I kind of really want Dean to make it his mission to save the angels/Heaven next season.
Something about the Righteous man leading the fallen angels back home.
BUT! In the season 9 finale!
Dean has got the final piece that will magically give all the angels their grace back and slingshot them back upstairs, and just as he’s about to put in the piece to send them all back (it’s a MacGuffin, play along, people! Moose is off doing Moose things - babysitting Crowley or something), Cas places his hand over Dean’s and Dean looks up at him.
“What, Cas? What is it?”
“I want you to know …” Cas looks down and uncurls his fingers, where there’s a small vial, glowing bright in his palm. Dean got that back from him at the start of the episode, along with the last spell ingredient he needed so he could send the angels back up. “When you send the angels back to Heaven, I — I will not be going with them.”
Dean is, of course, flabbergasted and sputtering. ”The angels? What — I — Cas, man, I — all of this… I thought you wanted —”
“I know where I belong, Dean,” Cas says quietly, looking up to meet his eyes. ”I finally know where I belong.”
“So… so you’re saying…” Dean begins, not willing to believe it.
“Do you wish for me to stay?” Cas asks, looking nervous even though he’s already made up his mind.
“Cas,” Dean sighs, shoulders slumping. He reaches out with his free hand and grasps the back of Cas’s neck, pulling him in to rest his forehead against Dean’s. ”That’s all I ever wanted.”
“Then I’ll stay,” Cas whispers and Dean’s eyes flutter closed and he nods.
“Ready to send ‘em home?” Dean asks, after he’s made sure to clear his throat in a suitably manly way.
Cas nods and they place the final piece to send the angels back together, Dean’s arm wrapped around Cas’s shoulders, holding him close and tight.
(based on this post)
Cas looks disheveled—well, more so than usual—when he shows up at the bunker. For some reason, he’s carrying a six-pack of beer and a plastic bag of groceries.
It’s the middle of the night. Sam should be asleep. He had tried to be asleep. But these days, either he’s asleep for twenty hours in a row or he’s up in the middle of the night coughing up blood. Tonight’s the latter kind, so Sam had taken his hacking and sputtering into the library to keep from waking Dean.
“Cas?”
The six-packs thunks down on the table. Castiel merely looks at Sam. Puppy eyes. He is in the doghouse, after all.
“Uh, Cas, why do you have…” Sam glances into the grocery bag. “Porn?”
“They were out of pie,” Cas says, like that’s an explanation.
Sam investigates the rest of the groceries and notes beer and toilet paper in addition to the porn. He realizes that the groceries are the least of the questions, where Cas is concerned, but where the fuck were you is more Dean’s territory. Sam’s not getting in the middle of that.
Except the bag of groceries is still sitting on the table, forlorn, a little worse for wear. And Cas still isn’t saying anything.
He bought Dean porn.
Sam resists the urge to smile.
Then he realizes that no one else is going to explain this to Cas and has to resist the urge to sigh and rub his temples. He’s coughing up blood, for crying out loud. Why does he have to do this, too?
But he’s so goddamn tired of watching them fight.
“Cas,” he says, as gently as possible. Castiel’s eyes flick toward him, but he remains otherwise motionless. “Um. Sit down.”
(Part 1/?)
They found poor Jimmy’s hollowed out body at the door – eyes open, knees splayed; palms facing the sky.
For a moment, Dean stood looking down at it. At the shell of their friend, face pallid, gaze listless and unseeing, reflecting blue. He bent down, and took the body in his arms, and it was limp; not hard, not stinking sloppy wet, like bodies could be; it was still and cool, as if preserved. As if he’d just been left there, dropped to the ground like a ragdoll – he seemed to weigh little more than that.
Dean lifted him into his arms – jostled the man, suit-clad, his pants ripped, his trenchcoat slipping from his shoulders – and wordlessly shouldered the door to the Headquarters open, Sam voicing his concern with his footsteps, following carefully behind.
They got inside and there was endless, pooling silence; Dean said nothing. He went to the couch, laid Jimmy’s body out on it, his pale hands folded against his stomach, thin delicate bones of them lax against the his shirt.
They looked at each other – Dean opened his mouth – and then shut it again.
“It’s not him.” He said, suddenly, assuredly, and Sam opened his mouth to protest.
“Dean-“ he walked over, put a hand on his brother’s shoulder, but Dean shrugged him off.
“No, I’m serious.” He looked around, fast, like a man hallucinating, like he was seeing visions of Castiel. “He’s here.”
“Dean, he- you can see him.”
“Shut up.” He muttered, and pushed past, into the middle of the room. He looked around quickly, ignoring the cold body on the couch, and then pushed his way down the hallways, Sam tripping after, calling his name. Dean reached the end of the hallway – reached the entrance to his room, his bed half-made from that morning, his clothes strewn around – and stopped. He threw his arm out to stop Sam from crashing into him, and the two of them stood in the hallway, looking into the room.
“Cas?” Dean said, first, and Sam looked at him like he was crazy.
As someone who was a Star Trek fan before they were a Sherlock fan, I know that my patience will probably be tested during the midnight premiere. Can I please ask that people not yell Sherlock quotes and giggle at Sherlock things during the film? Be respectful of that fact that this is the Star Trek fandom’s moment to shine, please don’t ruin it for us.
That said, welcome to the Star Trek fandom, because trust me: you will be converted.
“Cas-“
“Dean?”
Several things happen very quickly then, but at the moment he’s not in much of a position to notice them, and the last thing he sees before darkness takes over is a pair of frightened green eyes looking down at him, and he wonders, from a great distance, what had happened that had gone so wrong.
Dean comes and goes. So do the nurses. The thing stays put, mostly, and so does Castiel.
“Hello Dean.”
Dean didn’t even look up from the tome he was flipping through as Cas materialized behind him.
“Metatron wants me to shut down heaven,” said Cas.
Dean’s shoulders stiffened, but he didn’t turn around.
“All of the angels are going to be locked away for a long time. Perhaps forever. And… that includes me.”
yourfriendlyneighborhoodsatan:
I HAVE FOUND EVERY COLOR CRAYOLA HAS MADE INTO CRAYONS AND RENAMED THEM BASED ON SOME POPULAR TUMBLR FANDOMS.
YOU’RE WELCOME.
Some of the shades in between got named weird because I ran out of ideas. I worked on this for a week, guys.
Based on this post.
Oh my god, this is legitimately one of the best things I’ve ever seen here on tumblr.
And the fact that I fucking got all of these references.
Perfection.
Oh my fucking god purple flurp
(via sirspnstersociopath)
Written for mish-ackles who asked for kid!cas with a crush on teen!dean, and then the two of them grown up. Nothing more than a crush happens until cas is an adult.
**
Castiel realized he was different when he was eleven years old.
Other boys talked about girls, about pop-stars and actresses they liked, about girls in the class they thought were cute.
Castiel thought girls were nice, he liked being friends with them, but he didn’t want to kiss them.
There was only one person Castiel wanted to kiss – Dean Winchester, the older brother of his best friend, Sam.
