Just got to s13 in my rewatch and i never noticed before that when Sam’s alone in the bunker w Jack watching him try to use his magic (i think 13x3) he’s reading The Drama Of The Gifted Child which is book about discovering your true self after childhood trauma and repressed anger and the knee jerk instinct to become numb to cope with abuse etc and like…. I love that.
I love that he’s aware that he needs to heal his inner child if he’s going to raise this kid who everyone in the world will hate (especially his own brother, who Jack already looks up to and tries to mimic). And its beautiful seeing him confront Dean for telling Jack he would be the one to kill him when the time came (and it’s heart wrenching to watch Jack sitting on the floor behind the corner like a kid trying to listen to his parents in a screaming match while also staying out of sight to keep himself safe). But…
I also hate that we only see a glimpse of the book’s cover. Like I had to pause in order to read the title. And that’s ALL they give him in the later seasons to show that he’s struggling with all of this. With Lucifer being out, with trying to raise the antichrist to not be the antichrist (which feels strangely displacing, like Jack’s himself from 9 years ago and he’s in the role of Dean but trying desperately to do a better job of making sure the kid knows he’s loved), and losing all of the same people that Dean lost but not being able to grieve for them quite yet. He has soooo much on his plate (as per ush) and the writers refuse to give him any depth about it. Any trauma response other than a clenched jaw and scared eyes. They’re just like Look! He’s reading a book about childhood trauma! Can’t you see he’s traumatized?! and then only show it for a split second.
This is not to say that that’s a bad way to cope at all, again I think it’s amazing that he is reading this book and you can see that it IS helping him - but only if you squint. Its very subtle. Like he isn’t allowed to have upsetting trauma responses anymore, he’s too old for that, he isn’t the baby anymore, Jack is. And that’s really what breaks my heart - it’s the treatment of the (100+ years of) trauma from the cage and from the wall in his mind and from losing his soul as something he should be over by them. He’s a big boy. He can read a book about it, he’ll be okay.
Anyway I’m frustrated by the lack of care for Sam’s healing throughout but especially s12 forward
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thing is, and again take this with a grain of salt if you'd rather take the fiction for what it is (fiction), but the childhoods of dean and sam can be such a compelling parallel for real-world childhood abuse that it does make for a wildly interesting analysis.
you've got this perfectly crafted scenario in which these children, dean particularly, are faced with a knowledge much greater than them - weight of the world type inappropriate for their age groups - but they can't tell anyone. they are fundamentally cut off from their peers in this knowledge. of course, the knowledge in question largely stands for the world of hunting and the monsters therein, but it's very much the abuse wrapped up within that, as well. dean's going to school, trudging through because he's a keeper of that information, and boy doesn't the world and the knowledge of your peers take on a scary triviality when you know that vampires exist, that demons make deals that take lives. it's a loss of innocence and the disconnect that stems from it. when you have to steal to better provide for your baby brother, sitting through algebra feels laughable.
and again, john's got this perfect narrative going for him in that save for bobby (perhaps best regarded as a healthier father figure, certainly not peer-level) and a few others, the boys cannot share their knowledge of monsters and thus they cannot likewise share the extent of their abuse or neglect. take it further, it's wrapped up in a bow of 'it's a greater good - this is why your mother died.' and you'd listen and you'd take it because why on earth wouldn't you? you love your dad, he loves you, and yeah, everything's gone to shit since mum died. when that's what's on the line, what else is there to do
it's an extraordinary compiling of trauma but despite its supernatural origins it does a shockingly interesting job as a parallel (though again, this is fiction, grain of salt) to real-world abuse
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//TW: Reflecting on Dean and Sam and how it mirrors me and my brother so talk about some deep things//
My biggest comfort in life is that from being in the Supernatural fandom for so long I always read how people wish they had someone like Dean as their older brother and I am so blessed because I had that.
Just as a bit of background my brother is 5 years older than me and both of our parents passed away. My dad when I was 9 and my mum when I was 12. My dad was my hero, the most amazing person I've ever been so fortunate to know so when I lost him I was broken. Unfortunately, as much as I do still love my mum, she was not a very good parent so between those years of their deaths me and my brother were put through a lot of abuse and trauma. Things that stunted a lot of my development as a person because it all happened when I was so young.
Those were some of the worst years of my life that still gives me nightmares BUT I had my older brother. Our dad's very last words to my brother was "Look after your little sister" and god did he take that responsibility and run with it. He was now a 15 year old kid with effectively a daughter.
He was fiercely protective. There is nothing he would not do for me. Nothing. He had to become my brother, my mother, my father, my teacher. Everything and he did that.
Even now when I turn 31 tomorrow that man is still my whole family in one person. We went through so much bad shit together that no one will ever understand me as much as he does and no one will ever understand him as much as I do. Growing up me and my brother clawed our way to where our lives are now. He's married and working his dream job as an artist. I am happier and working in a job I really enjoy with a good support system of friends. We fought so fucking hard to get that and I am proud of us.
So many traits that made me attach to Dean Winchester as a character I realised were because that was my brother I was watching. I was Sam. The line "There ain't no me if there ain't no you" is something I've always said to my brother too.
If I could go back in time I would still want the bad things to happen because there isn't anything I value more than my big brother.
I guess I am just venting because I'm watching Supernatural and it always gets me in my feelings.
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Just wanted to point something out about Dean Winchester. The man loves to eat. People always bring that up in fanfics. They compare him to Sam who doesn’t appear to be such a “glutton”. However, remember Dean had to scrimp and save to get any food for most of his childhood. And most of the food he managed to get he gave to Sammy.
As someone who’s early childhood was marked by similar hunger, I don’t think of Dean as being a glutton. No. More like there is a deep rooted fear that he might not be able to eat again, even if it is an unreasonable fear.
So, he takes every meal with gusto, and snacks because he’s still not a hundred percent sure if he’ll be able to eat again. And this is coming from someone who sliced their finger to the bone trying to get some peas out of a can because they were so hungry and was found barefoot and dirty on the street talking to the hot dog man at three years old, trying to get SOMETHING to stop the hunger pangs.
So, yes, he eats because he remembers starvation and that kind of trauma isn’t something you just shake off.
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Damage Control - 1x18 Something Wicked
Dean’s a stubborn ass. He’s bleeding down the right side of his face, from a wound originating somewhere under his hair, but he refuses to let Sam look at it until Michael is settled for the rest of the night. Impatiently, he at least takes the towel Sam pushes at him and wipes at his forehead, but Sam knows it’s for Michael’s sake more than for him. The kid has been through enough for months of nightmares; he doesn’t need to keep looking at a bloody face to add to the horror.
Sam sees Dean launch into full big brother mode when he tucks the kid in with a glass of warm milk, talks to him in soft, understanding tones and stays until Michael is asleep - with the promise that they’ll be right next door if he needs them. It’s peculiar, watching this behavior as a bystander, to see Dean’s familiar body language - the protective looming, his shoulders somehow broader than they really are, his 6’1 an impenetrable shield against the threats of the outside world.
For so many years, it had been Sam at the focal center of Dean’s brotherly protection, and only now is he becoming fully aware of what it all meant. After what Dean told him about the Shtriga and that he still blames himself for what happened all those years ago; after learning how harshly Dad had treated Dean - a 9yo far too young to carry the weight of such responsibility - Sam feels like his eyes have been opened. So often, he had bitten Dean’s head off for his blind obedience to their father. He’d fought against Dean’s overpowering protectiveness, feeling patronized, not realizing it was born of a deep sense of duty and an ingrained fear - the fear of making a fatal mistake, of getting Sam killed, of failing at the one job Dean had been given by their father.
Sam’s only ever seen the oppressive side of Dean’s behavior. Now, seeing him tug Michael’s blanket up to his chin, turning on the nightlight before he leaves, casting one last watchful glance over the boy, he remembers similar moments from his childhood - moments of gentle care that belonged just as much to his big brother as his coarseness. Dean had looked after Sam his whole life. It may have felt stifling and diminishing to Sam. But at least some of Dean’s exaggerated protectiveness had been born of the need to make up for a mistake no one should ever have blamed him for, least of all their father.
With Michael asleep, they return to their own motel room. Dean still can’t quite shed his vigilance, although the Shtriga is dead. He keeps pacing, looking out the window every other loop, at the building opposite, where Mike’s room is softly illuminated by the night light. Only when Sam puts a glass of whiskey into his hand does he finally sit down. He sips, in quick succession, while his free hand unconsciously rubs at his head, where he’s injured.
“How’s your head?”
“Huh?” Dean looks at Sam, puzzled.
“Dude, your head wound? Your hair is caked with dried blood.”
“What?” As he seems to remember his injury, his frown turns into a scowl. “It’s fine, Sam. It’s nothing.”
“Yeah, you always say that, and then you end up cross-eyed and puking your guts out. Or we lose our deposit because you bleed on the sheets all night. We’ve been there.”
Sam approaches his brother cautiously. Normally, he’d leave Dean alone. The wound has apparently stopped bleeding, and there’s none of Dean’s telltale concussed pallor or dizziness. But tonight’s revelations have shaken Sam, and he feels the need to do something for Dean, to make up for some of that messed-up self-blame his big brother has been carrying for all these years.
“Oh, come on, Sammy. This is ridiculous.” Annoyed, Dean slams his empty whiskey glass onto the table.
Sam’s not giving up. He pulls out the puppy dog eyes. “Humor me?”
Dean’s eye roll is almost comical. He shakes his head, grunts, then sighs in resignation.
“Okay, fine. If it gets you off my ass, suit yourself.” He gestures at his head.
Sam takes two steps and leans down to inspect the damage. Methodically parting Dean’s spiky hair with his fingers, he quickly finds the gash two inches above the hairline.
“This could use a stitch or two,” he declares. “But I’ll have to shave-”
“Dude, you’re not shaving my head!”
“It’d just be a small spo-”
“No, uh-uh!” Dean swats Sam’s hand away. “Not a chance in hell!”
“If I don’t sew this, you’ll have a ugly scar.”
“... that nobody’s gonna see unless I go Vin Diesel any time soon. Just clean it and leave it, man. Stop being a drama queen!”
Sam raises his hands, then lets them sink.
“Fine.”
With Dean being his usual annoying self, Sam’s Florence Nightingale urges are ebbing quickly. He still feels guilty about his ignorance, is still mad at Dad for screwing his brother up like that, so early in his life. Dad had not only treated Dean like a soldier under his command, he’d also expected him to act like a grown up when all he’d been was an overwhelmed, abandoned kid who’d done everything he could to keep his little brother safe. Even worse. When Dean had failed at the impossible task, John had withheld absolution and, instead, sent his oldest son to correct his “mistake” after letting him stew in his guilt for more than twenty years.
Anger twists in Sam’s chest. But he’s not going to let it out on his stupid, stubborn brother.
“Alright then.”
While Dean refills his whiskey glass, Sam unzips the small first aid kit he keeps in his overnight bag. Armed with gauze, disinfectant wipes and a wet bath towel, he steps back in front of Dean, cleans the wound and does his best to get the blood out of his brother’s hair. Dean grumbles his irritation through all of it, not making Sam’s job easier by frequently tipping his head to throw back more whiskey. When Sam scrubs at his brother’s cheek to erase every last trace of blood, Dean draws a line.
“Alright, mom, that’s enough!” He pushes Sam aside. “Gimme that!” He takes the towel from Sam and roughly wipes it across his face, then tosses it aside. “There. You happy now?”
Sam sees him cast yet another look out the window. Even with several shots of whiskey inside him, Dean hasn’t lost any of his alert intensity.
“You gonna keep that up all night?” Sam asks.
“What?”
“Standing guard.”
“I’m not-”
“Yes, you are. The shtriga is dead, Dean. You killed it. It’s not coming back. Michael is safe.”
“Yes, I know, but-”
Dean breaks off, struggling to explain himself. Sam sees him sorting through emotions that took hold fifteen years ago. The look in his brother’s eyes is that of a haunted man, and Sam wonders if this is one particular ghost they will never be able to chase away entirely.
“I’m safe, Dean.” Sam says on instinct. “You’ve kept me safe, all those years.”
Dean’s eyes flick over to him, suddenly big and wet. It’s just a moment, before the older Winchester blinks and turns away, reaching for the whiskey again. He uncaps it and drinks right from the bottle.
“You go to bed,” he says gruffly. Shoulders tense, he sits back in his chair, angled so he’s got a good view through the partially opened curtain. “I’m just gonna…”
“Yeah.” Sam nods and steps behind his brother to give his shoulder a quick, understanding squeeze. “I know. Good night.”
Sam falls asleep half an hour later, Dean’s silhouette solid and still on his watchpost.
The Damage Control Series - Masterlist
Read the entire series on AO3:
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They’re just outside of Cleavland, Ohio, when Sam takes it upon himself to get Dean talking about whatever's clearly bothering him. Although his brother’s sudden moodiness is by no means unfamiliar, Dean’s been acting uncharacteristically quiet since they ganked the lake monster, saved the hot girl and rescued her kid. The whole job had felt like a win for everyone, making Dean’s sudden shift in behavior that much more worrisome to understand.
While Sam had learned early enough on in their childhood to just leave his brother be during these depressive bouts of silent suffering- Left to his own devices, Dean would undoubtedly drink himself back to normal eventually after having successfully pushed down all the uncomfortable feelings he couldn't otherwise process. Unfortunately for Sam, he’s unable to ignore things right now. Jess was dead, dad was gone and Dean was all he had at the moment. So, even though every bone in his body knew better, Sam found himself unable to afford Dean any more patient brotherly avoidance for the time being.
“Hey, so uh, I read this thing in dad’s journal about how you went completely mute after mom’s death-” Sam said, looking over at his brother.
“I guess it really stood out to me because it seemed like dad was actually getting pretty worried about your lack of coping skills or whatever.”
Dean flinched under his brother's gaze, he’d hoped his little brother hadn't noticed how shitty his mood had been lately. He’d put so much energy that he didn't even have into keeping himself together. Praying that maybe just one more day of him and Sammy out on the open road, cranking up the tunes as the scenery flew by- Only a couple more hours before he’d snap out and the gaping hole inside his chest would just patch itself shut independently.
“And?” Dean asked, instinctively hiding under a thin layer of anger.
“I dunno, Dean, but I had to take a psychology class my freshman year, as a graduation requirement, and traumatic mutism is kind of a big deal. Plus, you still go quiet and shut yourself down when you’re freaking out- Like when we were kids and dad went off grid too long on a hunt without checking in.”
Dean sighed, he’d almost forgotten how intuitive Sam was about all his emotional crap.
“Just ask your questions already Sammy, you know I hate being head shrunk and besides, psych 101 or not- you’re kinda doing a terrible job right now!”
An awkward silence followed the brothers until they’d pulled off the highway and parked. Still gripping the wheel, every muscle in Dean’s upper back flexed uncomfortably as he looked straight ahead, waiting for his brother to speak.
“Hey, do you, uh, want a beer or something?” Sam asked, drumming his fingers along the top of the green cooler he’d just hefted into his lap.
Although leaving the car was like shedding a protective skin, Dean obliged his younger brother. Leaning back against the impala, Dean struggled to push down his mounting vulnerabilities.
He’d always managed to fake his way through the hard things in life, he was a pro at shielding himself from pretty much everyone. Well, everyone except of course Sam.
“Listen Dean, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to- It’s just, I know something’s been bothering you since we left Lake Manitoc and I just wanted you to know I’m here for you, okay?”
Looking up from his beer, Dean was almost tempted to tell Sam everything. Tell him about how lost he felt without the physical presence of their dad or how overwhelmed he was getting from the almost constant nightmares he’d been having about mom’s death. While discussing his most traumatic childhood losses with Lucas had not been an intentional choice, it had proven to be the right thing to comfort the kid in that moment- But once his brain had gotten hold of those intrusive memories again, mom on the ceiling and- It was all just too much to deal with and not even a lifetime built around trying to forget was helping to save him now from the massive burden of his own grief.
“Uh, thanks Sammy. That’s good to know.”
Finishing his beer, Dean contemplated chasing it down with something stronger. He needed to hurry up and get over himself and his chick flick bullshit already. Because they had work to do and dad surely wasn't going to go on without them and rescue himself.
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