Random Civilian: I Love Your Accent, Commander. Where's It From?

look at these chemical romance doodles boy

im just imagining sam smoking weed for the first time while at college and saying some insane shit like “do you guys ever think that maybe the higher power in the universe isn’t a god, but rather your big brother?” and jess and brady just sitting there like “…no?”

Favorite mcdrai gifs?

*cracks knuckles*

absolutely!

10. that time connor wore leon’s hoodie for an interview when they’d barely been lineys for five minutes at the end of his rookie season (x)

9. that time they flew to Leon’s hometown for a game and Connor almost wiped out LEAVING THE ICE like a baby gazelle who doesn’t understand legs or something idk and Leon immediately puts his hand on Connor’s back to steady him and make sure he doesn’t embarrass the whole team or injure himself because Connor cannot be trusted with his own body or something (x)

8. that time when they’d just lost a playoff game and Connor got his captain on and tells Leon “let’s go!” like a rallying cry for the next game. you’ve got Leon looking thoughtful and hot with his full playoff beard, Connor knowing what to say to get Leon in the right frame of mind for the next game, Connor not letting him dwell on losing a game, it’s a nice insight into how they work when they’re not winning (x)

7. that time i wanted to do a fucking murder @ sportsnet because they cut away just as Connor was laughing at Leon so much that he was falling into him WHAT THE HELL SPORTSNET (x)

6. that time Leon held onto Connor and didn’t let go after he scored. like, you’re down 4-1 in the 3rd my dudes, there’s no reason to be cuddling this hard after a pity goal. anyway, i love it because Connor looks like he’s just taking a moment to breathe with Leon, like they’re so in sync at this moment? and Leon’s just holding on, letting him breathe (x)

5. that time Connor hit 100 points for the first time and won all the awards and Leon was so happy for him (and himself because he got a nice bonus out of it too). just to clarify, they’d already hugged. this is a follow up hug and klef is just skating behind them, all amused at their snuggles (x)

4. remember when Leon went to All Star for the first time and Connor was SO HAPPY to have someone with him and they were inseparable and then Connor ASKED LEON WHO HE THOUGHT WOULD WIN some competition, I forget what. Anyway, look at how Connor’s all oh you think I’m gonna win? while he BLUSHES FURIOUSLY like shut up Connor, you’re great and we all know it and more importantly, Leon knows it and validates your weird Canadian modesty and then, THEN Leon says ALWAYS and I would like to sob into a pillow, thanks. (x)

3. that time i fell in love with them. i mean, that time Connor fell in love with Leon. I mean, that time we all realised Leon had a sense of humor. I mean, that time it became obvious that these two were super close. i mean, that time they figured out they were hockey soulmates or whatever and no one’s looked back since. does anyone else bring out this side of Connor so beautifully consistently because whatever Leon does, I’m into it (x)

2. that time they were really happy they were finally going to play playoff hockey. or maybe they’re just super stoked to score in OT together because this was 2017 when it was a novelty instead of a foregone conclusion. either way, Leon’s screaming happiness at Connor  and Connor gets to show emotion because he’s on the ice. looking at them, it’s pure joy (x)

1. that time Connor’s injury was way worse than anyone knew and Leon stopped to check in on him and CRADLED HIS HEAD SO SOFTLY AND GENTLY AND I DIED BECAUSE OH MY FREAKING GOD Leon doesn’t do this shit (at least not with cameras around) and yet?? it’s a rare off ice moment that means more than all the goals and celebrations and being totally awesome hockey players (x)

I hate my weaknesses- they made me who I am

normal AU except its just a series of reddit posts that all of sam and dean’s creeped out SOs inevitably end up writing once they realize that their boyfriend wants to die in his brother’s arms Notebook-style

closing lines of a 4th-c. woman’s epitaph to her husband:

Now with all these things wrenched away I am a mourning spouse: happy, if the gods had left me a living husband; but happy nonetheless, because I am yours & was yours & after death, soon, I will be yours.

***

Parking lot was a disaster. Sam managed to get his truck into a spot -- didn't double park in the pick-up lane, unlike some people -- but he hopes whoever's in the Toyota next to him doesn't have a passenger, or if they do that the passenger's pretty thin. Like, model-thin. Now it's the hallways, milling adults looking lost, kids rolling their eyes and tugging on hands, lockers decorated with Welcome, Parents! in carefully printed bubble letters.

"Da-aad."

"Yeah, coming," Sam says, and Dean rolls his eyes, like every other kid. Sam tries not to let it bother him. Every kid goes through this phase. He did, at least. He doesn't have a lot of experience, otherwise.

Dean leads the way, confident, and polite at least to other parents when they have to squeeze past. How Sam knows he isn't fucking this up completely. He slips through a gap that only a fourth grader could manage, though, and Sam's left to dance politely around a rotund couple he doesn't recognize, scolding some older twin boys under their breath. The wife finally notices him and looks up and then up, blinking, and Sam takes the look he's used to. "God, sorry!" she says, sticking out an arm and shuffling her kids out of the way to make a space. "Like a cattle call in here, huh?"

"Moo," Sam says, which makes her laugh too hard, which makes her husband frown, but then he's past, where Dean's bouncing in his light-up sneakers, annoyed. Sam pushes his hand through Dean's hair before he can duck away. "What?"

"Moo?" Another eyeroll. Sam should maybe tell him the lie about getting stuck that way. "You are so weird. And we're gonna be late."

"When have we ever been late?"

Dean does actually grab Sam's hand, yanking. Sam lets himself be pulled, enjoying at least that his kid's deigning to hold Dad's hand after being far too old for it, at least as Sam's been told. "Last year? Mrs. McMorrow made us reschedule!"

"I think getting in a car accident was a decent excuse," Sam says, mild, and Dean groans and says, "Come on," stomping ahead down past the 5th grade classrooms to where Ms. Valdez is, see, just saying goodbye to the previous couple. Sarah Gold's parents, given that Sarah's waiting on the little blue plastic chair outside, reading a library book, making Dean halt in his tracks and making Sam almost run into the back of him. He's heard a lot about how Sarah's very, very annoying. Most annoying girl in school. Somehow she always gets an invitation to Dean's birthday parties, anyway.

Sam fits a hand around Dean's little shoulder. Small bones. Always makes him feel like a giant and also not big enough, like he needs to be planet-sized to protect this kid from all that could be. Still. A girl's not that scary. "See, on time," he says, easy, and Dean's blushing deeply when he shrugs.

Ms. Valdez is a good teacher, Sam thinks. She's in her late twenties, which Sam knows is plenty old enough but still makes her feel like a kid to him. If he does the math she really could be his kid. She's nice but not saccharine, complimentary but not a suck-up. Dean seems to be doing okay. He likes math and science, loves P.E., suffers through his music and art specials, does the reading but insists he doesn't like the 'girl books'. "I think he's overcompensating," Ms. Valdez says, and laughs lightly, and Sam's hit with this strange weird flush that makes him queasy, for a second. His throat closing.

She blinks at him. "Mr. Winchester?" Then, uncertain: "I didn't mean--"

"No," he says. An effort to smile but he does it anyway. "I think you're right. It's important to look tough in front of the right people, if you know what I mean."

She smiles back, relieved. She is young. "Maybe he'll grow out of it. Although, maybe not. Some boys never do."

"No," he says, "they don't."

She shows him the units they'll be going through for the rest of the term. Egyptian mythology, with art components and a small writing assignment and a research paper, just to get the kids used to what sources mean, writing in paragraphs instead of often-incomplete sentences. She leans close. Smells like jasmine. He realizes only when the twenty minutes of the conference are about up that she's been flirting, the whole time. Her smile small and her eyes softly dark, telling him that Dean's a good kid, and if it's not rude to say she thinks he's done very well, since the divorce, and he seems to be adjusting. She was sorry not to see Mrs. Winchester, this evening.

"She never actually took my name," Sam says, and Ms. Valdez -- Marisol, he remembers -- lets her mouth form a small moue, like -- he doesn't know. Some implication he should pick up, if he were looking to do so, but he isn't. She is pretty. Long dark hair she sweeps into a messy bun, full mouth, elegant hands with bitten nails. Apparently has a thing for older men. But--

He comes out into the hall where Dean's sitting on the little plastic chair the lovely Sarah has vacated, eating a cupcake. "Hey, where'd you get that?" Sam says. He has a sense of having dodged a bullet.

Dean shrugs. "Honors Society kids having a bake sale," he says, garbled.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Sam says, and Dean raises his eyebrows and chews like a cow, exaggerated. "Well, I want one. Lead the way, buddy."

They make their way out to what this school thinks is a playground. The 2030s have really just taken away all of the possible edges from being a kid. They sit on a bench under a tree and Sam bites into his cupcake while Dean mows through his second. Awful, storebought, chemical-tasting frosting. Cake. They don't have it very often.

It's a pretty night. Warm, for the time of year. The moon up, nearly full, past all the school lights, and Sam thinks that after this they'll go pick up a pizza, maybe, and they'll go back to the house, and he'll let Dean watch an episode of that new Star Trek cartoon -- or is it Wars? he can never remember -- and then he'll have to insist about bedtime and Dean will whine but he'll go because despite the eyerolling he is a good kid, confirmed, the best thing Sam's got in his life at this point, and from how things have gone the best thing he'll have, from the end of that place that was and where he'll never be again, until...

"Da-ad."

He blinks. Dean's sitting crosslegged on the bench, looking at him, eyebrows high. "What?"

"You were on Planet Dad again," Dean says. No eyeroll. "Did you run into any Cardassians? Or like, a big Andorian cruiser?"

"Yeah," Sam says. "Fought 'em off with my lightsaber."

"Da-ad, you know that's Star Wars," Dean says, genuinely offended, and Sam huffs, cups the side of his head. His face that's entirely his own, some mix of his parents that ended up not looking much like either of them somehow, but his expression, sometimes. Something around the eyes.

"I'll get it one day, buddy," Sam says.

"Sure," Dean says, doubtful, and slides off the bench, bouncing on his toes, ready for pizza. They get pizza and they watch the show -- Trek, who knew -- and Sam puts him to bed with the exact amount of whining he knew he'd get and turns out the light -- knows Dean will read comics by flashlight, with the flashlight that always has fresh batteries in his bedside table -- and he looks at the small lump in the blankets through the crack in the door for a solid minute, standing in the hallway of the house he never wanted. Then he goes downstairs and pours himself a drink, and sits on the porch where the night's getting cold, and he sits on the deck chair that he really ought to repaint and he thinks, god. God.

Then he goes inside, and goes to bed, and there's the next day to get through, after that.

fail loser guy

Dean, hands gripping Sam’s waist, smiling up at his baby brother who’s gotten so much taller since leaving, finally hitting proper height, thumbs pressed into the divots of his hips, rubbing little circles into flesh. Sam, staring down at Dean with flushed cheeks and gentle eyes, taking in Dean’s freckles and the cut on his lip, how much he’s changed, pressing their chests together to feel his steady heartbeat while his own hands settle just above his ass, barely keeping decent.

And Jess, watching from the doorway in something between horror and shock as Sam opens his mouth and professes — “babe, this is my brother, Dean.”