#suprenatural

[wyrdpersonwhowanders]

Thelma and Louise, 1991

Supernatural 13x23

[hells-plaid-angel]

Castiel thought getting drunk would make him feel better, but it just made him feel a different kind of worse. 

It took a lot to get an angel drunk, and all for what? He still felt trapped. There was the crux of the issue. He was a celestial being, tall as the Chrysler building, wide as a vast expanse of untouched land, made of light and movement, crammed into a small and fleshy vessel. 

In this body, everything felt too hot, too close. All human sensation was overwhelming. When you weren’t used to a body, something as simple as touch could be nauseating. He could feel the alcohol mingle with his blood and felt more heat in his frame. He found himself laying face first on the linoleum of the bunker’s kitchen. It was cold, closer to comfortable. While in his body, his wings felt like phantom limbs, they ached. He’d been contemplating returning to Heaven, just to shed his skin, to stretch himself out and see once more beyond the limits of what his two human eyes provided him. 

That’s where Dean finds him, face first on the linoleum, surrounded by empty bottles. He awkwardly takes a seat at Cas’ side, and lays a firm hand on Cas’ shoulder, to assure himself the angel hasn’t somehow up and managed a way to die when Cas meets his eyes. If there’s one thing Cas knows about Dean, he knows he hates to talk about emotions and feelings, they’re all too close to really talking about something- a thing Cas has never quite managed to place. So Dean surprises the both of them when, he finds one untouched beer, takes a swig and mumbles, 

“Talk to me.” 

Cas does, or he tries to. He’s not sure if any human language has quite the right words to explain things, but Dean seems to get the gist. When Cas mentions returning to Heaven Dean goes tense, and takes another swig of beer, not enjoying the option. Neither does Cas, but what choice does he have? The two lapse into silence. Dean taps rhythmically on the floor as he works out his thoughts, the rapid rhythm growing quicker as the silence draws on. 

“You know, technically I’m built to house an archangel, so things in here should be a little more spacious for you,” He proposes after an age. Cas can hardly hear him over Dean’s trembling taps. 

It’s Castiel’s time to stretch out the silence because he knows how large this offer is. He’s heard Dean throw around the word ‘possession’ when referring to other angels, not when he was talking about Cas, but surely not even Dean Winchester could compartmentalise that thoroughly. He’d hated being Micheal’s vessel and yet, he was offering to do it, if Cas wanted. 

There are things Dean would offer to Cas that he wouldn’t offer to anyone else. There are things Cas would take from other people he wouldn’t take from Dean.

“Thank you for the offer,” Cas breathes into the stillness. He doesn’t need to tell Dean he won’t be taking him up on it, but he sees in the slackening of Dean’s shoulders he understands. With an elongated sigh, Dean flops down onto the floor face-first beside Cas, graceless. 

“Right, well... if you change your mind I’m here.” 

There are things neither man would admit while sober.

“I don’t think either of us would enjoy our minds co-existing in the same vessel. It would be a different kind of cramped,” Cas admits. 

“Yeah,  don’t blame you for wanting to keep outta my head,” Dean muses ruefully letting Cas know he’d used the wrong words. English didn’t have the right ones, or if it did, Castiel didn’t know how to line them up in the right order. 

“I think it’s more the opposite. I don’t think you’d enjoy my internal world very much.” Dean propped himself up on one elbow, trying to get a better look at the angel.

“Why? You keeping secrets, Sunshine?” He says, trying to defuse the situation. 

“Several,” Cas confesses with an elongated sigh, moving to stand before he can get himself into any more trouble. He’s wobbly on his feet, like a newborn deer. How strange to lose track of one’s body. Dean stands with him and sighs. 

“You wanna go for a drive?” He asks out of the blue. 

“That’s what I do, when I feel like I’m ready to start tearing up the drywall.” 

“I would love to,” Cas says. What he means is, I love you. 

[cascaps]

[you-cant-spell-subtext-without]

“But Dean looks at him now as if he can imagine the next week, the next month, the next year, with Cas embroidered into all of them, and as if he takes a deep comfort in that.”

THIS FIC IS GONNA END ME

[suncaptor]

the fact that Cas loved Neanderthal poetry my beloved....

[themrsdeanwinchester]

My 30th birthday is on 12/15 and I am just putting this request out there: I would love some super fluffy Dean content. Please & thank you :)

[cosmicwavelength]

Maybe The Empty wants Castiel to be unhappy. Maybe it’ll keep him unhappy so he’ll have to suffer forever. And even when Castiel dies in battle he’ll be sent back, alive, to go another round.

[zebrashavestripes]

As an actor myself, I forever feel frightened that an audience will reject my character. If I’m written as an unlovable villain, I’m constantly waiting for someone to tell me that they hate my character and often it turns into, I hate your character, I hate your face, I hate you. If my character makes mistakes, often I’m blamed. If my character’s a flake, I’m blamed. I still love these characters, love their imperfections, but it makes me insecure about my work.

What I’m trying to say is this; please don’t ever blame an actor for their character. Not for their characters attitudes, mistakes, decisions, line, nothing. It’s not our fault when things don’t go the way the viewers hoped. Often, we’re just as disappointed as you. I often wish things turn out better or happier for my characters, and when I’m writing, I make a point to let that happen. So don’t hate on an actor for doing what they’re supposed to. Their acting.

We don’t want to hurt you, so please don’t hurt us.