#young dean winchester

[gaytedlasso]

baptized in blood,

it drips from my nose

with no absolution.

what if it was easy?

Dean Winchester - patron saint of the weary

~

for my beloved Sana @sobernatural celebrating 2k

prompt: young Dean

inprnt / redbubble

[their-we-go]

dean and sam, headed home from school in the snow

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

[hitori-alouette]

have some love  by fullvoid

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

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

AO3 Link

[foolondahill17]

Dear Mr. Vonnegut,

Transcript (bracketed text are notes from Mrs. Dalton):

[11/15/94, please add date]

[C- please see me after class]

Dear Mr. Vonnegut,

[Introduce yourself here]

We’re supposed to pick our favorite author and write them a letter, or whatever. I don’t have a favorite author because I’m not a fucking [unacceptable language!] nerd, but I thought Cat’s Cradle was the best book we read so far by process of elimination (no offense). I just thought the other books were stupid. My Antonia? Total snooze fest [point taken]. And the story about the tricked-out wallpaper? 

I get that it was supposed to “mean something,” but – call me crazy – I think a story should have a good story before you start talking about hidden meanings. Some lady getting locked in her bedroom and hallucinating - that’s a shitty [language!] story. If I were her, I would have just jumped out the window or beat my husband over the head with a lamp. Not that I’m ever gonna have a husband. I’m a dude. But my point is, it doesn’t matter if the story’s secretly some feminist commentary on how we shouldn’t lock up women (see, Mrs. Dalton? I do pay attention) [not quite] if it’s just a crummy story in the first place. 

But Cat’s Cradle was a good story, first, before all those messages about how we shouldn’t have gone so crazy with nuclear technology during the Cold War because it might blow up the earth someday. But anyway, the story was good, you get me? It was funny and weird and had all that new age religion and science fiction stuff – kind of like “Star Trek.” 

I liked the stuff about Bokonism Bokononism. There’s this real stuck up prissy bitch in class named Marie [very inappropriate to discuss another student like this!] who was really upset that Bokononism was basically saying that all religion is just a bunch of lies people make up to make themselves feel better about the fact that everyone dies. And Mrs. Dalton said that, why did it matter if it was all lies if it still brought people peace? I don’t know, I think I’d rather not be lied to and find peace on my own terms, you get me? But Marie was all like “but Jesus is the truth and the Bible is the word of God.” People like her are all over Texas. I hope we move soon. It’s way too fucking [language!] hot here, too. 

My dad’s got this friend who’s a pastor who used to babysit me and my brother all the time. He’s always saying the same kind of stuff Marie is, accept [except] he’s not a jerk about it. He thinks that the evil all around us is proof that there’s good, too. My mom used to think that. She taught me the hole [whole] “when I lay me down to sleep” schtick, but then she ended up dying, anyway, by something so evil you wouldn’t even believe it if I told you. 

The foot thing was kind of kinky [??], but one thing I liked about Bokononism was the karass idea. I move around a lot, so I meet a lot of people, and I guess some of them have sorta joined my karass [nice connection to your personal life]. I don’t think we’re cosmically linked like the book was talking about, but I think it’s weird [significant?] that we all met each other even though we normally never would have. Like if Dad never met Pastor Jim, he never would have met Caleb and Bobby [run-on sentence] and then me and Sam never would have spent that summer with Bobby [run-on sentence] and I never would have learned how to replace a catalytic converter [impressive!], which was helpful because I had to do it all by myself on the Impala when Dad broke his arm and I needed to drive [??] Sam to school.

It’s like what Newt said: “life’s just a game of Cat’s Cradle. [end quote] I see what you mean, but I don’t know if I totally agree. It just seems so pointless if you really think about it. Life’s nothing more than interconnected strings [nicely phrase]. It’s…doomful [??]. (My dweeb little brother says “inevitable” is a better word) [It is a better word]. 

Living in a world where you’re not in control of your decisions seems kinda depressing. I mean, I don’t have a lot of control over where we live or what my dad does for a living, but at least I get to decide to help people. It’s not me who’s trapped inside a story that’s already been written. I’m not some corpse on the highest mountain of some Caribean Caribbean Island, thumbing my nose to God. I’ve got more power than that, right? [A significant question]

Anyway, it ain’t like you’re actually going to read this because I probably won’t get a chance to send it. And Mrs. Dalton won’t get to read it, either, [spoke too soon] because I won’t even be at this school in a week. But there’s nothing else to do while I wait for Dad to get back home. There’s nothing good on TV after 11:00, so I might as well do homework. He said he’d be back in time for dinner, but it’s already 1 AM. [??]

Bye, [Regards,] 

- Dean W.

 A+, you’re a genious [genius] Mr. Winchester! [haha]

[Passably written, and you followed the assignment well enough, but your language and attitude toward your fellow students are unacceptable.]

*Pages surrounded by doodles of a devils trap, fire, Star Wars logo, book, stick-figures, grocery list (peanut butter, apples, bread, soup, cereal, socks), snail, partly erased cartoon dog, glasses, gun, Scooby Doo, baseball, skull, Samulet, Chevrolet logo, Zeppelin lyrics (‘Twas in the darkest depths of Mordor I met a girl so fair, but Gollum, and the evil one, crept up and slipped away with her), note: Call dentist for Sammy! 555-8451*

[happy74827]

Irrepressible Desire

[Dean Winchester x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Over the last couple of months, you found yourself struggling to contain the barrier between friendship and desire with your best friend. So far it was accomplishable, until a certain late night drive threatens to pulverize your restraint

WC: 2,796

Category: Lime/Steamy, Slight Angst.

And as always, if you enjoyed, please feel free to reblog and drop a comment or two. I’d love to hear your feedback!

『••✎••』

To have his hands glide down your waist as you reel into him further. Your fingers searching and gripping through his hair as he’s leaning down, peppering hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck.

You longed for his steamy and moist breath to send shivers all around your collarbone. To feel his arms lift you up off the ground, gripping your thighs as he pivots and pins you against the nearest wall.

You begged to hear your name fall from his lips, to meet his pleading eyes for that brief moment. That pause in life where everything moves in slow motion, where it feels as if you’re the only two in the room — in the world. His green eyes, glowing a vibrant emerald in the moonlight, replicating the emotion that the both of you felt. All without a single word.

You dreamt for that day to come — for him to finally look at you different than what he saw. To share that first heart felt kiss. To have him look at you as if you were a dream.

Yet every day was the same.

He would flash his oblivious dazzling smile as you told him your daily ramble. It was mostly minor stuff that had happened on your way to work. Nonetheless, it was something — anything that gave you a reason to stop by in the afternoon.

At times, you’d find yourself daydreaming about him right there on the spot, listening to him babble about a new hunt he investigated. He’d talk about the odd encounters he had with Sammy while all you could think about was his arms wrapped around your waist, holding you close. His soft, tender lips meeting yours — molding in sync perfectly as pillows.

It was only on rare occasions where you’d find him irritated with life. His plaid pullover hung limply over his shoulders, despite being supported by such a strong base from all the hunts he’ve done. He had such a determined look on his face even with dark, sunken circles under his beautifully bloodshot eyes. The eyes that were flicking back and forth over his father’s journal of secrets. He sat there with his hands resting on his temple — making you wonder what he thought about, other than the hunts. It’s almost as if you could hear the nonstop clunking of gears turning in his head.

On those days, you were there solely as his friend. A buddy to listen, share, and ease the stress. And he carried loads of it.

You’ve always admired him for his determined attitude. He and his brother saved countless of lives, including yours on occasion. The compassion and loyalty he has for people was what made you fall in love with him to begin with. No matter what he seemed like on the outside.

You did avoid him at times, finding the days harder to withstand around him. A part of you felt as if he knew. The gleam in his omniscient eyes.

It pained you to keep up with the denial and the lie you’ve told him. What you’ve told yourself. It made you scream out into your pillow at night, begging your dream to come true. But, of course, it hasn’t.

It was late, about an hour after midnight. You hadn’t slept due to picturing him in your mind repeatedly as if his face were a bunch of snapshots. That made matters worse with the fact that he was beside you the entire time of you doing so.

You were in the passenger seat of his Impala — Baby as he calls it, staring out into the abyss of your mind. The faint but prominent midnight blue of the night sky stared back at you in awe. The moon glowed softly onto the darkened pavement, seeming as if the twinkling stars were encouraged as they dashed behind the tree tops. Then, suddenly, popping back to greet you once again.

The car itself stayed at a comfortable temperature allowing you to relax into the seat. If he weren’t clouding your thoughts, you might’ve drifted off — at least for an hour or two.

Sighing to yourself, you turned to the man in question, Dean.

His eyes were focused on the desolate road in front of him, humming softly to the music of your choosing.

When his eyes flickered over to you, noticing the pondered look, you had forgotten to breathe once again.

“Hey,“ he murmured, soft as a whisper. His voice alone was deep and full of drowsiness, yet it held an angelic tone to it. That alone sent shivers down your spine. “Something on your mind?”

Your imagination started back up again as you peek at him from the corner of your eye in guilt. You couldn’t help yourself but envision him as if you were the only two people in the world. He was the most enchanting man you’ve ever encountered in your life. The way his pink lips were slightly quirked up on one side. How his impressive biceps tense and relax with every gear shift he made. The way his alluring green eyes flickered back and forth from the road, then to you like he was waiting for a reaction of some sort.

Wait, had he asked you something? You couldn’t remember… It was like all of your coherent and reasonable thoughts were carelessly tossed out of the window.

All you could think about was you and him. Him touching you; kissing you. Your lips, your jaw, your neck… how badly you wanted him to pull and drag you to the back and show you what it’s like to open your heart indefinitely to one man. This man. Your man.

You heard him call out your name, slowly pulling you back to reality. With a blink you were back in the passenger seat. He was still driving, but his glances were more rapid now. More concerning.

Shit, what did he ask?!

“Uh, sweetheart?” With the nickname rolling off his tongue with unease, you could feel the tension rising in the car. “You, alright?”

“F-Fine.” You hesitated.

He noticed. “You sure? You’re looking at me like you’re ready to devour my brain, zombie girl.”

You mentally scolded yourself, looking down in guilt, as he turned back to the road with a chuckle. Fortunately for you, he seemed completely oblivious of the lustful yearning you had for him.

As excuses go, you were lousy. You weren’t as quick-witted as the boys, stumbling over words to find a simple lie to cover your tracks. It was one of the reasons why you still worked at the coffee shop, rather than helping out with the hunts. That and they physically didn’t allow you to.

“I’m just… hungry.” You finally answered, too embarrassed to look him the eye. “That’s all.”

“Want a burger? I’m sure Mickey D’s is still open.”

“No, it’s okay—“

“Seriously, sweetheart,” you could tell from his voice, he was smiling. “I don’t mind.”

“No, Dean—“

“We could pick up a number one for Sam too—“

“I don’t want a burger!“ You finally snapped, glaring at him in the driver’s seat. It took you a few seconds to realize what you’ve done, immediately shrinking in size once you had.

The sudden anger made him pull a full 180 to look at you in shock, causing the car to swerve. He frantically regained his posture, guiding the car back to his lane, before taking quick glances at you once again.

It fell in an unnerving silence between the two of you. The tension was so high, yet you could feel his body heat caressing your skin, as if to reassure you that he wasn’t upset. You felt yourself subconsciously inching towards him, unable to turn away.

After a minute or two, he grabbed hold of his steering wheel with his palm, spinning it lightly in his hand. He was supposed to make a left turn, as you were nearing the dingy motel, but instead he effortlessly parked off to the side. Once he straightened his wheels back out, he reached over and turned off the radio.

Now it really was just you and him.

You stared at him in bewilderment as he flipped on the courtesy light, allowing you to finally see his face properly.

His was slightly sweaty, mostly due to the humidity outside. His messy hair stuck to the side of his head, the tips dripping down from his temple to his neck. You imagined what it would feel like to run your fingers through that hair. To cling onto it as his hands rummaged against your waist, pulling you in.

Oddly enough, he wasn’t in any layers. Only the hiking boots, jeans, and the plain cotton tee that hung tightly around his shoulders, outlining his toned physique. If you squinted hard enough, you could see the faint outline of his abs poking through.

Then, of course, was the amulet that hung loosely on his neck. You remembered asking him the importance of it on the day you’ve met. He had walked into the coffee shop, ordering the most disgusting coffee on the menu, with it dangling on full display for everyone to see.

At first he lied, as you were just a barista, but he later informed you that it was a symbol of his bond to his brother, Sam. It was a present that he’d cherished since they were younger. Despite its sweet backstory, It truly was an odd-looking thing. A humanoid head with bull-like horns aiming upwards held together with a black cord.

From what he told you, he never takes it off.

“You’re not really hungry, are you?” He eventually asked, breaking the silence that had fallen between you two. He rested his arm against the back of the seat, slouching his leg over his knee to face you directly.

You slightly frowned at him, already giving him the answer without saying the word.

“Figures,” Dean sighed in response, rolling his head back in annoyance — making you go feral on the inside. “You’re a shitty liar, sweetheart.”

“Why do you call me sweetheart?”

The question rolled off your tongue before you could stop yourself. You felt his eyes linger on yours, the soft freckles on his nose staring daggers at you. Then the unexpected happened, he snorted.

He snorted like pig. “Really? Out of all the questions you could’ve asked, you pick that one?”

“I… I just—“

“Stop,” Dean reached out to grab your shoulders. You instantly melted into his touch, barely holding yourself back from collapsing into him. “Just, stop.”

His thumb caressed your bare shoulder as he stared deeply into your eyes. You felt yourself lean closer into his touch as his thumb became a palm, rising up to cup your jaw.

“Dean…?” You muttered softly into his ear, realizing you were only inches apart from one another. The smell of whiskey that was stained deeply into his shirt, blessed your nostrils, filling you up with euphoria. For the first time ever you felt the heat of his breath touch your cheek — sending shivers all throughout your body.

Was this really really happening? After all those nights of crying into your pillow, this moment didn’t feel real. You felt as if you were going to wake up back in the passenger seat with the motel sign outside the windshield.

But that didn’t happen. You didn’t wake up. You weren’t daydreaming again… it was real. It was all real. He lowered himself down to your lips, slightly lifting your chin to an angle, hovering his over yours for a moment. Just a moment, as if he was searching for some kind of assurance. An okay to go forward. Your eyes closed with ambition as he finally collided them together.

You took it slow, plucking intimately at his soft mouth — not knowing how to proceed. His lips rolled back slightly as you ran your fingers through his hair.

Dean kissed you again, now cradling your head more securely, his other hand easing up your side. He drew back enough to turn your head, changing the angle. He did it slowly, your noses brushing. You blinked drowsily, mirroring him, parting your lips slightly in anticipation. You caught the unsteady shudder of his breath against your skin before your mouths met again. Your lips moved haltingly.

You followed Dean’s press and retreat, over and over.

Your fingers were still in the boy’s sweaty, soft hair when he had slicked your lower lip with his tongue. You shuddered, pressing nearer as he slid his tongue into the willing heat of your mouth, easing deep, sliding out wet. You found yourself panting softly as Dean kissed your mouth again, again, and again. Your lips kneading, inflamed, with the press of his tongue again. He didn’t make a sound, he wouldn’t allow himself a low rumble of pleasure, not while you parted your lips wantonly, not while your tongues met, slick, rolling lazily.

He eventually pulled you towards the drivers side, letting you straddle his lap as he gripped a handful of your hair gingerly. It allowed you what you wanted, sucking the wet twisting root of your tongue deep into his mouth. Then, and only then did he make a soft noise, a low sigh as you parted for quick air before intertwining together again, straining against each other, rubbing clothed skin, warm fabric under your flexing hands.

Dean touched your back, the curve of your spine, encouraging you closer. The slobbery kisses never calmed, getting rougher and rougher to the point where you had to pull apart for a breather.

For a moment you both sounded like dogs that ran a marathon. Panting and sweating in sync as your foreheads collide. Dean’s hands found their way to grip your waist to keep you safe and stable on top of him as he pulls away to look at you.

He murmurs your name underneath his breath, panting between words as he pulls a strand of hair out of your face. You stare at him enchantedly, resting your hands on his shoulders.

“God,” he huffs, “it’s a good thing I pulled over, huh?”

You smiled in response, quietly chortling, as your luxuriant eyes glossed over the man you’ve come to love. Your breaths mended in sync, both exasperated from the sudden jolt in energy.

“You remind me of my dog.”

His blunt statement had you give a double take, raising your eyebrows. You couldn’t tell if he was joking or not, his neutral eyes staring into yours. “A dog?”

“Yeah, my dog.” His tone made it sound as if it were obvious.

“My kissing reminds you of your dog?”

He rolled his eyes at your statement, raising his hands towards the center of your waist. “When my dad was learning how to become a hunter, we owned a dog for a while. Sammy was too young to remember, but her name was Sweetie. A golden retriever that we rescued as a pup.” His eyes glimmered at what you believed to be the memory of him and his dog. A smile formed, “Dad hated her, he hated everything, but I didn’t. She was the thing that made the first few years without my mom, not a living hell.”

“That’s… that’s beautiful, Dean, but why are you sharing this with me?”

“You asked me before why I called you sweetheart, that’s why. Her name was Sweetie, but I called her sweetheart as a nickname.”

“Dean—“

“Please, let me finish,” he cupped your face, forcing you to look into his pleasing eyes. “No matter how many times I deny it, you’re special to me. I’ve come to realized that. You’re it for me, hun, and you’ve always had been. I knew you felt the same for a long time — like I said, you’re a shit liar — but I was too scared to act, in fear of your safety.”

You raised an eyebrow, rubbing your thumb against his wrist. “My safety…?”

“Everyone who gets involved with me, gets hurt — one way or another. And I can’t seem to stop it no matter how hard I try. I’ve seen the way you’ve look at me, the way I look at you, so I constantly made an effort to stick you with someone else. Someone better than I am. But, that, obviously didn’t work.”

You knew this was it, all the pain of wishing you were good enough was over. Because the truth was, you were always good enough for him.

He sighed, taking his hand into yours. His swollen lips kissed the palm of your hand, allowing the slightest dent of his lips to curl upwards.

“It just made it harder to let you go.”

[solarcas]

Suptober Day 21 - Haunted gotta be a good son even when dad's not around

[Open for better quality!] + bonus glitter close-ups:

[holylulusworld]

Thief for Christmas

Summary: Memories of your and Dean’s first encounter.

Square 7 filled for my X-MAS BINGO: Christmas tree

Pairing: (Dean Winchester/Young Dean x Reader): Christmas Tree 

Warnings: flashbacks, Christmas fluff

Inspired by episode 3x08. Divider by @firefly-graphics​

Lulu’s Multi-Fandom X-Mas Bingo

1991, your home, the night before Christmas Eve

“Hello? Daddy?” you yawn. Your eyes flutter open, and you roll to your side to switch your light on. “Dad, are you back?”

Swinging your legs out of the bed you hiss as you forgot about your sprained ankle. Pain shoots through your foot, and you take a deep breath as the throbbing slowly fades.

“Daddy?” slowly getting out of bed you call for your father. It’s the night before Christmas Eve and you hope he came to see you or spent Christmas with you.

You hobble toward the door, carefully to not add too much pressure on your left foot. 

Your heart flutters, and you smile as you hear someone downstairs. It must be your father. You know it. He’ll play Santa this year and give you the only gift you asked Santa Claus for. Your father.

“Daddy?” you whisper to not wake your grandmother. 

She’s always there, raising the child of her daughter, while your father avoids coming home. “Daddy?”

It’s a struggle, but you manage to go downstairs. “Daddy?”

You gasp as your eyes land on a boy sitting under the Christmas tree you and your grandmother bought. A neighbor, not your father, helped you put up the large Christmas tree.

“Who are you?” you put your hands on your hips as the boy holds a wrapped package in his hands. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Please don’t scream,” his cheeks are shades of red as you hobble toward the tree. “I won’t hurt you.”

“As if you could hurt me,” you sass back. 

He smirks at your attitude.

“What are you doing here? Are you a thief?”

“I-I…” he drops his eyes to the gift in his hands. “I was looking for a gift for my brother.” He sheepishly admits. “Sorry. Your house was the closest thing to the motel we are staying at.”

He looks away and shakes his head.

“You’re alone on Christmas. You and your brother,” you carefully sit down next to the boy as he puts the gift back under the tree. “My name is Y/N.”

“D-ean,” he stammers. “I didn’t want to scare you, Y/N. It’s just, dad forgot about Christmas. Sammy is only eight. He doesn’t understand dad has things to do.”

“My dad didn’t show for Christmas either,” you reach out for one of the gifts you wrapped. “I don’t know if he likes cars, but I bought two model cars for my dad.”

“I-“ Dean swallows thickly as you hand him two gifts. “I can’t take these. You got them for your dad.”

“He spends Christmas with that woman again,” you sniffle. “Since mom left us. I mean, since she died, he has this other woman. She hates me.”

“My mom died when I was four,” Dean gasps. He can’t believe he just told you about his dad and mom. 

“You and your brother,” moving a little closer to Dean you place your hand on his upper arm, “if you are still alone tomorrow. You could come over to eat with me and my grandmother. She makes the best food, and you’ll love her pie.”

“Pie!” his eyes round. “I-I need to see if dad comes back.” Dean excitedly says. His father long forgotten, he gets up. “Please don’t tell your granny I wanted to rob the gifts.”

“Dude,” you grin as Dean holds out his hand to help you back up, “without my help you would’ve stolen a Sapphire Barbie. You’re a lousy thief.”

“What if my brother likes Sapphire Barbie?” he challenges. 

“I think he’ll like the car more,” you dip your head to look Dean up and down. “Or I got a new book. Uh-about the animals in North America. Does he like reading?”

“Sammy loves to read. He sticks his nose into a book anytime he gets the chance to,” Dean smiles when he tells you about his brother. “He’s smart, you know.”

“I can give you the book, and you can keep the car,” you offer. “We can wrap the book for your brother too if you want to.”

“Why are you being so nice? I broke into your home.”

“I know how it feels having a father who doesn’t care much about you…”

Now

“Sweetheart?” Dean pokes his head inside the room. “Baby? Uh-what are you doing?”

“I’m decorating our room, Dean,” you chuckle as Dean steps inside your shared room to look at the decoration. “Can you hand me the pillows? I got one for all of us.”

“My name is on the pillow,” he grins from ear to ear. “You got one for Sammy too.”

You laugh as Dean happily places the red plaid throw pillow on his side of the bed. “Of course, I got one for Sam. I bought one for Castiel and Jack too.”

“Aw, my girl got us all a nice pillow,” he takes the pillow with your name on it to place it on your side of the bed. 

“Do you remember our first Christmas? You broke into my house and stole my heart,” you purse your lips as Dean frowns. He acts as if he doesn’t remember your first Christmas. “DEAN!”

“Sweetheart,” Dean steps closer to cup your face. He smiles before he presses a soft kiss on your lips, “of course I remember our first Christmas. You invited me and Sammy after I broke into your home and stole more than a gift.”

“You’re a cocky man, Mr. Winchester.”

“That I am, Y/N,” he smirks. “How about we show the others all the things you bought for Christmas…”

Tags in reblog.

[xxshotgun-weddingxx]

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

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

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

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

[violentdelightsproductions]

Halloween 2022: Just a Bunch of Hocus Pocus (Supernatural x Hocus Pocus AU)

October 31st, 1993. The Sam and Dean have to spend Halloween in Salem as their father is hunting nearby. There they run into Ellie Spencer, who just loves Halloween and all things witchy. The three of them decide to spend Halloween night all together. Roaming around they find an old house that, as the legend goes, used to be the home of three wicked witches. Wanting to impress Ellie, Dean lights up a black candle that summons the witches back to life. The Winchesters and Ellie now have to do everything in their power to stop the witches from claiming an innocent soul and performing a spell that will grand them immortality, before the sun rises. That task though, is proven to be rather hard, as the witches are back. And they don’t intend to go anywhere....

[gaytedlasso]

lit by neon motel signs

[their-we-go]

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

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

[scarecrowmax]

Young Dean Winchester Halloween Icons

free to use, credit appreciated but not necessary. if you have a request or want to be tagged for any of my edits send me an ask. don’t repost, reblogs appreciated. all of my edits can be found here

[j2lovemoose]

[sallysetoncore]

Maybe This Time from Cabaret // Teen!Dean Winchester (Bad Boys)

“everybody loves a winner so nobody loves me” for @abidraws

[logicalerror101]