Yuhhh

it’s okay to forgive yourself. you didn’t know any better. and even if you did, forgive yourself. we’re human. use it as a way to grow and move forward, don’t allow it to hold you back from healing

I still hate bunker era spn so much. they should've been on the road until they died, staying in crappy little crash pads and dying roadside motels. cabins in the woods, built on a lake that saw its peak tourism season in 1978. tourist traps in the doldrums, the dead zone, when normal folks are back at work and normal kids are back in school. car camping, but not in a cool or bougie or REI-everything way; car camping as in "we gotta stop here; if I drive five more miles, we're gonna wreck either from no sleep or bloodloss or bourbon". sam brushing his teeth with his forefinger and dean not brushing at all; "if you kiss me with tongue, you can brush my teeth for me." it's not charming when two men in the last years of their thirties are sitting in a laundromat in bare feet and ratty undershirts and washed-thin boxers; it's the kind of shit that'd get the cops called if anybody other than the half-blind old biddy who runs the joint and her semi-feral cats ever stopped by. dean arguing with the clerk at the automotive store about the price of cabin filters shipped from taiwan. sam sending back his eggs in another greasy spoon diner with perpetually sticky formica tabletops because there's shell in his omelette. dean smoking the half-pack of menthols he found in the nightstand drawer of the siesta inn's honeymoon suite last week (it was sam's birthday, so they were treating themselves), ass propped on the impala's rear bumper as he watches sam fuel 'er up. sam standing up and taking the cigarette from dean, grinding it out underfoot and shotgunning the last pull from dean's protesting mouth. new jeans bought at the combination hardware and ag supply stores; sandpaper rough and bleeding indigo the first ten times they sweat in 'em. dean cooking on a hotplate that he has no way of knowing was subject to a nationwide recall in the early 00s for its tendency to start electrical fires. grocery shopping at the small markets that sell local produce and hunting and fishing licenses, the ones that have handwritten signs that say "NO PETS. NO METH. NO PUBLIC RESTROOMS." in black magic marker. skulking through army/navy surplus stores, dodging baby gays looking for their first pair of corcoran jump boots and old dudes buying trench knives and ka-bar machetes and expired MREs. anyways. I digress. they're meant for the middle spaces and the weird little towns two generations for disappearing and the long stretches of empty highway. it's their birthright, damnit.

I think the problem the writers have is thinking that sam is the cool calm and collected one and dean is the one going off doing crazy girl shit. did yall even see s1. every 30 seconds sam is like "someone died in my brain, let's go" [drives the impala into the side of a building] "honestly that thought hadnt occurred to me ://" [laughs at his brother diving off a bridge into sewer water] [decapitates someone with razor wire] [runs away to california for a second time] [becomes the central player in the demon hunger games] and dean literally just wants to find their dad. sam can pass for normal bc hes the only one in this godforsaken family with a filter, but hes just as, if not more wildly unhinged as his brother.

see and i think we’re supposed to see that when he’s soulless! because spn’s idea about soullessness isn’t that it suddenly makes you evil--it doesn’t introduce anything at all, it just takes away those filters that sam usually uses to shut some of that crazy stuff down. and then all of a sudden sam is doing, like, science experiments that involve making his brother a vampire