goddddd hbo sam though, just [deep hollows under his eyes no matter how much sleep he gets] [lines of coke in dingy club bathrooms] [eyebrow piercing] [smoking under the neon lights outside bars at night] [pricks his finger every morning and draws an angel-banishing sigil on the inside of his wrist just in case] [can't think of Jessica without also thinking of Lucifer, not anymore] [getting woken up by Dean in odd spots around the Bunker with blood on his hands but no injuries on his body] [spends all of season 7 in baggy clothing and oversized hoodies because every kind of touch triggers a Cage memory] [constantly sleepwalking and occasionally sleep levitating] [kindness with a razor edge to it, like he’s scared he’ll forget how if he doesn’t fight for it] [reflexively whispering Christo to himself to see if it hurts] [telekinetically pins Dean to the wall during their fight in 4.21] [hoop earrings when they’re not on hunts, glinting dark gold behind the sway of his hair] [starves himself the whole time Dean is a demon] [learns witchcraft from Rowena and dreams old memories not his own, of stone circles and wild dances around bonfires] [vomits every time Cas heals him] [scribbled spell notes in smudged ink all over the back of his hand] [knows that he'll always be unclean] [picks at his food and buys organic produce and jogs for hours like the demon blood is something he can sweat out] [like he can purge out the toxins and forget the way that everything always tastes like iron and sulfur] [like it’s the only thing his mouth remembers the only thing his body knows the only thing he’ll ever be]
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Hbospn where Sam comes out as non-binary and asks to be referred to as they/them. The struggle of coming to terms with being non-binary. Because all their life they felt like something other. Felt like a freak. A monster. All they ever wanted to be was normal. But. At the same time. There’s something in the back of their head, telling them that they just don’t fit within the hardy, blood-caked box of manhood that closes around the Winchesters like a trunk of a muscle car. They’ve read too much, absorbed too much, they know how gender works and how it’s barbed wire. Feels like barbed wire to them anyway. But, isn’t that feeling just one more thing that makes them different? Why can’t they just feel like Dean, like their Dad. Why can’t they just be a normal human man? And then they get to Stanford and they think about coming out, but it’s the early aughts, and they know if they came out, it’d just be another reason to label them as a freak. Then they find out about the demon blood and their powers and everything that comes with, and suddenly they’re confused, tangled up inside. Are they non-binary because they’re demonic? Are they genderless because they’re a monster and monsters don’t have genders? And so they put it aside and reject it and repress it until they meet the angels. These glorious beings of light and god and love and they’re genderless. Good things can be genderless too. Them and Castiel talk about it endlessly the closer they get, and each time Castiel looks at them and knows. Then they’re disillusioned of angels and once again they spiral. Often they think of Dean’s reaction. What would he say? What would he even say? It honestly isn’t until they’re living with Amelia that they get the space to think about it again. And decide that they deserve to feel free, to feel real. They’ve earned it. They’ve been free of the demon blood for a while now. They still feel this way. Feel completely removed from the concept of gender, and maybe it’s because theyre so other and maybe that’s okay. Coming out to Dean when he gets back. Dean laughing and asking them, “Do you really not remember?” And Sam, who has been to hell and back, who has faced decades of blood and muck and desperation and horror, trapped and absorbed in the steel trap of their own head, doesn’t remember, because trauma is a relentless bed fellow you never can recall in the light of morning, and then Dean lifts up his shirt, and shows them the scars from his top surgery. They never question themselves again after that.
Summary: Girl meets boy. Girl almost gives boy blowjob. Boys brother ruins it. Kinda goes on from there. Hbo!spn inspired
Prompt: “you guys realise how incredibly codependent you are, right?”
Warnings: swearing, mentions of drugs and alcohol, mentions of addiction, guns, gunshot, almost blowjobs, I think that’s it..
A/n: I went on a real hbo!spn dive and wrote this little thing. This ones a little darker but I loved writing it!
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It was dark out due to the late hour. The walls in the alley were closer together than one would have expected. The only light was low and cast over the area, coming from the sign that was supposed to read Ease but the s was flickering and the second e was out totally. Street lamps at the end of the road were either broken or off making the entire area be seen with a blue haze. A couple of windows of the buildings either side had lights on, home to people who had nowhere else to live, (obviously who would choose to live in this shitty old city). Dirty newspapers and paper bags littered the street, some accompanied by used needles or little baggies. The door to the shady backstreet dive bar was within eyesight, the wood cracked and the paint peeling off. There was a group of men around the door, old enough to know what kind of place this was, but still young enough to run if the cops showed up. They smoked and drank and laughed, their hands reaching out and trying to pet any pretty thing that walked past, hollering and cheering when a couple too busy to notice them came stumbling out of the door, lips moving fast and hands even faster.
The ground beneath your knees was hard. The gravel from the broken and cracked cement dug into your skin, ripping small holes in the already ripped jeans covering your legs. The big biker boots on your feet lay creased and scuffed behind you as your hands moved slowly up his legs, towards his belt.
“C’mon, you know what I want,” came his strong voice altered slightly by the amount of whiskey in his system, which had become his new normal.
You look up at him, staring at his eyeliner smudged eyes and kiss-bitten lips and think ‘oh he’s perfect.’ His hair was choppy as if cut by someone with shakey hands and his stubble was short, like he had forgotten that it would grow back. There was a small tattoo at the corner of his left eye, a happy face with crosses for eyes, and he had what seemed like the tips of flames crawling up his neck from beneath his shirt. There was a strange necklace led on his chest, a face with horns, as far as you could tell. The leather jacket he was wearing added to his already impressive stature and the countless patches messily sewn onto it told a story of their own. He had a dangerous air about him; his body moved faster than his mind, his eyes cold and uncaring but if you looked long enough- you could see the pain, the burden, and the anger behind them. He held himself as if always ready for a fight, light on his toes, never getting too distracted by one thing.
His left hand moved from his side to your face, you saw his knuckles read 1983 before they stroked over your cheek before moving back into your hair and grasping tight, pulling your head back so he could look down and see all of your ‘pretty face’ as he so kindly called it earlier.
“Does baby not wanna suck my cock? Is that what’s happening here?” He asks sarcastically, not expecting or wanting an answer, “ ‘cos I can go and find someone else, and leave you here all alone.”
“No D please, I want to..” you respond, feeling his hand tighten in your hair, his other one moving to grasp your throat - not tight enough to hurt, yet.
He bends at the waist and moves his face close to yours, an uncaring look in his eyes, “Then get on with it,” he sneers, the movement of his words pulling on the scar that ran from the corner of his mouth up to the skin next to his ear. It was one of two large scars on his handsome face, the other running from his hairline down his forehead and between his brows, fading at the end.
“Yo Dean where you at?” Someone shouts, tripping through the door of the bar and falling into the men stood there. You eyes immediately moved from Dean’s face to the sudden noise in the otherwise quiet street. A man with a beer bottle in one hand grabbed the falling guy by his upper arm and jeered in his face, calling out to his friends to look at the ‘pretty boy’ who stood between them.
The boys’ shaggy hair covered most of his face, hiding his expression, but judging but his body language; he was either fairly happy with the situation or too out of it to really care about the potential danger. The latter seemed more likely.
“Ger’offa me. Dean!” He shouts again, his words slurred together, messily trying to push the man off of him.
“Son of a bitch,” Dean mummers, his hand leaving your throat and reaching into his jacket and pulls out a Colt 1911 with a Pearl grip and a silencer attached and points it around the corner behind him at the group and calls, “Hey cunts, let him go,” he calls, his other hand still in you hair, keeping you on your knees.
“Yeah or what?,” one idiot responds, his hand moving to the back of the boys neck.
“This,” Dean replies, immediately clicking the safety off and pulling the trigger, the bullet flying with incredible accuracy and hitting the man in his bicep of the arm holding the boys neck.
“Anyone else?,” he asks, leaning his head back on the wall, not bothered by the pained screams of the man he had just shot.
“Holy shit,” you whispered; a little bit scared, a little bit turned on, a lotta bit amused, glad the scumbag had gotten what he deserved.
“Yeah assholes, anyone else?,” the boy laughs, not even fazed by the tiny splatters of blood on his face. He moved towards the alley you were still kneeling in, and as he got closer, the light from the window above made it easy to see his wide eyes and blown pupils, the pink blush on his cheeks just about covers his red nose, which had three piercings in and there was a small amount of white powder on the tip. He also had scar below his lip like it had been split one too many times, the bottom lip had a ring in it, as did his eyebrow. He also had tattoos at the corners of his eyes, one was an upside down cross and the other was just a letter, J, in a blocky font. The darkness of the area cast a shadow over his face, making him seem dangerous until he opened his mouth and spouted some slurred gibberish about a bible verse, pulling a rosary from his pocket.
“Sammy, you good?” Dean asks, only lowering his gun and looking at who you assumed was Sammy when he was certain the group had moved elsewhere. His left had was still curled in your hair.
“Yeah, I’m good. Why wouldn’t I be good? I’m fine brother, are you good?” His words came a mile a minute. He raised a shaking hand and ran a finger under his nose, sniffing as he did. His eyes dropped to yours and then moved back up, as if he wasn’t shocked by the sight of a girl on her knees in-front of his brother.
“Well I was better before you came out here,” Dean replies, head tilting down towards you, while he was putting the gun back in his jacket.
“And that’s obviously not happening anymore, you wanna let me up Dean?” You found your voice, grabbing into his wrist and moving onto one knee, ready to stand.
“Sam, fuck off man,” Dean groaned at his little brother, his left hand slowly tightening on the back of your head, really not wanting to let go.
“Oh no, don’t feel the need to stop on my account,” Sam joked, his high hitting that mellowed out stage making him lean his back on the other wall, opposite where Dean stood.
“Uh yeah no.. .Dean?” You say, willing him to let go. He finally does after looking down at you with bummed out face, his shoulders dropping in defeat.
Your knees pop as you get back to your feet, hands grabbing onto Dean’s arm for balance. Finally standing up straight, the height of both the boys was even more noticeable than when you were on your knees.
“You wanna introduce me Dean?” Sam asks, his eyes moving over your body absentmindedly, as if he didn’t actually care what he saw.
“Sammy, this is...y/n?,” Dean says, unsure if he’d got the right name, his face becoming slightly apologetic as he looked at you for confirmation. When you don’t flip out or correct him he continued, “Y/n, this is my little brother Sam.”
“Little?” You repeat, looking over to see that Sam stood a good couple of inches taller than Dean.
“HA!” Sam laughed, the short shout echoed off the walls, “I like her,” he comments, a lopsided smile on his face as continued looking at you.
“What did you take man? You’re so out of it.” Dean asks, moving from your side to stand in-front of Sam his tattooed hands grabbing his little brothers face trying to look into his eyes.
Sam brought his hands up and pushed on Dean’s elbows, causing the older brothers arms to drop back to his sides. “Oh I dunno, but it wasn’t a lot, it was what ever the chick was offering. I didn’t have my big bro there to stop me so...” he trails off, his shoulder shrugging high enough to touch his ears, a careless look on his face. “Besides how much did you drink before coming out here? Guess we both gave in to our little addictions.” He adds.
“Well I couldn’t find my little brother to stop me so...” Dean responds, copying Sam’s words and moving back across the alley toward you. He slung his heavy arm over your shoulder and pulled you tight to his body, you stumbling a bit due to the unexpected movement.
“You guys realise how incredibly codependent you are, right?” You ask, realising now that the brothers need each other more than the normal amount.
“So?” They both answer at the same time, their heads turning towards you, the same ‘whatever’ tone of voice.
You meet Sam’s eye first, his childish face and cheeky grin made you smile back at him before you moved your head to be able to meet Dean’s eye. He had a blank expression but you could see the real question behind his eyes. ‘Is that a problem for you?’
“Weirdos.” You say, the light tone of your voice making it clear that you were joking. Dean’s eyes lit up slightly after hearing your remark, knowing you didn’t care that he leaned in his brother just as much as Sam leaned on him.
“Well this has been lovey, like really really great, but me and big brother here should probably be getting outta here before the dick he shot comes back with either more dicks or the cops.” Sam states, dishing himself up off of the wall, swaying on his feet before standing still.
“So dicks or more dicks sounds like our options there....Hey gorgeous, you got a life here?” Dean says, directing the question to you, his eyes falling back on you from his brothers direction.
“Uh.. not really, why?” You say truthfully. No family, no friends, no car, a crappy job mundane boring and an even crappier apartment was all you had in this life. Still it was supposedly better than risking your life every other day hunting monsters.
“Wanna come on a road trip?” He asks, baring his teeth in a somewhat too wide smile.
“What?” You reply, your tone flat.
“Me, Sammy and you. Road trip, whadda you say?”
“Are you kidding, we just met!” You say incredulously.
“So?” He repeats his earlier answer.
You look at him in disbelief. You look to Sam for back up but only find the look on his face saying ‘why not’.
“You want me, a girl you just met, to come on a road trip with the two of you. One apparent drug addict and his apparent alcoholic older brother, who - by the way - shot someone earlier.”
“Why not, I believe we have the same line of work.” Dean says, eyes flicking to your chest where was inked a very familiar symbol to the boys.
“And that would be?” You ask, not getting what he’s saying.
“This,” Sam says from behind you, pulling down the collar of his shirt to show the same tattoo you wore. You blinked at the sight. Your eyes were drawn to the movement of Dean also pulling down his shirt collar, and there sat in between the flames that covered the top of his chest, the very same anti-possession symbol that was tattooed on you.
“You’re hunters?” You ask, wondering how you didn’t see it before; the scars, the cold eyes, quick reactions, the air of danger that surround them both.
“Uh huh honey, as are you apparently,” Dean states, head tilting down to catch you eyes.
“I was. Not anymore. I quit.” You say, more so trying to convince yourself than them.
“Really? You don’t miss it?,” Dean asks, not believing your words.
“No.”
“Bullshit.”
“I don’t.”
“Ok so that’s why you have a silver knife in your boot and a gun in your pocket, which I’m betting is full of sliver bullets.”
‘Shit he’s got me there’ you think.
“And you’re here, of all places, drinking at the very same bar that you know three women of your description have gone missing in the past month from.” Dean continues with a smug smile on his face. “Trying to be bait, not the smartest idea when your alone.”
“Plus we took care of the ‘wolfs yesterday so your too late, even if you wanted to help,” Sam states, his voice less slurred than earlier.
“So, I’ll ask again. Wanna come on a road trip and hunt monsters with my junkie little brother and my alcohol dependant self?” Dean says, his hand raising in between the two of you for a handshake (as if you weren’t about to give him a blowjob before his brother ruined the fun).
“Ah fuck it, why not?” You say while grabbing Dean’s hand , ‘what the worst that could happen?’ The voice in the back of your head adds.
The boys both let out short cheers and Dean moves and slings his arm over your shoulder again, his other hand grabbing his brothers jacket before dragging you both out of the alley, toward the end of the street, toward the new part of your lives together.
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A/n: hey thanks for reading, sorry the ending is a bit shit, I didn’t plan this one out :/. Anyways let me know what you thought!
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