how profound . @disobedientangel - Tumblr Blog

↷ PRAYCD

IF THE SITUATION WERE anything different, this is what dean would be doing. he knows, because he’s seen it ; and when it’s been sam who was gone, he’s heard the stories of it, witnessed the effect. he wonders if castiel has seen the same thing. wonders what he thinks about it. the answer he receives is just as hesitant, fretting. sam doesn’t want to eat. he couldn’t stomach it. that’s the point … although, on the other hand, he is out to VOMIT, anyway. ‘ I’m only asking because I don’t know if you eat like a person, these days, or not. I can’t keep up. ’

carrying a conversation feels strange, numb ––––– as if he’s outside of his own body looking in. walking feels the same. legs of wood and nails, knees of gelatin. he left-right-lefts toward the kitchen, toward the fridge, and expects the rustle of trenchcoat and FEATHERS to follow. if cas wants to help him out, he’ll sit down and shut up. either have a drink or leave sam the hell alone. that’s what his brother would do, if he hadn’t exploded a couple hours ago.

‘ we’ve got vodka, and … orange juice. ’ he yanks open from the fridge and the other from the ice box. vodka is a good idea. it isn’t their usual go-to ; they’ve always been dark liquor people, and he’s got sort of a TOLERANCE for the cheap whiskey they have in stock. this will get him right to the fuckin’ point, do not pass go, do not collect $200. besides … the whiskey TASTES too much like dean. his shoulders start to quake. he moves faster. shaking fingers pouring three fingers for himself. a larger glass for the angel. ‘ I can throw together a mixer for you. that might be easier. if you’re gonna stick around. ’

the way that castiel misses dean, is nothing to the magnitude in which sam winchester grieves for him. for the angel, it is the equivalent of heart break, sad in a way that he was incapable of feeling before living on earth for the past few years, and even still, he is unsure how to properly express it. he feels full, and at the same time, utterly EMPTY. dean was good, and he was kind, and though they never spoke of it, they loved each other. much the same way he loves sam. it’s family, he knows the word, the meaning behind it, but it’s almost more than that. a way with words that can not be spoken. so maybe that’s why they drink. . .. after all, how can you mourn, or process, a feeling that has no words. castiel has only known dean after hell, saved him from the pit, felt his soul against his own, as he carried him to the surface---- sam---- has known him even more intimately than that. they were children together, grew up in the same four walls. if cas cares as deeply as he does, from somehow much further away---- sam is going to need more than a bottle of vodka to do the trick. but he says nothing about it, and takes his cup eagerly, downing the vile liquid as sort of a toast to his friends memory.

❝ i plan to remain---- for as long as you let me. ❞ if he overstays his welcome, or feels his too intrusive, he will take his leave. but even if it were unspoken, castiel will look out for the other as much as he can. for dean, for himself---- because that’s what you do for family. he reaches out to cover sam’s shaking hand with his own; and he can feel the pain, where it sinks into his vessel’s skin, the longing, the hurt---- and he pulls the bottle away, pours the other another one, just as he plans to continue to do until he passes out. ❝ we. . . will find a way to bring him back. i promise you to find a way. there’s always a way. ❞

#praycd #scripture.

↷ PRAYCD

‘ YEAH, WELL, THAT’S TOO FUCKING BAD, BECAUSE ––––––– ’ he confuses his brother’s petulance and pride with castiel, and he only catches it on the latter end. when it’s dean who breaches the threshold of death and swings back, it’s always with a certain level of WINCHESTERNESS that reminds him of his dad. the tone that says he’s fine, in a situation where nobody has ever been fine, and that he can’t imagine any other way to be. and for that reason, sam is always ready to turn up his chin, to sit him down firmly and FORCE him to heal. but this isn’t like that, he realizes. he regroups. ‘… look, you need to sit down. chill out for awhile. I don’t know much about the LANCE OF MICHAEL ––––––––– ’ nobody does, angel or not, except apparently crowley. ‘ –––––––––– but something like that, designed to kill an archangel … it’s not gonna go away so simply. ’

he’s unsure if the other means for him to sit down this very second, or if it’s more figurative. if, perhaps, the winchester is saying he should stay the night, or the week, or if he’s asking him to stay for dinner. and while castiel does not eat, the gesture is always greatly appreciated.

it brings a small smile to his lips, the way it feels to have sam care about him, as he looks around for a place to sit. ❝ no. . . i suppose not. ❞ however, he hopes it heals soon. whatever it is inside of him that has him worn down, drained. if he slept, he imagines that would do wonders, it always had when he was human. ❝ perhaps---- perhaps we could watch something together? while i, chill out, as you say. your netflix collection is quite entertaining. ❞

#praycd #scripture.#B)

↷ PRAYCD

‘ SHUT UP. ’ IT’S A CRASS RESPONSE, and he’s sorry for it almost immediately, but keeps his jaw locked. it’s been an exhausting night, already –––––––– and it’s still an hour until midnight. he’s felt just the right side of QUEASY since they fumbled out of that barn, anyway, stomach churning with the familiar feel of too close, too close. castiel thinks he’s a BOTHER, and sam thinks he’s going to be sick. ‘ you’re sure you’re okay ? your vessel, your grace ––––––– ? ’

❝ i am as okay as i can be. ❞ even if he weren’t, he’d hate to be bothersome. there are more problems beyond his own, though truthfully, he is well enough. whatever michael’s lance had done to him physically, went away the moment crowley switched the sigils. mentally. . . he can still feel the pain, residual. the concept is new, and it makes him slightly unsure---- he’s healed, it should be gone---- but, for all intents and purposes, he’s fine. intact. that’s what sam’s asking him about, right? ❝ you need not worry. ❞

#praycd #scripture.

❝ i hope my presence will not be bothersome. i shall try to keep quiet while you and dean---- what’s the phrase---- catch some z’s. i remember how cranky i became as a human without it. ❞

#praycd #scripture.

↷ quietlysaved

HE DOES APPRECIATE THE OFFER, though he’s not likely to ever take him up on it. sam is just … tired, now. almost, almost tired enough to block out grief for five hours and black out. he may try to black out, anyway, actually. the last time dean died ( the time metatron did it, the time he held his brother’s cheeks as they turned cold, the time his brother left thinking sam hated him ), he swallowed SEVERAL SHOTS of whiskey before even starting to do something about it. and this time … this time, there is nothing to be done. there is nothing left of dean. this time, he’s got no reason to quit after several shots. he could drink the whole fifth, tempt fate, and just hope his liver quits.

but he doesn’t make such an announcement. castiel would never let him choke on his own vomit, anyway. would probably bring him back––––––– because he promised dean he’d keep an eye on sam, so he’d be obligated. isn’t that just like dean ? leaving someone else in charge while he’s gone, like a fuckin’ babysitter, or an extention of his big brother–––––– someone’s gotta WATCH OUT FOR SAMMY even when he’s thirty-three and so weary of everything. it’s enough to power him through half a close-lipped smile.

‘ thanks, cas. but don’t apologize, alright ? ’ frankly, sam is not in the mood to sit through the cumbersome mea culpa. ‘ LUCIFER … he’s tricky. it’s not your fault. and dean … made his own choice. ’ he purses his lips ; swallows hard. none of these are things he wishes to discuss. he can’t think of one goddamned thing he wants to talk about right now––––––––– besides maybe jim or josé ? he’ll sneak a bottle from the study into his own room so that castiel won’t see, and drink straight from it. no glass, no chaser. actually, no, not his room … the mattress there is now used to TWO, and when he wakes in the middle of the night on just one half, it’ll break him. a spare, then, he supposes. they were having the best year they’d gotten in so fucking long …

on second thought, he really doesn’t have to hide. he doesn’t NEED the babysitter, he is thirty-three years old. if he wants to take the edge off, or vanish into a bottle for a night, then that’s his own prerogative. fuck you. he considered, then raised his brow at the angel. ‘ did you ever get BLACKOUT DRUNK when you were human ? ’

❝ no---- but that sensation is not foreign to this vessel. ❞

jimmy was a devout and faithful man, heavenly---- but there were memories of college nights---- perhaps LACK of was more accurate---- that cas had consumed upon taking hold. they meant nothing to him, but it was an experience he could relive a million times if he so desired ( he did not ). a fair few times however, with his grace intact, castiel had attempted to rid himself of celestial thought with alcohol---- and it. . . had half worked. it required copious amounts, all drunken in haste, to gain that certain, rather lack of, consciousness. a bottle of whatever was lying around the bunker wouldn’t be enough to BLACK out, as sam had put it---- but it would be enough for him ( as he’s sure dean would put it if he were here ) to loosen up. if. . . that was the other’s intention.

he knew it was the winchester way of coping, and he would not stand in the way---- and if it were an invitation---- you could consider him flattered. even though he was sure it wouldn’t work, it made sense. a reasonable way he could think to honor their fallen hero. at least, he could ( hopefully ) help sam in this some small way. with COMPANIONSHIP. could keep him safe

❝ if that’s your intention. . . i’m not opposed to trying---- but perhaps you should eat beforehand? ❞

#quietlysaved #scripture.#he's trying so hard to b helpful

quietlysaved

IT ISN’T CONSOLATION HE WANTS, nor an apology. sam wants the only thing he’s ever wanted, the only end he’s ever sought to this endless cycle of monster jaws and black eyes and blood and blood and blood. he wants D E A N. but dean––––––––– … at least this time, he went in a flash of light. at least this time he took god and evil, tore the whole damned system from the top down ( at least, he’s saying, it wasn’t permanent death by taco ). a noble end, however, doesn’t make it any less of an end. sam’s grief feels like a ribcage made of lead. it fatigues him to lift himself the right way, makes him feel like they’re going to fall out through his skin. it isn’t consolation he wants. it’s a long nap with his brother curled around his back, with sticky breath and a voice he was born CRAVING tucked up against his ear.

… instead, he’s got castiel, who he credits with doing his best. it’s RUDE to say that yes, he does just want to be left to wallow in his misery, but maybe the angel knows better than that. when one is gone, the other never wallows very long before turning to action. how is he going to save dean from … oblivion ? ‘ you’ve got nothing to apologize for, cas. ’

it feels as though he does. but perhaps the timing is off, too late, or unwanted---------------------------- perhaps it’s enough for sam that he’s offered. either way, he knows the strange hard feeling in his gut won’t vanish until there’s an attempt at making an amend. even though it always feels like that’s what he’s doing. his whole life one COLOSSAL mistake after mistake after mistake. each chapter a new crescendo of bad choices. draped in the flag of good intentions, castiel always seems to fall s h o r t; flat on his ass, as it were.

he hopes to assume instead, that sam simply does not need an apology, because they both know the struggle of trying your best, only to fail. only to make things worse, despite the best of intentions.

perhaps dean’s death is too much for one day, an this conversation is best to be postponed till a later date. still, the guilt feels immeasurable inside his bones, uncontainable, and his eyes wander the ground, searching for words against the bunker’s wooden floor. at the time, letting lucifer in seemed the best choice. he would not have allowed it to be sam, and he thought, maybe, he was protecting not only the EARTH, not only humanity, but ALL of it. trillions of galaxy’s. . . he was saving EVERYTHING his father created, and sparing sam. lucifer, he thought, was his best hope at stopping the darkness. and so, he had looked past it all. beyond the suffering of someone important to him, AGAIN, and it felt both human and not. he. . . tried, and yet he failed. there are no words to explain, to offer. he is desperately sorry for bringing lucifer back into the world, for undoing sam’s brave sacrifice. for letting him get his hands on the other, for letting----------------- he’s SORRY.

he feels like a plague.

❝ there is MUCH i need to atone for. ❞ but his words mean little, especially when his actions prove him to be otherwise. and the pain he feels behind sam’s skin is punishment enough for now, mixed in with his own. the love they share for dean, in the wake of his loss, he hopes maybe they can bear it together. perhaps sharing the weight, the MAGNITUDE of their grief, can help. even if only a little.

❝ if there’s anything you need. . . i’m here. if you’ll have me. ❞

#quietlysaved #scripture.#i like how cas is lowkey like #if u need me to make a pizza run i'm ur man #u want some beer???? i can hook u up #anything u need just say the word #u want a blanket and the netflix password????? i can help

hiofmurdering

❝ no you don’t———– you don’t have to be sorry. it’s probably just me, i’m. ❞

OVERREACTING !!

❝ i just don’t see that much of you anymore is all. ❞

he won’t ever say it to the other’s face, but that’s a bit of both their fault. after cas had been rendered all but USELESS ! (and he knows the reasons now, why it had happened), he just doesn’t feel as welcomed. of course he knows he is, that the winchester’s are his friends----------- his family. but, being so close, and feeling so helpless is draining. he prefers to stay away, even from dean, no matter how much it hurts, so that it prolongs their friendship.

❝ i have nowhere to be for the night, . .. if you would like me to stay? ❞

#ofmurdering #scripture.

ofmurdering

❝ ya know, if you don’t like me anymore, you can just say it. ❞

❝ dean---------------. i’m not sure how you’ve come to this conclusion, but i assure you, you are very likable. i’m sorry if i’ve ever made you feel otherwise. . .. ❞

#ofmurdering #scripture.#nice

❝ i’m still not sure how to c o n s o l e a winchester. . . would you prefer company, or would you rather be left ALONE? ❞ he’s grieving himself, though he’s sure it can’t begin to compare to the magnitude of dean’s own kin, no matter how many times he’s gone through it before. he wonders doubtfully if being human would have helped him process any of this better, though he thinks not.

❝ perhaps my company is not--------- sam. ❞ he pauses, hands anxious as they hang idly at his side; a guilty expression, he only wants to do what is right. ❝ i should. . . i would like to offer an APOLOGY, if you will let me. ❞

#quietlysaved #scripture.#ok well here it goes

↷ dxrknesswillrise

❛ Oh, come on, Cas! Don’t over exaggerate. It’s not even that bad any more. ❜

❛ It’s barely even snowing now!. ❜

❛ ----- ---- please no. ❜

it's cold. and wet and his bed is warm. not to mention, he'd have to get all dressed up to go out and it's p o i n t l e s s.

❛ i need my mordred to not be an icicle. ❜

#dxrknesswillrise #scripture #!:short #( if u stay in bed )#( i will blow u )

❛ we are not going outside it's a fucking s n o w storm out there, mordred. ❜

❛ come back to bed. ❜

#dxrknesswillrise #scripture #!:short #( = 3 = )

❛ Now you're just being annoying. ❜

#open ;;

dxrknesswillrise

Castiel scooted over under the warm fur covers and tucked his head just below the others, kissing the base of his neck lightly. It would be morning soon, and Mordred would have to leave --- he always had to leave. Someone could find them if he didn't and that would have been disastrous. But they were alone right now, and safely tucked away inside his locked chambers. "I love you," he whispered, sure that the other was awake. "More then I should, I love you. [I try to stay up for you, but I fail]

As the bed dipped under Castiel’s weight, Mordred’s cerulean orbs flickered open and watched as his fellow Knight shifted closer to him atop the bed. Mordred’s chamber —- as was the night that surrounded the castle —- was bitter; chilled due to the snow that had coated the ground the previous evening. Lazily, the young Druid curled an arm around the older man, drawing him closer against his muscular chest.

"——— As I love you," Mordred whispered in return, a strong, pale hand finding purchase upon Castiel’s back. Soon enough, his eyes were slipping closed, full lips parting into a smile. “Is that so?”

#( remember when i used to leave u things )#( but now ur a workaholic )#( and r an adult )#( u n u )#lovers in arms;#dxrknesswillrise

dxrknesswillrise

[ last kiss ]

It was a Sunday morning.

Bright sunlight streaming in through the large hospital windows, ajar only slightly to let in the warm, summer breeze. If it hadn’t had been for the constant, slow beep, beep, beep of the hospital monitor, it might have been easy to ignore how depressing the place around them was. The steady, loud sound a constant reminder of why they were here, in this very room.

Soon, the heart monitor would be turned off — for the heart it was currently keeping track off would stop, mid beat. It would stutter to a halt, just as a familiar pair of chapped lips would be pressed against a pale, warm forehead.

Mordred’s heart would stop knowing that it had never truly belonged to him. It had always belonged to Castiel.

A final, long breath would be taken.

And the lips resting against Mordred’s forehead would be joined by hot, pain-filled tears.

#( haha )#( remember when )#( get the fucka way from me h anNAH )#( AWAY )#tftm;

↷ dxrknesswillrise

❝ No, Cas! … this isn’t home. ❞

Mordred knew what he meant, what he wanted & it wasn’t this. Home was a place where he could press cold feet against Castiel’s legs & laugh as the other let out disgruntled, shocked noises. It wasn’t here it wasn’t where visiting hours were from ten till two and where they locked the door at night.

This wasn’t home.

❝ I don’t want to be here. ❞

Castiel's heart gives a lurch; deep in his chest it tugs in all the wrong ways, because he didn't want this either. Never asked for it. But they agreed to see if it helped any --- and in someways it has. He didn't have to worry about Mordred getting away, getting lost somewhere and not knowing where he was, what was going on --- because often he would slip out the house during the days --- and it was worse when he slipped out at nights. Not only that, they could monitor him better than any stay at home nurse could. If anything happened --- if he even got a minor cold --- they would know. It ... it was better in all of the practical ways. Only it lacked in the worst.

As in, the house he goes home to at two, is cold and empty. The bed feels all wrong and it's hard. It's silent and dead --- and more often than not he wakes up to a heart pounding in his chest only to realize this is the farthest thing from what he wants. It's a reminder of what is to come --- and how can he honestly justify putting Mordred in a home when their time together is limited. It wasn't --- it wasn't as if they'd live a hard life for years; it was months.

❛ -------------------- Hey. ❜

Reaching out, Cas slides warm hands over Mordred's cheeks; thumbs brushing softly over the high bones. He wants to take him home. Wants to lay him down in bed and sleep next to him at night --- wants to keep making his coffee in the morning and make sure everything is right. But at the moment, it's better for this to happen --- at least just to see. So that when the doctors are finished with their 'trail run', they can honestly say at least they gave it a shot. It was only a week. Only a week.

❛ It's not forever Mordred, okay? Remember? Only five days left is all --- it's okay. It's not --- it's not all bad. You told me yesterday it wasn't so bad. ❜ But that could have been a lie. Something he'd said so Cas wouldn't fret.

❛ I'll take you home soon. ❜

#dxrknesswillrise #scripture ;#tftm;#( get out my face u f uc k er )

booksxcrooks:

(◡‿◡✿) Slow sensual deep meaningful kisses

(◡‿◡✿) Lustful hands sliding down bodies with little tiny gasps of pleasure

(◡‿◡✿) Tugging on their hair gently only to move the kisses to their neck

(◡‿◡✿) Jawline kisses slowly moving back to their lips

(◕‿◕✿) Muffled kissing while getting the shit fucked out of them

#dxrknesswillrise

mycapsblog

#( ; w ; )#facade;

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how profound .