this fic is so frickin adorable [x]
I IMAGINE THIS IS FROM KEVIN’S POV AND HE’S MENTALLY ADDING NEW DATA TO HIS LONG LIST OF WHY IS THIS MY LIFE NOW and then one of Dean’s beady eyes turns to look at him and his breath catches in terror
at least, until he notices how Castiel absent-mindedly pets one of Dean’s tentacles, and Dean coos in reponse and then Kevin feels uncomfortable all over again (cause he knows ONE OF THOSE TENTACLES IS DEAN’S PENIS)
People were talking about how it would suck if Moffat wrote an episode of Supernatural and I had to agree and then I made a thing of what it would probably be like and got carried away.
I’ve got an au in mind where Cas is a fallen angel and Meg is a risen demon and they work together to save their own asses and fuck up as much shit as possible to get back at those who betrayed them,
here’s some lame cuties.
dean probably sings really mumble-y and off-tune and it’s adorable
I was making this list of things I wanted Cas to wear in season 9 and it started out TOTALLY SERIOUS and then as soon as I wrote “MIB suit” it just went downhill and I decided I had to draw all my ideas out
you can probably read them better if you click on them c:
Cas disappears one day, not for long, just for a half hour or so, but when it happens Dean tears through the place at category five, finding rooms he didn’t even know existed.
"I was outside," Cas informs him blandly when he shows up again. “I’m not leaving, Dean. Don’t worry."
Dean can’t help it, though the next time it happens he walks as he searches, instead of running.
The third time, he catches sight of Cas as he disappears, and he tows along on stealthy feet, follows his friend on a long, meandering route to the very back of the place, where Cas leaves through a door Dean has never noticed before.
On the other side of it is the Kansas summer, all bright blue sky and fiery heat, has to be ninety-plus degrees, Dean marvels. Cutting through the overgrown grass is a worn-down trail that vanishes around the thick, gnarled trunk of a massive cottonwood tree. There’s nowhere else Cas could have gone, so Dean follows the winding path through wafting banks of June grass, foxtail and plains bluestem, emerging into a garden.
It isn’t really a garden. It’s a clearing, bordered by waves of green and brown, brightened by wildflowers Dean vaguely remembers. Look, sweetheart, the memory speaks, her breath soft in his ear, look how pretty they are.
It makes Dean’s throat constrict as he takes it all in; sprinkles, dashes, and splotches of color, blue and purple mistflowers and Maypops, pink hollyhocks and prairie roses, yellow goldenrod and primroses, white-petaled black-foot daisies, and clouds of elderberry blossom. Through it all butterflies are fluttering, and there is the hectic buzz of insects and the music of birds drifting down from high up in the tree canopy.
Cas is lying on his back, arms folded behind his head, eyes closed. His shirt is off, and he’s chewing a long stalk of grass. He opens his eyes and watches Dean for a moment. “I had a garden in Heaven, Dean,” he says then. “I burned it to the ground.”
Dean makes his way over and folds himself down onto the grass. “My mom loved flowers,” he says after a while of just lying there and feeling Cas breathe next to him. Then, “We could turn this into a proper garden, maybe.”
Cas twists his head around to study Dean, frowning slightly. “It is a proper garden, Dean.” Then he goes back to staring above him, but Dean can see him biting his bottom lip.
"What?" Dean nudges.
"When I had wings, I wrote your name in the sky," Cas says.
And fuck, what am I doing? Dean thinks, because he’s pushing up onto his elbow, leaning across, with Cas right there under him, and he’s dipping his head so his lips are just a fraction above Cas’s and he can feel the heat of Cas’s exhale.
Cas stares up at Dean, and his hand comes up to press warm on Dean’s cheek. “You wrote your name on my heart,” he whispers. “I don’t need wings for that.”
And Dean falls.