Sam and Dean tick off a witch.
Baby Sam is 500% done with this bullshit.
psst Dakt psst did I ever rec you this fic ??? http://archiveofourown.org/works/225587
Weechesters and Cas based on Totoro I feel like I may have reced it to you or wait maybe that was my irl friend…
no you haven’t, but i’m bookmarking it! :D i’ve never seen my neighbor totoro so i probably won’t appreciate the references as much, but weechesters are always ace in my book <3
deaged sam is best sam amirite ladies.
gabe would be That One Uncle. everyone has one. no one is really sure what he does for a living, or what his relationship situation is; all anyone knows is that he has a suspicious amount of money and charisma.
as consolation to everyone for putting up with my face tonight, here is some derpy deaged-to-teenchesters that i drew like a month ago and totally forgot about until now
deaged!sammy of the “20-something mind suddenly stuck in a toddler body” variety. i did say that i have like forty thousand versions of this AU in my head. though i seem to have lost the ability to dean D:
It happens in an instant, some sharp glowy blue light that makes Dean close his eyes and Sam tries to shield away. It doesn’t work. When he wakes up he’s being swallowed in his own t-shirt, his jeans and out layers in a puddle near his feet. He bites down on his bottom lip, tiny teeth sharp and little—and he can feel a small tear drop down his face as he realises these are baby teeth. He hasn’t lost them yet.
Dean’s bending down to grab him, and almost automatically—without even thinking about it—he lifts his arms and has Dean pull him up, away from his clothing. The second he’s in Dean’s arms though, comfortably rested against the warm and familiar leather jacket, old and smelling like gunpowder and dime store cologne, he pushes his hands against Dean’s face and he wantsdown.
It doesn’t matter that its Dean. That it smells like safety and warmth. It doesn’t, ‘cause right now Sam’s barely taller than Dean’s knee. And that’s not okay.
Sam’s eyes begin to water and he can feel Dean wriggle him around, trying to see if he can get him—his tiny, small, and fragile little brother; who’s shorter than him again—into a better position, maybe that’ll fix it.
But it won’t.
Tears start to flow and he’s got big fat drops of salty water dripping down his face, his fists curled in the soft leather of Dean’s jacket and he lets out little sobs that wrack his little body.
He cries until they stop off back to Bobby’s, a scarce 45 minute drive from the hunt, and he hiccups till they open the door.
“Balls.”
Sam’s newly pudgy fist rubs at his eye, and Dean takes it away slowly, carefully, trying to avoid another meltdown. “It’s okay Sammy, it’s okay.” Dean whispers, scrubbing his little brother’s hair with a hand and letting the curls ensnare his fingers. But it’s really not. It’s not okay, it’s not.
‘Cause Sam’s shorter than Dean’s knee, he’s already had a meltdown, Sam hasn’t lost any of his baby teeth, and he’s just so fucking tired.
Dean stands with Sam on his hip, and Sam’s limbs curl around him like it’s been done hundreds of times before, even thousands. “It’s okay Sammy, just go to sleep kiddo.” Sam fights down the instinct to rebel, to stand up and yell at Dean that it’s not fucking okay, because it’s really not. Sam’s supposed to be twenty five years old, six feet and four inches tall. But he’s not.
He’s shorter than Dean’s knee, he’s got all of his baby teeth, and he’s already had one meltdown today.
Instead, he curls up into Dean, his leather jacket, ignoring Bobby and Cas, and goes to sleep.
