Ok I’m crazy but Abbot as Dennis’ stepdad. From his previous marriage, he became Dennis’ stepdad when the kid was like, literally 19 or 20, straight up already in college, was involved with Dennis’ mom when he was 17/18, still doing half-time in Nebraska with his dad (so he was really only in Pittsburgh for one summer before college) and just like… doesn’t know him super duper well. But he’s happy to have Dennis use his address as a primary in order to get in-state tuition for medical school in Pittsburgh. And yeah, Dennis moves in when he’s 23, cause Pittsburgh is crazy ass expensive, and it’s really just the major end of the fucking world when Dennis’ mom dies in a freak car accident.
And so now Dennis is in medical school, trying to keep it together, living with his stepdad that he highkey doesn’t know but does need because he can’t afford to live by himself.
And Abbot’s just like. “Well, you might as well just be my kid. C’mere, you.”
And things are pretty okay. Dennis starts his MS4 rotations, Abbot is happy to regularly stay up late (cause he would’ve been awake anyway) with him to study and do homework, and when the time does come for Dennis to do his ER rotation, Abbot gently suggests that Dennis do the day shift.
“Not that I don’t want you around, kiddo. Not what I’m getting at,” he had to clarify when Dennis very briefly looked like he wanted to throw up. “But learning separate from me could do you some good! My buddy Robby is the day shift attending, and people might make it weird if they figure out I’m your stepdad. It’ll be fine.”
Conceptually it is fine. The ER rotation goes for its time, Dennis expresses that he loves it, he wants to specialize in it, and then he continues on to a new rotation. Hooray, it all worked out.
Dennis gets placed for residency at the PTMC’s emergency department. They celebrate with cake before Dennis is picked up by Trinity and a gaggle of other girls to go party their minds out.
Except there’s one crucial thing. Abbot wasn’t really aware of Dennis’ dating life. For one, the kid was grown up, and if he wanted to keep it private, that was his own prerogative. Two, Dennis hadn’t brought a single soul home or even been out longer than six hours at a time except for work, so really, Abbot was just assuming the kid was focused on school, rather than hookups. He didn’t care—once again, full grown adult capable of his own choices.
Until Robby acts weird for a while. And Dennis is acting weird for a while, coming home and skipping dinner, hiding in his room, no longer interested in movie nights, cooking breakfast together, or legitimately any conversation extended beyond a few minutes. Dennis is gone a few nights a week, now, always citing a sleepover at Trinity’s, but when Abbot sees him at handoff at work, he’s overtired, eye bags deeper than normal, wearing a high-collared undershirt.
It’s when Dennis comes home, about seven weeks after his strangeness began, sobbing so hard he can barely breathe, Abbot connects the dots. It’s surprising to realize that Dennis was legitimately involved with Robby, cause one, attending? And two, older man? And three, man? But he holds Dennis close anyway, keeping his reorganization of his perspective on Dennis to himself, patting his back and gently rocking them where they stand, relishing, just a little, in how tight Dennis was gripping him, how badly he needed him.
“I’m sorry Robby broke your heart,” Abbot murmured, eliciting another sob from Dennis. “He’s sort of a jackass and does that a lot of the time. But, hey?” And he grabs Dennis’ jaw, lifting it gently to make eye contact, gaze flickering over Dennis’ ruddy-wet face, big blue eyes lined with red, listening intently, watching, desperate. “Just come on night shift with me, yeah?”
Dennis nods, but his mouth curls into a pout. “Trinity-“ he bleats, sniffling loudly. Abbot pulls him in back close, heart thudding loudly in his ears. “She can come on night shift too, kiddo. I’ll figure something out.”
And hey. He’s a little aware of the level of perversion happening here. It’s not ideal, not really, to know that your stepson-roommate-ish-kid was presumably getting railed by his best friend a few nights a week.
But there are always other older men to soothe a kid’s woes.
And when he thinks of it that way, it’s really easy to lean down and lick away Dennis’ tears, ignoring the kid’s pitiful protests, and seal their lips together with a hum. Dennis stills, blinks a few times, but when Abbot’s fingers curl around the back of Dennis’ head and pull him further in, Dennis melts, whimpering into the kiss, letting Abbot lick into his mouth, panting, eager.
“You call him daddy?” Abbot murmured between connections, pecking along Dennis’ face, nuzzling at his jaw. Dennis shivered, flushed, nodded.
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Sam is too young to go on hunts, but Dean has been doing it for years. Sam wants to feel useful, needs to be part of it somehow. He envies and resents Dean and John for their relationship - close in the way only hunting partners can be, in the way people who've saved each other's lives are. He does research but it's not enough. It's not practical. John and Dean both hold practical skills higher than anything else.
So Sam studies first aid. John taught him what he learned in the marines and through trial and error, but Sam wants to do it right. He practices stitching on old t-shirts and holey socks until they're perfectly neat. He steals bottles of disinfectant so the older Winchesters don't resort to vodka and whiskey. He practices wrapping bandages on himself, mummification as an expression of devotion.
Dean lets Sam take care of him after hunts and it's a ritual they both hold sacred. Under the too dim or too bright lights of motel bathrooms, Sam tenderly cleans Dean's wounds, stitches him together, sets disjointed bones, and sometimes, when Dean allows, will massage stiff muscles until Dean is half asleep and making content noises that go straight to Sam's dick.
But nothing gets him hard quite like the injuries themselves.
Something is very, very wrong with Sam. He doesn't understand how he can be so sincerely concerned about Dean and also popping a boner at the sight of Dean's pretty face covered in blood. Dean just suffers so beautifully. Sam always liked the old paintings of saints in their heavenly suffering, and Dean is like his own personal Saint Sebastian.
If Dean notices, he doesn't say anything, granting Sam a little dignity. He also doesn't try to avoid Sam's help, so that must count for something.
Sam extends the favour of a blind eye. He knows it's just residual adrenaline that pitches an impressive tent in Dean's jeans, but it's hard to fully ignore when he's kneeling before him and it would be so easy to just...
Seen a few deanmary posts around dean fucking her when he goes back in time but no johndean equivalents. The boy finally gets a chance with his dad pre-whiskey dick and fresh out the marines, you think he isn't gonna take him for the ride of his life? He's gonna call him daddy while john's fucking him senseless and unlock a whole new kink for that man. John's gonna see the face of that beautiful 'cousin' of mary's in his son when he grows up and it's gonna drive him crazy. Dean sowed the seeds for his own abuse back in the seventies.
It’s funny in a painful kind of way that my ao3 user subscriptions keep going up but the number of comments I get has gone down massively. It’s like people like reading my fics and want to know when I post, but they don’t want to tell me they like them or what they liked.
Very little actual engagement with me.
It’s like I’m posting stories for ghosts to read 😔
I’ll be honest, some days I do think about just never writing again and deleting all my fics.
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Dean who hit puberty way before Sam and just jerked off when he felt like it because there is no privacy in a motel room. Sam watching out of curiosity and asking questions, Dean learning that he doesn't just not care about the audience, he likes it.
Dean teaching Sam how to make himself feel good. Demonstrating his favourite techniques on himself and Sam copying. Dean teaching Sam how to stave off his orgasm until he's begging Dean to let him come. He never even told him he needed permission, that just developed organically, and it makes Dean lose his mind.
One of them had a wet dream so they lie practically on top of each other on the dry side of the bed.
Dean being a creep and watching porn in front of Sam, sometimes not even to jerk off, but just because he's bored. Watching porn together and jerking off side by side. It progresses to jerking each other off because it's no big deal, they're basically just one person at this point. What's the big deal about helping your brother out?
Brotherly bickering over who blows who first, once they cross that line. Dean always throws scissors and lets Sam decide anyway.
Competitions for who can make the other come first, using all the tricks they learnt on each other - they know what gets each other off.
They don't even see it the same way as sex with other people. It's just something they do. Dean, being older, understands how screwed up it is first but doesn't say anything to Sam; he doesn't want to stop.
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I really just have to summarize Thomas's entire life:
He was in a committed relationship with a male swan named Henry for 18-24 years before a female swan named Henrietta showed up and mated with Henry.
Thomas was initially jealous of the pair and attacked them, breaking 2 of the 5 eggs Henrietta had laid. However, once the remaining eggs hatched, Thomas warmed up to them and helped raise them.
Henry couldn't fly because of an injured wing, so Thomas taught the cygnets how to fly.
When they needed to reduce the goose population in the pond where Thomas and the swans lived, they dyed Thomas's feathers red so he wouldn't be separated from Henry.
Henry, Henrietta, and Thomas remained in their happy throuple for years and raised 68 cygnets before Henry died in 2009. After Henry's death, Henrietta found another swan and flew away, leaving Thomas alone.
Thomas finally met and mated with a female goose in 2011 and had his own babies. However, another goose named George stole them and raised them himself.
As Thomas grew elderly and blind, he was relocated to a wildlife center where he raised orphaned cygnets.
His caretaker at the center described him as "pretty high maintenance."
Thomas died in 2018 at the age of around 40. He had a funeral that included a small coffin and a procession that was led by a bagpiper. He was buried under the stone where Henry was buried, the two finally reunited in death.
Before and after his death, Thomas has been celebrated as an icon of the LGBTQ+ community for obvious reasons.
y'all want more wincest this weekend? here's a snip of chapter 3 of It's 3 am I must be lonely.
Dean's exhausted. Between getting caught managing Sam's ever-changing temperament, as well as watching the backs of a team of squishy humans, he’s beat, and it's only day one. By the end of day 3, they've lost as many people as they've saved.
It's a bit of a buzzkill. Sam's sour mood has only worsened, and by the time they are back in another moth-eaten motel room, he’s sure Sam's ready to hightail it back to California.
They get insanely drunk instead.
Which is the only reason Dean is allowing this, and he will stick to that story in court.
He doesn’t even remember the rationale Sam gave to convince him to take off his shirt, but he did, and while it wasn't necessarily warm in the room, Sam’s perceptive, albeit a little glassy eyes raking all over his body while he casually sips his beer, is certainly making Dean sweat.
“You have more scars than you used to.”
No shit. Dean thinks bitterly.
“Almost all monsters have claws of some kind,” Dean evades. Selectively leaving out the fact that only one of the last eight was from an actual monster. Was that the reason why he took his shirt off? Was Sam checking for bleeding wounds?
“I have a few new ones too,” Sam offers.
“I saw,” Dean nods. Because yeah, when Sam was naked and on him, he made sure to get a good look.
Sammy smirks before pulling his own shirt off.
“I got this one falling off a beer pong table,” he says, pointing to a quarter-sized, irregularly shaped scar on his shoulder. “These, uh,” Sam chuckles, pointing to three circular scars on his chest, “hot wax play gone wrong, turns out the type of wax you use does matter.”
“Really,” Dean swallows tightly, imagining it and regretting it because without his shirt it's going to be difficult to hide his hard on.
“Yeah,” Sam smirks, before pointing to another, curved one lower on his forearm. “This one was dumb. Forgot I left a burner on and branded myself.”
“And you still got into Stanford?”
“Shut the fuck up!” Sam laughs.
Dean laughs too, relaxing easily onto his mattress. He assumes that’s the end of their little show and tell. But when he looks back at Sammy, he’s still looking at his torso, almost expectantly.
“Sam…”
“I showed you mine!”
“I didn't ask you to!”
Sam looks crestfallen. And fuck, cut out his heart with a spoon, why don’t ya? Sam’s big, brown, sad eyes have always been and always will be his downfall.
“You used to tell me everything De…”
Dean swallows the painful lump that has suddenly formed in his throat. He wants to tell him everything. It’s not about trust, fear, or even about Sam. He just, doesn't want to relive them. Not even for a moment.
Plus, he’s drunk. It's going to be a lot harder to coordinate which monster could realistically make each mark, and for Sam to believe it. Because Sam’s not stupid. He's easily twice, if not three times, smarter than Dean. He’s going to have to play this carefully.
He closes his eyes.
“Okay Sam.”
When he opens them, Sam is practically in his lap. “Whoa.” He’s so close Dean can feel his breath on his bare skin.
“What’s this one from?” Sam whispers, running his pointer finger over the long, pencil-thick scar that dissects his pec.
Dean’s jaw clenches. His brain inadvertently flashes back to that night. Two days after his Nineteenth birthday. A few weeks after John tracked them down at Bobby’s and dragged them back practically by their throats.
John was in even shitter state than he was two years ago. Manic. Angry. Broke. The kind that makes a man lose track of his soul. Dean knows in an instant what the next chapter of his life is going to look like.
At least John didn't hurt Sammy. It wasn’t his fault after all; it was Dean’s. Dean’s the one who took him to Bobby’s. Dean’s the one who disobeyed John’s direct order. Dean’s the one who should bear the consequences. And John made sure to find a creative way to get the punishment to stick. On one of the coldest nights of the fucking year, he kicked Dean out of their motel room. Took the Impala's keys and left him with the option to fend for himself if he was so ‘goddamn grown up.’
Dean did. With the first trucker who picked him up.
In both of his lines of work, he’s come across only a few true psychopaths. Most of the men who bought his services were just lonely, overworked, closested dicks ready to forget the whole thing by the time they finished. Efficient and quick. Dean preferred those types of customers actually. But every so often, Dean crosses paths with a real sicko. He’d take every single one of those Lovecraft-like monsters in John’s journal at once over 5 minutes with a real predator.
“...De?”
“Uh,” Dean shakes off the memory before it can get its hooks in any deeper. “Wraith. Caught me, tried for my heart. Missed.”
Sam hums not commitally but seems convinced enough despite Dean’s momentary dissociation. He’s still staring at the mark, rubbing his thumb over it.
Dean’s heart is pounding. He’s sure Sam can feel it. His hand is right there. In fact Sam still hasn't taken his eyes off it, and Dean is starting to worry he’s not buying it.
Before his eyes can process what’s happening, Sam is leaning down, pressing a searing kiss to the raised scar tissue.
Dean’s breath comes out in a rushed gasp. He feels like someone just kicked him in his chest. “Sammy…”
“Does it hurt?”
Dean shakes his head.
“N-No.”
I'm really liking rewatching s1 and just making all the scenes gayer and angstier. want more? come yell at me about ittttttttttttttt
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The issue that arises with the combination of 3/4 sleeves and sunrays of a certain subtropical region is that my arms currently look like I've had a slight brush with the Darkhold
