#kid!dean

[diminuel]

Tiny Sam and Dean meeting St. Nikolaus (of course, just dad in a beard *lol* I'm tagging John, but it could be Bobby too ;3)

[erynnis-hun]

Chapter of Day 26 - Witchcraft @suptober challenge is posted! (This is now a fully cohesive, multi-chaptered fix-it fic, so if you haven't read the previous ones, please start at the first chapter!) 

--

A story about the "There will be peace when you are done" part they all deserved (us too), but without all the dying business.

Join as we follow along for a month in Dean and Cas's life set five years post canon, where they're in an established relationship at the start of the story, and we'll be peeking into their past, how they came here, and what happened in the past five years. 

What can we expect? Family-feels, softness, retirement, happiness and joy, smut, adventure, angst, and we'll see what happens with each day's prompt. A happy ending is guaranteed, but the boys have to get there.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/71722846/chapters/190629296

Rating: Explicit

Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category: M/M

Fandom: Supernatural (TV 2005)

Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester

Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Episode AU: s15e19 Inherit the Earth (Supernatural), Soft, Retirement, Kidfic, Family Fluff, Family Feels, Apple Pie Life (Supernatural), Established Relationship, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Gay Castiel (Supernatural), Family Shenanigans, Fluff, Therapy, Recreational Drug Use, Medicinal Drug Use, Weed User Dean Winchester, Weed User Castiel (Supernatural), Semi-Public Sex, Gardens & Gardening (the second is the huff and puff type), Hand Jobs, Grinding, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Implied/Referenced childhood hunger, Light Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Fluff and Angst, Depression, Loneliness, Suicidal Thoughts, Suptober 2025 (Supernatural), Angelic Grace Sex (Supernatural), Angelic Grace-Powered Orgasms (Supernatural), Angelic Grace as Lube (Supernatural), Anal Sex, Implied/Referenced Prostitution, Stanford Era Dean, Dean Winchester Gets Therapy, Minor Claire Novak/Kaia Nieves/OFC

Chapter summary:

When Dean was ten years old, they stayed in an Indiana town for a few weeks. 

Enjoy! 😊

[valeron99]

Bringing home a brand new life.

- Dear, look this is you little brother.

[deanncastiel]

Drabble Day 7: Thunderstorm

Prompt from @deancaskiss' s drabble writing challenge

"Did you know that Jupiter has a thunderstorm that can swallow the Earth?" a small voice whispered from the dark. Dean startled, clutching at his blanket, his heart in his throat.

"Cas?" Dean whispered softly, trying not to wake Sam, sleeping across the room.

"Technically speaking the storm is an anticyclonic storm," Cas continued as he finally emerged from the dark, climbing onto the motel bed smoothly. "Its been raging for more than-"

"An anti-what now," Dean interrupted as Cas settled beside him, pulling the covers over them both and huddling down further into the bed. "Cas, you're so weird. I'm 9, not a baby, I'm not afraid of some-" CCRRAACCKK

Dean let out a high pitched yelp as a another clap of thunder shook the room. Diving further into the bed, Dean pulled the covers over his head and looked at Cas, his small face pinched in slight puzzlement.

"I'm not afraid," Dean repeated more forcefully, despite every bit of evidence to the contrary. "I'm not."

"It's okay, Dean," Cas said softly, with a gentle smile. "I'll watch over you."

Dean relaxed finally and smiled at the boy next to him. "I know," Dean whispered, reaching out for the other boy's hand. "Thanks, Cas."

CCRRRAACCCKKK-BBBOOOOMMMM

Dean ducked his head once again as Sammy's high cry pierced the dark, "DEAN!?!" Dean heard the sound of small feet scuttling across the floor, followed by the weight of a 35-pound five-year-old slamming into his own small frame.

"Oof," Dean let out, wrapping his arms around his little brother. "Heya, Sammy, what's this?" he asked, still hugging Sam to him. "You ain't scared are ya? Not of some measly old thunder, right??"

Keeping his tone light, Dean continued to soothe Sam as he quickly looked around the room. As always, Cas was gone. 'Night, Cas, Dean thought silently, turning back to Sam.

"Hey," Dean said, stopping Sam's babbling, "did you know that Jupiter has a thunderstorm that can swallow the Earth?"

[vampirate99]

This was half inspired by the quote in John Winchester's journal and half inspired by my teddy bear that I've had since I was two.

This one:

Yes I know, he's well loved lol. Not only that but he's rare, like you can't get him anywhere anymore kind of rare.

So I hope you enjoy my baby Sam and kid Dean + my first John Winchester art, also getting to know a little about me.

[incredibleedibleoverthink]

[incorrectspnforfun]

Teen Sam: *drops a stack of papers in front of a sick Dean*  Teen Dean: Uh...what is all this?  Sam: It’s my way of saying “get well soon”.  Dean: *looking through the papers* Homework? You do realize that pie says that even better, right?  Sam: I already did all of the assignments. All you have to do is write your name on them.  Dean: On second thought, pie can wait.

[trenchcoatimpala]

Dean was not going to cry. 

He was not going to cry. 

He was a man, just like his Dad, and he was not going to cry. 

Men don’t cry.

But it hurt. 

He was twelve years old, and his Dad had just taken him on his first hunt, a werewolf hunt that he’d wanted backup for. Dean wasn’t supposed to engage in any of the actual fighting, he was supposed to leave that to Dad. He was only there in case any of the wolves escaped, and if that happened then he was supposed to shoot to kill. 

But the longer Dean sat in the woods, eyes fixed on the cabin that his Dad had disappeared inside, the more anxious he got. 

He could hear fighting and gunshots and yelps of pain, but his father’s orders kept him rooted to the spot. 

You’re not to enter that cabin under any circumstances, do you understand?

Yes, sir. 

So, Dean stayed outside. Ears ringing with the echoes of bullets singing through the air. He wanted to make his Dad proud, to show him that he was ready to be a hunter and to back him up on hunts, but worry still nagged at him at the sounds coming from the cabin. 

He heard a shout that could only have come from his father’s mouth, and seconds later a man baring his teeth in a snarl burst through the door. 

“Dean!” his father shouted.

Dean could only stare at the werewolf in shock as it barreled towards him. But he finally managed to raise his gun and aim. The wolf was so close that his long claws raked across Dean’s stomach just as he fired, sending a silver bullet through the beasts heart.

The werewolf fell to the ground, dead, and Dean was left to meet his father’s gaze. 

John Winchester only blinked a few times at Dean before grabbing him by the arm and pulling him into the Impala. He tossed Dean a rag and instructed him to put pressure on the wound before sending them off back to the motel. 

That’s where Dean sat now, in their motel room, in a chair beside the barely-standing table that held all the first aid supplies his Dad always kept with him. 

Dean had bitten the inside of his cheeks so hard that he could taste blood as he tried to will away the tears prickling at his eyes. 

He would not cry. 

The needle moving in and out of his shredded skin, as his father worked to close the wound, felt like he was being stabbed by tiny knives. His Dad didn’t speak a word as he focused on his task, and so Dean didn’t try to talk either. 

Finally, the wound was declared sutured and his father wiped around it with a rag that smelled heavily of alcohol and plastered a bandage to it. 

“There, you’re done,” John said as he stood up. 

Dean nodded slowly and was ordered to bed. 

Safely under the covers, head turned away from his father, he let the tears fall. The pain threatened to swallow him up, but his father had offered him had nothing to ease it. He was careful not to make any noise, so careful not to let his father know that his son was crying. 

But his father’s anger filled voice rang in his ears nonetheless. 

Men don’t cry.

After the age of six, crying was unacceptable under any circumstances. 

When Dean was caught crying over a scraped knee, his father had sat him down and leveled him with the most intense rage-filled glare. 

“You stop that right now, Dean,” he’d snapped. 

Dean sniffled and wiped at his eyes but he couldn’t stop the tears. 

“I c-can’t,” he’d hiccupped. 

His father took him by the shoulders and gave him a shake, not too hard, but not soft either. 

“No son of mine, is going to be seen crying like a girl over a scraped knee. You’re a man now, Dean. Men don’t cry. Do you hear me? Men don’t cry.” 

Dean nodded, eyes still red, nose running, and tears finishing their tracks on his cheeks. “Yes, sir,” he mumbled as one last tear fell from his eyes. 

His father nodded curtly and then stood up, leaving Dean to follow him. 

Lying under the covers, tears dampening his pillow, he couldn’t get himself to stop. The sharp voice of his father barely kept the sobs that wanted to escape his chest at bay, but it couldn’t stop the tears. 

It hurt so much and there was only one person he wanted, only one person who could ease his pain. 

He wanted his Mom. 

But she was dead, gone, burned on the ceiling by a monster his father had yet to catch. 

Soon his tears of pain became tears of longing. He missed his Mom, he hardly remembered what her voice sounded like, but he knew it was soft, and loving, nothing like the rough gravel that was John’s, whose every word left scrapes under his skin that no one could see; but that didn’t mean they weren’t there.

His father hadn’t even praised him for a job well done. He’d hardly spoken a word to Dean since they got back. He knew his father well enough to know that something Dean had done had made him angry, and that something lay stitched under a bandage. 

He’d had gotten hurt on the hunt because he wasn’t quick enough, and so John was disappointed. 

Dean had wanted so badly to impress his father, to show him he was ready, but he’d failed, because that was all he knew how to do. 

He never did anything right. 

Slowly, he wiped the tears from his face and then pulled the blankets up to his chin before shutting his eyes. Somehow, he managed to block out the pain enough to let himself fall into a restless sleep. 

Maybe one day he’d stop being a failure and John Winchester would be able to look at him without the glint of disgust that always shimmered in his eyes.

tag list, ask to be added or removed: 

@jellydeans @tearsofgrace @anotherdowneyfan1 @cassgetoutofmyass0907 @angie-clover271218 @nines-in-the-tardis @fivefeetfangirl