One of these days / It won’t be long / You’ll call my name / And I’ll be gone [ ♕ ]

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@warriorcastiel
One of these days / It won’t be long / You’ll call my name / And I’ll be gone [ ♕ ]
So what’s it all add up to? It’s hard to say. But me, I’d say this was a test for Sam and Dean, and I think they did all right. Up against good, evil, angels, devils, destiny, and God himself. They made their own choice. They chose family. And, well, isn’t that kind of the whole point?
Team Free ‘No chill’
one of these days, it won’t be long... you’ll call my name and i’ll be gone. fare thee well, oh honey. fare thee well.
i thought i’d be happy… or at least relieved… but i’m really crying right now…
The day has finally come…
This is it, guys. Hold on to your hearts. It’s gonna hurt.
Season 15 will be the last. The show is ending.
I’m happy about this. It was time guys. It was time.
Its been building towards endgame for a while now. I hope they can all do the story justice.
Season 15 will be the final season of Supernatural.
This made me tear up despite everything.
Happy Birthday Jensen Ross Ackles | 1 March 1978 I’m from Texas, and I would love to do an old-fashioned gun-slinging Western.
You’re the firewall between light and darkness. (Happy Birthday Dean Winchester!)
[ 1 - 24 - 79 ] my name is dean winchester. i’m an aquarius. i enjoy sunsets, long walks on the beach and frisky women.
happy birthday dean winchester | january 24th, 1979
January 24, 1979.
Guess what day it is :’)
Happy 40th birthday, Dean Winchester.
Happy 40th Birthday, Dean Winchester! ♥♥♥ (January 24, 1979)
Whoa, easy, tiger.
Happy Birthday, Dean Winchester ♥ January 24th, 1979
It’s been long forty years.
Dean never thought he’d make it this far. Half the hunters don’t. Let alone one so knee-deep in big guns’ shit as him.
But somehow there he is. Alive.
A forty-year-old man’s body.
A soul twice as old.
He grumbles when teens call him an old man. They don’t know. They couldn’t. They only see the wrinkles around his eyes, the glints of gray beginning to sprinkle his temples. They’ve no idea how close they are.
And how far.
Sometimes, he’d wish he was so much older. Put as much distance between that and him as he could before the lights go out.
But he’s here now. Forty to forty. A half to a half. Now he knows. It’s a damn long time.
He pours whiskey to a glass as the clock strikes twelve. The sound strikes a cord it hasn’t in a decade. He forces down the feeling, the nagging memory. It doesn’t matter. Not today.
Today he balances it out. A memory for a memory. A year for a year. A breath for a cry. Like those forty years were a debt he had to pay to himself.
He raises the glass in the quiet of his bedroom, sips the drink slowly, savoring each drop as it falls on his tongue. There’s no rush. A lazy smile plays on his lips.
“Happy Birthday.”