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supernaturalscribe67 · 8 months

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Against the Grain

Words: 3,059

POV: 3rd Person

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Trans!FTM!Winchester!Reader [Platonic]

Warning(s): Fluff, Language (?), a brief mention of blood

Summary: 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.

A/N: I've officially hit over 30,000 words on my blog and I honestly have no idea how to feel about it...Feedback is greatly appreciated! Much love!

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Are suits always so itchy?

Granted, he didn’t know if he would feel the same if they had gotten his outfit from a retailer that specialized in men’s formalwear instead of the old Goodwill a couple of towns over, but they needed something quick and easy. It didn’t help that he wasn’t able to wash it between cases either, but he was thankful nonetheless. Sam and Dean had promised that they would take him to get fitted for a professional suit on their way back to the bunker.

James Garrison would kindly pay, of course.

When (Y/N) came out to his brothers as transgender, he didn’t know what kind of reaction he was expecting from them. All of the negativity that was brought upon them from early childhood had clouded his judgment on how they would respond to such dramatic news. He had kept it a secret from them for about three years as a result of the anxiety, already having trouble coming to terms with his new self-discovery. Alas, two years ago, when he had gathered up all of his courage and sat his brothers down to explain in grave detail what was going on inside of his head, they were nothing but supportive.

It was an adjustment at first, with Dean having the hardest time with getting pronouns correct and slipping up on the name change, but (Y/N) could tell that he was doing his best, and that was all that mattered. He got better after a couple of months and had abandoned (Y/N)’s deadname and old pronouns completely in favor of his newly updated ones. (Y/N) could tell that Dean was proud of himself, and he was proud of him too. Sam, being the nerd that he is, wanted to learn more about transgenderism. He would ask his brother questions and scour the endless medical journals available online if (Y/N) couldn’t answer the ones that he had. He even went as far as to help (Y/N) find the perfect binder and get him set up with an appointment to start testosterone. Thanks to Sam, (Y/N) had been on testosterone for almost a year-and-a-half.

With the use of testosterone came changes, changes that he wasn’t necessarily expecting. He was constantly starving, constantly horny, and hair was growing everywhere on his body. Everywhere. Even though he didn’t mind the hair growth in some places, one place that the hair seemed to be lacking in growth was on his face, the place where he had wanted it to grow the most. He had a couple of scraggly pieces here and there, most of the hair growth being on his sideburns and underneath his chin, none of the patches consistent in length. Still, every time he looked in the mirror, he couldn’t help but smile. He had finally started to feel like his true self. Like he was starting to morph into the person he was destined to be.

And he couldn’t be happier.

(Y/N) emerged from the poorly lit motel bathroom, combing the sides of his hair with his fingertips. Sam and Dean stood in the center of the room, clad in their mock FBI uniforms. When they heard (Y/N) exit the bathroom, they turned their attention to him. It was the first time that he felt confident enough to dress as an agent on a case, and he was a little uncertain about his appearance. He wanted to make sure he looked professional enough to pass. It was a big change compared to when he only had to wear a blouse and pencil skirt. He didn’t miss those days.

With his arms held out in a grandiose gesture, he gave a small smile. “What do you think? Do I look okay?” He asked with a tone that indicated his uncertainty.

Sam and Dean eyed him, their gaze scanning from the top of his head to his shoes. Sam nodded.

“Yeah, you look great,” he commented, a smirk curled up in the corner of his lips.

Dean, on the other hand, furrowed his brows. “You look like a douchebag.”

Sam slapped Dean’s shoulder. “Dude,” he hissed.

“What?” He held his hands up.

(Y/N) frowned and looked down at himself. “Why do I look like a douchebag?” He asked, his shoulders slouched to show his disappointment.

“You don’t look like a douchebag,” Sam shook his head rapidly.

“Yes, he does! It’s because of that little neck beard you have going on.” Dean gestured to his face.

(Y/N) slowly ran his fingers through the hair under his chin, neck, and sides of his face. “What’s wrong with my facial hair?” His voice was quiet.

“(Y/N), don’t listen to him, there is nothing wrong-” Sam began.

“Sam,” Dean interrupted before looking back at (Y/N). “Look, FBI agents need to be clean to make it more believable. You look like a kid who just got out of a nightlong session playing that…that…War of Worlds or whatever.”

“World of Warcraft?” (Y/N) arched a brow.

“Yeah, that. You gotta shave it.”

“I don’t know how,”

Dean opened his mouth to speak, but Sam was quick to interrupt. He was sending Dean the deadliest of glares. “Dean, we don’t have time for him to do that. He looks great. He doesn’t need to change anything. Let’s just go, and, if it makes you feel any better, we can say he’s a rookie.”

Dean sighed. “Fine.” He mumbled before he turned back to (Y/N). “But when we get back, I’ll show you have to shave properly.”

“Okay,” (Y/N) nodded.

Dean and Sam then turned and made their way out of the motel. (Y/N) stopped for a moment and returned a hand to his face. He felt the patches of long hair caress his fingertips while the patches of stubble made his hand itch. He scowled.

“I’m not a rookie,” he mumbled to himself before he followed after his brothers.

“Alright,” Dean grumbled as he pushed the stopper into the sink. He proceeded to fill the basin up with warm water. “Now, one thing that you need to know is that you never, under any circumstances, share razors. Lucky for you, I packed a spare one.” He smiled as he pulled a new razor out of his pocket, handing it off to (Y/N).

(Y/N) glanced down at the razor. It was one of the cheap ones. One that you would find in a pack of ten or fifteen in a Walmart. The plastic was still hooked onto the side of the blade. (Y/N) took off the plastic bit and tossed it into the small trashcan in the corner of the room.

“What happens if you share razors?” (Y/N) asked.

“You can get an infection. You don’t know how clean someone else’s face is, and if you nick yourself, then you’ll be in a lot of pain. Trust me, Sammy and I learned a lot about that when we were younger.” He chuckled. “Okay, the first thing you want to do is get your face wet.”

Dean set his razor to the side and dipped his hands into the warm water. He leaned his head downward, brought his cupped hand up to his face, and wet his jaw. When he pulled his hand away, droplets fell into the sink below. He then looked at (Y/N), who raised his brows before he followed suit. He dipped his hands into the water, lowered his head, and brought some water to his face. His facial hair clung to his jawline as water dripped from his chin.

“Right, what I like to do now,” Dean reached down and picked up his razor. He looked in the mirror and tilted his head to the side so that he could fully see the right side of his face. “Is…make a mark on both of my sideburns where the hair meets the face.”

Dean reached the razor up and cut a small portion of his stubble near the hairline. It was only about an inch or two worth of hair. When he was done with the right side, he turned his head and did the same for the left side. He rinsed the razor in the water.

“You got it?” He raised a brow.

(Y/N) looked at himself in the mirror, turning his head from side to side. He furrowed his brows and hesitantly reached his razor up. He stopped before the razor could touch his face. “Where do I cut?” He asked timidly.

Dean sat his razor down and turned to his brother. He looked in the mirror, into his eyes, before he looked back at the side of his head. “You’re gonna wanna cut right…” he trailed as he reached up and ran his finger along the side of his face, about a third of the way down his ear. “Here.”

(Y/N) reached his hand up and allowed the razor to levitate above the spot Dean had pointed. “Here?”

“Yeah, right there. And don’t be shy about it. You’ve got this.”

(Y/N) glanced at Dean before giving a small nod. He then turned and looked in the mirror. He brought the razor to his face and made a small mark on his sideburns, the same as Dean had done with his. Once he was done with the first mark, he looked at his brother. Dean smiled softly at him, confirming that he had done it correctly. (Y/N) then tilted his head to the other side, repeating the process. When he was done, he rinsed his razor, just like Dean had, and looked towards him expectedly.

“Good, good,” Dean nodded before he reached over to the corner of the sink. He picked up a can of shaving cream, popped the top off, and sprayed a dollop into his hands. He held out the can towards (Y/N), who held out one hand for him. Dean sprayed some of the shaving cream into his hand before he set it on the counter and placed the cap back on. “Now, you want to make sure to cover every part of your face where the hair grows. Just watch and do what I do.”

(Y/N) gave a small nod and watched as Dean began to apply the shaving cream onto his face, starting with his right cheek before moving down his jawline and to the other. (Y/N) followed his movements exactly. The shaving cream felt different against his face, it was wet and cold, yet soft at the same time. He remembered times at the end of some school years, when he was younger, when the teacher would give them shaving cream on their desks to help clean the surfaces. He remembered drawing faces in the shaving cream, pictures of cartoon ghosts and cats. They proceeded to apply the shaving cream over their cupid’s bows, onto their chins, and their necks. When Dean was done, he rinsed his hand in the water, (Y/N) followed.

“Alright, the moment of truth,” Dean smiled at him as he picked up his razor. “We’ll start with the face and then make our way down to the neck. Just follow my lead, okay? I’ll go slow.”

“Okay,” (Y/N) nodded and picked up his razor.

Both of them turned to face the mirror. (Y/N) stared at his reflection for a moment, a part of him noting how humorous he looked with the beard of shaving cream before his eyes shifted over to Dean. As Dean began to shave his face, (Y/N) copied his movements. Every time Dean rinsed his razor in the sink, (Y/N) did as well. Everywhere Dean put his razor, (Y/N) put his.

It was a strange sensation, shaving. Since it was his first time, (Y/N) didn’t know how he felt about it. From the curl of his lip when he had to shave his cupid’s bow and chin, to the feeling of the shaving cream slowly running down his neck. It was new, but not disliked. It was easy enough, easier since he was following the live tutorial next to him. He couldn’t help but let his mind wander, though. Let his mind think back to the times when he was younger and watching from some random bathroom doorframe as Dean taught Sam to shave for the first time. Dean held the same expressions on his face back then when he taught Sam as now. A sort of proud, grown expression, giving (Y/N) the first taste of realization that Dean was the one who raised them, not their father. Fathers were supposed to teach their sons how to shave their faces for the first time, not the older brothers. It was almost as if Dean adapted the fatherly role in (Y/N) and Sam’s lives. (Y/N) would never forget that.

(Y/N) hissed. “Dammit,” he mumbled as he pulled the razor away from his face.

He looked in the mirror and could see a small, red circle appear on his left cheek. It had been the last strip of facial hair left. He had been doing so well up until then.

Dean’s head turned towards him before he let out a chuckle. He placed his razor down on the sink and leaned down to snag a small piece of cheap toilet paper. He moved over to his brother and tilted his head so that he could see the nick. Gingerly, he placed the piece of toilet paper onto the red mark. It stuck instantly to (Y/N)’s face.

“There we go,” Dean smirked and turned back to the sink. “Not bad on the face. One nick is pretty good for your first time. Now, onto the neck.”

(Y/N) did the same for his neck as he had done for his face, glancing in the mirror at his reflection while, now and then, turning to study his brother’s movements. He shaved his neck without incident, and when he rinsed his razor for the last time in the basin, the water now clouded with a mixture of hair and shaving cream, he felt a sense of accomplishment. He felt proud of himself. When Dean set his razor down, so did (Y/N). They looked at their reflections and examined themselves.

“And you're done,” Dean nodded. “All we have to do is rinse our faces,” Dean reached over, turned on the warm water from the tap, and cupped his hands to rinse off the rest of the shaving cream. Once Dean was finished, (Y/N) copied. “And we’re done.” Dean smiled at (Y/N) in the mirror.

When (Y/N) looked at his freshly shaven face, he ran his fingers over the places where the hair had been. The skin was smooth, something that he was going to have to get used to again, and he looked younger, in his opinion. The corner of his lips curled downwards in a frown.

“I look like a baby,” he mumbled.

Dean chuckled and shook his head. “No, you don’t. You look like a new man. Hey, facial hair grows back fast, and it’ll grow back a little more even this time. If you wanna keep it, I can show you how to shave around it when it does, to keep you looking clean and not like some homeless guy.”

“Really?” (Y/N) raised his brows.

“Of course. As long as you promise not to grow out a lumberjack beard or anything,” Dean dramatically shivered.

(Y/N) rolled his eyes. “No promises,” he chuckled.

“Oh!” Dean exclaimed. “Almost forgot. Aftershave!”

“Aftershave?”

“Yeah,” Dean reached over to the bottle that sat next to the shaving cream can. It was a small, green bottle of Brut. He splashed some into the palm of his hand before he put some in (Y/N)’s. He placed the bottle onto the counter and capped it. “It helps with those stupid razor burns and bumps.”

(Y/N) nodded as he looked down at the liquid in his hand. The scent was strong, and he recognized it as something Dean smelled of often. He, once again, copied Dean’s movements as Dean began to massage the liquid into his face and onto his neck. When (Y/N) massaged it onto his left cheek, he felt his skin begin to burn when it ran into the small nick on his face. Dean smirked.

“Burns, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, why the hell does it burn?”

Dean shrugged. “Not too sure. You’ll get used to it. And once you stop cutting yourself while shaving, it won’t burn as bad.”

(Y/N) grimaced and continued to rub it in until all he could smell was the Brut and his entire face had been covered. Dean lowered his hands and unplugged the sink. The clouded water began to drain.

“There, now we’re officially done. What do you think?”

(Y/N) shrugged. “Not bad. I could get used to it, but I look stupid with this tissue on my face.”

“Oh, here,” Dean reached over and carefully took the wet paper off of his cut. “See? It’s like you didn’t even cut yourself.”

“Wow…” (Y/N) turned his face back and forth, examining the spots where the hair used to be.

“Now you can shave by yourself whenever you want. We just need to get you your own razors, and I can show you how to use an electric one when we get back to the bunker if you want.” Dean crossed his arms over his chest, his smile never faltering.

An identical smile made its way onto (Y/N)’s lips as he looked over at Dean. “Thanks, Dean. You’re a great big brother,” he spoke quietly.

Dean tilted his head down, narrowing his eyes. “What was that?”

“I said ‘You’re a great big brother’.” He spoke a little louder that time.

“Come again?” Dean cupped one of his hands behind his ear.

“You’re pushing it, Dean.”

“Alright, alright.” Dean laughed as he reached over and wrapped an arm around (Y/N)’s shoulders. (Y/N) placed his arms around Dean’s torso and hugged him tightly. “For the record, you’re the best little brother a guy could ask for. Just don’t tell Sam.”

(Y/N) smiled even wider. “I won’t.”

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guizika · 5 months

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Vampires!

Dean Winchester x Male Reader

Cw - Male reader, you/yours pronouns, fluff, Mention of death, violence, drinking, maybe it’s a bit ooc.

Synopsis - You decide to go to a bar to forget your problems, but unfortunately you end up finding more problems, but you also find a solution.

Word count - +1500

A love disappointment, problems at work and some encouragement from your friend were enough to make you go to a bar. The bar was located in a more secluded part of town, and most people went there at weekends.

You left the house wearing your favorite outfit, a white T-shirt and black pants. When you got to the bar, you ran into your friend, who was already drinking and hitting on the bartender. As you approach, you nudge her shoulder lightly and she lights up when she sees you. "You really came!"

"Of course I did, I'd never miss a chance to drink myself into a stupor." You say jokingly, smiling amusedly. Soon, you sit down next to her and order whisky to drink, chatting about silly things. Some stories have already been told, but they're still funny. You drink and laugh as you reminisce about your teenage years.

"Remember when you and Willian nearly blew up the school laboratory?" She says, laughing out loud as you let out a nasal laugh. "Firstly, that was far from an explosion and, secondly, it was all Willian's fault." You say defending yourself, laughing as you remember that day.

"Hey, do you remember when you flooded the bathroom at school?" Her laughter stops and then she blushes with embarrassment, drawing a genuine laugh from you. "It wasn't my fault, I was unfortunately in the bathroom and then disaster struck." You finish your whisky and then smile sarcastically at her. "Yes, of course, whatever you say."

Before you can order anything else to drink the Bartender hands you a beer, causing you to raise an eyebrow. "Uh, sorry, but I think you gave it to the wrong person, I didn't order a beer." The bartender smiles at you and then points to a man sitting on a bar stool by himself. "That man sent you that drink."

Your gaze goes in the man's direction, analyzing his face, he notices your gaze and smiles seductively at you, then takes a sip of his beer. "Oh my God, you have to go to him now!" Your friend whispers to you excitedly, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. "Don't worry, I've already found someone I want to stay with tonight." She says as if she knew what you were going to say, making you sigh with relief.

"Wish me luck." You smile and then walk over to the man, clearing your throat to talk to him. "Ah, hello, did you send me the beer?" He nods and then you sit down next to him, your beer in hand. "So, what's your name, handsome?" He smiles and then takes a sip of his beer.

"James Hetfield, but you can call me daddy, and what would your name be, sweetie?" he says, smiling seductively. He says, smiling seductively as you raise an eyebrow and laugh slightly. "Oh yes, you're the lead vocalist of Metallica, I'm John Lennon, nice to meet you."

He laughs, catching your drift. "I'm Dean, now, what's your name?" He takes another sip of his beer as he waits for your answer, after you reply he smiles and then looks around. "Right, well, what do you say we get out of here, sweetie?" His tone comes out suggestive, making you smile and then agree immediately. You finish your beers and then leave the bar kissing, you go to his car and then he takes you to the motel room where he's staying.

"Just don't make too much noise." He says between kisses, making you bite his lower lip and smile seductively, he lays you on the bed and you continue kissing.

…

The next day you open your eyes and see that the man is still asleep, so you get up and put your clothes on. After buttoning up your white T-shirt, you go out and then order a cab on your cell phone.

You see that your friend has sent you a few messages and you laugh, opting to reply when you get home. The cab arrives, you get in the car and say the address, driving home.

...

After two months, a lot of murders began to occur in your town, worrying most of the population. These crimes usually occur at night, so many people stop going out, but that doesn't stop you from going out to cool off.

The bartender looks at you and greets you, smiling and then placing a glass of whisky in front of you, already knowing what you were going to order. You finish your drink and the bartender hands you a Cuba-Libre. "That's the man who told me to give it to you." You look at who the bartender pointed to and notice that the man has pale skin and long black hair, he smiles and then walks over to you. His gaze never leaving your face, looking at you with a mischievous smile.

"Wow, what does someone like you do in this kind of place?" he asks, smiling and looking at you seductively. You take a sip of the drink he's sent you and smile kindly. "Just enjoying life, that's all, how about you?" The man seems to like your answer, looking you in the eye and then taking a sip of his drink. "I'm just enjoying life too."

After talking for a while, you leave the bar, he kisses you and takes you to his car. "Well, you're very handsome, I confess I'm sad to have to kill you." Hearing his words, your eyes widen and you try to push him away, only to be surprised by a blow to the back of the head, knocking you out. You hear other people's voices and then faint.

…

"What the fuck, ouch." You feel a strong pain in your head, probably because of the blow, you try to get up or move your arms but realize you're tied up, becoming more aware of your current state.

"You're finally awake, I thought you'd died from the blow." The barman's voice echoes off the walls of the shed, he turns on the light and your eyes close, opening only when you've gotten used to the brightness. "Where am I?" Your voice comes out hoarse, probably because your throat is dry.

He laughs, the laugh containing malice. "Well, you're in the nest." Your expression shows doubt. "Nest?" The man snorts, then opens his mouth and bares his fangs. "Yes, well, I'm a vampire and this is my nest, there are lots of vampires here." You stay silent, trying to process what he's said.

"Vampires?" You whisper, making him smile. "Yeah, I'd explain it to you, but there's no point because you're going to die soon." His words make you squirm as he approaches, screaming and begging for help even though you know it will be in vain. However, before he gets too close to you, the sound of a door opening can be heard and then he turns around to see two men.

You look too, relieved that someone has arrived, but after looking for a while you realize that one of the men is Dean. "Hey, bloodsucker, how about you come over here and face us?" Dean says and then the vampire charges at them, but he's easily defeated.

"Hey, how are you?" The taller man comes towards you, cutting the ropes that bind you and helping you to your feet. "Well, I almost got killed by a, uh, vampire, I guess, but I'm fine." The man smiles embarrassedly and then introduces himself. "I'm Sam Winchester and that's my brother, Dean." You smile and then introduce yourself.

They get you out of there and then take you to the car, you lean against the car and then cross your arms. Sam leaves you and goes to talk to someone on the phone, leaving you alone. Dean ends up explaining their work to you, causing you to let out a sigh.

"Well, I had no idea that James Hetfield also hunted monsters." You say in a joking tone, smiling in a relaxed way. "But seriously, that was super unexpected, like, I never imagined that these things actually existed." Dean laughs lightly and then lets out a snort, looking away.

"Well, I don't think anyone really wants to imagine that sort of thing." After he says that, you look at each other, until Sam arrives and clears his throat, making you look embarrassed and then look at him.

"Sorry to interrupt, but I need to talk to Dean." You just smile and shrug, watching the two of them walk away, talking about something you can't hear. After a while they come back and Dean lets out a sigh and looks at you.

"Looks like we have to go, another case has come up." His tone contains dissatisfaction, but he tries to mask it, you let out a sigh and then smile at him. "All right, but when you pass through this town, come and visit me."

Dean brightens up and then takes his cell phone out of his pocket, handing it to you. "I've got a better idea, put in your phone number, so we can, well, keep in touch."

After that you both get in the car, he drops you off at your house and then he drives off, heading for the place of the next case.

Maybe you'll meet again in the future...

Please don't translate or copy my work and don't repost on other social networks, if there are any grammatical errors I ask you to excuse me!

#male reader #male reader insert #ftm reader #ftm!reader #male!reader #supernatural #spn x male reader #dean wichester x male reader #dean winchester #dean winchester x ftm reader #supernatural x male reader #supernatural x ftm reader

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aldobrandohotel · 1 year

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Why would S1 Dean say that his boobs were real if he wasn't trans c'mon

And maybe he hadn't gotten his top surgery done yet

#supernatural #spn #dean winchester #trans dean winchester #transgender #ftm #supernatural headcanon #spn headcanon

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boywifesammy · 4 months

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A study in Winchester Transgenderism (wincest)

my fic for the 2023 spn pro-ship bang!!

this story is the classic wincest pilot reunion in the stanford apartment except sam is FTM and transitioned during college. dean has ~feelings~ about this, both good and bad… and throughout the fic we see him work through it.

all art done by @outofnowhere82, and beta creds to @angellfag :)

read it here!

#oc #sam winchester #dean winchester #wincest #samdean #trans ftm sam #spn fic #fic rec #spn proship big bang 2023 #helooo this post is a bit late lol #but here it is!! my fic for the bang!!#i had lots of fun so pls let me know what u think if u read :>

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mutt-boy · 17 days

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which winchester brother you are most attached to says so much. dean? oh how is the transition going (ftm). but if it's sam? how is the transition going (mtf).

#supernatural #sam #dean #dean winchester #sam winchester #sam and dean #spn #transgender #trans #ftm #mtf

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electromignion · 1 year

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Hearts And Velvet (AO3-OS)

Click to get to the fic

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Crowley/Dean Winchester

Characters: Dean Winchester, Castiel, Crowley

Rating: General Audiences

Words: 2913

Tags: Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Crowley (Supernatural)/Dean Winchester, Love, Gifts, FTM Dean Winchester, Trans Male Character, Castiel is Dean Winchester's Best Friend, Supportive Castiel (Supernatural), Repressed Bisexual Dean Winchester, Trans Male Dean Winchester, Crowley loves Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Loves Crowley, Declarations Of Love, Engagement Rings, Supportive Crowley (Supernatural), Chocolate, Drowley, Crowlean, No Smut, Fluff, Romance, Dean Winchester is Loved, Crowley (Supernatural) is Loved, Protective Castiel (Supernatural), Crowley ends up wearing flannel, Mild Language, Mention of alcohol

Synopsis: It's Valentine's Day and Dean Winchester is determined to celebrate it for the first time with his boyfriend, Crowley. Thankfully, Castiel agrees to help him to find gifts.

#supernatural #spn #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fic #spn fic #dean winchester x crowley #drowley #crowlean #ftm dean winchester #trans dean winchester #bi dean #valentines day #gifts #fluff #romance #fluff fic #one shot #dean winchester #crowley

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forcemasc-ed · 1 month

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#ftm #ftm hypno #boy hypno #trans #transgender #transmasc #forcemasc #forced masculinization #supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #not wincest

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callmehector · 11 months

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*Everywhere I go by Hollywood Undead playing in the background*

Dean(singing along): 🎶When I start drinking my dick does all my thinking🎶

Sam: De- Dean, you don't have a dick

Dean: Exactly

#dean winchester #destiel #spn #supernatural #dean x castiel #sam winchester #spn crack #trans dean winchester #trans male #ftm #sam is done with dean #sam and dean

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fizzy-dizzie · 5 months

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Trans Sam headcannies blink blink batting eyelids (BC I don't talk abt the TRUTH enough)

Binders wouldn't have been super accessible in the 90s-00s so I imagine he used some less safe methods.

He'd bind for wayyy longer then he was ment to

If he was on a hunt he kinda didn't have many options

He'd sit on the bed finally when they got back to a motel and just breathe deep breaths for a while

His ribcage just perpetually hurt, he was used to it

He started T in college and got top surgery not long after

Dean had known about him being trans long before Sam left for college but he didn't really understand how serious Sam was about it until he came to get Sam to find his dad and 'oh my god that's a whole ass man'

Dean helped him cut his hair real short tho when they were young

John was not very impressed when that happened

John didn't know until they saw eachother post college

John didn't really get it. He was a very 'your ruining your body' type dad but honestly I think he would have had bigger problems on his mind to make a big fuss out of it (John winchester makes a big fuss out of everything so maybe more, he wouldn't make a MASSIVE fuss)

Sam was disappointed about his dad's lack of support but it was expected

Dean was very impressed by the top surgery job. Actually, considering he had never even seen one before, he was probably amazed.

Sam used to do research about what a trans person was in libraries on the computers

Most of his gender envy (/jealousy?) would have come from dean

Sam didn't really realise till he hit his pre-teen years

But he only found a name for how he felt at like 13-14

He told Dean about a year later

"I don't really understand much of what your saying, but if that's how you feel I just want to know that if that's what makes you happy.. I can get behind that, okay?" -Dean

Sam didn't cry but he gave Dean a massive hug. Emphasis on DID NOT cry those little water marks on Dean's shirt must've already been there.

Sam could only get so much from the internet so when he met another trans guy at college he was super excited and was able to learn a lot

He hated it when the showers in motels had mirrors right across from them

He'd leave the fan off intentionally so the mirror would fog up

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supernaturalscribe67 · 8 months

Text

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.

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