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I doodled a tiny Dean and Cas standing next to a slice of pie and for whatever reason I decided to draw tiny TFW hanging out next to more comparatively giant food

not the best idea considering I'm atrocious at drawing food but ehhh

the og idiots are still my favorites

(12/09/23)

#my art #supernatural #spn fanart #spn #castiel #dean winchester #destiel #my sketches #tiny cas #tiny castiel #tiny dean #tiny sam #tiny team free will #and regular sized food #or maybe regular tfw and giant food #who can say

Little Wing, chapter 3

“The ocean!” said Cas. “I want to swim and talk to the fishies and the cwabs and then dive down and play wiv those funny fishies with the big mouvs that Gabwiel made as a joke but then Joshie said they fit just right into the bits where it gets weally darky-dark, only I don’t like the dark so maybe we’ll just play with the dolphins.”

Cas’s face was alight with excitement, his eyes darting between Dean’s and Carlos’s.

Dean laughed, nervously.

But Carlos just grinned. “Your son’s a cute kid,” he said.

Cas giggled. Dean felt a mixture of pride and love and longing and a strange kind of loneliness. “Thanks,” he husked. And he turned away, pretending to admire the two chalets on the opposite side of the valley.

A sturdy wooden bridge crossed the stream and led to the first large, wooden chalet, which was mostly pointy roof, like a card house, and had huge windows overlooking the shore. Behind it, higher up, was another chalet, the same size and shape. They must have an even better view.

It’d be awesome to build something like that, Dean thought, with your own hands, and then stand back and just look at it, solid and beautiful, standing up against sun and rain and wind because you’d built it right. One day he’d build things up, instead of knocking them down. He’d create instead of destroy.

“There you are,” said Carlos. “That’s the hut.”

Dean turned around, and for a moment, he couldn’t even see it. Then his eyes adjusted, like when you looked at one of those magic eye pictures, and the moss-coloured, weather-worn wood of a small hut appeared, tucked back among the bushes. A weed-choked path led up to it.

Carlos scratched his jaw. “I’ll understand if you decide against, after all,” he said.

“That’s my house!” said Cas. He scampered along the path and hopped up the two steps to the front door.

“Seems like we’re staying,” said Dean.

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