Descriptions of Sam and Dean from a supernatural AU I wanna write :))
The man was tall, that was undoubtably what Dean noticed first. Freakish tall, like he had one half-giant parent and was trying unsuccessfully to hide it by slouching. He had a shaggy mop of hair, and the clean-shaven face of a guy who shaved even when he definitely didn’t need to yet. He wore faded skinny jeans and hiking boots stained with mud, a tight fit and cropped shirt, covered by a grey flannel overshirt and a green jacket, oversized on him. Around his neck hung a silver cross that put Dean on edge, and other, tighter necklaces that appeared to be just for decorative purposes. This also put dean on edge, but for a completely different reason.
The guy sat down, and swung his girlish tote bag off his shoulder, pulling out a laptop and many colour-coordinated books and pens. The bag itself was embroidered with flowers and bees and bore several pins. There was one rainbow pin with a little triangle of pink and blue stirpes, one with a cartoonish moose on it, one that proudly proclaimed, ‘prayer and pronouns should not be political’ and another that said ‘protect queer kids’ in equally bold and angry letters. The final badge was a similar green to his jacket and read ‘he/they’.
His brown eyes caught Dean’s gaze, and Dean noticed him staring just as he looked up from staring at his bag. Before Dean could awkwardly clear his throat and force a smile, the boy smiled and offered jovially, “Are you a pin collector?
Dean’s gaze froze on the boy like a deer in headlights, his eyes widening a bit, “What? Oh uh, no I-” he laughed, imagining what his dad would say if he had any one of those pins, “I’m just admiring your collection. It’s uh- they’re cool.” he forced a smile. Usually he was good at lying, but this guy had him entirely bewildered on many levels.
“Thanks!” the boy beamed, “I uh, I got most of them from the thrift store,” he paused, awkwardly fidgeting with his pen as Dean nodded politely. Then he reached across the table, extending a hand adorned with rings and tipped with a chipped coat of green nail polish. “Sam Campbell,” he offered with that incessantly friendly smile.
Dean forced one back, takin the boy’s hand with his own grease stained and calloused fingers, “Dean Winchester.”
Sam tried not to stare at the boy in front of him, but he couldn’t help a quick one over of the close shaved head and fixed scowl, the jagged scar that ran across his cheek and stopped just under his eye, the oversized leather jacket and faded t-shirt. There was something so butch about him, that Sam immediately assumed he was probably very gay.
