reached down, grabbed the remote, and, before he pressed ‘play’, pressed a kiss to Quinn’s temple. 

“I love you,” he spoke softly. 

Quinn glanced up at him, as if studying him, for a brief moment before a smile crept across his lips. “I love you, too, baby,” 

*~*

The hunt was a bust. What started as a potential salt and burn turned out to be some ghost-hunting TV personality wannabe who wanted her fifteen minutes of fame. The whole thing was a hoax. A waste of time, and a waste of gas. Dean wasn’t too happy about it, but a part of him was glad that he was able to get back to his bed sooner, rather than have his back stabbed by some cheap boxspring. His memory foam mattress sure had him spoiled. Sam, on the other hand, was excited to get back to the bunker to check in on their brother. They hadn’t called him since they left, and he was anxious to see if he was feeling any better. Granted, he didn’t know how well someone could feel in less than twenty-four hours, but he hoped that he would feel even slightly like his normal self. 

He had been sick for over a week, after all. 

They pulled into the bunker around four in the morning, no doubt thinking the rumbling of the Impala’s engine would wake their brother. Even in the deepest parts of the bunker, it was nearly impossible to miss the sound of the Impala approaching, and Dean thought it was one of the most beautiful sounds in the world. 

“I’m going to have Garth pay me back for all that gas I just wasted,” Dean grumbled as he climbed out of the Impala. 

“Don’t,” Sam mumbled. “He didn’t know the hunt was going to be bogus.” 

“The article was a week old, Sam, you said so yourself. You would think that he would do a bit more digging before sending us on a wild goose chase,” Dean opened up the trunk and grabbed his duffel bag. 

“Dean,” 

“And another thing! Do you know how many times I had to stop and get gas?” 

Sam sighed, his movements sluggish, showing his evident exhaustion. “Yes, Dean, I know, I was there. Remember?” 

“Twice! Garth owes me a hundred and twenty bucks for having to fill up that much because he didn’t give a shit enough to look more into the hunt.” 

Sam reached a hand up and ran his thumb and forefinger against his heavy eyelids. “Dean, we’re home, okay? Let’s just go in, check on (Y/N), and go to bed.” 

Dean opened his mouth to retort, but closed it, instead, letting his shoulders slump. He found he was too tired to argue. “Fine,” he grumbled, tossed his duffel bag over his shoulder, and wrapped his thumb around the strap. 

The two ventured into the bunker, the familiarity, safety, and comfort of it all causing the exhaustion to double down on them. Sam let out a deep yawn as they stumbled down the stairs with heavy steps. 

“Where do you think (Y/N) is?” Dean asked, the corner of his mouth opening as he yawned as well. 

Sam shrugged his shoulders. “Probably his room. Probably asleep for the night,” 

“Alright, I’ll check in on him. Make sure he’s not dying.” 

Sam rolled his eyes. “He’ll be fine,” he grumbled. 

They walked down the hallway to their respective rooms. Sam wandered into his room, leaving the door open as Dean walked down to his. Sam turned on the lamp from his nightstand and winced slightly at the harsh yellow light. He placed his bag at the corner of his bed and made his way over to the dresser. He was at least thankful for the fact he didn’t use any of the clothes he had packed. Less laundry he would have to do. He kicked off his boots and moved them over to the side of his dresser before he unzipped his duffel bag and began to place all of the clothes he had packed back into their designated spots. 

“Sammy!” Dean’s voice echoed through the hall. “He’s not in his room!” 

Sam furrowed his brows and glanced towards the open door. “Did you check the bathroom?” 

It was silent for a couple of seconds as Sam finished organizing his dresser. Soon, footsteps approached, which caused him to turn back to the door. Dean stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame. He gestured with his thumb down the hallway. 

“He’s not in the bathroom either.” He said. 

Sam furrowed his brows and hummed. He ran his hand tiredly through his hair. “He was on the couch when we left. Maybe he’s there.” 

“Right, right, I’ll go check.” 

Dean pushed himself off of the doorframe and walked away. Sam could practically feel the exhaustion starting to overwhelm him. He was used to staying up for hours on end, especially when it came to necessary research for a hunt. However, with all the driving they did that day, Dean’s constant bickering, and the endless classic rock songs, the day took a lot out of him. It didn’t help that he hadn’t had any caffeine either. He hoped that Dean would be able to find their brother so he could crawl into bed and sleep for an eternity. 

As soon as Dean left, Sam took his empty duffel bag and placed it on the floor next to his shoes. He then walked over to his door, closed it gently, and wandered back over to his dresser, where he proceeded to change into his nightwear. Once the jeans and flannel were off his body, he felt a sense of relaxation, and even more tired than he had been before. 

Just as he pulled on his sweats, his door swung open. He jumped and turned around, eyes wide. Dean stood in the doorway, a massive grin spread across his lips. 

“Dude!” Sam exclaimed. “I was changing.” 

“Sorry,” Dean waved him off and shook his head. “Sammy…you gotta come see this.” 

Sam walked over to him. “What’s up? Is (Y/N) okay?” 

Dean snorted. “Oh, he is more than okay. Now, come on,” he gestured towards himself. “But you gotta be quiet.” 

Sam looked at Dean for a moment, brows furrowed, before Dean turned and began to head back down the hallway. Sam followed, the two of them walking silently. Now and then, Dean would glance back at his brother, a child-like glimmer in his eye, the look only causing further confusion. 

“Stop looking at me like that, you’re creeping me out,” Sam said with an unsteady tone. 

Dean shushed him, placing his index finger against his lips, as they stopped in front of the open living room door. Carefully, Dean took a step into the room and pointed to the couch. 

“Look,” he whispered. 

Sam stared at Dean before he, too, stepped into the room, peering inside. His eyes landed on the sofa. At the sight before him, his eyes widened and his mouth dropped. 

When he first saw the look of giddiness in his brother’s eyes, he didn’t know what he was expecting to find. He was too tired to come up with any type of logical explanation at that point. The last thing he would have predicted, though, something that wouldn’t have even crossed his mind, was the image placed directly in front of him. He would have never guessed he would find his oldest brother with a man lying on his chest, peacefully asleep on the couch. 

It took Sam a bit to realize his shocked expression was still on his face. He corrected it and crossed his arms as he slowly edged his way into the room, his footsteps light and quiet. Dean followed after him, his grin never wavering. 

“So, I guess he wasn’t sick,” Sam whispered, leaning his body closer to Dean. 

“Nope,” Dean whispered a little louder right back. “And you owe me twenty bucks,” 

“For what?” 

“Remember that bet we made?” 

“Which one?” 

“The one when we were at the bar in Illinois.” 

“What? Six years ago?” 

“Yeah! I told you that I bet he was gay.” 

“This doesn’t mean he’s gay. He could be bisexual for all we know.” Sam shrugged. 

Dean deadpanned. “Sammy, have you ever seen him pick up chicks?” 

“Well, no, but-” 

“The entire time we’ve known him, have you ever heard about him having a girlfriend?” 

“No, but he could just be a private person.” 

Dean rolled his eyes and let out a huff. “Well, I know I’m right.” 

“How’re you so sure?” 

“I’m his brother, I know him.” 

“I’m his brother, too, dumbass.” 

“Yeah, but you’re the baby. I’ve known him longer.” 

Sam scoffed and shook his head. Dean threw his hands up dramatically. 

“Why don’t we just ask him?” Dean asked as he walked closer to the couch.

“Dude, he’s sleeping,” Sam hissed between clenched teeth.

“And? It’s almost five o’clock. He needs to wake his ass up and introduce us to his boyfriend,” 

Sam opened his mouth to say something else but found it difficult in his drained state. He ran his fingers through his hair and shook his head as he watched Dean move to the end of the couch where (Y/N)’s head rested. Dean went to say something but stopped himself. He quickly reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and took a picture of (Y/N) and his mystery man. Dean chuckled deeply, chest rumbling. 

“Real mature,” Sam mumbled. 

“Oh, come on, I need it for blackmail later,” Dean replied, shoving his phone back into his pocket. Dean leaned back down, placing his hands on his knees, as he got closer to (Y/N)’s face. “(Y/N),” Dean said in a quiet singsong voice. “(Y/N),” he sang a little louder. 

(Y/N) hummed. 

“Time to get up, buddy,” Dean couldn’t resist the smirk that appeared. 

“Five more minutes,” (Y/N) grumbled and turned his head away from his brother. 

“(Y/N)!” Dean exclaimed, loud enough for his voice to reverberate off the walls. 

(Y/N) jumped, eyes wide open, staring directly at Dean and Sam, filled with weariness and confusion. Dean stood up and backed away from him. He gave a small wave while Sam shot him a sympathetic look. (Y/N)’s gaze quickly shifted between his brothers as he blinked rapidly to wake himself up. He tried to sit up but remembered the heavy weight on his chest. He looked down at Quinn’s sleeping form. For a hunter, (Y/N) had to admit, Quinn was a heavy sleeper. He slapped Quinn on the shoulder.

“Quinn,” he said. 

Quinn whined. 

“Quinn,” he hissed. 

“Couple more minutes, babe,” 

(Y/N) closed his eyes and pressed his lips together tightly, trying to will away the red tinge that fought its way onto his cheeks. He slapped Quinn’s shoulder again, a little harder that time. 

“Get up!” 

Quinn groaned and opened his eyes. “What?” He looked up at (Y/N). 

(Y/N) looked at him and gestured towards his brothers. Quinn turned his head and, immediately, his brows shot up, and he appeared more alert than ever. He sat up from his position on top of his boyfriend and scrambled to sit on the couch next to him. 

“Oh, um,” Quinn cleared his throat as he situated himself on the couch, forearms resting on his knees, hands folded together. 

(Y/N) sat up slowly, his body still riddled with sleep but progressively gaining a new feeling of anxiety. Of fear. He felt like a child that was caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Despite the looks on his brothers’ faces, which preached the opposite of how he was feeling, he couldn’t help but let his mind wander to the worst-case scenario. He was convinced, at that moment with his brain fogged with interrupted slumber, that he had just spent his last night in the bunker. 

“So…” Dean trailed before he gestured to Quinn. “Who’s this?” 

(Y/N) looked over at Quinn before he cast his eyes down to the ground. “Um…” he paused, his mind racing, trying to think of an excuse. Trying to think of a lie that would sound convincing. Yet, no matter how hard he tried, nothing he thought of would work. His brothers would see right through it. 

Quinn watched (Y/N) and noticed how much he struggled with getting the words out. He licked his lips and sat up. “I’m Quinn, I’m his-” 

“He’s my boyfriend.” 

“I mean, I would hope he’s your boyfriend. I think the way you guys were practically sleeping inside each other was a bit too much for just friends,” Dean replied and chuckled. 

Sam sighed. “Dean, don’t be an ass.” 

“I’m just saying,” Dean shrugged. 

(Y/N) huffed before he slapped his hands on his knees and stood up. “You know what, it’s too early for this. If you’re going to yell, go ahead and yell. Just get it out of your system. I’ll just go ahead and start packing,” (Y/N) turned to leave the room. Quinn was quick to stand. 

The smile vanished from Dean’s face for the first time since he discovered the two. “Hey, hey, hey, woah, woah,” Dean rushed over and gently grasped his brother’s arm to stop him. “Packing? Why?” 

(Y/N) halted and turned to his brother. “I just…I figured-” 

“What? That we would kick you out?” 

(Y/N) pressed his lips together and looked down. Dean’s frown deepened as Sam padded closer to them. 

“(Y/N),” Sam began. “We would never kick you out because of that. All because you have a boyfriend?” 

“Wait, so…” (Y/N) furrowed his brows as he fully turned his body so he was facing Sam and Dean. “You guys don’t care that I’m gay?” 

Dean immediately smacked Sam’s shoulder. “See? Told you! You owe me!” 

“Okay, okay, hold on,” (Y/N) ran his hands down his face and shook his head. He suddenly felt a strong, warm arm wrap across his shoulders. He glanced up to see Quinn standing by his side, holding onto him. A comforting smile was on his face. (Y/N) then looked back at his brothers. “You bet on me being gay?” 

“I said that you were gay. Sammy over here didn’t believe it for a minute.” Dean said smugly. 

“It’s not that I didn’t believe it. We just didn’t have anything to go off of.” Sam rolled his eyes. 

“I knew from the moment he turned that hot blonde down at the first bar we went to,” Dean nodded. 

“Yeah, right,” 

“I did! She was hot! He would have been stupid to turn him down if he was straight, which he isn’t.” 

“He could have also had a type Dean.” 

“Type my ass, that girl was everyone’s type,” 

While his brothers bickered in front of him, (Y/N) watched them, mouth agape. Next to him, Quinn chuckled. He pressed a soft kiss to (Y/N)’s temple. 

“How’re you feeling?” He whispered in his ear. 

(Y/N) looked at him for a second before he stared back at his brothers, mouth still open, words seemingly unable to form. He was too in shock to think of anything to say. He was so busy convincing himself that his brothers would negatively view him after he came out to them that he never took into consideration the possibility of them being supportive. It was then he began to think of all the things they had supported him in through the years. They were always with him, always had his back, and he always had theirs. Sure, they had their fights, they had their moments, but they always came back together. They always talked it through. 

In the end, he felt like a fool for thinking they would kick him out. 

“Look, I need to ask something,” Sam chimed up, his attention now turned towards his eldest brother. 

(Y/N)’s eyes flickered up at him. He closed his mouth, feeling that it had gone dry. 

“(Y/N), what did we do to ever make you think we would kick you out? And, whatever it is, I’m sorry that we came across that way.” Sam continued.

Dean nodded. “Yeah, we never meant to do anything that made you think you couldn’t tell us.” 

(Y/N) hesitated. “No, no, you guys, you guys didn’t do anything, um…it’s just…I…” Again, he was struggling to find the words to describe his thought process. 

“He was projecting his own insecurity onto the situation,” Quinn said, nodding. 

(Y/N) ran his tongue over his teeth and pursed his lips. He looked up at Quinn and gave him a tight smile. “You know, Quinn, that couch was pretty comfy, right?” 

Quinn furrowed his brows at the statement. “Uh, yeah, I guess it was?” 

“Would you like to sleep on it for the rest of your visit?” 

Dean snorted and Sam pressed his lips into a thin line to hide the grin he was holding back.

“Uh, nope, no, I’m okay,” 

“That’s what I thought,” (Y/N) shook his head and turned to his brothers. “No, guys, you didn’t do anything wrong. I guess…I don’t know, with the way that Dad was with us growing up, a part of me was afraid that that part of him would have rubbed off on you guys. I was severely overthinking it and I let the fear of what Dad would think overshadow how you guys truly are.” (Y/N) then looked back up at Quinn. “Was that a good way to describe it? Since it seems like you’re my shrink now?” 

“That was wonderfully put, babe,” Quinn grinned widely. 

(Y/N) rolled his eyes. 

Sam chuckled. “Hey, I get it, okay?” Sam smiled comfortingly. “I wish that you would have told us sooner, but I’m glad we know now. Just know that we still love you, (Y/N), no matter who you date.” 

“Unless you were dating a demon,” Dean interjected. “Or Crowley. Crowley is off limits.” 

“Crowley isn’t my type anyway, so you don’t have to worry about that,” (Y/N) chuckled. “My type is more of a Midwest-Country hunter.” (Y/N) wrapped an arm around Quinn’s middle. 

Quinn looked down at him with a small smile on his face. A couple of seconds ticked by before a look of realization crossed his face. “Oh! You mean me!” 

(Y/N) deadpanned. “A Midwest-Country hunter who’s also an idiot at times.” 

“But I’m your idiot.” 

“Unfortunately,” 

“Hey!” 

“You guys are so cute,” Dean paused. “Makes me want to throw up.” He grimaced. 

“So, wait, you’re a hunter?” Sam asked. 

“Yeah! We met two years ago. I joined you guys on a hunt in Ohio. Columbus?” 

Sam and Dean looked at each other before they both shook their heads. 

“Sorry, man,” Dean said. “We see a lot of hunters while we’re out, and two years is a long time.” 

Quinn waved him off. “I get it, don’t worry.” 

“Only gives us more of a reason to get to know you,” Sam mumbled before a yawn erupted from his mouth. “But not tonight. How long are you staying for?” 

“About a week,” Quinn shrugged. “If that’s alright, of course.” 

“Yeah, yeah, no worries man. As long as you stay the Hell out of my room,” Dean fought back his yawn. 

“Noted.” Quinn chuckled. 

“Alright, well, it was nice meeting you, again, but we’re hitting the hay. The drive back was brutal.” 

“Why are you guys back so early anyway? You never said anything.” (Y/N) asked. 

“Well, you see, Garth-” Dean began. 

Sam placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder, pushing him towards the door. “We’ll explain when we get up. We need to get to bed and I don’t need to hear him complain anymore tonight. He’s been doing it all night.” 

“Hey, I have not complained all night.” 

“All night he has done nothing but complain.” 

“I have not!” 

Sam and Dean squabbled as they shuffled out of the room, their voices echoing down the hall. (Y/N) couldn’t help the smile that appeared on his face as he listened. 

“Goodnight!” He hollered once their voices started to soften. 

There was a pause before both brothers simultaneously shouted, “Goodnight!” back. 

(Y/N) snorted and shook his head. Suddenly, he felt Quinn wrap an arm around his waist, pulling his body close. (Y/N) turned and tilted his head to look up at him. Quinn rested his forehead against (Y/N)’s, their noses brushing against one another. 

“Is it too late to say ‘I told you so’?” Quinn asked in a quiet, low voice. 

(Y/N) pursed his lips in thought. “Well, it’s not too late for you to still sleep on the couch.” 

Quinn snorted, his chest rumbling with his chuckle. “You love me too much to do that.” 

“I guess,” 

“You guess?” Quinn asked, his hands moving from (Y/N)’s back to his stomach. “You guess?” 

(Y/N) tried to jerk away, but found that Quinn had a strong grasp on him. “Quinn,” he warned. 

“You guess?” Quinn repeated before his fingers began to dance over (Y/N)’s stomach. 

(Y/N) tried to stifle the laughter that was bubbling up inside his throat, but it was all to no avail. His attempts to move away from Quinn were futile as the laughs echoed in the room. Quinn had a goofy grin on his face.  

“Quinn, stop!” 

“Do you love me?” 

“Yes!” 

“Say it!” 

“Dammit! I love you, you idiot!” 

As soon as (Y/N) spoke, the tickling seized. The laughter died down and Quinn wrapped his arms around (Y/N), pulling him into a tight embrace. He began to litter (Y/N)’s face with kisses. 

(Y/N) grimaced. “Stop it!” He whined, smiling. 

Quinn let out a content sigh, pressing a final kiss to his temple. “I’m proud of you, you know that?” 

“What?” 

“I’m proud of you.” 

“For what?” 

Quinn pulled back so that he was able to look his boyfriend in his eyes. “For telling your brothers. For letting yourself be vulnerable like that. Now that’s the man I want to be with. The strong, badass, sometimes vulnerable hunter that is confident in himself. I can already see a change in you as soon as they told you they accepted you.” 

“Really?” 

“Really.” 

(Y/N) tilted his head to the side and looked up deep into Quinn’s eyes with much love and adoration. He leaned up and gently pressed a kiss against his lips. Quinn closed his eyes and kissed him back immediately. For the first time in a while, (Y/N) felt sparks as they kissed, as if they were kissing for the first time all over again. It made his chest flutter and his stomach stir with butterflies. It reinforced the idea that Quinn loved him, and he loved Quinn. They were with each other through thick and thin. Quinn was, indeed, the man he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. 

As they parted, they stared longingly into each other’s eyes, the passion never waning as Quinn reached a hand up to caress (Y/N)’s cheek. 

“What do you say we go back to your room and cuddle? It’s still pretty early,” Quinn suggested. 

“I like that idea. But no more sleeping on top of me.” 

“Aw, come on, but you’re so comfy. How about we take turns? Now you can sleep on top of me.” 

(Y/N) smirked. “It’s a deal.” 

[supernaturalscribe67]

Hello, hope you're having a good day/night

I was wondering if I could request the Winchester's (John/Dean/Sam) x Older brother finding out the Azaseal (yellow eye demon) s/a him and he's been keeping it secret intill they run into Azaseal and he gloats about what he did. (If you don't feel comfortable using yellow eyes that just some strong random demon is fine)

Maybe reader is someone who has always took care of all of them including when John was drunk or injured, took care of both his brothers doing whatever he could

Oh, I can ABSOLUTELY do Azazel. He's a dick, I have no problem making him the bad guy in this lol I'll add it to the queue and get working on it as soon as I can.

[supernaturalscribe67]

Hope you are having a good day

I was wondering if you were okay with writing a request that mentions SA/r@p3?

Hey Anon!

I have no problem writing on this topic, but I'm a little picky when it comes to topics like this.

As long as there is no mention of any character FROM Supernatural (i.e. Sam, Dean, Castiel, etc...) doing the act, then I have no problem with it. If you're looking for a comfort fic that involves this heavy topic, then I have no issue writing it! I appreciate you asking! Go ahead and send in your request :)

[supernaturalscribe67]

Hi! Don’t know if your doing requests or not, BUT if you are can you do one where Dean and Sam have an Older brother who is gay and has a boyfriend but hides it because he doesn’t think that Sam and Dean would approve that he like guys and has a boyfriend, and one night where Sam and Dean go out on a hunt and their supposed to be gone for a week but come back early and find their older brother with his boyfriend passed out on the couch with a movie playing

I am SO sorry for not getting to this ask sooner. A lot has been happening the last two weeks and I am just now getting over the stomach flu :)

Of course, I will write this! I will start writing it today! It's such a cute idea and I've had time to mull it over. I'm confident that you'll love the way it comes out! I will tag you when I post it!

[supernaturalscribe67]

Trick or Treat

Words: 4,489

POV: 3rd Person

Pairing: TFW x Trans!FTM!Reader [Platonic]

Warning(s): Language, Fluff, Castiel is super cute in this but he's not as involved as Sam and Dean, Dean acting like a kid in a candy store, I think that's it?

Summary: Halloween always held a special place in the reader's heart. It was one of his favorite holidays. However, as he got older and started to discover more about himself, he never got to dress up as the characters he wanted when he was younger. When Sam, Dean, and the reader stumble upon an annual Halloween Festival in a small town after a hunt, the reader is reminded of all the things he could have been. When the truth comes to light, Sam and Dean make a plan to give the reader a night he will never forget.

Request:

This might be really specific but I have an idea if you feel like writing it. Something about reader ending up talking about how he used to hate halloween as kid because he never got to dress up the way he wanted, it always had to be something like a princess, a witch, "girl costumes" and then maybe he never dressed up when he got a little older as hunting started happening and there was never a party or something like that and since Sam and Dean know pretty well what a shit childhood feels like, team free will ends up preparing a halloween night with candy and horror movies and most important of all, costumes. So it's the first time he gets to dress up as whatever he wants just for fun.

Anonymous

A/N: I got this out just in the nick of time! I really hope you guys enjoy this story because I had a lot of fun writing it and imagining the boys in the costumes I picked out for them! As always, feedback is greatly appreciated! Happy Halloween!

Much Love!~

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The diner was bustling, the small space filled with a mix of old and young people. Waitresses were running from one place to another in a frenzy, passing people their drinks and food and anything else they had asked for. (Y/N), Sam, and Dean were lucky to find a table when they did, and they were extremely thankful for it. The hunt had been a tough one - a group of vampires whose lust for blood had been higher than they had ever seen - and what they truly desired was a hot meal in their stomachs and a good night’s sleep. Unfortunately, it seemed that their hot meal would take a little longer than they would've liked. 

For a Tuesday evening, the place was uncharacteristically packed. It wasn’t just the diner filled to the brim with customers, however. The entire downtown strip was swamped, each restaurant having a long line of people waiting outside for a table. People were dressed in semi-casual clothing, jackets, and sweaters worn around their torsos to combat the chill Autumn air. Orange, white, and black lights were strung along streetlights, illuminating the roads and sidewalks. 

Dean’s leg bounced up and down, fingers laced together on the table, and jaw clenched. Sam was leaning back in the booth beside his brother, hands resting lazily on the tabletop. (Y/N)’s elbow was placed on the table as well, cheek in the palm of his hand. It was evident that all of them were exhausted, and it was even more obvious that Dean was getting impatient. 

“Come on, where the hell is the waitress?” Dean huffed. 

“It’s packed, Dean,” Sam mumbled. “Give her a break.” 

“Packed or not, I’m starving. I need a burger.” 

A party of five wandered into the diner. Someone at the counter turned towards the door once the bell rang and called out to them. Dean growled and placed his head into his hands. The group gathered right beside their booth and began to chat loudly. Dean’s eye visibly twitched as he reached inside his jacket, only to be stopped by Sam with a firm hand on his wrist. 

“Dean,” Sam said in a warning tone. 

Dean mumbled something under his breath and withdrew his hand. “Why the hell is it so busy, anyway?” 

“I was thinking the same thing,” (Y/N) said. “It’s not Halloween yet, is it?” 

“Halloween’s not for another week.” 

“Then what the Hell is going on?” 

A waitress shimmied between the boisterous party and their table, a serving tray filled with drinks in one hand. She glanced down at them and gave a small, apologetic smile. 

“I am so sorry, you guys. I’ll be with you as soon as I put these drinks down.” She spoke sweetly. 

“Take your time,” Sam gave her a wave and a smile. 

The waitress let out a huff before she squeezed the rest of the way through and deeper into the building. Dean shook his head and placed his forehead into his hands. (Y/N) rolled his eyes. 

“Calm down, Dean, before you have a heart attack.” He chuckled. 

Dean lifted his head and glared at him. “I just want my burger.” He replied between clenched teeth. 

It wasn’t long before the waitress came back over, stopping in front of their table. The serving tray was tucked underneath her arm and a notepad was in her hand. 

“Alright,” she began. “I’m so very sorry for the wait.”

“Don’t worry about it,” (Y/N) waved her off. “We see how busy you are. We get it.” 

“Thank you so much,” she let out a breath of relief. “Now, what can I get you guys to eat and drink?” 

The three of them ordered their food and beverages and the waitress was quick to depart again. She soon appeared with the drinks and made a promise that the meal would be out as quickly as it could. They weren’t holding their breath on that promise, though. As they waited, there was minimal conversation between them. Conversations that had once surrounded them had begun to settle as some people began to disperse and head down the street in small groups. The diner had transformed into a quiet, peaceful environment once again. By the time their food arrived, there were only a handful of people left. 

They dug into their food quicker than they ever had before, the wait taking a toll on their stomachs and, for the first couple of minutes, they didn’t talk. They just ate. The occasional satisfying hum escaped from their mouths but, other than that, nothing was said between them. The irritation that had been so evident on Dean’s face merely minutes prior had seemed to disappear and was replaced by a relaxed, yet tired, expression. 

“How is everything over here?” The waitress returned, head tilted to the side. She didn’t seem as distressed as she had been when the building was full. 

(Y/N) looked up from his food and swallowed the mouthful he had. He nodded. “Very good, ma’am,” he said. 

“That’s great to hear. Do you guys need anything else? Some refills on drinks?” 

Dean held up a finger as he finished chewing. “I’ll have some more,” he gestured to his glass. “But I gotta ask. Why in the Hell was it so busy earlier?” 

The waitress gave an uneasy smile and let out a shaky breath. “Not from around here, I see. Today’s the first night of our annual Halloween festival. A lot of people like to go out to eat before they head downtown for the events.” 

“Isn’t Halloween next week?” Sam asked. 

“Yes, it is. They like to host the events a week early so they don’t take away from the trick-or-treating that the kids do that night.” 

“What kind of events do you even have at a Halloween festival?” 

“Well, there’s lots. They have bobbing for apples, pie eating contests, pie baking contests, hay rides, a petting zoo, crafts for the kids, cider tasting for adults, and loads of entertainment that they hire. It changes every year. Tonight, however, is our-” 

“Trick or Treat!” Two in-sync, high-pitched voices accompanied the bell from the entrance. 

All heads turned towards the door. A mother with two children walked inside. The waitress gestured towards the family. 

“Business Trick or Treat event.” She finished. “I’ll be back in one second,” she held up a finger before she walked towards the front door. 

Dean furrowed his brows. “‘Business Trick or Treat’? What’s that?” 

(Y/N) turned to look at Dean for a moment before his eyes returned to the family that had entered. The mother was dressed in casual clothing compared to her two children. One child, seemingly the youngest, had a bright pink ballgown on that stopped just before it reached her ankles. A plastic, sparkling wand was in her hand and a tiara rested atop her blonde hair. The other child stood tall in his Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle outfit. They both held multi-colored plastic pumpkin buckets with candy already peaking out of the top. 

For a moment, (Y/N) found that he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the boy. The smile on his face was almost infectious. Memories of his own Halloweens were brought back to him instantly. All the times he went out with his parents, wandering from house to house, neighborhood to neighborhood, in search of the best candy there was. All the times that he dressed up as a princess, fairy, witch, or even an angel ironically enough. All the times he wished he could have dressed up as Batman, a cowboy, Indiana Jones, or a pirate. Yet every time he asked his parents if he was able to dress as such, the idea was turned down, and he was directed towards the more ‘appropriate’ costumes for a ‘precious little girl’ like he was. 

He could remember seeing the other boys at school getting to dress up as who they wanted to be for Halloween while he was stuck in the clothes his parents wanted him to wear. Even as he grew up and ultimately became too old to go Trick or Treating, the want to dress up as some of his favorite characters was strong within him. He got into cosplay when he was an older teenager, but he only felt confident in his work in his early twenties. By then, his hunting career had taken off, and the time for Halloween parties and Comic Cons were off the table, so he never got the opportunity to dress as he wanted. He still cosplayed now and then in the privacy of his room, of course, but there was still that desire to show off his skills, to express himself differently than he already did. He knew it was wishful thinking. Halloween was a laughable holiday in the eyes of hunters, after all. 

“(Y/N)!” Dean said. 

(Y/N) quickly turned his head and looked at Dean. “What?” 

“Dude, you zoned out there for a minute. You okay?” 

“Oh, yeah, I was just, um,” (Y/N) turned back to look at the door, only to see that the mother and her children had disappeared, making him wonder just how long he had been out of it. “Just thinking,” he turned back to Sam and Dean. 

“About what?” Sam asked as he took a bite of his food. 

(Y/N) pursed his lips and looked down. He began to fiddle with his fingers. “I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Just thinking about when I was a kid and I used to do Halloween. It’s stupid, I know, but I remember having so much fun,” a smirk played in the corner of his lips. “Thought about how, one year, I wanted to dress up as a pirate with a peg leg, eyepatch, the works. Then another year I wanted to be Batman. Then the next year it was Spiderman. My mom would always tell me ‘That’s not the kind of outfit girls wear’ and then make me wear some stupid dress.” 

Sam and Dean gazed at him, a look of sympathy on their face. (Y/N) finally looked up and glanced between the brothers. He inhaled sharply and placed his hands flat on the table. 

“Anyway,” he stood up from the booth. “I’m done with my food if the waitress comes by to take them. I’m going to go to the bathroom before we head back to the motel.” With a tight smile, he turned and walked away from the table. 

The brothers watched as he vanished into the bathroom. As soon as he was out of sight, they looked at one another, sharing a knowing gaze. 

“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Dean asked. 

Sam let out a sigh. He was, indeed, thinking exactly what his brother was thinking. “You know how I feel about Halloween.” 

“Come on,” Dean shook his head. “You saw how (Y/N) was. Seems like something he missed out on. Let’s do it for him.” 

“You’re right…” Sam paused. “Alright, let’s do it.” 

*~*

“Alright, we have ground beef, hamburger buns, frozen pizzas, a bunch of veggies, cereal, milk, eggs, butter, and…” (Y/N) narrowed his eyes as he looked down at the paper. “Canned chickpeas?” He furrowed his brows before he looked over at Sam. 

Dean deadpanned and looked at his brother. Sam glanced between the two of them, shrugging his shoulders. 

“What?” He asked. “Chickpeas are good!” 

(Y/N) pressed his lips together and gave a small, curt nod. He patted Sam on the shoulder. “Whatever you say, Sammy,” he smiled before he turned, reached down, and zipped up his jacket. “And you guys are sure you don’t wanna go? You never miss out on a supply run. I always seem to get things wrong.” 

“Yeah,” Dean answered quickly. “We’re sure.” 

“We’re still pretty tired from the last hunt,” Sam added.

“Yeah, took a lot out of us,” 

“A lot.” 

(Y/N) stared at them, a look of suspicion on his face as he studied them momentarily. Sam and Dean had always made a point to go on supply runs when they needed food. They were rather picky about some of the ingredients that they bought, mainly the snacks that they would always put on the list. They never stayed home because a hunt ‘took a lot out of them’. Even hunts that had taken them weeks to complete and copious amounts of back-breaking work never seemed to tire them out enough to constitute them staying home. Something was up, but (Y/N) didn’t know what it could have been. 

“Right…” (Y/N) drew out. “Well, I’m gonna need the keys.” He held out a hand to Dean.

Dean slowly raised his brows, glanced down at (Y/N)’s open palm, and then looked back up at him. “Keys?” He asked in a small voice. 

“Yeah, keys. To Baby.” 

“Well, uh…can’t you…can’t you take another car? I mean, you’ve never driven Baby before and I wouldn’t want your first time-” 

“There’s more trunk space in the Impala than any other car we have here. There are three fully grown adults I need to shop for. I need the space. Keys.” 

“Right, right,” Dean slowly reached into his pocket and hesitantly took out the keys to the Impala. He held them out to (Y/N). He paused before quickly dropping them in his hand. 

(Y/N) smiled. “Thanks,” he pocketed the keys. “And, don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.” 

With that, (Y/N) placed his hands into his pockets and walked out of the room. Dean watched him leave, a weary look on his face. He opened his mouth repeatedly as he tried to get words out, but they seemed to be caught in his throat. Before he could say anything, the heavy sound of the bunker door echoed throughout the halls. Dean pressed his lips together tightly and ran his fingers stressfully through his hair. Sam couldn’t help the smirk that appeared on his face. 

“You know, this was your idea, right?” He quirked. 

“Shut up,” Dean grumbled and placed his hands on his hips. “I just gotta think of something else. Do we have everything?” 

“Uh, yeah. Decorations, candy, movies, costumes,” Sam grimaced at the last word he spoke. 

“Okay, alright,” Dean clapped his hands together. “I’ll give Cas a call then we can get to work.” 

“I’ll grab the stuff,” Sam sauntered out of the library. 

Dean pulled his phone out of his pocket, dialed Castiel’s number, and placed the phone against his ear. It didn’t take long before he heard Castiel’s voice on the other end. 

“Hey, Cas, (Y/N) just left. We’re ready to get set up. How soon can you be here?” 

*~*

“Stupid people don’t know how to fucking drive. Stupid cops for not knowing how to block off a goddamn road.” (Y/N) grumbled as he walked into the bunker, slamming the front door shut. As he descended the steps leading to the War Room, he cupped a hand on the side of his mouth. “Dean! Sam! The supply run was a bust! They have half the route to Salina blocked off because of a high-speed chase or some shit, and I’m not about to spend another hour in the car to get to Grand Island. I’d rather wait until you guys are feeling-” 

(Y/N) turned the corner into the library and stopped. His eyes widened as he looked around. Strung along the pillars were purple and orange lights shaped like Jack-O-Lanterns. Orange and black balloons tied to weighted bags were strewn about the place with small bats scattered around each balloon. A banner hung across the room, connected to the center pillars, that read HAPPY HALLOWEEN. The wooden tables were covered with cheap tablecloths, alternating between orange, purple, and black. On the first table was a large, clear, plastic bowl filled with liquid, several smaller bowls with various snacks and candies inside, a plate of those cheap Pillsbury Halloween-themed cookies, a plate of caramel apples, plastic cups, and paper plates. A projector was set up on the next table, facing away from (Y/N). One thing he immediately noticed was that the tables had been pushed together, giving more space along the far wall for a hanging projector screen as well as four beanbag chairs that rested side by side on the floor. 

The decorations weren’t the only thing that (Y/N) noticed, however. Standing in the middle of the library were Sam, Dean, and Castiel. Only, they weren’t in their normal outfits. Sam stood tall - taller than he normally did - in black platform shoes, a brown button-up shirt with shoulder pads placed underneath, and tattered jeans. His face, neck, and arms were painted comically green, and plastic screws were placed on his temples, giving him the classic Frankenstein look. Dean, on the other hand, wore a vintage-looking Ghostbusters uniform with Venkman written on the nametag. A bulky black backpack was placed on his shoulders as a makeshift proton pack, and he paired it with his black combat boots. Castiel had the best outfit of them all. He wore a solid black skin-tight outfit that covered his skin from the base of his neck downward, a black hat with long antennae sticking up, clear rounded wings that stuck out beside him, and a black and yellow striped body suit that was slightly too big for his frame. 

(Y/N) stood there, taking in all the detail around him, mouth ajar. Sam, Dean, and Castiel looked at one another. Sam and Dean gave slightly awkward smiles. Dean shrugged his shoulders and gestured around him. 

“Surprise!” He said. 

The exclamation shook (Y/N) out of the trance he had been in. He let out a breathy laugh. “What’s all this?” 

“Well, back at the diner, you said that you had always wanted to dress up for Halloween as what you wanted, but never got the chance to,” Sam began. 

“So, Sam and I had the idea that, since you didn’t get to dress up as you wanted to when you were little, we might as well give you a chance to do it now.” Dean finished.

“But…you guys hate Halloween.” (Y/N) couldn’t help the smile that appeared on his face, his heart swelling up with warmth and appreciation. 

“I don’t hate Halloween. Ebenezer Scrooge over here does,” Dean gestured towards his brother. 

“Ebenezer Scrooge hates Christmas, Dean,” Sam deadpanned. 

“Eh, toe-may-toe, toe-mah-toe.” Dean shrugged. “And since we didn’t want you to dress up by yourself for this, we got costumes of our own. I’m Peter Venkman, the best Ghostbuster, Gigantor is Frankenstein, and then Cas is-” 

“I’m a Honey Bee,” Castiel said with a bright, proud smile. 

(Y/N) chuckled. “I can see that,” he said and walked closer to them. “Guys, you didn’t have to do this for me.” 

“We didn’t have to, but we wanted to,” Sam said. “We saw how much it meant to you and figured that we could forget about hunting for one night if that meant you would have a great time. Oh!” Sam turned and walked over to the table with the projector on it. He pulled out one of the chairs and grabbed a plastic Walmart sack. He held it out to (Y/N). “We got you a couple of costumes as well. We didn’t know what you would have wanted, so we got a variety.” 

(Y/N) graciously accepted the bag and brought it close to him. “Thank you, but, I actually had a costume that I’ve been saving for a rainy day. It’ll take me about thirty minutes to get everything ready, but I promise I’ll be quick!” 

With a pep in his step, (Y/N) hurried out of the library before any of them could say a word. He jogged down the endless hallways until he got to his room. When he walked inside, he tossed the bag onto the bed and rushed to the other side of his bed. He got down on his knees, reached underneath the frame, and pulled out a storage trunk. He unclipped the locks and revealed the contents, the smile never leaving his face. 

As he got ready, he could feel the excitement flooding his body. The idea that he would finally be able to show off the skills that he had gathered from years of practice made him happier than he had been in a while. He was still in a state of shock. He couldn’t believe the extent the boys had gone to to make him happy. To live out a childhood memory that he held so near and dear to his heart. To give him the proper memories that he wished he could have had when he was little. He had to stop now and then to compose himself as he thought about it, but they weren’t sad, regretful tears like he would have normally shed. They were happy tears. Joyous tears. Tears that he didn’t mind shedding, but not while he was getting ready. He would shed them later. Everything had to be perfect. 

Forty-five minutes later, (Y/N) was ready. He had given himself a pep-talk, double-checked his references from his past attempts at the makeup style he had chosen, and checked to make sure his outfit was on correctly in the full mirror that was placed in the corner of his room. When everything had been looked over and he felt satisfied with the result, he walked out of his bedroom and headed back towards the library. The sound of his boots echoed throughout the hallway. 

“Sorry it took so long,” he said as he rounded the corner. “I just had to get everything right.” 

He stopped a little ways away from the group, who sat at one of the tables. Their eyes shifted to him as soon as he walked in. Each of them scanned him up and down, studying his outfit. 

(Y/N) wore a short blonde wig that was slicked back neatly so that no strand was out of place, black sunglasses, an earpiece over his left ear with a microphone that stopped at the corner of his lips, a blue button-up with the sleeves rolled halfway up his arms and the S.T.A.R.S logo on his left sleeve, a combat vest equipped with a radio that the earpiece connected to, black pants with a holster strapped to his right thigh, black fingerless gloves, and black boots with laces tied neatly at the top. He had added some definition to his face with the help of makeup, sharpening the edges of his jaw and cheekbones. 

Sam raised his brows. “Woah,” he said. 

“That’s awesome!” Dean smiled. “Are you that one guy from that videogame you showed me? What was it? Silent Hill or something?” 

“Close. Resident Evil. I’m Albert Wesker,” (Y/N) held out his arms. 

“How did you get your face to look like that?” Dean narrowed his eyes as he stood to get a better look. 

“Makeup.” 

“Makeup can change the appearance of your face like that?” Castiel asked with his head slightly tilted to the side, the antennae on top of his head shifting with his movements. 

“Yeah! It’s all about placement and what products you use.”

“Where did you learn to do that?” Dean asked.

“I’ve been practicing for years.” 

“So, wait,” Sam stood. “You’ve cosplayed before?” 

“Well, not out in public I haven’t, but I’ve been working on my cosplays for a couple of years, trying out different styles and techniques. It was the closest thing that I ever came to dressing up for Halloween.” 

“Why didn’t you tell us? You’re really good at it!” 

“You think so?”

“Yeah! You’re like a whole new person.” 

(Y/N) beamed. “Thanks.” He then glanced towards the table and noticed Sam’s laptop had been brought in and hooked up to the projector. He tilted his head. “What’s this?” 

Sam looked down at his computer. “Well, what’s a Halloween celebration without horror movies?” 

“Yeah! And Cas hasn’t seen Ghostbusters before!” Dean exclaimed, seeming genuinely offended by his own statement. “Ghostbusters! He’s never seen it! Can you believe it?” 

“I’ve never understood why people would want to watch a movie based around the idea of being scared.” Castiel shook his head. 

“Because, to normal people, it’s make-believe Cas.” (Y/N) answered. “They don’t consider the possibility that there are actual monsters out there killing people. They like to believe that it’s all fictitious plots created by Hollywood. Ghostbusters, though, is more comedy than horror. I think you’ll love it.” 

“So are we watching it?” Dean asked. 

“Yeah, let’s watch it!” 

“Awesome! I’m getting myself some snacks and then we can sit in the beanbag chairs and watch it. My idea, by the way.” 

“Oh, it was your idea, really?” (Y/N) asked sarcastically. 

“Hey! I wanted us to be comfortable while we watch all these movies!” Dean defended. “Plus, they’re plush! It’s like I’m sitting on a cloud! Sit in one!” 

(Y/N) couldn’t help but laugh at Dean’s evident enthusiasm. It seemed like he was just as excited about the Halloween party as (Y/N) had been. “Let me get snacks first and then we can get settled.” 

“I’ll get the movie up,” Sam said as he sat down at his computer. 

Once the movie was connected, the three of them got their snacks while Castiel went to take a seat in one of the beanbag chairs. They were, soon, all nestled in their own chair, watching various Halloween films on the projector screen. Dean was right, it did feel like he was sitting on a cloud. They talked, laughed, made fun of the cheesy jumpscares, criticized some of the terrible lore, and explained different plot points to Castiel whenever he had a question. 

In the end, (Y/N) had the most fun that he had in a long time. It had been years since he was able to feel that way about Halloween, and it brought back some good childhood memories, and the moments that they shared seemingly rewrote the bad ones, replacing them with a core memory he would never forget. He was thankful for Sam, Dean, and Castiel. He was lucky to have them in his life. He was thankful that they took the time to plan their little ‘Halloween Party’. Even though it wasn’t as extravagant as some of the parties (Y/N) had been to when he was younger, nor the ones he had seen on movies and television, he wouldn’t have it any other way. He was able to spend some quality time with the boys, show off his cosplaying skills, and watch those horror movies he had grown to know and love. 

That Halloween was the best one he ever had;

And he couldn’t wait to convince the boys to do it again next year. 

[supernaturalscribe67]

Euphoric

Words: 3,587

POV: 3rd Person and brief 1st Person

Pairing: Gabriel x Trans!FTM!Winchester!Reader

Warning(s): Fluff, Language, Dysphoria, a single mention of Deadname (D/N), self-hate, mention of past self-harm, attempted self-harm, hurt/comfort

Summary: Dysphoria can hit at any moment, and when it hits, it hits hard. The reader is going through a tough time with the way he looks, doubting himself and the people around him. When he feels at his lowest, ready to seep back into his old ways, his boyfriend, Gabriel, is there to help him out.

Request:

Hi I've been binge-reading your stories recently and I was wondering if you could do this request. :)

So a Gabriel/FTM!Reader where the reader is dealing with really bad dysphoria (possibly mentioning past SH?) and a comforting Gabe? Possibly with an established relationship?

(Would be so fucking rad if he Sam and Dean's younger brother!!)

Tysm even if you don't do this, I love your work so much and it's helped so much recently

@genekies

A/N: I'm so sorry this took so long to get out, hun! A lot has been going on at work that has taken my focus away from writing. However, I finally found the inspiration to write this with the help of my Supernatural novels that I found hidden away in a box! I really hope you enjoy this story and that it brings you some type of comfort! Feedback is greatly appreciated!

Much love~

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

Good morning, sugarplum!

Sorry, I couldn’t be there when you woke up this morning. Duty calls. I’ll be back later tonight! I hope you have a good day! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do! <3

Your Casanova,

Gabriel

Why do some people wake up with an already negative attitude? A multitude of factors could be the cause; relationship issues, low self-esteem, stress, unhealthy thoughts, and lack of sleep are just a handful of possibilities. Some have their reasonings read out to them by a licensed professional they pay an arm and a leg to visit every couple of weeks, while others lack the funds and/or the proper motivation to cope, so they bottle it up inside, casting it away to the darkest depths of their mind for weeks, maybe months. They ignore the feelings they get, the troubles that stalk them, until the bottle inside of them fills to the brim. It shakes and stirs, begging for release. It spills out, slowly at first, but then the pressure becomes too much to handle, and it combusts. 

And (Y/N) felt like he was about to explode. 

Nothing looked right. His jawline wasn’t sharp enough, his curves were more pronounced than ever, his binder didn’t make him flat enough, he was too short, the hair on his face was barely considered peach fuzz at that point, and his eyes - yes, his eyes - screamed femininity. Screamed female. Screamed everything about you is wrong. Screamed;

You are not a man, and you never will be.

It wasn’t often that his gender dysphoria acted out as bad as it had that day. Sure, there were times when he woke up and the negative thoughts just never seemed to go away. The thoughts that made certain parts of him look wrong, misplaced. Rarely had his mind told him that everything about him was wrong. Rarely did his mind tell him he wasn’t the man he wanted to be. But, when those thoughts arose, they hit him hard, as if he got struck by a semi-truck going eighty on the interstate. It hollowed him out and made him a shell of his former self. A shell that was slowly wilting away. 

His brothers were the first to notice his shift in demeanor. While he normally came into the kitchen every morning with a goofy grin on his face, a smile was nowhere to be seen. His head was cast down and he barely spoke a word to either Sam or Dean. Another thing they noticed was the lack of exposed skin he had. Usually, (Y/N) would walk out of his room clad in a t-shirt and shorts in the morning. That day, he wore a hoodie, sweatpants, and socks. The temperature in the bunker hadn’t changed, so it wouldn’t make sense that he was cold. If he had been, he would have complained about it for the rest of the day, yet he didn’t say a word. Instead, he silently got some coffee and sat down with his brothers at the table. He didn’t engage in conversation. 

Later on, the three of them sat in the library, heads buried in books and computer screens. They would typically sit around, and talk about potential hunts or random information that they had found. (Y/N) acted the same way he did when he was in the kitchen, though. He was physically present, but nowhere near as mentally present. His head was down, the cord from his earbuds wrapped around his phone, which was sitting next to the book he had been reading. It didn’t even seem as if he was actively reading the text. It had been ten minutes since he turned the page. 

Sam leaned closer to Dean, who sat next to him. “Does he seem off to you?” He asked in a low, quiet voice. 

Dean looked up from his computer and glanced over at his youngest brother. He hesitated, studying him for a moment before he nodded. “Yeah, something’s wrong with him. Has he said anything?” 

Sam shook his head. “No.” 

“Do you think it has something to do with Gabriel?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe?” 

Dean pursed his lips for a moment before he turned back to (Y/N). He leaned over and tapped him lightly on the shoulder. (Y/N) lifted his head to look at his brother and, for the first time that whole morning, their eyes connected. Dean noticed something almost immediately. His eyes were empty, void of any emotion. (Y/N) took an earbud out.

“Yeah?” He asked, voice low and monotone. 

“Hey, man, you doing okay?” 

(Y/N) looked away for a moment. “Yeah?” He shook his head and shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“You just seem a bit off today.” 

“I’m fine.” 

“Did something happen with Gabriel?” Sam asked. 

“No? I said I’m fine.” 

“Ok, well, obviously you’re not,” Dean said. “What’s going on?” 

“Nothing!” (Y/N) spoke in an exasperated tone. 

“(Y/N),” Sam leaned forward, palms flat on the wooden surface. “If something’s wrong, you know you can tell us, right?” 

“Nothing’s wrong! Will you two stop fucking bugging me!?” He exclaimed. 

(Y/N) slammed his book shut and shoved it away from him. Quickly, he stood, stuffed his hands into the pocket of his hoodie, and stormed out of the library. Sam and Dean’s eyes were attached to him until he was out of sight. Dean and Sam shot a glance at one another, both of them opening their mouths as if to say something, but decided against it before they went back to their work. 

(Y/N) was numb, aside from the small annoyance that had bubbled up inside of him from his brothers’ persistence. One common trait that was distributed through all the Winchester siblings was the lack of willingness to talk about their emotions. It was an ideology that was beaten into them when they were younger and first got into hunting. Bury your emotions deep within, don’t let them show, and don’t let your enemy know your weakness. Hell, don’t let your allies know your weaknesses, either. They’ll turn their back on you if they see you at your lowest. Stay strong, hide your feelings, and don’t let anyone in, even if it’s family. 

When he made it back to his room, he walked over to the small dresser that was pressed along the far wall. Beside the dresser sat his tennis shoes. He grabbed them and put them on. He walked back over to the dresser, opened up the top drawer, and rummaged around in his undergarments for a moment before he fished out a pack of Marlboro Reds. The box was slightly creased, the plastic rustling in his grasp. It had been a while since he had a cigarette. He hadn’t felt the need for them, but he could feel the stress and anxiety grumble inside of him. He needed something to clear his mind. (Y/N) placed the carton into his hoodie pocket and left his room. 

As he made his way past the library archway, he was stopped by his brother’s voice. 

“Where’re you going?” Dean piped up. 

(Y/N) stopped in his tracks and turned towards them. “Out.” 

“Out where?” Sam asked. 

“Look, I’m just going to take a walk around the bunker, that’s all. Going to clear my head.” 

Dean and Sam shared a look. “You sure?” Dean asked. 

“Yeah,” (Y/N) shrugged. “Just need a breather is all.” 

“Alright, well…don’t go wandering too far.” 

“I won’t.” (Y/N) shared a small smile. 

Sam and Dean returned the smile as (Y/N) turned his back on his brothers and headed up the staircase toward the front door.

 

The afternoon sun slithered past the canopy of oak tree branches. Orange, red, and yellow leaves shined bright, painting the dirt floor like a kaleidoscope. About half a mile from the bunker, a dead tree had fallen during a heavy thunderstorm several years prior. The trunk has since been embedded in the ground, forming a natural bench in the middle of the forest. This was where (Y/N) had gone to clear his head. 

He sat at the edge of the log, back slouched, elbows resting against his knees, and hands hung limply between his legs. The smoke from his lit cig wafted upward towards the treetops. The end of the cigarette slowly withered away, a small amount of ash falling upon the autumn leaves. His eyes were cast down and glazed over, the thoughts in his mind running at a hundred miles an hour. 

You’re delusional. A man? No one would ever consider you a man. You look nothing like a man. Nothing like what you want to, and you never will. You’ll always look like the girl you were born as. You’ll always be (D/N), and there is nothing you can do about it. Sam, Dean, Gabriel? They’re all lying to you. They’re feeding into your delusion because they feel bad for you. They don’t love you or support you. They’ll never see you as a man. Never have and never will.

(Y/N) lowered his head as he brought the cigarette up to his lips. He inhaled deeply, feeling the burn of the smoke filling his lungs, before he brought the cig away from his mouth. He tapped the end of the cig, the ash falling onto the ground. As he shifted, the sleeves of his hoodie lifted, the remnants of depressive episodes from his past peeking out through the cotton fabric. His eyes shifted to the discolored scars. He could remember how he felt when he first made the scars. The relaxation he felt afterward, the relief. It was a distraction from the pain he felt within. It was a distraction that he desperately craved. 

For a moment, he looked at the end of the cigarette. It was slowly dwindling to half its original length. He shifted it in his fingers and brought it to his wrist, stopping right before the end of the butt touched his skin. He hesitated and contemplated. (Y/N) closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and moved the cig closer to his arm. 

“Hey Sugarplum,” the voice came out of nowhere. 

(Y/N) let out a startled shout, the cigarette fell to the ground as he turned toward the sound of the voice. Sitting beside him on the log was Gabriel, his signature smirk etched onto his lips. (Y/N) sighed and leaned down, grabbed the butt, brought it to his lips, and took a final drag. He then lifted his foot and put the cig out on the bottom of his shoe before he flicked the remnants onto the ground. He placed his hand on the log and exhaled, the smoke leaving his lungs and creating a halo around his head. 

“A little birdie or two told me you went on a walk. The little birdie also told me you weren’t feeling the best.” Gabriel said as he reached an arm around (Y/N)’s shoulders. 

(Y/N) could feel himself instantly relax at Gabriel’s touch, the tension leaving his shoulders. So much was going through his head. So many emotions beating at his heart, begging to be released, begging to be expressed. Yet something was stopping them. 

“I’m fine,” (Y/N) said, his voice soft. 

The smirk was gone from Gabriel’s face, his expression turned more serious. He inched closer to (Y/N) so that their sides were pressing against one another. He pulled him close. 

“You know that’s not true,” Gabriel whispered. He pressed his nose against (Y/N)’s cheek. He ran his fingers through his hair softly and soothingly. “I can hear everything going on in your pretty little head, sugar, and I know that it’s not quiet.”

Gabriel’s closeness was comforting, something that he had been craving all day. The longer Gabriel sat next to him, the more relaxed he felt, yet the demons were still scratching at the inner crevices of his mind. With the mixed feelings he experienced, it was all so overwhelming. (Y/N) recognized the familiar prickle of tears appearing in the corner of his eyes. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” Gabriel breathed as he wrapped his arms around (Y/N)’s body, pulling him as close as he could, his head resting on Gabriel’s chest. 

(Y/N) sniffled as he allowed the tears to fall, something that didn’t happen very often. Something he would, normally, not let himself do. Be vulnerable. Vulnerability is what gets you killed in the hunting career, and there was no time for that. Still, the warm feeling of Gabriel’s arms wrapped around him made him feel at home, made him feel safe, and told him that it was okay to let himself go. 

Gabriel rubbed (Y/N)’s back. “Do you want to tell me what’s bothering you?” He asked quietly. 

(Y/N) hesitated for a moment as he clasped his hands together. He rubbed the back of his knuckles, a soothing gesture he learned from a young age. “I don’t…” he trailed and let out a sigh, shoulders slouched. “I don’t look like a man.” 

“What?” Gabriel furrowed his brows. 

“I don’t look like a man, okay!?” (Y/N) exclaimed and moved away from Gabriel, standing abruptly. “I mean, look at me! I’m so short and feminine! Look at my hips! Look at my face! Everything about me is wrong. Everything about me isn’t what it’s supposed to be and it’s killing me.” (Y/N)’s voice got louder, frustration evident in his tone. 

The tears were freefalling, and (Y/N) did not attempt to wipe them away. Gabriel simply stared up at him, listening, a saddened expression making its way across his face. 

“Do you have any idea what it’s like to wake up and look at yourself in the mirror and see nothing but a body that you hate? A body that you don’t want to be in? That you feel like you don’t belong in? It feels like my life is a lie, that I’ve just been kidding myself when I said that I could finally be the man that I always wanted to be. Everything that you or Sam or Dean have said about me, validating my emotions, supporting me through everything, was just some pathetic pity party in an attempt to make me feel better about myself, even though, deep down, I know I’m not going to look anything like I want to. I’m not going to be the man that I’ve always dreamt I’d be because I’m stuck. I’m stuck in this worthless body that I was forced to have and I can’t do anything about it. I want…” 

The tears were coming faster now, his words becoming shaky, almost unintelligible. 

“I want to be happy…but I look at myself and I just can’t.”

Gabriel stood and walked over to him. “(Y/N), look at me,” he reached down and cupped (Y/N)’s wet cheeks, lifting his head so that he could gaze into his reddening eyes. He used his thumbs to wipe the tears away. “Do you want to know what I see when I look at you?” He had a smile on his face. 

(Y/N) sniffled. “What?” 

“I see a handsome, strong, brave man who risks his life daily for the people that he loves. I see a man with a heart of gold, who would do anything to make other people happy. I see the most handsome man on the face of this planet, the most wonderful man that my father had ever created. More importantly, I see your soul.” 

“My soul?” 

“Yes, your soul. I see how bright, beautiful, magnificent, and glorious it is. How perfect it is. The man you truly are.” 

(Y/N) looked down at the ground. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Gabriel’s middle. Gabriel wrapped his arms around him, running his fingers through his hair. 

“I know it’s hard some days. You look at yourself and don’t like what you see. You feel like there’s nothing you can do to change it. That people aren’t going to see you for who you are. I hate to break it to you, sugarplum, but that’s all I see.” He chuckled deeply. “All I can see is the man you are. The man you were meant to be. And some days are going to be harder than others, you're going to beat yourself up more than you should, and that’s okay. Because, in the end, you’ll get through this. You’ll gain your confidence back. You’ll see yourself and finally say ‘This is me’, and I am going to be with you every step of the way.” 

Gabriel leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the top of (Y/N)’s forehead. 

“Because I love you. Every part of you. The parts that you like and the parts that you don’t like. I love it even more when you’re happy with yourself. When you love yourself. And even if I pop in one day and you’re dressed as an Oompa Loompa with a five-foot-tall bright green and yellow mohawk and a beard the size of Gandolf’s, then I would still love you.” 

(Y/N) snorted and let out a short laugh. “You’re ridiculous.” (Y/N) shook his head. “An Oompa Loompa?” 

“Hey, it’s not my place to judge if or when you decide to dress up as an Oompa Loompa.” 

(Y/N) rolled his eyes, a smile curled into the corner of his lips. Gabriel brushed his wet cheek with his thumb. 

“Feeling better?” He asked softly. 

“Yeah, a little.” 

“Good, I’m glad. And I’m proud of you.” 

(Y/N) furrowed his brows and glanced up at Gabriel. “For what?” 

“For telling me how you feel. If I know anything about you Winchesters, I know that that wasn’t easy.” 

“It wasn’t. But…it felt good.” 

Gabriel nodded. He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss against (Y/N)’s lips. When he pulled back, he stared lovingly into his eyes. 

“You’re my person, (Y/N). The person that I love and care for, and if you ever feel like this again, just give me a shout and I’ll be there faster than you can get my name out of your mouth. I never want you to be alone when you feel like this. You don’t deserve to be alone through this. Promise me that you’ll call me next time you feel like this?” Gabriel’s hands trailed down from his face to his arms and stopped to grab his wrists gently. He rubbed them softly through the sleeves.

(Y/N) opened his mouth and hesitated. “I can’t promise, but I’ll try.” 

“That’s all I needed to hear,” Gabriel smirked and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “Now, do you want to go back to the bunker? We can cuddle on your bed, and watch some of those terrible reality TV shows. I think I have a bit of an addiction to 90-Day-Fiance.” 

(Y/N) smiled. “Do you mind if we sit out here for a little bit? It’s a beautiful day out and…I’m not quite ready to go back inside yet.” 

“Of course, anything for my sugarplum,” he leaned forward, his nose brushing gently against (Y/N)’s. 

“Thank you,” (Y/N) whispered. “I love you. I don’t deserve you.” 

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong. You deserve the world and every beautiful thing in it.”

“I don’t want the world. All I want is you.” 

“Then have me you shall. Forever and always.” 

“Forever and always?” (Y/N) lifted a hand, his pinkie finger sticking out. 

Gabriel smirked and chuckled. He lifted a hand, hooked his pinkie onto (Y/N)’s, and looked deeply into his eyes. 

“Forever and always.”

My Dearest (Y/N),

I’m writing this, not as one of my regular notes, but as a reminder to you. I want you to pack this away somewhere safe where you can take it out and read it whenever you feel down about yourself in any way. 

You are strong. You are brave. You are handsome. You are perfect. You are loved. You are you. 

I know it’s hard to see yourself in a positive light at the moment, and everything may seem like it’s closing in as if nothing is going right and it will never get fixed, but, just know, you’ll make it through this. Just like you’ve done on multiple hunts, you will prevail. You will conquer the enemy, even if that enemy is yourself. 

Remember, you don’t have to fight this battle alone. I’m here for you, and so is Sam and Dean. We all love you so much and we want you to be happy! We love seeing your smile when you walk into a room. You brighten our day just by being you, and nothing will ever change that. 

If you need anything, anything at all, just think of me, and I will be there for you. We can watch your favorite movie and I’ll even bring you some of those little dessert cakes you like from the cafe I took you to on our first date. Even if you don’t want to talk to me about it, I want you to know that you don’t have to suffer in silence. Not while I’m around. I’ll always be by your side, no matter what you go through. 

I love you,

Forever and always,

Your Casanova, 

Gabriel

[supernaturalscribe67]

This might be really specific but I have an idea if you feel like writing it. Something about reader ending up talking about how he used to hate halloween as kid because he never got to dress up the way he wanted, it always had to be something like a princess, a witch, "girl costumes" and then maybe he never dressed up when he got a little older as hunting started happening and there was never a party or something like that and since Sam and Dean know pretty well what a shit childhood feels like, team free will ends up preparing a halloween night with candy and horror movies and most important of all, costumes. So it's the first time he gets to dress up as whatever he wants just for fun.

I honestly love how specific this request is because I relate to this prompt hardcore. I'd love to write this! I'm gonna add it to my queue and I should be able to get it out just in the nick of time for Halloween!

Much love!

[supernaturalscribe67]

Thank you so much for writing my Gabriel request, the story is amazing!

AH! Thank you! You're so welcome! I'm so glad that you liked the story, that just made my day!

[supernaturalscribe67]

Sucker

Words: 6,602

POV: 3rd Person

Pairing: Gabriel x Trans!FTM!Winchester!Reader

Warning(s): Fluff, Language (had to tell Dean to shut the fuck up a couple times), brotherly bickering

Summary: The reader is introduced to Gabriel, the famous trickster/archangel, for the first time, much to his brothers' dismay. What the reader didn't expect from their first meeting was to meet a rather handsome man with smooth talk to match. What happens when he starts to get feelings for the person that annoys Sam and Dean the most?

Request:

Do you write for Gabriel as well? If so, could you write something about maybe the reader being Dean and Sam's younger brother (the relationship was really cute in "aginst the grain" and "lucky", i'd also love ftm reader, but it's up to you if you want to make it specific or not) and Gabriel finally meets him, making the other two go kinda protective over that, it's Gabriel after all, he has messed with them a lot in the past. They'd probably go especially uneasy if Gabriel gets kinda flirty or if so does the reader.

Anonymous

A/N: Someone take my computer away from me. Once I start writing, I can't stop. This wasn't supposed to be that long but holy Hell, I guess it's this long. I hope I did your request justice and I hope I wrote Gabriel well! Feedback is greatly appreciated!

~ Much Love!

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

(Y/N) loved having the first shower after a hunt. 

The water was always hot, the perfect relaxer for his muscles that would undoubtedly ache the next day. Despite how long he had been hunting, certain aspects of the job made him feel like a rookie. Salt and burns were one example. That night, he had been tasked with helping Dean dig out the grave while Sam kept an eye out for security and any apparitions that would make a surprise appearance. For the first thirty minutes of digging the hole, he felt alive, like a rush of adrenaline was coursing through his veins. Perhaps the idea of committing a crime was to blame for that. Near the half-hour mark, he could feel the muscles in his arms beginning to strain, but the job had to be completed. 

It took two hours to dig four feet to the coffin - he cursed the dry Southern weather for making the dirt so coarse - and by the end of it, his arms fell limp and weak at his sides. His legs felt some irritation from pushing the shovel into the ground, but they weren’t nearly as affected as his upper arms. He sent a silent prayer to whoever might be listening that the next hunt didn’t involve as much manual labor. If they did run into a ghost, he at least hoped the ghost held an attachment to an object that they could easily burn. Gravedigging was the last thing he wanted to think about. 

He showered for forty-five minutes, longer than he had anticipated, but the water had placed him in an exhausted trance. Truth be told, he could have fallen asleep under the shower spray. He just hoped the cheap motel held enough warm water in their tanks for his brothers to experience some relaxation. 

Motel towels were always scratchy on the surface of his skin. It was annoying, but there was some relief in knowing that the rough texture would guarantee a more thorough cleaning. Despite the cheap body wash he always snagged from the local dollar store, he never felt dirty leaving a motel bathroom. Once his body was dried, he put on his boxers and an oversized t-shirt, thankful for Walmart’s wide variety of sizes so he could conceal his chest. He placed both hands on either side of the sink, staring into the steam-covered mirror. He reached up, drew a small smiley face in the center of it, and watched as the eyes and mouth dripped. The warmth of the small room was comforting, and he was finding it difficult to leave. 

A loud knock rapped on the door. “You gonna spend any more time in there? If I take a cold shower, I swear to God,” Dean’s voice came in muffled through the wooden door. 

“I’m coming, I’m coming, don’t get your pretty silk panties in a twist,” he grumbled, and he could practically feel his brother’s eye roll through the door. 

A sigh passed his lips as he looked at the smiley face he had drawn, which looked as if it had melted away in the hot sun. He reached a hand up and wiped the remnants of the picture away. As he retracted his hand, he could see his reflection in the opaque glass. Dark circles had begun to form under his eyes, a side effect from hunting. The endless, restless nights seemed to be getting to him and aged him more than he would have liked. He groaned as he straightened up, brought a hand up to his face, and ran his fingers over his eyes, nose, and cheeks. 

When he opened his eyes again, instead of staring into a reflection that mirrored his presence, to his left, behind his shoulder, stood a man. Time froze. A playful smirk appeared on the man’s lips. He was short - compared to Sam and Dean, at least - with dark brown hair swept back neatly against his head. Stubble was placed along his jaw, chin, and upper lip. His sideburns were shaped with a slight point on the end of them, facing outward. He had a button-up shirt on, the top two buttons were undone to expose a small puff of his chest hair, and a dark green jacket. 

(Y/N)’s eyes widened as he stared at the man in the mirror. The air became heavy. He could feel his presence behind him, but he wouldn’t dare turn around. 

“So, you’re the famous baby Winchester?” The man raised a brow. 

His voice startled (Y/N). He turned around quickly and came face to face with the stranger. 

“I’m a little surprised,” the man scratched his head. “I would have thought that you would look, you know, more like your brothers.” 

(Y/N) could feel his heart pounding in his chest as if it was trying to escape. The fear bubbled inside of his gut. He had no weapons on him, yet the man didn’t seem like a threat. Nonetheless, there was a strange man in the motel bathroom with him. One who just appeared out of thin air. That was cause enough for alarm. His eyes glanced towards the closed bathroom door. 

The man looked at the door and then back at (Y/N). “Oh, please don’t scream.” 

“Sam! Dean!” (Y/N) shouted as he rushed to the door. 

The man groaned and rubbed his temples. In the same instant that (Y/N) got the door open, the man vanished. (Y/N) stumbled out of the bathroom and into his eldest brother’s arms. Dean staggered, his back pressed against the wall. Sam stood next to them, a look of worry crossing his face.

“What happened? What happened?” Dean asked with alarm in his voice. 

“There’s a guy! He-he,” (Y/N) turned to look behind him, a hand lifted to point in the direction of the bathroom, but stopped himself from talking once he saw that the man was gone. 

Dean looked into the bathroom, brows furrowed. He and Sam stepped away from (Y/N) and toward the open door. Dean glanced inside, checking behind the door and in the shower. Dean threw his hands up. 

“What guy?” He asked. “There’s no guy here, you almost gave me a heart attack.” Dean placed his hand over his chest as he walked out of the bathroom. 

“There was a guy! He just appeared behind me!” (Y/N) said. 

“Are you sure, (Y/N)?” Sam asked, doing a sweep of the bathroom from the doorway. “It doesn’t look like anyone besides you has been in here. There aren’t any windows, so no one could have gotten in. Are you sure you’re not just tired?” 

“I saw him!” 

“Sure you did, kid,” Dean walked up to him and clapped his shoulder. “Maybe you should lay off the horror movies for a while.” 

“Now, that’s not very nice, Dean-O. No need to tease him like that,” the voice appeared in the center of the room. 

All heads turned toward the sound of the voice. The man, who had been in the bathroom with (Y/N), stood in the center of the room. The playful smirk that had been on his face earlier was ever-present. (Y/N) grabbed Dean’s arm and moved closer to him. He pointed frantically at the stranger. 

“That’s him! He was in the bathroom!” 

Sam furrowed his brows. “Gabriel?” 

Gabriel raised his arms in a presentation-type pose. “The one and only.” 

“What the Hell are you doing here?” Dean asked, his tone more irritated than anything.

“Gabriel? As in, the archangel Gabriel?” (Y/N) asked his tense shoulders slouching as his body relaxed. 

“Again: the one and only,” Gabriel smiled. “And, to answer your question, Dean, a little birdy told me that you were in town, so I figured I would stop by, and see my favorite Winchesters. Heard the youngest was here, and I thought it was about time we met. Although, I heard that you had a younger sister. Must’ve been a mistake.” 

“Yeah, that’s a mistake alright.” Dean placed his hands on his hips. “Alright, you came in, you saw us, now can you please leave?” 

“Woah, woah, what happened to hospitality? Why don’t you introduce me to your brother, here?” Gabriel sauntered over towards the three of them. 

“No, now get out.” 

“Not until an introduction is made.” 

“Gabriel, we just got off of a hunt. We need some rest, now can you please leave?” Sam crossed his arms.

“Come on, guys, it’ll get him out of here so we can go to sleep,” (Y/N) mumbled before he turned to Gabriel. He held out a hand. “(Y/N) Winchester,” 

“(Y/N),” he said the name as if testing it on his tongue. He reached out, grasped (Y/N)’s hand gently in his own, brought it up to his lips, and gave a small kiss on the back of it. “Gabriel. Nice to finally meet you.” 

(Y/N) raised his brows, his cheeks heating up with blush. Dean rolled his eyes and swatted Gabriel’s hand away from (Y/N). 

“Alright, alright, none of that,” Dean grumbled, sending a death glare toward Gabriel. “You know his name, now get out.” 

Gabriel ignored him, his eyes stuck on (Y/N). “So, (Y/N), aside from being good-looking, what do you do in your free time?” 

Dean and Sam both groaned and rolled their eyes, shaking their heads. (Y/N) felt his chest warm up the same as his face. He glanced down and fiddled with his fingers. Gabriel licked his lips, the corner of his mouth curling up into a smirk. 

“Cat got your tongue?” He questioned. 

“Well, I’m trying to think of something to say, but all I can think about is how cute you are.” 

Gabriel looked at him, amused shock crossing his face. He straightened up for a minute, but, before he could say anything, Dean held his hands up. 

“That’s enough,” Dean interjected, glancing at (Y/N) and then at Gabriel. “Leave.” 

“But I’m having such a nice conversation,” 

“Gabriel,” Sam spoke up, moving between (Y/N) and Gabriel, towering over him. His voice was low, intimidating. “Go.” 

Gabriel raised his hands in mock surrender. He snapped his fingers and disappeared in front of the brothers. “Okay, okay, I’ll leave,” Gabriel’s voice came from behind the trio. 

They all turned around. Gabriel stood right before (Y/N), eyes attached to him. He reached behind his back for a brief moment and pulled it back around. In his hand was a red rose with a short stem, free of prickles. He held it out. 

“A parting gift, for you.” 

(Y/N) hesitantly took him, a small smile on his face. “Thank you,” 

Gabriel shrugged. “I know it’s not as beautiful as you, but it’s the best I can do for now.” 

“Gabriel,” Dean warned. 

“I’m going, I’m going.” Gabriel shook his head. “I hope to see you again soon, sweetheart,” He pointed at (Y/N).

“We’ll see.” 

Gabriel winked before he snapped his fingers and disappeared from the room. 

The room was quiet aside from the faint humming of the cheap air conditioner. (Y/N) studied the rose that Gabriel had given him. It appeared freshly in bloom, the red petals curled at the ends, the floral scent evident even from a distance. The stem was slightly wet from being cut. (Y/N) brought the flower to his nose and inhaled the intoxicating smell as he turned around to face his brothers. When he looked up, he immediately noticed the ‘if looks could kill’ gaze in their eyes. 

“What?” (Y/N) asked and shrugged. 

“Really?” Sam asked. 

“What?” 

“You know,” Dean began. “I’ve stopped butting in when you flirt with someone at a bar, or when you want to take someone back to a motel. I’ve learned to shut my mouth. But Gabriel?” 

“Geez, you two are acting like I’ve slept with him.” (Y/N) scoffed, brushing past them as he walked toward his bed. 

“Ooo, all I can think about is how cute you are,” Dean mocked.

“Will you shut up!?” 

“He’s an archangel, (Y/N).” Sam nodded. “And you see no problem with flirting with him?” 

“What? I can’t flirt with who I want now? It’s not like he’s a bad guy…technically.” 

Dean sighed. “He’s off limits, (Y/N).” 

“I’m an adult, Dean! I can flirt with whoever I want.” 

“Not an angel! I mean…come on. Don’t you remember what he did to us? To Sammy and me?” 

“Look, Dean, I get it, trust me, but it was just some comments, okay? Like I said, it’s not like I hooked up with him or anything. He just flirted with me so I flirted back. Took a page out of my Dean Winchester book of flirting.” (Y/N) walked over to the bed and sat down on the side of it. “You don’t have to worry about him, okay? Now, why don’t you guys just take your showers so we can go to bed and head out in the morning.” 

Dean opened his mouth to say something but stopped himself. He let out a huff as he turned to look at Sam. They stared at each other, but said nothing, as if they were talking to one another telepathically. Finally, Dean shook his head. 

“Fine, but I get the next shower,” Dean mumbled as he sauntered over to the duffel bag that sat beside the queen-sized bed opposite (Y/N).

“Dean, I called the next shower,” Sam frowned. 

“Too bad, can’t get next shower if I get there first,” 

Sam glanced at the door to the bathroom, his duffel bag which sat at the table, and then Dean. Dean grabbed his night clothes from his bag and began to make his way over to the bathroom. Quickly, Sam rushed to the bathroom. Dean picked up his speed and the two of them wrestled in the doorway for a moment, mumbling to one another. Sam eventually pushed Dean out of the way and slammed the door shut, the cheap wood vibrating against the frame. Dean growled. 

“How the Hell are you going to get out of there without your clothes, bitch?” He called through the door. 

“I’ll figure it out, jerk,” Sam’s muffled voice replied. 

Dean scoffed and rolled his eyes before he sauntered over to his bed and slouched on the edge of it. “Can you believe him?” He gestured to the door dramatically. 

(Y/N) snorted. “I think you’re both idiots,” he reached down and pulled the comforter away from his body, pushing his legs underneath. “Now hush while I get some sleep.” 

“Yeah, yeah, goodnight,” Dean grumbled. 

“Goodnight, Dean,” 

*~*

The rumble of the Impala’s engine was silenced over the deafening sound of Led Zeppelin’s “Stairway to Heaven”. Dean sang in an off-key tune as he drove, Sam tried to ignore him in the passenger’s seat, and (Y/N) blocked everything out, deep in thought as he leaned against the back passenger’s window. He was staring off into the distance, at the long line of trees and bushes they passed, but none of it registered. His mind was elsewhere. 

He was thinking about Gabriel. 

It had been a week since their interaction, and, for the life of him, he couldn’t keep the angel out of his mind. He never had someone who showed as much interest in him as Gabriel, and (Y/N) hadn’t lied. Gabriel was pretty cute. Was it the way the smirk seemed permanently etched on his lips? Perhaps the way his flirtatious remarks flowed out as smoothly as they did. Maybe it was in the look in his eye when he asked to see him again. 

Regardless, there seemed to be nothing that could take Gabriel off of his mind. 

“(Y/N)!” Dean’s boisterous voice echoed through the car. 

(Y/N) jerked his head up to look at his brother in the rearview mirror. He hadn’t even noticed the music had been turned down, now softly playing in the background. 

“What?” 

“Man, I’ve called your name about ten times. You okay?” 

“Yeah, yeah, sorry, just…thinking.” 

“Yeah, I know that takes a lot out of you.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” (Y/N) scrunched his nose as he reached over and lightly kicked the back of Dean’s seat.

“Hey! Be nice to Baby! She didn’t do anything to you.” 

“Yeah, well, she was caught in the crossfire.” 

Dean rolled his eyes. “Anyway, Sam’s pretty sure we have another ghost case.” 

(Y/N) groaned. “Another one?” 

“Yeah, just a simple salt and burn.” Sam shrugged his shoulders. “Apparently this young couple, who just bought their house, has been reporting paranormal activity at their place. The husband’s mother even came to stay with them for a little while and, while she was there, she claimed that someone pushed her down the stairs when she was going to do laundry in the basement.” 

“So? Her son tried to kill her to get the life insurance money. Doesn’t sound like a ghost hunt to me.” (Y/N) said. 

“Husband was at work, and so was the wife. They even have alibis and security footage to prove it.” 

“Okay, so then the mother’s old and cryptic and just fell down the stairs. Old people fall down the stairs every day, that’s why Life Alert was invented.” 

“She’s forty-two.” 

“Jesus, how old is her son?” 

“Twenty-one. His wife is twenty. High-school sweethearts according to what the newspaper says.” 

“Gross.” There was a pause. “I still don’t think it sounds like our thing. Maybe we should check something else out.” 

“You’re not getting out of the salt and burn, (Y/N).” 

(Y/N) groaned and leaned back in his seat, arms crossed lazily over his chest. “Fine! But I’m not doing the digging. I’ll be on guard duty.” 

“No,” Dean said. “I’m going to be on guard duty this time.” 

“Why?” He whined childishly.

“Because I helped dig the grave the last two times. We take shifts, remember?” 

(Y/N) shook his head. He placed his elbow on the window sill and put his cheek into the palm of his right hand. His forehead leaned against the glass. 

He thought back to Gabriel. The carefree attitude he seemed to have, even with the intimidating act that his brothers put on. He was an archangel, of course. Thinking about it, (Y/N) knew that Gabriel could do anything with them - he had proven that when he forced Sam and Dean into the TV universe - yet he did nothing of the sort, even when Dean had slapped his hand away from (Y/N). He seemed like a good person - angel? - and (Y/N) would be lying if he said he didn’t want to see him again. He knew that if anyone could lighten his mood from the sour situation they were driving to, it would be Gabriel. 

An arm slowly snaked its way around (Y/N)’s shoulders. He jumped, eyes wide as he turned his head to the side. Sitting next to him, in the back of the Impala, was Gabriel, the same smirk on his face that was present the first night they met. 

“Heard someone needed some company,” Gabriel said. 

Dean visibly jerked, his hand turning the wheel of the car violently. The Impala lurched to the side, into the oncoming lane, before he corrected himself and straightened the car out. Everyone shifted in their seats with the movement. Dean slammed on the brakes, the rubber screeching against the road as the car halted. Dean and Sam’s heads whipped around, their eyes wide with surprise. Gabriel was leaning back against the leather seats, legs slightly spread, one arm around (Y/N)’s shoulders while the other rested at his side. (Y/N) could feel his heart pounding in his chest from a mixture of the sudden movement of the car and Gabriel’s touch. 

“Woah, Dean-O. Gotta be careful. You’re lucky there’s no traffic,” Gabriel chuckled. 

“What the Hell are you doing here?” Dean asked, jaw clenched and eyes narrowed. 

“A little birdy told me he was lonely. A little stressed,” Gabriel turned his head to look at (Y/N). He leaned closer to him. “Miss me already?” 

Dean and Sam’s eyes shifted to their brother. (Y/N) felt the familiar heat appear in his cheeks and spread to his ears. Sam furrowed his brows. 

“You prayed to him?” He asked. 

“N-No! I didn’t!” (Y/N) defended. 

“Wrong,” Gabriel hummed. “You know, every time you say my name in that pretty little head of yours, it comes straight to me,” Gabriel reached over and tapped on (Y/N)’s temple gently. “My prayer line has been buzzing nonstop since I last saw you.” 

(Y/N)’s cheeks darkened even more. Gabriel had practically outed him to his brothers, completely contradicting what he had told them back at the motel. That they didn’t need to worry about him. That the flirty comments he made was a natural response. Now his brothers know that Gabriel had been on his mind. Now they knew that they had something to worry about. 

Dean’s mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. Eventually, he stopped, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath, undoubtedly trying to clear his mind. When he opened his eyes, he pointed at his brother. 

“You. We’ll talk later.” He turned to Gabriel. “You. Get out.” 

“Aw, come on, Dean, let me ride for a little bit. Make your brother feel better,” Gabriel rubbed (Y/N)’s arm.

Dean narrowed his eyes. “No. Get out.” His voice was deep, dark. 

Gabriel scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’ll go. Again.” 

“Good,” Dean turned around eyes back to the empty road in front of him. His hands returned to the wheel, clenched tight enough to make his knuckles a ghostly white. 

Gabriel glanced at (Y/N) with an apologetic expression before he reached into his pocket. He pulled out his clenched hand and held it towards him. As he opened his hand, (Y/N) could see a small candy heart in the middle of it, colored pink. In the center of the heart Be Mine was printed. 

“Another parting gift. A sweetheart for a sweetheart.” Gabriel smirked. 

(Y/N) smiled and took the heart. “Thank you.” 

“Anything for you, sugar.” 

“Leave Gabriel,” Dean bellowed. 

“I’m going, I’m going.” He grumbled. He looked back at (Y/N) and winked. “I’ll see you later.” 

He snapped and, once more, he was gone. 

(Y/N) glanced down towards the candy. It was one of those cheap candies that you got from Walmart when you wanted to give something out to your classmates for Valentine’s Day. Despite the cheap appearance, the message on it was worth more than anything. It validated any emotions that he had for Gabriel. The mere idea that Gabriel felt the same way as he did made his heart soar, the butterflies swarming inside of his stomach. With a small smile, he closed his hand around the heart and placed his hand in his lap. 

It was then that he noticed they hadn’t resumed their drive yet. He looked in the front seat to see both of his brothers staring at them, unamused expressions on their faces. The smile (Y/N) had turned into an awkward grin, his shoulders tensed. Sam and Dean looked at one another and conversed in that telepathic communication that they always do before they wordlessly turned back to the road. Dean glanced one more time in the rear-view mirror, shook his head, and then started down the road again. 

(Y/N)’s shoulders slumped and he turned to the window. He placed his elbow on the window sill and his cheek in the palm of his hand. 

It was going to be a long night. 

*~*

I fucking hate ghosts. 

His muscles hurt worse than last time. If he didn’t know any better, he would say his arms felt as if they were going to fall off. His calves ached a bit, but not nearly as bad as his biceps. 

The hunt took longer than expected - most of the graves in the cemetery they had gone to were unmarked, souls long since forgotten by the people who had buried them. The records in the cemetery’s office weren’t much help, either. The three of them spent two hours trying to find the grave that belonged to the ghost, two more hours digging up the plot with major pushback from the spirit, and an extra hour attempting to leave the cemetery without getting caught - apparently, grave robbers were a common occurrence in that small Maryland town. 

Even the morning after, (Y/N)’s entire body ached and was stiff. It felt like every part of him had been put through a meat grinder. When he moved, his muscles tensed and burned as if he were on the surface of a thousand suns. His brothers felt bad for him, in a way. They could see how hurt he was and decided to let him rest while they went out to get some breakfast, some greasy diner food that all of them, even Sam, desperately needed. 

As (Y/N) lay in his bed, still clad in his sleepwear from the night before, to ignore the aches and pain, his mind shifted to a familiar thought; Gabriel. 

The same thoughts that had been invading his mind for the past two weeks entered his head seamlessly. The thoughts of Gabriel’s words, his flirtatious tone, the way his hair was swept back, the way the corner of his lips curled into a smirk whenever he would look at him, and the glimmer that danced in his irises. While Gabriel took up most of his mind, another thing that (Y/N) couldn’t get out of his mind was Sam and Dean. He thought about their disapproving gazes, the irritation in their tone as they talked to or about Gabriel, and the shake of their heads when Gabriel finally vanished. 

His brothers weren’t shy when it came to their objections. When they had gotten into town for the hunt, Sam and Dean made sure to speak out about the situation. (Y/N) felt as if he was a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Dean was the one that was mostly vocal with Sam taking a back seat and butting in now and then. While (Y/N) could appreciate that his brothers were looking out for him, he stood strong on the fact that he was an adult. He could make his own decisions. Gabriel was an angel. It wasn’t as if he was flirting with a demon. He knew his brothers would have a conniption if it was Crowley instead of Gabriel. Still, (Y/N) was their little brother. He had a feeling that they were going to be protective no matter who he showed interest in. 

That wouldn’t stop him from trying to pursue Gabriel, though. 

In the two instances they met, Sam and Dean had been in the room with them when they talked, leaving little to no time for them to have an actual conversation or get to know one another. Granted, Gabriel must know more about him than anything, considering the lack of privacy he had in his head. That only gave him more of an incentive to learn everything he could about the archangel. 

He had to talk to Gabriel alone. 

(Y/N) had never prayed before. He always left his brothers to the praying when they needed Castiel involved. It was a new experience, and he didn’t even know how to start. 

Slowly, (Y/N) adjusted himself on the bed so that his back was pressed against the wooden headboard. He placed his hands in his lap, slightly folded. 

“Um…Gabriel…” he trailed as he tried to think of how he could continue. “Uh…it’s me. (Y/N). I think we need to talk.” 

“You know, the last time someone said that to me, it didn’t end well,” Gabriel’s voice came from in front of him, near the end of the bed. 

(Y/N) let out an audible gasp, startled. His throbbing muscles tensed for a moment before they relaxed, a shot of pain coursing through his body. 

“Jesus, we need to put a bell on you angels,” (Y/N) mumbled. 

“I’ve been thinking about that. Do you think it’ll look good on me?” Gabriel pursed his lips and dramatically posed. 

(Y/N) snorted and shook his head as he chuckled. Gabriel joined him and walked over to the bed, sitting down. The bed dipped. 

“I can see your bodyguards aren’t here.” 

“Yeah, they went out to get some breakfast a bit ago.” 

“Well, that’s good. Now I can talk to you without getting kicked out. What did you want to talk about anyway?” 

“Well-” 

“My handsome good looks?” Gabriel smirked. 

“Uh-”

“How about my smooth talking?” 

“Gabriel-”

“What about the way you get butterflies in your stomach when you’re near me?” Gabriel placed a hand on the bed and leaned closer to him. 

(Y/N) could feel his cheeks heat up once again. The butterflies Gabriel referenced swarmed. He looked away for a moment before his eyes shifted down towards his hands in his lap. 

“Gabriel.” 

“Yes?” 

“Do you like me?” He moved his eyes to him. 

Gabriel seemed surprised by the question at first, straightening himself up. 

“I mean…” (Y/N) paused, attempting to collect his thoughts. “You flirted with me back at the other motel, you had your arm wrapped around me in the car, you’ve been listening to my thoughts, er, prayers, I guess. Is this just…a flirty little thing that you like to do or…are you really interested in me?” 

“Of course I am,” Gabriel shrugged. “I mean, you don’t see me flirting with your brothers, do you?” 

“No.” 

“Casual flirting isn’t normally my thing. When I flirt with someone, I really, really like them, and I really, really like you.” His voice was deep and smooth like velvet. 

(Y/N) smiled, his eyes never leaving Gabriel’s face, despite the bashful need to do so. “Well, I hope it helps that I really, really like you, too.” 

“Oh, trust me, I can tell,” 

(Y/N) rolled his eyes. “Are you going to kiss me or not?” 

Gabriel chuckled as he reached over, his hand gently caressing his cheek. Their lips connected without another comment. (Y/N) closed his eyes and, almost immediately, melted into the kiss. He could feel a warm, tingling sensation course through his body, touching down his arms, torso, and legs. Their lips moved in sync. (Y/N) raised his hands, his fingers entangled in Gabriel’s silky hair. 

(Y/N) pulled away before he wanted to, the need for air overwhelming. He stared deep into Gabriel’s whiskey eyes. It didn’t take long before that smirk reappeared. (Y/N)’s thumb gently brushed over Gabriel’s scruff. 

“Your kiss is even sweeter than you are,” (Y/N) spoke in a soft tone. 

“Oh, please, nothing is sweeter than me,” 

(Y/N) chuckled. “Kiss me again.” 

“With pleasure.” 

Gabriel leaned in and kissed him once more. He moved onto the bed so that his legs were on either side of (Y/N)’s body and he hovered over him. (Y/N) took the time to wrap his arms around Gabriel’s neck gently. They tilted their heads to the side, deepening the kiss. 

(Y/N) had his fair share of kisses before, a handful of them drunken mishaps at various bars across the country, but never like the one he had with Gabriel. There was something special about it. Something that made him melt into the bed. That attracted him further to Gabriel. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he wasn’t going to fight it. 

Although, someone might. 

The door to the motel room opened. The stench of cheap breakfast food wafted into the small space as Sam and Dean entered. They froze for a moment, eyes wide in shock at what they had walked in on. It didn’t take long for them to break the trance. 

“Hey!” Dean shouted as he rushed over to the two of them. 

Just as they broke the kiss, Dean grabbed the back of Gabriel’s shirt, pulled him off of the bed, and pinned him against the wall. The cheap lights flickered at the force of the impact. 

“Dean!” (Y/N) exclaimed as he quickly stood from the bed. 

Before he could pull his brother away, Sam grabbed him by the arm, pulled him close, and wrapped his arms around him protectively. 

“What did I tell you about leaving my brother alone, huh?” Dean slammed Gabriel against the wall again, though he seemed completely unphased by it. 

“Now, Dean, if you haven’t noticed, your brother is more than capable of making his own choices.” Gabriel’s voice was calm, almost playful. 

“Yeah, with humans. Not with you.” 

“Now what have I ever done to you, Dean?” 

“What have you done?” Dean let out a dry laugh. “What have you done?” 

“Dean! Stop! You’re gonna get the fucking cops called on us!” (Y/N) hissed between clenched teeth. 

“And you!” Dean let go of Gabriel’s shirt and turned around to face (Y/N). “What happened to ‘oh, you don’t have to worry about anything, Dean, it was just for fun’,” he mocked (Y/N)’s voice harshly. “And then Sam and I come in and see you sucking face with an archangel!?” 

“First of all,” (Y/N) wiggled his arms out from Sam’s grasp. “Get off me,” he mumbled and pushed firmly on Sam’s chest. Sam’s feet were firmly planted, but he removed his arms from around his brother. (Y/N) backed up a couple of steps and brushed his shirt off. “I told you, Dean, I’m an adult and I can make your own decisions! And who the Hell says ‘sucking face’ anymore, anyway? What is this? 1980?” 

“The point is, you told us you weren’t going to do anything and here you are…doing something!” Dean pointed an accusing finger at him. 

“Dean’s right, (Y/N),” Sam shook his head. “You know, we support you in everything that you do, but Gabriel?” 

“Hey, I take offense to that,” Gabriel appeared behind (Y/N). 

“Good, I hope you do,” Dean said. 

(Y/N) groaned. “You guys are acting like you walked in on me having sex with him or something! It was a kiss!” 

“His tongue was in your mouth, (Y/N),” Dean spoke with a hint of disgust.

“Shut the fuck up, Dean!” 

“Alright, alright, hey,” Sam held up his hands. “Look. All we want to do is look out for you, okay? It’s our job to protect you.” 

“And I want you guys to keep protecting me,” (Y/N)’s shoulders slouched. “I’m not saying I don’t want you to. I like Gabriel, okay? I really do. And it’s not just some hook-up in-a-bar kind of feeling. It’s feelings-feelings. You know? The things we never talk about? I can’t explain it, but I feel…a connection to him. Like Dean feels with Castiel.” 

“Woah, woah, hold on. I don’t feel that way with Cas.” 

“Dean, we all know you do,” Gabriel spoke up, shaking his head. 

Dean clenched his jaw. “I don’t wanna hear another word out of you.” 

“Look,” Gabriel began. “I’d never do anything to hurt your brother. I know I haven’t been the, well, nicest with you two. But I like (Y/N),” Gabriel shrugged. “I’d like to get to know him more, and I know that he would like to do the same.”

Sam and Dean stared at Gabriel, their eyes piercing. They never blinked, as if studying him. Sam leaned over to Dean. 

“Dean, I think he’s telling the truth,” Sam spoke in a low voice. 

Dean looked at Sam with furrowed brows. “Really?” His tone was defensive. “How do you know he’s not lying?” 

“Dean, (Y/N) is right about the fact that he’s an adult, okay? Maybe we should just…take a backseat on this?” 

“You’re kidding, right?” 

“I hate this just as much as you do, Dean, but you know that even if we disagree with is, (Y/N) is just going to find a way to see him anyway.” 

“Not if we handcuff him to one of us,” Dean mumbled. 

“I’m right here,” (Y/N) crossed his arms. 

“The point is,” Sam said. “If Gabriel is serious, what better person besides us to protect him than an archangel? I mean, we have Cas, yes, but Cas isn’t an archangel.”

Dean opened his mouth to say something but was having a hard time coming up with an argument to shoot back at his brother’s statement. Instead, he sighed as he reached a hand up and ran it down his face. He could feel a headache coming on. Silence flooded the room as the four of them stood there. 

“Fine,” Dean grumbled. “I won’t say anything about Gabriel coming around. But I don’t wanna walk in on anymore face sucking.” 

“No face sucking or any other kind of sucking while sharing a room, got it.” (Y/N) smiled. 

Dean shot him a look of disgust before he turned to Gabriel. “And you. If you hurt him-” 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Fire and brimstone and pitchforks and torches. You’ll have the whole Winchester Army after me,” Gabriel waved his hands around dramatically. “I get it. You have my word that I will never hurt your brother.” 

“Alright, now get out of here before I change my mind.” 

“I won’t fight you on that,” Gabriel turned to (Y/N). He reached down, grabbed his hand, and placed a small kiss on his knuckles. “I’ll see you later, sugarplum.” 

(Y/N) snorted. “See you later, Casanova.” 

Gabriel winked before he snapped his fingers and vanished. 

With a smile still on his face, (Y/N) turned to his brothers. “Thank you guys, really.” 

“Well, we trust you, (Y/N),” Sam said. “We don’t trust him, but we trust you. And we trust that, if anything were to happen, you would come to us if you need help.” 

“Of course I will. You’re my brothers. I make a mess, you guys clean it up.” 

“You know, I’m pretty sure you’ll be the reason why I get gray hairs early in life,” Dean mumbled as he sauntered over to the small table near the motel door, opening the bag of breakfast food which was probably cold by then. 

(Y/N) furrowed his brows as he walked over to him. “Oh, you mean, these gray hairs?” He reached up and brushed the back of his brother’s hairline, finger gliding through the sandy blonde hair. 

Dean reached back quickly and cupped the back of his head. “What!?” He exclaimed. 

Sam snorted and (Y/N) let out a boisterous laugh. Dean’s jaw clenched as he lowered his hand to his side. 

“Ha-ha, very funny.” 

“I thought so, old man.” 

“You better watch it, bitch,” 

“Aw, I love you, too, Dean,” (Y/N) wrapped a single arm loosely around Dean’s middle. He then motioned Sam over. When Sam was close enough, (Y/N) wrapped his other arm around him. “And I love you, Sammy.” 

“Love you, too, (Y/N),” Sam smiled and returned the hug. 

Dean looked down at his brother and mumbled something under his breath before he patted him on the back. “Yeah, yeah, love you too, kid.” 

“I couldn’t ask for better brothers than you.” 

…

“Alright, enough of the chick-flick moments. Let’s eat.”

[supernaturalscribe67]

Hi I've been binge-reading your stories recently and I was wondering if you could do this request. :)

So a Gabriel/FTM!Reader where the reader is dealing with really bad dysphoria (possibly mentioning past SH?) and a comforting Gabe? Possibly with an established relationship?

(Would be so fucking rad if he Sam and Dean's younger brother!!)

Tysm even if you don't do this, I love your work so much and it's helped so much recently

I love that you guys adore the brother!reader fics that I write, because I am addicted to writing them (especially for Dean because I see that big dumb idiot as a brother). I'm also excited to write some Gabriel because it's been ages since I've given him some attention!

Hell yeah I'll add this to my queue!

[supernaturalscribe67]

Do you write for Gabriel as well? If so, could you write something about maybe the reader being Dean and Sam's younger brother (the relationship was really cute in "aginst the grain" and "lucky", i'd also love ftm reader, but it's up to you if you want to make it specific or not) and Gabriel finally meets him, making the other two go kinda protective over that, it's Gabriel after all, he has messed with them a lot in the past. They'd probably go especially uneasy if Gabriel gets kinda flirty or if so does the reader.

Oh, absolutely! I love Gabriel, and it has been a hot minute since I wrote for him! And more brother Winchester? LOVE IT! I'll get to work on this as soon as I can!

Much love~

[supernaturalscribe67]

I just wanted to say thanks for sharing your stories. Thank you specially for the ftm!reader ones, they make me really happy (also made me cry with the last one but i am not complaining)

Aww! Thank you so much! That means to much to me to hear that people are enjoying my writing! I'm also glad to see that my trans!reader stories are getting some attention as well. I know there aren't a lot of them in the fandom and I wanted to make sure that I wrote good ones with how small the number was.

Thank you for your kind words, they mean so much to me! I hope you have a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening

Much Love~

[supernaturalscribe67]

Family Don't End in Blood

Words: 8,170

POV: 3rd Person

Pairing: TFW x Trans!FTM!Reader [Platonic]

Warning(s): Transphobia, Homophobia, Slurs (f-slur/t-slur), Childhood Trauma, PTSD, Language, Mention of Childhood Abuse, Mention of Neglect of a Child, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Deadname mentioned ( [D/N] = Deadname )

Summary: 

The past is a crazy concept, isn’t it? A chain of events that happened before a certain time, constructed of words and actions that cannot be altered.

The reader lived a great life in the bunker. He had everything that he could ever ask for - people who loved him, a roof over his head, and the perfect support system. But, when a ghost from his past reappears, the reader must face his demons and come face to face with the two people who made his life a living hell; his parents.

A/N: The names and likenesses presented in this story are not meant to represent any specific person or persons. Feedback is much appreciated. DO NOT READ if any of the warnings are triggering to you! Keep yourselves healthy, keep yourselves safe!

Much love~

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

The past is a crazy concept, isn’t it? A chain of events that happened before a certain time, constructed of words and actions that cannot be altered. People say to leave the past behind you. That it’s meant to be left alone, to be forgotten, in some instances more than others. One would assume that it would be an easy task to do such. You get sucked into the rhythm of day-to-day life and, suddenly, the past is irrelevant. It doesn’t matter what Carol K. said in the fourth grade behind your back to her group of preppy rich girls, or what you received on the last Halloween you ever went trick-or-treating before you realized you were too old. What happened, happened, and now you have to trek through your daily life like you know what you’re doing or what the future holds. 

A funny thing about the past is that it has a habit of creeping up on us when we least expect it. Most are in the form of a familiar song, simple words or phrases used in everyday speech, or a meal that one may not have had for years. Instances like that trigger nostalgia, sometimes bringing about good memories, while others remind people of the terrors that they had once faced. For some, however, the past doesn’t resurface at the mere mention of a street name or the town one used to live. Some are contacted by the ghosts of who they once were. The ghosts that still haunt the deepest crevices of their mind, shut away in a box as a form of comfort to get through life without having to relive the pain the spirits put them through. Sometimes those spirits get loud, and sometimes those spirits get out. 

(Y/N)’s ghosts broke out of his box a week prior, on a sunny afternoon that was spent cooped up in the Men of Letters Bunker. Everything about that day had been normal. He got up, made himself some breakfast, and watched some television while he relaxed before retreating to the quiet library with his computer. He took the time to scour the endless news articles in an attempt to find a hunt, something Sam was more adept at, but gave up thirty minutes in. Just as he was about to turn off his computer to find another way to occupy himself, his phone began to buzz beside him. The number on the screen caused his heart to stop, his skin to pale, and his eyes to widen. 

It was his ghost. 

She had broken out. 

He wasn’t going to answer. Everything in his body was telling him that it would be the worst thing that would happen to him if he picked up the phone, but morbid curiosity can make a person do things that they don’t want to do. So he picked up the phone and, for the first time in over a decade, he heard his mother’s voice. 

He wasn’t too sure how mentally present he was during the duration of the conversation, some of the things that they talked about were easily forgotten, but there were several things that he noted while they talked. Her voice was different since the last time they conversed, probably due to the Marlboros she snuck now and then behind the garage. He doubted she had broken her habit after he left. Her tone of voice was still the same, though. A sickeningly sweet voice that could fool anyone, and had fooled him more times than he could count on both of his hands. Even as they spoke, the voice was getting to him, telling him that things had changed. That they were different. That they were the way they were supposed to be. The other part of him, the sane part, told him how crazy he was for even thinking such thoughts. 

The major part of the conversation that stuck out to him was his mother’s request, something that caught him completely off guard.

“Why don’t you and your friends come down next week? Have dinner with us? It’s been so quiet since you left, and we really need to catch up!”

Lights flashed, alarms blared, and red flags were scattered around his mind. A warning sign to make up an excuse, to tell her that he had other plans, that they were far too busy to make a silly trip down to see his parents. Alas, the other part of him was whispering in his ear, begging him for closure. Begging for some type of reconciliation. Begging for the parents that he always longed for. What started as whispers had turned into screams. 

He blamed the curiosity for giving in. 

“Oh, that’s so wonderful, sweetheart! We can’t wait to see you! I know how happy your father is going to be. He’s going to be over the moon when I tell him he’s going to see his little girl again.”

It was easy enough to convince Sam, Dean, and Castiel to join him on his trip back to his hometown. Some questions were asked and some of them were answered, some with honesty, others with vague responses. He wasn’t sure he had completely recovered yet from the conversation. He wasn’t sure that he would ever be able to. Even the days leading up to the dinner seemed to slow to a snail’s pace, almost as if time itself had been affected by their phone call as if the universe tapped into his increasing anxiety. 

(Y/N) wasn’t fit to drive, his mind not yet returning to the present. Dean sat behind the wheel of his Impala, asking periodically for directions. From the backseat, (Y/N) would mumble out each response, his eyes cast out the window at the passing scenery. The words of the ghost repeated in his head as they drove. 

“He’s going to be over the moon when I tell him he’s going to see his little girl again…”

“...his little girl again…” 

“...his little girl…”

“...little girl…”

“...girl…”

GIRL.

(Y/N) came out to his parents when he was eighteen, and that decision changed the course of his life forever. When he walked in, the fear stirred inside of his chest like a hurricane about to strike the shore, he could never fathom what harsh words and actions would have come as a result of him doing so. The hurricane inside of his chest had been released into the house, sending a whirlwind of profanity and shattering objects every which way. He wondered if the living room still had the hole in the wall from when his father broke his mother’s antique vase against it. Going into the initial conversation, he expected some hesitancy, some disappointed looks, perhaps, but the outcome was far worse than he had ever considered. 

He met Sam and Dean by chance, having been on his own for several years at that point, and a victim of a witch gone rogue. He had heard rumors prior of Supernatural entities existing outside of the campfire stories children told at summer camp, but he never expected them to be real. His morbid curiosity kicked in after he was saved, and years later, he lived with the brothers in the bunker. His life was better, they accepted him for the man he truly was and he felt like he could be himself around them. When Castiel was introduced, he received the same heartwarming welcome that he had gotten from the brothers. He finally had a family that loved him and cared for him, and it was all he could have ever asked for. Life was going well. 

Then his box broke open. 

And his curiosity got the best of him again. 

Perhaps it would be different that time. The last time he did something on instinct rather than intuition, it got him into a wonderful, supportive family. Perhaps his parents had realized how serious he was when he came out to them. A decade is a long time to go without talking to your child. People can change. He had to believe that. Another part of him laughed. Of course, they didn’t change, why the hell would they suddenly decide to be supportive of you now? He wasn’t too sure about the answer. All he could do was have a small, sliver of hope that there was a chance that reconciliation awaited him. 

He needs to learn to lower his expectations. 

.~.

The Impala drove at a steady twenty miles per hour down the road, past the line of newly developed housing created about twelve years prior, and into the neighborhood filled with a mixture of tall and short houses dating back to the early 1910s. Back when (Y/N) was a child, it was the only part of the neighborhood that he knew, and from what he could tell nothing had changed much. Some new colored houses here and there, a fence or maybe two, but other than that, most of the houses along the winding road had stayed the same. Dead ends were still dead ends and the hills were still, undoubtedly, too high to climb over when the winter weather hit. He was thankful they took the trip during the summer. 

His childhood home was located down one of the sideroads in the deepest parts of the neighborhood. As they drove past houses, he could remember the names of children that used to live there, the times when they used to play together in the street or the creek that was a mile away. Those were good times, and a part of him wished he could relive them. He wondered what each of those children was up to. Either extremely well off or locked away for drug abuse. That was how most small-town children grew up. He was part of the small percentage that glided steadily in the middle of the chaos. He wasn’t a bum drug addict, but he wasn’t rich either. 

The house was almost unrecognizable. What used to be an ungodly piss yellow was now a basic blue color, edging on navy, with white trim. It gave the building a farmhouse-style aesthetic. The porch that wrapped around the front of the house had been painted recently, evident by how bright the white color was, and new foliage lined the driveway and walkway up to the front door, a mixture of bushes and flowers. They looked well taken care of. He gave his parents kudos for taking such good care of the exterior. He could faintly recall his mother mentioning something about retirement during their conversation, but he wasn’t certain. 

Dean pulled the car into the driveway, behind a new Ford F150 painted red. He killed the engine and the four of them sat still for a moment, the silence weighing heavy on all of them. Not much was said during the entire car ride there. Even AC/DC played low and was respectful of the preferred quiet. 

“This the place?” Dean broke the silence, turning his head to look at (Y/N). 

“Yeah…” (Y/N)’s voice was monotone, almost robotic. 

“You know, we don’t have to be here if you don’t want to.” 

(Y/N) finally tore his gaze away from the house to look at Dean. He shook his head. “I’m fine,” he answered, though he wasn’t sure how convincing he made it sound. 

“Alright, if you say so. Wanna lead the way?” 

“Yeah.”

(Y/N) took a moment before he exited the car. As he stepped out, he felt as if his body weighed a ton, as if rocks were tied to his ankles and wrists. Sam, Dean, and Castiel followed his lead. He wasn’t too sure how long it took to get up to the front door. It felt like he was walking through his past, year after year and memory after memory, from the time he brought all of the luggage in after his parents inherited the house from his maternal grandparents to the moment he was thrown out forcefully by his father with nothing but the clothes on his back and a small will to live. When he regained consciousness, he eyed the door cautiously. They had painted the door, too. It was now white, much like the porch and trim. 

Before he got a chance to knock, the door was yanked open, causing him to jump violently, eyes wide. 

Standing in the doorway was a short, stout woman, and it took (Y/N) a while to realize that it was his mother. The years hadn’t been nice to her. Her teeth were off-white, and her thinner lips cracked in a large smile that fit on most of her face. The wrinkles around her eyes, lips, and across her forehead were more prominent than ever, and it seemed as if she had neglected to dye her hair recently, slivers of grays poking through her roots. She wore a long-sleeved shirt, despite the heat, and a skirt that reached down to the middle of her calves. 

“(D/N)!” She exclaimed in a childlike voice, arms outstretched wide as she approached him. 

An uneasy smile made its way onto (Y/N)’s lips. “Hey, Mom,” he mumbled, returning the hug hesitantly. 

“Oh! Your voice sounds so deep, dear,” she giggled and pulled back, a hand placed gingerly against her chest. “I hope you’re not getting sick.” 

“Nope…not getting sick.” 

His mother narrowed her eyes as she reached up, fingers running gently through his hair. She hummed. “You know, I liked you better with longer hair. You just look like a boy now,” her nose scrunched. 

“Yeah…” 

His mother glanced between (Y/N) and the men standing behind him. She bit her lip in anticipation. “Well?” 

“Well?” (Y/N) furrowed his brows. 

“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends?” 

The question registered in his mind slower than he would have liked. He had honestly forgotten that Sam, Dean, and Castiel stood behind him. He turned his head sharply to look at them. 

“Right! Um, Mom, this is Sam, Dean, and Castiel,” he introduced them, gesturing towards each of them when he mentioned their name. 

His mother held out a hand to them individually, giving them a firm shake. “Hi, it’s nice to meet you all. As you know, I’m (D/N)’s mother, but you can just call me Clara. If you call me Mrs. (L/N), I’ll start looking around for my mother-in-law, and she’s been dead for years!” She howled in a high-pitched laughter. 

(Y/N) frowned. “Grandma’s dead?” He asked in a quiet voice. 

Clara’s laughter died quickly as she placed her hand on her cheek. The corner of her lips curled downward. She opened her mouth to speak but found it difficult to find the words she had been looking for. Finally, she reached an arm around (Y/N)’s shoulders, pulled him close to her, and gestured with her head inside. 

“Let’s go see your father, sweetheart! He’ll be so happy to see you!” She smiled again as she pulled him past the threshold of the front door and into the house. 

Sam, Dean, and Castiel glanced at one another, their brows raised. (Y/N) had told them little to nothing about his family or the life he lived before they met. They weren’t even aware that his parents were still alive. In the world of hunting, living parents were a rare occasion. However, with the first interaction with his mother, they realized that his parents seemed to be dead to him, even if they weren’t buried six feet under. 

“Now I see why he hasn’t talked to us about his family,” Sam mumbled just loud enough for the two other men to hear before he stepped foot into the house. 

Castiel’s brows were knitted together in his signature confused expression. “I don’t understand,” he spoke in a voice that was as low as Sam’s had been. “Why did (Y/N)’s mother call him by his deadname?” 

Dean opened his mouth to say something but stopped himself. He reached over, clapped a hand on Castiel’s shoulders, and answered simply, “Because his parents are dicks, Cas,” before he followed his brother into the house. Castiel followed soon after, mulling over the answer. 

The interior was just as updated as the outside. It seemed (Y/N)’s parents put their retirement to good use. The old, rustic floors were replaced with newly refurbished wooden flooring with a dark stain, all of the furniture seemed to be less than five years old, each of the rooms had been given a fresh coat of paint to replace the wallpaper and wooden panels which were popular in the 1950s, and the ceilings no longer had bundles of popcorn strewn about. The wretched smell of mothballs had even dissipated and was replaced by a Scentsy that smelled of wildflowers. 

Clara led (Y/N) into the living room. The basic shape of the living room had been the same since he last saw it, except the large leather couch they once had was replaced with a beige sectional and the 20” box TV had been replaced by a massive 75” flatscreen. His father sat in the living room in his recliner, the same recliner he had when (Y/N) was a kid. His feet were elevated and a can of Bush Lite rested in his hand. 

His father didn’t age well, either. What had once been a full head of hair was now replaced by thin, silver strands that ran from either side of his skull in a comb-over. Age spots began to materialize across his face and hands. His skin seemed leathery and shriveled, his nails brittle. His fingertips were stained yellow, indicating he had started smoking, the same bad habit his mother couldn’t seem to break. They were perfect for one another. His back was slouched as he watched TV, a hump beginning to form near the base of his neck. For a man in his late fifties, his father seemed like he was hitting his early seventies. 

“Greg! Turn the damn TV off and come see your daughter.” Clara scolded. 

Daughter. The anxiety began to bubble inside of (Y/N)’s gut, but he kept it at bay.

Greg turned his head away from the screen and smiled. “Well, I’ll be damned, I didn’t hear you pull up.” He clapped his hands onto his knees and hoisted himself out of the chair. 

“Of course, you didn’t hear her pull up with that TV being so loud. I told you you need to turn it down.” 

“I can hear just fine, woman. You don’t need to tell me anything.” 

Greg shuffled over to the two of them and was quick to wrap his arms around (Y/N), pulling him close. (Y/N) returned the hug just as hesitantly as he had done to his mother. Greg reeked of cigarettes, and it was obvious that he smoked about a pack a day. At least his mother was good at hiding her addiction from outsiders. His father, not so much. (Y/N) tried to keep a straight face when he pulled away, despite the putrid smell. 

“I missed you so much, baby girl,” he mumbled as he patted (Y/N)’s shoulder. 

“Missed you, too, Dad,” though his tone said otherwise. 

“And these are (D/N)’s friends,” Clara turned towards the men behind them. 

Greg’s gaze turned towards them and straightened up almost immediately as if to make himself appear taller, more dominant. He stepped past (Y/N) and Clara so that he stood in front of the group. He held out his hand to each of them, exchanging names and handshakes. As they talked, (Y/N)’s eyes were cast down towards the floor. 

Shame was a mild word compared to how to truly felt. He had never told the boys his deadname. Never had he even considered doing so, but by dragging them to his childhood home, he had opened up a gateway of forbidden knowledge. The knowledge that he had hoped to keep in the back of his mind. Once his ghost opened up the box, she let everything out with it. He realized how much of a fool he was to pick up the phone. That the little hope that had bubbled inside of him was blind, that there was nothing to back up any idea that his parents had changed. They hadn’t changed. They had merely brushed his transgenderism under the rug as if that fateful night ten years ago didn’t occur. 

Clara’s voice pulled (Y/N) from his thoughts as her hands came up to rest on his shoulders. He jerked and looked over at her with a startled expression. Clara smiled. 

“Why don’t you and I go into the kitchen and finish up supper while the guys talk?” She asked in that sickeningly sweet voice. 

“Um,” (Y/N)’s mouth had gone dry. “Sure.” 

“Great,” her smile tightened. “We’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything.” She turned to the four other men in the room. “Would you boys like anything to drink?” 

They declined her offer with polite, forced smiles. Clara then led (Y/N) past the archway, into the hallway, and toward the kitchen. Greg placed his hands on his hips and gestured towards the sofa. 

“Why don’t you boys have a seat? Make yourselves at home. I’ll be back in a moment. Gotta take a piss. The ol’ bladder ain’t what it used to be ya’ know.” He let out a deep chuckle and headed for the hallway. 

They watched as Greg left. When he was out of sight, the three of them walked around the sectional and sat down. The door down the hallway clicked shut, and the faint sound of a radio and fan could be heard. Dean licked his lips and leaned forward. 

“Alright, we have to say something,” he said. 

“Dean,” Sam began. 

“No, Sam. We now know why (Y/N) never told us about his parents. I mean, you saw the way that he was. Something had to have happened. He looked scared. That wasn’t our (Y/N).” 

Sam sighed. “I know what you mean, but…it’s not our place to say anything to them.” Sam shrugged. 

“I believe I agree with Dean,” Castiel folded his hands in his lap. “(Y/N)’s demeanor is not what I am used to. He’s secluded. I was unable to hear what he was thinking because of how…chaotic his thoughts were at the moment. I’ve never seen him like that before.” 

“Well then, what do you suggest we do?” Sam asked. 

They sat in silence for a moment, Sam looking over in Dean’s direction, Castiel doing the same, while Dean’s eyes were focused on the floor. His lips were pursed in thought. Both Sam and Castiel knew what Dean wanted to do. He wanted to yell at them, give them a true Dean Winchester what for. Tell them that they were some of the worst parents on the face of the Earth with some colorful language mixed in. However, Dean knew that there was a time and a place for behavior like that. Run-down bars were a perfect example, not someone else’s house. He knew that they couldn’t go into that fight guns blazing. They had to be careful about it. Malicious. 

Moments of silence passed before Dean leaned back against the sectional. He crossed one of his legs lazily over the other and ran his fingers through his hair. He listened carefully to the faint sound of radio chatter and fan blades from the other room. 

“I say we just…use his correct name and pronouns whenever we talk about him,” Dean shrugged his shoulders. 

“That’s it?” 

“Yeah…that’s it.” 

Sam poked his tongue into his cheek and nodded. “And you won’t blow up.” 

Dean shook his head. “Can’t promise, but I will try to be on my best behavior,” he held up a hand. “Scout’s Honor.” 

Sam sighed. “Alright. Yeah…” he nodded. “But if (Y/N) tells us to stop…”

“Then we stop,” Dean finished. “But I’m not calling him by his deadname.” 

“It truly doesn’t suit him,” Castiel said, head tilted and eyes cast off in the distance. 

“No, it doesn’t,” Sam agreed. 

“It’s settled then?” Dean asked. 

“Settled,” Sam and Castiel nodded. 

.~.

Dinner was served around 5:30. It was a simple meat and potato meal, some cheap excuse of a salad served in an antique salad bowl, greens, and dessert for the road. Everyone had gathered in the dining room, just off the living room. They also seemed to have renovated that room since (Y/N) left. Previously, they had a cheap wooden table with a couple of mismatched chairs scattered around it. Now, the dining table looked lavish, mahogany with a dark stain and extravagant carvings on the legs. The chairs were wooden, the same color as the table, with white pads on the backs and seats. The wallpaper had been torn off and replaced with a bright beige with dark trim. A chandelier hung above the table that appeared to cost more than most of the renovation. Tasteless picture frames hung on every corner of the walls, some containing old family photos while others had strange abstract paintings inside. 

Greg sat at the head of the table while his wife sat at the other end. (Y/N) sat next to his mother, Dean right across from him. Sam sat next to Dean and Castiel sat next to (Y/N). Each of them had a hearty serving of food on their decorative dinner plates. Greg dug into the food almost immediately as it was served, Clara was delicate with her eating, and everyone else was respectful and slow with their bites. Even Castiel ate some of the food, despite his celestial lack of taste. (Y/N) picked at his food, mostly, but ate a few bites now and then to appease his parents. 

“So, (D/N),” Greg started with a mouthful of food, a bit of gravy dribbling out of the corner of his mouth that he didn’t bother to wipe. “What kind of work did you say y’all did?” 

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, Gregory,” Clara scolded in a low voice, earning an eye-roll from her husband. “You said something about working in an office?” She looked towards (Y/N).

(Y/N) froze midbite. “Um…” he trailed. He had forgotten what it was he told his mother when they talked. 

“Something about hunters or something?” 

“Head hunters!” (Y/N) was quick to respond. “Right, right, um, yeah, sorry. Um…Dean and I are head hunters at Cerner. Sam works in the tech department and Castiel works in sales.” 

“Oh! That’s nice that you all get to work together! Now, Cerner, I heard about that place, but I can’t for the life of me remember what it is,” Clara’s face scrunched up. 

“We sell medical equipment and hardware, but we’re able to work from home since we live a couple of hours away from the main building.” 

“Ooo, medical equipment,” Clara cooed. “You must make a good amount of money.” 

“Yeah…some.” He mumbled and took another bite. 

Greg finally picked up the cloth napkin beside him and wiped the corner of his lips. “So where do y’all live, then? Since you get to lazily work from home…” 

“We live together near Lincoln, and the closest office is in Kansas City. It would just be easier to work from home instead of driving all that way.” (Y/N) said. 

“Wait a second…” Greg looked up at him. “Together?” He asked. 

“Yeah…we live in a house together.” 

Greg chewed slower. “I don’t know how I feel about my daughter living with three men.” 

Dean snorted. Eyes shifted over towards him. He looked up and glanced towards the head of the table. “He’s not so bad to live with,” he shrugged his shoulders. 

“He who?” Greg furrowed his brows. 

“(Y/N).” 

“Who?” 

“Your son,” Dean gestured towards (Y/N) with his fork. 

(Y/N) stopped. His heart raced rapidly in his chest as his parents’ eyes shifted towards him. In an instant, he was transported back to a decade ago. The same look that was on his parents' faces back then was on them now. His mother had a look of worry, while he could see that the veins on his father’s neck were enlarged. His jaw was clenched and his eyes were narrowed and small behind his bushy brows. The fear that overtook (Y/N) on the night he got kicked out began to flood back into his gut. He could feel the hurricane build. 

It died off when his father let out a deep chuckle, however, and the fear was replaced by confusion. 

“I see (D/N) has you guys roped into that transsexual bullshit or whatever.” Greg waved Dean off. “Sweetheart, aren’t you a little too old to be playing make-believe?” Greg’s voice was deep, demeaning. 

(Y/N) frowned. “It’s not make-believe, Dad. I’m a man.” (Y/N) spoke softly, as if he was even uncertain of himself. 

Greg laughed heartily. “You know, when your mother told me she talked you into coming home, I figured, after all these years, you would have gotten some sense into that thick head of yours. But, it seems like I was wrong. Maybe we didn’t beat you enough when you were a kid.” 

“Gregory,” Clara said between clenched teeth.

“I think you beat me plenty the night I left,” (Y/N) mumbled and took another bite, though he had already lost his appetite. 

“Don’t get lip with me, girl,” Greg growled. 

“He’s not a girl, Gregory,” Castiel chimed in, his voice calm and quiet. “His name is (Y/N) and he is a man. I believe you should respect that.” 

For the first time since he got there, (Y/N) looked over at Castiel, then to Dean, then Sam. The men that he had lived with for years were right next to him. His support system was in the same room as the people who had broken him down. He was no longer alone, no longer a scared little kid who was backed into a corner. With that thought in the back of his head, he felt the fear slowly dwindle. It was replaced with irritation. Parents were supposed to love and support their children through everything they experienced. Yet, all his parents did was cast him out once he got the confidence to come to them. The people, whom he was supposed to trust with his life, had turned to the people that he despised the most.

“Respect my ass. What happened to the respect for her parents!?” Greg dropped his fork onto his plate with a clatter. “Do you have any idea what we had to go through to raise your ungrateful ass? Your mother had to drop out of college, I had to take on two jobs, and this is how you thank us? Do you have any idea the things that people have been saying about us since you left? How we’re failures for parents for letting you turn out the way you did? I couldn’t even show my face in Fred’s for the longest time after that.” 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Dad, that you couldn’t go to your watering hole and get drunk like you did every night. How dare they assume the worst of you,” (Y/N)’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

“(Y/N), I think we should go,” Sam said in a small voice. 

Greg narrowed his eyes at Sam and then at (Y/N). He pointed a meaty finger at him. “You watch what you say to me. You’re in my house. Adult or not, I will smack some sense into you.” 

“Hey, that’s not-” Sam began. 

“Gregory!” Clara spoke louder. “That’s our daughter, you can’t talk to her like that.” 

“I am not your daughter!” (Y/N) spoke loudly, his fist slammed down on the table, causing the plates and cutlery to cling together. Sam caught his glass before it could spill. 

Clara raised her brows as she looked over at (Y/N). She frowned and reached over, placing her hand on his shoulder. “(D/N)...”

(Y/N) slapped her hand away from him. “(D/N) is dead!” He shouted and stood quickly. His chair was tossed back and fell onto the floor. 

The room fell silent aside from a gasp that came from Clara. Her hand shot up to her mouth, tears brimming in the corners of her eyes. All eyes were on (Y/N). He glared daggers at his mother and father. 

“She died long before you kicked me out. I thought, after all of these years, that you, my parents, would have changed. That you would see that it was not just some rebellious fucking phase you made it out to be. But I guess I was wrong. You two never changed. You two never got better. You’re still the same worthless, spineless fucks that kicked your child out all those years ago. You’re not parents. You’re garbage. White trash garbage.” 

“Hey!” Greg’s voice boomed as he stood from his spot at the table. “Don’t you ever speak to us like that,” he advanced towards (Y/N) but was stopped with a hand on his chest when Castiel stood between them. “Get the Hell out of my way. I bet you’re one of them faggot trannys, too.” 

As Greg placed his hands firmly on Castiel’s chest to undoubtedly shove him away, Castiel grabbed his wrist, flipped him over, and pinned him against the wall. Clara let out a shout, her eyes wide. 

“Cas!” Dean bellowed as he and Sam rushed over, their hands on Castiel’s arms as they tried to pull him off, but Castiel held on with all his strength. 

(Y/N) could see the anger in Castiel’s eyes. The blue that was once there was seemingly replaced by a deep, dark red. His jaw was clenched tightly, lips screwed together in a scowl. Clara rushed from her spot at the table and towards the archway leading into the hallway. 

“I’m calling the police!” She shouted, her voice echoing in the hallway. 

“Cas, let him go,” Sam said, a tone of urgency in his words.  

(Y/N) took a couple of steps towards them. He got closer to his father so that their faces were almost touching. Greg growled and tried to pull himself from Castiel’s grip, but it was futile. 

“How does it feel Gregory? How does it feel being outnumbered? To be weak? That’s all you are. You’re nothing but a weak, washed-up, lonely sack of shit. You need to start facing reality. You don’t have a daughter anymore. Never had one to begin with. At this point, you don’t even have a son. So I want you and Clara to lose my number. Pretend that I don’t even exist, and if you even bother to contact me again, best know that I’m going to make your lives a living Hell.” (Y/N)’s voice was low, deep, and dark. 

Greg said nothing. Instead, he let out staggered breaths, spittle dribbling out of the corner of his mouth. (Y/N) backed away. 

“Let him go, Cas,” (Y/N) said. 

Castiel glanced over at him for a brief moment before he let go. Greg went limp against the wall, holding his arm tightly to his chest. Sam patted Castiel’s shoulder and began to move him away from the scene. Dean grabbed (Y/N)’s arm. 

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” Dean mumbled. 

(Y/N) gave a short nod, his eyes never leaving his father until the four of them quickly walked out of the room and towards the front door. Greg shouted incoherently down the hallway, but (Y/N) couldn’t he half-assed to care what it was he had to say. 

The sun was setting by then. The sky was painted a beautiful peach color that shifted toward the horizon to reddish-orange. They were quick to rush down the stairs and towards the Impala. Dean got in the driver’s seat, Sam in the passenger’s, and Castiel and (Y/N) got in the back. 

“Let’s get the Hell out of here. Clara was serious about calling the cops, and the porkers around here are crooked motherfuckers.” (Y/N) mumbled. 

“You don’t have to ask me twice,” Dean said. 

He started the car and the engine roared to life. Dean ripped out of the driveway, tires squealing as they rushed down the neighborhood road. 

.~.

Twenty minutes out of town and the car ride was silent. No one would dare speak. The tension in the car was so thick that you could cut it with a knife. On occasion, Dean would look in the rearview mirror at (Y/N). Each time he did so, he could see that (Y/N)’s eyes were filled with a dead stare. His gaze cast towards the back of Sam’s head, eyes glazed over, as if he wasn’t even there. He was leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees, hands clasped together. 

Truth be told, (Y/N)’s mind was far from the present. The words that Clara and Greg spoke replayed in his head over and over again. His own words mere whispers over how loud theirs were. He thought about all that he had said to them. He had been holding in his emotions for ten years, hating what his parents had become, hating that they had turned their backs on him as soon as he needed them the most. He developed a heavy resentment towards them, something that he knew couldn’t be fixed from a simple dinner visit. 

But another part of him, the child-like voice that spoke in the back of his head, wished that things had changed. Wished for the parents that he so desperately wanted. Parents were supposed to watch out for their children, to protect them, and his parents had neglected to do so. They abandoned him. What worthless fucks they were. Still, it was hard for him not to want the good parents he had hoped they would be. To hope for parents who supported and loved him. He wanted his mother to just wrap her arms around him and call him her son. He wanted his father to clap him on the shoulder and tell him how proud he was. How brave he was to come out. None of that happened. He would never get the validation from his parents that he longed for. 

And he hated it. 

He knew that Dean, Sam, and Castiel loved him. Loved him more than his parents ever would, but he couldn’t help the desperate want that clawed deep within his mind. In a way, he felt ashamed for even wanting it. He had everything in his life that he ever needed - a support system, people who loved him, a place he could call home - yet he still wanted more. He felt greedy. Selfish. 

“Pull over,” (Y/N)’s voice was small and cracked. 

“What?” Dean asked. 

“I said ‘pull over’.” He spoke louder. 

Dean frowned and looked in the rearview mirror for a moment. Reluctantly, he pulled the Impala to the side of the backroads and placed the car in park. (Y/N) opened the door and stormed out, slamming the door behind him. Dean and Sam looked at one another before they, too, got out of the car. Castiel soon followed. 

“(Y/N)!” Sam called. 

(Y/N)’s fists were clenched at his sides as he stormed down the road in long, smooth strides, away from the Impala, back towards the direction of town. 

“(Y/N), stop!” Dean hollered. 

(Y/N) didn’t listen. He kept walking. He only stopped when Castiel popped in front of him, hands placed on his shoulders. (Y/N) quickly brushed him off. 

“Get off me,” he growled, his voice not angry, but rather broken. 

He took a couple of steps away from Castiel, giving Dean and Sam enough time to catch up to them. (Y/N) stood between the three of them. He brought his hands up and wrapped his arms around his chest, hugging himself tightly. He shook his head and looked up at the night sky. 

It was a Waxing Crescent that night - God’s Thumbnail as his mother would have called it - and stars were placed meticulously in various parts of the sky. The good thing about the backroads was that there were no city lights to hide the true beauty of the sky by night. Every last constellation was visible. That was one thing that (Y/N) loved about living in the bunker. When he got tired, when he needed a break, he would walk outside, look up at the night sky, and just watch. Watch as the stars floated from one end to the other, watch as the moon shifted to welcome a new dawn. It was a mesmerizing sight. But, that night, it wasn’t comforting to him. Not like it should have been. 

“This is all my fault,” (Y/N) breathed out. He closed his eyes as his head dropped down. 

“(Y/N),” Sam reached forward, but (Y/N) pulled away before he could even touch him. 

“I was so stupid. So stupid to think that they changed. I just…I don’t know, I just had this little bit of hope inside of me that, after all these years, they would have seen me as their son. That they would have seen me for the man that I am. But I was wrong. I was so fucking stupid to believe that they would have changed. After everything that they did to me, after everything that they said to me, all I wanted was for them to tell me that everything would be okay, that they were going to stand by me through everything. That’s what parents are supposed to do, right? They’re supposed to protect their kids. They’re supposed to be by their sides through everything that they go through and they weren’t. They never were! They just sat there and berated me and threw me out because ‘how would the rest of the town look at us knowing that our daughter is nothing but a tranny piece of liberal trash’?” 

(Y/N)’s voice shook, and his eyes glimmered in the pale moonlight from tears that had appeared. 

“Well, you know what? I don’t need them! I don’t need those two washed-up, lowlife son of a bitches to look out for me. No, I got you three. I have three important men in my life who care for me, love me, and support me no matter what, even when I make a dumb decision on a hunt or when I make a fool out of myself trying to flirt with someone at a bar. I know that I can come back home to people who will be there for me no matter what. So you know what, Clara and Greg can go fuck themselves. They’re not my parents. They never were! I don’t need them!” 

His voice shifted to anger, but the shaking was still present. His tense shoulders relaxed and slouched. He reached a hand up to his face to wipe the tears away. His bottom lip began to tremble and, with his head cast down, he turned back towards the three of them. 

“How come they don’t love me?” 

Dean rushed over without a word and wrapped his arms around (Y/N), pulling him close to his chest. Sam was quick to move over to his side as well, his long arms overlapping his brother’s to embrace him. Castiel followed suit, hugging him more hesitantly than the others, but his grip was just as strong. (Y/N) collapsed in their arms, sobs falling from his lips as tears fell carelessly down his cheeks. 

“Hey,” Dean’s voice broke through the sounds of (Y/N)’s sobs. He pulled away from him, as did Sam and Castiel. Sam and Castiel kept a hand firmly on (Y/N)’s back, while Dean’s hands moved to his shoulders. “Don’t cry over them. They’re not worth it.” Dean reached up and slowly brushed a tear away from (Y/N)’s cheek. “We’re your family now, and we would never treat you like that. You deserve so much better.” 

“Dean’s right,” Sam chimed in. “You’ve gone through so much. It takes a lot of courage for someone to come out like you did, and for them to just throw you out like that…” Sam shook his head in disapproval. “We love you, (Y/N), more than anything.” 

(Y/N) sniffled and wiped the rest of the tears away. His cheeks were stained with the wet remnants of their trails and his eyes were puffy and red. 

“I’m not too good with…words or comfort.” Castiel began, hesitantly. “But I believe that it was a courageous thing to come back to your hometown and speak to your parents, even if it didn’t turn out the way you had hoped for. It takes a lot for someone to face the people who have wronged them in the past, and I must commend you on your bravery. Even though you don’t have the support of your parents with you, as Sam and Dean have said, you still have us. We love you dearly, (Y/N). You are who you are meant to be, and no one can ever change that.” 

(Y/N) lips slowly curled into a small, weak smile. “Thank you, all of you. For everything that you have done for me.” 

“No, thank you,” Dean nodded. “Dinner and a show? At least the show wasn’t as dry as Clara’s pot roast.” 

“Dean,” Sam rolled his eyes.

(Y/N) let out a light laugh. “She was never good at making pot roast anyway.” 

“I’m a better cook than her, right?”

“By a mile.” 

“That’s all I needed to hear.” Dean reached over and wrapped an arm around (Y/N)’s shoulders, pulling him close. “What do you say we head back home, order in, and watch one of those terrible movies you like.” 

“One of those shitty romcoms?” 

“If that’s what you wanna watch.” 

“And I can pick where we order in from?” 

“As long as it’s somewhere where I can get a salad,” Sam mumbled. 

“I’ll keep that in mind, Sammy.” (Y/N)’s smile widened.

Dean smirked and gestured towards the Impala. “Come on, let’s head home.” 

The four of them made their way back over to the car, each of them getting in their respective seats. The radio blasted Metallica, the tension having been lifted from the air. The Impala’s engine roared as it sped down the backroads, leaving behind a past of nothing but misery and heartbreak, and heading towards a future of love, acceptance, and compassion. 

.~.

The past is a crazy concept, isn’t it? When you think about it, some people share more good memories than bad ones. They cling to their past self and wish for a time when they could go back and relive the glory days. Others tend to forget their past and look towards the future, hoping for a new light that would bring nothing but happiness and joy. 

If you had told (Y/N) a week ago that he would be one of those people, he would have rolled his eyes and laughed in your face. The past had clung to him like the plague, dragging along with him everywhere he went. It crippled him, not only bringing his self-image down, but his self-worth as well. The words that Clara and Greg spoke to him that night were forever engrained in his mind. And while they lingered in the back of his head now and then, a louder, stronger, boisterous voice told him otherwise. Told him he was cared for. Told him he was worth it. Told him they loved him. Told him he was exactly the person that he was destined to be. It was the voices of the men that he loved dearly. 

No longer were his parents the source of his nightmares. Rather, Sam, Dean, and Castiel were the source of his hopes and dreams. They were the heroes in his story that fought back the monsters that threatened to take him out, the knights in shining armor that saved him from the highest room of the tallest tower. The ones that rescued him from the brink of despair. The ones that saved him from a lifetime of hate. They were his protectors.

They were his family. 

“A wise man once told me family don’t end in blood, but it doesn’t start there either. Family cares about you, not what you can do for them. Family’s there through the good, bad, all of it. They got your back even when it hurts. That’s family.”

[supernaturalscribe67]

Update -

Hey guys! I just wanted to let you know that, even though I haven't posted since Monday (it feels like it's been so long for me so I feel I need to explain myself), I just want to let you guys know that I didn't forget about you! I've had a raging fever the past couple of days because I work with germy kids and they have no sense of personal space.

Anyway, I haven't been able to write anything recently because of that. Even so, the think tank is completely empty, so if y'all wanna send in some requests, that would be awesome! It might get the juices flowing so that I can try to get some words on a page!

Thank you guys! Much Love!

~ JD

[supernaturalscribe67]

Lucky

Words: 4,699

POV: 3rd Person

Pairing: Dean/Sam Winchester x Trans!FTM!Winchester!Reader [Platonic]

Warning(s): Mention of surgery, references to top surgery recovery, slight gore (maybe?), language (also, maybe?), loving and supportive family members, fluff

Summary: Top surgery was never something the reader thought was possible. With the help of Sam, he was able to make his dream come true, and his brothers are there for him to help while he's in recovery.

Request:

I would absolutely love Dean and Sam with a younger trans brother who just got top surgery and is in recovery? Just fluff of like helping him wash his hair or getting things for him and reassuring them? Love your content so much!! It so nice to see some more trans content in the supernatural fandom :)

@cometcreates

A/N: I am so sorry this took a little longer to get out than I planned - work has been extremely hectic and draining recently - but I hope you like it! Let me know what you think! Feedback is greatly appreciated!

Much love!

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

People define luck in many different ways. Some say luck is a dollar bill lying on the ground, some say it’s a passing grade once they get their tests back, and others say it’s their true love. (Y/N), however, would define his luck as waking up every morning in the Men of Letters bunker with his brothers. 

Years ago when he came out to his older brothers as transgender, although they were a little confused at first, they were fully supportive. They did everything in their power to make sure that their little brother was comfortable, not only in their home and out in public but in his skin as well. They purchased a binder for him, got him better clothing, adjusted rather quickly to his name and pronoun change, and got defensive - sometimes a little too much - whenever someone misgendered him. With all that they were doing for him, (Y/N) couldn’t imagine how luckier he could get. He already had an amazing support system, what else could he need? 

At the end of last year, Sam approached him and asked him if he had been wanting to get top surgery, something they had talked about once or twice, but never regularly. When (Y/N) showed his interest in getting the surgery, Sam told him that he had done some research about different places where he could potentially get the procedure done, as well as all the criteria that certain places needed for him to qualify. After they sat and talked for a while, they concluded that, with Sam’s assistance, they would get started on (Y/N)’s journey toward top surgery. 

The months following consisted of semi-monthly visits with a psychologist Sam found in Hays, KS - all of the medical professionals required a steady diagnosis of gender-dysphoria from a registered psychologist to be able to consider the patient for the operation - as well as reading up on the aftermath of the surgery and what was to be expected. Of course, (Y/N) knew he would get all of the information from his surgeon before it was done, but he wanted to make sure he was well-informed and nothing was left out of the consultation. 

The consultation went well, and, after waiting for an eternity in the examination room, the doctor finally came in and set up the date for the surgery. (Y/N) was over the moon, and he immediately began to count down the days. Sam and Dean helped him get all of the necessary items he needed for the surgery recovery; various snacks, scar care creams, a surgical binder, a mastectomy pillow, and an extremely cozy blanket that he had begged them to buy. Even after they had gotten everything on the list, occasionally, they would buy something they thought would be beneficial for the recovery period. 

Then, they waited. Day after day went by and (Y/N) found it difficult to focus on hunting rather than the anxiety and anticipation that bubbled within him, but his brothers kept him grounded in times of distress. They could tell just how excited he was, and they never wanted to dampen the mood by turning his focus back on the job. They wanted him to keep that enthusiasm even after he had the surgery. When the day of the surgery came, they didn’t even try to calm his excitement. Just seeing how happy he was made them feel the same. 

The surgery went well. The recovery was going to be the hard part. The doctor made sure to prescribe him pain medication, which the brothers had picked up before they left the surgical center to head back to the bunker, and gave him a pamphlet describing all of his recovery needs in grave detail. Of course, they had already been well-prepared for the occasion, but it was nice to have it on hand. (Y/N) stayed in the hospital under observation for two days until he was finally released, clad in nothing but a pair of shorts, some slides, his surgical binder, the drainage tubes and bulbs connected to each incision underneath the binder, and one of Sam’s flannels that rested against his shoulders, keeping the front open to allow his chest to breathe. After he was wheeled and loaded into the back of the car, the three brothers made the drive back home. 

By the time the Impala edged its way into the well-lit garage, the sun had gone down, and the night sky was littered with stars. It wasn’t a long way to Lebanon from Kansas City, about five hours depending on traffic, but the trip wasn’t entirely painless. (Y/N) was thankful for the medications he was given after his surgery, but the bumpy backroads in Kansas were ruthless and did little to provide a comfortable drive home. He initially tried to sleep through the journey, but every pothole they hit - accompanied by an apology from his oldest brother - sent another wave of discomfort coursing through his chest. He had never felt more joy in his entire life than when he saw the familiar dirt road as he and his brothers got closer to the bunker. 

Dean parked the car and killed the engine. He turned, arm draped over the back of the front seat. “You feeling okay?” He asked. 

(Y/N) glanced over at him and gave a small nod. He adjusted himself and winced as the pain shot through his arms and chest. “Just sore, hurts like hell. When am I due for my next round of meds, Sammy?” He turned to his older brother in the passenger’s seat. 

Sam looked back at him for a moment and then down at his phone screen. “You should be able to take some more now. Why don’t we get you inside and into your bed first? That way we can get you something to eat and drink with your medicine.” 

“No food,” (Y/N) groaned. “I don’t feel like eating now.” 

“You have to eat something.” 

“Fine, I’ll eat some crackers, or something small, or one of those snack cakes I got, but I really can’t eat anything filling right now. I’ll eat some more in the morning when I’m feeling better.” 

“Alright,” 

“Now, can someone let me out? These doors are surprisingly heavy.” 

“Yeah!” Dean said, quick to jump out of the car and head towards the back passenger’s side. He opened the door and held out a hand. 

(Y/N) smiled weakly as he reached over and grabbed Dean’s hand. He was slow to move out of the seat and plant his feet on the ground. When he stood, his legs shook, but he let out a sigh of relief. His legs were weak. The recovery had consisted of laying in his hospital bed and, occasionally, getting up and taking a few steps inside his room, just to keep the blood flowing in his legs. With the lack of energy he had and the five-hour ride back, his legs felt completely numb, as if they were made of Jell-O. 

Dean held (Y/N)’s hand tightly while his opposite arm wrapped around his waist. He moved him away from the car and shut the door. The two of them made their way to the bunker door. Sam jumped out of the car and caught up with them as they walked inside. When they were greeted with the metal stairs that landed in the War Room, (Y/N) stopped. He let out a sigh of defeat. 

“This is going to hurt like Hell,” he mumbled. He reached a shaky arm over and grasped the railing until his knuckles paled. 

“We’ll take it slow,” Dean nodded softly. 

(Y/N) returned the nod and they began to walk down the stairs, one step at a time. The entire time they walked, Dean held onto him tightly, both of their eyes cast down towards the steps. Each step, despite the snail’s pace they walked at, made a jolt of pain shoot through (Y/N)’s back. A pained expression crossed his face multiple times as he pressed his lips together tightly. 

Finally, they reached the bottom of the stairs and another contempt sigh left (Y/N)’s lips. Sam brushed past them. 

“I’m going to grab your crackers and water and meet you in your room, okay?” He placed a gentle hand on (Y/N)’s shoulder. 

“Sounds good,” (Y/N) flashed a thumbs-up towards him before Sam walked down the hallway, toward the kitchen. 

(Y/N) was a little quicker when they walked through the halls, and he was thankful when they reached his room. He wasted no time parting himself from his brother and making his way over to his bed. Despite his shaky legs, he held himself up well. He turned on the lamp on his nightstand, illuminating the room with a faint yellow glow. 

His bed was neatly made with multiple pillows resting at the head - the doctor recommended that he slept elevated for the first week or so and then slept on his back for several months afterward. It would be an adjustment, but (Y/N) knew that he could get used to it. 

He climbed into his bed, careful of the collection bags on his chest, and crawled underneath the layers of blankets. Instantly, he relaxed into the plush mattress, head resting on the stack of pillows behind him. Dean waltzed deeper into the room, eyeing him carefully. 

“You okay?” He asked. 

“Better now that I’m in bed,” (Y/N) looked over at him. “Although it just feels like I’m in another hospital room.” 

“At least you won’t be eating any more hospital food,” 

(Y/N) grimaced. “Don’t remind me of that, I’ll throw up.” 

Sam entered the room, a bottle of water in one hand, the white bag with (Y/N)’s prescription narcotics tucked under his arm, and a small sleeve of saltines in the other. He set the water bottle and saltines down on the bedside table and opened the bag. He took out the orange pill bottle and fished out an oval-shaped white capsule. He handed it to (Y/N), who took it gratefully. He popped the pill into his mouth and drank some water to wash it down. 

“You should probably empty those soon,” Sam said, gesturing towards the bags that rested against (Y/N)’s stomach. 

(Y/N) glanced down at them and shook his head. “The doctor said every twelve hours should be good. They changed them right before I left the hospital, so they should be fine for right now.” 

“Alright, if you say so,” Sam crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you need anything? TV? Books? Some snacks?”

“I’m good, thanks. I think I’m going to catch some shuteye for a bit. That car ride took all the energy out of me.” 

Sam nodded and turned to walk towards the door. “If you need anything, let us know.” 

“I will, don’t worry.” 

“Seriously,” Dean piped up. “If you need anything, even if it’s small, just holler or shoot us a text.” 

(Y/N) couldn’t help but chuckle. The overprotective nature of his brothers was something that never changed. “I promise I’ll call if I need anything.” 

Dean and Sam both gave him a small smile before they turned and left the room, closing the door behind them. (Y/N) marveled in the silence. No nurses walking outside of his room, no snoring from his brothers on the pull-out beds, no heart monitors beeping constantly. It was peaceful. He reached over and turned off the lamp light, flooding the room, once again, with darkness. The darkness was something he missed. He would never take his pitch-black room for granted ever again. 

He awoke six hours later, around the time when the medication began to wear off and the pain resurfaced. He had tried to reach over to the nightstand and grab the pill bottle, but his arms were too stiff. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up, a grunt falling from his lips. The pain wasn’t as bad as it had been the day after surgery, it was mostly the sore tenderness he felt in his chest and back that bothered him. When his feet touched the floor, he was able to lean over and grab the pill bottle with ease. He uncapped it, took out another capsule, and popped it into his mouth, followed by a drink of water. The medication would start working in twenty minutes or so. 

The ache wasn’t only in his chest and back, however. As he downed the water, he felt it fall into his stomach. A gurgle sounded from his gut and he placed a hand over it. He probably shouldn’t have taken the medication on an empty stomach. He needed some food. For a moment, he considered the saltines on the bedside table but quickly tossed out the idea. They didn’t sound as appetizing as they had before he went to sleep, and even then he had only accepted them to make his brother feel better. He wanted some real food. He wanted some of the snack cakes that he got for the occasion. The real question was; could he get up and walk to the kitchen by himself without bothering his brothers? It was still early, so they were most likely asleep. They had been with him the entire time he was in the hospital, and he wanted to make sure that they got the sleep they deserved. 

(Y/N) placed his hands on his knees and let in a deep breath, his eyes falling closed for a second. With a quick exhale, he hoisted himself off of the bed. His legs quivered, and he had to reach back towards the bed to steady himself. After he stood for a couple of minutes, the blood seemed to flow back through his legs. They were unsteady, but less than they had been before. He shuffled his way towards his door and opened it, glancing up and down the hallways. He then made his way towards the kitchen. The sound of his stomach growling echoed throughout the corridor. 

“Damn, I’m getting you food, calm down,” (Y/N) mumbled to himself. 

It took a lot longer for him to get to the kitchen than it had taken to get to his room the night before. He was slow, uncomfortably so, and he hated it. He felt like an old man. At least I’m an old man without tits, he thought. 

When he got into the kitchen, he walked over to the pantry shelves and glanced up. Sat on the second highest shelf were the cupcakes that he had been craving. Those delicate, chocolatey, packaged goodies. They were teasing him with the pictures on the front of the box. He wanted one so bad, and he couldn’t even reach them. He could barely lift his arms enough to reach the shelf directly in front of him. He tried to scour the shelf in front of him for something that sounded at least a little bit appetizing, but nothing made his mouth water as much as the soft, chocolate cakes near the top of the pantry. 

Curse you, Hostess. 

Just as he was about to give up and pick something from a more accessible shelf, the sound of padded footsteps echoed down the hallway. (Y/N) turned his head towards the door as Sam entered. Sam furrowed his brows. 

“Hey, what’re you doing up?” 

“Oh, the pain medicine wore off, so I took another one. Plus I’m starving,” he then turned his gaze back to the cupcakes. 

“Do you want me to make you something for breakfast? I can make scrambled eggs.” 

“Sure,” (Y/N) shrugged. “But…I really…want a cupcake.” 

“For breakfast?” 

(Y/N) looked back at Sam. His bottom lip was pushed out in a small, child-like pout. His eyes were big and his brows were tilted up slightly. It was his own signature puppy-dog eyes. Sam’s puppy-dog eyes were good, but (Y/N)’s was better. Those eyes were the reason behind him getting to pick a place to eat or what movie they watched most of the time. 

Sam sighed as he walked over, grabbed the box of cupcakes, and ripped it open. He took out a package and handed it to (Y/N). (Y/N) beamed and ripped the plastic open. He took a big bite of the cupcake and hummed happily. 

“Ok, you have your cupcake, but I’m still going to make you some scrambled eggs. You need to have some real food in you.” 

“Cupcakes are real food, Samuel. Maybe you’d be happier if you ate one once in a while.” 

“And maybe you’d be happier if you ate healthier.” 

(Y/N) stuck his tongue out at Sam. Sam rolled his eyes and smirked before he walked over to the fridge. Meanwhile, (Y/N) trudged over to the table and sat down. 

“You should probably change your bags soon,” Sam said. 

(Y/N) glanced down at the bags and noticed that they were halfway full. He cursed under his breath. “Let me enjoy my cupcake and then I’ll empty them.” 

“Do you need help?” 

“Nah, I got it, thanks, though.” 

Sam smiled and nodded. Without hesitation, (Y/N) shoved the rest of the cupcake in his mouth, a hum of pleasure emitting from his throat. Sam grimaced and turned away. (Y/N) glanced over at him. 

“Don’t judge me,” he mumbled with a mouthful of food before he stood up and made his way to the bathroom to drain his bulbs.

Three days had passed, and (Y/N) had already started feeling better. His movement had increased, the pain was starting to diminish, and the fluid that filled the bulbs slowed. His mental health had noticeably improved and every time he looked in the mirror, admiring his newly sculpted chest, the smile would never fail to stick to his face for hours on end. One thing that he didn’t like about the recovery process though, something that stayed a consistent issue, was the lack of personal hygiene. 

When his doctor told him that he wouldn’t be able to shower for a while after the procedure, he didn’t think that it would affect him as much as it was. Granted, he still took whore baths, using a damp washcloth and some soap to clean his body off the best that he could, but he could still feel the grime that coated his skin. Specifically, his hair was what bothered him the most. It was wet with grease to the point where it could stand up without any assistance from haircare products. (Y/N) felt disgusting. He needed to get his hair clean, quickly, and he couldn’t do it by himself. If he leaned over too much, the strain on his chest would cause the pain to flair up. He needed help. Sam had been busy researching and assisting other hunters who had called while the brothers were on a break from hunting themselves, so (Y/N) went to the next best person.  

(Y/N) knocked on Dean’s door rhythmically. A faint ‘come in’ sounded from inside. He opened the door to see his brother on his bed, lying on his stomach, eyes glued to the television screen in front of him. 

“Hey,” Dean said with a smile. “How’re you doing, kiddo?” 

“Pretty good. The pain’s not as bad today. I was wondering if you could help me with something, though.” 

“Sure,” Dean reached over, grabbed the remote, and turned off the television. He shifted himself so that he was sitting down on the edge of the bed. “What do you need?” 

“Can you wash my hair for me?” 

“I thought you weren’t supposed to shower yet.” 

“I can’t get my chest wet, but I can clean the rest of my body. I’ve been taking whore baths for the past couple of days, but I haven’t been able to get my hair cleaned. Could you help me with that?” 

Dean hummed and pursed his lips. “Yeah,” he said as he stood up. “Meet me in the bathroom, I’ll be in there in a bit.” 

(Y/N) didn’t wait in the bathroom for long before Dean rounded the corner, a chair dragging behind him. He placed the chair in front of the sink and gestured to it. 

“Sit,” he said. 

(Y/N) awed. “It’s like a trashy hair salon.” 

Dean rolled his eyes and chuckled. He grabbed the shampoo and conditioner from the bathroom cabinet as (Y/N) sat down in the chair. He leaned his head back so that it rested against the cool basin. Dean walked over to the sink and glanced down at his head. He grimaced. 

“Damn, kid, you definitely need to wash that hair.” he reached down and touched a lock of his hair, wincing as he pulled his hand back, studying the sheen that the hair left on his fingers. “Ew.” 

“Thanks,” (Y/N) deadpanned. 

Dean smirked. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you all cleaned up.” 

Dean turned on the hot water, the spout shooting out the liquid into the sink. Dean began to run his fingers through (Y/N)’s hair. (Y/N) instinctively closed his eyes. Dean wet his hair, pouring the water over the locks with his cupped hands. 

(Y/N) could remember the last time he went to the hair salon. He was young, around the age of six, and Bobby had taken him to get his hair done. Even though Bobby seemed uncomfortable the entire time he was there, he wanted to make sure that (Y/N) had a somewhat normal childhood experience. (Y/N) was ecstatic, and enjoyed every minute of the haircut. His favorite part, however, was when the stylist was washing his hair. It was something about the way her fingers caressed his scalp, massaging the product into the roots of his hair, that brought an overwhelming sense of bliss. Dean’s fingers weren’t as gentle and soft as the stylist’s, but he sure knew how to give a good head massage. 

Two fingers gently tapped against the side of (Y/N)’s head. He opened his eyes and looked up at his brother. He hummed in acknowledgment. 

“I said ‘Do you like it’?” Dean repeated, a smirk curled into the corner of his lips. 

(Y/N) slowly nodded. The suds dripped down from the side of his head and caressed the outside of his ear. “Feels nice. You should have gone to cosmetology school.” 

Dean laughed. “I meant your chest. How do you…feel now?” 

“Oh,” (Y/N) let out a short laugh. “Honestly, I feel great. I don’t have to bind anymore, which means I won’t have to worry about hunts and catching my breath. I no longer have to worry about if clothes will fit me because of my chest. I don’t look in the mirror and hate what I see…” his voice trailed. “I look in the mirror and I see me. The me that I was supposed to be.” 

The two of them were silent for a while as Dean poured water over his hair, washing out the soap. His fingers caressed the back of (Y/N)’s scalp, watching intensely as the conditioner ran down the drain. 

“You know, if it makes you feel any better, Sammy and I always saw you as our little brother. I mean, you never really did all that girly crap - makeup, playing with dolls, stuff like that. You were always interested in playing with the mud. The amount of times that you would get in trouble with Bobby because you would bring mudpies into his house, or whenever you would track mud inside when it was raining. He got so pissed,” he chuckled, and (Y/N) joined him. 

“But then you got older,” he continued. “And it started to seem like you weren’t really my brother. But…something wasn’t right. I knew something wasn’t right, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Calling you my sister felt wrong. I started calling you my little brother again whenever I told people about you, and then it felt right. When you told us you were transgender, it all made sense to me. It clicked. You never really were my little sister. You were my little brother, just with a few extra parts. Now that you got your surgery, I can see just how happy you are. How comfortable you are, and that means more to me than anything else.” 

The conditioner was gone. (Y/N)’s freshly washed hair laid against the basin. Dean reached over to the cabinet and grabbed out a small hand towel. He ruffled the towel against (Y/N)’s damp hair, making sure to get all of the water off of the side of his face and his ears. When his face was dry, he helped him sit up. 

“And me seeing you like this, I have never felt more proud of you,” Dean concluded. 

(Y/N) glanced up at Dean, brows raised. His wet hair dripped onto his naked shoulder. “Really?” He asked in a quiet voice. 

Dean smiled softly. “Yeah. I’m proud that you told Sam and me how you felt. I’m proud that you got the courage to go through with the surgery, and,” Dean knelt in front of the chair. “I’m proud to call you my baby brother.” 

A lump had formed in (Y/N)’s throat. His eyes glimmered with tears that pooled in their corners. Without saying anything, (Y/N) reached forward and wrapped his arms around Dean’s neck, pulling him into a loose embrace. Dean placed his hands on (Y/N)’s back and smiled into the hug. 

“I owe you and Sam so much,” (Y/N) spoke softly. “You guys take such good care of me.” 

“You don’t owe us anything. That’s just what big brothers are supposed to do.” 

“Not even if I bake you a pie?” 

“Now, if you decide to bake a pie, I won’t turn it down,” Dean pulled away and held his hands up. 

(Y/N) sniffled and wiped the tears away. “I should make Sammy one of those fancy salads he likes.” 

“Oh, he’ll go crazy for that,” Dean mumbled. “Him and his damn rabbit food.” 

“You go crazy for pie, though.” 

“Yeah, but pie is good. Actually good.” 

(Y/N) rolled his eyes, causing Dean to chuckle. Dean stood up and brushed his jeans off, stretching his arms above his head. 

“What do you say we get Sammy and go watch a movie?” Dean asked. 

(Y/N) smiled. “I’d like that.” 

“Great! You go get Sammy and I’ll get the snacks.” 

Dean turned and jogged out of the room. (Y/N) stood and tilted his neck from side to side, noting the small strain in his muscles. (Y/N) grabbed the back of the chair he had been sitting in, but stopped as he saw himself in the reflection of the small mirror. His eyes scraped over his body, from his head down to his exposed hips. He shifted so that he could see his torso from the side.

It was almost as if he was in a dream. Like, at any moment, he would blink and wake up in his bed with his breasts still attached to his chest. For years, he had been wanting to get top surgery, but it never seemed like something he was able to achieve. Never in his wildest imagination did he see himself standing in front of a mirror and feeling proud of the body that he stood in. He no longer saw the body of a woman, the man he was trapped inside and desperately attempting to claw his way out. He saw a man, who he truly was, the real (Y/N) Winchester. 

And as he stared at his chest, a smile appearing on his lips, the words Dean spoke echoed in his head;

I’m proud to call you my baby brother.

Now, (Y/N) Winchester could confidently say that he was the luckiest man alive.

[supernaturalscribe67]

Mobile Master List

                    Platonic: ✨    Romantic: 🌹    Smut: ❤️️    Angst: 💀

➤ My Best Friend ✨ (Dean Winchester x Male!Reader)

        ➤➤ Luna has been by the reader’s side ever since he first started hunting. However, as the years went by and as she got older, he had been seeing less and less of her because of his profession. Little did he know that when he said ‘goodbye’ to her before his latest hunt, it would be for the last time.

➤ Against the Grain ✨ (Dean Winchester x Trans!FTM!Winchester!Reader)

       ➤➤ Ever since the reader has come out to his brothers has transgender, they have been nothing but supportive. The only thing that Dean hasn’t been supportive of is the reader’s inconsistent facial hair growth. So, Dean comes up with a way to help him by teaching him how to shave.

➤ Lucky ✨ (Dean/Sam Winchester x Trans!FTM!Winchester!Reader)

       ➤➤ Top surgery was never something the reader thought was possible. With the help of Sam, he was able to make his dream come true, and his brothers are there for him to help while he’s in recovery.

➤ In Plain Sight ✨ (Dean/Sam Winchester x Male!Winchester!Reader)

       ➤➤ The reader has been keeping a secret from his brothers his entire life. The reader is gay, and it was something that he had always kept from Sam and Dean in fear of their reaction. What happens when Sam and Dean stumble upon a moment between the reader and his boyfriend? How will they react?

➤ Hidden Bruises ✨💀 (Dean/Sam Winchester x Male!Winchester!Reader)

       ➤➤ After the death of their father, Sam and Dean’s older brother went missing for a couple of weeks. Eventually, he returned, and everything seemed to go back to normal. When the brothers follow a lead that takes them to an abandoned schoolhouse, Sam and Dean come face to face with the reality of what happened to their brother when he went missing.

➤ Author in the Making 🌹 (Sam Winchester x Male!Reader)

       ➤➤ The reader loves to write, and he has kept it a secret from his book-loving boyfriend for the longest time, fearing his reaction. What happens when his boyfriend accidentally stumbles upon the document that the reader had been working on for the past several years? How will he react?

➤ Silent Affections 🌹 (Sam Winchester x Enby!Reader) [They/Them]

       ➤➤ Growing up, the reader was never one to say ‘I love you’ to anyone, even close family and friends. When they got into a relationship with Sam, they did everything in their power to make sure Sam knew how much they truly loved him, without necessarily saying it.

➤ What Did You Say to Me? 🌹 (Sam Winchester x Male!Reader)

       ➤➤ The Reader was taught from a young age never to say ‘bye’ to someone that you loved and cared for. This was a boundary that he established early on in his relationship with Sam, but how does the reader react after Sam slips up?

➤ Lucky ✨ (Dean/Sam Winchester x Trans!FTM!Winchester!Reader)

       ➤➤ Top surgery was never something the reader thought was possible. With the help of Sam, he was able to make his dream come true, and his brothers are there for him to help while he’s in recovery.

➤ In Plain Sight ✨ (Dean/Sam Winchester x Male!Winchester!Reader)

       ➤➤ The reader has been keeping a secret from his brothers his entire life. The reader is gay, and it was something that he had always kept from Sam and Dean in fear of their reaction. What happens when Sam and Dean stumble upon a moment between the reader and his boyfriend? How will they react?

➤ Hidden Bruises ✨💀 (Dean/Sam Winchester x Male!Winchester!Reader)

       ➤➤ After the death of their father, Sam and Dean’s older brother went missing for a couple of weeks. Eventually, he returned, and everything seemed to go back to normal. When the brothers follow a lead that takes them to an abandoned schoolhouse, Sam and Dean come face to face with the reality of what happened to their brother when he went missing.

[UNDER CONSTRUCTION]

➤ Wicked Desires 🌹 (Crowley x Male!Winchester!Reader)

       ➤➤ The reader and Crowley had been together for a while, and had planned on keeping their relationship a secret from the reader’s brothers. What happens when Sam and Dean accidentally stumble upon something they aren’t supposed to see?

➤ Favors ❤️️ (Crowley x Male!Reader)

       ➤➤ (Y/N) is a well-known researcher and hacker in the hunting industry, dedicating his life to protecting innocent people all around the United States. What happens when the King of Hell comes to him with a problem he needs help solving and a deal that (Y/N) cannot turn down?

➤ Sucker 🌹 (Gabriel x Trans!FTM!Winchester!Reader)

       ➤➤ The reader is introduced to Gabriel, the famous trickster/archangel, for the first time, much to his brothers’ dismay. What the reader didn’t expect from their first meeting was to meet a rather handsome man with smooth talk to match. What happens when he starts to get feelings for the person that annoys Sam and Dean the most?

➤ Euphoric 🌹💀 (Gabriel x Trans!FTM!Winchester!Reader)

       ➤➤ Dysphoria can hit at any moment, and when it hits, it hits hard. The reader is going through a tough time with the way he looks, doubting himself and the people around him. When he feels at his lowest, ready to seep back into his old ways, his boyfriend, Gabriel, is there to help him out.

➤ WAP ✨ (Team Free Will x Male!Reader)

       ➤➤ When the reader decides to listen to music in order to combat the exhausting amount of research he has to do, a certain angel hears the lyrics of one of the songs, leading to some rather…uncomfortable questions.

➤ Family Don't End in Blood💀✨ (Team Free Will x Trans!FTM!Reader)

       ➤➤ The reader lived a great life in the bunker. He had everything that he could ever ask for - people who loved him, a roof over his head, and the perfect support system. But, when a ghost from his past reappears, the reader must face his demons and come face to face with the two people who made his life a living hell; his parents.

➤ Trick or Treat ✨(Team Free Will x Trans!FTM!Reader)

       ➤➤ Halloween always held a special place in the reader’s heart. It was one of his favorite holidays. However, as he got older and started to discover more about himself, he never got to dress up as the characters he wanted when he was younger. When Sam, Dean, and the reader stumble upon an annual Halloween Festival in a small town after a hunt, the reader is reminded of all the things he could have been. When the truth comes to light, Sam and Dean make a plan to give the reader a night he will never forget.

➤ Just Like Mama Used to Make ✨ (John/Sam/Dean Winchester x Male!Winchester!Reader) [Entry #1]

       ➤➤ Taking inspiration from his father, the reader starts his very own journal. For his first entry, he recalls some of the memories that shaped him into the hunter that he has become.

➤ The Secrets We (Don’t) Keep ✨ (Sam/Dean Winchester x Male!Winchester!Reader) [Entry #2]

       ➤➤ After finding out that his brothers, Sam and Dean, read the first entry of his journal, the reader decides to take a rather creative approach to his payback.