#supernatrual

[sabellart]

up to your interpretation of when this takes place

[selah-fivel]

fuck him right outta that suit

[scandalscontained]

˚౨ৎ ⋆ wearing dean's clothes - requested.

ᨳଓ Dean loves whenever you wear his clothes. He's such a lover boy; it makes him think of you bringing a piece of him everywhere you go. And, though he wouldn't outright admit it, it makes him feel like he's laying claim on you.

ᨳଓ His clothes kinda shine as a beacon to other guys that tell them hey, this beauty is taken

ᨳଓ Dean liked you wearing his clothes before the two of you were even together. One night while on a hunt in an annoying cold state, he'd offered you his leather jacket. There wasn't much thought behind it then. But as he watched your arms slip into the sleeves, your hands covered by the cuffs, something in his chest warmed. The jacket made it look like you were a kid playing dress up with your parents clothes. It was so cute.

ᨳଓ Dean spent that entire night stealing glances at you and quickly averting his gaze if you noticed.

ᨳଓ After nights spent tangled in sheets, you opt to throw on one of his flannels. The fabric is soft against your skin and long enough to cover you. Walking through the bunker into the kitchen, the scent of Dean swirls around you. It's woody and clean. Just like him. If Dean comes into the kitchen looking for you and spots his flannel hanging off your shoulders, his brain stops working. The visual before him is so domestic he thinks his chest is gonna explode. So, he comes up behind you and pulls your back to his chest. "Hey, sweetheart. Lookin' real pretty in that."

ᨳଓ Dean is a sweetheart. His face lights up whenever you wear his clothes. I'm talking five-watt smile, big moon eyes, and cheeks that start to hurt from grinning.

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[thefriendlypigeon]

Fanfic below!

“I am sorry!” he whispered. “I did not mean to call You improperly! I did not mean to test You!”

The words barely left his mouth before something inside him gave way completely.

Dean folded in on himself like a structure that had been holding too much weight for too long. The rosary slipped from his hand and scattered across the floor. His shoulders shook once, twice, and then the restraint he had clung to for months broke open.

“I tried,” he choked. “I did everything right.”

His voice rose, cracked, dissolved.

“I prayed. I guided them. I told them to trust, to endure, to believe that there is purpose in suffering, that none of this is without meaning, and he is still dying.”

The last word tore out of him.

Dean dropped to his knees fully now, no hesitation left, and surged forward as if pulled by gravity itself. His hands caught in the rough fabric of the angel’s coat, gripping tight, desperate, grounding. He pressed his face against Castiel’s chest, breath hot and uneven, tears soaking into unfamiliar cloth.

“Please,” he whispered again and again, the word losing shape, becoming something raw and instinctive. “Please, please, please.”

The chapel seemed to shrink around them. The candles dimmed, their light paling as though something greater had taken precedence.

Castiel did not move away.

For a long moment, he simply stood there, looking down at the man clinging to him. His expression remained distant, as if observing a phenomenon rather than participating in it.

Then, slowly, he lifted his hand.

It hovered above Dean’s head, fingers slightly curled. Slowly, it lowered, resting against the crown of Dean’s head.

The touch was cool.

Dean gasped at it, a sharp intake of breath that stuttered through his chest. His grip tightened instinctively. Castiel’s fingers spread slightly in Dean’s hair.

At first, the gesture was gentle. A steady pressure, grounding, allowing Dean’s sobs to spill out. His body leaned into it without thinking, seeking it.

“I cannot carry this,” Dean whispered into the coat. “I cannot bury him. I cannot stand before them and tell them it is God’s will.”

His voice broke again, softer now, worn thin.

“I do not know how to believe if You take him.”

Castiel’s gaze did not waver.

His hand remained where it was, but the pressure shifted.

Gradually, the touch grew firmer.

Castiel’s fingers pressed more firmly into Dean’s hair, keeping him there, bent forward, face buried against his chest. The wings behind him shifted, closing in further, casting deeper shadows around them.

“You are very loud,” Castiel said softly.

The words were not unkind. They were not comforting either.

Dean swallowed hard, his hands still clutching the coat, knuckles pale. “I am sorry,” he murmured again, though the apology felt misplaced even as he spoke it.

Castiel tilted his head, studying the top of Dean’s bowed form. His hand remained steady, unyielding now.

“You call,” he said. “And you expect an answer shaped like mercy.”

Dean’s breath hitched.

“That is what I was taught,” he said quietly. “That is what I have taught.”

Castiel was silent for a moment.

Then he moved.

~ To Be Continued 🔥

[my social media links]

[tiredtano]

So i heard the news hadnt made it here yet

[goosebitesart]

"hey sam! come look at this ugly fucking bug i found!"

[worrynoodle]

When Dean is stuck in his head, reliving losing Cas, Cas always makes sure Dean knows he's here.

[sweetonsugden]

How Kripke would have ended SPN if it ended with S5