John Winchester - Blog Posts

Dean Winchester - bi

Jack Kline - nonbinary

Castiel - demisexual, nonbinary, and gay. I personally believe him to be pan and would’ve fallen for dean without a second thought of gender but he’s just such an absolute gay icon I couldn’t not put him with the rainbow flag

Kaia Nieves - lesbian

Crowley - pan

Claire Novak - lesbian

Sam Winchester - pan, nonbinary. Canon he/they my beloved🥰 

Charlie Bradbury - lesbian

Billie - genderfluid

Rowena - bi

Chuck - bi

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+bonus

John Winchester is #superstraight 😘

sam definitely made “potions” out of mud & bird bath water & pine needles. john definitely jotted that down in his journal under “reasons my son might be an evil demon kid”.

DAY 15: The Father's Mistakes Fall on the Son's Shoulders

The cycle repeats itself.

For this prompt, I was hesitating between Dean&John and Jack&Dean but my little sister suggested I do both so you'll have both. This story is not intended to bash characters but rather to show sons hurt by the actions of their parent figure and fathers realizing, too late, their mistakes. Because let's be honest, I love Dean but the way he treats Jack is often horrible and you might think he would learn from the way his own father raised him but noo. (Also, Dean is 17/18 in the first chapter.) Fandom: Supernatural Character(s): Dean Winchester Relationship(s): Dean Winchester & John Winchester, Jack Kline & Dean Winchester Words Count: 1,115 Trigger Warnings: - Minor Burn - Minor Blood and Injury - Dean's Canonical Self-Esteem Issues No. 15: CHILDHOOD TRAUMA Painful Hug | Moment of Clarity | "I did good, right?"

Dean’s fingers were numb from the cold as he desperately tried to light his lighter. Every time he failed was another minute of Dad risking his life distracting the ghost. The metal dug painfully into his thumb with each failure and blood was already starting to trickle down his wrist.

“Come on, come on,” Dean whispered, his words forming a cloud of condensation in the abandoned house. Dean wasn’t sure if it was the freezing February temperatures or if the ghost had somehow escaped Dad but he didn’t plan on staying long enough to find out. “ Come on! ”

Finally, finally , a small flame flickered at the end of his lighter and Dean wasted no time in throwing his lighter into the hearth of the fireplace where the ghost's bones already lay covered in salt. The fire caught instantly, burning the tips of Dean's fingers when he didn't pull his hand away fast enough. He hissed in pain, blisters forming on his index and middle fingers.

Somewhere up the stairs, the ghost screamed as its soul was destroyed in a burst of yellow light.

Dean flopped down on the moth-eaten floorboards, kicking up a cloud of dust big enough to make him cough. When he opened his eyes again, Dad was in front of him, one hand out to help him up and his gun in the other.

“You really took your sweet time here,” Dad joked, but Dean couldn’t help but flinch. Dad either didn’t notice or chose to ignore it. “Let’s go find Sammy, he must be freezing out there.”

Dean grabbed his dad’s hand with his left and let himself be pulled to his feet. Dad looked at his face suspiciously.

“What’s wrong?” Dad asked.

(If they were a normal family, Dean would say it was worry that made his father frown. But normal families didn’t hunt deadly ghosts in the middle of the night, and Dean knew better.)

“Nothing,” Dean replied, hiding his hand in his jacket pocket, the sensitive skin of his fingers catching in the zipper.

“Dean,” Dad sighed, grabbing Dean’s elbow and forcing his hand out of his pocket. “Stop being so stubborn all the time.”

Dad tugged sharply at Dean's arm and grabbed his wrist, directing his hand toward the light of the flames. He whistled loudly as he saw the blisters forming on Dean's fingertips.

"I think we have some Biafine left in the car, you can ask Sammy to bandage you up," Dad ordered.

"There's no point," Dean protested, not wanting to waste bandages on a wound that would go away on its own in a few days.

"What did I just say?" Dad sighed. "Stop being so stubborn all the damn time. I don't want your dominant hand immobilized any longer than necessary."

It made sense. With his burn, Dean's grip on his gun wouldn't be as effective.

"And why are your hands so cold?" Dad asked, taking Dean's hands in his to warm them up, being careful with his injured fingers. "Don't you have gloves?"

"I gave them to Sammy, his had holes in them," Dean replied.

For a moment, they said nothing and Dean enjoyed the warmth of Dad's hands against his own. He was too old to hold his father's hand anymore but he missed it sometimes, the casual affection of the early days. An arm around his shoulders, a hand in his hair, a hug when he was scared.

But part of Dad had died with Mom in the fire and Dean didn't know how much of the soldier or father had survived.

"Come on Dee, let's get you warm," Dad said, letting go of his hands.

Dean was next to a fire but he had never been so cold. He followed his father's lead, shivering in his jacket with holes in his elbows. The drafts of the house wrapped around Dean like ghosts.

Outside the abandoned house, Sam stood watch next to the car, kicking the gravel to pass the time. When he saw Dean come out of the house, the kid's face lit up and Dean couldn't help but smile back.

"Hey Sammy, haven't you been too bored without me?" greeted Dean with a lazy smile.

Sam didn't have time to answer, a ghost flickered behind him as ice creeped up the car windows.

(Protect Sammy!)

Dean rushed toward Sam, shoving him out of the ghost’s reach with one arm and making a wide circle with the other, hitting the ghost with the iron-clad butt of his pistol. The ghost disappeared but not before briefly digging its hand into Dean’s ribcage and holding Dean’s heart ready to rip it out. A bitter cold gripped Dean and he collapsed to the ground, coughing up blood.

The ghost rematerialized a few feet away, Dean’s blood staining his shirt. Dad slammed the trunk of the car shut, yelling at Sam to duck and shooting salt at the ghost with his rifle.

His vision darkened and the screams of Dad and Sam grew distant around him, stretching out until Dean no longer recognized their voices. There was a flash of light, then silence.

(Dean was so cold.)

Arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him almost painfully against someone’s chest. The heavy grip around his arms was sure to leave bruises tomorrow and his aching ribs protested, a throbbing pain almost making it hard to breathe. Still, Dean wanted the person to never let go of him again.

Leather and tobacco.

“Dad?” Dean asked, his voice muffled in his father’s jacket. “I did good, right? I saved Sammy.”

“You did very well, son,” Dad answered, his voice strangely strangled. “I’m proud of you.”

Dean looked up and oh , Dad was crying. Why was Dad crying?

“It  hurts,” Dean said, the pain turning his vision white.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Dad apologized, his hand cradling Dean’s head tenderly, like he’d taught Dean to do when Sammy was a newborn. “We’re going to take you to the hospital.”

(Why was Dad apologizing? It wasn't his fault. Dean should have been faster. But he was so slow tonight.)

"Can we go home now?" Dean asked weakly, his eyes fluttering with fatigue.

There was blood on Dad's jacket in the shape of Dean's handprints. Everything he touched ended up covered in blood.

"Sure," Dad replied.

A familiar weight fell on his shoulders (leather and tobacco) as arms slid under his knees and armpits to lift him off the ground. Dean's feet left the ground and he bit back a gag as his head spun and spun.

(Dean wasn't cold anymore.)

"I'm sorry, Dean," Dad whispered as he walked toward the car.

There were still tears in his eyes.

DAY 1: Tick Tock Goes The Clock

Sam gets lost in the forest. This action has consequences.

First day of Whumptober, one of the few times I'll be on time too. It's Dean's turn today! Congrats to him (?) This was supposed to be a story about Sam getting lost in the woods and it ended up being a character study of Dean and his self-worth issues. I'm not unhappy about it. Triggers Warnings: - Mild Graphic Description of Violence - Mild Blood and Injury - Broken Bone - Dean's Canonical Self-worth Issues - John Being an Asshole Fandom : Supernatural (TV 2005) Character(s) : Dean Winchester Relationship(s) : Dean Winchester & John Winchester & Sam Winchester Words Count : 2,714 No. 1: RACE AGAINST THE CLOCK Search Party | Panic Attack | "If only we could hold on.” (Icysami x Renegaderr, Strangers.)

Dean tightened his grip on his silver blade, listening for any sound. He was alone in the forest, the full moon visible through the treetops. Dean barely dared to breathe for fear of being heard, every crack of branches or wind through the leaves putting him on alert in the deathly silence that surrounded him.

He had been separated from Dad and Sammy hours ago, but Dean wasn't worried. Sammy was with Dad, nothing could happen to him. Now it was up to Dean to fulfill his duty. It was the last night of the lunar cycle. If he didn't kill the werewolf he was tracking tonight, it could run away and continue to hurt innocent people for another month.

(There were five of them in the woods, all thinking they were the predator. But only three of them would get out of here alive.)

A shadow, lit by the cold, metallic light of the moon, shifted on a trunk and Dean turned abruptly. Good thing he did. The werewolf he thought he had been following for the past hour jumped at him, sharp claws aimed at his face. With a practiced reflex, Dean protected his head with his arm holding his blade, throwing himself out of the werewolf's path with agility.

Not fast enough.

A claw hit his arm, tearing through flesh as easily as the fabric of his jacket, drawing blood onto the forest floor. In pain, Dean let go of his silver blade, sending it a few meters away from him. He clutched his arm to his chest, quickly assessing the damage. For a terrifying moment, he could no longer remember if a werewolf's scratch was enough to infect a human.

(If it did, what would he do? What would Dad do? Dean couldn't imagine his father accepting a monster as a son. And Sammy? It didn't matter, Dean would rather die than hurt an innocent.

Dean killed monsters indiscriminately, no matter who or where they came from. That was what he had always been taught. Hunters killed monsters. Dean knew what he would have to do.)

Calm down and think, idjit!

Dean forced himself to breathe through his nose. A scratch wasn't enough to turn someone into a werewolf, only a bite could. Easy, Dean could avoid being bitten by a dirty mutt.

The werewolf snarled, drool dripping down its chin, yellow eyes flashing wildly in the night. It was getting impatient and the adrenaline that was pulsing violently in Dean's veins would soon fade, leaving him to face all the pain of his wound.

Dean had to get his hand on his weapon. And fast. He mentally calculated the distance between him, the werewolf and his knife. But the werewolf noticed the direction of his gaze.

"Oh no!" the werewolf threatened, its words chewed in its rage.

The werewolf threw itself at Dean, but this time Dean was ready for it. Using his opponent’s momentum against him, he kicked the beast in the sternum, deflecting its course and sending it into a thicket of brambles. The werewolf struggled through the brambles, howling in anger, giving Dean enough time to lunge for his silver blade. His fingers closed around the handle, a sigh of relief and comfort escaping him. 

A hand grabbed his ankle, claws digging deep into his ankle, cutting through tendons. Dean fell, his chin hitting the ground hard. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. He tried to grab roots, clawing at the ground to keep the werewolf from pulling him towards it, thorns digging into his skin. Dean struggled and kicked, ignoring the searing pain, to force the werewolf to let go of him. But the monster held firm, twisting his bones as it laughed in satisfaction.

A guttural cry escaped his lips, tearing through his dry throat.

“A fighter, I like that,” the werewolf mocked. “I don’t usually turn men, but I might make an exception for you. You’re pretty enough.”

“Go to hell!” Dean spat, choking on his blood.

Dean forced himself to turn his torso to face the werewolf, straining his bruised muscles. He swung his knife in a wide arc in front of him and sliced ​​the monster across the face, damaging one of its eyes. The werewolf cried out in pain and finally let go of Dean, bringing a hand deformed by claws to its face.

Dean stood up quickly, putting as much distance between himself and the werewolf as he could. He spat on the ground, a mixture of blood and dirt, and grinned victoriously, his teeth tinged red. He gripped his knife in his left hand, his entire body on alert.

(He had practiced using both hands, but his left hand was still his weakest. This would have to do.)

Dean had never wanted a gun more than he did now. But they had only managed to get one single silver bullet and giving it to Dean who had a better chance of missing his target would have been a waste. It had made sense for Dad to take the gun, he wouldn't miss. Still, sticking a standard bullet between the werewolf's eyes would have reassured him, even if it would have barely slowed it down.

"I take it back," the werewolf growled. "I'm going to enjoy tearing you apart and eat your heart. And when I'm done hearing you beg, I'm going to hunt down your delicious little brother and take him with me. That is, if my friend doesn't kill him and your demon of a father first."

Dean's ears twisted and his vision went red. Sammy .

"Stay away from him!" Dean growled, his voice as animal as the monster in front of him. 

The werewolf smirked and Dean knew he had made a mistake. He had just revealed a weakness, something precious to him and the predator in front of him had smelled it. Dean's determination only grew, he couldn't let the werewolf go now that it had so clearly threatened his little brother.

( Sammy, he had to protect Sammy. )

With his good foot, Dean kicked the dirt at his feet, creating a protective screen of dust and blocking him from the werewolf's sight for a few seconds. It wasn't enough, not when all the senses of the monster in front of him were heightened but it was something.

Dean attacked from the right, the side where the werewolf was blinded by the wound Dean had inflicted on it. But the werewolf abruptly turned to Dean, having sensed him coming, and met him head-on with a punch to the stomach. Dean's breath caught in his chest for a moment, bile rising in his mouth. He doubled over in shock and the werewolf grabbed his hair before yanking .

Dean kneed it between the legs, forcing the werewolf to let go of him and sank his blade deep into the werewolf's ribs. He brought his knife up to the werewolf's heart, puncturing its liver and lungs.

The werewolf grabbed his wrist, crushing his bones and twisting Dean's arm until Dean let go. A sickening crack echoed through the forest and his arm went limp in the werewolf's grip, broken mid-forearm. Dean couldn't help but cry out in pain and fear.

The werewolf grinned wickedly and, straining on Dean's broken arm, sent him into a tree. Dean's head hit the trunk hard and he fell to the ground, his broken arm beneath him. He staggered to his feet, slower than he would have liked, the world spinning indescribably around him.

"I'm going to kill you," Dean slurred, pointing his broken knife at the werewolf.

Dean realized a second too late that the blade of his knife had been separated from the handle, still inside the werewolf, just below his heart. A few inches more and Dean would have succeeded. Oh well, if he had to shove his hand between the werewolf's ribs to retrieve his blade and finish the job properly, he would.

The werewolf looked at him in horror, coughing up blood. The wound wasn’t fatal, but there was no way it could get the blade out of its body. With any luck, it would die from its injuries without Dean having to do anything. But Dean had stopped relying on luck years ago. He alone was in control of his destiny, and he couldn’t give the werewolf a chance to hurt someone— to hurt Sammy .

The werewolf took off running.

In the direction Dean had left Dad and Sammy.

Dean gave chase, excruciating pain shooting through his nerves every time he stepped on the ground. He couldn't take more than three steps before he collapsed, tears streaming down his cheeks and leaving trails in the dirt and blood.

"Dad!" Dean screamed as he tried to get up. " Dad!!! "

God, he was so useless.

His scream tore through the night, Dean not caring if he lured the other werewolf to him. The icy panic in his veins wouldn't let him think, he had to warn Dad. Sammy was in danger. Because of him.

"DAD!"

Dean finally stood up, his throat dry and every nerve ending in his body on fire. But Sammy was more important than him. He started running again, branches whipping at his face, following the werewolf’s tracks. A shadow appeared at the edge of his vision and barreled into him, pinning him in its arms. Dean struggled fiercely, trying to free himself.

“Dean!” the shadow snapped.

Dean relaxed instantly, recognizing his father. He could have cried with relief at the sight of him. If Dad was here, it meant Sammy was okay. Even if Dean had screwed up again, Dad would be able to help him.

“Where’s Sammy? We need to get him out of here,” Dean said, panicked.

(A part of his brain recognized that he was still in his father’s arms. He couldn’t remember the last time Dad had hugged him.)

“What? I thought he was with you!”

Dean’s heart stopped for a second.

This time, his tears were filled with despair.

“No, no, no,” Dean cried, shaking his head. “He was supposed to be with you. Safe .”

“Dean, tell me what happened,” Dad ordered calmly, his hands on Dean’s shoulders, but Dean could hear the urgency in his voice.

“I didn’t manage to kill the werewolf, he ran away. And he said he’d turn Sammy if he found him,” Dean explained, recognizing an order even through his visceral fear. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Dad clenched his fists in anger, his eyes stormy and his posture dangerous. But Dean didn’t know who his anger was directed at.

“I’m sorry,” Dean repeated. “Please, Dad.”

(Dean didn’t know what he was asking his father to do, to take him back in his arms, to help him, to forgive him, to save Sammy.)

“Apologies won’t help, Dean,” Dad said abruptly. “We need to find Sammy. Fast .”

Dean stopped himself from apologizing again and straightened up, waiting for the next command.

“It’s hurt,” Dean added, forcing himself to ignore his pathetic outburst of emotion. “My silver blade is stuck in its ribs under its heart and he can’t use its left eye.”

“Good,” Dad replied, deep in thought. “It’ll be to our advantage. And you, are you hurt?”

“No,” Dean lied, almost by reflex.

“I don’t have time for lies, Dean!” Dad shouted out of patience, making Dean flinch. “Your brother may be in danger and every second you waste could very well be vital.”

"Both my arms and my ankle," Dean answered quickly. "And my head."

"Damn it, Dean, I thought I had you better trained than this," Dad swore. "But I could use you. So stay with me. But if I tell you to run, you run. No protests. You'll only get in my way anyway."

"Yes, sir!"

Without another word, Dad started walking, handing Dean his silver blade. It was caked in blood and Dean wiped it on his pants before testing its weight in his hand.

"How are you going to do without a weapon?" Dean asked, following his father.

"I still have the bullet," Dad replied, patting the gun strapped to his thigh. "Now shut up, I don't want the bastard to hear us."

Dean lowered his head, concentrating on keeping up with his father's fast pace. He didn't want to be any more of a burden than he already was. Dad would never forgive him if Sammy died tonight. And he wouldn't forgive himself either. He gritted his teeth, ignoring the pain, each frantic beat of his heart feeling like a countdown to his little brother's death, a bomb waiting to explode.

(Dean was nothing without Sammy, he couldn't lose him. Not his little brother.)

They didn't have time to waste.

XXX

Dean and Dad had walked for what seemed like hours, searching for Sammy. The werewolf’s tracks had finally disappeared around a bush, as if they had never existed. The full moon setting on the horizon should have been a relief, the end of a long night, but it was only a mockery.

They were running out of time.

Reluctantly, Dad had agreed to let them split up to cover more ground. Every second that passed was like a stab through Dean’s heart. It was his fault, it was his negligence and weakness that had allowed the werewolf to escape, that had put Sammy in danger.

The adrenaline that kept him upright had worn off, and Dean struggled through the forest, limping like a newborn fawn. He was dehydrated, having not had a drink of water in hours and having thrown up even more times. His head was killing him, blood pulsing violently in his temples. But Dean welcomed the distraction of the pain, anything to avoid thinking that he might find Sammy’s heartless corpse with every step he took.

(He resolutely forced himself not to look at the inhuman shape of his arm—flaccid, shapeless, and in two pieces—or the bleeding, festering cut on his other arm.)

Dean didn’t let it slow him down, despite his body begging him. He would rest when he was dead.

At the end of a path, Dean could see the edge of the forest and beyond it an abandoned hunter’s cabin. He stopped, hesitating for a moment, and tried to think like Sammy. A cabin like this was a good shelter to wait out the full moon. Dean knew he'd regret it if he didn't at least check it out. But it could also be a waste of crucial time.

What would Dad do in this situation?

You're a smart kid. Follow your instincts.

Dean changed direction toward the cabin.

A branch snapped behind him and Dean spun around abruptly. His knife stopped inches from his father's jugular as he raised his hands in the air in peace.

"Sorry," Dean apologized sheepishly, relaxing his arm.

"Don't be," Dad replied gruffly. "That was a nice reflex you had there."

Dean was too tired to appreciate his father’s rare compliment and let his arm fall back to his side. But Dad stopped him, gently grabbing his wrist and examining the wound on his arm.

“That’s a nasty cut you’ve got there,” Dad said. “You’ll need antibiotics, I’ll call Bobby as soon as we find your little brother.”

“It’s not important,” Dean refuted, trying to pull his arm back. “Sammy’s the priority.”

Dad stopped him, looking almost sad for a moment.

“Your well-being is important. You’re important,” Dad said with a hint of desperation, as if he really meant it. He looked like he was going to say something else but thought better of it, his gaze drifting toward the cabin. “You wanted to go take a look?”

“That’s the kind of place Sammy would hide,” Dean said. “He’s smart like that.”

“Good thinking, wait for me here,” Dad ordered, finally letting go of Dean's arm.

“What? No!” Dean protested fiercely.

“Dean, I don't have time for this,” Dad snapped.

Dean didn't listen to the end of his father's sentence. A blood-curdling scream shattered the quiet of dawn and Dean rushed towards the cabin, stealing the gun from his father's hand. Dean knew that voice, he knew it better than his own.

(It should never have contained so much pain and fear.)

“ Sammy !”

Sorry for the cliffhanger (or not). I actually combined two days in this story (and played around a little bit with the prompts too) so you will have Sam's POV and the end of this chapter on the... (drum rolls please) 19th! (Also, it's my first time writing whump so I don't know if it's enough hurt. Feel free to give me your opinion on the matter.)

Cas wouldn't even have to use his angel powers, he just fist fight a mf

John: Who tf are you?

Cas: *In a little bit bitchy voice* I'm your son's guardian angel and also husband, actually.

John: Bullshit! My sons no fa- *Chair gets smashed over his head*

All I’m saying is we got to see Dean fight Castiel’s Dad it’s only fair we get to see Castiel physically fight John Winchester

Headcanon - supernatural - Dean

For me Dean is a housekeeping freak, he always tidied up the hotel rooms when they left the room, he always tidied up behind Sam, he always tidied up behind his father. He's used to it.

When Dad was on a hunting trip and Sammy was sleeping, Dean cleans up. He has nothing else to do, he can't sleep, he has to watch Sammy ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Now it has become one of his habits. Especially when he's stressed (so often :/) he likes to be in a tidy and clean place, that's just how he is.

Sam is rather a messy person, but only in his room because Mommy Bear Dean is coming for him otherwise. But in general, Sam is really clean. I mean he's lived with Dean all his life.

So yeah, In my opinion the bunker is always very clean🧹

Ik ur joking

John Winchester: Samuel Winchester I did not raise you to act like this!

Sam: You didn't raise me at all!!

~~

Dean: Samuel Winchester I did not raise you to act like this!!

Sam: Sorry Dean 😔

~~

John: Dean Winchester I did not raise you this way!

Dean: You didn't raise me at all!

~~

Bobby: Dean Singer, I did not raise you like this!

Dean: Sorry Bobby 😔

Sam: haha you're in trouble!

Bobby: Sam, you too.

Sam: Sorry 😞

I don't get why people keep comparing the Dean and Kevin Tran scenes where they figure out someone is actually a demon.

The scene from season 1 where Dean figures out his dad was really a demon possessing him, and the scene where Kevin figures out the demons acting like Dean and Sam aren't really them.

Kevin realizes it's not the Winchesters when the demons were doing everything he asked. He asked for lunch, they brought him lunch. They went out and got him things and they were politer then the real Sam and Dean. Really, to me, it was a comedic moment, because they (mostly Dean) can act like a jerk without meaning to. (It reminds me of older siblings being annoying to a younger sibling) Not because they don't care about Kevin but because Dean naturally comes off that way. They do care about him and show obvious concern when he wasn't eating and sleeping enough.

When Dean realizes his dad was really a demon it was because the demon didn't yell at him, scold him, and be mad that he 'wasted' a bullet saving Sam. Instead the demon told him he was proud, like a good dad would. However, John isn't a good dad. He was emotionally abusive and he was neglectful, maybe even physically abusive. He forced Dean to act like a parent since he was four. He trained him to be a soldier and then abandoned him and Sam at the beginning of season 1.

These scenes are similar because they both involve demons and both involve someone realizing they are a demon. However, they are not comparable. One involved Dean and Sam acting like assholes (affectionate). One involved child abuse.

(ALSO, When Crowley was like, "my demons were too nice?", it made me laugh out loud.)

Yep! Gonna be making spn tweets soon!!

You know I’m a little conflicted on John Winchester, cause on one hand seeing the love of your life burning alive on the ceiling of your infant child’s bedroom must’ve been beyond painful. It must’ve taken years for him to stop being afraid to look at ceilings, expecting to see Mary burning again. But that being said, Sam, and Dean needed him to be their father, not their drill sergeant. The fact that he was a better father to Adam over the two children he had with the love of his life is beyond messed up. Telling your eldest son that he might have to kill his little brother then straight up dying (therefore avoiding the fallout), fudged up. “Inadvertently” making Dean have to be the mother, and father to Sam (cheating Dean out of his childhood), fudged all the way up. Don’t even get me started on his hunter “training techniques” that borderline on abuse. I know he’s a fictional character, and he’s gone through unimaginably traumatizing things, but that’s no excuse to pass it onto your kids. Anytime Sam or Dean mentioned something horrible John did I’d want to pull his behind out of hell/heaven, and slap him across the face. Anyway, thank you for coming to my Ted talk, maybe I’m not as conflicted as I thought 😅.

Guys honestly tell me who all liked The Winchesters trailer?

I mean I have loved every moment of Supernatural and I love the actors way too much. I supported each and every one of their adventures... Even the idea of the prequel. But when the trailer came out... I kinda felt disappointed ngl. It doesn't have the same aesthetic and feel of supernatural. But ig we shouldn't judge a book by its cover.. Let's wait till fall

I would imagine that this would be the way that these two stare at me until I got my homework done. Unfortunately, I would not get that much done because these two would be distracting me so much out of my mind, until I prayed for Cas to fly down and come distract them. 

Just finished S1 of Supernatural and I’d give it a 7/10.

I personally thought the plot was a little slow, right up until the end, although I did like the sort of cop-show style where each episode is a new mystery. Loved the characters, they were super fun, kinda wish there were more consistent ones bc while I love Sam and Dean I do kinda want to see different people. The ending though! I literally gasped when the Impala got hit. Screw cliffhangers.

Overall, super fun, and while it wasn’t Oscar level, I’d definitely recommend (it’s been out for ten years tbh I don’t know how I haven’t watched it yet) Can’t wait to binge the next season!

Supernatural is so unrealistic because you’re telling me Mary didn’t absolutely rock John’s shit in Lebanon after “i never was”/ “I had to be more than just a brother” and every other thing she found out about

For somebody i thought was my savior, you sure make do a whole lot of labour.

Labour, Paris Paloma

Actually the reason why we never saw Bobby and John interact is because Bobby would’ve beat the shit out of John on the spot.