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#gencest
dortheakocurekx · 1 day
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boywifesammy · 2 days
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sam, dean & john definitely shared 1 bottle of that awful 5-in-1 shampoo-conditioner-bodywash thingies that you buy for cheap at pitstops. i imagine it never really bothered sam until he went off to stanford and saw how other Normal people live (including what fancy scented shampoos they use).
so sam when comes back into hunting in s1 dean obviously takes the absolute crap out of him for not only having 1: shampoo, 2: conditioner, but also 3: sensitive skin body wash. sam gets huffy about it and says that it’s not him who’s weird for caring about his body but dean for wrecking his skin & hair w/ that crappy 5-in-1 shit.
alsooo….. dean definitely sneaks sammy’s stuff into the shower once or twice when he’s sure sam won’t notice because he’s a sucker for a nice hot shower with expensive shampoo even if he won’t admit it to sam. but i think sam would steal deans stuff sometimes as well, when he’s aching for some sort of closeness or nostalgia. its the same stuff him and john have bought forever simply because its the cheapest on the shelf, but sammy likes the familiarity of it, how it reminds him of dean’s hugs and the mundane, comforting parts of their childhood.
obviously, they can both smell it on each other, but neither of them say anything for fear of bringing attention to their own shower habits.
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hellofunkytown · 2 months
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sam “put me down like a rabid dog if you must” winchester and
dean “i’d rather you’d bite so we can go insane side by side” winchester
(i’m sleep deprived and can’t get them out of my head)
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monstersandbrothers · 22 days
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I saw a post on here a while ago and wish I could find it again but basically it was about how OP doesn’t think wincest is unrequited so much as it is unspoken and I haven’t stopped thinking about it since. because like . Yes. Yes. Y es . i’m pretty much on board with any kind of wincest u present to me, platonic, romantic, familial, unrequited, requited, I’ll take the freaks in any form no notes. But. a version of samdean where they are both AGONIZINGLY in love with each other but believe there is no way the other feels the same OR that they both know exactly how weird they are about each other but are afraid to look at it directly or bring it into the light because the ramifications of doing so are so monumental and it doesn’t really matter anyway because they will never change. Like I’m personally a big fan of “nothing physical happened between them pre-Stanford but whatever WAS between them was so all-consuming and terrifying sam had to get away before it destroyed them both.” But then it destroyed them anyway. and it’s forever just this monster lurking that they know is there and it’s made all the larger because they will never speak of it. they speak around it, they cover for themselves with “he’s my brother” over and over and over he’s my brother. He’s my brother. He’s my BROTHER. but they can never say the words. They can never yank the sickness out. THAT. that. Thaht. DISCUSS
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I wish they’d made supernatural even weirder. Like shit they could only have gotten away with on HBO weird. Graphic and obscene violence of a strange and sexual nature. Dean washing Sam’s dead body, holding him on a moldy mattress like he’s a baby again!! Sam and Dean open mouth breathing foreheads pressed together because sam almost died again levels of weird. Show me how Sam knows he can’t die, that Lucifer won’t let him. I want to see Sam eat a bullet, bleed himself out in a tub. I want to see Dean find out. Give me cold and ruthless Cas for longer. No one can ever kill their father in this show! I want to see them try! I want to see Dean agonise over his dads warning! Stand over Sam’s sleeping body with a gun! Lay down next to him, temple to temple and think about shooting!!! Sam has faith in god and then spends 10 years being tortured by him!!! What does that mean!!! Mark of Cain!! They are Cain and Abel, interchangeably!!! Sam already died in a field!!! Dean was already buried in one!! What does that mean!!!! I want violence and pain and enmeshment!!! They cannot live together!!! They cannot survive apart!!! Dean wants to tuck Sam in his chest behind his ribs!!! Sam wants to crawl inside Dean! He wants to run far enough away he can’t ever be found!!! Someone else said it but ! Make! Demon! Dean! Feed! Sam! His! Blood! SAMS BODY HAS NEVER BEEN HIS OWN!! DEAN HAS ALWAYS ONLY HAD CONTROL OVER THE THINGS JOHN LET HIM! They are so fucked up and we barely scratch the surface in that godforsaken show!!!!!
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darling-sammy · 7 months
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Dean at peace with Sam
time for me to finally rest, been crazy lately and I have fanfics to read
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Sam & Dean Headcanon
Dean doesn't really care about being bulky. Sure he has muscles because he has been digging graves since he was a child but he never cared about having a muscle training regime.
Not until he fails to hold Sam up and carry him out fast enough on a hunt post Stanford.
Then Dean starts lifting weights like his life depends on it. (It does. Sammy is his life)
Sam (who has been working out since he started college) thinks Dean is jealous of him. He teases Dean about it.
And (refuses to talk about feelings) Dean prefers to let him think that than tell him the truth. He never stops lifting weights even after he's able to lift Sam with ease. It's not enough. He has to be able to do that while running now. So he trains and trains and trains and maybe, one day, Sam figures it out. And because he knows how much comfort the knowledge that he can lift Sam gives Dean, Sam jumps on him on random occasions and Dean easily holds him up.
They never talk about it. But Dean eventually figures out that Sam knows and the next time Sam unexpectedly jumps in his arms, Dean might squeeze him a bit more tightly than usual.
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according2thelore · 8 months
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You are married to Sam Winchester. You don’t have a name.
You met him in a bar. Or a park. Or a diner where you worked. Or a library you were studying in. Or on the bus route back to your apartment. Or in the frozen aisle of a grocery store. The location doesn’t matter, but you know that you know him. That’s all you need to know. He smiles at you, and you smile back. He’s nice to look at, in the way that shards of stained glass are nice to look at. In the way that car crashes are captivating, in the way that a tree can be both dead and alive at once, in the way that homes disappear one room at a time. It doesn’t matter. You open your mouth to introduce yourself but the waitress-librarian-cop-bus driver-clerk talks over you. He never asks again. I’m Sam, he says. It’s a nice name. He’s got a nice face.
Dating him is easy. He never asks any questions about you. You ask questions about him, but he doesn’t like it, so you learn to stop. I had a brother, he offers once, in the way that someone says, I tried to kill myself. You nod. His name is Dean. It’s odd, maybe, that he refers to Dean in both past and the present tense. He doesn’t like it when you question things like that, though, so you keep quiet. Sam says strange things sometimes, when you’re sitting entwined on your couch watching reality TV. I killed monsters. They killed me, sometimes, too. He says. Your eyes go wide. He reassures you, It doesn’t matter. You melt back against him.
Oh, okay. As long as it doesn’t matter, that’s alright with you.
You get married. You get married in a courthouse, because Sam doesn’t like churches. I’ve made too many promises in churches, he said. I can’t break any more.
Okay, you say. You never liked churches much anyway. Or maybe you do. Maybe you believe in God. Sam doesn’t. He says he killed God. You believe him, because he’s got a knife carved from bone hidden under your boxspring. He keeps herbs and finger bones in jars and a golden bowl in your china cabinet, and won’t let you touch them. When the clerk hands you your wedding certificate, you smile as Sam kisses you. You’re excited when you take the paper from him, hoping to see your name. But in the space where it’s supposed to be is blank. Sam rubs a finger over Marriage Certificate, then over his name scribbled in pen. It’s perfect, he says, looking up at you with distant stars in his eyes. Oh. Okay, it’s perfect. That’s good. 
He cries out for Dean in his sleep. Night terrors so severe that they upend you from his bed shake him awake once a week. He screams in a language you’ve never heard before. After those nights, Sam doesn’t look you in the eye. He doesn’t talk after nightmares, and you don’t know how to shake him back to consciousness.
You catch him in the reflex of doing things. Odd things set him off. A rerun of that medical drama you binged in undergrad shuts Sam down, and he doesn’t come home until after dinner. An Asia song plays in a grocery store and Sam drops the milk in the middle of the aisle. You find him having a panic attack behind your car in the parking lot. 
He has an old car in the apartment’s parking garage that you’re not allowed to touch. It’s vintage—a beautiful thing, because you know a lot about cars or maybe you don’t—and it’s got an arsenal in the trunk. He buries salt lines in your yard. If you sneak up behind him, he’s got a knife to your throat before you can explain yourself.
Sam laughs at something on his phone, and goes to show someone, but it’s always only you there. It seems to disappoint him. When he’s upset, he gets more upset when you say the wrong things. It’s a dance that you don’t know the steps to, and Sam’s too tired to teach you.
It’s okay, you’ll learn yourself. You buy him almonds at the grocery store. You always keep the thermostat above seventy two degrees Fahrenheit. You always grab him a second of whatever you get: a beer, a sandwich, a blanket. You sleep on the side of the bed closest to the door. It’s not perfect. When you do the laundry, he gets frustrated with you because you fold things “too big.”  He always orders two sides of fries. He buys ground beef that he doesn’t eat.
He has a dog. The dog doesn’t like you, but it doesn’t not like you either. Sam hates you for it. Dean loves this dog. He loves Dean, too. Sam told you. You wilt. Another test failed. Dean’s really good at this game, but you’re not. Dean’s good at most games, at least the games that Sam likes to play. You try to love the dog more after that, giving him treats and actually cooking the ground beef Sam throws away every week to feed him. When Sam sprints into the kitchen as the smell wafts through the house, he collapses when he sees it’s just you. He doesn’t talk the rest of the weekend.
Sam gets a job at the factory. Or the construction site. Or the law firm. Or the local community college. You work as a nurse. Or a doctor. Or a cop. Or a secretary. Or a chef. It doesn’t matter. The details are blurry. Sam invites you to a Christmas party with his coworkers. This is my wife, Sam says, proud. His coworkers smile, but they never ask your name. You don’t have one. That’s alright with you, as long as it’s alright with Sam. You’d hate to embarrass him at a work party.
You have sex. You get pregnant. You have a kid. Those things happen in some kind of order, but it gets mixed up sometimes. 
You’ve always wanted a girl probably, but when you look into the face of your son, you realize that you’ve never wanted anything as much as you want this child. Or maybe you never wanted kids. But you have one now, and he’s your priority. You’re a good mom.
Sam didn’t have a good mom, didn’t have a mom until he was in his thirties, but she didn’t last long. So it’s important to him that you’re a good mom for his son. You’re going to take the job seriously.
We should name him Dean, you suggest, and Sam sobs into your hair. Your chest warms pleasantly. You like it when Sam holds you like this. When Sam shows you the birth certificate, your eyes catch on the name. Dean Winchester Junior? You ask. That’s for naming a child after a parent. Sam looks at the baby in your arms—wait, now it’s in his arms—and says, Dean is as much of a part of this as either of us.
The space for Mother of Child is blank. You’ve never seen a picture of Dean Winchester. Or Dean Winchester, Sr. now. 
You fall asleep in an apartment and wake up in a house with a porch and a white-picket fence. That’s nice. It’ll give the dog space to run around. In your child’s sixth month alive, Sam sleeps in the child’s crib with a knife. Just to make sure, he says. Nothing’s going to happen to Dean. It takes him a long time to say the name without flinching when he’s talking about his son. When your son turns a year old, you finally remember to ask what Sam’s tattoo means. He looks surprised that you’ve mentioned it. It’s a tattoo that I got with Dean. He says. Of course it is. You’re angry, but it’s gone again, because these are things you’re supposed to accept about Sam. It keeps demons from possessing me. Demons? You ask, startled. Sam’s mouth thins into a line. Yes. You need to get one, he says. And the second that Dean turns sixteen, I’m signing that form and we’re taking him in to get one, too. You’re alarmed, until Sam tells you that it’s okay. That’s a relief. You get the tattoo, right over your left breast, and Sam fucks you so hard that you can’t walk the next day. You introduce your family to your boss one day, This is Sam and Dean!, and Sam shoves the baby into your arms and has to leave the room. We’re calling him Dean Junior from now on, Sam says later, after the hunted look in his eyes melts into exhaustion. Alright. 
You clean the house. You wear sundresses. You like your job, but not enough to let it get in the way of being a mother. Sam teaches Dean Junior how to throw a ball. He helps him with math homework. You make meatloaf and take Dean Junior to soccer games.
You realize late—too late, maybe—that all the pictures of you on the mantle are a little blurry. You can’t remember the last time you saw your own reflection. You pull out your driver’s license. It’s blank, just your address. No picture of you. Your hair colour is just “dark.” No height. “Thin” is your weight. You speed on the way home from work so you can get pulled over. You hand over your empty license and your blank registration, and the cop barely gives either a glance. You’re free to go. He says. Everything’s in order.
You walk in the front door, and Sam kisses you on the cheek. He’s had to get glasses recently, and they make his face look even more handsome. Welcome home, honey, he says, smiling. Do you remember when you told me you killed God? You ask, because that sounds vaguely familiar. Sam blinks at you in confusion for a couple of seconds. The house shudders around you for a second.
Yes, Sam says, voice distant. Yes, I think I did. There’s a new God now though. I helped raise him. He’s a good kid. The house stills. There is no room for nasty things here. Only good. You nod, relieved. I’m glad he’s a nice boy, you say, picking up your son. If anyone could raise God, you could.
Sam looks haunted by this. He retreats.
Sam doesn’t tell you everything. Sam won’t ever tell you everything. 
You look into the face of your son as he swings his legs lightly against your hip. He’s got green eyes, and he’s sucking on his thumb, a nasty habit you’ve tried to break. Sam shows Dean Junior pictures of his brother. He tells him stories, when Dean Junior’s asleep, about the open road, about cicadas and fireworks and greasy diner food and sunscreen and used textbooks and ash.
You sit on the opposite side of the door and cry because this man is a catastrophe and he hunted monsters and he loves everything more than you thought anyone could love anything. He’s half a soul, crammed into one body, edges ragged. He’s over two hundred years old. And he likes cherry slushies and he’s killed angels and he dreams of his brothers hands and he’s seen the face of God. 
I love your uncle, you had heard his voice, a low murmur in Junior’s nursery one night. Sometimes I don’t know how to exist and be so unknown. Even when we didn’t speak, he knew me. No one has known me in years. I don’t think anyone will ever know me again.
You kiss him and try to make it like his brother would do it. He’s grateful. Sam’s grateful for a lot of things. He calls your lives together an “apple pie life.” But you don’t like apple pie. Or maybe you do. It doesn’t matter.
It’s okay. You’re just Sam Winchester’s wife. You’ve got a son named Dean.
You’ve spent your whole life sharing them both with a dead man. 
crossposted on ao3 here
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vanitasmagoria · 28 days
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metamorphosis. yes there's a man transforming into a literal monster and yes it's about sam's descent into demon blood freak monsterhood but to me, above all, it's the episode in which dean's controlling codependency takes a monstrous turn.
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he's petty and he's jealous and he's violent and he hits sam for lying and he hits sam again for talking back and he's trashing the motel room and he's the image of an abuser. dean is threatening to leave sam and to hunt sam and they both know he's not going to do either (i can't escape you, you can't escape me). there's dark fury and despair and panic in dean's eyes because sam (in tears, bleeding, taking it) is becoming more than he can control.
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sam says "this blood, it's not in you the way it's in me" and dean can't fucking stand it. he immediately tries to write himself into this, sam's not doing this alone. that's his brother, his blood, how dare he go there. their blood not being the same is the gravest, most personal insult to dean.
sam says "i'm not doing it for you" and "this is my choice" and dean cannot STAND IT. sam still craves autonomy and dean STILL. CAN'T. STAND. IT.
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tsukiyo-7 · 1 month
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Yes, I will stay here for awhile For I need a break A break from the pressures of life And everything that lays in the palms of life's hands
He may have hit his grow spurt but he's still Dean's baby.
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It is insane to me how much people can ignore the incestuous undertones to this show. Like I'm not saying people have to like those undertones, what I'm saying is they exist, and are sometimes not even subtext but outwardly stated by a character (looking at you erotically copedendent brothers) and like how much willpower did y'all have to use to watch this show, and just decide you were going to ignore those??? How much of this show have you blanked out from your mind to pretend they weren't there????
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blue-bells7 · 8 months
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So your telling me you watched SPN and thought “Yea thouse are totally normal brothers who are super normal”
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Like this is only a few instances and your telling me there normal???? You don’t even have to ship it but at least acknowledge how weird they are
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I know this isn’t like news but oh my god. Dean breaks sooooo fast when it comes to sam. He has the hardest principles in the WORLD until it comes to sam. Fresh blood “i’ve been looking up to you since i was fOUR DEAN” “alright, we’ll hole up.” and then in s14 he’s so adamant that he will not be talked out of his plan to be buried in the ocean trapped with Michael and even tells sam as much and avoids sam for as long as he possibly can because he KNOWS sam will talk him out of it. And then oh would you look at that. One pouty little brother face and one “please” and one brotherlover fistfight hug and dean folds like an origami swan. Well shit Okay Sammy let’s go home. god it’s so sexy. He never stood a chance against the insane littlebrotherism. ITS SO SEXY
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pastorpresent · 1 year
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I love weirdcest bro. I love it even more when Sam and Dean are just oblivious to it. Bobby catches them just holding hands while they watch TV and just sort of stares. They notice him there, but their fingers don't separate. It doesn't feel weird or wrong or bad because Sam got hurt, and holding hands is just convenient because it means Dean can keep checking his pulse, because he needs to. It's the only thing that settles him down.
Or when Mary returns, and is living with them in the bunker. She watches Dean cook dinner. Sam's sat at the breakfast bar watching with what she could only describe as adoration in his eyes, a soft smile on his lips. It feels off, but she scolds herself. Tells herself it's a good thing that her boys care for each other so much. But then Dean leans over with a spoon, guiding it to Sam's mouth with that same sort of fondness, and her uneasiness grows until she leaves the room and waits to be called in for dinner.
Or when John walks into the motel room late one evening. One of the three beds in empty, and his eyes land on his boys sharing a bed. Dean's got his arms curled around Sam in an almost protective manner, and Sam is curled up against his chest. Sam's seventeen, Dean is twenty two. John figures the embarrassing position was unintentional. Convinces himself of the fact so clearly that he snaps a photo on his phone to use as blackmail, before 'accidently' kicking the bed and jolting the pair awake. Dean's arm remains around Sam while the brunette blinks blearily, and his oldest starts reaching for his gun.
"Just me, sorry guys. Knocked into the bed. Probably a good thing," he joked, gesturing to them.
Sam looked confused and tired, remaining slumped against his brother. Dean looked pissed. He hadn't moved the arm situated around Sam's waist, and John can't stop fixating on it.
"Just go to bed, dad," Dean sighed, lying down as the adrenaline left him. He brought Sam down with him, who went easily, returning his head the Dean's chest.
"...right," John muttered, heading to the bathroom.
He deleted the photo, and resisted the urge to burn the phone completely.
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inbredbrotherhood · 5 months
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Wincest is truly love taken to the extreme. Devotion to the point of it being a religion all of its own. Closeness that can only be rivalled with splitting one open sternum to groin and reaching inside — touching something private and sensitive and painful. Something that is so far beyond codependency it doesn’t even have a proper name, overwhelming in its entirety.
There is truly not a love story as equally beautiful and sickening as Sam and Dean’s because it isn’t just love. It’s indifference, it’s hero worship, it’s something both sacred and deeply rooted within the world. Those boys love each other so much and so fiercely it’s a disservice to pretend that they don’t.
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