colter’s flashlight

a sideblog for CBS Tracker! @twinklingchode

[trackeroutpost]

hello friends!! this is a tracker sideblog for @samdeancest!!

just an fyi, this blog is PROSHIP SAFE and the user is a coltruss/shawcest truther!

if that makes you uncomfy and you’d rather not interact, that’s completely fine. i try to stray away from people who are uncomfortable with proship but if i accidentally do interact with you, please know it isn’t on purpose or to spite you! just block and move on :)

anyway, as the rewardist colter shaw says, “be good”!

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

reblog if you love archive of our own and how they firmly refuse to let censorship have any place on their platform

[carryonlikewedidbefore]

I should probably let it go now that Countdown has been cancelled, but the thing is, having watched the new episode of Tracker and seeing the way Russell still has this obvious (and believable) crush on Reenie makes me believe so much less in the signposted potential romantic relationship of Oliveras/Meachum. Their interactions were awkward unless it was very obviously a friendship scene.

Meanwhile in Tracker you get these scenes (even in episodes that Jensen isn't in) where its made very clear that Russell and Reenie stay in touch even when he's not in town. Sure she seems to brush him off and doesn't take Russ' overtures seriously, but even that is done with a lot more dignity and kindness than Oliveras' heavy handed approach to knocking Meachum down.

I really can't wait until there is an episode that Russell does something so magnificent that Reenie gives him a sweet kiss on the cheek. That boy will get soooo damn flustered. And I know that if he stuck around she probably wouldn't have a hope of not falling for him.

[trackeroutpost]

THIS THIS THIS!!!!! mommy dom reenie i live for you. she’s a boss ass bitch and could whip russ into shape n i stand by that.

[sun-ni-day]

Tracker 3x01 The Process

[xstrawmari]

getting that greenshaw endgame

[youre-only-gay-once]

NOT words i wanted to hear come out of his mouth ever okay

[trackeroutpost]

enjoying how pissed off colt looks here at russ

while russ himself just looks mildly confused as if he has most likely not done something fucking bonehead stupid.

[russjensen]

Jensen Ackles | JIB15 2025 A fan asks about ad libs and mentions this scene:

[sun-ni-day]

Tracker 1x10 Into the Wild

[bloodydeanwinchester]

Tracker 1x12 | Off the Books

[acecroft]

JENSEN ACKLES as Russell Shaw in Tracker 2.02

[sun-ni-day]

Tracker 2x14 Exodus

[acecroft]

JENSEN ACKLES as Russell Shaw in Tracker 1.12

[beecomingnothing]

turkey, trauma, and triplets

cw: humour.ᐟ fictional triplet chaos [beau, russell, mark].ᐟ drug use [weed].ᐟ light cursing.ᐟ cowboy antics.ᐟ emotional repression masked as jokes.ᐟ mentions of alcohol.ᐟ dysfunctional brotherly love.ᐟ 18+

beau is the reckless golden boy, the eldest son, born first. russell is the unwilling loner, the middle son. and mark is the raccoon in the garbage bin who somehow has a badge, the youngest son who was born last of the three.

#notes: a fic where these three are triplets who are trying to get along at a family dinner. who knew being born a few minutes apart would cause such hectic personality differences. all three have the same career paths as their show, this was just for fun !!

“you cuttin’ that yam or makin’ love to it?”

beau doesn’t look up. “mark, i swear to god—”

“what? just askin’.” mark shrugs, sipping straight from a flask he absolutely didn’t hide well enough in the pantry. “you’re being real intimate with it.”

“because i’m not slaughtering it like you did the mashed potatoes.” beau chirps back.

“you said whip ‘em!”

“not with a fork and your aggression.” beau just sighs, tosses the sweet potato into the dish, and mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like “lord give me strength.”

the childhood house is warm, full of buttery smells and cinnamon, and their mother is off in town picking up an extra pie because someone [mark] ate half of one last night “by accident.”

“you think he’s actually gonna show?” mark asks after a beat, tipping his head toward the front door.

“russell?” beau wipes his hands on a towel. “he said he would.”

“you think he’ll wear them goofy combat boots to dinner again?”

“i think—” beau says slowly, “that you oughta stop pourin’ liquor into the gravy and help me set the table.”

mark gestures broadly. “hey, i am the youngest brother. this ain’t my responsibility.”

“big deal— were what? ten minutes apart? you’re still thirty-nine, same as me.”

mark’s about to argue when the front door creaks open. boots. heavy against the worn floorboards, then the low scrape of a zipper.

“jesus christ,” mark groans dramatically, “he’s doing the ‘mysterious entrance’ thing again.”

“fuck off, mark,” russell’s voice drifts in from the doorway, dryly. “i had somethin’ come up.”

the two brothers turn just in time to see russell step into the kitchen. black long-sleeve, tired eyes, military duffle slung over his shoulder. he looks like someone who hasn’t slept in three days and still somehow makes it fashionable.

beau grins. “you look like death.”

russell drops the bag. “ ‘nd you still look like a divorced clown.”

all three of them stare each other. a long, simmering beat. then mark bursts out laughing, walks over, and slaps russell on the back. “glad you could make it, man.”

russell exhales, long and quiet. “yeah. me too.”

beau watches them with a soft expression it hurts. he tosses russell a dish towel. “you’re on turkey-carving duty. mark tried and i think the bird filed a restraining order.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

later at the table the cornbread was stacked high, buttery and golden. stuffing, cranberries, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole. one overfilled gravy boat dangerously close to mark’s elbow.

and three grown-ass men, sitting down with their sweet mother.

“ain’t this nice?” beau says, voice honey-sweet but clearly ready to kill if anyone acts up.

mark raises his beer bottle “here’s to sibling rivalry.”

russell stayed silent, fork in one hand, tactical awareness in the other. he looks like he’s assessing the green beans for bombs, like usual.

“so,” their mother says warmly, “what’s everyone thankful for this year?”

a beat of silence. beau clears his throat. “i’m thankful we’re all here,” he offers. “healthy n’ together.”

“aw sweetheart,” their mother beams, and mark snorts.

“you got somethin’ better?” beau shoots back.

mark leans back in his chair, real thoughtful. “i’m thankful my last hookup wasn’t a felon.”

russell speaks up for the first time in ten minutes, mouth half full of food. “dude, she keyed your car.”

“yeah, but not during—”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

the night air was cool, the kind of crisp that clings to denim and makes old floorboards creak. the three of them sit on the front porch, scattered across mismatched rocking chairs. mark flicks a lighter. small flame, and a quiet crackle.

“the hell— you’re gonna get us all arrested,” beau mutters, elbow on the porch rail, looking like he’s questioning his life decisions.

“by who?” mark grins, joint dangling loosely from his lips. “you?”

“yeah,” russell adds, already exhaling his joint, slow through his nose, “you gonna call the sheriff on us, sheriff?”

“i am the sheriff—” beau glares. “and i could haul your ass to jail.”

“you could, or i could plant evidence on you and take you in myself” mark says, grinning wider, “but then mama’d have to come post bail, and we all know she’s got a soft spot for me.”

“only ‘cause she doesn’t know half the shit you’ve done.”

“and never will,” mark winks, passing the joint to russell. “beau you literally live in an airstream trailer, you’re one fuckin’ emotional breakdown away from writing country songs about your ex-wife.”

beau watches the smoke curl in the moonlight, brows knit. “fuck you, and how the hell did you even get that here?”

“i know people, got my connections” mark says.

beau takes the joint without looking at him. slow, measured. inhales once, exhales through his nose. “yea well— coming from the guy who left his fiancée two weeks before the wedding and still won’t shut up about how her sister ‘came onto him first.’”

mark blinks. “i mean, she did—”

“you don’t even have a wife to write songs about, mark.” beau claps back,

russell, deadpan from the rocking chair “ but he’s got a restraining order though. close second.” the middle child crosses his arms as he watches them bicker. “y’arguing about failed relationships like either of you’ve had one last longer than a presidential term.”

beau leans back, blowing smoke through his nose. “big talk for someone who hasn’t had a permanent address since bush was in office.”

mark couldn’t help but add to it. “pretty sure russ’ last mailing address was a bunker in bulgaria.”

“it’s classified asshole,” russell mutters.

“you don’t even exist on paper,” beau adds, shaking his head. “you’re one unshaved week away from bein’ a full cryptid.”

beau sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose, then mutters, “jesus christ. m’too old for this.”

“you’re ten minutes older than me,” mark snarks.

“and i’ve made ten minutes of better life choices.” beau sighs, taking another hit of the almost doubted joint. trying to act like the ‘cool’ older brother even though he’s cringing at how many people he’s arrested for having illegal weed on them.

mark howls, watching beau attempt to hide the tickling cough in his throat. “holy shit— he fucking coughed!”

“shut up,” beau wheezes, waving smoke around.

“you alright?” russell asks, fighting a smirk.

“i’m fine,” beau rasps, eyes watering a little. “jesus— feels like my lungs lit up like the fourth of july.”

mark fans him like he’s fainting. “you want me to hold your hand, old man?”

russell exhales smoke through his nose, lazily. “you’re both idiots—”. after a pause “kinda missed this, though.”

beau’s still recovering from the hit, voice scratchy as he mutters, “yeah, well don’t get used to it.”

“why not?” mark smirks, passing the joint again. “you cry every time we leave.”

“do not.”

“do to”

“do not”

“do to”

and just like that, under a porch light buzzing low and a sky full of stars, the three of them are quiet again. not because there’s nothing left to say— god knows there’s always more.

a sheriff, a soldier, and a detective.

still brothers. still a mess.

and for tonight, their still home.

tags: @tinas111 @fancyhideoutpeach @kimxwinchester @soldiersgirl @lanasgirlfr @unfortunate-brat @bruisedfig @angelically-yours @winchestersbgirl @spnaquakindgdom @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @pieandflannel @bejeweledinterludes @deanstubble @sunnyteume @titsout4jackles @sunnyfuffly @deansbeer @claymoresofinfamy23 @beforeroachfalls @capkatie @kamisobsessed @thesevnthseal @lunaleah

[richyjerimovich]

I’ll tell you one thing. If it’s between the Zeta Reticuli aliens or some off-the-books DOD spooks, I’m picking the lizard folk every time. TRACKER: 2.02 "Ontological Shock"

[acecroft]

JUSTIN HARTLEY as Colter Shaw in Tracker (2024) Season 1

[bloodydeanwinchester]

Tracker 2x02 | Ontological Shock