#numbered headcanon

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Headcanon #59

Dean considers Justin Hammer the worst thing to happen to science since Thomas Edison.

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Headcanon #60

Dean did not survive The Snap.

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Headcanon #58

Dean has attended every Stark Expo he can since starting to work at SHIELD. He’s hugely into tech and tinkering and likes finding out what new things are coming up in the world. He also attends most tech events in the area when he has the time and knowledge it’s coming.

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Headcanon #55

For various reasons, Dean retired the codename Colt. Mostly owing to the fact he’d chosen it as a teenager, and it’s been more than ten years since and he’s grown as a person and mutant.

His new name is Riot.

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Headcanon #54

It wasn’t so much a phobia, as a severe dislike of water. 

It was the spring after he turned thirteen, just in the beginning of April. John had decided that now he was officially a teenager, he could start training more fully.

Dean was still small for his age at the time, according to the scales at a butcher shop and Dad’s measuring tape. Dad had said he was four feet eleven and he weighed eighty-five pounds. Words like ‘shrimpy’ had been tossed around, which had sucked to hear and made Dean more determined than ever to get through the training his dad had in store for him.

It was mostly physical at first, lots of running and weights and general exhaustion. Long runs up and down the streets, lifting bags of rock salt and rolling the spare tire of the Impala. Suicide drills until his legs were shaking and his clothing was soaked with sweat and it was all he could do to crawl into bed. By May they’d moved down south towards the Texas coast, some small town he can’t remember the name of, only that it was barely big enough to be called a town.

It was there that John switched from Marine training, to a modified version of Navy SEAL training. Dean was after all, only thirteen. For weeks he spent all his time on the beach and in the warm Gulf waters. Laying in the surf with his feet on the beach, the water rushing around his ears and over his face when the water crested, leaving him spluttering and coughing, gasping for a breath before the next swell of water came rushing up to him. Rolling up and running up to the sand, covering himself with it so the rough texture scraped his skin and chafed beneath his clothing, even as he laid back in the surf for endless rounds of water and sand that itched for hours in the darkness of his room.

In the calmer coves, he would swim out into the water, tying knots beneath the surface both with his eyes shut and open, the salt stinging them badly. He’d bob in waters with his hands and feet tied for hours, forcing himself calm and focusing on not dipping below the surface, to make himself ‘drown proof’ as Dad urged. 

Then he started to teach Dean to hold his breath, holding him under the water of a full tub, until Dean had to tap out, gasping for air and panting, catching his breath and trying to take more oxygen in before John pressed him under again. Each time he tapped out made him feel like he failed long before his dad ever gave him a disappointed look and said ‘Again.’ His brain would demand he struggle and fight, and overcoming his brain was a very hard thing to do because instinct was strong. John was stronger than his instincts though, and eventually he learned to be still, and focus on himself internally.

When John was comfortable with his progress, he pulled back out to the cove, doing the same with him in the ocean, with its unpredictable waves and pulls, forcing him to move with the water, reducing how long he could hold his breath. It took weeks to get back to where he’d been in the tub, but by the time September came around, he could do everything in the water that John wanted of him to nearly his father’s satisfaction. He’d grown an inch and a few pounds, but more of the weight was muscle and less was baby fat and that was enough to be good enough and enough for John to declare it was time to move on.

He could hold his breath for three and a half minutes, four if the water was calm, and he could tie and untie all manner of knots no matter how soaked the rope was and escape cuffs and everything but zip ties while submerged in water and not panic.

He hated the water.

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Headcanon #53

Dean will never sign the Sokovia Accords.

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Headcanon #57

Dean’s Office

Dean’s office at SHIELD isn’t big like the higher ups tend to be, but it’s not tiny either. He has his desk, his chair, a chair opposite the desk, as well as a bookshelf that spans the entire back wall filled with texts ranging from ancient times to modern journals and an eclectic mix of fiction and non-fiction for when he needs something to read that isn’t work related. The mixed section is where he’ll most often lend from, unless he really trusts the other person.

His desk is a solid, heavy wood, dark and showing its age. It has rivets along the edging and lacks the modern, streamline feel much of SHIELD tend to has. There’s more than a few knicks and scratches and gouges from the abuse it gets from various weapons, and the occasional target practice it suffers. The top is usually covered in texts, his laptop, his journal, and paperwork. Less frequently are weapons or a medical kit, and if it’s completely clean, assume the worst.

The chair are both wheeled and fairly utilitarian, but comfortable. Dean’s has some extra cushioning for his joints to keep them from getting too out of whack when pulling long hours.

He has a corner of his office that’s just for other agents. A sort of decompression area. There’s a thick floor rug with a shoe box in the corner so that shoes can be kept out of the way. On the rug is an oversized bean bag in a neutral, dark color that an adult can curl up in, along with a box filled with various fidget and stim toys, and the occasional coloring book if he’s feeling whimsical. Once someone’s come down, he’ll usually make a pot of tea and put it onto a tray for them to drink as they want. 

He wants his office to be a safe space, not just for himself, but for anyone at SHIELD who doesn’t fit the norm. Mutants, Spectrum, LGBTQ+, Mental Illness... he tries to gives the minority agents like himself a place to just get away from the very real stresses of the job and the idiots they have to work with.

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Headcanon #56

Dean is Pansexual Demiromantic