I'm so excited for this event! I really liked this little drabble and I hope the folx over at @spnprideweek like it too <3
~~~~
“Hey Dean,” Jack says timidly while Dean’s cooking omelettes. “Can I talk to you after breakfast?” He glances around the kitchen, where Sam is shredding cheese and Cas is making coffee. “Alone?”
Dean’s a little taken by surprise – he hasn’t exactly been the best to the kid in the past – but he smiles and places a hand on his shoulder. “Sure thing, kiddo.”
Jack looks relieved, visibly relaxing. “Thanks, Dean!” he says cheerfully and goes to sit at the table.
Breakfast is a calm affair, as it usually is. Dean doesn’t spike his coffee with booze anymore; being with Cas has broken him of that habit. Jack steals a sip of Sam’s coffee, like he does every morning (since Sam can’t resist the kid) and makes his grossed-out face when he doesn’t like it, the same way he does every morning. It’s beautiful, honestly, the routine that they’ve created together in the peaceful mornings on their little lake house. It’s something Dean never imagined he’d be allowed to have.
They leave Sam and Cas to clean the table and walk into Jack’s room. Jack won’t make eye contact with Dean, shuffling his feet and rubbing his shirt to calm himself. “You okay, kid?” Dean asks.
Jack glances at him furtively, then looks back at the floor. “I don’t think I’m a boy,” he says. Dean tilts his head.
“Okay,” he replies easily. “Are you a girl?”
“I don’t know yet,” Jack mumbles. “But I don’t think so. I think I’m something else. Something… other. I feel like the only way I can describe it is angel. Like, I’m an angel, and that is my gender.”
Dean furrows his brow and nods. “Well, I’ve never heard of that before, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. Wanna look it up?”
Jack looks up at him with excitement glistening in his eyes. “Yeah!” he exclaims excitedly. Dean sits down at Jack’s laptop with Jack standing behind him, looking over his shoulder, and types ‘angelgender’ into the Google search bar.
It brings up a page from the LGBTA Wiki | Fandom, followed by a tumblr tag. Dean chooses to ignore tumblr and opts for the Wiki.
“‘Angelgender’,” he reads, “‘is a gender identity for neurodivergent people’ – what does neurodivergent mean?”
Jack glances at him. “I think it’s autism and ADHD and stuff. Like your brain doesn’t work the same way as most people’s.”
“Oh,” Dean says. “Well, you’re pretty autistic, so I guess that’s okay then.”
Jack looks confused. “What do you mean?”
“Sam and I have been doing research on it, and it turns out you take after your dad. We haven’t had you officially screened yet but we’re pretty sure you have autism. We can get you screened officially if you want.”
“Yeah, that’d be nice,” Jack says happily. Dean smiles and puts a hand on his arm for a moment before going back to the Wiki page.
“‘Angelgender is a gender identity for neurodivergent people that is connected to angels. It was primarily intended for autistic people and people with delusions, though any neurodivergent person can use it. It can be a gender based in religion or based in media, as long as it's based around angels. It can be an umbrella term for other angel-related genders. It is also the opposite of Devilgender.’ That’s pretty cool. Do you think it describes your experience?”
Jack nods. “That’s perfect! That’s exactly what my gender feels like.”
“I like that flag,” Dean muses. “Do you like it?”
Jack grins. “It’s pretty. I love it.”
“I’m gonna buy you a pin with that on it. What pronouns do you want to use?”
“He is okay for right now, but maybe I’ll change them later. I’m exploring pronouns that are outside of the trinary.”
Dean grins. “You’re such a smart kid,” he murmurs. “Now, let’s look into something else real quick…”
~~
“Sam! Castiel!” Jack bounds down the stairs from the entrance to the living room. “Look what I have!”
He spins in a circle, his brand new cape twirling behind him. Sam stops him and reaches out to grab the material.
It’s a pride flag. A yellow stripe, a white stripe, a purple stripe, and a black stripe. Sam grins. “Nonbinary?”
“Yeah!” Jack says happily. “Angelgender.” He looks at Cas, smiling. “I’m autistic like you!”
Cas walks over to him, a soft smile gracing his features. “I’m very glad you’re happy,” he declares, pulling Jack into an embrace. “You are the most precious thing in the world to me.”
Jack grins, burying his face in Cas’ shoulder. “I love you, Castiel.”
“I love you too, Jack.”
Dean is watching them with fondness from the top of the stairs. “I got him a pin,” he offers. “And I bought the flag. Turned it into a cape.”
“Dean is the best mom ever!” Jack yells excitedly, and Dean’s face goes red.
So Cas came back from the Empty. He and Dean avoided each other for a while, then something snapped and suddenly they were all over each other. Sam was over the moon.
But he still couldn’t find it in him to go find Eileen. His life had hurt her enough times, and he wanted her to have peace and happiness.
Eileen Leahy is much more dedicated than he, apparently, because she shows up at the door to the Bunker demanding to be let in just a few days after Jack brings everyone back.
Oh, that’s another thing Sam should mention. When the smoke cleared, Jack was different. Like, really different. He was a toddler.
Naturally, the three of them had taken him in. They’d already been co-parenting him for nearly three years, why should they stop? Sure, Jack’s hyper now, careless in the way actual three-year-olds are, and he likes to run around the bunker and scream and break things and walk on Sam’s laptop keyboard while he’s getting a smoothie from the kitchen (that’s definitely not based on a real example that happened yesterday) but they love him just the same, and he deserves the chance to be a child.
So Eileen shows up on the eighth of November, 2020, and gives Sam a piece of her mind. You fucking asshole, she signs rapidly, just leaving me in the dust like that, as if I wouldn’t need you after discovering I got Thanos-snapped out of existence. You should be ashamed of yourself.
And Sam just sighs and lets her smack him in the face. When she’s done, he lets the corner of his mouth tilt up just slightly.
You done?
She rolls her eyes, pulls him down by his tie, and kisses him quickly, and he knows all is forgiven.
The months roll by, piling on top of each other in the mess that is their past, and Jack gets bigger, and Cas moves into Dean’s room, and Eileen and Sam get a house together, and Sam gets downgraded from Dad #3 to Cool Uncle Who Lets You Have Brownies Whenever You Want. He finds he doesn’t mind as much as he thought he would. Dean and Cas are adorable as coparents.
May finally comes around, and with it, Sam’s thirty-eighth birthday. He doesn’t expect anything to come of it, maybe just a nice dinner out with his fiancée (yeah, he put a ring on it) but then around one, while he’s hanging out at the Bunker, Jack grabs his finger.
“Uncuh Thammy! Uncuh Thammy!” he says enthusiastically, pulling on Sam’s hand and falling on his diaper-clad butt. He pouts, then shakily stands on his pudgy little legs and bounces, pointing at the door. “Thammy!”
Sam laughs and lets Jack lead him wherever he wants to go. Into the kitchen they migrate, until Sam is greeted by the sight of his whole family surrounding a giant chocolate cake, two candles (a 3 and an 8) in the middle, and the words ‘Happy Birthday Sammy!’ in orange icing. He shakes his head in disbelief and hugs his stupid amazing brother, then his best friend, and finally the love of his life.
We love you, Eileen signs, and Sam’s eyes water a little bit.
“You are somewhat underappreciated,” Cas points out. “I’ve noticed Dean gets a large portion of the credit for defeating Chuck, but you were also instrumental. Here, we have gifts.”
Sam shakes his head more forcefully. “Guys, no, come on—”
“Uncah Thammy,” Jack pleads. “Pwesent!”
Sam laughs. He can’t seem to say no to this wonderful kiddo, so he bends down and grabs Jack under the armpits to lift him up, settling him on his hip. “Alright, presents it is,” he decides.
Dean got him a Zepp album – one of their running jokes. Sam bought Dean a duplicate record that he already owned for his fourteenth birthday and they’ve been gifting it back and forth to each other for their birthdays every year ever since – as well as a fascinating book on Christian mythologies and the ways it intersects with Jewish and Muslim beliefs that he’s been meaning to buy for months.
Cas got him a beautiful blown glass owl that he was eyeing at the Farmer’s Market last week. Eileen makes it clear that he’ll be getting his gift from her later, when there’s no one else around.
And then Jack hobbles into the room concealing something (badly) behind his back. He waves his little ravioli-sized baby fist around and shows Sam the paper. Sam takes it from him gently.
It’s a piece of artwork made with macaroni, hot glue, and markers. There’s a large circle made of macaroni atop a line at least as long as the diameter of the circle, with arms and legs hastily drawn onto it. According to this drawing, one of Sam’s shoulders is sprouting from the middle of his ribcage. A face has been scrawled into the middle of the macaroni circle, and bits of penne pop off the page at him. From the way Dean’s radiating pride from Sam’s side, it’s obvious that he helped Jack with his project – probably by administering the hot glue. Sam hopes.
Sam grins. “Thank you, Jack,” he murmurs, and hugs the kid tightly. “I love it,” he adds, and he means it with his whole heart. It’s going on the fridge.
Thanks to some help from our body’s mother we are FINALLY able to open commissions OFFICIALLY!!! Thank you so very much to everyone who supports us. We accept commissions for the following:
— pride flags/combinations (over at @euphorias-journey)
— fanfiction
— gifsets (with or without song lyrics)
— pride-themed bracelets, either made from rubber bands or embroidery thread
— pride-themed graphics made in Illustrator (for example: trans flag ADHD butterfly)
— tarot readings
DM or send an ask with your request for prices!! They go as low as 5$! Please help a struggling queer disabled mentally ill artist in an abusive household ❤️❤️
@misha-moose-dean-burger-lover wrote a horrible amazing angsty thing for me that made me very sad and angry so now I’m getting her back by writing this. It didn’t end up as fluffy as I wanted but I still wrote 1k in like half an hour so take that.
Dean sits at the table, staring at the wall with deadened eyes, a beer he opened forty minutes ago that he hasn’t drank a sip of resting loosely in his grip. He’s been inanimate since he sat down. When Sam found him in the dungeon he was curled up in a ball, face stained with tears and his jacket bearing a suspicious bloody handprint. His phone was discarded a few feet away from him and most jarringly, he was alone.
Dean hasn’t told them what happened. They managed to pull him to his feet and he stumbled along beside them into the war room, like a car in neutral being towed, not truly directing himself anywhere. Sam had set the beer bottle next to him wordlessly because he knew Dean wouldn’t get through anything without it and Dean had twisted it open, dropped the cap on the table, and put one foot on the chair next to him. So now he’s just sitting there, right arm resting on his elevated knee, beer in hand, looking tragically beautiful as always. And Sam thinks, even in this empty grieving bitterness, the unmatched anger Dean exhibits when they lose Cas, he’s still gorgeous that way.
And Sam knows, deep in the rational part of himself that keeps rapid switching with the hopeless and terrified part, that Cas is gone. No amount of Sam’s reasoning or Jack’s wishing or Dean’s yelling will bring him back this time. They’ve lost him again, like they lost him countless times before, because Sam and Dean Winchester unfailingly let down their friends.
Dean doesn’t speak. He doesn’t speak a single word, not even when spoken to. When he turns his head toward Sam and Jack his gaze is hollow, like he’s looking through them. Eventually they stop asking.
Life continues as normal, somewhat. After a couple of days of allowing Dean to drown in his grief they enlist his help in trying to find yet another new way to kill Chuck. (And fuck’s sake it seems like they’ve gone through forty of those already this year.) Sam notices the way Dean never really seems to go to his bed anymore; he has nightmares. That’s normal. He doesn’t sleep anymore. Sam can’t blame him. The stack of discarded books in the ‘Not Helpful Vis A Vis How To Destroy Literal God’ pile next to his seat grows, and the ‘Might Contain An Actual Solution’ pile remains suspiciously and stagnantly slim.
Sam sees how Dean plays with his knife as he reads in a way he never used to and he can’t help but think that it’s only a stone’s throw from Sam’s own old self-harm habits. He left those behind with Stanford, but Dean is a whole other ball game.
And then a very familiar blue-eyed, messy-haired, trenchcoated angel quite literally stumbles back into their lives. He appears from an inky black hole in the ceiling and looks around like he can’t quite believe it. He seems disoriented, but the first thing he does once he gets his bearings is look at Dean and smile.
Goddammit, that smile. That smile could power a million Bunkers.
Dean’s head comes up, his face still stuck in that blank haze it’s been in for weeks, just tossing a disinterested glance at his latest distracting intrusion before he heads back to work, but instead of going back to the page his eyes freeze. The way his face cycles through fifteen emotions in the span of a few seconds gives Sam the impression that Dean.exe is rebooting… and then Dean is Dean again, animated and lively and cheerful and he springs from his seat in a true gesture of energy.
He bounds down the two stairs and he’s at Cas’s side in a moment, one hand on the side of Cas’s face and the other on his elbow and their eyes are locked together as piercing green search ocean blue for some sign that this is real, that this is true, Cas came back to him. Sam and Jack exchange a look that tells Sam all he needs to know. Neither of them have missed the way Dean and Cas stand far too close to each other.
“Cas,” Dean chokes out, and his first utterance in how many weeks is hoarse and torn but packed with joy, so much that it seems to be exploding out of him at every turn. “I’m sorry,” he finishes, and Cas just nods, leans forward, and rests his forehead against Dean’s.
“I don’t want you to be,” he replies. “I didn’t even do it for you, Dean, I did it for me. I did it because knowing that you knew was the only thing that could make me that happy.”
Sam leans back against the wall, watching intently. Dean seems filled with a hope so sharp it shatters his skin and Sam is intrigued and entranced by it, confounded as he tries to determine what it is they could be discussing.
“Did you really—” Dean cuts himself off, glancing down before he meets Cas’s eyes again and continues. “Did you really think you couldn’t have me?”
Cas nods so slightly Sam’s eyes can barely register it. Dean shakes his head in fond exasperation and tilts his head back, his chin sliding forward and his lips slotting up against Cas’s.
Oh, Sam thinks. That’s what they were talking about.
When they pull away, Dean murmurs, just for Cas and for no one else, “you’ve had me for the last ten years.” His eyes are filled with tears, but for once in their lives Sam is certain these are happy ones. Castiel’s eyes brim as well, and Sam reaches for Jack, pulling him toward the happy couple in the center of the room.
Dean and Cas welcome them easily, with no semblance of argument, and the four of them stand there holding each other for a long time.
There’s still Chuck to defeat, but now they have a shot.
Hello lovely followers of mine! I’m excited to announce that I’m now taking commissions for fics starting on the 7th. (I will accept submissions before then, but no payments.)
Pricing is as follows:
$5 ~ <1,000 words
$10 ~ 1k-5k words
$15 ~ 5k-10k words
$25 ~ >10,000 words
Fandoms I will write for:
Supernatural, Good Omens, The Mortal Instruments, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Star Wars. If you want to make a request for a fandom that’s not listed here, go ahead and ask, but no guarantee I’ll be interested.
Ships I will write for:
Any combination of TFL characters, Crowley/Bobby, Jody/Donna, Crowley/Aziraphale, Malec, Jimon, Clizzy, Sizzy, Stucky, Clintasha, Brutasha, Finnpoe, Reylo. If you want to make a request for a ship that’s not listed here, go ahead and ask, but while I do ship some other things besides these and am willing to write for some things that I don’t ship, other ships (i.e. Stony) squick me horribly, so I may reject your request for that reason.
I ALSO WRITE GENFIC AND CHARACTER-CENTRIC FIC.
Things I will not write:
Darkfic, anti-any character, Mpreg (the only exception being a trans male character giving birth). Under most circumstances I won’t write A/B/O either, but if you have a prompt that de-emphasizes the dynamic while still requiring it, I will consider it.
If you have a request, DM me! Once we figure out details, I will give you my Venmo. Timetables will vary depending on the requested length and the prompt given.
A note: if you like this, please also reblog it to spread it around! I need it to be signal boosted so people see it. Thank you <3
I literally started this fic at 23:20. I shit you not. I wrote this entire thing in 40 minutes. So it’s probably garbage. But I had an idea and I had to go with it, so here I am, posting Sam’s birthday fic at exactly midnight on May 2nd, 2020.
I hope it doesn’t suck.
****
May 2nd, 1983.
A woman screams in a hospital bed. She is pretty and blonde and in incredible pain, and after twelve agonizing hours, no longer pregnant. A tiny baby boy is brought into the world, and his name is Sam Winchester.
Welcome to Earth, Sam Winchester! You are destined for pain.
~~
May 2nd, 1984.
Sam Winchester turns one year old. His big brother Dean is 5. They are home alone. There is no cake and no candles, but Dean does sing his way through a mangled rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’, because everyone deserves to be sung to on their birthday.
Sam cries almost the entire day. He wants his mommy.
~~
May 2nd, 1985.
Sam is 2 today. He smiles real big at Dean when he approaches with mashed-up baby carrots. He gets them all over his cheeks and lips and hair and bib, and he bangs his spoon on his high chair, giggling like a maniac and holding onto one of Dean’s fingers for dear life. Five weeks ago he said his first word; it was “De!”
He doesn’t let Dean get more than three feet away from him.
~~
May 2nd, 1986.
Sam turns three. Their dad is there for once, and he forgets about Sam’s birthday completely. He goes out and gets drunk instead. He comes home after Dean has fallen asleep with Sam in his arms. He eats a cupcake on his own in the dark.
Sam is just learning what misery means.
~~
May 2nd, 1990.
Sam is seven. For his seventh birthday, his dad gives him a gun and his big brother teaches him how to use it. He goes out back and shoots at their dad’s empty beer cans. Sam tries to ignore the slight pang of… something in his chest when a new one appears every fifteen minutes. He knows John is inside, drinking himself into a stupor in front of the television.
He hates his life, and everything about it.
~~
May 2nd, 2001.
Sam turns eighteen today. In two months he’s going off to Stanford. If all goes well, he’ll never see his dad again. If not… he’ll never see his brother again. It’s a pretty horrible arrangement, in all honesty, but he’s a legal adult now and he wants to do things. He wants to be free. He goes to a convenience store and buys a scratch-off lottery ticket, a pack of cigarettes he’ll never smoke, and a skin mag just because he can.
He wishes that it would fill the emptiness in his ribs, just below his heart.
~~
May 2nd, 2002.
Sam is nineteen. It’s the first time he’s gotten a real celebration for his birthday. Yeah, Dean tried when Sam was nine until he was like sixteen, but there was never a party. It was always some four-dollar cupcakes from Target with a candle in them and one person singing him a song. This year, he has a beautiful girlfriend, his best friend Brady, and at least twelve other people there, and they all seem to actually care that he was born on this day nineteen years ago.
It’s quite a novel feeling. He should feel worse about that than he does.
~~
May 2nd, 2005.
It’s his first birthday back on the road with Dean. At first he thinks he’s forgotten about it, but just as they’re going to sleep (in the Impala, because they couldn’t find a vacant motel), Dean tosses something into the backseat. Sam picks up the wrapped parcel and opens it. It’s a framed photo of them when they were six and ten. Sam remembers leaving it in Dean’s duffel the day he left. Dean really kept it all these years?
“Happy 22nd, Sammy,” Dean mumbles before turning over to go to sleep. Sam lies awake for hours after.
~~
May 2nd, 2012.
He doesn’t feel 29. Everything that’s happened and some days he still feels as though he’s barely twenty, wide-eyed and shiny and figuring out how the adult world works without his big brother there to guide him through everything. Except his big brother is there. And he’ll be there, at least for the next five months. In five months, he’ll get blown up by a very special bomb. In five months, he’ll go to Purgatory. Sam will think he’s dead. Sam will try to move on.
Sam won’t move on. Sam’s long since learned that he doesn’t move on.
~~
May 2nd, 2020.
Sam Winchester is 37. He’s died more than once, his brother has died more than a hundred times, he’s met literal god, plus himself from other dimensions… and he feels fifty. It’s amazing, the way that in 8 years he went from feeling so much younger than he is to feeling so much older. But here he is, gearing up for one last fight, knowing – or maybe hoping, he’s not quite sure – that he won’t make it out alive.
But he’s going into the fight anyway. Because he may be destined for pain, but he can be destined for greatness, too.
The words stayed with Dean. He didn’t quite get why, but they were bouncing around his head. Charlie’s gay. Charlie likes girls. It shouldn’t be difficult to understand, but…
He doesn’t even really know what his problem is. There’s a disconnect somewhere, he knows that, but he doesn’t quite get why it bothers him. Sam has Opinions on it, but Dean’s not convinced it’s their dad’s fault.
Well. It probably is. But Dean still has difficulty blaming John for almost anything that happened to them. (Sam calls that a result of trauma and abuse. Dean doesn’t disagree, but he does get pissy whenever Sam mentions it because it feels like he’s flaunting being mentally healthy and knowing how to cope with his emotions in a way that Dean doesn’t and never has.)
But…
Gay.
Girls.
Guys.
Dean likes women. He knows he likes women. But… men? Can you even like more than one gender? He doesn’t know.
~~
Dean doesn’t like research. ‘Doesn’t like’ is a pretty mild way of putting it, honestly. He despises research, loathes it. It’s boring and tedious and involves a lot of reading and cross-referencing and blah blah blah that he absolutely hates. Sam loves it. Sam’s great at it, he retains so much information over periods of time. When Dean tries to read something, everything he read drops out of his head as soon as he opens the next book.
Sam’s great at research, which is why Dean is so annoyed that this is one topic he has to research himself.
He’s lucky he’s got an expert.
“How’d you know?” he asks, years – literal years – after the comment that started this, in the Bunker, on one of the rare occasions that Charlie visits them. Because yes, he ignored it until now. He’s always found repression to be more interesting. That way he gets surprised by his feelings.
“How did I know what?” Charlie asks patiently, if slightly snarkily.
“That you’re…” Dean trails off. “I dunno.”
“A faggot?” she suggests. “A queer, a dyke, a lesbian?”
“I wasn’t going to call you a slur,” Dean defends quietly. “Yeah, how did you know you like chicks?”
“Do you want the family-friendly, completely sanitized version or the highly graphic, more accurate version?”
Dean shudders. “I don’t want to hear about your sexual fantasies, give me the first one.”
Charlie laughs. “Alright, dude. Basically, I had a girl friend – space in the middle – that I had a major crush on in the fourth grade and she kissed me in the ninth grade trying to figure out her sexuality and I kissed back. And then I went home and fell asleep and forgot all about it until two years later, when I saw her kissing another girl. And then I was like woah.”
Dean stares at her. “That’s it? How’d you figure out that men were a no?”
“Almost had sex with one,” she replies easily. “He whipped it out and I just stared at it and I was like… ‘woah, okay, that thing is ugly and I don’t want it anywhere near my lady business’. And then I sent him home. And he was disappointed but thankfully, not an asshole about it.”
He bites his bottom lip. “Cool. Thanks.”
“That’s it?” she asks. “That’s all you needed? You don’t want me to give you The Answer?”
Dean raises an eyebrow. “I mean, sure. What’s the answer?”
She laughs. “Oh, I don’t have it. But most people who ask me stuff like this assume I can just read them and magically tell their sexualities.”
“Can’t you?” he replies. “Don’t you have a magical Gay Radar?”
“I mean yeah, but it’s not like I can tell them their sexualities until they figure it out themselves. The Gaydar works on people who already know their labels, but until they do it’s more of a best-guess situation.”
“Cool,” Dean says again. “Gimme your best guess.”
She blinks at him. “Um. What?”
“What am I, then?”
She swallows. “Uh… either bi or a full-on lesbian.”
Dean scoffs. “I can’t be a lesbian, Charlie, I’m not a chick.”
She winks. “That’s what you think.”
He shakes his head. “I’m not a chick,” he replies, more seriously. “I’ve never wanted to be anything besides a man.”
She shrugs. “Then my ‘best guess’ is that you’re bi.” He opens his mouth but she holds up a hand to stop him. “If you don’t know what that means, look it up. That’s what the internet is for.”
~~
Dean looks it up.
~~
So maybe he’s still pretty confused, but hey. At least he’s bi.
