#john winchester pov

[supernaturalkickparty]

I wrote a teenchesters one shot!

Read here

90s teenchesters through John's POV. Video rentals, John being home for a change, weirdchesters/teenchesters.

A thought past through my head last week when talking to the bestie about Sam and Dean renting movies and it remained a thought until the muses bitch slapped me and I made this one shot.

It's just cute domestic pre series fluff.

Written for the bestie @fandom-hoarder because she's amazing and listens to all my ramblings and ideas and I love her.

#ash writes #sometimes #teenchesters #gencest #gen fic #pre series #teen sam winchester #teen dean winchester #john winchester #john tries #90s vibes #weirdchesters #spn fic #john winchester pov

[cursed-byesexual]

I'm such a sucker for fics from the pov of some NormalPerson™ who tries to understand what the actual fuck is going on with your fave. For example;

- Hermione's parents sort of got used to their daughter talking about dragons and curses and she makes it sound like its no big deal so they just go along with their strange kid. Except now there's a man at the door who says he's the minister of magic and he would like to personally invite you and your daughter to the first memorial of the final battle as she is a war hero of the highest order. What do you mean there was a war? Hermione, get down here this instant!

-Or a true crime podcast about the crimes of Sam and Dean Winchester through the eyes of someone who went to college with Sam. He hosts podcast nights and everytime one of Sams alleged kills is described he tells the friends who are listening with them about that time Sam went vegetarian for a month after watching a nature channel docu.

-Or Percy Jackson returns to a mortal high school after one of his adventures and one of his teachers has to try and decipher the transcripts from his old schools. How the fuck did this little skater boy blow up his last school? Why isn't he in prison??? Or dead??? The parent-teacher conference night that follows is one for the ages as Sally Jackson lies her ass off, but with skill.

-Or John Watson decides to go to a class reunion against better knowledge and Sherlock tags along to learn more about John out of boredom. His former classmates don't understand what the hell Sherlock Holmes is doing at their party if there hasn't been a murder and absolutely come to the conclusion that the two are together. They have to be, right?

Basically anything that puts these unhinged adventures and relationships into perspective I guess, sorry if these don't make sense,,, tag me if you know any fics of this sort! For any fandom! Or comment you own hc!!!

#harry potter #hermione granger #Percy jackson #Pjo #bbc sherlock #Sherlock #john watson #secret good supernatural #Supernatural #Spn #sam winchester #Dean winchester #outsider pov #fic idea #fic rec #fandom #johnlock

[fandom-hoarder]

and of things that will bite

Wayward Sons Zine Submission 2024

Rating: Teen+ | Words: 22k | No Archive Warnings Apply

Summary: In January 1994, Sam has a nightmare, and Dad goes missing. The boys take to the road to find him.

Tags: Dean POV, weechesters, life on the road, sam has nightmares, sam has visions, gencest, mostly canon compliant, canon typical violence, elements of psychic sam, john winchester’s a+ parenting, caretaker dean, chick flick moments (full tag list on AO3)

Excerpt:

“Wanna tell me about your nightmare?” Sam stiffened in Dean’s arms. “I–I…I can’t,” Sam croaked. Dean tried not to take it personally, but in the dark he frowned. More and more lately, Sammy had been trying to prove he could handle everything Dean could. For the most part, Dean was glad—and not just because he got to go on more hunts with Dad instead of babysitting. Sammy growing into the family business had been one of Dean’s biggest wishes for a while now. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t still Sam’s big brother, or that he didn’t want Sam to still need him sometimes. Especially if Sam’s nightmares were this rough on him. Sammy had barely even seen anything yet. When Dean’s arms tightened a little more around his little brother, as if it would keep the nightmares away, Sam didn’t say anything. And when Sam’s arm wriggled under him and his other hand grabbed Dean’s necklace like a talisman, Dean didn’t say anything either.

#wayward sons zine #my fanfiction #weechesters #dean pov #life on the road #spn fanfiction #sam n dean fanfiction #john winchester's a+ parenting

[lovetransaction]

Fandom: Supernatural (TV 2005) Relationships: Dean Winchester/John Winchester, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, John Winchester, Mary Winchester Additional Tags: HunterCorp Universe, The Winchester Family, Father/Son Incest, Normalized Incest for dadfucker december 2023 / @dadfuckerfest​ Summary:

A family, like a corporation, works at its best and smoothest when everyone understands their job description.

#vetala in samarkan #dadfuckerfest #dadfucker friday #wincest #sam winchester #dean winchester #john winchester #mary winchester #idk why i keep writing sam pov for this fest #sam la vie i guess

[stonenumberone]

Wolpack by tabaqui [AO3] Au-ish series What if the Winchesters were a bit less...tame? A bit more predatory.

"Sacred Band," Ash said, taking a drink, and Ellen blinked at him. "What?" "Plato, Plutarch...three hundred hand-picked soldiers who were doin' the nasty? They figured lovers would make better fighters – wanna stand up and be counted, not let their sweethearts down." Ellen just stared at Ash and then shook her head. "Oookay...that's –" Ash took another long gulp of his beer – wiped his mouth on his arm. "They were the ee-leet of the Greek ee-leet. Undefeated for forty years. Looks like the Winchester boys know their history."

The second installment is my favorite: Dogs of War (Outside POV)/ Breathing Space(Dean POV)

#wincest #wincest fic #wincest fic rec #john winchester #john knows #Outside POV #AU-ish #they're still hunters #Sam never went to Stanford #this fic makes me go feral #untamed winchesters #bloody!winchesters #religious winchesters #my edits #tabaqui

[thesupernaturallibrary]

-

Insects by Reggie

Summary: Sammy is upset, Dean is puzzled, and John is out of his depth.

#ao3 #gen #Sam Winchester #Dean Winchester #sam and dean #weechesters #pov john Winchester #pre-canon #cute Sam Winchester #Reggie

[somelokivariant]

Jody: Bobby, He's cleaning the bedrooms. Bobby: Who? Jody: Dean. Bobby: So? Jody: He's cleaning your bedroom? --- Bobby: Hey bud, Dean: Hi. Bobby: Whatya doin? Dean: I'm taking care of things. That's what I do. I did all the cooking and cleaning for Sam and dad. Bobby: You don't need to do that here. Dean: ...dad said this is how I earn love?

#picture like a lil 10y/o dean #pov: ? #adoptive bobby? #ADOPTIVE BOBBY #source: that one audio idk #tags #supernatural #spn #dean winchester #sam winchester #dean and sam #john winchester #bobby singer #jody mills

[emiliosandozsequence]

Your choice of SPN character has been hit with a curse of Endless Chatter. Write one run-on sentence of dialogue for them (until your own stream-of-consciousness runs out!).

Sam Winchester - s8 finale

A confession. I have a lot to confess, don't I. More than most anyway. I mean, how many people can say they started the apocalypse. Granted, I guess I stopped it too, but not before a lot of people had already lost their lives, lost loved ones. And that's on me; that's something I can't ever take back. I'm the one that chose to trust a demon and drink her blood. It doesn't matter the rest of the details that led up to the final decision to open the gates of Hell. If I'd just been smarter, it wouldn't have happened.

And that's what matters.

If I'd been smarter, I would've known Ruby was planning to free Lucifer. Hell, if I'd been smarter, I would've listened to Dean in the first place and not trusted her at all. I would've shot her with the Colt in that motel room in the first time she showed her black eyes to me in Cicero. But I didn't, and, again, that's what matters.

That isn't even all I've done.

I've failed the world and, indeed, those I love most more times than I can count. I might be able to forgive myself if they were able to forgive me, but it's evident from how things always get brought up that they haven't and, at this point, probably won't. I can hardly blame them because I understand where they're coming from. I can't say I would be too forgiving myself in their position. I mean...would I really have been able to forgive Dean if he'd gone off to college at eighteen and left me alone with Dad? Maybe that's why Dean's still so mad about that: not becaus I left for college, but because I left for college and he was still with Dad. He'd never admit it, though. He'd never say outloud that Dad was anything but a saint to him. He forgets I was there. He forgets I know differently. He forgets I experienced it too. And maybe that's why I can't forgive myself either. Why everything else I've ever done to wrong him - or that he's perceived as me wronging him - has hit both of us so hard: because I know what I did by leaving him behind with Dad. So that's my greatest sin, I guess. Every time I let Dean down. Every time I ran from him when I should have stayed. Every time I chose myself instead of him when he's chosen me every time he's ever had to make any choice ever. And, really, how can I forgive myself? How can I look myself in the mirror and grin at my reflection knowing all that? Knowing that it effects Dean enough that he still brings it up to this day? Could you? If I'm honest with myself, I don't know if I ever will. I don't know if I even can. But I suppose this can be a start. I can make this confession and finish these trials and do better every day to show Dean how sorry I am. How much I won't let this happen again. Maybe then he can heal. Maybe then he can forgive me too. And if I can't forgive myself, then, well, this is the next best thing.

#this is told from sam's pov & at his lowest point; that's why he blames himself for things that clearly aren't his fault #also interpret his talk of john how u want #but it IS meant to be read as One Specific Way #supernatural #spn #sam winchester #ask #anonymous #mine #my writing

[supernaturalkickparty]

New fic is up! Please mind the tags

Written for the bestie @fandom-hoarder and inspired by ethel cains imagery and music.

#ash writes #wincest #wincest fic #fem!sam #teenchesters #john winchester pov #weecest #stanford era #pre series #please read the tags on the fic

[arcanespillo]

his teeth

#spn #supernatural #jeffrey dean morgan #john winchester #1x20 #dead man's blood #this scene is so #gives me flashbacks #pov youre your father therapist son #but it was nice to see them talk like this...

[seanwinchester]

there's smth I don't get about the john hate and that's the assumption that because he did what he did, he didn't love his sons. i used to think much more like that when I stepped into the fandom because the meta on john being an awful guy is fucking everywhere, from him being a drunk, to beating up his kids, to albeit funny posts about dean suffering from malnutrition. like, no. he did some serious shit but it never once came from a lack of love. if anything, it's from too much of it. people seem to forget, he gave his life for dean. how is that not the most sincere demonstration of love. he would rather spend eternity in hell than watch his son die. and not only that, but the deal wasn't with some random crossroads demon, he made it with the thing that killed his wife and which he devoted his life to hunt down. the strength that took??? to look into the eyes of the thing you hate the most and say "I need your help". because for his son, he'd do anything.

#about the post I reblogged earlier #he was smiling!!! #he gave up his life for dean and he was smiling!!! #I know his relationship with sam is a bit different but i have no doubt he would have done it for him too #the narrative tried to emphasize that he was a hunter before a father from sam and dean's pov but he said no. I'm a father before a hunter. #john winchester #put some respect on his name #nobody puts daddy in a corner

[spn-fic-prompts]

Prompt #6

Outsider POV, where younger Dean, Sam, and John are the outsider POVs staring in horror at these older versions of Sam and Dean. Finding out about Dean going to Hell. Sam's time being soulless. Mark of Cain. God. Amara. Castiel. The number of times they have died. Mary. Realizing how much the boys have gone through and how much better/more dangerous/experienced these future versions are than even John.

#spn #supernatural #fanfic writing prompts #writing prompt #outsider pov #dean winchester #sam winchester #john winchester #time travel

[iliketoydinosaurs]

Genuinely do not understand how the "Sam was the favorite" narrative got so popular.

#yes i do #some ppl only actually consider deans pov on their childhood #spn #supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #as usual john ruins everything #i hate john winchester #john winchester #NOT Deancrit #01x08 #bugs

[fussy-sammy]

Two Days Later

"Dammit, latch on!"

I feel terrible for the way I growl at Sammy every time he turns away from the false nipple. But he just sputters and cries and cries and cries and Jesus Christ he just sits and screams.

I'm starting to wonder if me or Dean is gonna start ripping our hair out first.

But Dean never does much. Never says a word. Just stares with wide eyes, clamping his hands over his ears in that over-the-top way kids do.

"I didn't mean to yell."

It had definitely made the shrieking worse.

I just feel so damn lost.

Sammy's not used to the formula or the bottles and he's not eating. Dean's not speaking, not even to me. Doesn't even tell Sammy goodnight anymore. It's been two days.

They're sharing a bed though. I don't have a crib for Sammy, so he sleeps tucked beside Dean. I know he won't let his baby brother fall.

It's almost bedtime now. Dean's in the tub. I'm gonna have a couple beers and see what I can find tonight.

If I can ever get Sam to finish this damn bottle.

#my writing #spn drabbles #spn drabble #john winchester #dean winchester #sam winchester #pov writing #sammy #dean #john #daddy #baby sam #idk this just popped into my head and wouldn't get out

[soft-pine]

rejoice! rejoice, god's ears are stitches. oh, rejoice, his eyes are big x's

some blueberry pie life: chapter 18

"If you want to get a child to love you, then you should just go hide in the closet for three or four hours. They get down on their knees and pray for you to return. That child will turn you into God. Lonely children probably wrote the Bible." - Heather O'Neill

title from Rejoice by AJJ

#some blueberry pie life #2140 words #6.20 #the man who would be king #Cas POV #season 6 #gay dean winchester #1520 fix it #15.20 fix it #the long way around #supernatural #spn #fanfic #spn fanfic #pre series #john winchester's a+ parenting #weechesters #castiel #deancas #destiel

[the-coda-project]

The Coda Project | 1.04 Fighting the Fear of Fear

Dean’s been anticipating his own death since he was four years old. He's been training himself to be ready for it since he was seven. More or less resigned to its inevitability since some unknown point in between. He's learned to live with it.

When Dean was four years old, a cardinal collided with his bedroom window.

Cracks spiderwebbed outward from the place it struck, and his mom, who'd been sitting in her rocking chair reading The Together Book aloud, had jumped so hard at the sound that she'd torn a page.

The bird had been singing until it hit the glass. Had been swooping back and forth in the afternoon sun and letting out the high, musical trills that Dean liked to imitate whenever he was playing in the garden. But Dean couldn't hear the song anymore. Just the sound of the breeze in the trees and the excited barking of the dog next door.

Within seconds, he'd been on his feet and running downstairs to see if the bird was okay, ignoring his mom calling out to him. By the time she'd caught up--moving in a slow shuffle thanks to the added weight of Dean's baby brother who was due any day now--it was too late. Dean was already in the living room, ducking under the gauzy curtains to press his face to the glass.

"Don't look," Mary called out, but he'd already seen.

Even from inside the house he could tell that the cardinal wasn’t moving.

It’s brilliant red wing was bent sideways beneath its tiny body. Black eyes glassy and unblinking.

"I think he needs a helper," Dean told his mom, and she had pulled him away from the window.

"My sweet Dean," she'd said through a watery smile, cupping his face in her palm. "You are such a good helper, but sometimes there isn't anything we can do except say goodbye."

He'd learned, then, what it was to die.

A few months later, with the heat of fire on the back of his neck, and baby Sam clutched tightly to his chest, and his heart racing at the sight of his dad looking scared for the first time in Dean's short memory, he’d learned that death wasn’t just something that came for wayward birds.

That's when it started. The anticipation. Knowing that someday, it would be him that death would come for. Or Dad. Or Sam.

He'd carried the fear quietly at first, knowing that if he seemed scared, Sammy would get scared. Dad didn't know how to make him stop crying the way Mom did, so it was up to Dean to be the strong one. The brave one.

Being afraid meant failing Sam, so he hid his fear away. Held it the way his mom had held the cardinal; its limp body cradled in a hand towel as she'd carried it down to the corner of the garden to bury among the yellow columbines. He held it gently. Held it as though one wrong move might somehow make it worse.

When he was seven years old, Dean held his first gun the same way.

It was late spring, hotter than it should've been, and Dad had left Sam with Pastor Jim to bring Dean out to an abandoned farm on the outskirts of Blue Earth, Minnesota. They'd parked outside a rusted gate near the mouth of the driveway, and Dean scraped his palms on the rough metal as he climbed over it. Twisted his ankle when he dropped down onto the hard-packed earth on the other side. It hurt, but he didn't cry. He knew not to.

In his hand, he carried a plastic grocery bag that reeked of stale beer, and the empty bottles inside clinked together with each step he took. He'd been careful not to swing it too much as they'd made their way across the overgrown front yard, through tall, scratchy grass. Through patches of dandelions that he wasn't supposed to pick, no matter how much he wanted to.

When they finally reached the house and barn, John had directed him around the back and past a sagging wooden fence that separated the small backyard from the fields beyond. He'd lined up the bottles along the middle rung of the fence to put them within Dean's eyeline, and facing the barn, he'd pushed the rifle into Dean's hands.

The Ruger was heavier than it looked. Long and cold and difficult for Dean to balance until John had directed him on how to center its weight. He'd been scared, holding it. Scared that if he tried to do as Dad told him and missed the bottles, the bullet could hit one of the birds he could see nesting in the eaves of the empty barn. That if he did as he was told, he could end up being the thing that brought death to something else. Someone else.

But Dad had given him an order. Had told him that this was how he'd be able to protect his brother. So he'd swallowed his fear, and lifted the gun until he could line up the sight. Pushed his fear down and told himself that he had to get it right. Did as he was told. Slowly exhaled as he squeezed the trigger. Once. Twice. Five times.

He hit every bottle, each one exploding outward in a burst of brown glass, and when he looked up at his dad it was the first time Dean had ever seen him proud.

"That's my man," he'd said, and clapped Dean firmly on the back as he took the gun and slung it over his own shoulder. "Now you can keep your brother safe when I'm not around to help you."

It had been equal parts gratifying and awful to hear. Knowing that Dad thought he was grown up enough to be trusted felt good. Knowing that sometime soon, he might be the one thing between Sam and the looming threat of death felt like having the floor pulled out from under him.

When he was sixteen, a few months before he gave up on high school for good, Dean had an English teacher who made the class discuss their hopes for the future.

They'd gone around the room one by one, each student listing out their plans and dreams and lofty goals, and when it had come to Dean he'd been honest. He'd said that he didn't think about it. That as far as he saw it, he could die any day. Any minute. Any second, his time could come, and he'd be done, and he didn't want to waste even a moment of what little time he might have with something as pointless as planning.

He didn't mention that he used to have plans. Dreams. Lofty goals.

Didn't mention that when he was just a little bit younger, he'd wanted to be a mechanic, maybe. A firefighter. A rockstar. Someone who fixes things or creates things that make people happy; someone who helps. Talking about it, the few times he had, made him feel like he was being a bad son. A bad brother. Like wanting something for himself was the same as neglecting his responsibilities.

So he'd learned to push all of that down, too. Compressed it into a tight ball in his chest until it collapsed in on itself like a black hole; something that he couldn't really look inside, but could always feed into.

The teacher had pulled him aside after class to discuss his nihilistic attitude, but even then, Dean had thought there was a pretty big difference between being aware of the futility of planning for a future he wouldn't have, and being defeated by it, but he hadn't bothered to argue. He hadn't seen the point.

(He had seen the irony in that, though--and fuck anyone who thought he didn't.)

Now, twenty-six years old and in his prime, he still feels it.

The fear is like a chronic condition his body has acclimated to. He's readjusted his baseline tolerance, so that despite the fact that it's always there under his skin, hovering at the back of his neck like a phantom hand waiting to catch hold of him at any moment, he's able to mentally separate himself from it enough to get by.

When it's a good day, he can ignore it. When it's a bad day, when the threat of death is tangible and immediate--a werewolf slashing at his chest with jagged claws, a ghost pressing icy fingers beyond the surface of his skin to crush his windpipe--the fear becomes fuel. Oxygen to feed the fire in his belly. It sharpens his focus. Gives him the edge he needs to wrestle some kind of control back from the void that's trying to claim him. And so long as he can fight it, tooth and nail, it's okay. Even if he fails. Even if he dies.

Death comes for everyone sometime, and if he's gotta go down, he's gonna be damn sure he goes down swinging.

This…

This is not that.

Right now, the threat of death is tangible and immediate, but it's not something he can control in the slightest. There's nowhere for him to channel his fear. Nothing to fight against but the threat of gravity and forty-thousand feet of open air.

The plane banks hard to the right, forcing his side against the arm rest as the engines roar, and Dean falters in his quiet repetition of Metallica’s Some Kind of Monster for just long enough that his brain supplies him with a torrent of horrific scenarios he has absolutely no hope of preventing.

A flock of birds sucked into the engine. A freak storm. A crack in the fuselage that none of the safety technicians caught during their inspection, catching the wind and peeling the plane like an orange.

Another plane on a collision path, with the air traffic controller succumbing to the relentless stress of their job and breaking down for just long enough that the pilots have no chance at correcting course.

Outside, the clouds are thick and dark, whipping past the window at a pace, and Dean can't help but think of restless spirits. Fuck, who knows what is out there. They deal with so much shit on the surface of the Earth--where they're supposed to be--that he figures there are probably hundreds of things up here that nobody's even begun to figure out how to fight.

Not to mention the demon he knows is somewhere on board.

Because it's not enough to be trapped in a flying metal death tube--the universe might as well throw in something several notches above his pay grade as well. Just for the hell of it.

If Sam tells him to breathe one more time, Dean’s going to kill him before this plane can.

"Breathe," Sam tells him.

"Choke," Dean replies.

Sam has the audacity to look affronted.

Several hours later, after the demon has been exorcized and the plane is back on solid ground, Dean feels a little like he might pass out. His limbs are loose and tingly. His chest is tight. His stomach churning. His fear has shifted back into its usual holding pattern, but he can still feel sharp edges where it's usually dulled.

He needs to do something. Needs to wrestle back some scrap of control to feel like he's in charge of his own body again.

Suddenly, the fact that they're a sixteen hour drive away from the Impala is all he can think about.

"I'm guessing you don't wanna fly back to Indianapolis?" Sam asks as they make their way through the throngs of travelers at Denver airport, and Dean just levels him with an exhausted stare. "Yeah, stupid question. I'll get us a car."

Dean lets him go, wandering over to the nearest wall and sinking down onto his haunches to sit against it. To breathe. While he waits, he finds himself staring at a sparrow flitting around near the ceiling. Watching the way it swoops and dives over the bustling crowd, searching for a way out. It's probably safer where it is, trapped in the terminal and away from the elements. Free from the threat of predators and planes.

Dean watches it and wonders what it must be like, to be so unaware. To live without fear. He doesn't know if it's better or worse than knowing; if a lack of control is easier to bear if you don't understand the consequences.

As soon as Sam returns with a set of keys, Dean stands and makes a grab for them. Sam yanks them out of reach before he can make contact.

"Dude, what the hell?"

"C'mon, hand 'em over."

"You still kinda look like you're gonna puke."

"Already did in the plane bathroom," Dean tells him, ignoring the wrinkled nose he gets in response. "And driving calms me down."

"It's a long ass drive."

"No shit. I'm not planning on pulling the whole sixteen hours in one go. C'mon, just let me take the first leg."

Sam squints, lips pursed tight, then relents with a sigh.

"Fine." He hands Dean the keys. Even just having them in his hand is grounding.

"What'd you get us, anyway?"

"A car," Sam answers, and heads off toward the door without another word.

"A car," Dean mocks, and follows.

Together, they pick their way through rows of sedans until Sam finally announces that they've reached their rental, and Dean blinks a few times as he looks at the thing Sam is pointing him toward. A bland white paint job. A generic round bumper. An utter lack of soul. He stares at it in disgust.

"What the fuck is this?"

"It's an Impala," Sam says.

"It's a crime."

"It's the 2001 model," Sam adds, and Dean doesn't have to look at him to know he's biting back a smirk. "Apparently it has cup holders."

Despite the car being one of the most offensive things he's ever seen, sinking behind the wheel makes the last of Dean's frayed nerves settle. His chest loosens. His hands feel like his own. With a slow exhale, he turns the ignition and gets them on the road. The drive back to Indianapolis stretches out ahead of him, a long, familiar stretch of blacktop and open plains, and while he can't anticipate every part of the journey, he's prepared for it.

His fear is a silent passenger in the back seat. He carries it carefully across state lines.

read again on ao3 | subscribe to series | about the series

#Supernatural Fic #cass writes fic #imogenbynight #the coda project #S01E04 Phantom Traveler #Episode Coda #Character Study #2.3k words #Gen #rated PG #warning: mention of animal death #john winchester's a+ parenting #dean pov