#he is saved

[themanwhowouldbechaos]

"Dean Winchester is saved"

[naru-uzumaki]

😋  to  give  my  muse  their  favorite  snack. (Kakashi to Naruto)

@shinobinvku // your affections.

BEING HUNGRY COULD HAVE ALL KINDS OF LASTING EFFECTS ON THE BODY --- and with his fast metabolism, he was sure he was going to [ die ]. It felt like they had been gone for AGES, but Naruto didn't pack correctly in anticipation for this mission. His eagerness had definitely gotten the best of him this time, leaving his bag and everything back at his apartment.

Kakashi was his savior, how did he know he was suffering? ❝ Kaka-senseeeeei, can I eat it now? ❞

[bklynmusicnerd]

Pastor Cyrus already thanking the lord for Laura and Martin visiting him in the most blasphemously fake tone. This is probably one of my favorite religious phases I've ever witnessed

[sprinklezamirite]

Hes better now 😊

[the-marrow-finch]

Court room doors slam open. An elderly turtle scuffles in. "STOP! He's telling the turth!"

[not-quite-castiel-novak]

He Is Saved || Solo

Castiel was beyond relieved. Finally, it seemed like like things were going right. They'd made it to Kansas City in one piece, Jack had called, Meg was sure to turn up eventually, and they were safe in their shared motel room, especially since they weren't going to be staying for more than four hours. He laid out on his stomach on the bed nearest the door, not bothering to take off his sneakers or coat, uncaring that he smelled of sweat and his face felt scratchy with a day's worth of stubble. He felt wound up too tight, tension knotting up the muscles of his back and neck, fear and anxiety like writhing snakes in his belly. He closed his eyes and sighed, breathing in cheap laundry soap, linen that still smelled musty despite its laundering, the dry dusty smell of the AC kicking on.

He was asleep within seconds, the dark behind his eyelids soothing. The dark didn't last long, unfortunately. He was suddenly in a room, him but not him, standing straight and tall as a sun burned inside his body. Across the room was a blurry face bearded man in a trucker cap and... and Dean.

You will bow down and profess your love unto me your lord- his mouth was moving but ... what was he saying? That couldn't be him.

Cas c'mon this is not you. Cas, this is nuts you can turn this around please.

Dean was begging, fear so thick it was choking Castiel, choking and dragging him down while apathy kept him from moving. A startling, empty apathy as the sun burned hotter, hungry for the fear. Kill him, voices seemed to whisper. In revulsion, Castiel pulled away, trying desperately to wake, but it was only somewhere else that he opened his eyes to instead of the motel room. A somewhere else he knew well.

A garden, vividly bright- green beyond green grass, flowers that shone like stars, a sky so blue he wanted to weep. But it was polluted. He was walking amongst the grass as vile words spewed from his mouth- sounding so sure, so proud. He wanted to vomit the taste of it from his tongue. Ashes brushed his shoes and white, blank eyes stared sightlessly up at him.

Be obedient children or this is your fate. It is a new day on Earth and in Heaven. Rejoice-

No, that wasn't him! It couldn't be him. It was his voice inside a monster and Castiel wanted to scream. Another room, another voice. A voice dry and cold it sent shivers down his spine.

Your vessel's melting. You're going to explode. 

What was happening? Castiel's body tightened in shock.

All right put your junk away both of you. Call him what you want just kill him now!

Castiel felt the betrayal pouring into him, shock like ice water under his skin, pumping from his torn apart heart even as the heat of the sun inside his belly burned and burned. He could see Dean's face, hard and focused, a fleeting emotion there and gone in bald green eyes.

A room of people- walls plastered with campaign slogans and posters- phones ringing- anger and betrayal and pain- claws in his belly that ripped and tore- desperation clinging to his skin, an acrid, bitter smell.

I am a better God than my father. How can I make you understand?

There was blood everywhere he looked, on his face, his hands, his clothes. Leaking from the torn throats and ripped limbs of the bodies all around him.

No. No.

A wall was burning. Sigils flickering on stones. A door? A portal? A rough voice was reading Latin aloud, louder and louder as nonexistent wind howled. He turned and saw Dean again. Always Dean.

I'm sorry, Dean.

He'd let Dean down again. He could see the pain in Dean's face. Everything he'd done, all the lives he destroyed, all his anger and his pride, and there Dean was, the lingering feel of his hands that had caught Castiel when he would have fallen. After everything, every bad decision, every mistake, Dean was there to save him.

For some reason it seemed wrong. It should be the other way. He was supposed to save Dean. He'd already sacrificed so much, forgiven so much more. Castiel was supposed to be the rescuer, like he had been so long ago. But again Dean was the one that gripped him tight, that raised him from the perdition of his own making.

I'll find some way to redeem myself to you.

Castiel wanting to toss and turn, wanted to fight his way out of the nightmare that felt too real. The nightmare of things that didn't happen. His body was heavy, though, still and frozen on the motel bed on the other side of consciousness. He knew this even as he stared into Dean's eyes and knew he'd never be able to redeem himself. Too much death and blood and betrayal weighed him down, stained his hands and soul- Grace?

And still Dean's hands were on his arm, holding him up, not flinching at the lack of distance between them. Dean was staring back and wasn't seeing a monster. I mean it, Dean. A hand on Dean's arm, voice earnest and rough. And Dean agreed. As if it were possible, as easily as saying the words.

Dean saved me. Castiel knew this deep in marrow. Is that why he saw him everywhere? Knew that he had to find him? So he could finally finally save him, too?

But the comfort didn't last long. He was pulled down deeper into the nightmare of his mistakes. Mistakes that didn't happen. It wasn't real. It couldn't be real.

And round and round it goes.