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#trans dean
castielsparkle · 9 months
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ⓘRIGHTEOUS MEN NEAR YOU! CLICK NOW!
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deancodedinthewater · 8 months
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Jack: I made you this *hands Dean a friendship bracelet in bi/trans/aro colours*
Dean: I haven't worn bracelets since I was in my 30s
Jack: you don't have to wear it 😔
Dean: *tying it to his wrist* I'm never taking it off
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ricky-tiki-tah · 10 months
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Dean is a trans man and the reason he was so scared to be seen as feminine was one day John said “if you’re gonna be a man, you’re gonna do it right. No more of that girly shit” so Dean tucked away whatever that didn’t fit into his fathers idea of a man, only letting them out after he’d died. It took a very long time, but eventually Dean realized that men can enjoy doing things seem as feminine without it feeling like he was faking who he is.
That’s it. That’s the post.
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lampgate · 1 year
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13 year old dean "coming out" to sam: hey so you know how girls are girls and boys are boys? yeah well sometimes. that's wrong. for some people. ya know? haha anyway great talk!
9 year old sam: what
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loveofastarvingdog · 2 years
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trans dean. you agree, reblog.
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angelkush · 2 months
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JANUARY, 1995
It’s a shooting day and Dean’s ears are ringing with the pop of the .22 that’s growing heavy in his hands. At Bobby’s house he always has to wear earmuffs when he shoots; usually Dean complains because they look stupid, but right now his ears are so frozen he’s wishing he had a pair of his own.
He points the muzzle at the ground and shakes his head out, cupping a stiff hand to his cheek. There’s exactly zero blood flow happening in his face, and the cold makes each shot ring out so loudly he has to try not to flinch. And his socks are wet. Pretty miserable shit.
John’s on his way back from replacing the target, face grim.
“How’d I do?” Dean calls. Too loud, judging from the way his dad scowls.
“You’re blowing through ammo and you only got six on the page.”
Dean slumps. “Crap.”
“Yeah, it is. You need to get your shit together, I can tell your heart isn’t in this. You reload yet?”
Dean sniffles, even though he can’t feel his nose, either. “No.”
“No?”
“No, sir.”
“So get going. Show me you can do better.”
Dean’s fingers feel like ten useless icicles. He slides the chamber open and clink-clink-clinks ten bullets inside, then carefully closes the action. The Beretta is a testy bitch that jams constantly. Dad only trusts it for training and seems likely to chuck it soon.
He barely seems affected by the chill. Mostly he looks bored. “Go on and take a few steps forward. Ladies’ tee until you get ‘em all on the page, and then we’ll think about moving you back again.”
Dean’s skin crawls with embarrassment and he wants to protest—he could do better if it were warmer and if he weren’t so tired already—but obediently he moves closer to the target.
“Alright.”
He raises the gun and clicks the safety off. He’s probably more cautious with it than John cares, but he’d rather be safe than sorry.
The target is a sheet of paper with orange circles pinned to a stump surrounded by casings. He lines the center up in his sight and then aims a little lower to compensate because the Beretta shoots high. God, if Dean could get his hands on that ivory-grip Colt, he’d die happy.
He empties her out, gets about nine bullets on the page. Four of them land tight in the center. The stray shot is only because he overcorrected his aim at first.
He turns back to his dad with a grin on his face, feeling pretty proud. There’s a pleasant buzz of warm feeling in his nose and eartips along with the ringing in his ears as he traipses back to the ammo box. “Not so crappy, huh?”
John shakes his head. “Dunno where you learned to be such a brag.”
“What am I supposed to be, humble? Pass.” He squats by the box, breathing on his numb hands before delicately picking up the bullets. “Hard pass.”
“Being humble is what keeps you alive. Nine out of ten only seems good on a target that doesn’t move. It isn’t your best—or it shouldn’t be.” John’s silence is as unforgiving as his voice. Dean watches his words sink through the winter air like smoke.“We stay here until you can actually hit what you’re aiming at.”
Through no fault of his own, Dean’s mouth is suddenly letting loose the complaint he’s been trying to hold in. “Come on, give me a break, Dad. It’s freezing, and I’m tired, and I’m about to have frostbite on my carpal tunnel. I feel like I can barely pull the damn trigger!”
His father’s boots crush against the frozen ground louder than a gun. He looks up quickly, stomach dropping. Dad and his rifle make a stark silhouette against the cold white sky above.
“You don’t ever speak to me like that again. You sound like your brother, like some insolent child, not a man I’d trust with my weapon. I know I taught you better than this. When lives depend on you, are you still gonna be making excuses? Are you gonna be whining about the weather when it’s your bad aim that gets somebody killed? Is it gonna be the trigger’s fault when you get yourself killed?”
“No, sir,” Dean replies, heart beating in his throat.
“You’re laughing, you’re fucking around, I can see you’re not taking this seriously. You still don’t understand the stakes. Think about Sam—you know whose fault it’ll be if you can’t take care of him or the lives you say you want to protect?”
“My fault, sir. Dad, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t say sorry. Don’t be begging for respect when you haven’t earned it. The only reason we’re still out here is you. You being cold and tired right now is on you. This is all in your control. Your life is in your own hands, nobody else’s. Do you understand that?”
His eyes are so heavy.
Dean nods and looks down, unable to speak. He is so stupid.
The dry air is hurting his head; he won’t be surprised if they get back to the cabin and find Sam with a bloody nose. Kid’s got a fragile sinus. The sooner Dean makes this, the sooner they can get back. He loads fast.
“Sam told me that you went hunting,” John says, tone slipping back to conversational.
“Yeah,” Dean says, grateful as he slides the clip home. “Bobby showed us how to do animal calls.”
“Being able to hunt and eat what you’ve killed is important. For when you have to keep yourself fed, but for building character, too. A hunter should be able to hunt.”
“And fish,” Dean adds. “Hey, we should go again soon.”
John nods, the barest hint of warmth. “My point is, everything you need to survive should be in your power. Your gun is your second most important tool after grit. Even when you won’t know if you will survive, you have to know that you can survive.”
Dean nods, and after a few seconds of silence, he supplies, “Bobby makes good venison chili.” He doesn’t mention that Bobby specifically said John was not invited to any of his suppers.
“You get one?” John asks. “A deer?”
Dean stands slowly, thumbing the safety. He doesn’t click it off, yet, and he keeps it pointed at the ground. Like Bobby keeps cussing him out about. “Not yet.”
“Why not?”
Dean’s mouth is sour, the pit in his stomach is growing again, and somehow he’s sweating. John sounds like he knows the answer why.
Dean clicks the safety off and Dad doesn’t even look twice, just waits. Dean walks back to his spot and gets into position. Behind him, John sighs. He sounds so tired.
“If you can’t even kill a deer, how do you think you’re gonna be able to shoot things that look human?”
Dean aims at the target and tries to breathe. The freeze is in his lungs, now, January’s teeth seizing his insides so every inhale is sharp. The target wavers in his sight as he tries to keep his hands still. It’s just an orange circle. Just a tree stump. Just practice, so he’s fine.
He exhales slowly, finger curling around the trigger. He’s fine and he’s got this.
“I mean, what am I supposed to think, Deanna,” John says lowly, voice pinched with disappointment, “you tell me you want me to treat you like a man, but you can’t even—”
Dean fires, ten rounds in steady, thundering succession until the ringing in his ears drowns out the sound of the chamber clicking empty.
The target is in tatters. He thinks they all landed.
His chest is still tight, and raw, and like maybe something has shaken loose or broken free. With shaking hands, he zips up his jacket, and then he turns and walks to his father’s side.
“It’s Dean,” he says thinly. He clears his throat and adds, “Sir.”
John’s looking at him and Dean can’t make out what’s going on behind his eyes. After a moment he nods, and then jerks his head toward their gear. “Pack up.”
As Dean’s cleaning up—collecting fallen casings and discarded targets, and making sure every gun is unloaded and every safety is on because Sam always pokes around even when they tell him not to—John claps him on the shoulder. His voice is soft again.
“I’m just worried about you, I need you to know that. I want you to be able to take care of yourself and Sammy when I’m not around. This world is mean, and cold, and it’ll tear you apart. I can be hard on you kids…I push you too hard, I know it, and it still won’t be enough to keep you safe. And that kills me.”
John cups the back of his head. Dean meets his eyes and sees a world in there that he can’t begin to fathom. “You did good today, Dean, really good. I don’t want you to think I have any doubts—about how strong you are, and how brave. And I trust I can depend on you, son.”
Somewhere inside Dean, a knot loosens, like he’s finally been allowed to breathe a little. It’s good.
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gh0sted-exe · 12 days
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they are gay. they are trans. they are autistic.
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gaytedlasso · 2 years
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You have him. Always forever
Happy Pride to Cas and Dean Winchester
~
redbubble / inprnt
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miserylamalice · 5 months
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Lemon
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emeraldcas · 2 years
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trans dean pride icons 💙💗🤍🏳️‍🌈
*feel free to use! (credit appreciated)
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Dean Winchester is trans and I have proof!!!!!!!
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electromignion · 9 months
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A Day In A Retired Throuple’s Life (AO3 - Drowstiel OS)
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Link to the fic
(Fanart made by the lovely @sleepy-deans for the fic!! Thank you once again, lots of love and check her work!! It’s all amazing 🫶)
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean Winchester/Crowley/Castiel
Characters: Dean Winchester, Crowley, Castiel
Rating: General Audience
Words: 5,242
Synopsis: Dean, Castiel and Crowley enjoy an idyllic life as they are retired from the hunting world. As they own a brewery together, how is a normal day going on in their lives?
Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Everybody Lives, Retired Hunter Dean Winchester, Retired Castiel (Supernatural), Retired Crowley (Supernatural), Drowstiel, fix it fic kind of, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Love, Throuple, Mentioned a lot of Supernatural characters, Saileen Mentioned, references, Neurodivergent Castiel (Supernatural), Trans Male Dean Winchester, Trans Male Character, Dean Winchester has a thing for cowboys, Hugs, Kisses, Slice of Life, Mention of alcohol, Destiel, Drowley, crowstiel, They have supportive families, No Smut, Mild Language, Comfort, Established Relationship
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dykeydean · 3 months
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trans dean enjoyers: when do you think dean started T? (if ever)
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grim-work · 2 years
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hey if you’re sad please consider Dean breaking into Sam’s apartment in 2005 and they squabble and then Sam recognizes Dean under his little stubble and they hop up and Jessica comes in and Sam says “this is my…brother? Dean” and glances at Dean a little questioningly and Dean gives a big goofy grin and he’s four months on T being called someone’s brother, SAM’S brother, feeling his first ever Gender Euphoria and everything evaporates for a moment except that feeling and being seen completely and being seen by Sam
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foolsgender · 1 year
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young dean would come out to his dad as trans and john would warn him that it’s hard to be a man and that fathers are different with sons than they are with daughters, and he won’t be able to be soft anymore. he’ll have to be a soldier and he’ll have to be tough. and dean is just so desperate for his father to love him as a man that he crushes down any hint of femininity even though it’s inherently a part of him
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demonlandline · 2 years
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shrug emoji
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