#nothingbutpainhere

[theswitchesthatflipinyourbr-blog]

Ava needed to find someone, someone who knew the Winchesters. After the mess of the apocalypse they'd made, their trails were hot all over the place- people knew them, hated them, wanted them dead. In a dusty bar off the highway near Kentucky, she heard rumors of a fallen angel who once rode with the boys. Immediately, she took off for the location they mentioned.

Appearing in the dark side of a building, Ava smoothed out her outfit. The faint voice of Sarah pestered her in the back of her head; Ava yearned to scar up this pretty face and make Sarah watch, but not yet. Any injuries could be a good play if she needed it. Right now, she just wanted to look around.

An unimposing gait took over, guiding her to act like a college student out for the night, just going around town to pass time. Yellow eyes masked, the body's grey sought out each face, searching for the features a drunken hunter had described in hushed tones to another just a couple hours before.

[blood-of-the-hunter]

Humanistic | Cas + Dean

Purgatory changed everything, irrevocably. There was no going back to the way things used to be. Dean was scarred, and he wouldn't lie about that. Somehow, Hell had nothing on Purgatory. Hell changed you into someone else, revealed what you would do under duress. Purgatory just broke you down completely - broke you down because it left you with hope. That tiny little bit of hope that one day you'd get out, that you'd get back to earth and pretend it never happened. 

But you didn't, of course. Almost no one in that godforsaken place would get out. And if you did, you didn't come back the same person. For Dean, it left him with nightmares, the kind that made you scared to sleep at all - and this to the man who professionally dealt with everything that goes bump in the night. There were flashbacks, like Sam had with Hell. He could empathize now - but that didn't mean he was going to gush to his brother about it. In fact, he steadfastly refused to talk about it at all. Sam had been understanding only to a point. A month ago he had snapped and left him behind, started doing his own cases.

That was alright with Dean. He just started drinking. Whatever it took to sleep at night.

Maybe the worst part about it all, though, was that he knew he'd left Cas behind. The angel that had given him everything, absolutely friggin' everything, was stuck behind in that place because he had failed him. And damn him, he was scared to go back. If it was even possible, anyway.

So he tried not to think about it. He drank, and he hunted, and that was that. Until he got a call from Bobby, who said that all the signs of a gate to Purgatory was up and running. Half of Dean was screaming to stay away from it, to not even think about going near it, to leave it the hell alone. But the other half knew he had to go, had to see if it was Cas. A terse minute later, Dean told Bobby he'd be there.

7 hours later found him in Wyoming, in the basement of a long-since abandoned farmhouse. He could taste bile on his tongue, and he was nothing but a bunch of nerves. Whatever he found here, it wasn't going to be good, and he knew that much as fact. He took one deep breath, fingers curling over the grip of his gun, before he turned the corner and stepped in, raising the flashlight that he held tightly in his other hand.

It was a moment before he noticed the form, crumpled near a corner. It was even longer before the mass began to make any sense, contorted as it was. Was that a trenchcoat--?

Cas.

Dean dropped all pretenses, darting to the angel's side and sitting there, gripping him under the shoulders to pull him into his lap. "Cas! Jesus christ, Cas, I can't believe- god, Cas, are you okay?"

And of course, Dean knew the answer. Cas wasn't okay. Cas was going to be very far from okay.

[blood-of-the-hunter]

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Dean didn't like praying. Never had. Had never been religious, even after he found out about demons. Not even after he'd found out about angels. If there actually was a god up there, like Cas said, he was pretty certain he could die just like the rest of them. Everything died, at some point. God wasn't special.

Besides, praying - religion? That was needing a god, depending on him. And that was what had never sat right with him. Winchesters were as independent as they got, and Dean was easily the most independent of the family. He didn't bow down to ask for help from anybody. Bobby, Sam, maybe. But half the time they volunteered - no, forced themselves in on the situation.

Otherwise? Dean handled things on his own.

Like this case, of maulings in a cemetery. Sam was a state over, working a pretty linear haunting case, when Dean got wind of it. He'd thought it might be nothing, but on the odd case that it was something, he figured he'd better be working it. It hadn't been long before he'd dug up the local legends on a thing called 'Black Shuck'. Usually a British thing, but these days nothing was staying in its homeland.

Dogs, man. He still didn't like them. All it took was even the suggestion of a hellhound and Dean felt like puking his guts up. Definitely one of the worst situations he'd ever been in.

But he was independent, and he figured it couldn't be that bad, right? Just a quick tangle with a phantom dog, set the nest on fire, badabing badaboom, no more Shuck.

Really, though, nothing ever went according to plan with him. Ever.

Which brought him here, sprinting through woods with a majorly pissed off dog on his tail. One trip, one bad step, and that son of a bitch would be on him in seconds, and he wasn't going to be getting back up anytime soon. And to be honest, right now Dean was absolutely terrified, because he knew he couldn't run forever, and shit, he was alone here and there was a gigantic dog behind him intent on killing him--

And that is when everything Dean felt about praying and being independent flew right out the window, because now was absolutely not the time to be a stubborn ass. He began to pray, prayed harder and more urgently than he ever had before, hoping more than anything that Cas would listen, would show up and help him out because christ, if he didn't, he was so beyond screwed. "Cas, Cas please, if you come save my ass, I won't ever say anything bad about you damn angels, or your angel business, or anything, just please, please, help me out." He was barely able to pant the words out, the sounds choked and strangled as he tried to force in air at the same time, a combination that didn't work out very well at all. "Please."

[restart-mygracelessheart-blog]

nothingbutpainhere started following you

Hello, Castiel.

[nevergoinagainstasicilian-blog]

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((This is for my organizational/personal sanity. If I've missed your response, send me a message telling me so! To those I owe starters, I try to make each one unique, but if you don't mind a generic one I can do that much more quickly. This is also letting you know that I'm not usually this sporadic when I owe people, but for the next month or so my life [and internet access on weekends] is going to be crazy, so be a dear and bear with me, please!))

[angelradioreceiver]

+++

[Looks around nervously, grumbling at how the blanket doesn't keep her covered and tosses it to the ground, revealing her costume, wings and all] Ehm. Hi. Happy Halloween.

[iamthegoodson]

ooc post

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hello! you're my 500th follower